The High Priestess

Harry stared at the sheet from Sirius' notepad. Between lines and patterns someone would draw while listening to someone else, maybe on the phone, he saw a few words. Mad? ... Illit ... Province ... Voldemort ... Harry!

At first, they didn't tell him anything, except the obvious. The second word, though, didn't tell him anything at all.

"What's Illit?"

"Illiterate - can't read."

"And Province?"

"Ask me something simpler. Quebec's a province - that's in Canada."

"Oh, really?" Harry examined his godfather. "What do you know about this scribble?"

"What I told you. It's my writing, no doubt about that." Sirius pointed at a spot. "Here, this pattern is my typical sign. I must have written it while talking with someone, only I can't remember."

"Do you make calls around the world for every scribble you find and can't remember when you did it?"

Sirius' voice turned angry. "No, sir - but usually I remember them, and even if not, I wouldn't worry much ... unless I find the names Harry and Voldemort, because then I get a weird feeling, and when I have this feeling, I do call."

Harry felt his initial assumption confirmed; his sarcastic remark had been more of a provocation than an expression of disbelief.

"Would you say you wrote it here in this office?"

"Definitely. Otherwise it would have been my pocket notebook, or a tissue, or whatever."

"Assume you'd find it - at the desk of another cop, and you know he has this habit like you, only this cop disappeared - what would you make of it?"

Sirius grabbed the sheet. "A conversation that took longer than a few remarks; look at all the lines. The other person in that conversation behaves strange enough that the cop asks himself whether this person's mad. Then he realizes somehow that this someone can't read and write, or maybe just not write ... It's about Voldemort, so your name pops up. That exclamation mark, hmm ..."

"And what if it wasn't a he? If it was a woman?"

Sirius smiled. "Then it would have been more pleasant - hopefully."

"Would the patterns be different?"

"No." Sirius grinned. "Not on paper."

"No difference at all?"

Sirius' face steadied. "It depends. If she was good-looking, he would scribble only the minimum because it's nicer looking at her than at the desk - this sheet would be the result of a longer conversation, then."

"And she was so good-looking that he can't remember?"

Sirius laughed. "Sure - there was a bit more than a conversation, and he said, 'Do me a favour, honey, give me a memory charm so I don't have to lie to my wife'."

Harry couldn't laugh.

Registering that he was left alone with his fun, Sirius asked, "What's up, Harry? You look as if you knew it was a woman."

"That's what I think, yes."

His godfather looked in disbelief. "Thanks for your faith in me, but forget the idea! It was a joke, and not even a good one."

"I would know more reasons for a memory charm than a little journey through the wetlands. Destroying traces, for instance."

"Are you talking about a particular woman?"

"Yes - the High Priestess." As short as possible, Harry summarized the events for Sirius.

His godfather snorted. "You didn't mind telling me in advance, huh?"

"In advance of what? Should I have called and said, hi Sirius, we have a little problem, Cho is scared as hell, but you can't do anything, we just wanted you to know and have a sleepless night? ... If I'm right - how did she come to you?"

"Good question - if you're right."

Harry tried to remember something he had learned at Hogwarts, then looked up. "Mind if I scan a bit through your mind?"

"Actually, yes, but okay, go ahead."

---

Memory charms, so much Harry knew, were difficult to detect; the only chance was to know what to look for. But how to look? He was no mind reader. If you can't see, switch on the light.

"Imperio!"

Sirius eyes turned glassy.

Rather than asking questions, Harry sent a mind wave - his own impression from the High Priestess, filtering out his own rage as much as he could, emphasizing her appearance, her flair. This done, he pointed his wand and said, "Recorrigo!"

Sirius' eyes became clear again. "What was this?"

"What do you remember?"

"I wanted to know what I should do, but nobody told me. Then I had ..." The Law Enforcement chief fell silent.

"C'mon, Sirius - it's important."

His godfather looked at the table. "It was like a déjà-vu, of something pleasurable. Like a dream - er, wetter than usual."

Harry swallowed a remark about the frequency of wet dreams for a married man, for several reasons. And Sirius had been in prison for twelve years; he would remember them. His thoughts were interrupted by Sirius' words.

"Harry, please tell me you don't think what you think, so I can stop thinking what you think - even if it was true. What's the sense in - "

Harry shook his head. "What I think is that you had a visitor. What she actually did to make you forget, and how - for someone unprejudiced, even watching her is quite impressive."

"Unprejudiced, huh? That's cute, really, that is. I want to know what happened here - "

"Why?" interrupted Harry his godfather's outburst, partly to save Sirius from unnecessary embarrassment, still more because Harry felt other concerns. "Does it matter whether she sent you a dream or was a bit more to the point? I'm sure she can do both - she was here, and she spoke with you, there's no question for me about that."

"Oh, shit!" Sirius slammed his fist on the desk. "And I don't even know! What did she want from me?"

"Information, I'd say."

"And I couldn't spill it fast enough, and then I couldn't ..." Sirius exhaled deeply. "And now?"

"She's learned about Voldemort. She's got our address. We can take that as a given ... But she wasn't there yet."

"What does that mean?"

"Maybe she needs time to think it over. Or maybe she can't travel that fast - " Suddenly Harry became aware that he was standing here in this office while his family could expect a visitor any minute.

"Sirius, I have to go - she might knock at our door right as we speak. Don't blame yourself, that's all I can say."

"And what if I do?"

"Then you're wasting time, which I haven't. Bye."

When Harry appeared in the dining room at home, three women looked at him, but only the youngest of them had a smile in her face.

Cho asked, "What is it, Harry?"

"Sirius had a visit from the High Priestess. She interviewed him - spelled, of course. What do you think about a week's vacation from home? Your parent's house would be best; it's unlikely that Sirius - "

"No! I'm not leaving my home! Let her come - she might be in for a surprise!"

Harry could smile. "It's not even unlikely - mothers protecting their children, we know what a power that is, don't we? Except that I would feel better if I knew Sandy in good care at a place unknown to her."

Cho stared at him, her eyes wide open.

"Need a bodyguard? I'm ready - only I haven't my Uzi with me."

Both Harry and Cho turned to Laila.

"So she's a big witch?" The sergeant in civvies had a fierce expression in her face. "What makes you think a bullet doesn't dig holes into her like into anyone else?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Laila, that's very kind of you. But even assuming she doesn't spell you - I wasn't planning to shoot her, or to kill her by some other method. Not - "

"I was."

Both Harry and Laila turned to Cho.

"Yes, it's true - she wants Cass, and for that she has to pass me, and that will be the moment when one of us two will change their mind."

Harry came to her. "Cho, please - if not your parents, then Fleur and Bill, or Marie-Christine, or a Hogwarts suite - anywhere but here. Let me take Laila back to - "

"No. She's a guest of mine who's ready to help me against that woman, isn't that so, Laila?"

When Laila nodded only hesitantly, Cho said encouragingly, "This is California - a single call, and you have everything, from a pistol to - do you think a tank will help?"

Harry stared at his wife, desperately trying to find an argument which might convince her that it would be better to avoid a meeting with -

His phony buzzed.

Hearing the sound, Cho glared at him. "Did you give her a phony? Just in case?"

Harry suppressed his reply, probably one of his best decisions ever. He fetched the piece and checked the display.

"No - it's Michael."

* * *

It was a good place for rehearsing. It was also a good place to sit and think, to dream, to imagine she'd be sitting at his side. He could perform short conversations in his mind. He could say things he wouldn't say in reality ... not yet, that was, although he knew he would be able to speak out the words, only that they weren't due ... not yet. Maybe never.

Michael was sitting near the borders of the Forbidden Forest, not far from the small graveyard, Rage's sacred place. He was alone in the darkness, had no campfire because he didn't want to cause attention. So close to the forest, a fire wasn't a good idea anyway. Michael had the graveyard in his view; he would notice if people appeared there. Then he could play more audibly or just walk away, should the need arise.

But it was fine as it was, sitting alone, with no more company than his guitar and his thoughts. He used these times to rehearse new pickings, new sequences. And sometimes, he played a song, just humming under his breath, only the guitar at normal volume - a song he wouldn't play in public, not with an audience consisting of more than a certain girl ... and not for her either, given the state of things.

Maybe some day ...

Although - there had been an audience, one evening. Having finished this particular song, which started 'The first time I ever saw your face,' Michael couldn't help feeling that someone was watching him. Looking around, he'd seen nobody.

Then he'd turned, and there it was - a light figure, half man, half horse, standing motionless: Firenze, as Michael knew.

For a moment, his breath had stopped.

Recovering, he had started another song - louder this time, very special in its own way. 'Poliushka pole' ... without even knowing what the words meant, in this song from the endless Russian steppes, the music alone was sufficient for raising a picture: a horde of men on horses, gallopping along, disappearing at the horizon in a cloud of dust. And Michael's fingers had knocked a quick beat against the guitar wood, like the hooves of a horse passing the wooden planks of a bridge.

He hadn't turned again. When the song was over, there had been a short moment of something like an optical illusion, or maybe that was just how his mind had tried to cope with the sensation - like someone applauding, pleased, politely, and a bit teasing ... And then Michael had felt alone again.

He hadn't told anyone. Some conversations were too private. Maybe -

He could feel it, he had company again, although it didn't feel like the Centaur. Then who ... Before he could finish the thought, he saw her: a woman, stepping into his view.

"Your music is touching, wizard. Who is the one you want to touch?"

Michael had to look against the moonlight and was therefore unable to recognize more than an outline. She was female, yes, but her voice had told him that already.

"I don't think this is any of your business, madam."

"True. My business is not as romantic as your feelings. Forgive me if my question lacked decency. I noticed you calling for her."

Had he called? In his mind, yes, but ...

"Who are you?"

"I am the High Priestess."

Michael gasped. The High Priestess! What could he do? All he had was a guitar - yes, if he'd been Orpheus, who was able to silence deer and ...

"You heard about me, wizard, this is quite obvious. Who told you about me?"

Damned if he'd tell.

"Was this a wizard who is called Ha-ry?"

Michael couldn't suppress a visible reaction. How did she know?

"So you know him. I believe you shared this place of wizardry and wisdom with him, through many seasons. Is this true?"

Michael found his speech. "What ... what do you want from him?"

For a fleeting instant, there was something like amusement in her response. "This is my business, wizard. I believe you know how to call him. Would you do that for me?"

"I'm not ... what I heard - " Michael stopped: wasn't Harry searching for her? In this case -

"My business is honourable, young wizard. I could order you, only I learned that I have already built barriers which are unnecessary and threatening to corrupt the honesty. So I beg you - call him for me."

"And then?"

"Then I will wait for him."

With fingers that seemed astonishingly clumsy, considering their fluency and ease on guitar strings only seconds earlier, Michael reached for the phony he had won about a year ago in a school contest. "Ha - Harry Potter, please."

"This connection is not open for public calls, sir."

What now? "Er - I'm calling in the name of Rahewa Lightfoot." Was it correct? "Might also be Rahewa Lupin."

A short pause. "If this is an unjustified claim, sir, you'll be cancelled from the register. Do you stand to your request, sir?"

He exhaled. "Yes."

Next second, he heard Harry's voice. "Michael? What's up?"

"Sorry to disturb you, Harry, I hope I ... Here's someone who wants to talk with you. It's the High Priestess."

No gasp, no hesitation, only Harry's voice was suddenly flat and smooth. "Where are you?"

"At - at the forest. I can see the graves from here."

"Comin'." The connection was dead.

Michael couldn't even muster the energy to store the piece in his pocket.

* * *

Harry would have preferred an apparition jump right to the place, but it was within the boundaries of Hogwarts' protecting zone. This also meant that he would be unable to escape, at least not by apparating.

Tricky lady, that ... or maybe she wasn't aware.

He was breathing not much quicker when he arrived at the graveyard, not after a short walk, no matter how fast, not after all the practising with Tony. Then he saw them.

Harry walked over, unaware that his movements had changed to the balanced gait of an aikido adept.

"Good evening, High Priestess. Hi, Michael."

"Harry - I hope I didn't do something wrong. Er, she said - "

"It's okay, Michael - I was looking for her, and she couldn't have found a better time. I'm glad you came through - normally there's no way to reach me, unless I've opened the link."

"I mentioned Rage."

"That was clever of you." Harry looked at the woman. "Was Hogwarts the next step on your journey?"

"I was afraid a direct visit might cause undesired trouble."

"You can say that twice! There are - " Harry stopped, registering with surprise something like pleased attention in the woman's face. "It's not funny - there are two women, they'd shoot you at first sight!"

"They might not succeed, but still this would be a severe breach of harmony. It is a good sign that we found a better place."

"Harmony, huh?" Harry examined her again. "Recently I've been a bit out of harmony."

"I am to blame for that. You may forgive me, if you can."

Had to be seen, that.

The woman looked at Michael. "This young wizard has clear opinions about his own business, and someone else's business." She turned back to Harry. "I have nothing to hide."

Michael rose. "I think I should leave you alone, unless ..." He glanced at Harry.

"I'll be wiser afterwards, but I think I'll feel more at ease without you. Please keep this encounter to yourself - until I come and tell you."

Michael nodded, shot a last glance at the woman, and looked at Harry again. "I'll wait till day after tomorrow, okay?"

Harry nodded.

The woman watched the young man leave, then turned to Harry.

"You will live to tell."

If not for his past experience, Harry could have sworn she was teasing him. He said, "That's good to know. Mind if we sit down?"

The woman sank down graciously. Then Harry noticed that her stance was pretty much the lotus position, like his own.

"You had a talk with Sirius Black, my godfather. What did you do to him?"

"He was the first wizard who could give me reliable report of Voldemort and his doing. Until then, I had heard many kinds of myths, or rumours. It was impossible for me to distinguish them from true facts. I thought it better not to raise any alarm while I was pondering my next steps. It is more difficult to adjust to a foreign culture than I expected. I had done wrong already; it was my concern not to do more harm."

"You didn't answer my question."

"Language is as clumsy as fascinating, Ha-ry. Your godfather taught me an illustrative example: 'You can say that twice.' This young wizard taught me another one. Is this any of your business, Ha-ry? I did no harm."

"Then it's quite a change of style, isn't it?"

"It may so appear to you. From your own perspective, you may be right. I regret what effects I caused."

"Always the best intentions, huh? Only that there are some wizards less around than before."

"I have no good intentions, and no bad intentions either. I am the High Priestess, a mere tool."

And a very efficient one, by all means. Then Harry remembered the most urgent issue. "I got the feeling you were looking for retirement."

"This is an inaccurate description. You may call it release - and improvement. It is a good sign that you could determine my request from our short encounter - it confirms what I have sensed when - "

"Save your compliments!" Harry became aware of his own voice. "Sorry - that was impolite of me. But do you know what we're talking about?"

"Yes. I learned that it is your daughter I want to meet."

"Meet? That's good - she's two years old."

"She will grow. It did not slip my attention that you considered her old enough to be with you on a journey which was extraordinarily dangerous, for all your knowledge then."

Harry almost gasped. They were discussing Sandy, and the woman had him in defense!

"It wasn't on - "

Purpose, he had intended to say. But it wasn't entirely true.

---

After a moment, he said, "It was the only way - okay, I admit that I wasn't worried. It had to do with music - but what's more important, she'll grow at home. The sooner you come to terms with this fact, the better."

"Your daughter's mother must know that there is more to this union than coincidence, and affection. It is impossible to miss the signs."

"She is extremely narrow-minded about Sandy, and she is determined not to miss if - sorry, let me explain it to you without using slang: before she will be ready for as much as listening to you, not to mention agreeing, you'll need some better arguments - and time."

"You are listening to me, Ha-ry."

Yes he was, wasn't he?

"Maybe I'm used to deal with - er, people that seem supernatural, or something in that direction."

"I am not supernatural. No more than your daughter. I am tempted to say less, although this would indicate a scaling that might be seriously misleading. How did you convince your daughter's mother that she can join you on your journey?"

"It wasn't me - it was Sandy." Thinking it over, Harry added, "And I'm not sure that you need to know - to be honest, I think you're the last I'm going to tell."

"I blame myself for your mistrust. My request is honourable, and it is my first duty to show you that this is true. I pray to the gods for help, to guide me so I will not endanger the harmony more than I already did."

Harry stared into this wonderful face. Was she tricking him? Was he fully master of his decisions? A test would be to leave - only then he'd be back to square one. Tentatively, he touched her mind with his haragei.

Honesty. Determination. Loneliness. Wondering. And something like a smile, saying, Do you want to see more?

Harry exhaled. "All right then, let's talk - er, High Priestess. Is this your correct title?"

"It is my duty. My name is Aram'chee."

"Okay, er, Aram'chee. I want to offer you a deal: you ask me a question, and I ask you a question, taking turns. It's your turn - ladies first."

"You call your daughter San-dy. Is this her name?"

"She has many names. Her official one is Sandra Catherine." On impulse, Harry added, "I wanted to call her Cassandra, but I didn't come through with that."

The expression in the woman's face was undeniably pleasure. Harry would have liked to ask her if the real Cassandra had been a contemporary of Aram'chee, except there were more important questions.

"Whom do you represent?"

Aram'chee prepared her words carefully. "I am a servant of a power of which I know only one thing - this power brought the gift of magic into our world. I have no picture, no memory of people, or voices. Besides, I am not the first High Priestess."

Harry felt disappointed, but then, what had he expected? A godlike being, or some aliens?

"Who is the mother of your daughter?"

"Her name is Cho Chang - Chang-Potter, since we're married. She's Chinese, a first-generation witch. She's responsible for Sandy's temper - well, most of it. We met here at Hogwarts - but I think you know already from your interview with Sirius."

"The same truth is different from one person to the next. I also expect more questions from your side than from mine, so I use the opportunity for making my knowledge righteous."

"And what did Sirius - sorry, drop that."

"He said it was fate that brought you together." Something like a smile. "He also made a remark about your wife's temper, and your own, from his own view."

"Fate, huh? Yes, probably ..." Again concentrating on the priority of topics, Harry asked, "What exactly is the task of a High Priestess?"

"To serve as a controlling element in the wizarding world. Quite obviously, magic is a privilege; the people you call Muggles have nothing for compensation. This bears the risk of hybris on one side, and avarice on the other. This is the reason for the rule. Earlier times knew about this position - it seems this knowledge was lost."

Someone like Professor Binns, the ghost and history teacher, might know more, while for Harry, a Tarot card was the only hint.

---

Aram'chee's next question surprised him. "How did music come into your daughter's life?"

"It started with a Goblin harp ..." Harry explained how the woman's own doing had triggered the events between Sandy and Héloise, and lastly was responsible also for Sandy meeting Michael.

The High Priestess seemed truly happy. "I praise the gods - there is no shadow without light! This is a hint that I will find forgiving for what I did."

Maybe so, only her remark did nothing to make her idea look any better. Harry asked, "Why do you want Sandy as the next High Priestess?"

"It seems to me these are two questions, Ha-ry. But I will answer both of them, as one of the answers is very short. Your daughter's qualification is beyond any doubt; I would grossly violate my duty if I would ignore that. For the other part of your question, I have two answers, one of them honourable, the other selfish. But they are both honest."

"Okay, the good news first, please."

"You mean the honourable? I don't know whether it is better than the other - you may judge yourself. Every High Priestess has to pass over the duty to a successor, at a time when she feels it right. There is no rule when, or how long - in some sense it is the most difficult part of this task."

Harry was reminded of his own duty as the Goblins' Ambassador.

"The old Priestess can pass over not only knowledge but also experience, to some degree. And of course the new Priestess adds her own qualities, as well as her knowledge of the time and culture. This regulation should ensure that every new Priestess is an improvement, less prone to mistakes than the previous one. What I did recently, after a long time of hiding, shows that my judgement is not in harmony with these times as it should be, which only tells me that it is high time for establishing my successor. My only apology is that never before culture and ethics have changed so dramatically in such a short time."

Short??

"My selfish reason is meaningless in front of these concerns, however I promised to show you the truth. I want to be free of this burden, and live my own life to its natural end."

Did she want to marry and have children? How old was she? Would she age and dry out like an apple within weeks, maybe months? Harry had trouble not to burst out with all his questions.

"After passing over the duty, I will be an ordinary witch. Only my memory will be a reminder - otherwise, I will be just a woman with normal hopes and desires."

"You'd be the most extraordinary history teacher ever - actually, you'd be extraordinary in any profession, I'm sure of that."

Almost a smile. "I take this as a sign that you trust my honesty. Is it appropriate then to ask you now how your daughter came to join you on your journey?"

Harry couldn't see the relevance, but who said a High Priestess was free of simple female curiosity? And he couldn't see much risk in the answer either.

"When she saw that I was about to do something for Bill's curing - without her, I mean, she thought it would jeopardize her music - Hély playing for her. Next second, she had an Imperius on Rahewa - that's her godmother - on Cho and myself. Fortunately, I'm immune, but we decided to take what looked like the smaller risk of a disaster."

Aram'chee looked satisfied - apparently taking this story as proof for her own judgement, having found the right person.

Harry said, "My immunity, to save you the question, is something I can't really explain. There are quite some theories; in some way or other, they all say it was mandatory for fighting Voldemort. It's everybody's guess what that means."

The High Priestess looked very pleased. Harry became aware that - on an objective scale - her arguments were gaining weight with every answer he gave. Except there was no objective scale.

---

Checking his questions, Harry noticed that they either felt too personal while not really important, like asking for her age, or they implied the possibility of an agreement, like how she planned to introduce Sandy. Then he remembered what he'd almost forgotten.

"How can you think the two worlds would separate again - the wizarding and the Muggle world?"

"I have to confess that I don't know yet how it can be done. I am not blinded by rules - in the ultimate sense, the High Priestess could abandon the rule of separation and hiding in favour of something better. But this coexistence is bound to collapse. I don't know when, how long it can hold, only that sooner or later one side will start destroying the other."

"Why?"

"Because the others - the Muggles - have nothing for compensation. Until some years ago, they were restricted to non-magic, and you were restricted to magic. While now - the wizarding world has everything. Maybe a solution would be that every wizard, every witch has to serve for a period of time to pay their debt for this privilege. This is the only idea I found, without knowing how to perform such a task."

Harry remembered how Ron had complained that something as simple as a copier was beyond reach for a normal wizard, unless he was a millionaire.

The High Priestess said, "I have just one question of importance left, Ha-ry. I will wait with this one until you are finished with yours."

"I think I know which one."

"Naturally so. I can assure you that I will do whatever is in my reach to find a solution in harmony and mutual agreement. I am bound by an obligation; this is the only limit to my doing and not doing."

So she wasn't threatening, except she was the threat herself. Harry asked, "Are you trying to impose this obligation on me? I can do without that - I've got enough to do with my role as the Ambassador."

"Despite what I said before - would you explain to me what that means?"

Harry told her.

Aram'chee sighed. "We both know that each of your words only proves my belief, that your daughter's destiny is to become the next High Priestess."

"Don't let Cho hear you. Fifteen years from now, or twenty, you could ask Sandy by yourself. But now - the essential point is that you don't leave her a choice."

"What choice did you have when fighting this evil wizard Voldemort? I learned that the right of the individual is valued incredibly high in this society, at the cost of many other values, further causing severe misuse and a grotesque state of unbalanced ethics ... Forgive me these words, Ha-ry - I'm not without temper myself."

Harry looked at the woman, a weak grin on his face.

"It may ease your mind to hear that I can't work against the mother's will. It would destroy everything. But your daughter must become the next High Priestess."

"You don't know what you're talking about. That's a contradiction in itself."

"No, Ha-ry, it is not. Only regarding Sandra Catherine."

Harry stared at her.

"And only regarding Cho, if your judgement is right."

Harry gawked at her.

"I do not value myself higher than your daughter's mother. Undeniably, this Cho has contributed her share to your daughter, and Sandra Catherine is the true heir. So my efforts will be aimed at the goal of convincing Cho that her daughter is bound by destiny - as she herself has been, and you. But time is running."

"And ... And what if it'd be a son?"

"It won't be, I can assure you. The High Priestess must be, and will be, a woman."

Harry nodded, sighed. "You won't volunteer to tell Cho by yourself, huh? ... Okay, was a joke."

"I will leave you alone, so you have time to think, and Cho also. If you want to invite me, to talk with her, come to the castle. If you didn't come until the moon has the same size as today, I will come and ask both of you what is your choice ... Considering what is at stake, I demand a small sacrifice."

Harry wondered if it was by accident that Aram'chee's last remark would qualify any time as a very special joke.

* * *

Laila stared into the bag and whistled. Then she looked up. "Where do they come from?"

The man - Ramon was his name - showed a dry grin. "We have a deal, remember? I'm not going to ask what you need them for, and you're not going to ask where they come from." Then he smiled. "Although I have an idea - in contrast to you."

Cho said, "It's okay, Laila - he's been a cop until some days ago."

Laila took the first weapon - a nine-millimeter parabellum - and nodded in appreciation. Ramon had shown the presence of mind to come with an assortment that needed just one type of ammunition - not counting the pump-action gun, of course. And that ... Twelve-gauge, what else.

She inspected the sub-machine gun, tested the lock, and balanced it. Not an Uzi - however, only the Israeli Army believed these little toys were first-rate.

Looking up again, Laila saw admiration in the man's face. He said, "You could do that blind-folded, couldn't you?"

She seized for the sub-machine gun, held it behind her back, and closed her eyes. Opening them again a moment later, her hands came forward - one holding the barrel, the other shaft and lock. She started instantly to assemble the pieces together - after all, one weapon should be ready.

Ramon said, "I'm impressed."

Cho had watched them both. "Ramon, what do I get for not telling Marie-Christine where you looked at when Laila couldn't see? It wasn't the gun."

Ramon grinned, lacking any embarrassment. "I'll swear any oath that I was admiring weapons, and that's the truth." Then he grew serious. "Cho, do you want me to stay? Two guns are more than one."

"Thanks, but ... I don't really think we need them, it's more the psychological effect. And if not ..."

Laila met Ramon's gaze. "Men have trouble shooting a woman on purpose."

Ramon bowed. "It was fascinating to meet you, Laila." To Cho, he said, "Call me any time."

"Thank you, Ramon. And tell Marie-Christine - if we don't call, it's a good sign."

Ramon nodded, then disappeared.

When he was gone, Laila asked, "What's he doing now? Freelance work?"

"No, I hired him for Groucho. Pretty high, actually."

Laila wondered a bit, but felt restricted to squeeze Cho in her worried state. Next moment, Cho herself explained.

"I had other reasons too. But a diploma in economics doesn't impress me as much as other qualities."

"From cop to business manager - not bad."

Cho glanced at the weapon in Laila's hands. "Er - you wouldn't twist if Harry returns, would you?"

Laila smiled. "No, Cho. I know what I'm doing, and I'm not Chaim." Seeing the question in Cho's face, she added, "Chaim's the one who shot me."

"Do you need something else?"

"No. I'm not an army patrol - I'm a bodyguard. A bodyguard keeps with the body, that's all."

After a while, Cho asked, "Would this be an option? Bodyguard, I mean?"

"Not really. There's little demand in Israel, and a lot of competition - provided I could think of myself as a hired gun." Then Laila snorted. "Although - what's so different to what I'm doing?"

"Maybe I wasn't talking about Israel."

"Here? I would need quite a while to qualify - you have to know the environment, the habits, locations. Catching a bullet is only the last part."

"Maybe I didn't mean bodyguard."

---

Laila looked at Cho. "Is this an offer?"

"I just want you to know - we Chinese don't forget. What you're doing here for us ... regardless of what'll be otherwise."

"Let me think about it - it's certainly intriguing enough to test my loyalty. What's an army sergeant good for?"

"What she thinks she can handle. Ramon runs Biochemicals now."

Laila swallowed. "Can nobody say you don't mean it."

They fell silent again. After a while, suddenly a voice from the floor said, "It's me. I'm alone."

Harry came in and looked around. "Very much what I thought." He walked to Cho and kissed her before he said, "I spoke with her."

"And?"

"The good news first - she's not going to act against your will, she said it would destroy all harmony. But she said our daughter is the only qualified candidate."

"Then she may as well forget it - I'm not going to agree. If she needs a daughter, as her heir, she may look for her own."

"Actually, that was her second idea."

"So she - " Cho stopped, staring at Harry. "Did she have any opinion about the father?"

Harry sat down. "Yes, indeed."

After a second, Laila understood. She stared at Harry, then at Cho - a furious Cho, her eyes spitting fire, her voice hissing, "Never!" She wheeled around to Laila. "Would you shoot him too? Or would you have trouble with that?"

Laila found it wise not to answer.

Harry said, "She went back to the castle. We have four week's time to think it over. She wants to talk with you. And her own daughter would be second choice."

"Ha! That's ... ha!" After her outburst, Cho seemed speechless.

Harry stood up. "That's it - in short. Her name's Aram'chee. And now, I think I'll take Laila home. It's been a long - "

Cho lost her trance. "Don't dare to come close to that castle! She might change her mind - if four weeks from now's the right time, then - "

"Please, Cho - isn't this a bit overreacting? I won't come near the castle, it's two miles outside the city."

"Two miles? No, that's much too close for my taste. And overreacting? I can't remember having heard you say something like, I told her to forget it. But of course not, I guess the idea had quite some appeal for you ..."

Laila saw how Harry's face hardened.

"... only that I'm going to work a bit at your qualification for this job, and Laila's going to help me with that. When we're finished with you, young Potter, you won't even remember how she looks, not to mention her name! Aram'chee, really."

For a moment, Laila had felt like grinning, thought better of it just in time. Cho seemed hardly in the mood to see the funny side of things. And if Laila had learnt something this weekend, then this: Cho meant it.

Suddenly, the Tiberias Barracks seemed far, far away.

* * *

The task lying ahead was certainly enough to keep her mind occupied. Even so, Hogwarts - in all innocence - did its best to startle her more: hordes of students, seemingly normal, until suddenly a wand came out somewhere and a flash or a rain of sparkles blinded the eye.

And nobody even looked.

Except herself, of course. Then the building - staircases no end, talking pictures, asking for crazy passwords. Peeves the Poltergeist was a relief, in some sense - he was up to his reputation while the other ghost she'd seen this day, Nearly Headless Nick, looked very much like an animation in a bad horror movie.

Needless to say - Clara hadn't told him, in particular since Nick's manners were definitely better than those of any ghost the movie director would have thought realistic.

Clara had arrived around noon. From Munich Linkport to London Linkport to Hogsmeade Linkport, this kind of travelling was something to get used to, with ninety-nine percent of the time spent standing in line, or sitting on a bench waiting for the next connection. Somehow it was funny - all those years, she had thought linkports wouldn't work for herself, being a Muggle.

Only after having been at Hogwarts for a while, Clara had realized what was wrong: linkports stole the time for adjusting. Sitting in a train for three hours was a wonderful opportunity to relax and prepare for the things to come.

Of course, with conventional vehicles, the journey from Munich to Hogwarts would have taken a day and probably most of the night too.

The linkports had also ended a discussion. Joachim wanted to come with her, she didn't. He was a Muggle, and linkports did not work for them.

It would have been the easiest thing of the world to ask Harry for a portkey that carried both of them nonstop from Buelow Street, third floor, to Hogwarts. Rahewa had assured Clara that this was no more trouble than, say, driving someone to the tram station because it rained.

Then why hadn't she told Joachim?

Somewhere inside, Clara knew why. He would have urged her until she had agreed, but she wanted to make her first steps alone. No, not alone, but without him. Joachim was intrigued by the idea, yes - but then, he would have been intrigued also if she had returned from the body dresser with a new skin colour.

Maybe a sex transformation would have failed to get his enthusiastic approval, but Clara wasn't even sure of that.

Her hosts were great, just great. Rahewa's mother - what a funny thought, a mother six years older than her daughter. Aside from that, Almyra behaved very much like any other mother of a seventeen-year-old who went through the process of spreading her wings ... Erm - unfolding sounded better.

And of course, Clara had found the first grease-pot with great accuracy. Remus, who looked more like a father, was introduced to her with the remark, "He's a werewolf, but it's under control." Hearing that, Clara had started to laugh. "That's good, really, that ..."

Only when noticing the others stare at her, she had realized. Then she had stood there, dark red, while first Remus and then Almyra took their turns in rolling over, unable to stop.

Clara swore to herself, this should be the last time.

Returning from her visit in a first-year lesson about Charms, she confessed to Almyra that her untrained English was a bit short to cover all these terms.

"There's no sense in making it more difficult than necessary," replied Almyra. "You should do a crash course in Wizarding English. It's not cheap, but highly recommended."

"Who offers them? And where is it?"

"Where? Wherever you are - you get two fairies for a week, with deep-sleep teaching, subliminal training, very advanced."

Seeing Clara's glance. Almyra started to laugh. When Clara felt certain this was the return for her faux-pas, Almyra patted her. "Every single word's true, Clara. Harry did it for learning French."

Altogether, the afternoon had managed to send Clara completely off balance. And now she was sitting in this room, which might have been found in any hospital of the western hemisphere. Hermione wore a white coat, Clemens too, while Rahewa - deeply disappointed about that - had been locked out. "This isn't a monster show in the autumn fair," so Hermione's remark. "Please wait outside."

Maybe it wasn't, only Clara felt like that.

---

The door opened, and Harry entered the room with daughter and snake. The girl saw her and beamed. "Clara - witch!"

Clara swayed, grateful to be sitting.

"That's her," said Harry. "I think Sandy's more excited than yourself. But don't worry; she'll calm down in a moment. At least you know how it feels when she says hello."

Clara went to the padded table and lay down. Hermione attached the sensors for the monitor - ordinary medical equipment, strangely reassuring in this situation.

Clemens came with the cup to her. His eyes were filled with concern, expectation, tenderness - and something Clara remembered well, something she had seen about eight years ago, when she had told him to go and become a wizard.

Today it was her brother's turn to be convincing, and Clara's own to go.

Clemens offered the cup. "Ready?"

"Yes." Clara took the cup and drank.

Liquid chalk. Chocolate. Brandy. Pure alcohol. Hellfire, fading. Clara gasped while sinking back again. There were hands at her throat, then a joyful presence in her mind, and another one, nodding politely, retreating into some background.

Her heartbeat calmed down. The initial anxiousness was gone.

As if returning from a short inspection through all rooms inside her, the heat of the first instant came back. Having found the location equally inviting everywhere, it settled to a burning sensation.

Then it went to work seriously.

She was under fire, felt sweat trickling through her pores, felt pain. Arousal. Thrill. Itching, everything at once. Clara wanted to cry, something was wrong, she wasn't a witch, burning her at the stake was a terrible mistake ...

Something in her mind called through her panic. After a moment, she understood - the flames weren't devouring her flesh, her skin wasn't smoking, not turning to coal first and ashes then. It was just the strongest cocktail served ever.

She relaxed a bit. Somewhere, a pulse was racing, a heart hammering, a throat vibrating under the efforts to transport all this oxygen in and wasted air out.

Then - clearly, unmistakably - she felt the girl in her mind: playing music for her, incredibly powerful and yet amazingly gentle. Feeling at ease now, Clara listened to the roaring of the flames, to the spheric waves and chords, none of them registered by a human ear, including her own.

After a time she couldn't measure, the flames faded and died. Her body, recovering quickly, was settling back to normal.

Clara opened her eyes. Hermione stood near the monitor, with a satisfied expression in her face. Clemens' head was hanging over her own, his face as flushed and sweaty as hers probably was. Still somewhat choky, Clara said, "Hi, wizard."

"Hi - " Clemens stopped. Next moment, a wand was in her vision. "Try it."

"Let me ..." Clara came up, still a bit dizzy, and took the wand. "And now?"

"Move it - swiftly, sharply."

Feeling self-conscious, Clara imitated an orchestra conductor - and watched as a soft-glowing ribbon of colours appeared out of nowhere, to fade an instant later.

She felt hugged by her brother, felt his composure break for a second, then hugged him back. "I'm a witch, huh?"

Clemens nodded, unable to speak. Then he let go and turned quickly, busying himself at the workbench.

Hermione came over. "Congratulations, Clara! How do you feel?"

"Bit swaggy - like after donating blood. It's more the expectation than a real weakness."

Harry's voice behind her asked, "Can you walk?"

Clara moved her legs to the floor. "Yes, I think so." Then she turned. "Thanks for your support." To the girl she added, "Your music was wonderful."

The girl nodded. "Sandy music."

Harry asked, "In the mood for a little shopping trip?"

"Shopping?"

"Yes, sure - you need a wand, as quickly as possible. There's only one shop that's appropriate, it's in London."

"London ..." Then Clara realized that this wasn't much different from a trip to the store around the corner, not with the help from someone who could summon her - and probably Clemens and Rahewa a second later.

She felt her own beaming. "Suddenly, I can't await holding it in my hand, but something else is still more urgent." She pulled at her soaked shirt. "I need a shower."

* * *

Harry held the door open for the others. Clemens and Rahewa entered quickly, while it took Clara another second before she could take her eyes off the reading: 'Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC.'

Even after Clara had followed inside, they had to wait some more seconds, quickly learning that four people, five when counting Sandra as well, were almost too much for this tiny shop. It didn't matter; nobody was ready to wait outside.

"Good evening." Mr Ollivander suddenly stood there, his pale eyes registering the scene, then fixing at Harry. "Mr Potter, this visit is a real surprise; normally I know whom to expect. Your wand is doing well, I hope?"

"Excellently, Mr Ollivander, thanks for asking - no, we're here for a young lady who needs her first equipment."

The shop owner fixed the other visitors. "Miss Lightfoot! How are you? Maple, was it, ten inches straight and surprisingly firm for such a little girl, yes." His gaze wandered and came to rest at Sandra. "It wouldn't be this young lady, Mr Potter, would it? Although - I won't go as far as dismissing the idea completely."

"No, she's doing fine even without a wand. It's - "

"Yes, quite remarkable, indeed. With these parents - cedarwood, eight inches and a quarter, with a dragon heartstring, yes. And then of course your own - " Mr Ollivander looked awkward. "May - may I have a look at it, Mr Potter? Its new shape? Something like that isn't seen very often."

"Er, yes of course." Harry offered his wand.

"Remarkable, truly extraordinary ... holly the one, blackthorn the other, yes, thirteen and a half inches together." Mr Ollivander's hand reached the tip, and next moment, he held the black tip in one hand and Harry's original wand in the other.

Harry stared. Nobody except himself so far had been able to separate the two parts from each other.

Mr Ollivander's next movement brought them together again. "Astounding, Mr Potter, and another example how it's the wand who - " The wandmaker came out of his trance and handed the wand back to Harry before turning to the others.

"Please excuse my digression. A first wand, so it must be for you." He looked at Clara, some surprise in his face.

"Miss Clara Stein," explained Harry. "The youngest witch around, Mr Ollivander. She comes from Germany."

"Ah yes, maybe that's why ..." With some effort, the wandmaker found his routine. "Well then, Miss Stein, would you please hold up your arm for measuring?"

Harry watched the familiar ceremony - Mr Ollivander coming with one piece after the other, taking them off again before Clara had an opportunity to give her own comment. Harry's mind wandered back to his first visit in this shop, still more so when the pile besides Clara was growing and Mr Ollivander, almost fevereshly, was climbing up and down like a long, thin spider, drawing a network in a frenzy.

And there it was - the rainbow of brilliant colours, bursting into golden sparks.

"Magnificent! Oh, very good, here we go, this wand has found its owner, after all those years."

It was hazel, nine inches, with unicorn hair as the magical core. Clara's eyes were gleaming, she held the wand as though never again letting go.

Rahewa fought her way to the small desk. She had won the competition whose privilege it should be to give this present to Clara. "You've made the drink," with these words Clemens had been kicked out of the race. "And you - why don't you treat her with a Caribbean Crown afterwards?" Harry had resigned with a smile and a nod.

Outside, he looked at Rahewa. "What are you going to do in the meantime - you and Clemens, that is?"

"But ..."

Laughing, Harry grabbed Clara's arm. For a split second, Rahewa had taken him seriously.

The waitress saw them and smiled. "Five Carribean Crowns? One of them without - I mean, with a parasol?"

"Yes, please."

---

Harry listened to the young people chatting animatedly, with Clemens and Rahewa presenting the stories of their own first wands. Then came the cups, and Clara followed the waitress' example, only from a closer distance - watching in admiration how ice and cream disappeared in a small mouth. She said, "I think I've got some way to go until I'm at that level."

Rahewa and Clemens started to laugh.

Clara felt challenged. "Well, you never know - wait and see." She took her wand and rushed it through the air. As though a string of Chinese firecrackers was set off, sparkles flew through the air - right toward the neighbour table.

"Hey - watch your damned piece!" The young man who had shouted the remark turned back to his own table while muttering audibly, "Some magicals think they own the world."

Rahewa was up, her chair crashing to the ground. She had made a step toward the other table when she stopped like hitting a wall.

The young man had halfway turned again and now glared at her. "What's the matter, can't make up your mind? Gonna beat me or curse me?"

Rahewa looked away. Then she fetched her chair and sat down - her face red, an angry stare fixed at her cup.

Clemens turned to the neighbour table. "Please excuse our clumsiness - and thanks a lot for your excellent example in good manners."

"Oh, fuck!"

Moments after this last reply from the same young man, the people from the neighbour table left.

Sandra watched them leave. "Fuck!"

"Great." Harry glared at Rahewa, furiously, in particular since his goddaugther had trouble suppressing signs that would be interpreted as approval by her own goddaughter.

Then Rahewa steadied. "I'm sorry ... But honestly - I had myself under control, I wouldn't have - "

"Can you imagine what Sandy would have done next second? Damn, Rahewa, you know that she's all too happy to join every fight with you."

"Oh - yeah, of course. Sh ... I mean, sorry."

Clemens looked challenging. "She's been provoked, Harry."

"Certainly. So?" Calmer, Harry added, "I'm not mad at her, but maybe only because that's very difficult."

This wasn't exactly what Clemens had hoped for, but at least Rahewa looked better - quite in contrast to Clara, who seemed close to tears.

"It was my mistake - it was so stupid what I did."

Next moment, two people tried to cheer her up and to assure her she shouldn't blame herself, everyone went a bit crazy with the first wand in his own hands, and besides, wasn't this a terrible example of prejudice?

Clara looked at Harry. "I spoiled your invitation. I'm truly sorry."

"I know what to do," answered Harry after a second. "We visit the twins - then we tell them what happened, and each of us will get his share of teasing remarks. Nobody can feel so bad after Fred and George have delivered their comments."

Relief in her face, Rahewa assured Clemens and Clara that Harry was right. With this new spirit, they found the time and the mood to empty their cups.

Clara said thoughtfully, "A drink and a wand - and suddenly I'm on the other side of the fence, and I think, what a bloody Muggle, making such a fuss about a bit fireworks."

It cheered Clemens and Rahewa up considerably.

It didn't cheer up Harry. He was thinking of what the High Priestess had said, about the two worlds bound to crash against each other. He was thinking of her task, which seemed impossible, and of her request, which seemed equally impossible ... Well, today the balance of powers had shifted by one young woman, who had taken a drink. And then a wand. And then an ice cup. And in a few minutes, probably some sweets.

The twins sold their sweets to both worlds. What would ...

The first dim contours of an idea started to form in Harry's mind. Something Cho had said ... something he had said to the High Priestess, about obligations. And if he was right and didn't recoil from this breathtaking idea ...

Harry looked up. "Ready? Then let's go to hear what bloody wizards and witches we are."