Chapter Twenty - A Pain In The...
Coaxing the unicorn onto Soleil's back had been a nightmare, and Gabrielle hoped that the reverse would be easier. The Abraxan was huge and powerful, but it was built for flying, and pride did not last long as a source of energy. Thankfully, stubbornness dwindled less quickly. Soleil was breathing hard and heavily lathered by the time they made it back to his stall. He would get a half a bottle of the whiskey, straight, and a good, thorough brushing because, judged Gabrielle, he definitely deserved it.
Gabrielle wondered if she would need to groom the unicorn, Hemorrhoid, as well to calm her, since it was unnatural for such a creature to be up in the air. The mare had lain across Soleil's back stiffly, her eyes showing at once irritation and terror. It was clearly magical that its muzzle had any beard left at all for all that Gabrielle had tugged at it in reassurance. The stress only grew when the time to dismount arrived. The weeks of chores, the metric ton, and the metal overshoes had filled out Gabrielle's arms and legs, but had not made her anymore useful as a counter-weight. When the mare slid forward off Soleil's shoulders, Gabrielle did not slow its descent but simply followed. The unicorn landed gracefully, at least the front half of Hemorrhoid did. Gabrielle did not land with any grace. Her fall was cushioned by a soft spot on the floor of the stall; she wished it had been hard. "Merde," groaned Gabrielle, and that covered all aspects of the situation. Was this the curse already? At least the squirrel now fled her new fragrant condition, scampering back up the tether to high ground. It was disgusting, but that was not important right now. She had to get the unicorn blood out of her system. Gabrielle turned to go, and found the mare trailing her.
"Eh, no. You can stay here," said Gabrielle patiently. "With Soleil." An equine look of disgust crossed the unicorn's face as it eyed the floor of the stall with a tilt of its head. "I will clean it! I do every day!" How rude, thought Gabrielle. Hemorrhoid indeed. "I will -bring- a dressing for your leg, yes?" The mare did not seem to disagree, but when Gabrielle headed back out of the stall, so did the unicorn. "No, no. People will see - " Gabrielle stopped in mid-scold. The mare was not following her; it was being nudged out of the stall by Soleil.
"Soleil! Stop that! She is injured and you are - No!" demanded Gabrielle. The unicorn kicked back at the Abraxan with its good rear leg, catching him in the neck. It had to have hurt, but Soleil was used to fighting with other Abraxans. He barely flinched from the blow which had pitched the mare forward. Another near goring for her! "What is wrong with you two?" An observant thought noted: mare, stallion.
Gabrielle put her hands on her hips and glared. Soleil lowered his head first, but even the unicorn glanced away. If only, thought Gabrielle, that would work on people, like it did for Maman. "I can dress your leg in my tent," started Gabrielle finally. Why not? There was a very large common room, more supplies, and sinks for washing up. Anyway, Soleil's stall was crowded with both animals and the makeshift bed. "I, eh, will have to ride on you to use the, eh, diadem. Otherwise people will see." It was probably better to keep them apart, in case Soleil was tempted to act like a stallion.
Gabrielle beckoned the unicorn to come closer to the wall, the boards of which Gabrielle would climb to make mounting Hemorrhoid easier. The mare sidled forward, then swung its horn to catch the one of the many pockets on the front of Gabrielle's blouse. Fabric tore and buttons flew. "Hey! Watch out!" cried Gabrielle, stepping back only to find she was against the wall. The insane creature snagged the blouse again. It was a careful and deliberate act, not that that was a comfort to Gabrielle. The garment gained another hole before Gabrielle could disentangle herself. The unicorn bent its head down and now tried to catch the leg of her slacks. The injury, Gabrielle now realized with regret, had driven it mad. It was not a helpful thought to have while battling the black horn, nor was the accusation by a traitorous thought questioning her own sanity for bringing it back to camp. Why, though, did it suddenly hate her clothes?
Ah, thought Gabrielle, remembering Monique. "That is, eh, just a myth! You should know this. I have ridden Impy with my clothes on. Eh, he is a unicorn also." The blouse was Maman's purchase, but the slacks were her real clothes, so Gabrielle wrestled with the ebony weapon more desperately. "Okay! Okay! Be seen if you want! I'm sure Stanislaw could sell your, eh, horn. Or stay here. I don't want to ride you if you are like this." Oh Merlin, sighed Gabrielle, now her slacks had a rip too. She never had gotten the fabric repair spells to work right. Or at all, except for making ragged buttonholes. Which really might have just been tears. Maybe, thought Gabrielle, I should have Soleil kick Hemorrhoid. Just a little.
Instead, Gabrielle turned once again to leave. Time was not on her side, and she did not want to be cursed. The unicorn did not follow her out, but stood at the opening and whinnied plaintively. It was the first real sound the animal had made, so Gabrielle turned back to check if Soleil was causing trouble. Hemorrhoid shuffled over to wait next to the wall, looking embarrassed. The mare's presence might be the curse itself, mused Gabrielle with another sigh. She returned to the stall and settled onto the mare's back gently. The silky hair felt so odd compared to Soleil's, and there was so little back in comparison. Riding Soleil was like sitting on a table. "It is not far. Eh, there is a large hole on the way. Be careful you don't fall," encouraged Gabrielle gently. Oh, thought Gabrielle, that was a Look.
Taking Hemorrhoid back to the tent was a good idea, decided Gabrielle, even though there was bound to be some vanishing needed at some point. She would not have to chew the possible - probable - dittany, but could use the mortar and pestle from potions class that was still in the handbag. Gabrielle also checked on Poisseux while rummaging in her belongings. He still had an, eh, iron grip on the cup from the burned barn, and shaking him failed to loosen it. His behavior was completely ridiculous; Gabrielle let him know that he was being a Bad Toad and stuffed the faux amphibian back into the handbag.
Once the poultice, which Gabrielle had to admit was probably unneeded, was tied just above the unicorn's hoof, she turned to her own treatment. She bit the 'bad' end of the Late Night Curry Skiving Snackbox, very spicy, and brought the bucket closer. She had seen the outcome of using this type of Skiving Snackbox often enough. Which she found odd because the results were really only funny the first few times, and Healer Maltranchier would only be fooled once or twice, if at all. Her stomach gurgled ominously.
Gabrielle did not, as expected, vomit with what all boys thought of as amusing force or color. That is, she did not immediately vomit. Instead, she had an urgently dire need for a toilet. The kind of urgency that makes one drop everything and run while making swimming motions with one's arms, in case that helped.
In the very brief interlude of peace between torrential evacuations, Gabrielle realized two things would help, both of which she had dropped. One was the bucket, which she very badly needed. A respite at one end just meant that the other end of her would begin spewing. The other was the 'good' half of the Snackbox, a most horrifying realization. One that made the bucket fairly pointless, as it would be filled in no time. There was no way to get it either. She could not cast the summoning spell quickly enough before her stomach purged itself again. By design, a second thought supposed. Gabrielle was positive that her internal organs were liquefying and exiting her. It was only a matter of time before her heart blasted out in front or splashed out below, and that would be the end of her. At least, thought Gabrielle, she would not die cursed. The unicorn blood had to be gone now, since her liver and kidneys probably were.
Help, when it finally came, scrabbled along the wall trim with the vital antidote held in its mouth. It was the squirrel, its tail flicking nervously. "Thank Merlin yo-blargh!" began Gabrielle and ended with a fountain. "You brought the wh- aaa-ack!" The forest denizen, still unused to the magical, was clearly out of its element. The only thing it seemed sure about was not touching the floor, or, most likely, the growing lake of sick covering it. "Come closer and I will put out my hand," said Gabrielle, three syllables and two litres at a time.
The squirrel, whom Gabrielle now dubbed Sauveuret, carried out the piecemeal instructions. The needed bite of the Wheeze bounced off her hand and landed in the gruesome slick on the floor, but Gabrielle was beyond caring. She was slightly miffed when the squirrel jumped easily to her shoulder, though, since it could have said that it could get closer. That was, she knew, a very ungrateful way of thinking. The unreadable tail had been flicking about constantly. The thought had been nearly Fleur-like. Which was another ungracious moment. Gabrielle put it down to her spleen being vented forcefully from her body. She waited for a lull, found a nearly clean part of her ruined blouse to dry the dripping half, and, ignoring whose mouth it had already been in, put it in her own. The seesaw spewing ceased, which was a relief. The smell did not. At least the toilet had been magical. A muggle one might not have kept up.
v - v - v - v - v
Harry flew along, following the others but at a higher altitude, and considered the wizarding economy. Many of the wizards and witches he knew worked at the Ministry of Magic and Hogwarts. Bill Weasley worked at Gringotts, while Fred and George had their shop. There were quidditch teams, and St. Mungo's too. The Ministry seemed pretty large, but where did the run-of-the-mill, average witch or wizard fit in? Was there a dole? Pensioners? Harry had once dreamed of being an auror, but now would not trust the Ministry at all. What if, though, he could not even make the reserve squad of the Chudley Cannons? The thing he was best at was flying a broom. Was there, perhaps, a secret courier service not run by the Ministry? The horrible image of being paid in owl treats popped into Harry's head. Fred and George offered piecework for the manufacturing of their Wheezes, but how many magical households could that support?
Actually, considered Harry, a lot of the wizarding families were what Aunt Petunia would longingly refer to as 'old money'. The Malfoys leapt to Harry's guilty mind, along with a memory of how they had outfitted the Slytherin quidditch team. Where had their galleons come from in the first place? Harry had, ages ago, heard that the Malfoys had sold some rare magical items. Was that the source?
Another thought caught Harry by surprise. He was, he supposed, 'old money' as well, even if he did not actually know what the Potter vault currently contained. The pile of gold he had once glimpsed looked huge, and he had not really spent any of it. That made the future seem a little brighter. Which, obviously, was putting the carriage before the thestral, since if Voldemort was not defeated there was no future. He would have to-
"Oy! Potter!" Ginny, riding behind him, interrupted his thoughts. "They've stopped. Didn't you see the red sparks?"
Harry pulled up hard on the Firebolt, looping up tightly before twisting upright once they were inverted. It was called the McDoogle Bacio before it was the Immelmann Turn, but Harry was more impressed by the muggle pilot coaxing his primitive plane into the maneuver than the wizard on a broom. Ginny smacked his head. "Can you at least give a little warning before doing that?"
"Sorry, Gin. I, er, didn't notice the signal," apologized Harry. What he was really thinking was, why did Ginny not hold him tighter? He searched the ground below for the heat-shimmer effect of the disillusion charms used.
"Really, Harry? I sort of guessed that."
Harry spotted not the almost invisible forms he had expected, but Weasley red below. That was surprising. Were they there? There, of course, being wherever George was leading them. The countryside they flew over looked very ordinary, and they were still near the coast. "Hey Gin? Wronski Feint."
"Go on. Then it's my turn."
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle took careful aim at the pile of manure and vanished it, from four meters away. It might have been a personal best, but since she did not normally try for distance she might be able to go further. Nor did she normally use the rustic wand with her Grandmere's hair at its core. Gabrielle chose it this time based on its vigor and the size of the messes. She had only made the attempt because, after cleaning the bathroom, she realized that she had quite a talent for vanishing filth. It was all the practice - the metric ton, or at least the back half of it. Such a talent was best kept secret from others, though, or else she would be expected to use it all the time.
Hemorrhoid had obviously eaten a large breakfast, and explored a number of the unused bedrooms. Gabrielle's skill was applied several times. Fortunately, the digestion of a unicorn was not nearly as exotic as an Abraxan's, and the trail she followed not as eye-watering.
Gabrielle found the unicorn regarding itself in a mirror inside the bedroom of one of the unoccupied suites, tapping the glass with its horn. Lucky for her, thought Gabrielle, that the mirror was not able to express its opinion of that. The mare turned away from Gabrielle with a snuffling snort. I will have to burn these clothes, thought Gabrielle, but she still felt slighted. She wondered if she would be allowed to go to a nearby town to buy more clothing, but then she realized sadly that it would not matter. She did not have any - no, that was not right. Papa had sent muggle money, the strange, eh, leks. The language was a problem, especially if it strayed from potatoes, onions, or cabbage and the peeling or chopping of the same. Which meant asking Nona. Gabrielle almost burst into laughter imaging the dour old crone in a stylish Paris shop, helping Fleur pick out things that would of course be rejected later.
There was fresh blood seeping through the poultice, so perhaps it had not been dittany that she had used. Gabrielle decided to fetch the last of the salve from Professor Elevagre. The stupid owl had managed to get in; it was roosting on the horns of a dead antelope head, which was glaring at the impertinent bird. Gabrielle hoped that Sauveuret would be safe, though it was just as likely the squirrel would emerge victorious in a tussle with the pitiful owl. She had just finished redressing the wounded leg of the less than appreciative unicorn when she heard voices. It was not time to prepare the meals already, was it? Gabrielle hoped not, and especially hoped that Nona did not have a customer, since that would probably mean another bucket of water. Or two in this case.
One of the voices was Professor Festeller. Gabrielle would, yes, recognize his, yes, voice, yes, anywhere. He probably wanted her to stand next to something that would then explode. She was very glad that she had not called out, but while she and Hemorrhoid could not be seen in the back of the suite, it would not take much effort to discover them. That would be a complete disaster, and likely a goring. Gabrielle looked about the bedroom for something to hide them better. Or at least her. She did not recognize who the professor was speaking to, but whoever it was was not supposed to touch anything, at all, ever. She wondered if one of the Goblet's other victims was joining her. There had been another girl.
"[Wot an arse.]" Gabrielle's head snapped around. That was English, and familiar.
"[You don't even know what he said, Ron,]" said the voice that Gabrielle had not recognized. She did so now, and it sent her into a panic. It was Hermione's voice; the other was Ron Weasley's. That meant that Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley would be there. And George, who had gone to France to visit her, and who had now come all the way to wherever this was in Albania! Also, she supposed, Fred. Gabrielle looked into the now slightly cracked mirror and nearly died. She was absolutely repulsive, with torn clothing covered in vomit and manure. Even her hair was hideous - it had been lopsidedly nibbled.
"[I can tell he was being a bloody pillock.]"
"[Language, Ron. Anyway, he is studying time-turners and we were the ones - ]" began Hermione.
"[No, sorry. As objectionable as you all are, I think it's me.]" Gabrielle was right. That was George speaking. Or Fred. And he was right. This was a Beauxbatons expedition, after all. "[They do like their wine at Buxombatons,]" continued George.
"[Speaking of objectionable, what -is- that smell?]" That, thought Gabrielle, was definitely Ginny. "[We're not really going to stay here?]"
"[After that wonderful lie of dying last wishes and secret missions our Harry told? Would be rude to walk out now. 'Sides, I know that smell,]" replied George.
"[I think I'll pass on a career in the pranks industry.]"
"[I didn't lie, erm, to him,]" claimed Harry, which was followed by a derisive snort from George. "[I didn't!]"
"[So that blather about Madame Maxime and having permission?]"
"[I said -I- didn't lie to him. It was Hermione that -]"
"[Harry!]"
"[I could stand you being the Heir of Slytherin, but a budding solicitor? Merlin.]"
"[Gigi?]" called out Ginny. "[Is she here? Let's get her and find another tent to talk. I can't take this stench much longer.]"
At this point, Gabrielle would have jumped out of the window. There was a window, but it was not a real window. It was easy to tell because the towers of Beauxbatons were visible in the background. She had moved all the mattresses to her room, so there was nothing to hide under. She could not even seal the door because it was still open. Also, she did not actually know a door-sealing spell. And what was she supposed to do with Hemorrhoid? The unicorn had tried to stab her even though she had been trying to help it, and now there were at least three boys in the common room. Two boys and George, sighed a second thought. Gabrielle could not just leave the creature now. Perhaps if she just stayed quiet...
"[I think she's in that room,]" announced George.
"[Bay-dar can pick up Gigi?]" asked Ginny, sounding suspicious.
"[Oy! Gigi!]" bellowed Ron. "[Maybe she can't hear us.]"
"[I rather doubt that,]" said Hermione tersely. Gabrielle suspected that she had been next to Ron.
"[Isn't anyone else disturbed by that?]"
"[You get used to it after rooming with him,]" said Harry. Like Hermione, Gabrielle rather doubted that.
"[What I meant was, isn't anyone else wondering how we came directly here?]"
"[Well, it's in the middle of a field, isn't it? We could hardly have missed it,]" replied Harry.
"[I'm going to count that as an attempt at humor, Potter. 'Cause if it wasn't, we're done.]"
"[Sorry, Ginny.]"
"[Oh, come on. Let's just have a look,]" urged Hermione.
Gabrielle made her own decision. "[Je suis ici! Eh, I am 'ere. Zat is, I am here. I am healing a, eh...]" She paused to reconsider. If she said it was a unicorn, then the others would definitely want to see it. Hemorrhoid would feel trapped and likely lash out. Gabrielle eyed the animal, looking for signs of stress or of, eh, oncoming rampage. The unicorn had twisted back on itself, seemingly investigating the new dressing. "[A strong animal. Very strong and, eh, fierce. It is best zat you go into a room, eh, until I am finished.]" Gabrielle found herself waving her hand imperiously, even though they could not see her.
"[Certainly a strong and fierce stink to it.]"
"[Should we give you a hand?]" asked Harry. Gabrielle really hated that expression.
"[Non! Eh, no. No zank you. Ze creature, she is shy,]" said Gabrielle quickly. Although the shyness was on the wane, with the unicorn poking its horn at her clothing again. "[Stop zat!]"
Gabrielle's exclamation coincidentally followed a crash from the common room. "[It was Harry!]" declared Ron.
"[What?]" asked Harry. "[I haven't done a thing.]"
"[Oh, Ron,]" sighed Hermione.
"[This isn't getting us anywhere,]" said George decisively. "[Let's duck in here and wait for her to finish with her fiercely shy patient.]"
Gabrielle, hand firmly on the probing horn, listened until she had heard a door close. She turned to the unicorn, then stopped as another door closed. More followed. Were they, puzzled Gabrielle, splitting up? That was odd. She addressed Hemorrhoid gently, "You must stay here until I can get you out. You will be safe; they are very nice, but, eh, sometimes loud. Very loud, with Ron.]" The unicorn, which was the quietest horse Gabrielle had ever known, swished its tail. A head bob or a snort, thought Gabrielle, would be more definitive. It would have to do though. She tilted the bed frame - the metric ton - onto its side. "This will hide you more." Not much more; the mare was already taller than it. Another tail swish - possibly yes, possibly flies.
Gabrielle slipped off her shoes and the protective overshoes, peeked cautiously around the door frame, then sprinted silently for her room. A quick, but thorough, shower, then she would put on the stretchy green top and the Hogwarts skirt. Also, eh, a hat. The skirt did not really go with the top, but considering the effect that the plain skirt had had on George the last time she wore it, he would not notice the top. A year older now, Gabrielle was a little more interested in that effect, and more than slightly anxious about it. She barrelled through her door, sliding in her socks through the sitting area. She would be ready in no time at all! Gabrielle half ran, half hopped into the bedroom, the torn, filthy slacks already pushed down past her thighs.
Which made it very easy to slip and fall over backwards if, for example, one had to stop very suddenly. Which Gabrielle did, with a squeak, right at George's feet. He was in her room! They were in her room! He - they were in her room and she was almost in her underwear! Why were they in her room? There was no time for the explanation, or the question. At least dressed like that. Gabrielle kicked off the slacks desperately; it was easier than trying to pull them back on, and pulling them back on would not make them un-see what they had seen. She scrambled for the bathroom, slammed the door closed with a boom, and then slumped against it breathless. The flush of embarrassment came too late to matter.
"[Wot the 'ell was that?]" asked Ron.
"[Good to see she hasn't changed,]" laughed Ginny. "[Still the Deranged Delacour.]"
"[Least we know what smells now. Blimey,]" complained Ron. A black pit opened under Gabrielle's self-esteem.
"[That was pretty strong,]" allowed Hermione. "[Tell me you didn't send her that Poo-Fume. Scourgify! Scourgify!]"
"[Well, he does write,]" said Ginny. "[Why would she use it on herself though? Sent her a pranked bottle of it, did you George? Or was it Fred? George? Oh, fer Merlin's sake.]" There was the sounds of brief scuffle.
"[Oy! What was that that for?"] demanded George.
"[Well how long were you going to stand there gawping? Honestly!]" griped Ginny. "[She looked a disaster and smelled like dung bomb! Is that what does it for you?]" Above the black pit, a light appeared.
"[Not just dung - there's the piquant aroma of a Late Night Curry Snackbox mixed in. Her hair is different too,]" noted George. A bright light! "[There's got to be a laugh in how she ended up like that.]" Slightly dimmer now.
"[And here I was wondering if she really was part Veela. You probably memorized the color of her knickers. Can you imagine Fleur smelling like that?]"
"[Erm, can you give it a bit of a rest, Ginny? She's only in the other room, and we need her help,]" said Harry.
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle emerged from her shower, which had not been so much quick as extra thorough. She did not smell of anything but soap! The blouse no longer smelled either, since she had eventually managed to vanish the irredeemable article. There was nothing that Gabrielle could do quickly about her hair, though. Haste makes bald patches. In her head, she heard Fleur's voice asking, "Have you -looked- in a mirror?" She had had no idea her hair was -so- raggedly lopsided. Gabrielle knew she would have to let Soleil nibble the other side also, or stop him altogether. And she had no illusions there as to which was the more likely one to work.
"[Eh, Ginny?]" called Gabrielle through the narrowest of gaps in the door. "[Hello?]"
"[Cor, it's about time! What is it now?]"
"[I, eh, need clothes.]" Gabrielle did not even have her housecoat, only the scratchy white towel that came with the tent. Ginny huffed in response, as if Gabrielle was always asking for things. "[Zere is a green top, and ze skirt from Hogwarts, in ze wardrobe, eh, please. Also, eh, underwear,]" requested Gabrielle. The last was said in a whisper. It was, Gabrielle felt, a little embarrassing. The others would hopefully not see these 'knickers' on her also, but, even so, it was a little strange knowing that they knew what color the undergarments were. Gabrielle hoped Ginny would be able to find everything, since -
"[Here, that should do,]" declared Ginny, thrusting a bundle through the partially opened door. Gabrielle almost thanked the older girl by polite reflex, but she could see that Ginny had gotten it wrong. How could anyone mistake denims for a skirt?
"[Eh, no. Ze skirt is in the bottom of ze -]"
"[You can play dress-up later,]" interrupted Ginny, pulling the door closed. Gabrielle frowned. Ginny was definitely in a Mood. Her shower had not taken that long, so the reason must be something else. Ginny, Gabrielle concluded, must be having trouble with Harry.
In addition to the unwanted denims, Ginny had not given her the tight-fitting green top, but the white blouse with the embroidery. The redhead had, noticed Gabrielle, chosen her own former clothes that Gabrielle had been given when she had stayed at the Burrow. One way to think of that was to see Ginny as picking the clothes she thought looked best. That Ginny was not going to wear them did not matter; it was a sisterly gesture. Another way was to believe that Ginny thought her requests had showed terrible fashion sense. That, sighed Gabrielle, was also very much a sisterly gesture.
Once dressed, a suspicious thought suggested another possibility. The full length denims completely hid what nearly a year of iron boots had shaped, and the blouse was still a little too big for her. The overall effect was to make her look smaller. And younger, as in too young. And her hair was stupid. Perhaps she could try just a tiny hair spell...
"[Oy in there! I've got to use the loo!]" demanded Ron, pounding on the door. The indelicate request came at a delicate moment, and Gabrielle stumbled over the last syllables. The last, crucial syllables. She gritted her teeth in fury as she started in the mirror. She -knew- she should not have tried it, and now -look- at her hair!
Actually, whispered another thought cautiously, it is not so bad. Her hair was definitely not even. In fact, it could not be any less even or she would not have any hair at all on the one side. But, it did look intentional, instead of as if she had been gnawed at. Intentionally asymmetrical was often called dramatic, if not good, although Fleur would describe it as "art-damaged". Gabrielle was, according to her Maman, going through phases. This, she decided, would be one of them. She took a lock of hair from the long side and tied it up with the also thoroughly washed Pepi-Z's tether. He looked a little lonely, so she broke off pieces of soap and transfigured them into beads. The new ornaments looked interesting, though they were the color of soap. If Ron was not so rudely pounding on the door she might have been able to change the color. I am, Gabrielle told herself after an inspection, beyond fashion, avante-garde.
That self-possession was harder to maintain outside the bathroom. The older girls clamped their hands to their faces in an attempt not to laugh. Harry did not, but a smack from Ginny reduced it to snickering. Ron pushed past her so quickly that Gabrielle wondered if he had had some Late Night Curry. She should have told him to use another toilet, especially since the bucket was still in the common room. That left only George, who was doubled over from laughing so hard.
Laughing at her! That was not right. Gabrielle knew she ought to be kicking him, but her shoes, and the metal overshoes for extra emphasis, were in with the unicorn. She put her hands on her hips and glared. This got no reaction, but she kept it up. Eventually George would stop wiping his eyes and notice her. Or her eyes would fall out of her head. When her future husband did notice her, she snapped, "-What- is so funny? [Eh, zat is, -what- is so funny?]"
"[Your hair, of course,]" said George, finishing with a bout of chortling.
"[My hair,]" said Gabrielle icily, or at least an attempt at icy, because his words stung inside.
"[It's brilliant, really. Totally barmy!]" declared George with an enthusiasm that Gabrielle found confusing. She just stared at him. "[It's bloody... uh. It, er, isn't for a laugh then?]"
"[No.]" It was only one syllable, but it caught in her throat. This was not going the way that she had hoped.
"[Are you sure?]"
"[Cor, no wonder he gets stabbed. She's got that little knife too,]" whispered Ginny.
"Oui, tu les porcs d'un homme. C'est dramatique. [1]"
"[Ah, sorry luv. They say that drama and comedy are two sides of the same mask,]" offered George, getting back up. Gabrielle wondered, what? Her English was not that rusty.
"[It's tragedy and comedy, I thought,]" opined Hermione.
"[I wouldn't call her hair tragic,]" said George. "[That's a bit harsh.]"
"[You - you laughed at it!]" exploded Gabrielle. She did not fail to notice his apology, but it only added to her confusion. Also, she would hold out for something better.
"[Not at it, with it,]" claimed George.
"[No, you - eh, what?]" asked Gabrielle. "[Zat makes no sense!]"
"[Oh, er, sorry for that too, then, luv. Come on, give us a kiss?]" George patted his cheek.
It might have been possible, if one had one's ear pressed to Gabrielle's head, to hear the little 'pock' sound of her brain exploding. He wanted her to kiss him. He wanted her to kiss him! He wanted her to kiss him? The competing thoughts battled for control of her expression. He wanted her to kiss him. Where did that come from? Was it supposed to be some sort of apology? Or a trick? He wanted her to kiss him! She knew he cared! He does write, after all. His rudeness was just his way of working up the nerve to ask her. He wanted her to kiss him? The, the, the impudence! The temerity! He had laughed at her - he did not -deserve- a kiss. It should be him kissing her!
That was a thought to rally behind, and affront won out. "[Give you ze kiss? I zink not! You will give me ze kiss! And a proper greeting,]" ordered Gabrielle. From behind her came a yodelling cry from the bathroom.
"[Ah, the benefits of fiber in one's diet,]" grinned George.
"[Exactly how much fiber?]" asked Hermione.
"[I am, eh, waiting,]" reminded Gabrielle. A second thought was wondering if she should just have jumped at his request.
"[I think the more pressing concern is size rather than quantity,]" replied George as his brother howled again. Harry winced, while Hermione just put her hand to her forehead.
"[How is this a benefit?]" wondered Ginny.
Gabrielle stepped up in front of George. "[I am waiting. I have said zis.]"
"[You can go on waiting,]" muttered Ginny.
"[Here I thought you'd be happy to see us,]" said George. "[I don't know - all this shouting.]"
"[I am happy to see you. You are, eh, happy to see me?]" asked Gabrielle uncertainly. She hoped that it was the presence of the others that was making him shy. She was praying that it was, because the other possibilities were pretty bleak.
"[George, quit teasing her,]" said Hermione. The bushy-haired witch had always been Gabrielle's favorite.
"Fëmijë. Nuk është puna. Tani. [2]" Merde, thought Gabrielle. Not now.
"[Who's that?]" asked Harry. Gabrielle saw that he had his wand in his hand.
"[Zat is Nona. I, eh, help her wizz her, eh, work,]" explained Gabrielle. If pressed, she decided not to mention vegetables. No one would be impressed by that.
"Hesht, hesht. Të jetë ende, të jetë ende. [3]" That, thought Gabrielle, did not sound like Nona was calling out to her. Mostly because it was too gentle. Oh Merlin, remembered Gabrielle, the unicorn! Nona was probably too old to survive being gored. Merde again.
"[I, eh, have to go,]" said Gabrielle with a mix of irritation, regret, and rising concern. "[You must stay in here.]" She started to turn away, but George's hands caught her face.
"['Course I'm happy to see you, luv,]" grinned George, before kissing each of her cheeks lightly. It was not a real kiss at all, but there had been two, so that, decided Gabrielle, made up for it some. She smiled broadly.
"Unë jam duke pritur, fëmijë. Nuk është puna. [4]" There is always 'puna' thought Gabrielle with a sigh.
"I will come back as soon as I can but, eh, sometimes Nona does a seance for her customers," said Gabrielle, forgetting to translate. She started to go, then decided to hug George tightly, because she thought she could get away with it. She hoped that Nona was all right. There was no more dittany, if there had been any in the first place. Gabrielle hurried from the room just as Ginny began to fuss. She would have to put an end to Ginny's interference somehow; it was rude.
"[Wot I miss?]" Ron's question was the last thing that Gabrielle heard before hurrying into the common room. Nona was standing in front of the bedroom that Hemorrhoid was convalescing in. The crone looked unhurt and somewhat displeased. Which, noted a snide thought, was really the same as completely normal. Gabrielle slid to a stop, which made her look down.
Oh yes, remembered Gabrielle, my shoes. They were in with the unicorn, and still soaked with regurgitated Late Night Curry. It was one thing to vanish the many-pocketed blouse from Maman, and quite another to vanish her own shoes. Magical cleaning was not, Gabrielle had to admit, one of her talents, many talents. It took a lot of time and then she would usually have to finish the job the regular way. Hermione, though, was sure to help. "Eh, I will just get my shoes," explained Gabrielle to Nona, whether or not the old witch understood. She made to move past, but Nona grabbed her arm.
"Lëvizin ngadalë, butësisht, fëmijë, [5]" advised Nona cryptically.
"Eh, yes, of course," agreed Gabrielle just so Nona's grip loosened. She stepped into the room, intending to quickly grab the shoes and then ask Hermione to Scourgify them. Except, the footwear was not where she had left it. Who could have wanted to move her shoes? The obvious answer was George. Or Ginny. Either could have done a summoning spell while she was in the shower. Why Ginny would do this was a mystery; why George would was not. There was only one witness, so Gabrielle went into the suite's bedroom, ignoring Nona's warning, to ask Hemorrhoid.
Unicorns, realized Gabrielle, do not make good house guests. The curtains were pulled down and chewed, there was a tear in the magical window that allowed a line of the actual late afternoon sun through, and, of course, the sort of mess on the floor one would expect in a stable. Had it even been a half hour yet? At least the mystery of her shoes was resolved. Hemorrhoid had managed to kick them into the unused wardrobe, which itself had been kicked so thoroughly that it no longer closed. Gabrielle wondered why the mare did not get on with Soleil; they would make quite a pair. Certainly almost nothing in the camp would be left standing if the two worked together. The dressing on the unicorn's leg showed no sign of additional bleeding. The salve had worked, or it had been dittany all along.
Nona, standing at the suite's door, watched curiously as Gabrielle hurried past with two pairs of shoes held at arm's length. Gabrielle tried to indicate with a forced grin that that was the way unicorns were, what could one do? The old witch did not say anything, but Gabrielle knew that ladle would soon be making an appearance if she was not ready soon.
Gabrielle therefore hurried back to her bedroom, pushing through the door. The little squirrel scampered in after her, then, perhaps because of the crowd of people already in the room, ran up Gabrielle's leg and tried to hide in the pocket of the denims. She did not notice. "[Excusez-moi, Hermione, you can -]"
"[Ah! Ow! Argh!]" exploded George, slapping at his chest. He clawed at his shirt.
"What - what is it? George?" cried Gabrielle, going pale. Well, paler, if one looked closely.
"[Hope it's some of that fiber rot,]" muttered Ron.
"[I don't,]" said Harry, holding his nose.
"[All right, all right! Shite,]" struggled George.
"[It was pretty impressive, wasn't?]"
"[No.]" chorused Hermione and Ginny.
"[Ah - finally. Damn near took me nipple off,]" complained the older Weasley. He dragged the metal beetle from his shirt. Gabrielle looked on with interest. She had one of those beetle things too, and, more importantly, George had partly undone his shirt to extricate the metal bug.
"[What is it? Have we been followed?]" asked Harry.
"[No. Fred, the bloody git, wants a word.]"
1 Yes, you pig of a man. It's dramatic.
2 Little one. There is work. Now.
3 Hush, hush. Be still, be still.
4 I am waiting, little one. There is work.
5 Move slowly, gently, little one.