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 (excluding the aforementioned characters, settings, and story) a work by Thomas Holman.

Chapter Six

Family History

As Chey left the Hogwarts grounds in the direction of the apparition barrier, he heard whispers of a student who grew whiskers and a tail. Chey had seen this before: it’s what happens when a Polyjuice potion is used with a non-human transformation sample. The result is a horrible, not to mention painful, halfway transformation into the animal. Chey always wondered what it would be like to be half-dragon, but the reversal process shied him away from it. His talent as an animagus for shape shifting into a fox would have to tide him over.

Before Chey departed, he decided to pay a visit to the patient, just to scare them by explaining the long and tedious reversal process. Much to his surprise, it was the laser-eye library girl, still pouring over a book.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he deadpanned. It looked like her potion worked very well. She even had the cat’s eyes.

“It’s you! How did you find out about this?!”

“Hard not to. Just a suggestion: verify the source of the sample before adding it in.”

“I got the hair myself.”

“Why were you making such a complicated potion? You’re years away from that kind of level? Or did you want a challenge?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” she said in a way that said there was more to the story. If she was that reluctant to talk about it, perhaps Chey shouldn’t pry. Then again, it could be a fascinating story.

“No it isn’t. Who were you trying to impersonate?”

“Nobody! I was just trying to see if it could be done!”

“People spray dust bunnies with hair spray and run over them will roller blades to see if they ignite; they don’t mix a batch of polyjuice just to say they can. And the only reason for impersonating someone these days is to extract information. What were you trying to find out?”

With a sigh, she reluctantly gave in. “I was trying to find out who opened the Chamber of Secrets.”

“You know,” Chey began, “back home they got a word for people like you: vigilante.”

“Oh, stop it!” she said indignantly. Chey could have sworn her whiskers twitched and hair stood up on end that instant. Perhaps enough was enough on that sensitive topic. However, speaking of sensitive topics:

“Why are you studying magical theory?”

“What?” she asked in genuine confusion. It did seem an odd question to ask.

“Isn’t that subject reserved in this country for schooling beyond seventh-year?”

“How would you know about that sort of subject?”

“It’s standard curriculum from the third year back in the States. Why are you reading up on such complicated material?”

“I like to challenge myself.”

“And you understand it?”

“Not entirely.” She seemed disappointed, as though she’d never before come across a subject she didn’t understand. Her whiskers drooped a little.

“Want a jump start?”

She didn’t even voice a reply; the intensity of her eyes gave him the answer.

“Okay then,” he began. “The phenomenon known as magic is centered around one basic concept: no matter what you do to change it, it always stays the same. Magic is not an ability held by a select few. It is a physical force borrowed by those who can comprehend its existence. We, as humans, are not magical in any way; we have no magical properties. The process of using magic boils down to the sculptor analogy: the artist is not made of the clay that consists of the sculpture, he just borrows it and manipulates it until he achieves the desired results.” Her expression was blank. “You got this so far?”

“I think so.”

“Good, ‘cause that’s it.”

“What?”

“You really think I’m going to give you the whole answer?”

“Well, you gave me that impression!”

“If you’re really serious about learning this, you’ll work for it on your own.

“But...” It was no good, for Chey was already on his way out.

“When you’ve figured out what I’ve already said, then we’ll talk. Until then, you’re on your own.” And with that, he was out the door.

After spending some more time in Romania with Vipey (and dealing with a rather rambunctious adolescent Shortsnout, from which he received a cut on his right forearm), Chey made his way back to Durmstrang.

During his absence, it seemed that Sergey and Mariya had grown even closer. There was a betting pool that the students (and one faculty member) had formed and placed wagers on when they’d break up, only Chey couldn’t participate, because his bet was “they’ll never break up,” and that option wasn’t on the board.

There was one thing Chey was anxious to know the instant he arrived.

“How’d your interview go, Viktor?”

“I start training with the Bulgarian team this summer.” Viktor said it in the passive way that only he could accomplish.

“Awesome! Now, wasn’t my training worth it?”

“No.”

“Yeah, you say that now, but when you need someone to thank at the inevitable awards banquet, we both know who’ll have a special mention, won’t we? Whatcha starin’ at, Nikolay?”

It was the day Chey returned from Romania, and Chey, Victor, Nikloy, Sergey, and Mariya were all in the student lounge. Chey was in the doorway, talking to Victor who was in a chair by the fireplace, while Sergey and Mariya (who were blissfully unaware of the students’ betting pool) sat together on a sofa halfway across the room. Nikolay was standing in front of the window in the corner, staring out into the distance, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hands.

Nikolay failed to respond to Chey’s inquiry, and only continued staring out the window.

“Someone string your pants up a flagpole, Nikolay?” Chey asked as he approached.

“A bunch of veela checked into the nearby town’s inn, and they got the room with the big windows,” Viktor explained.

“And he’s trying to get a glimpse,” added Sergey.

“I need a telescope,” Nikolay said with near desperation.

Chey conjured just such a telescope with a sigh and the remark “You’re pathetic.”

Nikolay was quick to retort. “Hey, Sergey has Mariya, you have your dragon, and Viktor has his Quiditch team. I need something to love, too.”

“Chey,” Mariya started, “was Sergey ever like that before we got together?” That question sparked a look of terror in her boyfriend’s face.

“Well,” Chey considered the possible responses, and the outcomes they would trigger, but decided to avoid the wrath of his friend should he give him a less than stellar reputation, “not since I’ve known him.”

A silent sigh of relief ensued from Sergey, while at the same time, Mariya still had some suspicion. Chey figured that a little suspicion was a good thing: just another thing for the two of them to argue about, then grow ever closer afterwards.

“Have a look, guys,” Nikolay said quietly. “They’re beautiful.”

“I bet they are,” said Viktor. “But I’m going to get some dinner.”

“Sergey?” Nikolay continued extending invitations, but all Sergey did was point at Mariya, indicating he has better things to look at. “Chey?”

“Nah,” he replied while sitting down on the sofa adjacent to Viktor. This surprised Nikolay. Who would say no to such a sight?

“Why not? What’s your excuse?”

“Veela’s don’t exactly send me on a one-way trip to Cloud Nine-and-a-Half.”

“What do you mean?”

“‘Veela Charm,’ as it’s commonly known, doesn’t work on other people with veela blood.” As a look of confusion swept across the room, Chey mentally kicked himself. Now he had to explain himself. It’s not that he kept it a secret because he was ashamed. As a matter of fact, he was proud of his heritage. It’s just that no one ever believes him when he tells them. With a sigh, he began. “My great grandmother was a veela.”

“But you’re...” Mariya started.

“A guy? Yep. The effects of veela blood are significantly reduced when it’s below twenty-five percent, and I’m twelve-and-a-half. All I got was hair, eyes, and immunity to their charm.”

“I never knew that,”Nikolay chimed in. Chey’s explanation had pried his face away from the window, a remarkable feat.

“Well, it doesn’t really concern most people,” Chey continued. “Actually, it’s kind of fun. You see, I can sense when someone has veela blood, and the fact that I can ignore the girls that try to charm me really annoys them.”

Unfortunately Chey’s continued lecture had bored Nikolay, for his eyes once again plastered themselves to the view beyond the window. “I’m going to introduce myself to them,” he said.

“Let me know if and when they stop laughing,” Chey commented, but his witty remark was never heard by Nikolay, for he raced out the door with true intent. “Oh well. Guess he’ll have to learn the hard way.”

“I think I’ll follow him,” said Viktor. “But only to the dining hall. You coming?”

“We are,” answered Sergey, and Mariya nodded in agreement.

“I already ate,” said Chey. “Besides, I should probably get a jump on some homework.”

“Suit yourself,” Viktor called back, seemingly so hungry that he decided to save time by answering while walking out the door.

But Chey had no homework to get a head start on. In fact, he had practically completed the entire curriculum required of him for the whole year. It seemed odd that his friends didn’t pick up on the irony of his comment, but it was a relief. Chey just wanted some time to reflect on a few things, most notably his heritage.

He had never known his mother’s side of the family. Sure, they sent him a Christmas card once in a while, but it was mistakenly addressed to his mother, referred to by her maiden name. Alana Wesson, it would always read, and never with a return address. Chey had the impression that they never realized that she had ever gotten married. Minerva once told him that his mother didn’t keep very close contact with her family, but certainly they would have known that she had died, wouldn’t they?

Speaking of letters...

“Raithe?” Chey’s pet raven had appeared outside the window with an envelope in his claws. Chey got up and opened the window, and the sleek-black bird landed on the windowsill. “What’ve you got there?”

"Speak of the devil." It was addressed to his mother, only her maiden name was used. There was no return address, just like all their letters. It was lucky that the post birds were aware enough to forward his parents’ mail to him.

Today, it seemed that his mother’s Christmas card was delivered a little late. It was the usual “We are well, how are you?” cliche. If only the Wessons would say more about themselves, just so that he could perhaps find them. It was always signed “With love, Mother and Father.” Didn’t they find it odd that his mother never answered them? If they really meant the “love” part of those infernal letters, wouldn’t they even make an attempt to speak to her face to face?

Chey would love to talk to them. Didn’t he have a right to know his own family? Didn’t they have a right to know that their beloved daughter had died?

Chey was furious. He never knew his mother’s family, and he had no idea who to blame for it.

Then again, all Chey knew of his father’s side was Minerva. For all he knew, they were the last two McGonnagals left.

At least he knew a little bit of the McGonnagal Family’s history. Before his father’s death, he owned a quarter of the American economy. For some reason, that part he owned (and his father before him, and so on) always prospered. It wasn’t by any magical influence, just that the McGonnagals were very good at business.

Of course, now all that money belonged to Chey. At least it will once he’s out of school. For the time being it was controlled by a board of directors, assigned by his father’s Last Will. Chey couldn’t wait march into that stuffy boardroom and take business back, and maybe keep a few of those starchy old geezers around as attorneys or accountants. Perhaps one of them could be a butler? Until then, however, he could only hope they were doing their best to keep as much of his father’s money intact as possible. They seemed to be doing a good job of it so far, so maybe one of them could be his vice-president. Chey wondered how many of those guys were still alive.

Another bird appeared outside the window with a letter in claw. Chey didn’t recognize it at first, lost in his own thoughts, then noticed the letter held by the large osprey (owls were strictly a staple of the European wizard postal system) was actually addressed to him. Upon opening it he discovered it was the directors’ annual progress report. It was a lot of numbers that made sense to an accountant, but after looking at it long enough, Chey figured that things were going well. Otherwise, some of these numbers would be printed in red ink, or have a little minus sign preceding them. Since all numbers were in black ink and none were below zero, Chey neglected to panic.

After a moment it became obvious to Chey that the only real family he knew was Minerva, and he only saw her a few times out of the year. Another few seconds of though and Chey included Vipey and Raithe as family, but the thought of loneliness still hit him pretty hard. Sure, he had friends from school, but his ratio of schools attended to years of education was extraordinarily high, so any real connection was hardly viable. There was Chuck, but he was just a coworker.

Chey was beginning to wonder if he was truly alone. Then he snapped back into reality. If he really was alone, he would perpetuate it by living in a swamp under a tree root. Since he did not find himself in that situation, he surmised that there had to be someone nearby with some sort of real connection with him. Either that, or there might be someone in the future. Yes, that was very possible.

The newly attained mentality calmed Chey to the point of returning his stress levels to normal. It was at that moment that Sergey and Mariya entered the room, laughing.

Chey, still a little dazed from his venture into the depths of his mind, took a moment to notice them. When his thoughts finally reached the room, a look at the clock revealed that he had been standing alone in the room for well over an hour.

“Did I miss something while I was up here?” By this time they had made it to the window and were looking out in earnest.

“Viktor convinced Nikolay to get some dinner before talking to the veela at the inn,” Sergey began.

“And during dinner,” Mariya continued, “Nikolay convinced Viktor to go with him.”

“And now they’re treading through waist-deep snow just to make fools of themselves,” Sergey finished.

“So they’re going to freeze their toes off and get their clothes soaked just for the chance to say hello to some women who are possibly ten years older than they are who don’t even care if they exist?” Chey summed up.

“That’s about it,” Mariya confirmed, and looked at him with a smile.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” Chey announced, “I have officially seen it all. Goodnight.”

“What’s that in your hand?” Mariya asked, referring to the letters.

Suddenly the flood of thoughts that he had only just dealt with came rushing back to him. For only a moment, a look of sadness flashed across his face. Then, with an equally quick recovery, he said “Just some late Christmas cards.” It seemed to satisfy her curiosity, and she left it at that.

“Oh, I hate it when that happens,” Sergey complained, still watching Nikolay and Viktor struggle through the snow. “What is so hard about sending those things on time?”

With a half-hearted laugh, Chey turned and left the room, letters from the remnants of his family still clutched in his hand.

Author's Note

Okay, seriously: who saw that coming? No you didn't, you liars! I hope this makes you realize that this story is not going to be all sunshine and roses (because I hide from the sun and step on flowers).

A note to the people who found this story via a character search: Because my main character is completely of my own design and not of Rowling's, Chey is not in the list. As such, the Character Slots are determined by the people Chey interacts with most in the most recent chapter. I hope that clears up some confusion.

As of the posting of this chapter, I have just completed Chapter 16. (I was on vacation and went on a creativity binge.) To those of you who now ask why there are not sixteen chapters online right now, my explanation is selfish and simple: In the event of severe writer's block (which has happened) or I become too busy with work and school (also very possible), It is good to have a buffer of chapters I can post a new chapter once a week (at different times during the week in an underhanded attempt to attract more readers who log on at different times) so you will not feel like there is a drought. I'm thinking of you when I do this. Also, I like to keep at least the three most recent chapters unposted so I can make slight changes to fit the events of the single most recent, as I have had to do in the past.

I thank you all for reading,

Again, I appreciate all comments, especially good ones, but I'll take bad ones if you're nice about it. A little constructive criticism never hurt anyone, not even me.