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-Four

Friendly Encounters

"Laser-Eye Library Girl!"

The girl, something Granger, snapped her head in his direction. She and two other boys had been carrying a couple of empty pots and saucepans. She stopped, but the boys, one with scraggly black hair and round-framed glasses, and one with thick red hair, much like Charlie's, continued a few steps before realizing she was no longer moving.

"What's wrong, Hermoine?" asked the redhead.

"Figure it out yet?" Chey called again.

"Y-yes," she hesitated, trying to remember. "Magic starts in the air, attaches to the wizard, flows through the wand and back into the air."

"Not bad," he said.

"You know him, Hermoine?" came the black haired boy, who then looked at the small sign hammered into the ground. "McGonagall? Professor McGonagall's here?"

"Nah. Minerva's not much for pro sports," Chey answered.

"Then who the hell are you?" said the redhead, now somewhat annoyed.

"Chey McGonagall. Minerva's my aunt."

"She's never mentioned you!"

"Typical. Now who are you two?"

"Ron Weasley." Another Weasley, Chey thought.

"Any relation to Charlie?"

"He's my brother! You know him?"

"I work with him in Romania."

"He never said anything about working with anyone named McGonagall!"

"Yeah, well Chuck's not the type to talk about work." Chey now turned to the other boy, who was much scrawnier than Ron. "And you are?"

"Harry Potter."

"Nice to meet you," Chey shook his hand, thinking he should know him from somewhere. "Now I need to give you nicknames."

"Why?" Hermoine wondered aloud.

"Easier to remember."

"What's so hard about my name?" Harry asked.

"Nothing hard about it, just prefer nicknames. Now, let's see..." He pointed at Hermoine. "Whiskers."

"What?" she half screamed. "Why?"

"Second time I met you, you had grown a tail and black fur."

"I was thinking you might be talking about Crookshanks," Ron said. Upon Chey's quizzical expression, he added, "Her cat."

"Now the nickname has a current reference," Chey said. "You're next, Ron. Yeah, you're definitely 'Red.'"

"My hair?"

"Bingo! Last but not least, we have 'Specks.'"

"Why Specks?" Harry asked, who seemed to be dreading his nickname until Chey had announced it, and was now pondering Chey's logic.

"I got nothing else," was all Chey could say.

"Hey!" Red shouted in revelation. "Now I know who you are! You're that guy with the six expulsions!" At this, Specks looked confused, as though he'd been out of touch with the magical world for a week or two.

"Technically, it's only three." Chey hopelessly explained.

"The Daily Prophet talked about you for a week!"

"And the front page headline is framed in my office in Romania. On the one hand, I'm famous. On the other, I get no royalties when the paper publishes my biography."

"You seem to be taking it in stride," Specks observed.

"Could've been worse. Though I am hurt they called me a wizard and not a warlock. Sent the editor a blunt letter addressing the issue."

"That was really you writing to them? They published that!" Red told him, which was news to Chey.

"I never saw it."

"They used it in an article, considered it an interview."

"Huh. That explains why it wasn't in the Letters to the Editor section."

"What is that thing?" Red cried, spotting the camper at last.

"It's a camper," Chey explained. Seeing their bewildered looks, he said "I'm American. I gotta be different."

"I'll tell you about warlocks later, Ron," newly named Whiskers told him. "I guess we'll see you around, Chey."

"Later, Whiskers!"

The trio left, and it was not a moment too soon, as he heard a cloaked and hooded figure walking the path towards him call in Russian "How are you, Chey?"

"Viktor! What the hell are you doing, hiding like that?"

"Fans. Who'd you end up bringing, your dragon?"

"Nah, he'd never fit in the camper. You know that. Brought a friend from Beauxbatons."

"That girl you told me about?"

"Yep. And no, you can't have her. You have Alexandra."

"We broke up. Just didn't work out. All she talked about was me."

"Sorry, man. Wait, you're not just saying that to get Fleur, are you?"

"You know me better than that."

The Russian conversation was hard enough for the neighbors to follow, but when French-speaking Fleur exited the camper, it became downright impossible.

"Who's this?" she asked.

Feeling mischievous, Chey said in Gaelic, "Fleur, this is my friend from Durmstrang, Viktor."

Disregarding Chey's addition to the confusion, Fleur recognized Viktor's face. "Viktor Krum!"

"Quietly!" Chey said in English, the one common language. "Viktor's trying to avoid the screaming mob." Turning to Fleur, "Gabrielle still inside?"

"Going through your things," she joked.

"Wouldn't be the first time. So Viktor, where's Sergey and Nikolay?"

"Talked to them earlier. Brought their girlfriends."

"Figured as much. Sergey and Mariya still tight?"

"Like a drum, you might say. Nikolay and Catherine aren't doing too bad either. Say, you never told me how you two met."

Chey and Fleur reminisced in their first days of acquaintance, with Viktor laughing at their foolish rivalry. Gabrielle had even come out and was enjoying hearing about her sister's first encounters with Chey, understanding only after Chey and Fleur translated for her.

"What time you got, Chey?" Viktor finally asked.

"Uh, twelve-thirty."

"Damn. My mother's coming. I have to go meet her."

"Your mom's here? I'd like to meet her!"

"No...no you wouldn't." Exasperated, Viktor pulled his cloak over his head once more and took off down the path.

"Little rough around the edges, but still a good guy," Chey remarked. He did a double-take as he saw another old acquaintance walking the path. "Chuck!"

Charlie had been passing Chey's site with what Chey presumed was his older brother, along with a younger boy who Chey thought looked like the prefect from Hogwarts he'd spoken to a year and a half prior.

"You scored tickets, Chey?" Charlie yelled though they were only some twenty feet away.

"Good ole Viktor! Those your brothers?"

"Yeah, this is Bill and Percy."

"I think I already met the stickler," Chey said regarding Percy, the younger brother. "Saw your little brother, Ron."

"You didn't nickname him, did you?"

"Of course I did! He will be henceforth be known as 'Red.'"

"I suppose you've met his friends, Hermoine and Harry?"

"Whiskers and Specks."

"Not too out there. Who's this with you?"

"Chuck, you met Fleur, and this is her little sister Gabrielle."

"Nice to meet you, Gabrielle."

Gabrielle gazed at the stocky and scarred Charlie Weasley, who's friendly face beamed down on the girl.

"You're not going to get much of a response from her. Not a word of English. But she's learning." Charlie understood, and Chey turned to Bill. "Now which brother is this?"

"Name's Bill," he said. Tall with long hair and a single fang earing, Bill looked like the older brother of Chey's dreams. "Curse breaker for Gringotts in Egypt."

"Nice boots."

"Dragon hide."

"Anybody I know?"

"Couldn't tell you, wouldn't have the heart."

"I like this one." Indeed, Bill was likable. Everything Charlie said about Bill's accomplishments was shot to pieces. Awards and privileges meant nothing now that Chey had met Bill: the argument that appearance has no correlation to degrees of success. Cool was everything.

"Any nickname for him?" Charlie asked.

"Nah. Can't get better than 'Bill.' Why mess with perfection?" Finally, Chey addressed Percy. "Still a stick in the mud?"

"Completely," Charlie answered instead. Percy seemed either unable or unwilling to answer, only eyed Fleur and Gabrielle suspiciously. "Going on about caldron thicknesses all bloody day."

Percy snapped back to reality at those words. "I'm working for the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and my report may show that foreign manufacturers are swindling us by providing poor products. Mister Crouch himself requested it." He spoke with such pride and assumed authority, while Chey's eyes narrowed at his last sentence.

"Crouch, huh? That coot still ain't been fired yet?"

Charlie seemed to sense some form of outburst coming from Percy, and hurried him off, bidding Chey and his companions goodbye.

The remainder of the day saw the three of them meeting various acquaintances from school. It seemed a large group of Beauxbatons students had come together with Madame Maxime, and they all thought it wise if she didn't see Chey so soon after his expulsion. He ducked for cover when the intimidating Headmistress stopped by to conduct the typical chaperone duties of checking on the group of students. They even had to hide the sign reading "McGonagall" which designated the campsite's occupant. Maxime seemed pleased Fleur had made it, though obviously wondered who she came with.

After Maxime departed, and the other Beauxbatons students had left to their own sites for dinner, a rather frightful looking man approached Chey without warning.

"Hardly meet many warlocks these days," the man said, though "man" was a bit of a stretch. His mismatched eyes, one small and beady while the other large, blue and clearly magical, seemed to peer through disguises. Leaning on a long staff, he limped heavily, his long mangey dark-grey hair swaying slightly. His face was far more scarred than Chey could imagine, with a chunk of his nose missing. "You lot tend to stay on your side of the pond."

"Hardly meet a wizard who knows the difference," Chey responded. Fleur and Gabrielle retreated a noticeable degree at the sight of this man. "And you might be?"

"Alastor Moody. Noticed your wand."

"What about it?" Chey asked defensively, not knowing how much that blue eye could see.

"Noticed it wasn't there. Years of experience and I've only seen anything like it once. Always a pleasure to meet an illusionist. Far more rare to see an illusion of a wand. Can only guess why you'd have to."

"How observant."

"Was my job. Dark wizards don't come to you willingly. Need constant vigilance to catch them."

"Not unlike a temperamental dragon." Chey couldn't figure this man out. His speech was friendly, though his manner and tone was hard to approach, and Chey found himself wishing the man would get to the point and leave.

"Of course you'd know. Six expulsions and still a respectable skill level. Even scared old Karkaroff. Impressive. You'd make a fine auror."

"Believe it or not, dragons bite back less." The man was amused at this, and walked away, taking a swig from a flask at his hip.

"Acquaintance of yours?" Fleur asked, coming to his side now that Alastor Moody had left.

"Never met him in my life. Kind of creepy in an interesting keep-an-eye-on-but-mind-your-distance sort of way."

A deep gong sounded in the woods, and hundreds of green and red lanterns set themselves alight in the trees.

"Game time," Chey said, and the three of them marched into the trees with the crowd.

Author's note.

And now Chey has properly met the three main characters of the books. You can stop whining now, assuming you were whining at all. But is that all he'll see of them? (dramatic music)

What's that? I still haven't told you why Fleur seemed so nervous when Chey annouced he had the tickets? You people are so hard to please. Go ask your mother to tell you about patience being a virtue and all that. Go ahead and speculate, though. I welcome speculation, as it shows the audience is involved.

Yes, Chey has to nickname them. I find the nicknames much more entertaining than their real names. I'm confident you'll agree.

I've found time to write again. By waiting 45 minutes after my last class on Tuesdays and Thursdays, then writing while on the 30-45 minute subway ride, I get an hour and a half of writing time, and I don't have to sit in traffic after getting off the train because it's after rush hour! What joy! Also, I'm back in the mindset that allows me to work while watching midnight episodes of Fraiser, so I'll be accomplishing things again! Hip Hip...

You're supposed to say "Horay!" You disappoint me.

Appreciate all your feedback, dear readers! Speculate away!