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-Five

Professional Athletics

Chey, Fleur and Gabrielle marched through the trees hand in hand, the red and green lanterns lighting the way.

"Stay close, Gabrielle," Fleur warned her sister. "There are a lot of people here, and we don't want to get lost."

"That's right, Gabrielle. If you got lost, we'd miss my buddy Viktor's spectacular flying!" Chey said, unaware it was in English.

"I hardly think," came a voice, "that you and Viktor Krum are really friends."

Chey turned to see a boy his own age walking the path alongside them. There was no question he himself played Quidditch. He had the same gleam in his eyes as Viktor, though the casual observer would never see past Viktor's ever stoic expression. This was a glimmer Chey had also seen in the mirror, and it came from the appreciation of the joys of flight.

"So think again," Chey told him. "I went to school with the guy. Taught him a lot of what he knows."

They boy dismissed it as the ravings of someone crying for attention. However, Chey was not ignored long, as the boy looked at him again. "Should I know you from somewhere?" he asked. Chey glanced at him sideways to see if he himself should recognize the boy, but no one came to mind. "I could swear I've seen your face somewhere."

"I get that a lot these days," Chey could only answer, afraid he might once again be recognized as the American with six expulsions.

"Dad, doesn't he look familiar?" the boy asked his father.

"His face does ring a bell," the older looking wizard. Chey figured his must be a desk job. "Say, boy, was your picture ever in the Daily Prophet?"

"Once or twice," Chey answered reluctantly.

"That's it! Cedric, this is the boy expelled from those six schools!"

"You know," the boy named Cedric said, "I never would have known you for a troublemaker to look at you."

"Neither would I," Chey said, wondering again how six expulsions in a row were possible.

"You know, in the whole article about you, they never mentioned how you did in classes."

"He was a perfect student everywhere he went!" Fleur had come to Chey's defense, and glared at Cedric.

"Is this true or is it just your friend defending your honor?"

"True for every word," Chey told him. "Sadly, so was the article."

"Perfect student gets expelled? Why would the article fail to mention that?"

"Because a lousy screw-up makes for a better story than a wronged innocent any day. Besides, the only purpose behind it was to ruin my name."

"Yeah, sure," Cedric remarked sarcastically, clearly not believing a word, and walked away now that they had reached the enormous gold-walled stadium.

At once, Chey sensed the vast number of wards surrounding the structure. He could nearly taste the intense magic and emotions running through the single building. He had a feeling of completeness well inside him, and he licked his teeth instinctively as though he were truly tasting something.

A tug of his hand brought him back, and the three of them began climbing stairs. Finally, they reached their seats, second highest only to the top box, just below the commentator, and a perfect midfield view of the game.

"Chey, you crazy American!" came a familiar Russian voice as they sat down. Turning his head, Chey saw it belonged to Sergey, sitting one row behind them.

"Sergey! What the hell! How ya been?!"

"Spectacular! Mariya, it's Chey!"

Mariya had been clinging to Sergey's arm, and was delighted to see once again the reason for her relationship with him. "How have you been, Chey."

He glanced at Fleur, and said, "I'm doing pretty good." Remembering something, he added, "Hey, Andrey been giving you any flak lately? 'Cause I can take care of that."

"No, I think you scared him straight," Sergey said. "He hasn't bothered us one bit. Glares at us a lot, but that's it."

Fleur looked up at Chey, not understanding a word of his Russian. Chey noticed this, saying "Aw damn, I got no manners." Now speaking in French, "Fleur, this is Sergey and Mariya, more of my friends from Durmstrang." Now in Russian, "Guys, this is Fleur. Found her at Beauxbatons. And over here is her adorable sister, Gabrielle."

They exchanged pleasantries, Chey handling the translation.

"Hey, Sergey," Chey started a few moments later. "It's less than a minute to game time. Where's Nikolay and Catherine?"

"I don't know. If they're not here, they must be in a different box."

"Yeah, that's gotta be it." Chey leaned over the edge to look at the neighboring boxes better, and saw in the box to his right sat Nikolay and Catherine. He caught their attention, and they waved back, though there was no time to chat, what with the commentator's booming voice welcoming everyone to the four hundred twenty-second Quidditch World Cup.

"And now, without further ado," the commentator said in typical sportscaster attitude, "allow me to introduce...the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!"

"What'd they bring," Chey wondered aloud. "No!"

A hundred veela glided onto the field, music started, and the women began their entrancing dance. All around him, Chey saw the male spectators lose all expression in their faces. When the a man sitting near them stood up on the railing, Chey felt he could not allow this to continue, and he pulled his illusion of a wand from his belt and stopped the music. At once, the veela stopped their dance.

"Irresponsible," he could only say, and Fleur nodded in agreement. "Damn near killed someone," he added, and with a flick of his wand the man landed back in his seat, unaware of what he had been doing.

The stadium roared with disapproval.

"OH SHUT UP!" Chey shouted back. "I must have saved a hundred lives just now!"

"And now," came the commentator again, clearly a man smart enough to look away during a veela's dance, "kindly put your wands in the air...for the Irish National Team Mascots!"

Chey immediately recognized the green and gold comet for what it was. The leprechauns showered the crowd with millions of gold coins.

"Aw, that's cruel," Chey said. "Their gold disappears after a few hours," he said when Fleur and Gabrielle looked to him for an explanation.

The commentator announced the Bulgarian team, and seven scarlet blurs shot out of the entrance below, the crowd cheering when Viktor's name was called.

"Viktor!" Chey and Sergey reached over the railing as Viktor raced around the stadium. He must have seen them, for he flew towards them and gave them both the courtesy of a high five as he raced past on his team issued Firebolt.

The Irish players were introduced to equal fanfare. The referee walked onto the field, kicked open a crate and the four balls (the gold one nearly invisible) shot into the air, and once he kicked off the ground the game began.

Chey had to admit Viktor would have his work cut out for him. The Irish chasers were good. Very good. In perhaps less than thirty seconds they'd passed it between them at least ten times and still scored. For a moment, Chey actually cared about the outcome of the game. He was actually worried Viktor might lose.

At thirty-zero, Ireland, the Bulgarians finally scored. The veela started their dance again, and the man from before got out of his seat again. Fortunately, the dance was over before he could do anything foolish, and the game resumed.

Chey decided to watch Viktor for a bit and try to see a sign of activity in his impassive eyes. Just as Chey found him in the sky, he dove for the ground. This was not a normal dive, which flyers usually incorporate some sort of roll beforehand. Viktor only pointed his broom downward, and the Irish seeker, Lynch, followed.

"He's on the move!" Chey yelled, and the commentator only just noticed.

The two of them flew straight through the cloud of chasers, Lynch scanning in front of him while Viktor focused forward. The more Chey watched, the more he thought he recognized their furious descent to the ground.

As if on Chey's cue, Viktor pulled back while Lynch plowed into the field.

"I TAUGHT HIM THAT!" Chey yelled, while Sergey thumped him on the back.

"Call off the veela!" said a voice behind Chey he didn't recognize. "They've driven this boy mad!"

Chey disregarded the voice's ignorance, instead laughing at Lynch's comedic attempts to get on his feet.

Lynch was revived, and play continued without real incident until the score was one-thirty to ten, Ireland, when the Bulgarian keeper clipped an Irish chaser, and the whistle was blown to indicate a fowl by Bulgaria. The leprechauns taunted the veela across from them, they started their dance. The referee got caught in their entrancing charm, and had to be kicked back into reality. Furious, he started shouting at the veela, and the Bulgarian beaters landed to argue with him. Two short whistle blasts indicated a foul by each of them, and they reluctantly took off for the air once more.

Foolishly, they'd let their tempers get the better of them, and were now attacking their opponents without mercy. Finally, it happened. Two chasers, one on each team, collided with each other. Naturally, Bulgaria was not in possession, so they got penalized. Irish supporters screamed in unison, and the leprechauns gestured towards the veela in an uncivilized fashion.

At this, the veela had enough. Their lesser realized traits made themselves known, as their faces turned into the sharp, cruel-beaked bird heads and scaly wings erupted from their shoulders. They attacked the leprechauns with fireballs, and a squad of Ministry entered the field to stop the fight while the game continued above with equal intensity.

After an Ireland score, the applause of which was drowned by the battle between veela and Ministry officials, play resumed and an Irish beater swung hard at a Bludger, which screamed through the air, headed straight for Viktor.

"What was that?!" Chey thought to scream out when it caught Viktor in the face, though before he could Lynch dove for the ground, obviously having seen something. With little regard for his injury, Viktor did likewise, a trickle of blood trailing him. He caught up with Lynch, and they continued their rapid descent to the ground.

Chey never saw what went wrong with Lynch, only that he didn't pull out in time and was stampeded by the veela. Viktor climbed back into the air, holding a tiny gold ball in his hand.

"Just ten points off!" Chey cried, looking at the scoreboard which read "Bulgaria: 160, Ireland: 170."

"At least we know who's the better seeker!" Sergey assured him.

"Good flying, Viktor! Just remember who taught you!"

Chey, Fleur, Gabrielle, Viktor, Sergey, Mariya, Nikolay and Catherine were all at Chey's campsite, and Chey had cast a broad translation spell to relieve himself of the duty of repeating everything in two languages.

"I haven't been interviewed yet, but I expect I will be soon," came Viktor's response. "I'll be sure to mention you."

"And good feint, too!" Nikolay commented. "That dive had me fooled from the start!"

At the far end of the campsite, the Irish had their celebrations in full swing. Music, shouting, and a few small explosions echoed in the air. Leprechauns soared overhead, illuminating the tents around them.

"Crazy Irish," Chey said offhand. "Too much Guinness."

"We should probably get some sleep," Catherine suggested. "There'll be a mad rush in the morning, everyone trying to get out."

Everyone agreed it was a good idea, and not a moment too soon as Gabrielle was drifting slowly into sleep.

They all departed their separate ways, and Chey carried Gabrielle to her room. After he'd tucked her in, he met Fleur in the kitchen. They sat across from each other at the table, drinks in hand.

"You're so sweet with her," she told him, referring to her sister. "You're very good with children."

"That's news to me," he said. "I've never really dealt with little kids before."

"I never would have guessed."

"Something occurred to me."

"Yes?"

"You hardly said two words when I showed up at your parents' house. Why so shy?"

She dropped her eyes in slight embarrassment. "I didn't know if my parents would like you or not."

"Why wouldn't they? Your mom damn near tried to adopt me at the end of the ski trip, and your dad has probably heard all kinds of good things about me from you, your mom and Gabrielle. What were you worried about?"

As though only now coming to that realization, she said "I suppose it was nothing!"

"Now that I think of it," Chey continued, "you had this expression of abject terror right before I showed you the tickets." She lowered her eyes, remembering the moment. "What was that about?"

"When you asked to speak to my parents alone, Gabrielle and I went into the salon."

"Right..."

"Gabrielle got the idea you were asking my parents permission to marry me."

"Gabrielle thought that?!"

"She sounded so certain..."

"Wait, you were relieved when it was something else?" he asked in a slightly accusatory tone.

"It's not that I wouldn't say yes!" she stammered. "It's just, well, I'm only seventeen! I'm not ready to be married yet!"

"Okay, okay," he tried to calm her down. "I understand. Just so long as it wasn't something about me."

"Gabrielle made me think about it!"

"I get it, she's a little girl with a vivid imagination." Chey felt he had an obligation to keep talking about it, but wanted desperately to change the subject. "How's she handle it?"

"Handle what?"

"A good part of the year, she's separated from you. That's gotta be tough on someone so young."

"She's strong."

"Like her big sister?"

"You think I'm strong?"

"You can hold your own in a duel with me. That takes strength."

"You're bragging."

"You've conquered the veela stereotype and earned everything you have. That takes the strength of hundreds."

Fleur blushed at the compliment, and they gazed into each others eyes. They drew closer to each other, leaning over the table, eyes closed, taking an eternity, both of them intent on what they wanted. Their hands reached each other's faces, now nose to nose, breathing slowly.

An explosion shook the walls, and their eyes opened.

In a response to Fleur's confused expression, Chey said "That sounded way too close."

Author's note.

Oh, that Gabrielle! What can you do?

I tried my best not to recite the match verbatim. It's harder than you might think. I had to reword everything, but without changing the meaning. What's impressive is I did the whole chapter without a thesaurus in hand.

Lately got my hands on Adobe CS3 Production Premium. Boy is that gonna be fun to play with!

I think I'm back in the swing of writing, and I've just started work on Chapter 30 as of this posting. Here's hoping I can keep the momentum.

As always, feedback is forever appreciated. Keep it coming!