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 Twenty-One

All Good Things

The following months were bliss for Chey and Fleur. Hardly ever seen apart, they spent much of their time in illusionry lessons, racing brooms over the lake, flying with Mayla, or arguing together with other students about the innocense of Sirius Black. Chey never would have believed he would be this close to anyone during his first week at Beauxbatons.

Chey still had to keep an eye out for the odd hex cast by an occasional jealous type who still resented the time they spent together. Slowly, however, more and more of Chey’s attackers began to realize that there were other fish in the sea. The girls in the school also determined that as long as Fleur wasn’t available, they would receive a little more attention.

The two of them continued their academics rivalry, albeit less hostile, and the instructors were so very proud of their two star students. Their fellow classmates had long since learned it was foolhardy to strive for the standards Fleur and Chey had established.

Upon hearing about Sirius Black’s second infiltration into Hogwarts, efforts to tighten security at Beauxbatons had doubled. Students now had a curfew of eight o’clock, though it did little to stop Chey and Fleur’s midnight walks. Also, reported sightings were on the rise of a silver-colored fox wandering in the castle late at night, and the faculty wasn’t entirely sure this was unrelated to increasing numbers of students being spotted out of bounds at night.

“Can’t you use a Disillusionment Charm on us, Chey?” Fleur asked in frustration that it was getting harder and harder to avoid getting caught.

“Nah, they got detectors in place for those kind of things. An invisibility cloak would work much better. But alas, I am without.”

“Isn’t there anything?”

“Could create an illusion to attract attention while we slip out undetected. Just an idea.”

“Could you do it?” she asked excitedly.

With a laugh he said, “Probably, but it’d more than likely get us in even more trouble. I think we should keep going as usual, only when we’re caught we say we’ve never snuck out before. What are they going to do, expel their two top students?”

“God, I’m glad you’re here, Chey. Who would I talk to otherwise?”

And Chey was beginning to get the feeling that he finally belonged somewhere.

“McGonnagal. My office.”

Madame Maxime had poked her head into the classroom just as Chey turned in his last final exam, Defensive Magic. Bewildered as to what would prompt such a curt tone, he cautiously followed Maxime out the door, while behind him Fleur had only just finished her own exam.

Maxime’s great stride made it difficult to keep up, so Chey was consistently ten feet behind her as she led the way to the Headmistress’s office. The door opened in front of her and she swooped in, instructing Chey to sit down without ever looking at him.

He did so, taking a seat in front of her desk as she rummaged in a drawer unnecessarily, for she obviously knew where to look for what she was seeking and was putting up an air of frustration.

“I have received an interesting bit of correspondence with an Igor Karkaroff, who contradicts previous statements you have made,” she said in a rehearsed attitude that reminded him strongly of his aunt.

“What statements might they be?” he asked, having an idea where the conversation was going.

“More an omission of statements on your application.”

“The information was complete as far as I could tell.”

“It looked like that to me as well.”

At this moment, Fleur entered Maxime’s office, breathless from running all the way from the classroom.

“Mademoiselle Delacour,” Madame Maxime said upon her entrance, “is something the matter?”

“It doesn’t concern you, Fleur,” Chey said before she could start.

“Madame,” Fleur began anyway, “I must ask what would be so important that you should remove Chey from class during an exam.”

“And why must you ask?” came the Headmistress’s response.

“Because nothing should interrupt an exam, and I can hardly think of any exigent circumstances which might warrant such an interruption that could possibly involve a model student such as Chey.”

“You’re questioning my authority?”

“In a sense, I am. As Chey has taught me, even a great leader’s actions must be scrutinized when his or her decision causes suspicion.”

Maxime smiled in admiration of Fleur’s reasoning. “Mademoiselle Delacour, are you aware that the boy you are now defending has been expelled five times prior to attending Beauxbatons?”

“I have to correct you there, Madame,” Chey said. “Only two of them are officially listed as expulsions. Those would be the last two. In my first three schools, I’m merely barred from returning.”

“A loophole that may have gotten you into Venice and Durmstrang, but should never have allowed you admittance into my school. Igor Karkaroff has sent me a far more accurate report of your schooling.”

“And you will find that my grades, accomplishments, and awards are all consistent with what I filed on the application.”

“What is not consistent,” Maxime nearly raised her voice, “is the report on disciplinary actions. Seems you were quite the firebrand your first year.”

“For my second year, you’ll find only one unsubstantiated claim that I allegedly stole from several other students, which is quite inconsistent with my behavior pattern the previous year.”

“Nevertheless, disciplinary action was taken, just like your third year when you and another student were ‘barred from returning’ for fighting in the middle of class.”

“Which I regret, but it was an after-exam party and all the excitement must have gotten to us.”

“And your fourth year in Venice when the entire west wing of the building was demolished?”

“My twisted idea of a prank. A mistake, now that I look back on it.”

“And finally, when you deliberately attacked a fellow student using unknown dark magic.”

“Is that what Karkaroff said it was?”

“You don’t deny it?”

“Only parts of it. It certainly wasn’t deliberate, and hardly dark magic. In fact, I took the expulsion as part of a deal that my friend’s involvement, which was purely as a spectator, would not be put on record.”

“You see now, Mademoiselle Delacour, who you are defending?”

“Monsieur McGonagall had already confessed these events to me, Madame,” Fleur said, her voice strong as always when she addressed an authority figure. “If anyone is to be reprimanded, let it be me for failing to report this.”

Chey admired her devotion to him, but, “Fleur, I can’t let you take the heat for me.”

“I agree,” said Maxime, who clearly had her sights set on Chey, and none but Chey would fall. “I will disregard your previous statement. Monsieur McGonagall, however, I cannot ignore your blatant disregard for Beauxbatons’s school code.”

“Madame! Chey is a model student! He has done nothing but excel in his classes, and you have yet to find him guilty of any trespassing!”

“If I let McGonagall’s actions slide, what sort of example am I setting? Letting him get away with lying to accomplish what he desired will only give other students the impression that some are above the law, and I won’t have the ensuing chaos while I’m in charge!”

“Let it go, Fleur,” Chey said, thinking what a shame it was that her face was wrought with despair. “It was a good run.”

“Monsieur Chey William McGonagall,” Maxime said, pulling out and opening a file Chey could only guess was his record, “you are hereby-”

“Wait!” At the sound of Chey’s words, Maxime froze with her quill barely an inch from the parchment’s surface, a drop of ink just begging to fall from the tip. Chey stared at his watch, while looking out of the corner of his eye at the parchment in front of Maxime. When he saw a bit of ink appear in the grades section, he said, “There!”

“Rather dramatic, Monsieur McGonagall,” Maxime could only say, while Fleur watched him in bewilderment.

“My last exam has just been graded, so it will be on my record as occurring prior to my expulsion.” Chey couldn’t help but admire his own shrewdness.

“Clever, McGonagall, very clever.”

“Thank you.”

“Though not enough to stop me completely. You’re still getting expelled,” and Maxime made the necessary note in the file. “I want you off the grounds immediately.”

“Seeing as you’re no longer my headmistress,” Chey said in a complete change of tone, taking both Fleur and Maxime almost by surprise, “I was wondering if I might make a request as one person to another?”

“You may,” Maxime said cautiously. “Though I wonder the possibilities of my granting it.”

“Regardless,” Chey continued, brushing off the snide remark, “might I be permitted to remain on the grounds for the remainder of the day?”

“Why?” Maxime asked, and Chey noticed Fleur had leaned forward with anticipation.

“Well, I have things to pack, goodbyes to say, you know.” Maxime seemed unimpressed, so Chey continued. “You wouldn’t want the students to get the idea that Beauxbatons accepts people who just take off seemingly without reason, do you?”

Maxime must have taken the school’s public image very seriously. She sat back in her chair to contemplate, and Fleur had moved up so she was standing right next to Chey.

Finally, the headmistress spoke. “I’ll allow it.” Fleur immediately wrapped her arms around Chey, overjoyed that she could spend even the slightest bit more time with him. “However,” Maxime said, and Fleur froze, “understand, Monsieur McGonagall, that this favor will not be without price.”

“What price might that be?”

“I cannot easily forgive you for deceiving the school, as well as myself.” Now Chey was paying attention. “So I am going to take the most appropriate action. For tarnishing the school’s reputation for having only the highest standards, your own reputation will suffer.”

“What are you saying?” Fleur asked, somewhat frightened.

“I am going to destroy his good name, Mademoiselle Delacour. Monsieur McGonagall, I wish you luck finding another school that will take you once the whole world knows your history of expulsions. You’re going to need it. I suspect you’ll also have great difficulty finding employment as well.”

“Madame! That’s far too cruel!” Fleur cried, and Chey saw her aura flicker slightly, signaling the extent of her anger.

“Let it go, Fleur,” Chey said, though he knew she wouldn’t. “I guess it was only a matter of time. Better now than sooner, right?”

“But-”

“No, Fleur. Madame, I accept your reasoning, and only hope the photo of me the papers print won’t be too unflattering. Come on, Fleur.” Chey put his arm around her waist and they walked out of Maxime’s office together while Fleur glared at Maxime over her shoulder.

“She never should have done that!” Fleur complained moments later.

“Actually, I’d rather it was her than the people at Venice University. They were really upset about that whole west wing issue. Probably would have portrayed me as the next Grindelwald.”

“But what about next year? You do have a plan, right?”

“Actually, I’d figured I’d be able to stay here, so I never really made any arrangements.”

“What will you do? Go to your aunt’s school?”

“Not snowball’s chance on a hot summer day in Hell. Actually, I think I’m done. Anything further would probably slow me down, so I might find a good library and teach myself stuff that I’d never learn in school.”

“You’ll come and teach me those things as well, won’t you?”

“You should understand me well enough by now to already know the answer to that.”

“Thank you.” Then, with a mischievous smile, she said, “I hear Hogwarts has a very good library.”

“Nice try.”

They went to the dormitories, where Chey said to his schoolmates that he was taking an early break, and after he had packed his things told them to be on the front lawn at quarter to eight.

Chey and Fleur walked down to the stables where Mayla was kept, only to find Chiffon already preparing her for flight.

“I is heard you were leaving, Monsieur,” squeaked the elf.

“Appreciate it, Chiffon,” Chey thanked her as he heaved his belongings onto the dragon’s back, conjuring ropes to secure them in place.

“You’ll keep in touch?” Fleur asked him, refusing to release her hold on his arm.

“I’ll even visit, both during the summer and next year.” He started to climb onto Mayla’s back, but could not proceed what with Fleur still clinging to him.

“One more thing,” she said, her eyes glazed with sorrow. “When I first met you, you were a wall of illusions, and over time I was slowly able to see past them. I learned you are very caring, and underneath a hard exterior you are troubled by the tragic events in your life.”

“Just don’t say any of this in front of the guys.”

“Joking aside, there is still one final illusion you have never relented, not even to me.”

“Fleur...”

“I have seen the real you, and I accept you for it. What on earth makes you think I would think any less of you if I saw what your wand really looked like?”

“Huh?”

“You told me that your real wand looks nothing like the illusion. I think it’s perfectly reasonable for me to ask to see it.”

Chey admired her desire to know him. It was so rare that he found anyone willing to spend longer than five minutes with him before wishing they were elsewhere. Fleur was so unique. The longer they were together, the more they dreaded being separated.

“You got it,” he said. He had only extracted the wand from his arm once before, to explain it’s fate to his aunt Minerva after it had been broken, and found it to be an excruciating process.

He closed his eyes to better concentrate on each piece, commanding them to move outward. It took all his willpower to stop from screaming as each one of the dozens of shards felt ripped from his forearm. Reeling, he opened his eyes and saw the wand in his hand, and though it felt like the flesh had been shredded, his arm showed no sign of any damage.

A feeling of emptiness washed over him. He felt incomplete as he handed the wand over to Fleur, who took it gently as though handling his very life.

“Ash, fifteen inches with dragon heartstring core,” he said, though she heard little of it.

True to his word, a carved dragon entwined around the handle, and despite it’s age of two thousand years or more, still held the luster of a newly varnished wand. It had a spectral glow as though the ghost of what was once alive.

“It has such a...presence,” she said, mystified.

“A bit overwhelming, I know-”

“No, it’s not...I feel...safe.”

“Really?”

“Never more so than now.”

“Come to think of it, it’s never let anyone but me hold it. Always burned everyone else.”

“Maybe it just needed to know who to trust.”

Ever insightful Fleur had peered past Chey’s illusions once more, and he realized that she was one of the few he had ever been able to trust, and remembered just how much he would miss her.

“Quarter to seven right now,” he said, breaking the tension. She handed back the ancient wand, and he shuttered as it broke again into pieces and dug into his arm once more, and the emptiness Chey had been feeling was lifted. “Shouldn’t keep the audience waiting.”

“I’m going to miss you.”

“I know.”

After a long goodbye kiss, she finally let go of him and he pulled himself onto the dragon’s back. They stared at each other’s eyes for what seemed like an hour, neither wanting the parting to be true, and Chey kicked Mayla into motion. As the dragon gained a running start, Chey refused to look back at Fleur, fearing that doing so would make their separation too real. Mayla leapt into the air and spread her great white wings and glided over what seemed like the entire Beauxbatons student body which had assembled on the front lawn.

They soared over the castle, heading east, and Chey looked back to see a lone figure standing near the stables as he left behind yet another place he once called home.