Another City, Not My Own

"ANOTHER CITY, NOT MY OWN"
Chapter Sixteen
"The Flower Battle"

"What's that over there?" Harry shouted to Gabrielle as they hovered over the lemon grove. "It looks like a hotel."

"Oui! I think zat is ze Saint Pierre."

On a nearby hillside, about a quarter-mile away, stood a large Victorian building blazing with light. It was about twelve stories high, full of arched windows and glass doors. Harry realized that they were looking at the hotel's rear façade. A series of vast green gardens, full of yew hedges, bamboo groves, and palm trees surrounded the back of the hotel. The gardens were decorated with marble statues, fountains, and reflecting pools laid out between the gravel paths. To the right of the gardens was a long deserted flat area that appeared to be tennis courts

The hotel's rear façade featured a large, outlying back terrace, about the level of the fourth floor. A number of people in elaborate costumes were gathered on the terrace. Harry could hear the murmur of distant conversations, and there was band music playing from somewhere in the hotel. It sounded as if the hotel was hosting a Carnival ball

Perfect place to get lost in the crowd

, Harry thought. He aimed his broom toward a deserted upper balcony, to the left of the grand terrace.

* * *

The deserted upper balcony turned out to be the location of the hotel's enormous swimming pool, an immense oval-shaped pond surrounded by empty pool chairs and tables. Harry and Gabrielle landed quietly on the balcony, out of sight of the Muggle party-goers, and ran down a long marble staircase that curved around the outer wall of the hotel to the grand terrace below.

As they dashed down the marble staircase, Gabrielle suddenly grabbed Harry's arm and pointed back across the gardens to the lemon grove. Marcus Flint was hovering over the lemon trees on his Firebolt, signaling to his friends below. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle suddenly appeared, rising above the treetops on their brooms. Flint pointed at the Hotel St. Pierre.

Gabrielle gave Harry a painful look. "I'm sorry, 'Arry, I think we are going to 'ave to run again."

Harry grimaced. "Come on."

When they reached the grand terrace, they found it almost deserted. The costumed Muggles who had been gathering there were heading back into the hotel, through a series of large glass doors in back of the terrace. Across the gardens, Harry saw Malfoy and his gang flying towards the hotel. He grabbed Gabrielle's hand and pulled her through the nearest glass door.

For a moment, it seemed as if they had stepped back in time several centuries. They stood in a huge ballroom filled with people dressed in extravagant eighteenth-century costumes. Apparently, the theme of the hotel's Carnival ball was to recreate the court of Louis XVI. The men at the ball were all dressed as French aristocrats, with lace-trimmed topcoats, breeches, leather shoes with brass buckles, and powdered wigs on their heads. The women were all dressed in spectacular eighteenth-century ball gowns, with huge, elaborate "Marie Antoinette" hairdos piled high on their heads and decorated with plumes and baubles.

The ballroom shimmered with light and color. Four huge crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, with bunting and ribbons streaming overhead in all directions, and balloons hung from every corner. Across the dance floor, a refreshments table was staffed by hotel servers and caterers dressed as eighteenth-century French peasants. On a small stage at the far end of the ballroom, a dance band dressed as royal court musicians played a jazzy version of "I Lost My Head Over You." Hundreds of couples danced in the center of the room. Other revelers stood around the edges of the dance floor, or sat at small tables covered with white linen. On every table, Harry noticed, there were huge bunches of flowers. A number of spare tables along the edges of the ballroom were stacked head-high with flower bouquets. These tables seemed to have been set aside specifically for the purpose of holding flowers.

Looking back out through the glass doors, Harry saw Draco Malfoy and his gang land on their brooms on the now-deserted grand terrace. Draco looked very angry as he and his friends stalked across the terrace, heading for the ballroom. Crabbe and Goyle still had small leaves and twigs in their hair from the lemon orchard. Taking hold of Gabrielle's hand once more, Harry turned and moved quickly through the mob of people surrounding the dance floor.

They looked around for the nearest exit, but the dance floor was so crowded that they couldn't see clear across to the other side of the ballroom. Harry glanced back and saw Malfoy and his friends enter through the terrace doors, still clutching their Firebolts. Malfoy looked around the ballroom and pointed to his right, ordering Goyle and Flint to search in that direction. They nodded and the group separated, with Malfoy and Crabbe moving left to search the other half of the room.

Harry saw Malfoy moving their way and ducked behind a table loaded with flowers, pulling Gabrielle down with him. He watched as Malfoy weaved through the crowd, looking for them.

"Can we use ze Invisibility Cloak now?" Gabrielle suggested.

Harry shook his head. "There's too many people. We'd be bumping into everything and tripping over everybody's feet trying to get out of here."

He looked at the huge mound of flowers lying on the table directly in front of them. It was a collection of all different kinds of blossoms: Irises, daffodils, lilies, roses, marguerites, primroses, carnations, gerberas, gladioli, mimosas, and chrysanthemums. The entire room, Harry realized now, was ringed with long tables covered with linen and stacked high with all kinds of flowers.

"Gabrielle," Harry whispered, "what are all these flowers for?"

"Oh, zey are for ze Batille des Fleurs. Ze flower fights!"

"The what?!"

"Ze flower fights. It is ze traditional ending of Mardi Gras 'ere in Latrece. At midnight, everybody throws ze flowers at each ozzer. It is like a snowball fight--but zey use flowers instead."

Harry glanced at his watch. It was less than ten minutes to midnight. He looked around the ballroom. "You mean, in a few minutes, everybody's going to pick up all these flowers and start throwing them at each other?"

"Oui. It is ze tradition 'ere."

"Why tradition?"

Gabrielle shrugged. "It is like, how you say, a 'fertility rite?' It is like--like throwing rice at ze wedding. It is for good luck."

Harry stared at her in disbelief. "You're not kidding me, are you? In a few minutes, everybody in this room is going to start throwing flowers at each other!"

Gabrielle shook her head. She wasn't kidding.

Harry looked around the ballroom once more and smiled. "Okaaay, that'll be our cover to get out of here. Come on, let's try to get a little closer to the exits."

They ducked through the crowd again, heading for the far side of the ballroom. Through the mob of people, Harry spotted six large open doorways along the far wall. He glanced back across the dance floor. Crabbe, Goyle, and Marcus Flint had just rejoined each other on the opposite side of the room. They were arguing now, still scanning the room for any sign of Harry and his companion, looking very angry that they couldn't see their quarry through all these people.

As Crabbe, Goyle, and Flint glanced in their direction, Harry and Gabrielle crouched behind another table in a far corner of the room. Their new hiding place seemed to have been used earlier in the evening for holding champagne glasses; a few leftover glasses were still on the table. The only flowers there were an arrangement of long-stemmed red carnations sitting in a porcelain vase in the center of the tablecloth.

Harry checked his watch again. Only five minutes to midnight. He gripped the handle of his Firebolt. "Okay, get ready. When these people start throwing flowers at each other, that's when we run for the exit."

Across the ballroom, Crabbe, Goyle, and Flint separated. Kneeling behind the table, Harry watched them elbow their way through the crowd. A faint bell suddenly rang in his mind.

Something's wrong,

he thought. Where's Malfoy?

A second later, he felt the wooden point of a magic wand pressed into the back of his neck.

"Stand up, Potter," growled Draco Malfoy.

Harry let out a deep breath. "Sacre Bleu!" he muttered.

He turned and stood up, holding his hands up, palms out. Malfoy pointed the tip of his wand against Harry's chest. Gabrielle reached up and gripped Harry's elbow with one hand. She stood just behind him, staring at Malfoy.

"Hello, Draco," Harry said, pleasantly. "Glad you could make it to the party."

"I should kill you right here." Malfoy hissed, his eyes burning.

Harry looked around at the crowd. "Not a very private place for a murder."

"I swear, Potter! They've been saying for years that you were disturbed and dangerous--but I never believed it until now! You break into my family's summer home, open my father's secret chamber, steal my mother's personal property, practically wreck the house, and then you lead me on this--this bloody demolition derby! You didn't have to run halfway across the town, you bloody fool!"

"You didn't have to chase me halfway across the town, Draco!" Harry snapped. Without moving his head, he glanced at his wristwatch. It read 11:57 PM.

Keep him talking for three more minutes

, Harry thought. He loves to talk. He's a villain. They always talk.

"They're going to be talking about this in the Daily Prophet for months!" Malfoy seethed. "Do you have any idea how many Muggles saw us tonight?!"

Harry shrugged. "After the old couple in the bedroom, I sort of lost count."

"You've got one hell of a nerve, you know that?!"

"Well," Harry said, with a wry smile, "if you were to ask the French, I think they'd tell you I've got a lot of Gaul."

"Oh! Very cute!" Draco said, with a disgusted look. He turned his attention to Gabrielle. "Who's your little friend here? I know I've seen you somewhere before, little one. Who are you? Why did he bring you along on this little escapade?"

Gabrielle matched Malfoy's glare with a steely gaze of her own. Then, waving her small hand at the level of her forehead, she shouted at him, "Va t'faire enculer chez votre baton!"

A few heads in the ballroom turned, with shocked expressions on their faces. Malfoy looked at Harry. "What did she say?"

"My French is a little rusty," said Harry, "but I think it had something to do with sticking your wand where the sun doesn't shine."

He glanced at his watch. Two minutes to go. Across the ballroom, the band had stopped playing, and the band leader was making an announcement in French.

Malfoy looked at Gabrielle again. "Oh, right--now, I remember. You're that little veela girl that he brought up from the Hogwarts lake a couple of years ago in the Tournament. What was your sister's name again?" He looked at Harry. "I thought you were such a fool then, staying down at the bottom of the lake for so long, trying to rescue all the hostages."

"You know, at the time, I thought I was a fool, too," said Harry, smiling. "But now I'm glad I brought her up from the lake. This kid's got more guts than Joan of Arc. And she got me past your crystal lock."

"Oh, so that's how you did it?" said Malfoy, glaring at Gabrielle. "That's right, I've heard that veelas can open crystal locks."

Harry glanced at his watch again. One minute to go. The people around the ballroom were moving to the tables and gathering armloads of flowers. A ripple of laughter and delight spread through the crowd, in anticipation of the coming battle.

"I can't believe it's been only two weeks since I last saw you, Potter," said Malfoy. "But I should have known you'd turn up like a bad penny after we sent that owl to Dumbledore. That is why you're here, isn't it? You came down to get the Chimaera's Root so you could make an antidote and save your headmaster. The owl we sent to Hogwarts did scratch him after all."

"You missed Dumbledore, you jackass!" Harry said, suddenly angry. "Your stupid owl scratched Professor McGonagall when she was collecting Dumbledore's mail."

Malfoy stared at Harry, then burst out laughing. "You're going through all this trouble to save McGonagall? That cow?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Why?"

"You just don't get it, do you?" Harry hissed. "I'd've come down here to save her if she was a Muggle. I'm doing this because she doesn't deserve to have her life cut short by filth like you and your family. You're not even worth dragon dung on her boots, Malfoy. Compared to her, you're a Mudblood!"

He hated using that term, but didn't know any other word that Draco Malfoy would consider an insult. It did the trick. Malfoy grabbed the edge of Harry's jacket and jammed the point of his wand hard into Harry's chest. "I'm tired of this, Potter. Give me my mother's bottle of Chimaera's Root, now!"

Harry looked around the ballroom. Malfoy tightened his hold on Harry's jacket. "I'll do it, Potter! I swear, I'll kill you right here, in front of all these Muggles!"

Harry glanced at his watch. Fifteen seconds.

"Take it easy, Malfoy," he said, calmly. "If you wanted the Chimaera's Root back, all you had to do was ask nicely."

He heard the Muggle band leader begin a countdown in French. "DIX!--NEUF!--HUIT!--SEPT!--"

Malfoy's eyes turned to one side as he heard the countdown. Harry's eyes moved to the red carnations sitting in the vase on the table next to him.

The ballroom crowd joined in the countdown. "SIX!--CINQ!--QUATRE!--"

Harry looked at Malfoy. Malfoy stared back.

"You know the best way to ask someone nicely, Malfoy?" Harry asked.

"TROIS!--DEUX!--UN!"

"You say it with flowers!"

"ALLEZ!!"

shouted the crowd.

And suddenly the entire ballroom erupted in a torrent of flying flowers. Irises, pansies, daffodils, tulips, roses, and chrysanthemums flew everywhere. People grabbed huge bunches of flowers off the tables and tossed them at their friends and neighbors. Red, yellow, purple, blue, and white blooms streaked across the ballroom in a riot of color. Everyone at the ball was shouting, laughing, cheering, running, and hurling flowers in all directions. Across the ballroom, Harry heard the dance band strike up a double-quicktime refrain of "La Marseillaise!"

Malfoy whirled and stared at the crowd in shock! Harry moved fast. With one hand, he batted aside Malfoy's wand. With the other hand, he grabbed the long-stemmed carnations from the vase on the table and whipped them across Malfoy's face one-two-three-four-five times. Malfoy stumbled backwards, blinded, sputtering leaves and flower petals. Harry grabbed Malfoy's wand hand and slammed Malfoy's wrist down on the edge of the table once, then again. Malfoy grunted in pain and dropped his wand. Harry caught it, grabbed Malfoy's shirt, and pointed the tip of the wand under Malfoy's chin.

Harry and Draco faced each other. Harry's lips widened into an evil grin.

"I've been waiting for years to do this!" he said.

He raised the wand threateningly. Malfoy's eyes widened in horror. Then Harry suddenly tossed the wand over his shoulder--and punched Draco Malfoy dead in the face!

Malfoy flew backwards over another table and crashed to the floor. Harry felt the shock of the blow clear up to his elbow. He shook his bruised fingers. Pain had never felt so good!

He turned to Gabrielle, who was smiling joyously. "Let's get out of here!"

Harry snatched up his Firebolt off the floor, grabbed Gabrielle's hand, and started to run. But he had taken only a few steps when he suddenly heard Gabrielle scream and felt her hand jerked out of his.

He looked back. Gregory Goyle had caught up with them. He had reached across the champagne table and caught Gabrielle by her hair. Gabrielle was struggling and screaming loudly as Goyle clumsily tried to hold on to her.

Harry went back to help, but Gabrielle acted first. She grabbed the empty flower vase off the table and brought it crashing down on Goyle's head. The porcelain vase shattered against Goyle's skull, and he fell backwards into the crowd.

Gabrielle shook out her hair as Harry reached her. "Are you okay?" he asked. She nodded breathlessly, and he took her arm and pulled her toward the ballroom exits.

They cut across the dance floor, through a barrage of flying flowers. Lilies, roses, irises, peonies, zinnias, daffodils, and geraniums hit them from all sides. The screams and laughter were deafening. Except for the thunderous noise and the hailstorm of colorful blooms flying everywhere, Harry would have sworn that he had just landed in the middle of a Mack Sennett comedy.

"Where do they get all these flowers, anyway?!" he shouted to Gabrielle.

"I zink zey grow zem in ze greenhouses all through ze year!"

They were almost to the ballroom doors now. Harry held tight to Gabrielle's hand. Through the crowd, he spotted Vincent Crabbe and Marcus Flint bearing down on them. As they stumbled out through the ballroom doors into a long hallway, Gabrielle tugged on Harry's arm. "Wait, 'Arry!"

Harry stopped, and Gabrielle suddenly yanked his wand from his belt again. She pointed it at the ballroom doors and shouted, "Claustra Glacio!"

At once, the six double-doors of the ballroom slammed shut together and locked. From inside the ballroom, Harry heard Crabbe and Flint roar in anger and pound their fists against the other side of the doors.

"You're a fast learner!" Harry said laughing, as Gabrielle gave him back his wand. They turned and ran down the hall, covered in flower petals and green stems.

* * *

The upper lobby of the Hotel St. Pierre looked like the interior of a king's palace. It was decorated with white marble columns, rich velvet carpeting, lavish furniture, and polished glass-paneled doors leading to other rooms. As they ran past a circle of Parisian sofas and chairs, Harry glanced back to see if anyone was chasing them. He didn't see a large silver chalice on a stand, with a bottle of brandy sticking out of it, directly in his path. His knee hit the chalice and he stumbled, knocking it over and spilling ice across the plush red-and-gray carpet.

Gabrielle stopped running and came back to help him. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Harry said, rubbing his bruised knee. A uniformed bellhop came over to offer assistance. Gabrielle spoke to the man in French, assuring him that Harry was not hurt. Scowling at Harry, the bellhop left to collect a broom and dustpan to sweep up the ice.

As Harry uprighted the silver chalice, he noticed the bottle sitting in it. It was still half-full of expensive French brandy. The hotel check was wrapped around the bottle's neck. It had been charged to a Mr. George Kaplan, Room 796.

Harry looked at the small oval-shaped table in the center of the circle of sofas and chairs. A white matchbook lay on the table. Harry picked it up, and was surprised to find that it was not one of the hotel's souvenir matchbooks. It had apparently been left behind by a guest. The words "Roger O. Thornhill--Northwest Advertising" were printed on the matchbook. Harry turned it over. The monogram "R-O-T" was printed diagonally in black letters on the back cover. Harry wondered vaguely what the "O" stood for.

"Gabrielle, I've got an idea. But I'm going to need your help."

* * *

In the ballroom, Draco Malfoy had recovered his wand and his Firebolt. But now he had a new problem. All the ballroom doors were closed and jammed shut.

Draco shoved his way through the crowd, his nose still bleeding from Harry's punch. Crabbe, Goyle, and Marcus Flint followed close behind him. Goyle was holding a blood-soaked handkerchief to the wound on his head. Draco went from one ballroom door to the next, trying to find one that was open. A few guests and hotel staffers were gathered around each door, pulling desperately at the door handles and shouting in confusion. Most of the ballroom guests, however, were still too engaged in throwing flowers at each other to notice that they had been locked in.

Once Draco had discovered that all six ballroom doors were locked and sealed, he considered his options. He could try blowing the doors open with his wand, as he had blown open the wine cellar door back at the chateau. But the explosion might scare all these stupid flower-throwing Muggles and make them stampede through the open doors in a panic. Draco looked around the ballroom. There had to be another way out of here. He motioned for his friends to follow him. "Come on! Through the kitchens!"

(This, it turned out, would be the route that most of the guests who attended the Carnival ball that night would use to leave the ballroom. After trying unsuccessfully for two days to get the ballroom doors unstuck, the management of the Hotel St. Pierre was finally forced to remove all six double-doors by taking them off their hinges.)

* * *

"My brother and I, we are playing a trick on his English friends," said the little girl, in French. The doorman listened closely, primarily because she had just placed a 100-Franc note in his white-gloved hand.

They were standing on the red carpet under the awning, just outside the main entrance of the Hotel St. Pierre. Several expensive cars were parked on the turnaround in front of the hotel, with chauffeurs waiting beside them. On the other side of the turnaround was the Grande Fontaine, a huge fountain the size of an Olympic swimming pool, that stretched down the center of the hotel's long driveway. Hundreds of jets of water, illuminated by red, blue, and green strobe lights, streamed into the air down the length of the fountain.

The doorman noticed something strange about the little girl who was talking to him on the red carpet. She had the most unusual silver-white hair. But somehow, he couldn't help liking her. A boy, about sixteen years old, whom the little girl referred to as "her brother," was standing a few feet behind her. The boy had dark hair and glasses, and a strange scar on his forehead. Stranger still, he was holding a broom under his arm and a bottle of brandy in one hand.

The little girl gestured to the hotel entrance. "My brother's friends, they will be coming out here in a few minutes. There will be four of them. They will all have brooms, like my brother has. When you see them, call to them--in English, remember? Ask them if they are looking for the boy with the broom and the little girl with the silver hair. When they say yes, you tell them that we hopped on the broom and flew away over the fountains. Do you understand?"

The doorman nodded. It seemed like a very weird joke to him--but for 100 Francs, he would go along with anything.

The little girl reached back and took hold of the dark-haired boy's hand, and together they left the red carpet and ran down the sidewalk, disappearing behind a hedge row on the far edge of the turnaround.

* * *

Behind the hedge, Harry set his Firebolt against the outside wall of the hotel. Gabrielle turned so that he could open the backpack on her back and pull out his Invisibility Cloak.

"Okay, remember," Harry said. "You stay hidden until I get back."

Gabrielle nodded. "I know. Good luck, 'Arry!"

Harry pulled on the Invisibility Cloak and threw the hood over his head. He stepped out from behind the hedge row, completely invisible, and walked slowly back down the sidewalk to the awning underneath the hotel entrance. He waited on the red carpet, unseen, beside the doorman for several minutes.

Looking back through the glass doors, he saw Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Marcus Flint come charging down the staircase from the upper lobby inside the hotel. They ran across the vestibule and out the front door, looking around furiously for Harry and his companion. All four were still carrying their Firebolts. Malfoy's nose, Harry saw with some satisfaction, was still bleeding profusely.

Spotting his four targets for the practical joke, the doorman stepped forward. "'Ey, you! With ze brooms! You are, eh, looking for ze boy with ze glasses and ze little girl with ze silver hair, no?"

Malfoy and his friends whirled on the doorman. They closed in on him with the tails of their brooms dragging behind them on the red carpet.

"Yes!" Malfoy barked. "Did you see them? Which way did they go?"

Now!

Harry thought. He stepped behind the four boys and uncorked the bottle of brandy. From under the Invisibility Cloak, he poured brandy on the broom tails of all four boys, one by one.

Perhaps it was the appearance of the four boys on the red carpet, all wearing black robes and carrying broomsticks. Or perhaps it was their angry expressions, or the fact that they all looked as if they had just gotten back from a street fight. But the doorman hesitated, a frightened look on his face.

"Which way did they go?!" Malfoy repeated.

"Er, zey got on ze broom, and zey flew away over ze fountain," the doorman stammered, pointing towards the Grande Fontaine.

Malfoy looked out across the fountain. Under the Invisibility Cloak, Harry stepped back on the red carpet, giving the four boys room to move.

"Right!" Malfoy said to his friends. "Spread out and look for them! They can't have gone far!"

Under his Invisibility Cloak, Harry opened the book of matches that he had found on the table in the lobby. He shook his wrists so that his hands came out from under the cloak. Very quickly, he tore out one match, struck it, and touched the flame to the heads of the other matches in the book. The entire book of matches flared up!

Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Flint stepped to the edge of the red carpet and mounted their brooms. Harry quickly crept up behind the four boys on the red carpet. In an instant, he touched the flaming matchbook to the brandy-soaked tail of each boy's broom, lighting first Malfoy's broom tail, then Goyle's, then Flint's, then Crabbe's. Harry tossed the matchbook, which was burning his fingers, into a nearby ashcan.

"Let's go!" Malfoy shouted.

The startled doorman watched in disbelief as the four boys rose in the air and soared away, apparently unaware that the backs of their brooms were on fire. They were halfway over the Grande Fontaine when their brooms began to malfunction.

"HEY!! OUCH!! YIKES!! DAMMIT!! WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAA!!"

Harry watched joyously as the four boys spun crazily through the air over the fountain, their burning broom tails leaving huge trails of black smoke behind them. Crabbe and Goyle collided in midair, their heads knocking together with a satisfying "Crack!" Both boys plunged into the fountain, sending up a geyser of water. Marcus Flint spiraled down and crashed into the fountain like a shot-down airplane. Malfoy managed to hold his broom in the air for a few extra seconds. It jerked and rattled, coughed and sputtered--and suddenly came to a dead halt in midair over the fountain. Malfoy sat on his broom for a few moments with a horrified expression on his face. He looked, Harry thought, like a cartoon character who had just run off the side of a tall cliff. Then he dropped into the water with a tremendous splash.

Choking with laughter, Harry ran past the dazed doorman and down the sidewalk. He ducked behind the hedge row once more and found Gabrielle leaning against the hotel wall, doubled over with the giggles.

"Gabrielle," Harry whispered.

She looked around at the sound of his voice. "'Arry?!"

Harry pulled off his Invisibility Cloak. Laughing, Gabrielle threw her arms around him. Harry hugged her for a moment, then looked at her. "Are you ready to go home now?"

She nodded. "Did you see ze looks on zeir faces when zey went into ze fountain?!"

Harry quickly stuffed the Invisibility Cloak back into the pack on Gabrielle's back and latched it shut. He grabbed his Firebolt and hopped on. Gabrielle jumped on behind him and locked her arms around his waist. They rose in the air and flew over the hotel turnaround, past the three dazed chauffeurs who were still waiting beside their cars. (The doorman did not see Harry's departure. He was lying on the red carpet in a dead faint.)

Harry turned the broom over the Grande Fontaine. Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Flint were wading through the shallow water below. Malfoy looked up furiously as Harry hovered over the fountain.

"Thanks for the Chimaera's Root, Malfoy," Harry called down. "Don't worry. I'll tell everyone back at Hogwarts that you gave it up for Lent!"

Malfoy let out an angry roar and threw the burnt remnants of his Firebolt up at Harry. Harry dodged the tail-less broomstick. He turned his broom and sped down the length of the Grande Fontaine, with Gabrielle laughing behind him.

They had just turned onto the street outside the entrance to the driveway of the Hotel St. Pierre when a series of loud explosions ripped through the night sky directly over their heads. Startled, Harry braked to a halt in midair. They watched as a cluster of red, green, and yellow starbursts suddenly appeared over the city. Harry and Gabrielle laughed again as they realized that it was just the city fireworks display, celebrating the end of Mardi Gras.