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-Three

Beasts and Pests

"Hey, Viktor.

I know Karkaroff can be annoying, but try to put up with it. Here's an idea: consider him your publicist.

Regarding the Tournament, if I were you, I'd go for it.

Now before you disregard my advise, hear me out.

The tasks are said to be incredibly challenging. That said, think back to when you took on perhaps the most challenging task of all: learning to create your own spells at the age of fifteen. Not a thing I could say would have stopped you, Sergey, and Nikolay from trying to learn from me. (You can ignore the part about never managing to accomplish that goal.)

Second, this could be good for you. You've already proven you're the best Seeker in the pro league. Why not prove you can do more than play Quidditch?

Just a few thoughts. Bear in mind that if you make it as champion, I'll be there to watch. Wouldn't miss it for the world.

Your friend, the crazy Yank,

Chey."

Chey had never been very good at persuading people to do things, especially now that he wanted to keep a few facts about the Tournament secret.

His letter to Fleur was worded much better:

"To my Flower of the Court,

Go for it! I'm confident you'll do very well in the Tournament! Just remember what you've learned and keep your wits about you, and you'll be just fine.

Somehow I think you and my aunt would get along. You two could have a lot of fun pointing out my flaws.

Selfishly changing the subject to myself, I've managed to gain access to a library with a rather comprehensive collection. It's not the Library of Congress, but it'll suffice for my studies. At the moment, I'm researching wandless magic performed by magic users. Ambitious, I know, but a challenge is what I was after.

As for Raithe, I've never understood that bird. For some reason, he always knows where to be. Just accept it as I have.

I'd wish you luck in the Tournament, but I know you'll get by on skill alone.

Still missing you,

Chey."

At least the parts about his access to a library and his field of research were mostly true. He hated hiding things from his friends, but he knew they'd forgive him when they came.

Raithe and Viktor's Saker Falcon were standing on the table in front of him as he multitasked eating breakfast and writing the letters. He'd set up a shield charm around himself to ward off people who wanted to bother him while he wrote the letters. Most notable of these people were the Weasley twins, who obviously hadn't given up their pursuit of his supposed mastery of troublemaking. Needless to say they were quite stunned when they ran into an invisible barrier on their way to talk to him.

He tapped each letter with his illusionary wand, and they were instantly folded and tucked into addressed envelops. Handing the letters to the birds, he dropped the shield and they took off, getting lost in the swarm of letter delivering owls.

Rather than listen to the twins make a second proposition, as no doubt they had one prepared, he headed out the Great Hall's doors.

In the Entrance Hall, the poltergeist from the other night was hunched down halfway up the marble staircase. Intrigued, Chey approached for a closer look.

"Whatcha doin'?"

"GAAAAAHHH!" he screamed, scrambling up a few steps.

"What's that in your hand?"

"N-nothing!" he stammered, hiding both hands behind his back.

"Looked like soap," Chey deduced. "Say, you weren't trying to slick up the stairs, were you?" He remained silent, and Chey took it as an admission of guilt. "Kinda dangerous, ain't it?"

"Gots to do something to make up for you spoiling my fun the other night!"

"Understandable. But did it ever occur to you that you aren't really a permanent attachment to the castle?"

"What are you getting at?" the poltergeist said angrily. No doubt his "in-your-face" behavior caused him to develop a dislike for evasiveness.

"You're lucky the stairs aren't wet. I'd clean that up if I were you." Chey started to walk away, then with a sideways glance, said, "Then I'd get some axle grease from my car and smear it on the handrail."

Satisfied he may have discovered a troublemaking proxy in Peeves, he left the poltergeist to consider his suggestion.

"Hang on a sec," he stopped. He turned to the poltergeist and asked, "Where's the Care of Magical Creatures teacher?"

"Outside, at the edge of the forest."

"Thanks. And there should be some grease buildup under the rear axle."

"So? What yea think?"

Rubeus Hagrid, instructor for Care of Magical Creatures, held his lessons near his cabin at the forest's tree line. It was a quaint cottage, suitably proportioned for his unusual size. Lazily resting near the door was an enormous boarhound Hagrid had affectionately dubbed Fang, and Chey was staring into a box of many-legged, pale, headless creatures which looked to him like mutated shell-less lobsters.

"What am I looking at?" he asked.

"Blast-ended skrewts!" Hagrid answered with perhaps a little too much enthusiasm.

"Ah." Chey couldn't find any words to respond. "And uh...what?"

"Adorable, aren' they?"

"Well there's a new word for it." It was the last word Chey would have ever used to describe them. "Uh, and why do you have them?"

"They're gonna be the year-long project fer the fourth-years!"

"And...um...do you know anything about them?"

"Well, er, tha's wha' we're gonna learn!"

"Uh, I don't know how exactly to say this, Shaggy-"

"Sorry?"

"The hair? They beard? You don't mind, do you?" Indeed, Hagrid's mane of hair could do nothing but lead Chey to apply him the nickname of "Shaggy."

"Oh. Eh, no."

"Cool. Anyways, I don't know if things work different here in England, but back home we have a general consensus: it's pretty much a bad idea to use a class of fourteen year-olds as guinea pigs to find out more about an unknown species."

"Well, er, when yea put it that way..."

"That's as delicately as I can call it. Bit of advise: try to know a thing or two about the creature before introducing it to kids."

"Makes sense now yea mention it."

"I thought it might. So what else you got lined up for these kids?"

"Ter tell yea the truth, it gots more to do wit' what I can get me hands on at the time."

"For instance?"

"Las' year I showed the third years a hippogriff, I'll probably show unicorns to the fourth years, the fifth years'll get ter see the thestrals-"

"If they can, that is?"

"Oh, there might be a few who can. Professor Dumbledore always says children will always surprise yea. And lastly, then the sixth years get ter see the giant squid in the lake."

"The what in the what?"

"The giant squid in the lake, o' course! Didn't yea know?"

"Not until recently. So hippogriffs, unicorns, thestrals, and a squid. That's it?"

"There be the main ones. I'd like to show the older ones a dragon, but I can't get anyone to let me do it."

"Tell you what. I'll see what I can do about that."

"Yea will?"

"Sure. Just need to check with one of my contacts back in the States."

"Ah, tha'd be wonderful if yea could! But what yea need to check fer?"

"Oh, just some issues regarding liability, jurisdiction, and legal ramifications. You know, the usual."

After spending the rest of the morning talking about various possible improvements to the curriculum, the bell signaled the end of class and Chey headed up to the castle for lunch. Just to the side of the doors was a small crowd. Chey, being curious, investigated.

There, in the center of the crowd, was the Charger. From what he could tell, it seemed as if Peeves had heard his advise about collecting the axle grease from his car and got an idea of his own. Chey was certain Peeves had thoroughly enjoyed himself while dismantling every single component in the engine compartment and scattering them on the ground..

"Well, shit," was all he could say upon seeing this. All around him, his fellow students gaped at the scene, reading the poem scratched out on the door.

"Pity, pity, you messed with Peevesy. Should have know he is quite sleazy. Now your car's all torn apart, so go home and cry out your Yankee heart!"

"That's a shame, mate," came a voice behind him.

"Yeah, well, it's to be expected of that little monster. Quite the poet, though, wouldn't you say?"

"Never heard anyone call it poetry before. So you came out of the World Cup unscathed, I see."

"What?" Chey turned to see yet another familiar face, and come to think of it the voice was familiar, too. After taking a moment to piece things together, he realized who he was talking to. "Oh, you're that kid who didn't believe me when I said Krum's a friend of mine."

"Still hard to believe."

"Yep, that was you. Whatever your name was."

"Cedric Diggory."

"Yeah, that's it. Sure, we got out okay. You know, you were kind of a snot."

"Sorry. I was just annoyed my dad kept holding me on a pedestal all day."

"Ah yes, the ubiquitous internal struggle regarding the actions of the parent reflected in the behavior of oneself."

"What?"

"Made it up on the spot. So your dad's real proud of you, eh? Must be nice to know that."

"Not when it's to the extent he puts it. It gets annoying, really. Goes on and on about how I 'beat the great Harry Potter at Quidditch.'"

"Potter? Who's...hold on. Fourth year, black hair, glasses?"

"Gryffindor, yeah. We're both Seekers."

"Specks did seem the type. He any good?"

"I think so. We only won on a technicality."

"Which technicality might that be?"

"He fell off his broom."

Chey tripped over his thoughts for a moment. "Wait, how can he be good if the guy fell?"

"There was a bad storm, and Dementors swarmed the stadium."

"Okay, then it's excusable." Chey knew only too well the devastating effects Dementors could have. He was surviving proof of it.

"This is your car, right?" Cedric asked, indicating the dismantled muscle car.

"Yeah," Chey sighed, looking at the pitiful sight.

"Shame," Cedric consoled him. "So what're you going to do?"

"Only thing I can do. I'll have to put it back together."

"I'm sure there's a spell that could take care of it."

"Nah, magic would never get it right. Gotta be by hand. Holds together better and I can make sure it's done right."

"Rotten luck, mate."

"Story of my life."

"So I've read." Months later, people were still bringing up that news article.

"As has most of the world. ALL RIGHT, PEOPLE! CLEAR OUT!" Waving his wand he pushed the spectators away, and another flick of his wrist gathered all the pieces closer together. He conjured a shelter for the car, complete with the necessary tools to repair it. "Damn poltergeist didn't even bother to drain the fluids," he said, looking at the parts dripping with oil, antifreeze, and transmission fluid. "There goes my weekend. And probably the one after that."

"Hey, Chey," Harry called to him at dinner after Chey had spent the whole afternoon assessing the damage to the Charger. "I heard about your car."

"Yep," he answered them. "Sucks to be me."

"How bad is it?" Hermoine asked, diving right into the food on the table.

"Nothing's broken, so I can put it together no problem. But Peeves's literary work needs to be sanded off and the area refinished."

"It was a beautiful car, too," Ron reminisced.

"And will be once again when I'm done with it," Chey reassured them. "Don't you worry about that. I will need to get some of the fluids shipped over here from back home. My dad always used high-grade blends, and I don't think I'll have much luck getting some here."

"The car belongs to your dad?"

"Used to."

"He just...gave it to you?" Harry asked.

"Provision of the will." This stunned them, to Chey's surprise. He'd thought they already knew of his parents' fate.

"I'm...sorry," Hermoine finally said after a moment.

"I get that a lot." To avoid the awkward issue, Chey decided to change the subject. "Word is you're a hell of a flyer, Specks."

"I'm fair enough," he replied modestly. Chey could sense that Harry feared attention for one reason or another.

"A gross understatement, according to one Mister Cedric Diggory, as I understand it."

"Oh, that bloke?" Ron interjected, clearly not a fan.

"Come off it, Ron," Hermoine chastised him.

"Why should I? He's nothing but a pretty face."

"I sense tension," Chey said, hoping to end the dispute with the obvious comment. It worked.

"You any good a flyer?" Harry asked him, breaking the silence.

"In all modesty?" he began his reply. "Fair enough."

"Honestly," Harry asked again, with a gleam in his eyes not unlike what Chey saw in Viktor, "how good are you?"

"Oh, how do I put this?" Chey decided to come clean, though in a cryptic way. "Every now and then, I'll intentionally lose a race, just to prove I'm no cheat."

A knowing grin spread across Harry's face as he said, "That's what I was looking for."

Author's note.

Merry Christmas to all, Happy Holidays to the rest, and political correctness be damned.

Loving all your feedback, dear readers!