The Lie I've Lived
The Dykstra Shuffle

By JBern

Previous A House of Cards Flawed Assumptions The Summer of Change Of Innuendo and Ice Cream Closets and Secrets Plans are Subject to Change I Belong to Nowhere Censure and Sensibility Bartering the Truth Every Rose has a Thorn Appearances Can Be Revealing What's the Price of Your Fame? Caged Fear Sometimes, It's Good to be Me Code of the Marauders Dancing in the Whirlwind The Dykstra Shuffle A Prayer for Forgiveness Out of Africa The Geist and the Grotto Mind Your Manners Head Games Humiliation and Other Diversionary Tactics Cry Havoc Next

Chapter 17 — The Dykstra Shuffle

"Care to explain what that was all about?"   Aimee Beaucourt says.   "I don't even know how to dance a jig."

"Must have been something Peeves did.   What makes you think I had anything to do with it?"

"Because the Poltergeist kept looking at you and you used it against Durmstrang's spirit."

I shrug it off and keep dancing with her. "It does seem like a strange occurrence - that everyone would suddenly decide to break into a jig like that.   Still, I don't know why you're looking at me.   I'm hardly known for my pranking skills.   If anything, I've been on the receiving end quite a bit this year."

My date remains unconvinced.   "I'm still trying to figure out how you did it.   Humor me, Harry.   Did you charm the dance floor?"

"Magic is a strange and mysterious thing, Aimee.   Sometimes, we shouldn't look for answers when none are forthcoming."   The memory of Snape dancing with a disgusted look on his face is going with Hedwig in the morning.   Sirius will get a kick out of it.

"Right before your little prank …"

"Again with the accusations.   It hurts - right here."   I tap my chest for emphasis.

She gives me the "oh please" eyes and continues. "I was on my way over to question you about your dance with my best friend."

"Can we go back to talking about the prank?   I might have a theory about how it occurred."   I offer a chipper smile.

"You're not getting away that easily.   Normally, it's the boys walking away from her to clear their heads, not the other way around."

"As I recall, you're my date, and correct me if I'm wrong, but I've been flirting with you all evening."

"Harry, I am enjoying being the center of your attention, even if I sense that I'm not the one you want to be with."

"Maybe you're so used to that happening that you're trying to push me at her?"

"You're correct that I am pushing you in her direction.   Of the three of us, I am the one who is already spoken for.   Stephan may not be Harry Potter, but I am happy with him."

"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?"   James was a master of being elusive and counterattacking.  

"I don't believe we are talking about me right now, despite your persistence, Harry.   She mostly dates older men, but only for short times.   They cater to her every need and after a while, it annoys her.   You frustrate her and I find myself somewhat rooting for you."

I look into Aimee's eyes and lie my arse off.   "Again, I think you're reading way too much into this.   You know how Fleur hates the crowds.   It's humbling that you would think that I could get under her skin like that."

"Whatever you're doing, it's working—keep it up."

The song finishes and the next one has an upbeat tempo.   We begin dancing to the new rhythm. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

"She can't figure it out and it is getting to her.   She's used to the older ones chasing her, the ones smitten with her.   You're confusing her."

"And you disapprove?"

"No."

"No?"   Some best friend!

Aimee laughs. "She could use a bit more confusion in her life.   It will make her easier to beat when racing season starts again."

My turn to laugh.   "Looking for an edge?"

"You've seen her fly.   If I could charm her robes and turn them to lead, I'd do it in a heartbeat. But more importantly, I'd like to see her happier on the ground.   It's one thing to fly angry and to want to beat your opponents every time, but life is not a giant broom race."

"So you're brushing me off?   What makes you think I'm more interested in Fleur than you?"

"She's Fleur Delacour and you're Harry Potter - legends in the making."

"I think you're selling yourself woefully short."

She blushes slightly and replies, "For someone who—according to the local gossips—hasn't really had a steady girlfriend or even that many dates, you have a remarkably gifted tongue, but I think I have realistic expectations for my love life and they don't include you."

Her comment left her wide open for some serious innuendo about exactly how gifted my tongue is, but I bite it back.   I've given the witch a hard enough time as it is.   As much as I enjoy the friendly banter, it's time to take it down a notch.   "So that is your final answer, milady?"

"Yes.   I would rather watch the fits you inspire in my best friend than be the one alternating between giddiness and an angry rage.   It will be far more entertaining that way."

We break for some refreshments and descend into meaningless teen-aged chatter while I consider Aimee's words.   She's given me her "blessing" to chase after her best friend.   I'm a little torn on the subject.   Fleur seems like a girl that needs considerable effort to properly court and even more to retain.   Am I really looking for something that serious at this stage?   She might look at me as only a fourteen year old, but from my perspective, she's just a seventeen year old.   The reality is that Fleur might not be mature enough for me.

Then again, she has the hottest body I've ever seen, and without some risk there can be no reward.

------

"Can I bother the two of you for a moment?"   I interrupt Cedric and Cho.

"I dunno, Cho.   He looks like a shifty one.   I'm not sure I trust him with you."

The Asian witch replies, "He has been dancing with a different witch every few minutes."

"Oh, I'm not here to dance. I actually need Cho's help.   There's a bit of a conversation that I'm missing, but I happen to have a Pensieve and I recall that you can read lips."

Cedric's pretty quick on the uptake.   He's also got a protective streak.   "Harry, I'm not certain you should be getting Cho involved in that."

Cho seems to appreciate his concern.   "I'm sure that I'll be fine.   To be as accurate as possible, I need to hear as much as I can."   She pauses for a moment before continuing, "There's nothing I shouldn't hear, is there?"

I lower my voice and make certain only they can hear me. "Depends if you can stomach the truth or not.   The medal they gave me for living through my own murder—well, let's just say he's almost dead, but not quite."

"I want to see it too," Cedric adds firmly.

I agree and we pick a time.   The more people who believe me, the easier it will be for Dumbledore to convince the world to remove its head from its collective arse when the time comes to go public.   Cedric and Cho are well-respected in their houses and their popularity isn't subject to wild swings like mine.   She's obviously competent and Cedric has proven to be capable.   It's a good combination.   It's never too early to recruit a few allies.

Starting to leave, I remember another important matter.   "Hey Cedric…"

"Yes?"

I lean close and whisper, "While we're on the topic of conversations we shouldn't be having and poorly kept secrets, I heard a rumor that there are six dragons being held in the forest.   There just happen to be six of us.   You know what that means?"

His eyes bulge and then he sighs. "Yeah, I reckon I do.   Thanks for the heads-up."

"I'd have mentioned it earlier, but I didn't want to ruin your dinner and most of your evening.   Since the evening is almost over, cheers, mate!"

------

"What have you got in mind for the dragons?"     Padfoot holds up a shot glass of Firewhiskey in the mirror, swirls it and swallows it in one gulp.  

"I'm still researching my options.   It really depends on what they want us to do with the dragon.   We'll see.   So, how is France treating you?"

"Well, Lady Flamel is starting to go downhill."

"Sorry to hear that."

"She tells the most fascinating stories and I suppose it's somewhat put a damper on my romantic conquests.   How's the dating scene at Hogwarts?   You and the Beaucourt girl made the society page here."

"Aimee's stuck on some enchanter in the Azores.   She's trying to direct me towards Fleur."

"How firm is Aimee's resolve?"

"She puts up a good act, but it's shaky, at best.   It's really a question of whether I want to or not."

"And the Delacour witch?"

"Gorgeous, no boyfriend, talented, and somewhat nice - once you get past the frosty exterior."

"So why are we having this conversation?   Your choice is blonde or brunette.   I can see why you wouldn't want a redhead."

I shrug.   "I'm still fighting the fourteen year old body part.   Plus they're teenage girls.   Sometimes, I don't know what I'm doing here."

"All appearances indicate you're just a teen-aged boy.   Skirt chasing is in your blood.   Hell, it's still in mine.   I just happen to be better at it."

"Some role model you are!" I laugh.  It's refreshing to hear him glib and recovering.   The time in Azkaban was hard on him and over a year on the run was no picnic either.   He looks and sounds better.

"You bet your Firebolt I am!   This holiday season, I'm shopping for mercenaries.   They're what everyone wants under the tree this year."

"How's it going on that front?"

"Mostly just collecting names and rough estimates.   It's a little early to be putting people on retainer, considering we don't know when this war is going to start.   What about your end—making any new friends?"

"Cedric Diggory and Cho Chang viewed the memory of Snivellus and Igor plotting.   She's a lip reader—"

"There's a joke there somewhere."

"Shut it.   Anyway, she helped me fill in the blanks after Karkaroff squashed my bug.   The missing dialogue didn't add anything anymore incriminating to the mix, but just them seeing it should help us in the long run.   Cedric's father took over Barty Crouch's spot in International Magical Cooperation and the Chos…"

"I remember all about Cho Ri.   She, of the double joints and acrobatic build.   You, uh, James, weren't the only one to see her personal circus act.   They're well connected people, and Ri was especially well connected.   I wonder if she's single, again.   France is nice, in both the cuisine and company, but I could use some variety."

"Don't ever change, Padfoot.   Hey, if you were going to prank a pair of Arthur and Molly's boys, what would you recommend?"

"What are we looking at here?   After all, pranking is serious business."

I groan. "I'm ashamed to admit that they got me with a partial clothes transparency the other day.   They've been relentless as of late, since I pulled off the best prank of the year with that Irish jig at the Yule Ball.   The short of it is that I went to breakfast with my boxers showing through my robes.   So, I'm looking for something between stop annoying me and abject humiliation."

"Well, what do you think about this…"

------

"Potter!"   Two angry voices sound off in unison.   Several people are still in the common room, either doing some last minute revisions to their assignments, getting ready for breakfast, or a few might have been tipped off to hang around the common room.

"Is there a problem, boys?"

"Undo it.   Now!"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."   I reply from the couch twirling my wand on the tip of my fingers.  

The Hat steps out from the corner where it had been resting, "Something go wrong in the bathroom this morning?   You were up there for awhile is it because you were trying and failing to undo it, or that you liked it too much?"

I laugh at their scowls, "The question that you need to be asking yourselves is: was it a potion, a charm, or did I really switch your willies?   Who grabbed who this morning?   Either of you have the dreaded morning wood?"

There are the requisite number of gasps, groans, and guffaws.   Hermione is torn between her need to have a go at me and laughing uncontrollably.

"You bribed the House Elves to give us something, just like the buttons attached to everyone's shoes!"

"If you want to think that you can.   I also could have done it with the cloak.   Hell, I could have just slapped a Silencing Charm on my shoes and walked pass the two of you snoring.     The two of you keep testing my little warding schemes on a weekly basis.   Hopefully, you're at least learning something from all this.   One of you managed to get past the age line the other day.   Congratulations are in order.   It only took a few months."

"Potter, I thought I told you, not in the Tower."  

"Yes, you did put your foot down Holly, but ask them — their charm was applied before I left the other day.     I'm just getting bored of this annoying game, so I'm putting my foot down."   Turning back to the twins, I say, "Would you like to wake up every morning like this?   It's a sensory transference charm.   Lets a healer feel the actual pain from a patient.   Doesn't respond to a simple dispel magic, but it'll wear off in an hour.   Just try to avoid grabbing your willies for the next hour or so and forget about what your brother's pecker felt like in your hands.   I'm glad we had this talk."

------

The Hat's heavy footsteps shake the earth with long powerful strides as we head towards the Quidditch stadium.   Poor Neville still jumps at nearly every step the construct takes.   I've got dragons on the brain and ignore it.   Depending on what they want us to do, there are several tactics I can try.   I pass Fred and George taking bets on who finishes where in this challenge.

"How's the action, boys?"

"Bugger off, Potter."  

So much for being nice, I look over at Hat and ask, "Do you want this one?"

It smiles, "It's almost beneath me, HJ - almost.   You two gingers really need to develop a sense of humor.   I doubt that floppy-lipped screamer with the foreskin fetish will cover this round of debts!"  

I sit back and watch the master at work.   It starts below the belt and keeps right on going.   They hate being poor every bit as much as Ron does, and their best efforts to get out of poverty have left them deep in debt to Alicia.   Rumor is that Alicia dipped into her vault to pay off all the people Fred and George owed money to after the first few events.      

"To think, you two worn-out dildos think you're this generation's version of the Marauders!   Potter's father ran this school and both of you put together wouldn't be fit to wash his semen-encrusted underwear.   It's just sad how things have gone downhill."

I study the board and ignore the Hat's jab at me.   Krum is three-to-one to finish in first.   Fleur and I are longer shots at five-to-one.   The odds get progressively longer for the other contestants.  

"Your money isn't welcome here, Potter.   Take your toy and move along.   You're scaring away business."

"Please!   Anyone who wanted serious action has already owled the Goblins.   Are you finished, HJ?   These minor leaguers are boring me.   Maybe they'll sell lemonade at the next event—five Knuts for a glass!"

We walk off leaving those two looking as stupid as ever.   I look up at the Hat, who has a "rather pleased" look on its face, "You were a little harsh on Alicia there - any particular reason?"

"I've always wanted to call someone else floppy, but never really had the opportunity.   It's a difficult word to work into a conversation and by itself, it just didn't seem like it was enough."

After a minute of laughing our way toward the stadium, Neville asks in a quite voice, "What's a dildo?"  

The Hat pauses for a moment and says, "You handle this one, HJ."

------

Everyone makes a half-hearted attempt to feign surprise at the dragons.   The amount of burn salve Poppy had me make over the last week would have been a clear tip off if I didn't already know.   Fleur obviously told Aimee, and I seriously doubt Karkaroff's ability to keep secrets.   Hell, he rolled over on his Death Eater buddies, so odds are Krum and Manos know as well.   The ladies all draw first.   Fleur draws a Welsh Green, Athena faces the Hungarian Horntail, and Aimee gets to square off against the Ukrainian Ironbelly.        

I draw first amongst the males, and pull out a replica of a Chinese Fireball.   Krum gets to outwit a Norwegian Ridgeback, and Cedric draws a Swedish Short Snout.   The dragon handlers went all out.   Nearly every species of dragon is represented.  

Bagman announces that all six are nesting mothers and that there is a fake egg in amongst several other eggs.   The object of this challenge is one of guile - to remove the false egg.   The bonus is that the dragons are chained, so at least we don't have to worry about fleeing from a large, cranky dragon in a confined space.

I've brushed up on my dragons; the Fireball has the greatest range with its breath and is quick with its tail.   Of the breeds, it's the most serpentine, whereas the others are more lizard-like.   It's a slow flier, but fast on land.

We're not going to be fighting in the air and I have no intention of getting close enough to its flames.  

"You will each have ten minutes to remove the golden egg, which contains a clue to the next challenge.   Should you not recover your egg in the allotted time, you will only have three days to discern the riddle of the egg, whereas your opponents will have almost a month.   Good luck to you all.   For this challenge we are proceeding in descending order.   Naturally, that means Mr. Potter will be going first.   We will send for you when the Fireball is in position in the arena."

Going first is a surprise. I'd expected to go last.   A glance at Dumbledore confirms his hand in it.   Of course, everyone else was expecting I'd go last, too.   Now, if someone planned to make mischief or have a go at me during this challenge, they'd be hard-pressed to alter their plans on such short notice.   He's a crafty one, that Albus Dumbledore—well-played, sir.

Quickly, I run through all the contingencies I've prepared and a slowly allow a devious smile to grow across my face as I compose my solution.   I know just how I'm going to handle this.

After all, a dragon's eyes aren't the only vulnerable point on its head.

Fleur paces nervously knowing she's up next.   The others are trying and failing miserably to get comfortable as they settle in for the wait.   "Nervous?" I ask

"Of course," she snaps back.   "Anyone with half a brain would be."

"I'm not."

Fleur glares at me and a slight smile crosses her face, "As I said - anyone with half a brain would be."

Wonders never cease!   She's giving me a little cheek.   This demands immediate retaliation!   "You know something? We haven't had a side wager since the dueling tournament.   How about it?"

"What are the terms?"   Her competitive streak comes to the forefront.

"Highest score in this challenge wins.   Loser—which will be you—buys lunch in Hogsmeade."

There's a predatory laugh preceding her reply. "Oh really, I have expensive tastes.   Are you certain you can afford me?"

"Money is no object, especially when it's your money."

"What makes you certain that one of you will win?   Dragons are nothing to me."   Krum interrupts our witty and charming banter with his Neanderthal posturing.

Fleur looks over at him, "Very well, I can eat lunch off of Potter's coin and dinner from yours.   It matters very little to me as long as I am not paying."

"You're right; having Krum buy me dinner would be a fitting way to end the day."

Krum gives an evil leer. "I do not like the food in Hogsmeade."   He points at me. "When I win, you will serve me dinner on board the ship—" His finger rotates to the French witch.   "—and you will bring my breakfast to my private cabin."  

"Always with the humiliation, eh, Krum?   I'm beginning to wonder about the skeletons in your closet.   Still, I don't know if Igor would be all that keen at hosting me on your rowboat, again."

"As my guest, no harm will come to you, unless this frightens you."

"Fair enough, Viktor.   Why don't you peel Igor's lips from your arse and tell him it's a deal?"

My quip earns a derisive snort of laughter from Athena, who immediately joins in the wager.   Cedric holds his hands up and shakes his head while saying, "No thanks; I'll pass.   I'm concentrating on getting by the dragon, not trying to outdo the lot of you."

Fleur tries to draw her best friend into it. "How about you, Aimee?   So far, I have lunch, dinner, and tomorrow's breakfast taken care of. At this rate I'll be too full to take part in classes on Monday morning."

"I'm with Diggory.   I don't want to take my eyes off the prize.   The rest of you can play your silly games, but victory will be mine!"

Honestly, I was just trying to make nice with Delacour. Somehow, this all evolved in the span of two minutes.   "Okay. The four of us are in and we've got two nervous nellies."

"What about external influences?"   Athena asks—a subtle reminder that these challenges haven't exactly been on the up-and-up thus far.

I reply, "If something happens, the champion wasn't involved and through no fault of their own - they lost, or won, they're out of the wager.   Otherwise, it's not like we're swearing oaths or offering up first born children here."

We hash out the rest of the details in an orderly fashion.   I suspect that they drag things out a little, thinking that they're disrupting my last minute preparations.

Finally, Percy Weasley sticks his head into the tent.   "Harry, they're ready for you."

It's show time!

------

I step into the cage and look at the Chinese Fireball across the way.   Transfiguring a goat out of a rock, I send it charging towards the creature and watch it breath fiery death on it to get a sense of the beast’s range.

Adding about twenty feet for safety, I transfigure myself a desk and chair.   Quickly, I survey the crowd and spot the section where the press is congregating and Accio some quills.   A shaping spell makes a quick stone bowl, and my wand starts spewing ink out of its tip.

Bagman, on announcing duty, is going spare. "I'm not certain what Potter's up to, but this is certainly no time for sending correspondence."

Time ticks away as I finally spot Penny.   "Accio Penny's notebook!"   Her exasperated expression and Ollie's laughter are reward enough for me.   I could have conjured some, but that wouldn't be nearly as fun.   Rita sees me looking at her and clutches her notebook protectively.

With that I begin writing as fast as I can.   This part will take the longest and I need to make certain I get all the words right.

I finish the first one and start separating all the rest of the sheets out into a stack.   Deciding I don't have enough, I conjure some more parchment and set the eight quills I managed to summon each in front of a stack.

As the crowd murmurs and the time hits the four minute mark, I cast a succession of copying charms - seven in a row and the quills leap into action.   With the remaining parchment, my next charm folds them into envelopes as the eighth quill begins addressing them.

To the Chinese Fireball

Quidditch Stadium

Hogwarts

Too bad Vernon isn't here to see this; he'd likely try and get me a job stuffing fliers or some such rubbish.   If there were any representatives of magical publishing houses in the audience, I'd likely be leaving quite an impression, though most of them have a printing press for such work these days.   But a small group—of, say, four friends?—might have used such an assembly line to produce an occasional leaflet, newsletter, or a horribly funny cartoon pamphlet concerning a character named "Epans" and his relationships with farm animals.

I decide it isn't time to revisit old memories, no matter how pleasant.   I start charming Howlers as fast as possible.

Dragons have sensitive hearing.   It's not only the eyesight that is extraordinarily keen and I'm about to send it a hundred howlers.   Overkill?   Yes, very much so, but even with a mass Fireproofing Charm, they won't last long against that Fireball.   It would be even better if Padfoot were here to listen to the HJ Potter performance of Paint It Black from the assembled mass of letters.

Ever do a hundred Howlers in the span of a few hundred seconds?   I don't recommend it.   There are boos raining down from the stands, but I don't let it disrupt my rhythm.  

"Potter's at the eight minute mark and has made no effort thus far.  Ladies and Gentlemen, I am at a loss for an explanation."

"That's because you're an idiot," I mutter, summoning a rock and transforming it into a little helmet—just the right size for a dragon egg.   My target is protected against Summoning Charms.   That's why I'm using an old twelfth-century Fetcher Charm we nicknamed "Little Wing"—good old Hendrix.   The Marauders often used the Fetcher to pick up glasses of juice, pastries, whole pies, and raw eggs—especially raw eggs—and bring them to a designated point, such as over Epans'—oops, Snape's—head, and release.

Perhaps that's why he stopped caring about his hair?   I'd never thought about that before.   I coat the inside of the winged helmet with a Sticking Charm. All systems are go!

For a last minute distraction I transfigure a rock into a cow and send it walking to its doom while I disperse the Howlers on all sides of the beast.   The Fireball stays true to nature and ignores all the paper in favor of the mobile beef snack.

I'm forgetting something… Oh right, my hearing protection.   I conjure a set of earmuffs and cast a Silencing Charm on them.   I can't hear Bagman anymore, but I think the crowd has finally caught on to what is about to happen and is scrambling frantically to cast their own Noise-Canceling Charms.

They should have known better after the Puzzle room - I don't mind making a lot of noise.   Almost as one, the letters turn red and leap into the air as the Fireball is chomping down on the fake cow in a display of gore.

While my letters scream at it, the poor beast goes completely spare, spraying flame everywhere.   Between the Howler's magical ability to dodge and my temporary Fireproofing Charm, over half make it through the first verse.   I release the flying helmet and direct it towards the nest at ground level, while the Dragon's attention is focused on the swirling letters "looking hard enough into the setting sun."

Nine minutes and forty-five seconds after walking out here, the Fetcher and fake egg lands in my open palm as the volume continues to diminish.   That's cutting it close, but it doesn't matter as long as I finished in under ten minutes.   Turning, I head towards the designated exit knowing that I just pranked a Dragon and to some extent a Quidditch stadium filled to capacity.   It's quite possibly the new benchmark for Marauderdom.

That's gotta be worth a decent score.   How often does someone beat a dragon with common household magic and an animal transfiguration or two?

Poppy's waiting at the medical tent to give the exiting champions the once over.   Despite never approaching the dragon I comply.   The medical tent does have one of the best views in the stadium of the arena.

I set the egg down while she laughs at me and runs a cursory scan.   "Harry!   That was the single funniest thing I have ever witnessed.   You should be proud of yourself."

"I agree, Harry.   Your parents, especially James, would be beaming with pride."   A man's voice says.  

The new voice triggers a memory in me, one that isn't terribly pleasant.   "Hello, Moony."

------

At the entrance to the medical tent, we watch the handlers move the Welsh Green into position.   I spot Charlie Weasley in amongst them and mutter to myself.   My ire is looking for other targets than the man next to me, and with the exception of Ron and Arthur every male in the brood fits the bill.

"What was that, Harry?"   Remus says.

"I'm making a mental note to tell Arthur and Molly's three oldest off at some point.   I should've said something to Percy earlier, but my mind was a bit preoccupied."

"Pray tell why?"

"At the beginning of the school year, they knew all about the tournament and acted like it was some kind of big effing joke.   Of course, they're not the ones that were snookered into the damn thing, and none of them have almost been killed on several occasions by it.   It's no different from last year.   I had to sneak into Hogsmeade under the invisibility cloak to find out that Sirius was my Godfather.   Same shit, different year, I guess.   Someone's always keeping something from me."

He pats me on the shoulder in what's meant to be a fatherly gesture.   It only succeeds in irritating me.   "I won't pretend to understand what you are going through, but I do sympathize."

"Thanks.   So what brings you out here today?"

"Professor Dumbledore wanted additional security on hand.   He called up some old friends."

"The Order?"   I look around and spot Diggle and Podmore sitting near each other.   Dumbledore's putting things into motion already.   My faith in him is somewhat restored.

"How do you know about that?"

I lie.   It comes easily to me.   "Padfoot and I use the charmed mirrors."  

"Understandable.   I'm going to see him in the next few days.   With the numerous Pensieves at his disposal, I plan on showing him this.   It will bring a smile to his face."

It gets a laugh out of me, "I'm sure he'll enjoy it to no end.   Though he'll be in a fit about my scores just the same as I am."   Remus joined me when they put up the woefully inadequate scores.   Maxim and Diggory gave me a pair of sixes.   Bagman a seven.   Karkaroff a three.   The one bright spot was Dumbledore's nine, though I'll be hanged if I know what he deducted a point for.  

Shit!   I'm actually rooting for Fleur now.   They're just about ready to call her out.

"And now our next contestant is Fleur Delacour from Beauxbatons!   Let's see what strategy she has come up with to get her golden egg!"

I watch her enter the stadium.   She wastes no time and moves to about thirty feet from the green.   Fleur starts chanting and moving her wand in slow deliberate circles.   Remus identifies it first, "Sleeping Charm.   She's going for Tasha's Lullaby, if I'm not mistaken."

"Not bad.   I liked mine better."

"I agree.   Your method was far more entertaining.   She's liable to put a portion of the crowd to sleep as well."

"… and the rest will fall out from sheer boredom.   Watch!   I bet they give her a higher score than me," I finish.  

"You played to the crowd and not the judges.   It was a mistake your father often made as well."

"What did you say?"   I spit out with a bit of venom.   That comment and the abundance of adrenaline in my system gets my hackles up.

Remus looks at me curiously, "I was merely stating that your father's methods were often based on getting the most laughs from the most people, and most importantly, what amused him the most.   James didn't necessarily dazzle someone with complex spellcasting - though I assure you he was most capable.   Your solution to the Puzzle challenge was similar to his style: loud, destructive, and completely over the top."

This mollifies me to some extent and I do my best to shut up before I explode on him.   Like one of the stupid history lectures, I repeat over and over in my head—It doesn't matter that he slept with Lily.   I'm not James.   No one ever made Lily do something she didn't want to do.

"Tell me, Harry, have I done something to offend you?   If so, I'd like to take this opportunity to apologize, but I wouldn't mind knowing what I'm apologizing for."

Remus always was the most "sensitive" among us.   "I don't want to have this conversation right now, Moony."

He pauses.   "Then I have slighted you in some manner.   It will make you feel better if you tell me."

"Doubtful.   Drop it."

"If it was the lack of correspondence over the summer, I do apolo…"

"It wasn't.   Let it be, Lupin."   My voice takes on a cautionary tone and I feel the anger bubbling up inside of me.

"Harry?   I think I deserve an answer."

I draw my wand and drop Snape's famous Muffilato on us.   "I don't give a flying shit what you think you deserve.  We're not doing this now.   End of story."

Lupin processes this.   I'm sure my anger is coming out of nowhere, at least for him.   "Harry, part of growing up is being able to …"

"To what?   Look a man who slept with Lily Potter in the eyes and act like nothing's wrong?"   That was probably the worst possible thing to say, but the hell with it!

"How did you …"

I cut him off again.   "At least you're not trying to deny it.   Get out of here, Lupin!   Now!"

He flees like the armies of hell are chasing him.   I mentally kick myself for going that route with him.   I just hexed him in the stones for something he did back in 1981.   That day probably haunts him and I know all too well about his self-loathing issues.   At heart, Remus Lupin is a good man.   Dumbledore is a perfect example that a good man isn't necessarily perfect.

I should be able to get past it, but I can't.

Even with all my memories, I'm still in a hormonal teenaged body.   I toy with the idea of going after him, but instead I remain rooted to the spot, watching Fleur complete her Sleep Charm at the seven minute mark.   She glides forward to collect her prize.

The dragon lets out a loud snore and a jet of fire flares from its nostril.   The heat singes her robe on her right arm and probably left a burn.   She yelps and her graceful exit is turned into a sprint out of the waking dragon's range before it fully regains consciousness.

Near the tent, she stops and puts out the fire on her sleeve.   I've seen that look of anger and frustration on her face several times in this tournament.   It means she's unhappy with her performance.

"Nice job," I say.   "That bit at the end will cost you a few, but I'm guessing you'll be in the lead.   Follow me and we'll get some salve on that arm while Madame Pomfrey gets you checked out."

She mutters while she hops up on the examination table and turns herself over to Poppy's tender mercies.   The healer looks at me and asks, "Where'd Mr. Lupin go?"

"He left."   I reply while opening a jar of salve.  

"Strange, he said this would be his post for the duration of this task.   Now, hold still, Miss Delacour."

As Poppy starts her diagnostics, I hit Fleur's lower arm with a Numbing Charm.   Peeling back the charred sleeve, I inspect the damage.   Her normally creamy skin looks like a sun tan gone bad.   She flinches reflexively when I start applying the salve, despite not being able to feel it.   I look up and give her a reassuring smile.

"Nothing serious down here.   You'll be good as new by the morning."   Poppy nods and agrees with my assessment.

"The question is will it be just in time to serve Krum his breakfast?"

I chuckle, "At least he didn't specify what you had to wear. I'm going to borrow one of my mate's commemorative Irish National Team Quidditch Champions jerseys.   Want to borrow it when I'm done?"

True, Seamus doesn't know I'll be borrowing it yet, but when have the details of a clever insult stopped me?

Fleur smiles at my underhandedness. "Hopefully, his score will drop below mine and the only thing you'll have to worry about is buying my lunch.   Now, if there is nothing further, I shall go out and view my tally."

I follow her with the idle hope that I still somehow edged her out.   The crowd gives her a cheer.   It's larger than mine, but I suppose deafening half the crowd probably was a tactical error on my part.   Karkaroff unveils a four, staying true to his slimy, misbegotten form.   Diggory and Bagman award a pair of eights and Maxim ignores the end and gives Fleur a nine.   Dumbledore offers up a seven.

Thirty-Six beats thirty-one - damn it to hell!

"Congratulations, Fleur.   I hope it holds."   I offer up trying not to sound the part of a sore loser who cast more than one spell and didn't get his arm burnt.

"I should have done better.   I am surprised that your score was that low."

"You and me both.   I didn't want to go with my other strategy."   The Welsh Green is finally removed from the stadium and they're making preparations to bring in Krum's Ridgeback.

"Interesting. How far in advance did you know about this?"   she accuses me.

"Probably about as far in advance as you did.   Secrets are notoriously hard to keep around here."   Technically I was the one that told her, but that is neither here nor there.

"I see.   So what was your other strategy?"

"Beat the living snot out of it and take the egg when I was finished."

"And why didn't you do that?"

"I'm an animal lover.   Didn't seem like the right thing to do - just a tad cruel.   I thought about just dropping stones on it from fifty or so feet in the air."

Fleur cringes slightly.   "Yes, I suppose so.   Do you think the rest of the eggs in the nest are real Dragon Eggs?"

"Probably not, they're probably just engorged chicken eggs, but given the ignorance and poor planning that runs rampant in this tournament, I wouldn't be surprised.   Bollocks, this has probably been the safest I've been after one of these events so far."

"You probably shouldn't jinx it then."

"Good point.   So when is your sister coming back?   Such a… delightful girl."

"She's in the stands today.   My mother insisted she go back to France for the holidays.   I'll tell her you asked about her—it will make her day.   I thought older witches were your more your taste, though?   Isn't Gabrielle a bit young for you?"

"She is, but it never hurts to be polite to people."

"Aimee admits that she is trying to push you at me."

"Really?   I'm a little younger than your usual fare, Fleur."

She continues facing forward, but glances at me out of the corner of her eye, "You are.   Oh look, Krum's dragon appears to be rather surly, doesn't it?"

"It's a safe bet that the dragon won't be awestruck by Krum's star power.   So, what are my chances?"

"Not good.   You should stick to pursuing Aimee.   The two of you would be a good match. Or perhaps one of your English witches?   They are far more likely to be enamored by your... what did you call it?   Ah, yes, star power."

"She seems stuck on that boyfriend of hers.   You, on the other hand are patently unattached, attractive, and equally annoyed with those chasing you for your star power as I am with all those tittering witches who believe that I'm the anointed one."

Fleur tilts her head away from me in thought before musing aloud, "So you suggest, we take each other off the so-called market?   I can see how dating me would enhance your stature, but other than driving off the weakest of my weak minded suitors how would I possibly benefit from dating someone three years younger than myself?"

"Well, at the end of the year when you return to France, and I'm still here in England, we become the 'Stephan' excuse for each other that Aimee is currently using.   What witch here could compare to the woman I'm waiting for on the continent?   Furthermore, what French wizard would risk the ire of Harry Potter, Winner of the Tri-Wizard tournament?"

Openly laughing, she answers, "There's a slight flaw in your plan, Harry.   I happen to be back in first place.   You might not actually win this tournament and your ferocious stature will be diminished by your runner-up status.   Perhaps 'Fleur Delacour, Winner of the Tri-Wizard tournament,' will scare off enough men by itself.   Besides, what happens when I find a man that I want?"

The banter is everything I'd hoped for.   Both Fleur and Aimee are very quick-witted women.   "Who says you'd want another man?   Aimee's rationale for staying with Stephan was that you and I are legends.   Those don't come along everyday."

"A fair point, but let's assume I do find someone I'm interested in upon my graduation.   Then, I become the shameless witch who broke poor little Harry Potter's heart.   I have an undeserved reputation as a heartbreaker, already.   I intend to leave you in my wake in a competitive sense, not a romantic one."

"Interesting, since this is the first challenge that I have legitimately lost to you, you seem quite willing to write me off."

"I would have won the broom race regardless and you are forgetting our staff duel."

"Probably, but we'll never know about the broom race and I don't honestly consider beating each other up with sticks to be much of an event.  Do you?"

Her answer is drowned out by the cheers for Viktor Krum entering the stadium.   I ask her to repeat what she just said.

"He is a legend in our generation, as well.   Should I date him?"

I'm sorely tempted to tell her that I once heard her say something to that effect, when she was looking for a way to get under my skin - no less.   Of course winning that particular point would force me to reveal my Animagus skill.   "If that's the kind of wizard that gets you going, he hardly seems the type to sit, watch you race, and cheer you on. I enjoy Cedric's success as much as you do Aimee's.   Can you say that Viktor and Athena are that friendly?"

"Interesting point, Harry - it doesn't change the fact that you're too young.   Try again when you're seventeen and I am twenty.   You have a great deal of potential, but now doesn't seem like the right time."

As Krum receives the start signal, I shrug. "I might not be available when you're twenty."

"Yes, but that's the chance I'm willing to take."

I chuckle, "S'okay.   I'm very persistent, or at least that's what I'm told."

Fleur sighs. "I have far too much experience with persistent males who refuse to take no for an answer.   If anything, it will sour my opinion of you."

I let the matter drop and turn my attention to Viktor.   On Krum's third Conjunctive Curse, he hits pay dirt and the Dragon is flailing around in anger.   He taps his arm and casts a spell near the base of the nest.   A stone arm juts out of the ground and deftly reaches into the nest grasping the egg.   He cocks his arm as if to throw a Quaffle and hurls it to himself.   The whole thing took a little over a minute, but a few of the eggs were crushed, so that might tamp down his score.   Still, I should think about borrowing that jersey from Seamus.

"Wonder how many times he practiced that throw?"

"Indeed," Fleur agrees.   "That looked very well rehearsed, didn't it?"

"Well, he is used to performing in front of a crowd.   Guess you'd better find out what time he wants his bacon and eggs."

Krum walks slowly holding his egg aloft like an over sized snitch, taking something of a victory lap instead of the direct line to the medical tent.

"How many people would spot a well-placed Tripping Jinx?"   Fleur asks, indulging in a personal fantasy.

"Too obvious - the green wouldn't blend with the rocks.   You need to think blue energy or colorless.   Take a Slug Spitter—that would blend in nicely and the sight of him suddenly overcome and losing his lunch might curb that ego of his."

She turns her head for the first time and looks at me.   Obviously, pranking isn't a big part of the Beauxbaton curriculum.   "I was speaking in jest."

"As was I; he can have his victory today.   It'll make beating him that much sweeter."

Fleur doesn't say anymore as Krum walks by.   "Like I said, dragons are nothing to me."

"So's basic hygiene, Viktor.   For best effect, it helps when you use soap."

Okay, I wasn't prepared to hex him in front of a full stadium, but that doesn't mean I'm going to let his ego get away without a bruise or two.

"Potter does have a point.   You could make more of an effort."   Krum's angry glare spins towards Fleur.

Well, well, well. I'll have to credit Miss Delacour with an assist on that goal.

------

Krum ended up with eights from everyone except the ten from Karkaroff.   Obviously he missed those broken eggs.   Unless one of the others really steps it up, Fleur's first place in the overall competition was over before she could properly enjoy it.

I've honestly never wanted Athena Manos to kick some serious arse before now.   I'll settle for the next contestant, which happens to be Aimee against her Ironbelly.

She enters the stadium.   "Any idea what she's planning?"

"How should I know? We just learned of this today," Fleur answers with mock sincerity.

"I thought witches shared everything."

"You obviously spend too much time thinking about witches."   Aimee starts with Krum's tactic of blinding it.   Instead of flying into a rage like the Ridgeback, the Ironbelly crouches low and protectively over her nest.   From the corner of my eye, I see Fleur biting the bottom of her lip—nervous on her friend's behalf.

If this rattled Aimee, she doesn't show it.   She charms several of the stones near the Dragon and we watch several smaller ones hover over the larger rocks.   They begin to strike the rocks in a rhythmic pattern.   I nod my head in approval as she moves with every rock strike.   She's masking her approach with noise.   Aimee follows this with a rope conjuration.   She immediately charms the rope.   Judging from the length, she's going to have to get about fifteen feet away.

The Ironbelly sweeps her head from side to side searching for the elusive quarry amidst the noise.   Aimee stops and charms another set of rocks to increase the noise on the opposite side and the dragon snaps her jowls in that direction and sends a gout of flames that way.   That species isn't known for a powerful breath attack, but more their thick armor, large claws, and serrated tail.

It's a dangerous game of cat and mouse as Aimee cautiously approaches the large beast.   I become absorbed in watching, barely noticing Fleur's soft prayers.   She engorges a rock to use as a shield and slips behind it.   Slipping her wand into her opposite hand she takes the rope and eyes up her first throw.   With her off hand she transfigures a rock into a small dog that immediately starts barking at the beast.   The Ironbelly breathes fire on the poor mongrel and Aimee makes her cast.   It lands a few feet from the nest and starts slithering into the nest.

A second dog is transfigured near where the first one died as the rope coils around the egg and begins to draw taunt.   That canine dies just as fast and the dragon repositions to fend off threats from that direction.   The back left foot moves forward and contacts the rope and the egg is dragged up and on to the top of the clawed foot!

Instantly, the mother dragon reacts and rounds on Aimee.   Fleur's shrieks join the crowds and I sense her pulling her wand out as molten fiery death spews right towards Aimee.   My wand finds its way to my hand and the golem spell is on my lips.   Time slows as the arcing stunners from six dragon handlers sluggishly head towards the beast.   Under my golem conjuration, the rock shield shudders and starts to gain shape, but the flames are already beyond it.

I hear Fleur's summoning spell and feel the power behind it, but see a second fireball erupt just above Aimee's screaming form.   I know what it is and push Fleur out of my way to get back into the tent.

"Poppy!   Incoming!"

The words leave my mouth as Fawkes appears in the tent carrying the screaming witch and drops her on the bed.

Poppy immobilizes Aimee, cutting her off in mid-scream.   I'm already at the bed. A Smothering Charm from my wand douses the flames on Aimee's robes.   Her face is a horrible mess with skin sloughing off at Poppy's touch.

"Potter!   Check the burns on her chest and arm.   I'm on the airway."

I vanish away the tattered robes and start a diagnostic charm.   The burns are bad.   Dragon fire has that quality.   "Third degree on her chest.   Accio salve!   Her arm's shit!"

She might lose the arm, but that's the least of our worries at the moment.   Aimee's discolored chest is frantically rising and falling despite the Immobility Charm.   Poppy confirms what I fear.   "Her mouth's a mess.   The fire got inside.   I'm doing a cut and bubble."

Her deft wand movements open Aimee's throat and a second later a Bubblehead Charm covers the wound forcing breathable air down her throat.   I conjure a paint brush and have it slathering salve on Aimee's chest while I work on her blackened arm.

Dumbledore arrives via Fawkes.   A wave of his wand pushes Fleur, Krum and several others right out of the tent rather forcefully.   "Poppy, how is she?"

Poppy looks up from her position over Aimee's ruined face.   "It's bad."

"Fawkes can take her to St. Mungo's."

The nurse shakes her head. "We can't move her.   Send Fawkes to bring them here.   Tell them it's a level one burn."

I run my wand over her arm and a greenish hue spreads up the arm and chest.   It's getting progressively darker - which is very bad.

Poppy cancels my charm and recasts it.   "Damn it to hell!   She's not getting enough oxygen even with the charm.   Her lungs!"

When Poppy curses, the situation is about as bad as it can get.   Aimee's suffocating because her lungs are fried.   She's pushing air in and out, but the air sacs are destroyed.

There's only one answer for this.   I charm my robe off.   "Do the Dykstra shuffle."

"You're too young!   Albus?"

The old man and I share a glance.   This has nothing to do with Voldemort's hand—I think.   "I agree with Harry.   He's the right size.   I'll handle the switch.   Your services are needed to save the girl."

Poppy nods and slices open Aimee's left side, exposing it.   Her next wave controls the bleeding and she looks at Dumbledore.

Memories of trying to save Benjy Fenwick flood my mind.   "I can only say that this will be incredibly painful, Harry."

"I took Yaxley's Crucio well enough.   Do it."

Like many healing spells and rituals, this one has its roots in black magic.   Dykstra was a wizard who liked his drink.   He ruined five livers after his own failed.   He'd simply take one from someone else.   It's a switching spell for body parts—my left lung for hers.

I hear that Muggles do similar things, but their operations last hours.   This one takes long enough for Dumbledore to open my left side and cast a switching spell - twenty seconds max.

Using Occlumency, I keep my shrieks of pain down to a dull roar as I feel like Hagrid is clubbing my chest with a beater bat.   Albus immobilizes me.   Of course they can't just stun me.   I have to stay alert and match my breathing with Aimee's.  

Tears flow freely down my eyes as I concentrate.   Nothing matters but the rise and fall of our chests.   Poppy recasts the diagnostic charm and the blackish-green color begins to pale, indicating she's getting an increased amount of oxygen into her body.   It's working.

Fawkes arrives with a pair of healers and supplies.   Both give me appraising looks when Poppy mentions Dykstra.   One casts the same diagnostic charm on me to ensure I'm breathing well enough, and they quickly start going over Aimee's laundry list of injuries while enchanted quills take dictation.   Items are summoned from their emergency kits.     One creates a list of things they need from St. Mungo's and they give it to Fawkes, who disappears yet again.

------

Time blurs and loses meaning—maybe thirty minutes, maybe twice that. It only hurts when I breathe, which would be every few seconds.   Somewhere in the middle of this, they say that Aimee is stable enough to finally move.   I'm released and allowed to crouch at the end of the bed while the entire bed is animated and walked to the castle.   Dumbledore uses charmed bed sheets to hide what's going on.

I hear Fleur's desperate wail. "Let me see her!   Is she okay?   Let me see her!"

Dumbledore's voice carries a deep sincerity, "I understand your concern.   Miss Beaucourt is being cared for by some of the best healers in England.   Please give them the time to do their job."

Swathed in salve-soaked bandages, Aimee resembles something closer to a mummy instead of a witch.   There's nothing to see here; please move along.

Once in the infirmary, one of the healers releases my right arm and hands me a mask.   It has a vial of Phoenix tears attached.   "Mr. Potter, we need to start fixing the lung inside of you.   Please begin breathing through this and let the healing power of the tears commence."

Reminds me of an asthma inhaler a kid used to use back when Dudley and I were in school together.   I take a long breath from it.   "I could use a Numbing Charm."

He gives me a sad smile. "In another hour, perhaps, but we need to be able to have you tell us where it hurts.   Her burns are too severe. She needs to be kept sedated while we fix her lung."

He leans over her face and opens her mouth.   With a small brush, he begins applying more tears to the inside of her mouth.     He scoffs, "Children against dragons, for entertainment!"

"Will we need to shuffle her other lung?"

"Probably, but we'll get a second volunteer to do that one.   I applaud your courage, Mr. Potter.   You have done more than your share."

"What's next?"

"We'll get some skin grafts on her.   Someone's supposed to be bringing some live pigs up here to flay shortly."

Here I thought I'd gotten my fill of animal cruelty today, but she needs the skin more than they do.   Of course the original creators of that spell were more selective about where they got their skin from — Muggles.   "And after that?"

"We'll start her on potions to prevent the spread of infection. She's definitely not out of the woods yet.   Let's hope that she's the only person I end up treating here today."

We talk about her long term prognosis, while I watch him skin the pigs and transfer it to Aimee's wounds.   He's impressed with my depth of knowledge.   "When I heard Poppy took you on as an assistant, I thought she'd gone mental, but you're very perceptive.   Given any thought to Healing as a profession down the road?   If this salve of yours is any indication, you've got a bright future ahead of you.   It's easily hospital grade."

In the distance, we hear the cheers from the stadium indicating that the competition has started anew.   Athena and Cedric still have to finish the day.   The other healer leads Aimee's parents in along with the chief administrator of France's magical hospital.     A bit of territorial posturing goes on while Healer Douglas briefs them.

Madame Beaucourt is France's Interior Minister, roughly the third most powerful individual in that country, behind Fleur's father and their Minister.   She's ill-suited for the position of anxious parent.

"Fine, prepare her for travel.   We will take her to France immediately."

"That would not be wise," Healer Douglas says preparing himself for the forthcoming argument.

"I do not believe I was speaking to you, Englishman, but since I am now, release my daughter to my personal physician's care at once, so that I may take her back to France where she can be properly cared for."

"Not while my lung is in her body, you won't."   She'd have to forgive my surliness.   I'm in a good deal of pain.

"Very well; bring the child too."

"I'm afraid we haven't been properly introduced.   I'm Harry James Potter and I go with no one.   Who the hell do you think you are?"   I'm probably doing wonders for Anglo-French relations—like I care.

"I am Minister Bernadette Beaucourt, young man, and you would be wise to watch your tongue!"

"Pleased to meet you, Madame. We're a little busy here, so perhaps your physician can handle the cranial-rectal extraction, and then explain what a Dykstra is and why we're not going anywhere for the next twenty-four hours."

The woman flares with anger and can't believe a "mere child" just addressed her so.   Too bad Hat isn't here.   We could be at war by the time the weekend was over.   I'll blame the pain I'm in, but part of me enjoyed that.   She's French, condescending, and a politician.   That's more than enough for me.   Her healer and husband literally drag the sputtering Minister out of the room begging her to calm down.

Healer Douglas looks at me.   "If you truly want to be a healer, you'll need to work on that bedside manner.   It's atrocious."

"You don't approve."

"From a professional standpoint, no.   That said, you have a way of dealing with bureaucrats that leaves me green with envy.   It's safe to say that no one will ever run roughshod over you while you are an attending healer.   Cranial-rectal extraction, indeed!"

------

A significantly less volatile Mister Beaucourt returned and received the assessment of his daughter's condition.  

Oddly enough, he neither addressed, nor looked at me during this period.   Hermione, Ron, and Neville were allowed to come in and speak with me for a quick five minute period and I learned that Athena took second place by gorging her dragon with transfigured animals and letting her spells lapse.   All that juicy meat in the dragon's gullet reverted to rocks and the beast collapsed in agony with a painful stomach condition.   Charlie, Hagrid, and the rest of the handlers were forced to pump the stomach of a Hungarian Horntail. No doubt Hagrid was thrilled.

Cedric finished fifth and took a few nasty burns for his efforts, but nothing life threatening, though he'd have that freshly-salved smell following him around for the next few days.

Suddenly, I'm three points behind Krum, and tied with Fleur for second place.   I'm on Doze-Away Prescription Strength Anti-Sleeping Potions.   If I manage to sneak a few doses into my robes, I could make a small fortune with the seventh years as NEWTs get closer.   The good news is that Healer Douglas made good on his Numbing Charm.   I have been released from my paralysis and am resting on a comfortable chair at Aimee's bedside.

Dumbledore smiles after shooing my classmates out of the infirmary.   Fawkes flies from his shoulder and lands next to me.   It looks at me as if to say "what are you waiting for."   I begin stroking the feathers as it trills contentedly.  

"I'll send you over a book on caring for a phoenix.   Fawkes continues to groom you as my replacement."

"Maybe he just likes me?   He?   Here's a question for you: is Fawkes a he or a she?"

"I've never figured that out myself, Harry.   Fawkes just is.   It exhibits traits of both sexes: prideful, vain, and a long, long memory for every possible slight against it, both real and imagined."

The phoenix snorts at this and looks at me.   I'm uncertain whether if it’s to deny the accusations, or to chide me because I wasn't currently petting it.   Somehow, this reinforces Dumbledore's point.  

The Headmaster starts again. "Several of the Beauxbatons students will be coming by shortly to see their classmate.   They have been briefed not to block your view of Miss Beaucourt."   He pauses and adds with a subtle laugh, "They have also been warned of the folly of annoying you."

"I'm more agreeable now that I have a Numbing Charm and can take pain potions.   They know she's being kept unconscious, right?"

"It never stopped people from visiting you," he adds, with a twinkle in his eye.

"Touché.   Very well, send them in.   Before I forget, why did you only give me a nine?"

Dumbledore smiles and gestures for Fawkes, who chirps a quick goodbye.   "You were off-key and, most importantly, it should be a crime to cover any other song by the Rolling Stones  other than Ruby Tuesday."    

"Everyone's a critic."

------

Previous A House of Cards Flawed Assumptions The Summer of Change Of Innuendo and Ice Cream Closets and Secrets Plans are Subject to Change I Belong to Nowhere Censure and Sensibility Bartering the Truth Every Rose has a Thorn Appearances Can Be Revealing What's the Price of Your Fame? Caged Fear Sometimes, It's Good to be Me Code of the Marauders Dancing in the Whirlwind The Dykstra Shuffle A Prayer for Forgiveness Out of Africa The Geist and the Grotto Mind Your Manners Head Games Humiliation and Other Diversionary Tactics Cry Havoc Next