Chapter Two - Spoiled Surprise
Gabrielle browsed Mr. Weasley's collection of plugs and batteries. She was in the shed, helping her father understand Mr. Weasley. Together the men worked on the car just outside the wide door. The plugs were many shapes and sizes, all with their long tails neatly trimmed short and mounted to the board with long pins. It was just like a collection of beetles, only without all the legs. The collection was interesting at first, but since this was the third wall-mounted board with two more to go… Gabrielle could not help but wonder if seeing what the plugs had once been attached to would have been more a bit more engaging. What made one plug better to use than another? The collection of batteries was smaller, but a little more intriguing. They came in many more shapes and sizes. Philippe, her childhood friend who happened to be a squib, had many things that used the smaller, rod-shaped batteries, but Mr. Weasley had large block-shaped ones as well. There was even a series of the somewhat familiar rod-shaped batteries displaying various states of decay.
When Gabrielle was younger and stayed at the Toulier's, in case she was a squib, because Maman listened to Aunt Laurel too often, Philippe had showed her a muggle grimoire. The grimoire was actually a long series of books that contained, Philippe asserted, almost everything muggles knew. That included eltricities, which was used with plugs and batteries. Gabrielle felt she had a pretty good handle on eltricities, which was the proper pronunciation that she had been taught. Or at least the French one. She had had to translate Philippe's terms into more meaningful ones, of course, but she grasped the basic idea.
Eltricities began with magnets. Magnets were themselves very interesting, and very useful for potions affecting the blood humour. They were also, according to the notes Gabrielle had been able to study, used in spells and potions meant to aid searches, and even in devices for finding direction. The notes had included a long sidebar on a discredited branch of thought that believed that magnets were actually a type of magic that both wizards and muggles could use. While still wrong, the notion seemed less incredible to Gabrielle. According to the muggle grimoire, magnets had a humour that flowed not only through the magnet itself, a radical idea on its own since there were usually no holes in them, but also through the air. That seemed a little suspect to Gabrielle. Philippe had argued that all humours flowed through the air, except that in the body there was so much of the vital essence that all the air was pushed out. That was why blood sometimes spurted. He also said that even solid materials were made of bits and pieces that only nearly fit together, leaving just the tiniest of gaps. Gabrielle did not completely believe that since she felt very well-packed herself. At the other end of the wand, though, magnets were clearly able to affect things outside of themselves.
The eltricities were made by shaving off a bit of the magnet's humour with a wire, similar to the way a sample of cheese was served, if Gabrielle had understood correctly. The bits of humour were transferred to the wire, which then flowed along the wire. Gabrielle supposed that wires only looked solid too. The muggles in the pictures in the grimoire used huge spindles of wires to grate the poor magnet's humours into eltricities. The bundles had looked larger than Mr. Weasley's shed! Gabrielle had always felt that that was kind of cruel, even if magnets were only a type of rock. The question of why the magnet's humours were not quickly used up was not something Philippe had an answer for, probably because his grimoire did not have the answer. How the stolen humour turned into pictures on the télé was also something that -
"(Gabrielle, my child, what does he mean?)" prompted Gabrielle's father. She had learned to accept that he would always see her as a child - more maturity.
"(Eh, what?)" asked Gabrielle. "I am, eh, sorry, Mr. Weasley. What did you say?" She frankly hoped that he had declared the car irreparable, at least immediately, and that they were welcome to stay.
"It's all right - batteries are simply fascinating. But, I was just saying that I can see what your father was trying to do. Increasing the reach of the anti-muggle and cushioning charms with speed would be just grand. The bristle yanker here, I'm afraid, is the speed of the, er, inside bits does not always match the speed of the outside bits. Can't fathom why, mind you, but that at least explains the motor coming apart," said Mr. Weasley, pointing at various things at the front of the car with his wand. Gabrielle wondered if perhaps she should have moved closer to see what was being indicated. Oh well.
"(He said he liked what you tried to do, but it can not work because all the things don't have the same speed. That is why you broke his car,)" translated Gabrielle, liberally. Her father's grasp of English would have been better if he had not worked for the French Ministry. A little guilt would make Papa less confrontational should she ever escape the shed and should George arrive.
"(The speeds of what?)" asked Gabrielle's father, leaning over the oily mess at the front. Mr. Weasley pointed with his wand some more. "(There is a belt here that turns these smaller wheels. Surely they are all turning the same?)"
Gabrielle groaned quietly. Why had Papa suddenly become interested in cars? He almost always travels by Floo, and was quite good at apparating. "(The outside speed does not match the inside speed.)" Although, supposed Gabrielle, Papa's habits might have changed since he no longer worked in the Ministry.
"(Must muggles make everything so difficult?)" asked Gabrielle's father.
Gabrielle did not bother with a reply. She was busy fetching out the metal beetle from her handbag. Checking the crudely drawn arrow on the wing membrane that pointed to George's beetle, and the numbers next to the glowing symbol, showed that he had not arrived yet. The arrow and numbers did remind Gabrielle of something else, however. "(Eh, there is a, eh, sort of clock face near the inside-wheel-for-steering. I think that it shows the outside speed?)"
Too late, Gabrielle realized her mistake. The casual, unthinking observation galvanized the two men into a closer examination of the workings of the vehicles insides, which meant she had to stay. She was required both for the clarifications needed as the car was magically disassembled and for her expertise, the full extent of which she had already shown. Not that that deterred her father and Mr. Weasley from consulting with her about all the colored wires they had found. Gabrielle needed to escape; George was finally on the move. Not that he was getting closer - the number under the wing casing was increasing in big jumps.
"We-ell, I don't know. All these colors, hey? Do you think it's alright to tie up all the orangey wires together, or do they need sorting by shade?" asked Mr. Weasley. He ran his fingers through the peninsula of hair on the top of his head; it was well on its way to becoming an island.
"I zink zey need to be sorted," replied Gabrielle. She did not actually know for certain, but the colored bundles had been very neat prior to the vehicle's disembowelment.
Mr. Weasley sighed. "Well, you know your onions, I suppose." He bent over the thin wires tangled into a squirrel's nest at the end of the flat ribbon.
Gabrielle puzzled over his comment. She certainly had come to know onions that awful summer with Nona. Why had Mr. Weasley dredged that up now? It was confusing and a little annoying.
Or, perhaps, just British. An idiom of some sort, one that inspired Gabrielle. Not along the lines of onions; she was thinking of things British. "Eh, I should make ze tea," she announced.
"Tea? Yes, that would be lovely," murmured Mr. Weasley, squinting at his work. A wave of his wand left a satisfied look appear on his face; the same action caused a loud grinding noise at the front of the car.
Gabrielle hurried away on her self-imposed errand. In theory, at least. That was the importance of the word should. Should was not would and definitely not will, although the most proper word to have used there was could. Saying that she should do something was not really a promise that she would do whatever that something had been. It only acknowledged that the something was a possible course of action; one of many. Gabrielle had already determined that a better course of action was to go into the house, find Mrs. Weasley, and offer to help her. Should was a little misleading, but definitely not a lie.
A second thought noted that intending to help Mrs. Weasley was also a bit misleading. The insane old house-elf, Geff, lived with the Weasley's now. Gabrielle expected that he would be told to do most of the chores, and that her offer to help would be polite and conscientious - and turned down. After being polite and conscientious - mature, polite, and conscientious - she could relax while waiting for George. Or leave a surprise, or two, in Ginny's room…
v - v - v - v - v
There was a garden gnome hiding behind a large brown toadstool, his lumpy head and filthy clothing allowing him to blend in almost perfectly. The only subtle flaw to his camouflage was that the gnome had dragged the toadstool up onto the the stoop of the Burrow's front door, where it, and he, were decidedly noticeable. The little creature was very likely a member of George and Fred's Guardin' Gnome Corps, thought Gabrielle. And not one of the more senior members. She considered greeting the tiny sentinel, but decided against it. The proud members of the Corps often got a little testy if one pointed out that they were not totally invisible, which was also often.
Gabrielle found her mother and Mrs. Weasley sitting at the table in the informal dining room. The table was strewn with many photographs and albums. The two women stopped speaking and sat back in their chairs as soon as she had entered. It was actions like that, thought Gabrielle, that tempted a person to listen at a door before entering. Gabrielle eyed them suspiciously, but did not say anything.
Mrs. Weasley cracked first. At least, she coughed sheepishly before Gabrielle's mother could ask if Gabrielle's stomach was hurting, which is something she would do to remind Gabrielle that her Look was not working. "Ah, Gabrielle, dear. Er -"
"Molly 'as more pict-chairs of Louis zan I," announced Madame Delacour, to Mrs. Weasley's obvious surprise.
"Eh, what?" asked Gabrielle. She was also surprised, both by her mother's rudeness and by the fact that anyone had cracked at all.
"Eet eez true."
"Maman!"
"I can assure you, my dear Apolline," said Mrs. Weasley stiffly, "that we have sent copies of all that we could. You'll need to speak with your daughter about the rest."
"Gabrielle? What 'as she done now?" asked Madame Delacour.
"Maman! She is speaking of Fleur. Eh, I am sure of zis," blurted Gabrielle. She looked to Mrs. Weasley for some sign of confirmation.
"It's the twins, I'm afraid. Fleur won't let me send any photos of them with Louis," sighed Mrs. Weasley. "I think it's because there's always someone upside down in them."
"Zey hold Louis upside-down?" asked Gabrielle. She could not be shocked by the revelation, because, well… But she could be worried.
"It's not always Louis," explained Mrs. Weasley. "It was Bill once. Once. We had to have Madame Pomfrey 'round to see to Fred afterward."
That was straying a little closer to forbidden topics than she would like, worried Gabrielle. "Is Ginny here?" she asked, backing toward the door. If necessary, she could always make tea.
"Sorry, dear. Harry's flying today," replied Mrs. Weasley. "They'll be along a bit later."
"Eh, okay. I, eh, should check on Papa," said Gabrielle. Like she should make the tea.
Gabrielle had left the room before Madame Delacour gave Mrs. Weasley a smile. "I was, Molly, making ze joke, of course."
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle slipped up the stairs of the Burrow, keeping to the outside edges of the stairs so they would make less noise. Anyone who saw her would laugh themselves silly over her ridiculous, wide-legged gait, but the whole point of the exercise was to make sure no one knew that she was there to look at.
Not that Gabrielle needed to be worried about being caught by Ginny. She should have guessed that the Weasley daughter would be watching Harry Potter. The headline in the Daily Prophet when he had joined the Chudley Cannons had been even larger than when he had made known He-Who-Could-Not-Be-Named's latest setback. Although, Gabrielle had to admit, given the length there almost any other headline could use larger font. The issues of the Prophet after the team's announcement were swollen by letters of outrage from a cadre of thirty or so diehard Cannon supporters. Their number were small, but they had had many miserable seasons of practice in complaining and easily bulked up the opinion section with their diatribes. The main complaint was that the team should have been investing in keepers, beaters, chasers, brooms, and coaches instead of signing on a celebrity as a seeker. This dedicated cadre decried the blatant attempt to gin up ticket sales with a face instead of striving for a quality product on the pitch.
The daily broadsheet was even thicker after Harry's first game, where he had managed to capture the snitch while dangling below his broom after dodging a vicious bludger. The Cannons had not won the game, but they had only barely lost. Then the letters to the editors became long and less well written complaints from the supporters of the other teams, alleging intricate conspiracy theories, shady deals, and tampering. The fervent Cannons contingent began to worry, at length also, that the games would no longer be good value for the sickles, what with Potter ending the games before the opposing teams tired themselves out scoring.
The warring letters had been interesting at first, but not for very long. Especially since the added bulk had driven up the price of international delivery. Gabrielle ended up cancelling her subscription. She had no time to keep up with the news at all during her apprenticeship, and she did not need the extra practice in reading English. Anyway, the Wizarding Wireless Network reported on the events of every single Cannons match.
The door to Ginny's room was locked. That was not a surprise, since if Gabrielle could keep her own mother out of her room, she would. Still, there was no point in trying to be silent if one was just going to end up casting spells in the hallway. There was nothing else she could do though; she had not practiced with the bent little wires from Philippe in ages. Gabrielle touched her hand to the ever vigilant Pepi-Z tied in her hair, and pulled her wand from her sleeve. "Alohomora," she said firmly, but quietly. Nothing happened, but that was not unusual. Gabrielle sometimes felt that her wand needed to be warmed up a little before it was at its best. She cast the spell again, with a little more emphasis on the "ah" syllables.
Nothing continued to happen, and the door remained locked. That might, thought Gabrielle, mean that she needed to try the spell yet again, or it might mean that the door was sealed magically beyond what the basic opener spell could undo. The trouble was that she could not tell the difference. Gabrielle knew of spells that could discern the nature of the sealing magic, if any, but she had had nothing to practice them on during her time with the Pommejoues'. Thick iron bolts and only the occasional padlock were all that were needed to secure the cages. Really thick iron bolts, when it came to the dragon enclosure, but expert curse-breaking skills were not required even then. Only cleaning and vanishing skills, once inside.
Gabrielle brought up her wand again, and this time cast the single curse-breaker spell that she was certain would work. It was the spell that that Stanislaw had showed her when the idiot Festeller made them open the vampire's crypt. Gabrielle then mentally apologized for the thought - Festeller had not deserved to be killed, although badly injured would have been okay. One should not think ill of the dead. Or was it only speak, out loud, of the dead?
The spell was not particularly interesting from a magic point of view. As far as Gabrielle could tell, the only effect was a sort of extension to her wand, one that could catch onto other magics. After that it seemed to be a matter of physical strength. That could be a problem for her future in the discipline, regardless of the exhausting efforts of the recent servitude.
Gabrielle ran her wand along the edges of Ginny's bedroom door. If there was a ward or charm or even a verklunk - whatever that was - then she could not detect it. She moved her wand to the keyhole, feeling for the tiny opening with the invisible extension of her wand. Once found, she pushed the magic into the keyhole itself.
This was a mostly reliable trick, and it was one Gabrielle could practice as she made the rounds of the cages. The petite wand was definitely handier than the overloaded keyring, which she inevitably fumbled, but not, perhaps, as fast. Gabrielle twisted her blond wand back and forth, and changed the angle a few times. She always wondered if Philippe would be angry if he found out that she hardly ever used the specially bent wires anymore.
The lock released with a sudden click, which both pleased and disappointed Gabrielle. Why, she wondered, had the first spell not worked? Had her wand not been quite ready yet? Would one more try have done it? Or had Ginny done something to the lock mechanism itself? Gabrielle pulled her wand away from the keyhole, and looked at it closely. Why?
Why, echoed a second thought, in a more introspective vein, was she doing this? Ginny would certainly guess who was responsible, and Maman would certainly see a Pattern of Behavior in need of correction. Especially after the long, very long, talk about how Gabrielle was running out of chances, a talk during which Gabrielle had had to be very, very mature.
Gabrielle pulled open the door and slipped inside Ginny's room. Why she was doing this - considering doing this - reconsidering doing this - was that she felt that George would be disappointed if she did not. Part of Gabrielle, the quarter that was Veela she supposed, knew that this was wrong; that it was George who should be trying to impress her. She usually ignored that part of herself because she was not Fleur, and knew very well that she would look ridiculous if she tried to be like Fleur. And anyway, that quarter was apparently concentrated in her ears. Except… She had not seen George in nearly a year. The promised "partner goodwill tour" had not occurred, or even been mentioned. Of course, thought Gabrielle, she had not been at Beauxbatons - do not dwell on it - to act as the partner, but that had all been a ruse to fool Fred. Had it not?
Gabrielle attached one side of the novelty card to the frame of the door. Her sticking charms were always lacking in the stickiness aspect, so she used pieces of double-sided tape that Philippe had shared. These were nearly as difficult to use as the charms, and not easy to get out of one's hair. The card, which was like a holiday card, but for someone whom one did not like, was a Weasley Greating Card. That was a pun within a pun, or so she had been told, though Gabrielle had never been able to work it out. She had received a set of them from George in one of his regular letters.
The other side of the card was affixed to the door itself, in such a way that the stationery would open when the door did. George often sent little gifts, like the Wheezes, in his letters. Actually, Gabrielle had to admit, the enclosed tokens were always Wheezes. Gabrielle did not mind that as long as she did not think on it too long; she liked the letters - the messages between the beetles was maddening. Gabrielle had given up on any subtlety in her correspondence entirely. She signed her return missives 'with love', dotted her i's with hearts, and even changed the 'o' in George to a heart. In response, George used small fishes in place of the l's in her name and drew flames over the i's. They looked like little candles flickering on the page. Gabrielle consoled herself with the fact that at least he had noticed.
Gabrielle activated the Wheeze barring the door, then draped a towel over the chair at the vanity. A prank was funnier if there was a second or even a third part, at least according to George. More of the muggle tape was needed, and the muggle spring traps that were used for catching rats. The magical handbag - was - a difficult gift for George to top. She just wished that she could say he was -
"Oh, Merde," hissed Gabrielle, looking back at the magical prank already set on the door. She really should have been paying closer attention; she had gotten ahead of herself. Well, she thought, going out the window was not too bad. Her handbag held a broom which, if asked about it, she would describe as 'custom'. Gabrielle began sticking the traps to the inside of the towel. This part was decidedly fiddly and dangerous.
Gabrielle was nearly finished carefully adjusting the way the 'convenient' towel hung over the chair when she was startled by a loud, indelicate, and flatulent splat. This was followed by an equally loud declaration of doom. "Bloody hell! I will kill them!" At the very same moment, because Gabrielle was startled, there were a half dozen snaps. Gabrielle shrieked and flailed, trying to untangle the towel, the traps, and her fingers. At least, that is, until the Petrificus spell took hold. She toppled backwards, looking up at a very annoyed Ginny Weasley, whose face was dripping stinksap.
"(I am sorry!)" blurted Gabrielle. "(Ginny -)"
"And a prop-air French greeting for you," said Ginny. She bent over Gabrielle and rubbed her cheeks on each side of Gabrielle's face, smearing the noxious sap all over.
"Ginny, it hurts!" pleaded Gabrielle.
"And so, what? You think it wasn't going to hurt me? You utterly stupid little cow," scolded Ginny. She carefully pulled the towel free, leaving the sprung traps on Gabrielle's fingers. The pinned digits were going blue and numb. "You used so many!"
"I said I was sorry!" whimpered Gabrielle. Numb fingers did not hurt as much, but were likely closer to falling off. "It, eh, was only two boxes."
"Here's one that didn't go. I wonder what I can catch in it?" teased Ginny. Gabrielle eyes widened in fear as the deadly, to small rodents at least, device was waved just in front of her nose.
"Ginny, please! I am sorry, I am sorry!"
"Yeah, you are. But about what, I wonder?" said Ginny. "It's an easy thing to say, but what will you do?"
"Anyzing!" exclaimed Gabrielle. It was a lie, of course. This was duress, so that was all right.
"Hmm. You'll help Mum with the cooking?"
"Oui. Of course," said Gabrielle quickly. That was no different, in Gabrielle's experience, than being an apprentice.
"You'll fetch whatever Fleur asks of Mum?"
"Eh, yes," agreed Gabrielle after a brief hesitation. Duress, she reminded herself.
"You'll let me carry Louis around?" asked Ginny. "Well? Well?"
Snap.
v - v - v - v - v
"It is still, eh, swollen," complained Gabrielle, quietly, as she prodded her nose.
"It looks fine," declared Ginny. "I've had practice on noses. Well, Harry's nose. A bludger won't always turn him if he's on the snitch."
"My mozzer will see it. I am certain," sighed Gabrielle.
"You can't possibly be expecting sympathy from me. How did you even get in here? Hermione gave me that spell," said Ginny. Both young women were clean, the room was refreshed, and any bruises were soothed. Tempers as well. "Were you using one of the twins' Universal Unlockers? She'll right put out if it didn't work against those."
"Eh, non. I, eh, zought Harry was flying today?" asked Gabrielle cautiously. It was probably best to speak of the failed prank as little as possible.
"Were counting on it, you mean," said Ginny sharply. Gabrielle ducked her head, not so much in shame but as a way to keep Ginny from going back to the question of the locked door. "He is flying - or was. The Cannons were up against the Wigtown Wanderers today, with a chance to take over Wigtown's place in the standings. The club needed a quick capture; you get points for the win and for the differential, and with the Cannons you can't count on there being any differential if the match goes for any length at all."
"Eh, okay," agreed Gabrielle. If she was still getting the Prophet, she knew it would be filled with complaints about the day's outing being cut short.
"Harry should be along soon. The team's healer will have him patched up in no time," assured Ginny.
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle had excused herself to Ginny, saying that she should be making the tea for her father and Mr. Weasley, because Ginny really enjoyed talking about quidditch. Especially quidditch matches that involved Harry Potter, and since he had only been flying for most of one season, these matches were covered in great detail. Gabrielle had no intention, once more, of making tea because there was simply no way that she would be able to get past her mother unnoticed with her nose even slightly misshapen. Ginny, unfortunately, said that she should help, except that her should had meant would and will, and she followed Gabrielle out into the hall.
What Gabrielle had intended to do was to consult the beetle's wing, and to determine if George was properly on his way to see her after almost a whole year of not. She did not want to bring the faux beetle out when Ginny was around, though, since she was certain the redhead did not approve of the fact that she had it.
"The Falmouth match was the worst. Nevermind the cobbing, Winchendon took a boot to the head - he flew around the pitch half-tipped over. Didn't affect his runs, mind you, if I'm honest," described Ginny. Gabrielle dawdled in the hall behind her former target, wondering if Ginny would find it rude if she went back to her contingency plan, which was to jump out of the window.
"Everyone says there's a jinx if more than three dozen fouls are called," continued the latest Chuddley supporter. "That's hardly twenty minutes most games. And - what is it?"
"I, eh, can not - is zere anozzer way to ze kitchen?"
Ginny grinned. "There's two, and you've tried both. Though I doubt you remember much of the one."
"Eh, what?"
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle did remember the weird little tunnel that she had once chased Hermione's cat, Crookshanks, into. The mysterious space behind the small iron grill set low into the wall of the hallway was no larger than before, and certainly no cleaner. It was, however, much brighter. A bright yellow, jagged flame danced and flared on the end of Gabrielle's wand; Ginny had just cast a plain old Lumos spell, which was not as interesting. The occasional, quiet 'whuff' as masses of cobwebs burned away was something that Gabrielle was going to count as an unexpected bonus. Unless she was getting covered in ash.
There was no room to stand, and Gabrielle did not want to crawl through what could be centuries of dust and the dead bodies of the insects that fed the builders of the cobwebs. She followed Ginny by waddling along in a squatted position, rather like a duck. Ginny did just crawl on her hands and knees, and so quickly reached the sets of ladders that Gabrielle had not seen the last time.
"You must know a light spell, right?" asked Ginny, waiting on the ladder leading into the hole in the floor that Gabrielle had fallen through just before Fleur's wedding.
"Of course! But, eh, this is, eh, more useful." And cool. Whuff. "It is the Veela, eh, eh, patrimoine," explained Gabrielle.
"Does that mean arson? Only I don't fancy you setting the house on fire," said Ginny. "Again. I've heard of your little incidents too. I say little, but a whole forest - "
"It was only a few (mumble) trees!" dismissed Gabrielle, hoping that she did not have to clarify more.
"Ri-ight. Just be careful on the - wooden - ladder, will you?"
Gabrielle sighed. It was totally unfair of Ginny to bring up the past like that. Had she not spent an entire year working hard - being mature - to make sure she had a second chance? Did Ginny not know this?
Well, no, Gabrielle had to admit, Ginny would not know that. It did not involve Harry Potter playing quidditch. Which was a slightly mean thought, but could Ginny not at least see how she -
Oh mon Dieu, realized Gabrielle, of course Ginny could not see how she had changed! She had gone right back to the - and here Gabrielle shuddered - Patterns of Behavior that had ruined everything in the first place. What, wondered Gabrielle, was she even doing crabbing along this filthy tunnel?
Compounding mistakes, answered a scold of a second thought. The first was thinking to impress George, who should have been the one doing that for her. Did he not know this?
"Are you coming?" called Ginny, her voice echoing slightly as it came from the hole in the floor. "Only I think the ghoul sometimes gets in here." Gabrielle started down the ladder, not because of the ghoul but because she could not think of another way out. She did hold her wand in such a way that it was well away from the rungs of the ladder, though, to avoid adding a third mistake.
Gabrielle reached the bottom of the second ladder, and Ginny was on her quickly, whispering for her to put out her wand and to be quiet. "Why?" whispered Gabrielle in the darkness.
"There's someone in the kitchen," replied Ginny. With her eyes adapting, she could see Ginny pointing toward another low grill.
"Eh, what? What does that matter?" whispered Gabrielle. This was beginning to feel like a third mistake. Was it Maman?
"Well, half is that the other doesn't know that you know what you know," said Ginny cryptically.
"Eh, what?" complained Gabrielle again. The back door, she, too late, recalled, was the other way to get to the kitchen proper.
"It's something the twins say. Now hush, and let's take a look."
Gabrielle did not want to hush. She did not want to be in this dark, dirty crawl-space anymore. Her legs were getting very tired from staying in a squat, and she was sure that this was not a properly mature thing to be doing. Especially in a short dress. The tights helped, of course, but if there was someone in the kitchen and they did happen to look - well, it was where they might look that was the problem. Even if they could not see anything because of the tights. And the darkness. A second thought decided that that was stupid. Dressed as she was, all in black except for the scarf and Pepi-Z, anyone looking would do well to even notice that she was there.
The silent complaints meant that there actually was a hush, though, and Gabrielle could hear voices filtering in from the magical grate that was the exit to the kitchen proper. Was Ginny, wondered Gabrielle, going to make them wait until the room was completely empty? They were there for dinner - Mrs. Weasley would begin preparations soon, and did not Geff still sleep on top of the icebox? Well, she did not plan to stay here forever. That is assuming, thought Gabrielle, that she could find another way out. There just had to be -
The voices, one of the voices, caught her ear. It had to be George. Or Fred. Ginny was leaning over the grill, making it impossible for Gabrielle to get closer. Unless, of course, Gabrielle leaned onto the redhead, which she did. This did not go unnoticed, but there was a limit to how much Ginny could wriggle while not giving up her spot and staying hushed.
"About bloody time you showed up. No hurry to Chosen Ones, right?"
"What? I'm here before everyone else!" Gabrielle guessed that the second voice was Harry Potter's.
"Nearly everyone, I'll grant you that. Nice bruise - did the Cannons 'can' their healer?"
"It was Peregrine Derrick. Played beater for Slytherin, remember him? The Wanderers' beaters have wicked bats, but no real tactics. They do, erm, get lucky, occasionally," explained Harry.
"Might want to get that sorted before Ginny sees it. Or are you hoping that it's Ginny what does the sorting, eh? Smooth." Gabrielle's heart leaped. This had to be George. Unless Harry and Fred had patched up whatever had caused their falling out - no one could tell her what that was about.
"I'm fine. I was in a hurry, you know. Is, erm, Ginny around?"
"And you brought the pudding. She'll be lucky to get - married - to a thoughtful young chap like you," said likely George. That definitely did not sound like something that Fred would say. "No, no - don't run off. Let's see what you brought, then. If it's one of Verity's 'beneficial fiber' rutabaga-kale abominations…" Definitely George!
"I asked the house-elves to make it. What do you think?"
"What do I think? I think your over-inflated ego needs a bursting jinx. Seekers - honestly. 'G' is for Gabrielle, you self-centered, insufferable prat." Might be Fred after all, reconsidered Gabrielle.
"Huh? Too long over the cauldron today? What's that about?"
"It's an 'H'. Not enough coverage in the Prophet for you? Surprised they haven't change the name to the Daily Potter."
"If it was a letter, which it isn't, because it's the towers with the main doors open, it could be a 'H'. 'H' is for Hogwarts," declared Harry. "She's going to Hogwarts. I thought everyone knew?"