Characters, settings, and story relating to the Harry Potter series of novels are copyright J. K. Rowling, along with Bloomsbury Publishing, et al. "Spirit of Fear" is not an officially published work, nor is it in any cooperation with J. K. Rowling or Bloomsbury Publishing. "Spirit of Fear" is entirely (with the exclusion of the aforementioned characters, settings, and story) a work by Thomas Holman.

Chapter Thirteen

Recoil

Chey and Fluer's duel had a far more negative impact on public opinion of Chey than his words during breakfast. Now not only did he, in their eyes, defend criminals, he was now the annoying transfer student who had to show off and steal the top student position. The male students disliked him more, as they believed he had in some way attacked her (which was the point of dueling) and gotten the notion that achieving revenge for her would win her attention. As such, Chey had to continually dodge hexes in the halls.

The girls had a neutral opinion of him. On one hand, they were still upset about his opinion of Sirius Black. However, they had an animosity towards Fleur, after all the attention the boys paid to her, leaving little for them. After it was established that Chey and Fleur were at ends with each other, it cancelled out what he said that morning, though not enough for any of them to block a jinx for him.

So much had happened, and it was still only the end of the first day. Chey decided to visit Mayla, both to check on her and to hide from the rapid fire attacks. When he arrived, Chiffon was already there, pouring the whiskey for the horses. Upon his entrance, she became startled.

"I is sorry, sir! I shall leave."

"Why?" he asked. The elf looked as though no one had asked this before.

"S...so as not to be bothering you, sir."

"It's okay. I don't mind. In fact, it's be nice to be within ten yards of someone who doesn't want to bite my head off."

"I's heard what happened, sir."

"Word travels fast around here."

"I is very sorry about what you is going through, sir."

"Nah, it's my own fault. I probably should have never taken that girl's challenge."

"Mademoiselle Delacour is not liking to be second," Chiffon said. Chey realized something about what the elf had said. Perhaps she could tell him a little more about students here.

"Why not?" he asked as he walked towards Mayla, who was already eating her dinner of raw lamb.

The elf hesitated slightly, trying to summon the answer in her mind. When she couldn't find one, she said "I is not knowing, sir. Only she is liking the respect of the top student position, sir."

"And what exactly does that entail?"

"All the teachers is giving her special responsibilities, sir."

"Such as?" Chey had been stroking Mayla on the head now that she had finished her dinner.

"She is being able to grade papers, assign detentions to younger students who is out late..."

"I see." This was just the type of grade-A student Chey had worked so hard all those years to avoid becoming. It was his opinion that any student who voluntarily took on such tasks couldn't have much of a life of their own, and Chey certainly enjoyed his life. Now Chey was tired of talking about the person who had been giving him such grief, so he decided to change the subject. "How do you like working here?"

"I's likes it very much, sir!"

"Good. I was worried that Europeans would not treat elves in the humane ways of the United States."

"What ways would they is mistreating us in your eyes, sir?"

"Well, I was most worried they wouldn't pay you."

Chiffon was shocked, though Chey could not understand why. "Why is would they pay, sir?"

"Why wouldn't they? You're providing a service, aren't you? I would think that warrants some kind of payment."

"House elfs is not supposed to be paid!" she cried. Chey had obviously struck a nerve.

"What do you mean? They're paid in America."

Little Chiffon gasped, as though he had summoned a terrible curse upon the world. "House elfs is paid in America?" she said softly.

"Yeah, ever since 1868. What's wrong with that?"

"There is everything wrong!" she nearly shouted, then continued saying it as she left the stable. Chey was about to mention her unfinished job of tending the horses, but a quick look showed that she had already completed the task, and all twelve horses were satisfied.

"Maybe coming here wasn't such a good idea, Mayla," he said, patting the dragon on the back. "These French are crazy."

The following days showed an improvement in Chey's situation. First, Chuck had finally sent over some of Chey's posters from his office, and from then on he woke up every morning looking at the image of a 1969 Dodge Charger that he had pinned to the ceiling.

Shortly after that, the favor Chey called in had finally come through. Chey had used the reputation of the McGonagall family to nab himself a personalized Firebolt, the latest racing broom model, and it had finally arrived. As such, Chey could not resist taking the beautiful Saturday afternoon to test it out.

Chey had paid a fair amount, an additional twenty percent, for such a special broom. While the standard Firebolt was stained in dark burgundy with gold etched serial numbers, Chey had his painted black from handle to twigs, with real platinum for the serial numbers and his full name in script on the handle, as well as had the manufacturer install a removable anti-wind resistance charm.

Flying in front of the school would have been flaunting, the last thing he wanted to do, so he headed out back. Behind the school there was virtually no place to walk. Just as the building's east side ended, there was a sharp drop off. At the bottom of this cliff was a lake, and there were bare rocks all the way down. Ignoring these features granted one a beautiful view of the lake, which ended at the base of a mountain, and this provided a perfect, wind-free flying area, and sunrises that came up behind the mountain were always beautiful.

He arrived at the top-most balcony that faced the lake, and found he was alone. There was no one behind the school at all, on the lake or above, meaning there would be no one in his way. He decided to start his first ride on his new broom off with a bang. He leapt off the edge of the balcony, his Firebolt in hand, and mounted it in midair.

The speed difference between this and his Nimbus was astounding. In four seconds he accelerated to what had to be eighty miles per hour. He shot over the lake with inches of clearance, the slipstream disturbing the surface of the water. He sped towards the distant mountain, and reached it in no time. He then raced up the hillside, swerving around trees and boulders expertly, barely scratching the surface of what the broom could accomplish.

When he eventually cleared the summit, he continued into the sky. The cold air chilled his hands, numbing them. He had finally had enough high altitude flying, and made a ninety-degree turn straight down as hard as the broom could handle, and as a result, nearly unseated himself. He sped toward the ground at nearly a hundred and fifty miles per hour. Breaking through the clouds, he now saw the lake clearly in front of him.

A slight change to his flightpath sent him towards the lake's edge, and he pulled back slightly so that the broom handle followed the shoreline. He continued this, and as a result he began a descending spiral, continuing to apply light back pressure to the broom to make the path ever more level to the ground. When he was feet from the ground he was already flying level, still following the shore at full speed.

As he continued on his course, he looked out towards the center of the lake, where someone was hovering on a broom some fifty feet above the surface. He thought he was alone out there. Perhaps he'd had his head in the clouds longer than he perceived. Thinking that no one at this school had seen any speed like he was achieving, he decided to surprise them.

He came up from behind the flyer with a speed he himself couldn't believe, and could only imagine the look of surprise on their face as he whipped by on their right side with less than a foot to spare. Laughing, he continued speeding away from the now frazzled broom rider, rolling to the left and descending to fly low to the lake where he held his fingers to the water's smooth surface, causing triggering a spectacular spray as he flew over it. He then continued on a course that took him behind the mountain, and landed on the summit, where he observed the aftermath of his mischievous prank.

He took a closer look at the rider he startled, and was startled himself. It was none other than Fleur Delacour.

"What's she doing out here?" he said to no one. He got back on his Firebolt and sped towards her.

When he arrived she was still recovering from her experience.

"Heh heh...you seem a little startled!"

"You!" she said once she determined where his voice was coming from. Then she regained her composure. "Cannot resist showing off?"

"Well neither can you, apparently. I saw how flashy your spell casting was."

"You speak nonsense."

"I'll bet you can't even perform a simple Lumos without telling it to the world."

"And you can't go anywhere without everyone seeing you," she shot back. Chey hated that she was right about that, and couldn't respond. When she noticed that he had no words to say, she changed the conversation to a topic of her own choosing. "How do you cast such intricate spells so quickly?"

"If your personal definition of the word 'intricate,'" he was quick to reply, "starts with a levitation charm, then we can stop talking right now."

"I'm talking about the wall that blocked my spell."

"Essentially a raw form of transfiguration. If you can't figure that out, maybe the title of 'top of the class' isn't for you to hold."

"What about the ravens?" she said, upholding the contempt in her voice.

"A slight alteration to the Avis charm."

"Freezing the water? A freezing charm is not so simple it can be cast off the cuff like that."

"I found the standard freezing charm insufficient, both in time to cast and it's potency. I created my own."

She was quiet for a moment, then, without shouting, said "How did you deflect and return my spells as though they were solid objects I had thrown at you?"

With an equally long pause, he said just as calmly "I'll make you a deal. Figure that out on your own, and I'll overlook all the spiteful comments and actions you have taken against me." With that, he rolled to his right and raced towards the topmost balcony of the school's east wall.

Knowing that no one could ever figure out how he could manipulate spells already cast without a full understanding of magical theory, he shouldered his broom and went inside. As he walked through the halls, he received a combination of death stares and gawkings at his new, unusually designed broom.

Author's note

Chey's got a nice broom, eh? Platinum...oooohhh.

Just a little side story. Not even a side story. This was more of a writing exercise. I'm trying to get better at writing action. Please be so kind as to let me know how I did. Could you follow it okay, or did anyone need to read it twice? I need to know, because this story will have plenty of action further on.

If anyone's unhappy with how certain characters are portrayed, take heart as changes are within the realm of possibilities.

I appreciate everyone's valuable input so far, and hope you'll continue your feedback.

A request: If anyone can find the the first name of Fleur's father, will that person please send me a private message? I thank you in advance.