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 Thirty-One

Exaltation and Proposition

Weakness...

It's never been this bad for a while. Not for a long time.

It was that mark, I'm sure. That has to be it. It's the only explanation.

But how to survive now? In my state? So few options...

Weakness...

Use the boy? No, I can't! I won't!

I shouldn't.

But it's my only option...to survive...

Chey awoke hoping it was from a very strange and surreal dream, but one look at the four-poster curtains told him it was no dream at all and he was indeed at Hogwarts.

Deciding that prolonging his sleep was unwise, he pulled back the four-poster's curtains and climbed out of bed, finding the only other person in the room was the boy who had watched last night's discussion quietly. He still said nothing, busying himself with getting dressed and gathering his things for the day.

Chey, figuring conversation was not one of the boy's strong suits, got ready himself. On the way to the Great Hall, he blindly ignored everyone and their stares. He was hungry, and not in the mood for answering their questions. Ever so slightly, he sensed they were somewhat afraid of him. That bothered him for reasons he couldn't explain.

Walking into the Great Hall while it was in the state it was in would have startled anyone. Sunlight flooded in through the windows, last night's storm having blown over. Students were all sitting at the tables, some eating more voraciously than others, while the heads of house were walking the aisles. The ceiling no longer reflected a stormy sky, but instead was mostly obscured by dozens upon dozens of owls.

Chey remained where he was for fear of getting blindsided by one of the swooping birds.

Before fully taking in the situation, a pair of jet-black wings approached him, and Chey found Raithe sitting on his shoulder, his feathers rustled perhaps by last night's storm, with an envelope in his claws. Chey took it from him, and instantly recognized it's floral scent.

"My Flower of the Court?" Chey asked the bird, who cawed in reply. "How the hell do you always know where to be?" Indeed, the only explanation seemed that when Chey left Romania for England, Raithe somehow knew to head to France so he may deliver Fleur's letter to him.

He walked to the Gryffindor table, letter in hand and Raithe on shoulder. Sitting down, he opened the envelope and read Fleur's correspondence.

"How are you, Chey?

I have incredible news: They are reinstating the Triwizard Tournament!

Beauxbatons is going to put together a shortlist, and I'm going for it!

Your aunt's school, Hogwarts, is hosting it, so if I make the list I may be able to finally meet her! Wish me luck!

By the way, did you send Raithe here? He didn't have a letter with him, and he only seems eager to deliver mine to you. Does that mean anything?

With love,

Fleur."

Thinking what a nice surprise it would be for her if he was here when she arrived, he decided against telling her he was attending Hogwarts. He'd write her a reply later.

"Glorious bacon," he said, looking at the plethora of foods on the table, as Raithe hopped onto the table to snag a bit for himself. "How I've missed you."

"Good morning, Chey," he heard a disappointed voice to his right. Indeed, Minerva walked toward him. "I trust you had a good sleep?"

"Not really. I had this horrible dream I was attending Hogwarts."

"Welcome to reality, then. Now, let's see what you'll be taking this year." She had, no doubt, his O.W.L. test results in hand, looking them over with a thoughtful expression. "I have a few special projects for you in Transfiguration, and I think you should take Defense against the Dark Arts."

"Why's that?"

"It would be good for you to learn from someone with experience. And be quiet. I don't care how good you are, it would do you some good to learn from Professor Moody. And, Care of Magical Creatures-"

"Minerva, have you forgotten where I work?"

"It's more for Professor Hagrid. This is only his second year teaching, and last year didn't go as well as we would have liked. No other seventh years have signed up, so it's a perfect opportunity for you to help him. Goodness knows he needs it. Next, Professor Flitwick has a very challenging curriculum for students who can handle it. Are you up for it?"

"Why not. Save me from boredom."

"Very well." She tapped her wand to the slip of parchment in her hand and handed it to him. "Here's your schedule, then."

Chey looked at it and stopped her as she started to walk away. "Whoa whoa hey! Only four classes? And no potions?"

"They're twice as long as anyone else's, and I think Professor Snape has enough grief without dealing with you," she called back. "That should keep you busy."

"Like I don't have enough to do," he said under his breath, stroking Raithe on the head. "What with that old coot appointing me to this mediator position I'll be busier than a decapitated chicken trying to find it's head and can I help you gentlemen?"

Now sitting across the table from him were two boys about sixth year, possibly identical twins, with fiery red hair and reminding Chey strongly of his coworker in Romania.

"Good morning," said one of them.

"Our names are Fred,"

"And George Weasly."

"You may know our brother Charlie."

"He works with dragons in Romania."

"We come to you with a request."

"For your assistance."

"Fire away," Chey said, chomping down on a mouthful of food.

"We're what you might call the troublemakers," continued the one identifying himself as Fred.

"School clowns."

"Class acts."

"But we can never compare to you."

"C-come again?" Chey said after swallowing hard, expecting them to continue their alternating speech pattern, which they did.

"You see, we've done many things in our years here in this castle."

"Most of them modeled after the antics of Hogwarts's own poltergeist, Peeves."

"Yet try as we might we never seemed good enough."

"And there is no way we can hold ourselves to the standard you have set."

"We've researched your exploits,"

"Studied their patterns,"

"And can only come to the conclusion,"

"That they are the works of genius."

Chey had never heard anyone refer to flooding the ground floor as the product of genius. Before he could say a word about it, though, they continued their back-and-forth proposal.

"We were particularly interested in your accomplishments in Venice."

"The entire west wing demolished."

"No casualties."

"And supposedly no accomplices."

"But after serious consideration of the scenario,"

"We've come to the conclusion that even in the most unusual of circumstances,"

"There's no way you were working alone."

"And you managed to shield all your accomplices from repercussion."

"In short,"

"We come to you,"

"Humbled,"

"And eager to learn."

"We ask that you pass on your wisdom to us,"

"As your students,"

"Your disciples,"

"Your protégées."

"What say you?"

Chey mulled it over for a moment while swigging a glass of juice. Their request brought up painful memories of when he had tried to teach Viktor, Sergey and Nikolay to invent their own spells, and the utter failure to accomplish that goal.

"Listen good, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum," he already nicknamed them. "You can fight amongst yourselves later about who's Dee and who's Dum, just listen right now. I have, in the past, tried my hand at passing skills to others. The first time I tried was a disaster. They had the will, just not the ability. And while all came out of that experiment unharmed, this first attempt at teaching scarred me such that I have only taught one time since, and that was only because she was both persuasive and extremely good looking. Now I'm sure you boys are persuasive enough, so no real problem there. But all things being equal, I'm thinking you two ain't gonna cut it in that other department."

The Weasley boys sat for a moment, clearly unprepared for Chey's refusal, until George (or Fred, as Chey had lost track of which was which, they were so alike) finally said to him, "Please understand we won't take 'No' for an answer."

"How about a 'Hell No?'"

"Won't take any of those either."

"What a shame," Chey said, standing up, Raithe leaping off the table and onto his shoulder. "'Cause those were the only answers I had to give. Seeing as you won't take them, you'll have to settle for no answer at all. See you around."

Chey left them to stew in disappointment, certain that if they were anything like Charlie they would give up.

Leaving the hall with the jet-black bird on his shoulder, he figured he might as well look at the schedule Minerva had handed him.

"Okay then, Aunt 'Em this afternoon," he spoke to himself, "that big guy on Tuesday morning... Mr. Paranoid on Wednesday mornings... the really short Charms teacher on Thursday afternoon and... Kick-ass! Fridays off!"

This left him free to do as he wished Monday and Thursday mornings, as well as Tuesday and Wednesday afternoons. He expected, though, that these teachers had a few extracurricular activities planned for him to fill in the blanks.

"Now, what to do until lunchtime?" he wondered aloud as the students rushed off to their first classes.

"Mister McGonagall," called a voice Chey would soon discover belonged to Dumbledore. "If I might have a word?" the headmaster said before turning to ascend the entrance hall's marble staircase, expecting Chey to follow.

Chey did indeed follow, though in silence for he expected this to be about his position as the Triwizard Mediator. Dumbledore only spoke when they arrived in his office and closed the door behind them. Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, became very alert when they entered.

"I thought you might want a say in how I'll announce your appointment to Madame Maxime and Headmaster Karkaroff."

"Yes, I would like a say in that," Chey responded, feeling Raithe's claws tighten on his shoulder.

"Very well. How would you prefer I introduce you?"

"I'd rather you didn't at all until they show up."

Dumbledore had no words, so Chey tried his best to continue despite Raithe's claws having penetrated his shirt. "Think about it for a minute. You want me to be the mediator. Maxime and Karkaroff will fight you tooth and nail, possibly even pulling out of the tournament, if they found out ahead of time that I'm involved."

"You propose that I don't give them that chance?"

"Absolutely."

"Well, I'll have to tell them something."

"Be as vague as possible. They bought it when it was on an application to attend their schools and WILL YOU STOP DIGGING INTO MY SHOULDER?"

Chey pried Raithe off his shoulder, which was now bleeding slightly. Only now was Chey aware of what was bothering the raven: he and Fawkes were shooting each other death stares across the room and they had both ruffled their feathers in hostility.

"You crazy bird," Chey chastised the raven as he carried him to the open window and let him out. "And would it kill you to get along with the school's owls?" he shouted after the bird.

"Never seen Fawkes act that way," Dumbledore said, trying to calm the phoenix.

"Weird for Raithe, too. I guess smart birds just don't get along with each other. Anyway, where were we?"

"I was about to agree not to tell Maxime and Karkaroff about your appointment?"

"Oh yeah. So, you gonna keep this hush hush?"

"I don't see why not."

"Okay, cool."

"On one condition."

"Uh oh."

"Be so kind as to move your car somewhere less conspicuous?"

Chey looked out the window and could not deny the oddity that was a black nineteen sixty-nine Charger parked on a gravel path outside a thousand-year-old castle.

"Yeah, I guess I can do that."