AN: This chapter has changed from the one previously posted. It has also been split in two (that last change is mostly "cosmetic").

Chapter 3 King's Gambit (Whites open)

"Sozan, a Chinese Zen master, was asked by a student what was the most valuable thing in the world. He replied that it was the head of a dead cat; and, when asked why that was, replied: Because no man can name its price." Shaseki-shu by Muju (13th Century)

They had come to an agreement with Mr. Doge's will executor. As Mr. Doge wanted them to read through all five diaries before deciding what to do, the executor had agreed to leave the diaries in their custody; they had agreed to reunite at Ron's and Hermione's flat to continue reading them. They thought it was safer not to move the diaries around and it also gave the Weasley-Granger's a chance of supping on Ginny's homemade meals. There really didn't seem to be a good order or at least not a linear way to go through them, so Hermione was left in charge to decide how they would read.

We walked down a long hallway which had a door every few meters, twice a door was opened to reveal spacious rooms where people were engaged in strange disturbing activities. In the first room I could see an old wizard hanging fairies from a naked girl's hair as if she were a Christmas tree. The girl had milky white skin and almost white blond hair right down to her lower back. She was so flawlessly beautiful that it made me wonder if she could be a Veela. The old wizard had pranced around the girl, clapping delighted at his handy work, before noticing the door was open, with his face twisted in an angry scowl, he pulled his wand and the door closed shut.

The second door opened to let out a screaming young man whose clothes were on fire. A couple of Lutines- that appeared out of nowhere wearing appallingly short skirts and Basque bodices- immediately tended to the boy, putting out the fire and taking him across the corridor into another room. Before the door closed again, I could make out a room with three other boys in lavish robes, leaning on divans around a table; staring with interest and pointing their wands at something that looked like a jewel chest. They were drinking, laughing and making loud comments in French on Phillipe's notorious bad luck and clumsiness, while several Lutines tied fairy-locks in their long hairs. Another boy, Timothée, rose and took the place of the boy on fire, who I surmised was Phillipe.

I tapped Gellert on the shoulder and asked in a whisper so as not to disturb our own escort, another Lutine in a risqué outfit of red and white candy cane stripes: "What is this place?"

Gellert replied: "I told you we were going to a café for refreshments. Now we are here at Le Café des Lutines"

"When you mentioned going to a café, I honestly thought we were going to Les Deux Magots or Le Café de la Paix for un espresso, un demi, or a bite to eat. This café caters to a different clientele."

He laughed his boisterous laugh: "You think? Are the names of those cafés in your trusty Baedeker or has Monsieur Dumbledore been to Paris before?"

He had been making fun of my tourist guide since I had the bad idea of casting an overtly enthusiastic Accio Baedeker the minute I had found out we were going to Paris. I didn't much mind. I was feeling happily mellow after two days of sightseeing and strolling around the World Fair, watching the marvels of modern age displayed against the magnificent background of Paris. At Gellert's insistence, I had been hoisted up the incredible structure of the recently inaugurated Eiffel Tower and watched the city laid out at my feet as the sun went down in the horizon. I hate heights. That is why I seldom if ever use a broom. But the view was well worth it.

That first night we'd had dinner at Le Meurice… the one and only LeMeurice… where we currently had a whole suite at our disposal. Blessedly Vladislav thought time-traveling was the devil's work, so instead of the bloody devil, we had a Muggle valet provided by the hotel at our disposal. I didn't miss Vladislav, but I had to give it to the vampire, going by the luggage he had packed for us, he had impeccable taste and a firsthand knowledge of what the discriminating gentlemen wore back in 1889.

Then we had enjoyed an evening at the opera in famous Palais Garnier, where we had listened to Bizet's Carmen in our very own box. It was a marvelous performance with the original Carmen, Mezzo-soprano Célestine Galli-Marié, doing her last tour in the role to raise funds for a Bizet memorial. Gellert, who turned out to be as much of a fan as myself, was marveled at the fact that such a wonderful piece could have been a failure during its premier back in 1875; though in the next fifteen years it had lived up to the premonitory comment by Tchaikovsky that it would become the most popular opera in the world.

During the intermezzo, drinking some really fine cognac, we had heard a humorously recount of the latest gossip by our box' neighbor: a skinny brunet who ingratiated himself with the Opera patrons with his tasty bits of sacrificial meat. For the price of a glass, he explained that soprano Sigrid Arnoldson, who was hailed as the successor of her compatriot Jenny Lind as the new Swedish Nightingale, was playing the role of the young ingenue Michaela on stage and the role of fatal seductress off stage: rumor had it she was sleeping both with the tenor playing Don José and the bass playing Escamillo. People were holding their breaths for the duel scene of that performance within the performance.

After the neighbor gossip went to spread his tasty bit of meanness to the other patrons, Gellert and I were left to chat the intermezzo away discussing the topics of Love, Destiny and Honor that drive the libretto. We had disagreed in one particular aspect of it: Gellert Grindelwald had laughed at the thought that a mother's kiss could protect her son from a witch seductress using love potions.

He had said: "I understand Muggles believing something like that, but the idea of an educated wizard believing in such nonsense as protective motherly love, especially one as brilliant as you, well, that I really cannot understand. Surely you comprehend the nature of a spell that can protect against a potion used to bend the will, which, by the way, is one little short step from an unforgivable curse."

I protested: "Love is a kind of magic on its own. There are precedents of powerful ancient magic that predates formal spells, some even that predates the human ability of speech. There is nothing in the laws of will and energy conversion that may lead you to believe that speech is inherent to magic."

"Even for non-verbal casting you make the words in your mind. Magic and speech are linked."

"Words may be the easier way to channel will. But that is not always the case. Not even in purely human magic. How many times have you heard of a particularly gifted wizarding toddler Disapparating and Apparating miles away from home just because they needed their mumsy to kiss their ouchie? Those outburst of magical power are not related to speech but to pure will and desire. There is a Polish wizard who has published some interesting insights on the subject in Charms Monthly last month: Kacper... I cannot quite remember his last name… I think maybe Przybyszewski or Przybylski. Your great-aunt is subscribed to many periodicals, you should find that one and read it. Anyway, comparing a desperate schoolgirl pinning from unrequited love who concocts a hasty love potion and a hardened seductress casting the Imperius curse sounds like a stretch to me, my friend."

He had beamed at me: "The difference between the potion and the curse is only in the degree of the damage, and even that is debatable. A disregard for the right of self-determination and the intent to bend someone's will to yours is there. Who says the desperate schoolgirl pinning from unrequited love won't end being the Dark Arts seductress? Remember, Albus, every winding path starts by taking the first step, whether it is towards light or darkness… And both scenarios can easily end in le crime passionnel. Are you aware this is the very first time you call me your friend?"

I sniggered: "Really? It must be the cognac. I'm a pitiable drinker, I cannot hold my liquor."

"There is a note, this one looks fairly recent: I've confirmed my intuition about love as powerful magic after my experience with Lily Potter. As for Gellert's take on a love potion being almost as bad as the Imperius Curse… Merope Gaunt's story makes for a compelling case. Perhaps there is also some measure of true in destiny playing its hand in human affairs too. At times our lives seem like a Ravel theme playing endlessly over. All we ever do is adding new instruments to give the appearance of complexity to what is, in essence, a rather simple childish air." Hermione sighed: "Destiny or not, these two were both brilliant and uncannily intuitive, that's for sure." Then she laughed: "I did that."

Harry asked: "You did what?"

"Disapparating and Apparating miles from home because I wanted my mum badly: from the house in Peckham Hill St. all the way to the nurse's counter in the hospital at Lebanon where my mum was doing maxillofacial reconstructive surgery for Doctors Without Borders. It happened after cutting myself with the cookie jar. Though I wasn't a toddler, I was five at the time. I had built a Heath Robinson contraption to help me get the cookies. I miscalculated the weight of the jar so, instead of going down gently inside the basket, it dropped and fell down crashing on the counter. A piece of the ceramic was imbedded in my arm. I was crying like crazy, curly hair like a bird nest and t-shirt bloodied, when one of the nurses recognized me from a picture my mum had on her desk and took me to her. My grandma was terrified, she had been nodding off in front of the telly, the noise woke her up, she saw the mess in the kitchen, a trail of blood and I was gone, gone. Of course, I couldn't apparate back home. I wasn't even sure how I had done it in the first place. That's when the Ministry's Aurors came and oblivated everyone but my mum and I. They took us home, my dad was already there, whisked away from his practice. Mum, dad and grandma kept saying that it all must be a dream, but the evidence was irrefutable. And it also explained some other incidents. While the Auror supervisor chatted with them; this very nice Auror lady chatted with me about the value of being patient. She told me we cannot always get what we want the minute we want to. She showed me a moving pictures book and talked to me about Hogwarts. She said that, if I was patient, I would get my letter of admission soon enough, in the mean time I had to try not to give my parents such a big scare. She said I should try to control my emotions so my powers weren't triggered off. It never happened again. I was patient and, when I got my letter, I counted the days to going to Hogwarts, it took almost a year between my birthday and the 1st of September. That's why we are carefully planning the children birthdays."

Ron smiled: "Always knew you were special, luv, I guess we will have to be especially mindful of the kids using magic too, hope they inherit your patience along with your brains."

She sighed deeply: "I'm not so sure about my brains… Is it weird that I find myself agreeing with Gellert Grindelwald? I think love potions are as wrong on principle as the Imperius Curse. Why is it that he doesn't sound as evil as I thought he would?"

Ginny said: "Grandma Lavinia always said that clever devils wear many different skins, Hermione. And she wasn't talking about Polyjuice Potion. Gellert Grindelwald was really clever, I think we can all agree on that."

Hermione nodded and continued reading

Gellert insisted that the formal beginning of our friendship called for a celebration. We had capped that glorious first evening with drinks at some dubious guinguette at Montmartre; where we had gotten so drunk on the house's cheap wine that they had kicked us out for singing Carmen's Habanera – L'amour est enfant de Bohème, il n'ai jamais, jamais connu de loi- at the top of our lungs. We had made our way back to the hotel stumbling and laughing down cobblestone streets in the first lights of day. I didn't remember ever having a better time in my life. I honestly didn't feel like fighting with him, not even if it was all friendly banter; so I didn't bite at his quip about my tourist guide.

I simply replied to the question of if I had been to Paris before: "Just once, after a transmutation exhibition at Beauxbaton, their transmutation teacher tried to convince me to change schools. Madame Perenelle thought the city would be the best scenario to make her bid." Then I smiled, unable to resist: "So this is not the first time someone offers to lay Paris at my feet for the price of my immortal soul."

Gellert smiled back: "Ah, so witty… So why is it that you weren't enrolled at Beauxbaton? Henry IV the Huguenot thought this city was well worth a Catholic mass. Isn't Parisian splendor enough to tempt you, Monsieur Dumbledore? This city is quite seductive. You must be truly incorruptible..."

"Not at all, I'm incapable of resisting any temptation. I think I showed you that last night, my friend. As for Madame Perenelle's bid, I was thoroughly seduced. The relative nearness of the school to Paris was a very persuasive argument. Her very charming husband, Nicolas, was another fine example of the advantages that studying at Beauxbaton could afford me. They offered to personally tutor me and even to pay for my tuition. I felt incredibly flattered. I think that, if it hadn't been for my family obligations, I may have seriously considered it. In any case, we supped at their home, we didn't go to any of the famous Parisian cafés, and I was hoping I might get to go to one this time around."

He sneered: "Hmm, I'm starting to feel a certain way about your family obligations, my friend. And, nonsense, what would be the fun in going to one of that tourist traps? We can do far better than that."

Apparently Gellert and I had very different concepts of fun. Something I confirmed once we reached our destination. We were taken by our Lutine to a decidedly green room. There were green velvety walls that resembled moss and comfortable tufted divans in Shamrock green. In the middle of the room there was a table that looked like an old moss covered tree stump; over it flowed a small greenish waterfall of what appeared to be absinthe, running from its source atop a diminutive icy green mountain into a greenish white pond where fairies in every shade of green imaginable were hovering and looking at their reflections in la louche. The table was set with the height of absinthiana: water carafes, Pontarlier reservoir swirl glasses and silver slotted spoons which are the telltale accoutrements of vice. There was also a healthy provision of sugar cubes. Either we were expecting company or Earl Grindelwald intended to be a while at Le Café des Lutines having refreshments.

One of the green fairies was so engrossed by its own image that it collided with another sending the poor thing splashing into the pond. Before it could drown or freeze, I picked it up, set it gently inside a glass and said: "Fait attention, mademoiselle, vous allez vous saoûler." The fairy buzzed coquettishly, shook off the liquid from her green butterfly wings, flew out of the glass, fluttered over a sugar lump, licked it and went back to the absinthe pond where it resumed looking engrossed at its reflection.

Gellert was watching bemused: "You do realize these dumb things don't understand a word you are saying? They are just here to round up the decoration." He picked up the sugar cube the fairy had licked, dipped it in absinthe and ate it. He sat on a divan and signaled the one in front of him invitingly.

I sat with an ironic smirk: "Yes, whoever did this has quite the sense of style. And I'm a generous spirit that never dispenses courtesy or kindness expecting it back in return, Monsieur Grindelwald."

He chuckled: "You are truly rare, Monsieur Dumbledore."

"Of course, I'm the one who is weird, not whoever designed this retreat for lush fées verts manned by Rabelaisian Lutine waitresses, nor the old pervert bedecking the naked Christmas tree girl, who I think was a Veela; nor the drunken dilettantes who were… What were the boys doing, by the way?"

He chuckled: "I didn't say weird, I said rare, as in out of the ordinary. An opinion I apparently share with the greatest alchemists that have ever lived and who are alternatively rumored to be dead or still alive. And you have been to their house... I'm impressed! You don't happen to remember the address, do you?"

I tried not to beam at his compliment: "Even if what you think was true, and I were someone who could do wrong by friends who trust me; such powerful friends would take precautions to avoid betrayal. Besides, Perenelle and Nicolas are fairly common names. You can't assume that..."

"No, Albus, please, keep your friends' secrets, but don't lie to me. I'll extend you the same courtesy."

I was about to protest that I wasn't lying but I couldn't: "Surely you understand that I'm not at liberty to say…"

"As I've said, never, ever, play poker, my friend. In this game of Knights and Knaves you are quite obviously a Knight. But we may have found your game… The boys were playing Fire Crab Roulette."

I didn't think I was a Knight, but for someone with so many secrets to keep, I was a rather bad liar. Wondering if I was foolishly trusting a Knave to be sincere with me, I asked: "What on Merlin's green Earth is Fire Crab Roulette?"

"Let's start by saying that a fire crab is a magical beast that hails from Fiji. It looks like a bejeweled tortoise and it sort of explodes from, well, you know… when it feels attacked. Legend has it that some wizarding castaways were trying to figure out who should try to Apparate out of the island when they found it. As you know, apparating out of a place when you aren't entirely sure of where you are is dangerous. So the castaways are supposed to have devised a game to let luck decide for them, profiting from the beast's bizarre defenses. The game has recently become popular among young French dilettantes. Though the version they favor here is a game of skill more than luck. You play it by…"

Hermione interrupted her reading: "Sorry, I think I might have skipped too far ahead. Yes, I knew it, the pages were glued together! That's it, after you leave tonight, I'll go through all this and make sure that it is in good reading order. OK, here it is where we left it last night."

Ron protested: "Why don't you finish this part? It sounds really interesting."

Hermione raised an eyebrow: "What's the interesting part: the Christmas tree Veela, the drunken absinthe fairies or the elves with risqué outfits?"

Ron blushed: "Well, the part about the Fire Crab Roulette sounds interesting."

Harry looked at his friend: "I thought you'd had more than your fair share of rear-exploding beasts when Hagrid gave us lessons on Blast-Ended Skrewts." He shuddered at the memory: "I know I have."

Ginny giggled but pulled her husband's shirt and said: "I kind of want to find out about the Fire Crab Roulette too. Call it weird pregnant craving."

Hermione denied: "Sorry but I just don't see the appeal."

The Weasley brother and sister shared a smile and Ron explained. "I guess it is because you weren't raised in a wizarding family. Growing up Fire Crab Roulette was the stuff of legend, everyone knew someone who had a cousin, who had supposedly played it and won a fortune or was horribly maimed, depending on who was telling it. But the truth is no one knew anyone who had actually played it himself. Fred and George claimed they had played it at their first year in Hogwarts, but they couldn't tell a fire crab from a knarl in the magical encyclopedia. And the game has been illegal for ages. Plus you supposedly get to keep the critter's shell with its jewels, if you survive it, and they couldn't produce any evidence. So by the time I was nine, I had figured out it was all rubbish older kids said to impress younger kids. But, reading that Albus Dumbledore saw it being played gives the legend credit. The idea that he may have played it himself is, well it is mind-blowing. He should have included that fact in his chocolate frog cards. Kids would have loved it! Lots of street cred from that, I tell you."

Ginny beamed: "Yeah, makes me want to go back in time to tell the snotty girls in Ottery St. Catchpole that I drank tea with someone who played the game. It would have given me more panache than all of their fancy new training Quidditch brooms ever did. I hope he wins. I really want to find out."

Hermione frowned: "We don't even know if he played! The game sounds a bit dumb and he wasn't."

Harry smiled: "Now I really want to find out if Dumbledore played the game. Don't you?"

Hermione rolled her eyes: "Oh for the love of… OK, we'll read about the Fire Crab Roulette and then we'll go back to reading the story in the proper order. I should have taken the time to order these papers already."

"The game has recently become popular among young French dilettantes. Though the version they favor here is a game of skill more than luck. You play it by making a loud noise which prompts the beast to retreat within its shell, then you spin it so you cannot tell heads from tails and you take turns spinning and poking it with your wand. You are either lucky enough not to set it off or you are skilled enough to cast a spell to avoid getting hurt if it does. The standard is casting Protego, but there are no restrictions, really. You play it taking turns until you get burnt, in which case you have to leave the table. You win if you are the last one standing unharmed. Most games end without a winner."

"That has to be the most stupid thing I've ever heard in my life! Who'd want to play a game like that?"

Ron shouted: "Come on, luv! Give it a chance before saying your opinion."

Hermione laughed: "I was merely reading what Dumbledore wrote. But I wholeheartedly agree, it sounds like a really stupid game. I knew he wouldn't play it."

Ginny smiled: "You can't be sure about that. That Grindelwald was a persuasive chap. Keep reading and we'll find out."

Gellert smirked derisively: "I suppose there is a particular reason for every player out there. In general, some gamblers do it for the thrill. For others the jeweled carapace seems to be sufficient incentive, the jewels are valuable for obvious reasons and the carapace makes for superb cauldrons, in the hands of the right artisan, a fire crab carapace can produce powerful potions like no other material can. And the plastron (that's the shallow shell right over the belly of the animal) which looks a bit like tortoiseshell, can be polished to a metallic sheen and used to create a really rare item called a Pensieve, which is..."

I opened my eyes wide: "I know what a Pensieve is, Hogwarts' Headmasters have one in their office. For better or worse I spent quite a bit of time there…" I sighed: "I see, the treasure chest was not a chest but the actual animal." I frowned: "Wait, if the winner keeps the shell, does that mean the animal is killed? Is that when the game stops? That adds barbaric to stupid as qualifiers for this game."

Hermione punctuated: "Again, I agree with Dumbledore."

Ginny sighed: "I guess the crab does get killed from all the exploding. I mean, the game sounds fun for the people playing it, not so much for the fire crab. I never really thought about it."

Hermione smiled: "Dumbledore did, because that was just the kind of person he was. He always thought about consequences and he was really kind. My first year at Hogwarts I felt so out of step sometimes. I had thought the reason I felt that way in the non-magical world was because I was a witch. And when magic didn't sort out all my troubles, well, it was a bit of a disappointment. Dumbledore was always there for me. He always made time to listen me out. Sometimes we didn't even talk, we just sat in his office drinking tea while he knitted. I don't think I could have made it through the first few months, before we became friends, without him. I know he probably refers to himself that way in the diaries as a joke, but he was a really kind person. Which makes it all the harder to understand how he could fall for Grindelwald's hogwash."

Harry shrugged: "I don't think anyone is absolutely good or evil. Dumbledore told me that it is not our nature that makes us one way or another, but our choices. And choices are hard, you never know how your actions are going to turn out or who can become a casualty. We all make mistakes, sometimes we have to back track to get things right. I loved the man, but some of his choices I never really understood. I think that Mr. Doge was right, we should not come to any decision, before reading through the diaries."

Hermione nodded and continued reading.

Gellert chuckled: "You have a poet's tender heart, Monsieur Dumbledore, extending your courtesy to fairies, worrying about fire crabs. Alas, the animal is dead from the moment it is taken out of Fiji. You can have it in soup or play with it, either way its destiny is set. Unless you want to keep it as a very dangerous, expensive pet, they can only survive at a certain temperature and with a very costly beryl diet. You'll also need to procure a permit from your Ministry. That or keep it on the Q.T."

I was all set when it came to dangerous expensive keeps on the Q.T. I replied: "Ta-ra-ra-Boom-de-ay. I cannot afford an expensive pet on the quiet or on the loud. That's all the more reason not to play. I won't sully my hands with innocent blood, Monsieur Grindelwald."

He sneered: "Then you should do as Shaw and abstain from meat- animal and from music halls.-"

"I've never been to a music hall, I learnt the song at Hogwarts, Anti-Muggle sentiment spared Lottie Collins' shapely legs. An acquaintance had a lively scantly clothed moving photograph of the woman skirtdancing that he liked to show around. And I won't go as far as to subscribe to The Vegetarian, but I do see Shaw's point when he reproaches us for the treatment we dispense to animals. They are our faithful companions in the voyage of life and we are not really civil to them. I like meat too much to completely abstain from it, though my personal circumstances permit me to avoid becoming a tomb for animal carcasses – as Shaw calls it-on a regular basis. Mind you, I do it gladly whenever my purse allows or when a friend invites me." At the risk of sounding sanctimonious I carried on: "However, quoting Shaw: 'Blood sacrifices are not in my line.' The pleasure of killing for killing's own sake is most certainly not one that I plan to acquire, Gellert. You said it yourself, you only need to take the first step; so I won't take this step..."

"I'm not asking you to take Isaac to the tabernacle. It's just a game, the only thing killed is time. Pity, I think you could gain from the experience of playing Fire Crab Roulette. But it is your choice, Albus."

He got up from the divan took one of the Pontarlier glasses, a slotted spoon in the shape of a seashell, a sugar cube and served himself some absinthe from the waterfall. Then he picked up a carafe, with his hands, and poured iced water slowly on the glass until the drink took on the milky look it is infamous for. He tasted it for sweetness, considered it right and shooed away a fairy that had come to sit on the tip of the spoon and was licking the residues of sugar.

"Yes, you only kill time and the fire crab." I looked at his glass: "You could have done that far easily with your wand."

He sat back with his drink and said: "I refuse to experience all my life through a wooden stick, sir. I like doing some things with my bare hands. Touch, just as all other senses, add to the experience. And I'm not one to deny myself from all the learning opportunities raw direct experience has to offer."

"Ah, touché, have you played Fire Crab Roulette?"

"No, Monsieur Dumbledore."

"Do you intend to, Monsieur Grindelwald?"

"I think you already know the answer to that question, Albus."

"I guess I do. I don't think we are here for the decor. And it's obvious by your contemptuous tone that you don't feel enticed by the jewels. Finally, I cannot imagine someone risking getting hurt for a cauldron, no matter how good the potions it brews are; so, tell me, is the thrill really worth it, Monsieur Grindelwald?"

He leaned on the divan, with his elbow on the tufted seat and smiled: "That is a rather complex question, Monsieur Dumbledore."

"I think it is pretty straightforward. You could even answer it with a simple yes or no."

"Fair enough, what is really complex is a proper answer. Saying yes wouldn't explain anything to you. It would be easier if I showed you."

"I'm really not interested in playing this game, Gellert."

"I respect your ethical objections, Albus. You do not want to play the game, but… Would you mind watching me play? It may help you understand."

Hermione bit her lip: "Merlin's wand, he was persuasive and sneaky. There is a number here and a note in a different ink. There seem to be annotations added on a later date all over the diaries. Do you think I should just read them as we go on?"

Harry asked: "What would you do if you were reading this just by yourself?"

Hermione laughed: "I always read footnotes, but some people consider them boring."

Ron figuring out who some people were, snorted: "You can read the footnotes, luv. I'm not going to complain."

"OK, I'll read them as we go and I'll only mention they are notes if they don't fit right in the story."

I should have said no and gone back to the suite at Le Meurice. The same objections I had to playing the game applied to watching it being played. But it is easy to forget that bearing witness to wrongdoing, without at least trying to stop it, makes us complicit. And Gellert Grindelwald was good at assuaging my doubts. Mine was nothing but a token protest. It's my shame: I never really protested.

I said: "I'm not sure, the beast will still be killed."

"The animal will be killed whether you are watching or not. Half the rooms here are occupied by wizards playing. Wizards who are playing to win the prize and the prize is the crab's shell. The rest goes to the kitchens. I was not kidding about the soup, fire crab soup is the house specialty. Closing your eyes to it won't make this any less real."

I inhaled deeply: "Can you play the game alone? That way no one has to win."

He smiled: "Now you are grasping at straws, Albus. You are smarter than that. The beast won't be spared, my friend. Like in all gambles, the house never loses. As it is, most games end without a winner. So if you forfeit the prize, they will just use it for another game. It is a popular game, which is why I'm sure I won't have trouble finding another opponent. Especially since I'll be covering both our entry fees. There are professional gamblers waiting to be invited always on call. So, would you agree to watch me play?"

I muttered ironically: "Oh, the more I learn about this place the more LeCafé des Lutines grows on me… I wish we hadn't come here at all."

He sneered: "You keep focusing on changing that which has already passed. We are here, so deal with it or leave. But if you stay, would you watch me play, my friend? I'm going to. Because that's why I came here in the first place. I need one of these carapaces and ten years from now, the game is forbidden. You magical westerner folk really enjoy forbidding things."

"Can't you buy one? You said they could be kept as pets, some of them must die naturally. I'm sure..."

He laughed mirthlessly: "Albus, I wouldn't have traveled ten years into the past, if I could just have walked into Les Grands Magasins du Louvre and bought one. These are rare beasts, hard to find in Fiji or elsewhere. And harvesting the carapace and the plastron without destroying their qualities requires special skill, it has to be done within minutes of the beast's demise, while the heart is still beating, in one single cut motion while the shell is red hot from the explosions, the Lutins' dexterous calloused pointy fingers with razor sharp claws are particularly good for it. The Lutins are also very particular about what they perceive to be naughty or nice, so they will not sell one to me, for they say it would be unfair to all the other players. And, despite the Muggles associating these elves to their preposterous Père Noël, both the female and the male of the species are fierce warriors; those deft claws of theirs cannot only cut through fire crab's meat, you know? And the place is crawling with them. So I cannot very well take one by force. I have to earn it. I had hoped that if we were both to play, it would guarantee I'd get a carapace in mint condition for just the price of our entry fees," He laughed despondently: "Now it seems I will have to win one on my own. I'll have to bet all on my Seer's luck."

"Merlin's beard, Gellert! If you had told me beforehand why you wanted us to come here I might..."

"I didn't think you would come if I had told you what we are doing here. What's done is done. So what is it going to be Albus, are you staying or leaving?"

I puckered my lips and clawed at the lower one as I sometimes do when faced by a particularly difficult problem. Gellert looked at me questioningly. I sighed: "OK, seems the crabs are going to die whatever I do. So I'll stay and watch you play. Though, for the love of me, I don't know why you need a carapace so badly and I don't know how watching you play will help you at all."

"I do and you will see soon enough. Plus it will help me explain the thrill of the game to you."