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-Three

Invitation to a Game

The Delacours were not short on style. Even their house seemed to emanate the veela charm.

A beautiful chateau in southern France, it's rosy outer walls glowed in the afternoon sun. With the appearance of a Gothic architecture renovated into Victorian style, it stood out among the other houses in what was clearly an entirely wizard community, evident by pedestrians casually walking the streets in wizards robes and discussing the upcoming World Cup.

Chey only knocked once on it's white oak door before it was flung open and he was assaulted by a blur of silver hair.

"Fleur, you're going to have to let me breathe," he managed to gasp after half a moment. She released her vicegrip hug on his neck and stepped back to let him through the door.

The foyer was just as elegant, and would undoubtedly give an excellent first impression to visitors. A white marble floor reflected the ceiling's carved floral design while two ornate staircases framed the entrance to walnut double doors leading to the salon, through which Gabrielle was looking to see who was at the door. She did not stay there long, as she was soon rushing across the finely polished floor excitedly with open arms, shouting his name.

"Now you can't possibly be Gabrielle," he said after picking her up in a hug.

"But I am Gabrielle!" she said defiantly.

"Nah, can't be! You're much more grown up than I remember her!"

She giggled excitedly when she discovered the compliment and kissed him on the cheek.

"Smart, this one," he said to Fleur, who still had not said a word out loud to him.

"Takes after her mother," came a voice, which Chey discovered belonged to their mother, entering from the side.

"Apolline! How are you?" he asked the woman whom he found very attractive in an off-limits sort of way.

"Very well. How's your head after that fall you had in the terrain park?"

"Still attached. Your sore knee?"

"Much better. You're very good at Episky charms, young man."

"So I'm told," he said with a sideways glance to Fleur.

"We were wondering if you'd forgotten to come," Fleur finally said quietly.

"Sorry. Had to arrange a few more things."

"Well I wish you'd informed us," Apolline said to him. "Fleur has been gazing out the window, watching for you."

"So that's how you knew it was me at the door," he figured, and Fleur could only look guilty.

"Wait a minute!" Gabrielle almost shouted, still in Chey's arms. "You knew he was coming?"

"Surprise, Gabrielle!" Chey said, and she kissed his cheek once more.

"Are we entertaining?" sounded a new voice, deep in tone. It belonged to a somewhat rotund man about a head shorter than Apolline with a little pointed black beard. He entered the foyer from the upper landing and descended the stairs, eyeing Chey as though he should know him from somewhere.

"Papa, this is Chey!" Gabrielle informed him, clinging to Chey's neck.

"From the newspaper?" He connected the dots and finally gave him an approving look. "Fleur was right to say you're a very handsome young man."

Throwing a second sideways glance at Fleur, Chey saw she was trying to suppress her embarrassment with a small degree of success save for her cheeks flushing pink.

"Huh. She never told me that," Chey said in mock scorn.

"If you don't mind my asking," came Apolline's voice once more, "what was it you were so busy with it delayed you a few days?"

"Actually, it has to do with something I'd like to talk to you and your husband about real quick," Chey explained. Now turning to the Delacour daughters, he said, "If you don't mind."

"No," Fleur answered. "Come, Gabrielle. It'll only be a moment. Right?"

"Yeah. It's not like I'm leaving right afterwards."

Reluctantly, Gabrielle relieved Chey of his neck and he set her back on her own feet. The two sisters entered the salon and closed the door, as though trying to assure the others they weren't listening.

"Can they hear through the door?" Chey asked.

"Not easily. Why?"

"Because few things in the world hurt more than having your hopes raised and dashed in the same five minutes." Indeed, he didn't want the girls to know what he had planned, just in case their parents didn't approve.

"A true statement, Monsieur McGonagall," said Fleur's father. "Now what is it you wished to speak about?"

"I'd like to take your daughters to the Quidditch World Cup in England."

Monsieur Delacour was aghast, and finally managed to assemble the words "Thank goodness for you, young man!"

"Pardon?"

"I was afraid I'd have to call in a favor to get tickets for them! Naturally they're all sold out, and they've been hinting like mad that they'd like to go!"

"I'm afraid I won't be able to invite the two of you as well..."

"Another relief, then! Apolline and I have never been much for the sport..."

"Although this does raise an issue," Apolline said.

"What issue might that be?"

"Well, we're concerned for our daughters' safety."

"As any parent should," Chey said, figuring that saying they were good parents couldn't harm their impression of him.

"What assurance do we have that nothing will happen?"

"I'm not sure I..."

"To put it a little more bluntly, you will be alone with them on what is possibly an overnight event, and with the girls' heritage being what it is..." Now Chey's mind dawned with the realization of what Apolline had meant, and his expression must have shown it. "We just want to know there is no chance of any such thing from happening."

"You do know," Chey said to them both, "that those with veela blood are immune to the famed charm?"

"Yes," Monsieur Delacour said, unaware of where he was going with this.

"Well, my own mother was quarter-veela. I'm quite sure I'm safe from any magical allure they can throw at me, intentional or otherwise."

Appoline glanced at her husband, apparently convinced. Monsieur Delacour, trusting his wife's judgement said, "You children have fun at the game."

"I'll go tell them where they're going, then." Chey opened the salon door to find the girls jumping away, and Fleur looked rather nervous. "Everything okay, Fleur?"

She seemed unable to speak, and Gabrielle was shaking with suppressed laughter.

"It's fine," Gabrielle bareley managed to say.

"Okay. Got a surprise for you two." He fanned the three tickets two inches in front of Fleur's eyes. She took them from his hand with trepidation, examined them, and threw her arms around his neck once more in what Chey imagined to be a form of relief, though he could not explain why. Gabrielle hopped in place, reaching for the three pieces of paper in Fleur's hand so she may look at them. When she finally got a hold of them and had a proper look, she squealed with delight and latched onto his leg, nearly toppling him and her sister over.

"When are we going?" Gabrielle asked, now having released Chey's leg and staring at the tickets again.

"Just waiting on you two. Go on up and pack a few days of clothes and we'll be off."

Gabrielle took off for the stairs immediately, though Fleur lingered a moment, as though wanting to say something, but apparently decided it could wait and followed Gabrielle up the stairs.

"Demolished the entire west wing of Venice University?" Monsieur Delacour said, though Chey couldn't tell whether it was amusement or scorn in his tone. "How'd you manage?"

"Teenagers are very resourceful," he answered.

"I never would have been able to do it. Was always afraid of the rules." With a statement such as this, Chey could determine that Monsieur Delacour's tone was that of a grown man reminiscing about the joys of youth. "Must have been quite a sight."

"What's life without a little excitement, right?" Chey said.

"Though I have to wonder why," Apolline remarked, the voice of reason.

"That's a good question, Apolline. I guess I was just bored."

"That's it?" she asked, clearly unsatisfied with such a short answer.

"That's the best I can come up with. Sorry."

"We're ready, Chey!" Gabrielle came running down the stairs, a piece of luggage in hand, while Fleur followed her at a brisk, though more reserved pace.

The girls said goodbye to their parents and left the house with Chey. He pulled from his pocket a set of keys, which glowed slightly blue.

"What's that?" Gabrielle asked.

"Ordinarily, they're the keys to my bike. Today, they're a portkey. Grab hold, you two."

The moment they touched the keys they were pulled forward, a swirl of images flashing by them, until finally they landed hard on the ground. The girls had not expected the sudden stop, and collapsed to the ground. The keys fell from Chey's right hand and he caught them with his left.

They had arrived in the middle of a deserted moor. All around them, more groups were arriving via their own portkeys, some stumbling more than others. Those who had already arrived were setting off towards a small stone cottage, beyond which hundreds of tents could be seen.

Just outside the cottage was the site manager, speaking to a slightly balding man with fiery red hair. In an instant, a British Ministry official, evidenced by his poor understanding of non-magical clothing, appeared next to the manager and modified his memory.

"Morning, Roberts!" Chey called to him, taking advantage of the distraction.

"Ah! Morning Mr. McGonagall!" he called back, and the children grouped with the balding red-head whipped around to see who Roberts was speaking to.

"Poor guy," Chey said to the girls.

"Why?" Gabrielle asked, clinging to his and Fleur's hands.

"'Bout every thirty minutes they have to change his memory," he explained. "Why they can't just keep an eye on him all day then modify his memory at the end, I'll never know."

"Don't we have to talk to him?" Fleur asked, seeing another group approach the manager's cottage.

"Been checked in since yesterday. Site's all ready."

Indeed their site was set up. Chey, being perhaps the only American at the site, rented a camper he had towed with one of his father's pickup trucks.

Naturally, it wasn't just any camper. As it was the magical world, this one was much like the many tents propped up around it, the deceptive exterior hiding what amounted to a small house inside.

"You two go ahead and pick a bedroom," he told them, "and you'll find dressers to put your clothes into."

Fleur and Gabrielle did so, and Chey went back outside, picked up a can of lighter fluid, poured some onto the already built fire pit, and dropped a lit match onto it in true pyromaniac style.

After admiring the blaze for a moment, he looked towards the path, and saw someone familiar.

Author's note.

Who could this familiar person be? And what was Fleur so nervous about just before Chey showed her the tickets?

Yes, the events of Chey's seventh year have been put on hold by the Quidditch world cup. I couldn't have Chey simply ignore Viktor's shining moment. That would have made him a bad friend, and Chey is a good person.

I still don't know the name of Fleur's father, and until I find that out, it will be difficult to write scenes with him. Here's hoping either someone figures it out, Rowling divulges that information, or the community comes to a consensus. I'd like Spirit of Fear to be as close to the books as I can get, the only real difference being Chey's inclusion.

As for the camper, Chey just needs to be different. Especially now that he's a lone Yank in a country full of Brits. No, I have nothing against England. It's a fine country with a good sense of humor (with migrating coconuts carried by African swallows). It's just Rowling's wizarding world is so radically different from Chey's personality it will be interesting to see how they clash spectacularly. We'll see what happens.

As always, I appreciate all your feedback and enjoy your comments. I'll do my best to keep writing with my busy schedule.