Another City, Not My Own

"ANOTHER CITY, NOT MY OWN"
Chapter Seven
"The Maquis Mouse II"

"So Fleur did not tell you that she would be sending 'er Papa to meet you 'ere?" said Monsieur Delacour. They were walking down the promenade alongside the beach, heading back towards the Vieux Port. "Well, that is my Fleur for you. She likes to 'ave fun and surprise people sometimes. 'As she ever told you anything about 'er family?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Uh, I think she mentioned once that you all have a house in the Mysterieux quarter in Paris. I think she also said that her mother was a fashion designer, and that you worked for the French Wizard's Bank."

"Oui. That is correct."

"Did you come here from Paris?" Harry gestured across the street to the Hotel Bardeaux. "Are you staying in a hotel here in Latrece?"

Monsieur Delacour shook his head. "Non, non. We are staying on our boat."

"On your boat?"

"Oui. I took my family to Sardinia for the Carnival this year. Fleur called us there from England last night. She told us what 'appened to your professor at 'Ogwarts. She said that you would be coming to Latrece, and that you would need our 'elp. So we came up this morning on our boat. We are anchored down at the Vieux Port."

Harry came to a sudden halt on the promenade. Monsieur Delacour stopped walking and looked back at him, curiously. "Is something wrong?"

""You came up from Sardinia?" Harry winced and rubbed his eyes with his fingertips. "I'm sorry. I've interrupted your holiday! I didn't know that Fleur was going to ask you to..."

"Non, non! Is okay!" said Monsieur Delacour. "We are glad to come! Believe me, Fleur would not 'ave asked us to interrupt our vacances if it were not a matter of life and death."

Harry looked away for a moment, still feeling a bit guilty. "Well...thank you. I really appreciate this."

Monsieur Delacour smiled. "You know, my Fleur, she thinks very 'ighly of you. She would not ask us to 'elp you if she did not think you were well worth it."

"I just hope I can live up to her high opinion of me," Harry said.

"You already 'ave," said Monsieur Delacour, "in more ways than you know." He nodded toward the Vieux Port. "Come. They are waiting for us."

They started down the promenade again, passing street vendors selling masks, balloons, coffee cups, ribbons, trinkets, and Carnival souvenirs.

"You know, you should not feel too bad about interrupting our trip to Sardinia," said Monsieur Delacour. "We 'ave been to Mardi Gras 'ere in Latrece many times before. We are always glad to come again."

"Doesn't seem to be too much of a party going on right now," Harry commented. It was still very quiet. Street traffic on the Promenade de la Plage was still very light, and only a handful of strollers and joggers passed by them on the promenade itself.

"Ahh, is still early," said Monsieur Delacour. "But trust me, mon ami. Tonight, you will see a celebration like you 'ave never seen before."

When they reached the Vieux Port, Harry pointed out the pirate ship tied to the jetty. "I was wondering...what is that thing? It's not a real pirate ship, is it?"

"Non, non," said Monsieur Delacour. "Is, how you say? A movie piece?"

"A movie piece?"

"Oui. You know, they 'ave the big film festival every year 'ere in Latrece? All the big movie stars come, and the directors with their new films. So about ten years ago, a Muggle film director made a pirate movie. You know, sword fights and big ships and dashing young heroes and all that? And the premiere of the movie, it was 'ere at the film festival. The director wanted to promote the movie, so people would come and see it at the cinemas. So on the first day of the festival, 'e sails this big pirate ship from the movie into the Vieux Port, with all the actors standing up on the decks in their pirate costumes. It was a very big show, with everyone taking pictures, and people singing pirate songs, and so on."

"And then they showed the movie at the film festival--and it was terrible! It was a very bad movie! The critics hated it! Nobody came to see it! It was a flop, as they say! And after the festival was over, they did not know what to do with the pirate ship. So they just left it there, tied up on the jetty. And no one 'as moved it since!"

"I see," Harry said, with a smile.

They walked past the block of red-ochre townhouses on the docks. These ancient buildings looked as if they had originally been built as shipping offices for goods coming into the port. One of these buildings, Harry noticed, still held the harbor master's office.

"Which one is your boat?" he asked, looking out across the port.

Monsieur Delacour pointed to an enormous yacht tied up alongside one end of the E-shaped marina. "That one over there."

Harry stared at the boat. It was a sleek, streamlined luxury cruiser, at least sixty feet long. Its gleaming-white fiberglass hull was shaped like the head of a javelin, with a sharply-pointed bow and a box-shaped stern that seemed made to hold a very powerful engine. The yacht had a raised pilothouse with black-tinted windows and a sun deck on the pilothouse roof. A silver anchor hung from the bow, and there were oval-shaped portholes along the lower side of the hull. The boat's aerodynamic shape suggested speed and power. It was easy to imagine the yacht slicing through the open sea like a torpedo, its roaring engine kicking up trails of foam in its wake.

It looked, Harry thought, like the kind of yacht that you would expect to find James Bond sitting in, surrounded by gorgeous women as he sipped his vodka martinis. It was definitely a yacht to be owned by someone with money to spend.

"In a word: Wow!" Harry said. "You came up from Sardinia in that?"

Monsieur Delacour nodded, smiling with amusement at Harry's reaction. He pointed around the harbor. "Is not the biggest boat 'ere, you realize?"

It was hard to believe, but true. There were at least a dozen elephantine yachts and cruisers tied up at the marina that were even bigger than Monsieur Delacour's boat.

"Well, even if it's not the biggest, it's still a wicked cool boat," Harry said.

"It looks even better on the inside," said Monsieur Delacour. "Come. I will take you on board."

Harry followed Monsieur Delacour up a long metal access ramp that led to the E-shaped marina. He stumbled over metal cleats, mooring lines, and loose coils of rope as they strolled through the twisting maze of sailboats, speedboats, and luxury yachts, until they reached the berth where Monsieur Delacour's boat was tied up with its stern backed up against the pier.

The ship had an aft deck covered by a fiberglass awning, with a ladder leading up to the sun deck on the pilothouse roof. The words "Maquis Mouse II" were painted in red letters on the engine housing, just behind the diving platform on the back of the boat.

"The Maquis Mouse II?" Harry asked.

"My father was in the Maquis--the French Resistance--during the war," Monsieur Delacour explained. "But 'e also 'ad a thing for American cartoons. When I was a boy, 'e 'ad a boat called the Maquis Mouse. Not like this one--a small boat, like those out there." He pointed to a cluster of small dory-like boats tied up on the dock near the harbor master's office. "So a few years ago, when I bought this monstrositie, I named it after my father's boat. Watch your step 'ere."

They stepped onto the aft deck. The rear entrance to the boat was a large sliding glass door. Monsieur Delacour opened the door, and Harry followed him inside.

* * *

The interior of the Delacour yacht looked like the living room of a modern Muggle house. Just inside the sliding glass door was a small but spacious salon. There was a crescent-shaped sofa to Harry's left as he walked in, and two small easy chairs to his right. An oval-shaped coffee table stood in front of the sofa, with a decorative glass bowl of seashells on it. A large-screen TV sat inside a wooden cabinet in one corner of the room. Light poured in through the bay windows on either side of the salon. The floor was covered with beige carpeting, matching the tan leather upholstery on the sofa and chairs, and the teakwood paneling on the walls.

Just beyond the sofa was a marbletop counter that separated the galley, or kitchen, from the salon. Behind the counter, Harry could see a range-top stove with pots on the burners, a microwave oven hanging over the stove, and wood-paneled cabinets surrounding a tall, silver refrigerator. Opposite the galley was a small dinette, with a settee surrounding a square-shaped dining table. A short flight of steps behind the galley led up to the pilothouse, which was set on a raised platform. From the salon, Harry could just make out the helm of the ship, a large console with a metal steering wheel, flanked by two leather pilot's chairs on pedestals. A ladder-like staircase led up from the pilothouse through a hatch in the ceiling to the sun deck on the roof above.

"Eureka!" Monsieur Delacour exclaimed, as they entered. "I have found him!"

There were two other people on the ship. A tall woman with silver-blond hair stood behind the counter at the galley, mixing yellow batter in a glass bowl with a wire whisk. A small girl, about ten years old, also with silver hair, sat at the dinette. As Harry and Monsieur Delacour entered, the girl stood up from her seat.

"Bonjour, 'Arry!" she said, smiling.

Harry looked at her. "Gabrielle?"

The girl ran to him and, standing on tiptoe, took hold of both his arms just above the elbows. Her grip was almost as strong as her father's. Harry bent clumsily, and she kissed him on both cheeks. "Welcome to Latrece!"

Gabrielle Delacour looked like a miniature version of her older sister, Fleur. Like her sister, she had blue eyes and long silver-blond hair that revealed her veela heritage. Harry had first met Gabrielle at Hogwarts two years before, when she had been one of four captives held prisoner by merpeople at the bottom of the Hogwarts lake, during the second task of the Triwizard Tournament.

As part of the task, the four captives had been placed in an enchanted sleep and tied to a large statue in the underwater city of the merpeople. Each of the tournament champions had to rescue one hostage--a close friend or family member, someone that they truly cared about--and get them back to the surface within an hour. Gabrielle had been Fleur's captive to rescue; Ron Weasley had been Harry's. Using gillyweed to breathe underwater, Harry had reached the hostages at the bottom of the lake before any of the other champions. But, assuming that the captives were in real danger, he had stayed at the bottom of the lake for the full hour, refusing to leave until he was sure that all the hostages would be safe. (He hadn't known that Professor Dumbledore had made special arrangements with the merpeople to ensure that none of the captives would be harmed in any way.)

The first two captives, Hermione Granger and Cho Chang, had been quickly rescued and taken to the surface by Viktor Krum and Cedric Diggory. But when Fleur Delacour failed to show up to rescue her little sister (she had been attacked by grindylow water demons on her way to the lake bottom), Harry had challenged the merpeople until they backed off. He had then dragged the two unrescued captives, Gabrielle and Ron, back to the surface. He was outside the one-hour time limit, but Dumbledore had rewarded his courage in rescuing the hostages with an extra 40 points for the event. And Fleur, who until then had been resentful of Harry (referring to him condescendingly as "zis little boy"), had gained a new respect for him.

Now, Harry stared at Gabrielle, who was still gripping his elbows. A smile broke over his face. "I don't believe this," he stammered. "I didn't expect--well, of course, I should have known you'd be here with your father! I just--"

He stared at her, not quite sure what to do. Gabrielle broke the ice. Still grinning, she put her arms around his waist and hugged him like an old friend. Harry laughed and returned the embrace. Then he suddenly winced. "Ouch!"

Gabrielle stepped back, startled. "Is somezing wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong," Harry said quickly, rubbing the small of his back. "I took a bit of a fall yesterday, and I've got some bruises on my back. It's okay."

He smiled at her once more. "It's really good to see you again. Well, you've certainly grown up a bit since I saw you last." She had been a very small girl when he'd met her two years ago. Now, the top of her head was almost level with his chest.

"Ah, oui! She grows up fast!" said Monsieur Delacour. He tousled his daughter's hair, affectionately. "She costs us a fortune in new clothes. Every month, she grows out of what we bought 'er the month before."

"Papa!" said Gabrielle, giving him a pained look and a smile. (With her French accent, she pronounced it "Pa-pah!")

"She could not sleep a wink last night," Monsieur Delacour told Harry. "She was very anxious to see you again. She wondered if you would even remember 'er."

"Of course I remember her," said Harry, dryly. "You spend an hour with someone at the bottom of a freezing lake, you're sure to remember her."

"I am learning Eenglish at my school now, 'Arry," said Gabrielle. "I start at Beauxbatons zis automne. My Eenglish is not so good yet. I 'ave only taken two years."

"Your English sounds just fine to me, Gabrielle," Harry said, sincerely.

Gabrielle reddened. She gestured to Harry's Firebolt. "I take your things and put zem away, if you like."

"Yes, thank you," Harry handed her his broom and started to slip out of his backpack. Gabrielle stared at the broom.

"Oh, you 'ave a Firebolt!" she exclaimed. "Oh, I want one of zese so bad!"

Her father wagged a finger at her. "Not until you turn eleven, Monkeyface."

"Papa, don't call me zat," Gabrielle said, with another pained look. She took Harry's backpack and nodded to her father, smirking. "'E does not want me to start flying too soon. I will take your things downstairs to ze cabine d'ami."

"Er, you're taking them where?" Harry asked.

"Sorry. The--er--how you say? Guest room?"

"We 'ave an extra room downstairs on the lower deck, where you can get some sleep," Monsieur Delacour explained, pointing to the salon floor.

Gabrielle turned and walked through the galley. She looked at the woman who was standing behind the counter, and nodded back towards Harry. "Il a l'air d'un cadavre qui a été déterré et enterré à nouveau quatre fois."

"Gabrielle!" said the woman. She smiled, as if her daughter had just made a joke, and pointed deliberately towards the pilothouse, as if she were directing Gabrielle to stop fooling around and to go put Harry's things away. At the same time, Monsieur Delacour burst out laughing.

Gabrielle walked up the steps behind the galley and disappeared into the pilothouse. Harry heard her go down another set of steps that was hidden from his view.

"What did she say about me?" he asked, warily.

The woman with the silver hair tapped the side of her head with one finger as she stepped out from behind the counter. "She is being silly. She said that you look like a corpse that has been dug up and reburied four times."

Harry laughed. "She's probably right. I feel like a corpse that's been dragged all over highwater!"

Monsieur Delacour gestured to the silver-haired woman as she walked into the salon. "May I present my wife, Emilie."

"Bonjour, Harry," said Madame Delacour. With a welcoming smile, she took his hands in hers and kissed him on both cheeks, as Gabrielle had done. "It is good to finally meet you."

Emilie Delacour was a tall, slender woman with an intelligent look about her. She was in her mid-forties, Harry guessed, but looked much younger. Like her daughters she was part veela, and very lovely. Her silver hair was braided and tied up around the back of her head. She wore a red, flour-stained apron over faded jeans and a blue sweater.

"It's good to finally meet you, Madame Delacour," Harry said. "I remember seeing you at Hogwarts a few years ago."

Madame Delacour had come to England with Gabrielle two years before, to watch Fleur compete in the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament. Harry had seen her talking with her daughters in the waiting room next to the Great Hall on the day of the event, but had not had the opportunity to speak with her.

"Ah, oui. We did not get a chance to meet that night," said Madame Delacour. "I had hoped that Fleur would introduce us after the event was finished. I did want to meet you, especially, after you rescued Gabrielle from the merpeople. But when the Tournament was over..." She shook her head, sadly. "Well...it was not the time for anyone to be making introductions. Very tragic, what happened that night. I understand that it was not a good night for you as well. Or for my Fleur."

"No," Harry said, grimly. "Not a good night for any of the champions."

Madame Delacour smiled again and gently took hold of his arm. She led him towards the galley. "Come. I do not wish to burden you with bad memories. I know you have been traveling all night, and that you are very tired. If you wish, we can give you some breakfast. And then you can go below to the guest stateroom and get some rest."

Her English, Harry noticed, sounded even more refined and practiced than her husband's. "Yes, thank you. Some breakfast would be good. I'm a little hungry."

Madame Delacour gestured for him to sit down at the dinette. Harry carefully eased himself into the settee on the left side of the table.

"We are making crepes today," said Madame Delacour, moving back to the counter. She picked up the glass bowl full of yellow batter that she had been mixing when Harry came in. "It is Mardi Gras, you know? Fat Tuesday? It is the tradition in France to make crepes on this day. But you probably call it 'Pancake Day.'"

Harry nodded, and looked at his watch. "Yes, that's right. Back at Hogwarts, they're having a big pancake breakfast, right about now. I had to miss it to come here. But...crepes would be fine."

With a small ladle, Madame Delacour spooned batter from the bowl onto a crepe maker, a small electrical appliance with a rounded skillet on top that cooked the crepes and made them thin and flexible. Harry thought it was slightly odd that a wizard housewife would be using a Muggle device to make crepes--until he realized that Madame Delacour's wand lay on the galley counter, and that the crepe maker wasn't plugged in to any electrical outlets. It was obviously powered by magic!

"Fleur called us last night in Sardinia and told us what had happened at Hogwarts," said Madame Delacour. "Your Professor McGonagall, the one who has been poisoned...she is Deputy Headmistress there, is she not? I met her at the Triwizard Tournament. She is the one with dark brown hair?"

"That's her," said Harry. "She's Professor Dumbledore's right hand. When I left Hogwarts last night, she was still hanging on. We found a medical treatment that would slow down the effects of the poison. But we need a sample of the poison itself in order to make an antidote for her." He shook his head. "I wish I knew how she's doing right now. I hope she's still hanging in there, still fighting."

Monsieur Delacour poured coffee for himself and Harry from a coffee pot on the range-top stove. "Why don't you call 'Ogwarts now, and find out how she is?"

"Call Hogwarts?" Harry asked, confused. "Uhh, how would I do that? Do you have a fireplace on this boat? Could I use the fire to call someone?"

"Non, non," said Monsieur Delacour. "You could use the shell phone."

"The shell phone? Er, don't you mean the cell phone?"

"Non, non. The shell phone! 'Ere, I will show you." Monsieur Delacour went to the salon and returned with the glass bowl filled with seashells from the coffee table. He sat down opposite Harry at the dinette. From the bowl, he took a small conch shell and a large white clam shell. He handed them to Harry. "Put the conch shell up to your ear."

Harry looked at the shells, bewildered. They were both small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. He put the conch shell up to his ear.

"Now, what do you hear?" asked Monsieur Delacour.

"Um...the roar of the ocean?" said Harry.

Monsieur Delacour pulled out his magic wand. He tapped the conch shell that Harry was holding to his ear and said, "Suscito!"

To Harry's surprise, a dial tone buzzed in his ear from inside the conch shell.

Monsieur Delacour laughed at Harry's startled expression. "Is a new kind of magic technology. A pair of American wizards got the idea from watching Muggles talk on their cellular phones. Now, who would you like to call at 'Ogwarts?"

"Er, Professor Dumbledore, I guess," Harry stammered. If anyone at Hogwarts would have a shell phone, it would be Dumbledore. He probably kept it in that crystal jar full of seashells that was on the same bookshelf where he kept the Sorting Hat.

Monsieur Delacour reached over and tapped the conch shell in Harry's hand three times with his wand. As he tapped the conch shell, he said, "Signum! Professor Dumbledore! 'Ogwarts Chateau, England!"

Harry heard a series of electronic beeps from within the conch shell, as if it were dialing a phone number. This was followed by the sound of a phone ringing. He shook his head, smiling. I should be used to this kind of thing by now.

The call was answered, and Professor Dumbledore's voice sounded from inside the conch shell. "Hello?"

"It's Dumbledore," Harry said. "How do I talk to him?"

"Talk into the clam shell," said Monsieur Delacour.

"Uh, yes, hello?" Harry said into the clam shell in his other hand.

"Harry?! Is that you?"

"Yes, it's me. I made it to Latrece, Professor. I'm here now."

"But how did you get this number? I'm supposed to have an unlisted seashell!"

"I...don't know," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "Listen...I called to find out how Professor McGonagall is doing."

"Ohh, uhh, she's resting, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Not comfortably, but she's still holding in there. We're still giving her the Ioreth's Root serum and it's keeping her magical powers under control. But Madam Pomfrey says she doesn't know how long we can keep the poison from wearing her down. Harry...where exactly are you?"

"Well, I'm in Latrece, and I've just--" He stopped as an electronic beep sounded inside the conch shell.

"Hang on for a minute, Harry," said Dumbledore. "I have a call on the other line."

There was a click from inside the shell, and Dumbledore was gone. Harry looked across the table at Monsieur Delacour. "He just put me on hold to take another call."

Monsieur Delacour shrugged. "'E probably 'as Call Waiting."

"On a sea shell?"

"They sell a lot of options with those shell phone service plans."

Gabrielle had returned to the galley and was talking to her mother in French. She looked at Harry. "'Ow is Madame McGonagall doing?"

"She's hanging in there," Harry told her.

"I remember 'er," said Gabrielle. "She was zere at 'Ogwarts when zey put us in ze enchanted sleep for ze second task. She was very kind to me, 'Arry. She knew I was scared, so after zey gave us ze sleeping potion, she sat with me until I fell asleep."

Harry nodded. It sounded like the kind of thing McGonagall would do. Then Dumbledore's voice came back on the conch shell.

"Harry, that was Arthur Weasley on the other line. He said to tell you that the raid at Borgin and Burkes last night turned up nothing. But we have a new lead. Miss Fleur Delacour started checking with wizard companies that handle international shipping and mailing. There are a few that have gained a somewhat sinister reputation for shipping illegal magic items. Miss Delacour discovered that, just a few days ago, a company called Pandoras Boxes, Inc. shipped eight very large crates for one Mr. Lucius Malfoy. Can you guess what the mailing address was for those crates?"

"606 Rue du Scélérat, Latrece, France?" Harry said, hopefully.

"Exactly. They were shipped to the Chateau Malfoy."

Harry smiled. "We're on the right track."

"What are you planning to do now, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

"I don't know," said Harry. "Whatever I do, I've got to get some sleep first. I've been flying all night, and I've been awake for over twenty-four hours. After I get some rest, then I'll see what I have to do in order to tackle the Chateau Malfoy."

"Arthur told me that Miss Delacour had contacted her family about you, and that she was sending them to help you. Are you with them now?"

"Yes, I'm here on their boat." Harry quickly described his meeting with Monsieur Delacour at the restaurant, and told Dumbledore that Madame Delacour and Gabrielle were there as well. "They haven't said how they're going to help me yet. But tell Fleur that I appreciate her sending them to help me."

"May I talk with Monsieur Delacour?" asked Dumbledore.

"Sure," Harry said. He thought for a moment. "Tell everyone at Hogwarts that I'm all right."

"I will. Be very careful, Harry."

Harry passed the sea shells to Monsieur Delacour, who spoke to Dumbledore, in French, for almost ten minutes. From the fluidity of the conversation, Harry guessed that Dumbledore was speaking French on the other end of the call as well. In the meantime, Madame Delacour served him a plate of delicious crepes filled with raspberry jam and dusted with powdered sugar.

When Monsieur Delacour finished talking to Dumbledore, he slapped the two sea shells together (in a gesture, Harry thought, not unlike Muggles snapping their cell phones closed) to end the call.

"What did he say?" Harry asked.

"Oh, Monsieur Dumbledore was kind enough to answer a few questions for me," said Monsieur Delacour, with a smile. He looked at Harry. "You need rest, mon ami. You can do nothing until nightfall anyway. Monsieur Dumbledore says that Madame McGonagall will be all right for the time being. Finish your breakfast, and we will take you downstairs to the guest stateroom. This afternoon, we will wake you, and then we will see 'ow we might be able to 'elp you with your problem."

Harry didn't argue. When he had finished his crepes, he stood up from the dinette and followed Madame Delacour up the steps into the pilothouse, and down a long winding staircase to the lower deck. At the bottom of the stairs, he found a short, dimly-lit, slightly-cramped hallway with a low ceiling. Madame Delacour led him down the hall to the guest stateroom.

As they walked down the hall, Harry glanced through an open door to his left and saw a toilet and a shower stall. It seemed to be the head, or bathroom, for the ship. Through another open door to his right, he saw a pair of bunk beds attached to a wall, with blankets and a pair of stuffed animals on the lower bed. He assumed that this must be Gabrielle's room.

The guest stateroom was at the far end of the hallway. It was a small room, but certainly larger and more spacious than Harry would have thought possible on a boat. Its position on the lower deck seemed to be directly underneath the upper deck salon. There was a square bed in the center of the room, surrounded by wooden storage cabinets, with an oval-shaped porthole on the wall next to it. There were no blankets on the bed; it was covered by a white linen mattress sheet.

"I hope this will do for you, Harry," said Madame Delacour. "I will get you a blanket and a pillow. I am afraid we did not have time to fix up the room for you this morning before we came up from Sardinia."

"It's just fine, thank you," said Harry, as he sat down on the edge of the bed. He hadn't felt this tired since he'd come back from his trip to Azkaban.

Madame Delacour went out into the hallway. Harry heard her open a linen closet in the hall, and she returned with a blanket. As Harry struggled out of his shoes, Gabrielle came into the room with a pillow for him.

"You can put your shoes in here," said Madame Delacour. She opened a large drawer underneath the bed. Harry dropped his shoes inside and closed it. "You sleep now. You will feel better when you wake."

"I put your Firebolt in zis locker over 'ere, 'Arry," said Gabrielle. She opened a tall storage cabinet next to the bedroom door, revealing Harry's Firebolt and backpack inside. "And you can put your glasses in 'ere."

She opened a drawer in a small end table next to the bed. Harry took off his glasses and put them in the drawer. "Thanks, Gabrielle."

He looked at the oval-shaped porthole. Music that sounded like a Caribbean samba was coming from somewhere nearby.

"Ze celebration is starting," said Gabrielle, smiling. "You know, tonight will be ze big party 'ere in Latrece. It is ze last night of ze Carnival. Zere will be big parades today with floats and music and lots of flowers and all kinds of things. It will be manifique!"

"I know," said Harry. "The Carnival marks the start of Lent, doesn't it?"

"Oui. Tomorrow is ze first day of Lent. And everyone must give up somezing."

"Are you giving up anything, Gabrielle?"

Gabrielle shrugged. "I am giving up chocolat. And you, 'Arry? Are you giving up anyzing for Lent?"

Harry smiled. "If I can help it, I'm giving up flying across the continent on my broomstick in the middle of the night."

"Gabrielle," said Madame Delacour. "We should leave Harry to his rest now."

She walked to the door and flipped off a light switch, darkening the room. Gabrielle followed her mother out into the hall.

"You sleep well," she said to Harry, as she closed the stateroom door behind her.

Too tired to take anything else off, Harry lay back on the mattress fully-clothed, pulled the blanket over himself, and did just that.