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Chapter 20 — The Geist and the Grotto

Harry Potter Overpowers the Competition, Boldly Predicts Victory in Triwizard Tournament.

by Rita Skeeter

Harry Potter certainly put his naysayers in their place yesterday at the Triwizard Tournament.   Riding a massive transfigured rhinoceros, he shattered the obstacle course and left four frustrated competitors in his wake and a massive crowd staring in awe.

The young and exceptionally talented prodigy started well, choosing to speed across the surface of the water in a magical recreation of an odd Muggle device.   His strategy put him in the lead, but only for a moment; Fleur Delacour, with a brave face in the light of the injury to her best friend, set forth to prove that she is no pushover and used an exceptionally-cast Bubblehead charm to protect her summoned broom from the elements and zoomed into the lead, becoming the first to reach the Merfolk village and recover the potion ingredients.

Should we expect anything less than blinding speed from a champion broom racer?

The other three contestants employed various magics to aid them in travelling underwater.   Both Durmstrang students employed partial animal transfigurations and Hufflepuff's own Cedric Diggory employed fish to pull him along conserving his strength for the final leg of the challenge, which helped him place fourth.

Athena Manos spoke about the flaw in her initial strategy, which ultimately led to her third place finish: "I was exhausted from the long swim.   My arms were very sore by the time I exited the lake.   It was a poor choice on my part.   I would have been better to emulate any of the other strategies employed."

Viktor Krum had no comments for the press and he rapidly departed the press tent in a state of profound anger despite the request that all the champions appear in a group photograph for the sponsors of the event.   His dreadful fifth place showing left him third overall in the chase for eternal glory.   Catching Harry Potter may prove to be more than the temperamental Bulgarian Bon Bon can handle.   His tantrum injured a fellow schoolmate, transfigured and sleeping in a cat form.   Krum callously tossed the bag upon exiting the forest a full five minutes behind our other Hogwarts competitor.

His bad boy behavior rekindled those rumors that he's been dabbling in the performance enhancement potions again.   Perhaps the judges should consider another round of testing.   If true, Krum certainly wouldn't be the first Quidditch star to "come out of the cauldron" as it were.

Asked about Krum's strategy, the Boy Who Lived replied with a dazzling smile, "It was a risk.   Those kinds of gambles either win big or fail spectacularly.   Fortunately, for me, it didn't pay off."

Harry went on to clarify that he did not think that Viktor Krum was a spectacular failure, showing a great deal of sportsmanship and poise for one so young.

When asked about his prospects of becoming only the second youngest Triwizard Champion in recorded history, his eyes beamed with a self-assured pride and he said, "I think I can pull it off.   I need to perform well in the next events, but I'm going to do my level best to widen my lead in the remaining tasks."

At the second stage, the champions had the option of brewing a potion to wake their hostage or simply take the hostage and continue on the course.   Only Delacour and our dear Harry even attempted the potion.   What is ironic is that these two were rated as the worst at the art of brewing.   Sources in the Beauxbatons camp indicated that the dazzling witch's strengths are in Charms and not Potions.   As for Harry, Hogwarts embattled Potions Professor, Severus Snape, evaluated Potter's abilities as "marginal on his best day."

Of course, his assessment might have less to do with Harry's fantastic performance during the tournament then it does with the brutally honest letter sent by young Harry to the Hogwarts Board of Governors concerning Severus Snape's own performance.   Requests to see said letter have been declined, but a few of the governors were willing to comment off the record and they implied that the letter was a scathing review of the man's teaching abilities.   What is known is that Harry was able to remove himself from the tyrannical kettle stirrer's class and intern in the Hogwarts infirmary under Madame Poppy Pomfrey, where his heroics during Aimee Beaucourt's horrific injuries have been already covered.

It does lead many of the readers of my column to question what kind of institution Albus Dumbledore is running.

Back to the drama of the tournament: Potter was suddenly in last place, with the other champions minutes ahead, but executed flawlessly a tortoise-over-hare recovery!   After waking his very close friend Hermione Granger, he proceeded to transfigure a small rock into a thundering rhinoceros.   To put this in perspective, readers are asked to consider their own fourth year in school and determine whether they were capable of performing this feat.   Madame Marchbanks was asked her opinion and she said, "It was well above any NEWT requirement."   She went on to say that his Transfiguration skills may very well rival that of a young Albus Dumbledore.

Even more impressive is that he did it a second time using a shrub.   Some would say that the rumors that Minerva McGonagall might very well be leaving are a bad sign, but is Harry's blossoming skill the result of her antiquated teaching methods, or the result of a prodigy and his diligent studies.  

Harry's gift for Transfiguration has been a boon to McGonagall's career, to say the least.   Latest word is that she has accepted an offer to speak at the Oslo Transfiguration Association in June and that there may even be a book deal in the works.   One would hope that she has the decency to thank those who made this possible.  

 Suffice to say that old Albus may need to break out the catnip if he intends to keep his favorite Animagus on staff!   Sources say that the goblin bookies are giving two to one odds that she'll be in warmer climates at the start of the next school term.

When asked, the Scottish witch was tight-lipped about where she might be after the summer break, but had this to say about young Harry, "He's an extraordinary student — the rare prodigy that comes along every few generations.   I wish I could take credit for his performance in this contest, but he has surpassed even my expectations."

Already short a Defense instructor and on the verge of losing his Potions professor, the Headmaster can ill afford another staffing catastrophe.   It is most ironic that much of Dumbledore's  woes can be linked back, in one way or another, to Harry Potter.

Harry's performance yesterday was one for the ages.   From the moment his wand flared with power and a skill that both baffled and dazzled the rest of us humble practitioners, it was over.

He was the' unstoppable force' and let me tell you, there was no 'immovable object' to be found.

Trying to downplay his triumph that had him comfortably chatting with the Press for a full fifteen minutes before the Miss Delacour and her hostage staggered out of the forest, he said this.

"Rita, a lot of credit goes to my friend, Hermione.   She came up with some absolutely brilliant ways to get through the obstacles."

He might have been trying to be gracious and eat a slice of humble pie for the sake of his friend, who is rumored to be quite cozy with Head Boy Roger Davies.   Naturally, this begs the question     about the Granger-Potter-Davies love triangle, but even the Muggleborn witch would have to admit that Harry Potter was in a realm of his own yesterday and she was lucky to be along for the ride.

A ride I might add that ended with him performing a complete Animal Transfiguration into a well-defined black charger with the fiercest green eyes I've ever seen.

His closest pursuer, Delacour, was positively stunned to learn that she had not won the event.   Her valiant effort could only produce a second place finish.   After recovering her composure, she said, "Harry Potter is a true competitor.   Any victory over him is a victory that has been earned."

If that's the case, she and the others had better get back to work.   That much is evident.

------

"Not letting that go to your feeble brain, HJ?"

"No, Hat, I can enjoy my victory without Rita's exaggerations.   She does have a way with the words though.   I'm kind of annoyed that she barely mentioned Cedric."

"There's that fucking useless sense of fair play surfacing again, Potter.   If I could vomit, I would.   You should be glad that aging slit actually likes you—look what she does to those she doesn't care for.   She almost reminds me of a much younger and much less worldly version of myself.   Maybe in few decades, she'll be a suitable companion."

I mentally cringe at the prospect of a team-up between the amoral reporter and the even less moral Sorting Hat.   Anyone with half a mind would be frightened.

It flexes the Golem's fingers.   "I never thought I'd enjoy grabbing something so much.   I was always resented all those greasy, slimy paws of those eleven year olds, some not even with enough common sense to wipe the boogers off their fingers before grabbing me.   Still, I like holding something.   It gives me power.   Conjure an animal, HJ."

"I'm a tad busy at the moment."   I glance at the soapstone carving of a fly on the workbench in front of me.   I'm trying to improve on my information-gathering network and add a touch of permanency to them."

"Don't tell me that your fly has come undone!"   It cackles with glee.  

"Ah, very funny.   I'm surprised you haven't made a Lord of the Flies crack yet."

"I was going to wait until you actually had one that worked first.   It seems I'll be waiting awhile."

"You're on a roll.   It makes me wonder how many Hats Godric went through before he settled on you."

"Bah!   I was his greatest creation."

"I might be biased, but the sword might have you beat."

"The sword!   The sword!   Anyone can take a hunk of metal, slap some fancy gems on it and cast a few enchantments.   It was better thought lost to the ages."

Methinks I've found a sore spot — a chink in the Hat's armor.   I file that away.   After all, everyone and everything has a weakness.   I struggle for a moment before recalling what the Hat wanted.

"What kind of creature do you want?"

"A feline."

"And what do you want to do with it?"

"Strangle it and watch it die."

I give it an incredulous glare before it says, "I wish to pet it, you feeble-minded buffoon.   I'm still trying to get used to this golem's strength, so I might end up crushing its ruddy skull.   I figured I should practice before I try the real thing.   Granger's little pussy keeps rubbing up against me and you know something…"

Cutting it off, I say, "Here you go.   No further explanation required!"   Wherever it was going, I chose not to follow.   I've never conjured an animal so fast in my life.

The first cat lasts about two minutes before I hear a horrible death squeal.   I conjure another.  

"Seems I need more practice," it says, off the …cuff.  

"Not hard to believe. Most humans require years to develop fine motor skills."  

"Bah, you're flawed creatures.   What I can't believe is that you're going through with this idiotic bet to serve dinner on that ship."

I point back to the fly on the table.   "I wouldn't, except that I want to release the first fly as close to Karkaroff's cabin as possible, so it can learn the route.   I'm sure he's rattled enough to check for eavesdropping charms, but this will be a simple recording charm.   Who checks for those?   Hell, I had to look up a charm that can do it and I'm pretty damn sneaky."

"Helga was adept at those.   Godric's cheating ways made her a quick study."   Another gurgled squeal signifies another dead cat.   This isn't helping my concentration.

"You ever thought about a writing a book about them?   I can charm a quill, or you could learn how to write.   It might be better practice than accumulating a pile of dead animals next to you.   Just think — you could make your own money."

"Or I could strike a deal with Skeeter and let her do all the writing and collect a percentage.   The stories I could tell.   You might be on to something, HJ."

Me and my big mouth.   I truly hope the ghosts of the four founders are nowhere to be found.  

"So tell me, HJ — when was the last time you checked for a listening charm?"

I think it over and humor the artifact.   Much to my shock, there's a glow over by the far wall.   I race over to it and find a barely visible string dangling against the wall, like a thick cobweb.

------

Two sets of eyes peer up at me blearily.  

"Gah!   What's that smell?"   the first one says.

"What's the game, Potter?"   the second one gropes for a wand that isn't there.

"No games, Weasleys."

"Where are we?   Is that…"

"Yes, it's the Basilisk.   This is where I saved the life of your sister.   This is where we finish our little tit-for-tat game."

"What are you talking about?   We haven't done anything."   They say it together, like some kind of conditioned response.

I toss their "Extendable Ear" to them.   They look understandably confused.   I clear it up for them.   "I obliviated you.   The last week of your memories are missing."

Both of the ginger dicks look angry.   "You've crossed the line, Potter.   We'll see your arse in Azkaban for this… Chosen One or not!"

I shake my head and hand them the paperwork.   "Read.   Binding papers signed in blood.   I purchased the seven days of your memories for five hundred Galleons each."

Their eyes goggle at the sum.

The first one looks at me and finally forms a coherent thought, "Why?"

"Why you were spying on me, or why did I buy you off?   Why you were spying on me is that you're a pair of right foul gits who don't take no for an answer.   Apparently, your brother Bill doesn't trust me either.   He helped you work out the kinks in this little spying toy of yours and you two made a hole into my workshop and have been listening in for the past week.   The two of you got in over your heads and found out something you had no business knowing, something my parents died for."

The two idiots stare for a second and I can already see the greedy wheels spinning in their head.   Helga's bloody head on a pike!   Was I ever that damn transparent?

"Grow up, you fucking morons!   The only reason I paid is because I didn't want your deaths on my head.   Turn around and take a goddamn look.   I have no qualms about killing things that threaten me.   What you found out threatened me and the only reason I made a deal is because I didn't want to have to look your mum and dad in the eyes and pretend that I don't know what ever happened to Fred and George."

I let that sink in before continuing. "This is a one-time deal, boys.   You've got your hush money and it's all you're ever going to get from me.   This is the first, last, and only withdrawal from the bank of Potter.   Don't go digging where you're not wanted — it won't end well.   Those papers you signed say that if you rediscover the secret in the next two years, you have to tell me or Dumbledore first or else forfeit the money.   If you can't pay back all the money, it's three months of indentured servitude and I will work your arses so fucking hard, you will be begging Parkinson to tell you how she gets rid of the welts.

I stop.   Hat must be rubbing off on me.   My little tirade has them both speechless for a brief moment.

One summons a bit of that Gryffindor courage. "Fair enough, Potter.   We'll steer clear of you."

"Bit high strung, don't you think, Fred?"

"Fred, I thought you were Fred.   Potter, how much exactly did you Obliviate?"

I ignore the feeble attempt at levity.   Imbeciles!   And I know that Dumbledore already has his eyes on them for the Order.   I doubt he'll approve of my heavy-handedness, but there are rough patches in every partnership.   The way I see it, I'm keeping his hands clean and taking this one for the cause.   He would have had to do the same thing, although I doubt he'd have threatened their lives.  

Then again, he did task me with keeping an eye on the students.

"Come on. We're finished here.   I'm late for an interview with a reporter from the Quibbler and this place stinks of death."

------

My interview turns out to be with Ginny's classmate — that little blonde third year.   It turns out she's the publisher's daughter and he gave her press credentials.

Wonders never cease.

Luna presents me with a tiny rhinoceros crafted out of Butterbeer corks.   "One of our readers made this because of your support of MILF.

I'm not quite sure where this is going.   "What exactly is MILF?"

She tosses her hair and I note the small radishes she's using for earrings.   "The Merfolk Intercontinental Liberation Front — I'm surprised that you haven't heard of us."

"I'm sorry, I don't quite understand."   She looks perfectly serious, but even among Ravenclaws, she's a strange bird.

"They wanted to recognize the way in which you completed the aquatic portion of the task and did not interact with a single Merperson.   By keeping a respectful distance, you have done wonders to advance the cause of MILF."

"Are there a lot of MILFs?"   I ask, half wondering if Sirius is somehow involved in this.

She smiles. "Our numbers grow daily."

Okay, I'll play.   "Forgive me, I've been a little busy with this competition and I'm unfamiliar with the stated goals of … MILF."

"Well, obviously you know that the Merfolk are a key ally in the struggle with the Rotfang Conspiracy.   So, MILF seeks to curry favor with them by giving them exactly what they want."

First the twins, now this.   "What exactly do they want?"

"Non-interaction with humans and the freedom to roam the waterways of the world."

"So, by not interacting with them, you're actually negotiating with them."

"Correct.   You are a quick study.   Every day we don't speak to them is another step towards unity.   Tell me, would you ever consider becoming a spokeswizard for MILF?   We would want you to say as little about the Merpeople as possible.   Our current spokeswitch has been slipping as of late.   Are you okay?   You look like you've been beset by Nargles."

It's all I can do not to laugh.   "I'll think it over.   Do you have some other questions?"

Sadly, she does.   They make even less sense than the previous one.   Things brighten up when she tells me the name title of her article.

Harry Potter Considering MILF's Offer

I order ten copies.

-----

The next day, I am summoned to Dumbledore's office for tea.   He makes a point of publicly inviting Cedric for a visit tomorrow.   Their conversation is likely to be more pleasant—or at least less heated.

"I did what I thought was necessary."

"You're not a fully trained Obliviator, Harry.   Despite your immense talents, you could have caused irreparable harm to them.   You should have brought them to me.   A misstep and you could have doomed either of them to spend a lifetime like Mr. Lockhart."

"Any word from St. Mungo's?"   I hope to change the topic.

He shakes his head.   "I check every day and remain hopeful.   Back to the matter at hand…"

"We both know I'm not a schoolchild, Albus.   I made the call.   They needed to be warned away and not in a gentle grandfatherly manner.   I know their type.   That wouldn't have worked.   In any other Order matter, I'll toe the line, except when it comes to me and anything concerning the Prophecy.   I've got to draw the line there."

"So be it, Harry.   I accept your rationale, but certainly not your method.   You could have summoned me and I would have Obliviated them.   Your ruse that you had performed it would have been safe.   Remember the lesson of Julius Caesar.   As important as winning the day is building loyal allies.   I will never second-guess your dealings with our enemies, but I will ask you to show restraint when it comes to others."

"What about Bill Weasley?   I'm assuming the twins communicated to him and he went to you."

"I have already spoken to him and I voiced my support for your actions even though I disagreed with them.   His anger has been assuaged and let us leave it at that.   Perhaps the next time you find yourself in France, I will arrange for William to be there and the two of you may settle your differences in any manner that leaves both of you alive."

"I could use the extra variety.   It's fine by me."   Bill also needs a sound thrashing.   It's a win-win situation as far as I am concerned.

"Please try not to sound too eager, Harry."

"If I was eager, I'd say send Charlie as well before he decides to start meddling."

Albus smiles slightly and reaches into the drawer.   He retrieves a treat for "old" Fawkes who does a slow waddle across the desk to retrieve it.   "I have heard that you intend to venture once again onto Igor's ship Friday night on the eve of your next task.   You do know that both Olympe and I are headed to the ICW meeting.  Igor himself has announced that he has somewhere else that he must be and will conveniently be indisposed.   This has all the makings of a trap and I have no intention of allowing Igor make moves unchecked.   I intend to ask Minerva to be on the ship tomorrow.   Young Athena and her bodyguards will also be there.   Should there be anything more than juvenile antics afoot, I suspect that they will act on the behalf of someone who currently holds her family's favor."

"Yes, Krum called in his marker.   He wants both Fleur and me to serve him and a group of guests together.   After the skewering the press gave him, I'd be more concerned if he wasn't going to try something patently humiliating the night before our next challenge."

Dumbledore steeples his hands and says, "Ah yes, speaking of the next challenge...   I believe Pomona is already explaining it to young Cedric and it's a fair estimate that everyone else has been informed a long time ago.   This Saturday's challenge will take place an hour before the Quidditch match between Hogwarts and Beauxbatons.   Since the arena will be filled to capacity, we might as well give them a warm up.   On the field, the Apparition Wards will be lifted, much like I make the Great Hall accessible for those who wish to learn the skill.   There is another course you and your fellow competitors must travel.   It is a series of discs that will be floating in the air.   You must Apparate to each one.   There you will find three targets floating at ten, twenty and thirty feet respectively.   You will strike each one with a piercing curse aiming for the center.   Each missed bull's eye is a time penalty that will be assessed to your overall time.   The winner is the one who has the best adjusted time.   It is a trial of precision and speed.   Think of it like throwing darts in a pub."

I mull it over — like I really have a choice.   "It sounds straightforward enough."

"Let us hope so."

------

"I don't know where Mandy got the idea that I want to cheat on her.   Girls!"   my patient complains, before asking nervously, "Are you sure Madame Pomfrey isn't available?"

"Just hold still."   I look over the back of Terry Boot's hand and start countercursing the boils and blisters there.   This is a pesky one.   Each time I try to counter it, it spawns twice as many and Terry shrieks in pain.   My latest effort has spread it halfway to his elbow.

"Tricky one this is.   So what exactly got Brocklehurst's knickers in a twist?"   I run another diagnostic and try to jog my memory for what can fix this.   I could just have him wait for Poppy to get back from the staff meeting, but I like challenges.

"Lisa's sister came into the common room last night and Mandy caught me checking out the Head Girl's bum.   That started a row, which carried on into this morning and she decided to curse me.   She wasn't aiming for my hand, mate.   I'm lucky I got it down there in time.   Crazy bint was trying to curse my willy off!"

"Might be best to cut her loose, Boot, or be a bit more discreet with that wandering eye,.   Imagine if she knew more dangerous curses."     I cut Terry some slack.   Melinda Turpin has a great looking arse!   Trust me — I know.

My patient shudders while I search for the counter.   It's on the tip of my tongue.   Oh right, that's it — the counter is the standard boil jinx.   It's one of those deceptive spells.   I begin casting and the multiple boils all start merging into the one big boil.   Soon it is swollen into a large mass on the back of his hand.

"I've got to lance it now, Terry.   This is going to be a bit messy."

A weak cutter opens it up into a filthy, bloody mess of puss.   My classmate looks like he wants to hurl.   I shove a flask of Blood Replenisher in his good hand and start closing the wound.   I smear some antiseptic salve on it afterwards and give the whole thing a mild Numbing Charm.

"Still itches a little," he complains.

"That's the cream.   It'll be fine in twenty minutes.   If you want to pull a prank on Mandy, I can disillusion you hand and you can tell her we had to amputate."

He smiles evilly.   It's probably an extra service that Poppy doesn't provide, but I am delighted to be of assistance.   From my perspective, Mandy should be worried if her fifteen-year-old boyfriend wasn't looking at attractive women.

Terry leaves with his "missing" hand.   He passes Neville on the way out.

"Hey Neville. Everything okay?"   He hasn't been in the infirmary for weeks thanks to my help and Hermione also giving him some tutoring.

"Can we talk in private?"

I look over at the groaning second year with a stomach virus, who is trying to sleep, and I walk Neville to the back of the infirmary.   "What's up?"

"This morning, Professor Dumbledore arranged for Madame Hooch to take me to St. Mungo's to see my parents."

"Really?   What happened?"   Good for Dumbledore.   He's hoping Neville's presence might help with a breakthrough.

"It was my mum.   She mumbled my name and squeezed my hand when we were getting ready to leave.   She's never done that before."

"That's great."

"Yeah, we got the Healers in there and they seemed to think it was a good sign as well, so I used the floo to call Gran."

There is a sinking feeling in my gut.   "What did she say?"

"Well, she started talking with the Healers and they wanted to bring in some specialists."   He smacks the stone wall in disgust and continues, "She said it would be too expensive and didn't want to spend the money."

I try not to let my anger show.   If I'd given the potion to Frank and her little boy had shown any kind of improvement, Augusta would be holding a rummage sale to raise the funds for any treatment.   That damn crone in her stupid hats!   I fight to control my anger.   I knew she and Alice were never on the best of terms, but come on!  

"The Headmaster came and started to arrange for her treatment, but she refused his offer."

"Then what happened?"   I'm trying to rationalize Augusta's decision.   She could have run the family fortune into the ground.   She might be trying to protect Neville from getting his hopes up.   The last possibility is that she simply doesn't give a shit about Alice.

"They got into a big row and Gran called him several things that I don't want to repeat.   She even threatened to go after him through the Hogwarts Board of Governors."

I can see he is frustrated.   "What can I do?"

"The only one who can authorize treatment is Gran or me, and you know she doesn't let me have any money."

"How much do you need?"   In for a penny, in for a pound, so the saying goes.

"They say the specialists will cost about two thousand galleons.   I can't pay you back until I'm seventeen, but can you loan me the money?"

I wince, knowing how hard my vault has been hit by bribing the twins.   It'll stretch things in my trust vault mighty thin, but I can refill it by winning the tournament or getting Sirius or Dumbledore to float me a loan.

"Done.   Just let me write something to the goblins and authorize the funds.   You owl the hospital and get the specialists."

"It'll probably make Gran mad when she finds out," Neville cautions.

I clap him on the shoulders and say, "You stand your ground with her and don't back down.   If she tells you to return the money, tell her that I won't accept it and send her to me.   She doesn't want a piece of the Boy-Who-Lived right now.   If she tries to raise a stink, I'll go to the papers.   Trust me, the press loves me right now.   That's one battle that she will lose--badly, in fact."   Dumbledore would be seen as meddling, but Harry Potter will be seen as helping a friend.   Augusta has no chance in hell of shutting this one down.

"Thank you, Harry.   You don't know how much this means to me."

I scribble off a note to Gringotts, sign it with Poppy's official blood quill, and give it to him.   He runs off to the Owlery to use Hedwig.   For the moment, I'm happy.   It's good news — not great news, but it's still something.  

For Augusta's sake, I hope she is trying to protect Neville.   If I ever find out that it's sheer pettiness, I won't be held responsible for my actions.      

Alice quit the Aurors to become a mother and a housewife.   It's true that Frank was the better fighter, but Alice was the best in her year at Potions, and no pushover with a wand either.   If she comes out of it, she'll have the daunting task of facing off against her mother-in-law and trying to reverse engineer the Philosopher's Stone out of only a few drops of the Elixir.   Snape or Slughorn might have a better chance of doing it, but who in their right mind would trust either of those two with the secret to eternal life?   I'd rather take a chance on someone who is motivated for more honorable reasons like saving her husband and perhaps her own life.

------

"You look very nice this evening, Fleur."

"The Irish colors suit you.   They bring out your eyes."

I smooth Finnegan's jersey.   "My other choice was a very expensive Muggle suit."

A subtle movement sends her hair over her shoulder.   There is an understated sensuality conveyed.   She can't help it.   I act like I ignore it, but it's definitely sexy.

"That would have been a general insult to everyone on board.   I am glad you exercised a measure of restraint; I have no desire to fight my way off of this primitive vessel.   Do you know in Beauxbatons, we have a lake and our boats are carved to resemble swans and things of beauty?   This … this relic, is a sad reminder of nomadic tribes who are best forgotten."

Fleur must make a wonderful traveling companion.   She and Hat should narrate travel documentaries together.   They could go places and Fleur would insult the local culture and architecture.   The Hat would just insult everything else.   It would be a smashing success!   "Well, tell me what you really think.   Do me a big favor.   Let me know if you're going to repeat that while we serve dinner.   I want to see their faces and be properly positioned by the exit."

We stare at the gangway and she hides a smile.

"Are you nervous that he may try to do something?"

"I'll be nervous if he doesn't.   You?"

She appears indifferent.   "I'm only in second place.   Whatever he has in store for you will take center stage.   That and my father is an extremely powerful man with a long memory for those that cross his family.   I'm guessing the pureblood Veela is here for me to serve."

"Well, if she's a social climber, she might abandon third place Krum for one of us."   I don't add that if it's Fleur, I'd pay to watch.

They gesture for us to come aboard.   Most every student is there to watch us come up the wooden gangway.   I give them my best cheeky smile and say, "Which way to the ship's galley?   I didn't get to see it last time."

Padfoot always says enter a room and set the tone.   Usually, he's talking about chasing skirts, but it applies here as well.   More than a few recognize the significance of my attire.   It looks like they know a thing or two about mean-spirited gestures.   Maybe I am at the wrong school after all.   I sign the manifest as a visitor this time with a flourish.   On the steps downward, I release my "spyfly" version two and hope all my work was worth it.

The galley is aft of the dining hall; we get to pass through it on our way in.   I spot Viktor's opening move.   There is a whole table of Veela on one side of the room and seated at Viktor's table is Draco Malfoy and the majority of my Slytherin fourth year classmates.   Oddly, there is no Minerva McGonagall.   I sense the hand of Snape here.

"Always said you make a good house elf, Potter."

"Oh, Viktor, consorting with a wizard who was caught trying to cheat.   It doesn't say much for the company you keep."

"You are not here for conversation, Potter," Krum states.   "You are here to serve."

Turning, I nudge the red faced Fleur, who is staring daggers at the five Veela making distasteful faces at her.   "Enough skylarking.   There's soup and salad to be served.   Do you want the trolls at table three or the pathetic English dogs at table two?   More importantly, do you think any of them are good tippers?"

Maybe there's a future in the food service industry when I take care of this little Dark Lord problem once and for all.

------

The Geist is waiting for me in the Galley.   Gargoyle-like wings beat slowly and a psychic wind rattles the pans hanging on their hooks.   The face fluctuates between a skull and something more demonic.   It hisses and stares a hole through me while floating a dozen knives threateningly in the air.   A gesture buries several in the wall to their hilts.   I've got to admit, it has generations of practice at being intimidating.  

"Look, Fleur, it does tricks!   Do you have a name?" I ask idly.   I don't have to admit my intimidation publicly.

"One day, human, I will find you.   You will scream.   You will beg for mercy, and I will remember your little jokes."

"Feel free to get in the queue.   Get in line behind Krum and the lot out there.   I'll be with you eventually." I stop to look at it. "Did you ever think what would happen to you if this boat were shall we say … destroyed?"

The thing gets right in my face.   The proximity makes my skin crawl and I see my reflection in the netherlight of its empty sockets.

"I'm a trifle busy at the moment, if you don't mind."

It growls and walks through the wall as I wrap an apron around my waist.

My co-worker frowns at me.   "It is one thing to be fearless and I respect that, but fearless and stupid is a terrible combination."

"I prefer to think I'm recklessly heroic.   It's part of my charm.   Now let's go serve some shitty Eastern European food to some equally shitty people and get the hell off of this derelict piece of driftwood."

If they ever do that travel series, maybe I can join them every once in awhile.

So dinner goes; every time I walk out the door to the kitchen, the Slytherins are making snide remarks and trying to get to me.   The Veela make condescending remarks about Fleur's heritage and try to ensnare me with their charms.

I've rarely ever been so horny and brassed off at the same time.   It's an interesting state of mind.

I stop by Athena's table and nod to her.   "How are you this evening?"

"Better than you, I suppose," the Greek witch answers.   "Thank you for the entertainment this evening.   It is nice to see Viktor trying his best and still not completely getting his way.   I signed you in as my guest as well in the event he planned on turning you over to the Geist.   I will not allow that to happen."

"Thank you.   Care to tell me what happened to the Hogwarts teacher that was supposed to be here?"

"I believe someone may have told her that Viktor rescheduled this evening's festivities, or some other distraction was crafted courtesy of your friends over there.   Lying to instructors is something of an art at our school."

Well that explains that.   Minerva has always been a bit too trusting.   "Good luck to you in the competition tomorrow."

"To you as well, Harry," she answers, as Malfoy spills his drink for the third time and begins calling for more.  

I approach the table and feel my eyes narrow at the stupid grin he has on his face. "Draco, I assumed you had been given a background in etiquette.   It turns out that you're just an inbred little mutt.   It's probably the source of your many failings.   Did you know that clumsiness is common in mongrels?   It's like this Muggle I know always says: 'If something's wrong with the pup, blame the bitch.' "

The Slytherins murmur at my clever insult.   Draco glares. "Potter's just jealous because he doesn't have a mother anymore."

Oh, there's a line he shouldn't have crossed!   "Draco, you just don't get it, do you?   I've all but run Snape out of this school.   It's only a matter of time now.   When he's gone, there will be no one left to protect your miserable hide.   You've got a long three years ahead of you.   You got off lucky with that little mark."

I scan the faces of the rest of the Slytherins.   "I've got nothing against the rest of you, but fair warning, if you involve yourself in his plans, I will show no mercy."

Draco looks close to pulling his wand.   The host of the party sees it as well.   Clearly, this isn't how he hoped things would proceed.  

"Potter," Krum warns.   "These are my guests.   You will treat them as such."

I paste a faux smile on my face, "My apologies, Viktor.   Do you need a refill?"

"No."

Fleur places her hand on my shoulder.   She gestures to the Veela and says forcefully, "Refill their drinks.   I will handle this table."

The five Veela continue to ply their charms against me as I refill their wine.   So, they're not just here to bother Fleur.   I wonder what else he's got up his sleeve

"Having a good time tonight?   Is there anything else I can get for you ladies?"   I add a slight leer, which probably looks ridiculous on my fourteen year old face.

"I doubt there is anything a little boy like you could get me," says the Veela who seems to be riding herd over the group.   I feel her ratcheting up the charm.   "Would you like to know what I consider a good time?"

I shake my head and laugh.   "Not particularly, wench.   Funny, I thought you pure-blooded Veela were known for your control.   I didn't realize you were into teenagers."

Her playful and manipulative look disappears.   The other two that speak English scowl and translate for the rest.   Five sets of angry eyes regard me.   Padfoot always said I had a knack for angering women.   I guess he's right.

"You would not even know what to do with one of us, little boy wizard."

I look over my shoulder.   "Delacour over there is three times the woman you'll ever be.   Magical allure is one thing, but if you've seen one pretty face, you've seen them all.   True beauty will always be in the eyes of the beholder and, frankly, I what I see here doesn't come close to measuring up to her."

The woman's features narrow, becoming more avian.   Spending time around The Hat is really paying dividends.   I top off the rest of their glasses and walk back to the kitchen with a smile on my face.

Back in the kitchen, I find Fleur slicing meat from a roast.   It is tender and pink, nearly as red as her face.   "How are you holding up?"   I ask casually.

"Must you antagonize them?"   Her wandwork cracks the plate and I see her frustration building.   My angry witch alarm starts to wail.

"I could try and ignore them like you.   How's that working for you, by the way?"

She grabs another plate and hovers the meat onto it.   "I do not engage in pointless name calling and posturing.   I thought you English were supposed to be stoic."

I put my hand on hers and ease her wand to the countertop.   "Krum is just trying to push our buttons.   You're letting him succeed.   Don't let those Veela rattle you."  

She shakes her head, "And you, over there insulting them…"   The French witch drifts off into muttered curses in her native tongue.

"It wasn't an insult.   It is the truth."   I say.

Fleur stops and stares at me.   "What did you just say?"

Maybe it's the combination of adrenaline and the overabundance of Veela aura.   Hell, Fleur seems to have less even less control than usual.   Either way, I'm all for finding a way to ease the tension between us.  

Stepping closer, I say, "I said that I was telling them the simple truth.   None of them will ever be able to measure up to you.   Beauty is something more than a magical aura.   You have it, they don't."

She's emotionally off-balance and I've already made my choice.

I kiss her.

She doesn't resist.   Instead of a tender peck on the lips, this is powerful and fueled by raw emotions; anger, lust, disappointment, surprise, irritation, and passion swirl like a hornet's nest around us, looking for release.   The only thing certain in that moment is that I'm not a solo participant.

My hands snake around her waist, resting in the small of her back as her hands cradle my face trying to force our lips closer.   I drift off the lips to the side of her neck tasting the softness of her skin both unable and completely unwilling to stop.

When she makes a slight moan, it breaks the spell over her.   Realization replaces naked lust.   I stop and pull back slightly seeing the flush in her face.   She pushes me back, forcefully into one of the hard wooden tables.   The back of my head strikes the low hanging pots.

"No!" she growls.   "We are not doing this!"

"Fleur, wait!"

"You … you … this is not … arrgh!   I am finished here!   I am leaving!"   She practically screams and rips the apron off.  

Turning, she pushes the door to the galley open and storms out of the kitchen.   While I try to regain my composure and figure out what the hell just happened.   I hear her yell at Krum.   "I've had enough of this, Krum!"

"Don't go so soon, Delacour!   You haven't seen the newest addition to our trophies.   It's a magnificent specimen.   Look!   Up there!"

I start heading towards the kitchen door, when I hear a strangled cry.   I step through only to see Fleur's retreating form running up the steps and hearing the raucous laughter of the others.   I look up to where some of them are staring and see a bunch of animal heads.   At a loss for what's happening, I gaze at Athena and she gestures at an area.   In the middle of them, I spot a single head.

It's a pronghorn. Viktor must have been plotting this ever since Rita mentioned Monsieur Pronghorn in her articles.

"That's a new low, Krum — even for you!"

"I am not interested in your approval, Harry Potter," he answers in a disinterested tone.

I glare at him, realizing what an arrogant piece of shit he's allowed himself to become.   There's no need to search for extra malice in my voice for emphasis.   "Don't forget, Viktor.   We still have one more duel.   I was toying with you last time.   Next time, you suffer."

"You are not done serving here, Harry Potter. I do not release you from your obligation. Get back to the kitchen."

"Lucky for me there were no oaths sworn over this.   It was just a bet among honorable competitors.   Since you've shown exactly how honorable you are, fuck you, Viktor, and the boat you rode in on." Pulling off my apron, I race after Fleur.

------

I don't need the map to know where she's headed.   Just inside the forest, I find the summoned grotto.   I sprint across the ward line.

She's on her knees with her face buried in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Fleur…"   I step next to her and crouch.   My wand drops a quick warming charm over the both of us.

"Go away, Harry." She hasn't even realized that I didn't trip the wards.

"It's a trick.   Krum didn't kill your friend.   He's just trying to get to you."

"How do you know?   I haven't seen him in weeks!"

I take a deep breath.   It isn't how I wanted to tell her.   "Fleur, think about it.   I didn't trigger your wards.   I knew where this grotto would be.   I'm bloody brilliant at Transfiguration."

She raises her head with tears still on her cheeks.   The wheels are turning in her mind, but she's not there just yet.   "What?"

"I'm an Animagus — a pronghorn Animagus.   That's how I know Monsieur Pronghorn is safe.   I'm him."

"You?"

"Yes.   I've seen the real you, the one that doesn't keep everyone at a distance.   It's why I'm even interested in the first place."

Fleur's face twists in anger.   She shoves me angrily to the ground.   "How could you?"

Her tirade is cut off by the wards triggering.   They flare against the unseen intruder.   The bushes are ripped in two and tossed aside.   Behind them is the Geist, who is   advancing on us.

"Time to suffer, human!   Not longer safe in your school!"

Okay, my problem with Fleur needs to go on the back burner.   The bushes are hurled at me. I banish them away. The poltergeist smashes the stone bench into my knee and I go to the ground in agony.

I stab my wand at it and go right for the Darker Magic and cast a Spirit Shackle.   Coils of magical energy encircle it. It struggles hopelessly inside of it.   The bench rises up again, but Fleur banishes it out of the grotto.   The Geist pelts me with stones, levitated from the edge of the pond, as well as chunks of earth, as I force it to the ground.

It's not as hopeless as I'd like.   The Geist begins to break through the shackles and continues to hurl whatever it can at me.   Fleur's quick wandwork protects me, for the most part, though.   I immobilize my leg, so I can somewhat stand on my mangled knee.

I try lightning, it worked last time.   Funneling my anger, I stab my wand into the ground and call it from the sky, but the thing finally breaks free of the shackles and dives out of the way into the water and my bolt scorches the earth and sets fire to more shrubs.   I furiously scan the pond for movement, ready to loose another Spirit Shackle upon it, but I see none. Suddenly, the winged monster bursts out of the water, spraying us and quickly closes on me.

At this range, lightning would fry all of us, so I count my blessings that I've studied up on spells that affect the paranormal.   "Darts for the Dead" perforate it and it screams.   Fleur uses a banisher, which forces it backwards, but not very far.   A protective blessing — normally performed on a house — sends a wave of agony through it.   Fleur keeps shoving away at it, likely the only spell she knows that will do anything to a Poltergeist.

The Geist responds with a sudden leap and a clawed hand that swats me into the remaining hedges.   I disappear into the tangles, but stagger to my feet eventually, though not without many cuts and nicks.   I almost have to dive back into them, though: the Geist advances on Fleur, and has enough time to fling the dish of a bird bath at me — a spinning saucer of death.   I banish it away wandlessly and cast a new set of shackles on it.

The Geist struggles against them, which gives Fleur enough time to run up next to me. She grabs my arm. "We need to get back to the safety of the castle.   I can come back for the amulet."

My spells are working well enough and a better idea comes to mind. "Fleur, can you close the grotto on it?   I can hold it here."

"Yes, but what purpose will that serve?"

I balance myself against her.   "I can draw a protective circle around it and keep it trapped.   You go to the castle.   Find the nearest ghost and tell them I need their help with this thing.   They'll know what to do.   Now, seal it!"

Fleur chants and the grotto fades.   I motion for her to hurry.   The amulet begins shaking on the ground.   Hopping forward, I crouch on my one good knee and support myself with my left arm.   The Holly wand draws a crooked circle around it and I scribble protective runes in the dirt.

"Got you now!"   I yell partly from the pain and mostly from the sense of victory.     The amulet shudders as I continue the binding chant.   Normally, I'd need to cut myself and add blood to the binding.   The leg injury is the lemon from which I get to make lemonade. Exposed bone and flesh through my pant leg allows me to dampen my wandtip in the wound.  

On the ground, the amulet continues to vibrate.   I draw a larger, better circle outside of the first.   My breathing is ragged.   The bushes shredded my clothes and scraped my skin.   The shitty thing is that I need to keep up the chant and can't spare any time to treat my wounds.   To make matters worse, I have no idea where my glasses are.   Everything beyond a few feet is a blur.

Minutes pass and the pain from my scrapes begins to throb.   I start to see fuzzy shapes coming approaching from the castle and breathe a sigh of relief.

"Hello, descendant.   You look somewhat worse for wear.   We came as soon as we could."

"I've had better days — worse too, come to think of it.   Either way, you're right on time."   I stop the chant and summon my glasses.   I want to be able to see this.   After all, I've more than paid the price of admission.

There are at least a dozen ghosts standing next to William Potter.   The ancient knight draws his phantom sword stained with the blood of a Catholic saint.   The Friar pulls a cudgel from his robes.   The eyes of Sir Nicholas gleam with an unhealthy fascination and he cracks his knuckles in anticipation of a real fight.

As the Grey Lady hikes up the robe on her left leg and removes an ethereal dagger from a sheathe located on her calf, I'm reminded that these people weren't always ghosts and most of them died horrible and violent deaths, leaving them filled with regret and anger.

Peeves looks nothing like his prankish self.   The Hogwarts Poltergeist looks more like a tiny demon.

"Rotty Potty caught the Shysty Geisty?"   It's a tone that sends a chill down my spine.

"Yes, Peeves.   He did."   The Baron answers.

"Lord Baron says Peeves is free to do whatever he wants?"   The voice is child-like.   The same can't be said for the intentions.

"Yes, Peeves.   We're going to destroy it."

The little Poltergeist chuckles and that chuckle becomes a maniacal laugh.

Fleur comes alongside and helps me stand up.   The remnants of the temporary binding circles fail as we stagger backwards.  

"Fleur, open up your grotto.   Lord Baron, the creature is all yours."  

"My word is my honor, last of my line.   If you can ensnare it again, this will go much quicker."

Fleur begins to realize what is going on.   "Harry, you are going to destroy the Poltergeist?   Is this wise?"

"No, they are going to do it.   I'm just here to help.   That thing was trying to kill us.   I've got no qualms seeing it put down, Karkaroff and his school be damned.   Please, just open the grotto."

She does, reluctantly and I immediately launch another set of spirit shackles around the Geist, who looks a trifle surprised.   My spell is only partially successful.   One clawed hand remains free and it pulls on the chain and yanks me into the dirt.  

I only move a few feet more before the ghosts of Hogwarts begin their all-out assault with Lord Baron William Potter leading the way.   His two-handed claymore cleaves one of the wings away.   The Geist howls in anger and bashes the Slytherin ghost.   He's thrown aside like a rag doll, but the others close rapidly.   The Fat Friar clubs away at it, while Peeves and Sir Nicholas pile on.   Peeves swells in size, taking on a nearly demonic form, and pounds his fists on the head of the creature.   The Gryffindor house ghost grabs on to the Geist's free arm and holds on for whatever passes for dear life.

The battle rages as it keeps battering away at the spirits of the castle.   The wounds they suffer would easily have been fatal, if they weren't already dead.   I reinforce my shackles on it and watch my allies overwhelm it and I allow a grim smile at the sight of that fearsome creature being laid low by what most in the castle blatantly ignore.      

It tries to shake them free, but the other spirits, including little Myrtle swarm the hell-spawn and drag it to the ground in an effort to pin it.   I'll never look at the Grey Lady in the same light as she drives her dagger into the creature's soulless eyes again and again with a fury that almost defies description.   A vaporous trail wafts skyward from the monster like a smoldering fire.

The Geist falters under the power of the ghosts whose strength is humbling to watch.   They force the snarling creature face down to the ground as it continues to make shrill, unholy noises.   When my shackles fade, it thrashes and redoubles its efforts to get free.   The thing is leaking vapors from numerous wounds.   Professor Binns relentlessly kicks it in the side, calling it a hobgoblin and screaming for it to die.

The Baron, sporting a huge dent in his armor and missing his helm, returns to the fray. His armored boot steps on the monsters neck and he inverts his massive sword raising the pommel well above his head for the coup de grace.

I manage some words of my own, "I didn't think you were stupid enough to leave the safety of the boat, monster.   Couldn't resist coming after me.   It's your last mistake.   Baron, send it back to whatever hell it came from!"

"So let it be done," he says.

The others pick up the chant and despite my injuries, I feel a new sensation — a stirring of ancient magic, foreign to those who still draw breath and feel the warmth of life.   It is something I probably shouldn't watch, perhaps not meant for the eyes of the living, but the voyeur in my feels the need to witness this.

They repeat it over and over, faster and faster until the Baron's blade drives down into the Geist, impaling it.   Clear ichor splashes like a fountain as whatever force that held the phantasm together begins to unravel.   From the corner of my eye, I see Fleur watching just as intently.   I grab her hand, grateful for the contact with another living being.

It ends with the Durmstrang Poltergeist disintegrating with a scream that will haunt me for nights to come, but I think of what Athena said about how the creature was used as punishment at her school and know that this was the right thing to do.

The ghosts of Hogwarts all step back from the scorched and blackened area of Fleur's grotto, lost in their private thoughts.   Many of their ethereal bodies sport fresh injuries.   I swallow hard, wondering if I will ever be able to undo this desecration.   This grotto was a gift from her parents.   I curse myself for not thinking of another way!

A voice breaks the heavy silence, "William," Sir Nicholas says, clearing his throat, "You did promise me that if you ever had that little knife of yours out again that you'd help me with my tiny problem."

Several of the ghosts howl with laughter as the Baron grants Nicholas' request and makes him "Completely Headless Nick."

Almost as one, the suddenly jovial group starts back towards the castle.   The Baron stops to gather his damaged helm.   Nick stumbles around trying to recover his severed head.

"Thank you, William."   I offer him a slight, awkward bow, about all I can do without falling over.

"No thanks is necessary, Harry.   If I am to be released from eternal damnation, it falls to you to perform the tasks required.   But this, I would have done for you regardless, for a chance to feel alive again.   There is greatness about you and I am honored to be in its glory, if only for a moment.   Good night, Lord Potter, and to you as well, milady.   Come, Peeves."

The remaining Poltergeist has returned to his normal, almost cherubic form.   It holds a single finger to its lips.   "Shhh!   Rotty Potty shouldn't tell Dumb old Dumble Bumbles about little Peevseyweavesy.   Best to let him think nothing about the harmless little Peeves roaming the castle."

It skips alongside my ancestor and I begin to wonder if I'll have to convince the Baron put it down before I free him to journey into the next life.

Fleur treats my scrapes and casts a sorrowful look at her paradise lost.   The pain in my leg is dulled by a numbing charm.   I thank her for shielding me while I bound the specter.

"It was all I could offer," she answers, "I did not even know there are spells that will harm a spirit."

I try to reassure her. "I'm sorry about your sanctuary.   I know how much it means to you."   I pause for a second.   "I have a book in my possession.   It's where I learned the shackles and the binding rituals.   There are other spells in it, spells I can use to fix this.   It will take time, but it will look just like before.   I promise."

She stares at me, almost as if for the first time, and says in a quiet voice, "I believe you, Harry Potter."

"So, where does this leave us?"     I ask, feeling the touch of her wand closing the tiny wounds all over my arms.   There's a closeness and an intimacy filling the void left by the aftermath of the battle.

"I want to hate you.   I have every reason to hate you."

"I know.   But you don't, do you?"   In the dim light, I look into the depths of her eyes, hoping for some reassurance.

"No, you are a hero.   Even the spirits of the dead acknowledge this fact.   It was you that warned me about the dragons.   It was you when I was upset with Gabrielle.   I can be angry that you spied on me, but I cannot deny all the good things you have done."

I smile a little for her "It's because I really do care, Fleur." I look her squarely in the eye, meaning clear.

She blinks, surprised at the honesty she's seeing in my eyes. She looks away. "It's too complicated…" she says, uncertainty evident in her tone, she's trying to dismiss the moment. I'm not going to let that happen, but I've got to be careful how I handle this. James had something special with Lily once and like that ruined grotto, it was taken from him in an instant. If I push her, she'll bolt like a deer and I'm in no shape to give chase.

I take one of her hands in both of mine, gently, without any force. "Complicated? No. It's really not, Fleur. it's the most uncomplicated thing there is, simple and absolute. Either it's there, or it isn't . For me, it is. I felt it back at the Yule ball, and I think you might have felt it too."

She hesitates, then looks down at her hand in mine, then away, then turns back. And suddenly she's moving toward me, filling my vision.

It's not a fierce kiss like back at the ship, but something soft, frightened, and hesitant. Her lips are barely touching mine, but they're sweet, like honey, and I take comfort in them.

I remind myself that this calls for restraint and letting her set the pace. I participate in this gentle nuzzling and don't try to take any more than she's willing to give. Beneath the smells of sweat, dirt, and my blood there is her scent. I memorize it and try to burn it on my memory. One hand comes up to cup her cheek gently and run a few strands of her unkempt hair between my fingers.

Fleur's relaxed and I pick out a slight hint of her aura, a soft glow hinting at possibilities unrealized.   She probably doesn't even know she's doing it.

In my mind, I thank that crazy Ravenclaw girl and her insane logic. She taught me an interesting lesson that I am trying to apply here. By encouraging Fleur to "pursue" me, I am actually pursuing her.

Naturally, the injured leg gives out and we topple to the ground.   Like some bad comedy skit on the BBC, our heads smack together.   I literally see stars and she yelps, but then laughs.   It's not her usual guarded laugh.   It's different, more sincere.   Either way, she shows me something important right there, a side she'd only shown to Monsieur Pronghorn.  

I take it as a sign that this is going well — except, of course, for my fractured leg and numerous other injuries.   Numbing Charms are great, but they can mask things like internal bleeding.

We start to kiss again, but I come to a decision and stop my roaming hands.   The practical side of me wins out, damn it to hell.   I pull my head back.

"What is it?   Am I going too fast?"   She asks sounding worried.   In all this, I had forgotten that she thinks I'm a kid.

"No, it's just the charm on my leg is going to wear off, very soon.   And then, I'm going to be in a bit of pain.   As much as I'd like to stay and continue this, we need to go to the infirmary."

Fluer looks embarrassed and helps me to my feet before reclaiming her damaged magical amulet.   "I'm sorry.   I got carried away."

I grin as she helps me hobble in the direction of the castle and say, "There's nothing to be sorry for.   I rather like being carried away — in the figurative sense; not with a limp, mind you."

My joke gets another one of those laughs out of her as I continue. "I hope you will allow me a chance to make up for this horrible first date."

With a bemused smile, she answers, "I think I would like that, although part of me dreads what you might possibly do for an encore."

Reaching up with my right hand, I take her right hand that's wrapped around my body and press the back of it to my lips, I kiss it.   "Hopefully, you'll settle for a quiet place where we can just snog, without something trying to kill either of us."

Fleur shakes her head. "You English.   You take the act of kissing and reduce it to something that sounds like what an animal would do in a barn.   I will never understand this.   You will not 'snog' with me, Harry Potter.   I do not like that word.   We will kiss and you will like it."

Her terms are reasonable enough — I cut her some slack.   I suppose it isn't much to ask.   She's French — she can't help having a few annoying habits.   What more can I say?   Though, I suppose I should go ahead and remove "shag" from my vocabulary as well.   I don't want to find out what her reaction to that particular word would be.

• 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
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