Chapter Thirty-seven - Another One
Gabrielle screamed once at the sudden grab of the horrible man, a choked, second time at the ripping of the jumper and a lancing pain, and a third time as she was dropped to the ground. The third scream was more of a grunt, as the powerful grip of her attacker and the hardness of the ground re-injured her sides, and she had to gasp for breath. Gabrielle lurched to her hands and knees. She was not dead, she was sure of it. Run, screamed her brain stem. Wheeze, replied her lungs. The man scrabbled at his own face with long, dirty yellow fingernails as the pink blob tried to smooth itself over his mouth. He finally tore it away, and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his robe.
"All right then, we'll start at the other end," growled her attacker. Literally growled. Gabrielle launched herself forward, more tumbling than running. It was not enough, and she was wrenched upwards again. Gabrielle imagined she could feel the ribs come loose as she flailed upside-down. She was sure she had managed a kick to the man's head, but to no effect. It should, thought Gabrielle, have been to his ham-and-eggs. Who was this psychopath?
"Expelliarmus!" That was Harry's voice, thought Gabrielle, as she was magically torn from the man's grasp. She then, of course, dropped to the ground in an untidy heap. Gabrielle rolled painfully over to try and catch a breath. "Stupefy!" shouted Harry as the man turned on him. The thin red jet hit her assailant in the chest. He shrugged it off, and laughed.
"Potter, my boyo, I've been looking for you!" cried the man. "The name's -" he began before turning on the spot. He disapparated, then reappeared on the other side of Harry. Harry spun to face him, and the man disapparated again only to reappear directly in front of Harry, snatching him up in a bear-hug. "- Greyback. You can call me Frenrir though. I think you may know my work?"
Harry had his arms pinned at his chest. Gabrielle began to panic anew. Frenrir was the werewolf that had attacked Bill! She started to shake. I've been bitten by a werewolf, thought Gabrielle. Her hand automatically felt for the knife from Gaston. It wasn't silver, was it? Harry struggled in Frenrir's rangy arms.
"They says I'm not to bite you. Don't see why. What don't kill you makes you stronger - hah!" said Frenrir with a bark-like laugh. "Didn't say not to break bones though." He tightened his arms around Harry's torso like a python.
Gabrielle was panting, coughing hard, and unable to take a breath deep enough for a scream. She had not taken the knife. She always took the knife, and now when she needed it the most it was not here. Not, Gabrielle had to acknowledge, that it would appear to be of much actual help. But it had saved Hermione. Harry's face was turning red as the werewolf tried to squeeze the breath from him.
"No use strugglin' boy. When that air is out it'll be over," hissed Frenrir as Harry writhed. "Ah, was that a rib now?"
"Waddiwasi!" burst out Harry with his last breath. There was a sharp report, like a whip cracking. Gabrielle watched as the awful man lost his grip on Harry, and stumbled back a step. Harry scrambled away and back to his feet. Blood poured from a wound in the werewolf's chest in rhythmic surges.
Frenrir grabbed the blade poking out from his chest, and howled in agony before releasing it. He fell to his knees. "It's'ilver?" he slurred.
"Incarcerous," was Harry's immediate reply. Frenrir fell over onto his back, making wet, and fading, gurgling noises. "Yeah, it is. Funny that," added Harry. The Boy-Who-Lived swept to Gabrielle's side, "Are you all right?"
"J'ai été mordu! J'ai été mordu!" rasped out Gabrielle desperately. Except that nothing much hurt besides her ribs at the moment. Shock, again, supposed Gabrielle. Harry was not doing much to help. "(Don't just stand there. Get Madame Pomfrey, you idiot! I was bitten!)" wheezed Gabrielle before she was wracked with another cough. Spots were dancing in front of her eyes.
"Er, Madame Pomfrey, right. Er." Harry had gone red again. He gave a quick pull at the front of Gabrielle's jumper.
Gabrielle unclenched an arm from her aching side to feel what Harry had done. She found a large flap through her clothing, just where her right breast would someday be. Ginny will be angry, noted a thought. The bra was ruined. That made Gabrielle think of Poisseux and Pepi-Z. Where were they? Were they okay? She fumbled under the flap until she felt the two of them.
Frenrir's howl had carried further than Gabrielle's scream, and brought more help. The twins came hurrying through the trees, breaking into a run when they saw the carnage. George made a bee-line for Harry and Gabrielle; Fred trained his wand on the fallen Frenrir.
"What's happened Harry? Who is that?" asked George. He peered closely at the hole in Harry's shirt, and the blood on it. "Not feeling badly, are you?"
"I'm fine. That's Frenrir - he attacked Gabrielle!" explained Harry.
"Looks like it - was - Frenrir," said Fred. "Good job and all Harry, but most people stick the pointy end in first."
"(He... bit me! George... You must... get... Madame Pomfrey,)" panted Gabrielle. Eh, suggested a second thought, that might be tried to bite.
"She, er, needs Madame Pomfrey," added Harry.
"Another bloody wunderkind of the foreign tongue," said Fred.
"Where were you bit, luv? There's no blood," soothed George. He moved the hand at her side away, making her wince. "Ah, that I can help with." George started poking Gabrielle's ribs with his wand, which really hurt quite a lot at first.
"(He bit my, eh -)" The deeper breaths she was now afforded helped to calm Gabrielle. "He bit, eh..." started Gabrielle. She gestured to her front.
"Your Pwa-so?" winked George.
"What is this?" asked Harry. He lifted up the pink blob on the end of his wand, the torn edges making it look more like a jellyfish.
"Looks like a Mrs. Udderly's Classic A, Deluxe," said Fred. "Bit chewed. Rather chewed, in fact."
"Come again?"
"Think of pairs, young man, and not bleeding fruit. Oh, come on, what kind of lothario are you? The other one's still attached," added Fred. Gabrielle, who was sitting up now, held her arms crossed in front of her chest and looked unhappy.
"Did you know we carry her novelty items at the shop?" asked George. "Different brand name, of course. Ministry officials are a lot friendlier when they know you know you've sold them a fake todger!"
The humor was lost on Gabrielle, but Harry found it extremely funny. She put that down to nerves. As embarrassing as it was to explain, Gabrielle was rather happy to have only lost one of the goose eggs instead of something a lot more vital. She had not been bitten - it was just the faux breast being ripped off.
"So, Harry," began Fred once Harry had caught his breath. "How is it you had a silver dagger on you?"
v - v - v - v - v
Harry put off explaining about the dagger, and everything else that would bring up, by suggesting that they find Ron and Hermione first, just in case. Ginny had already returned to the kitchen, resigning herself to getting her own breakfast. George and Fred both snorted, and said that they knew exactly where Harry's classmates were, and what they were doing. George turned his back on the others, wrapped his arms around his own shoulders, and made a good impression of two people kissing. Loudly kissing. It was funny, but not as funny as Harry found it. Fred said that he had some dungbombs, so he and Harry went after the other two. Gabrielle hobbled toward the Burrow with George until he finally took the hint, from her wheezing, gasping, and outright whinging, and carried her. It was not, perhaps, her proudest moment, but Gabrielle rationalized that she deserved something for the traumatic events. And leaning her head against his chest did make her feel less unsettled. George did not complain, other than to begin grunting every time he had to step up on or over anything. Gabrielle knew she wasn't heavy; her father always said so.
Returning to the Burrow was not as comforting as Gabrielle had expected. There was more than a little calamity at the news of the attack, and at her condition. Mrs. Weasley, dressed all in black, emerged from her room and went directly from despondent to outraged. It was a frightening thing to see, the more so because while the matron fairly crackled with murderous intent toward those who would invade her family's home, there were no actual enemies evident to vanquish. There was only Gabrielle, propped on the edge of the sofa in the sitting room, and a rapidly retreating George. Gabrielle knew that she would be speaking to him about that!
Mrs. Weasley vented much of her anger at the Floo network, which probably could never ever connect as fast as demanded right then. Madame Pomfrey was summoned. Then Mrs. Weasley poured the rest of her rage onto the old auror Monsieur Moody. He had, in her judgment, not been acting his age, at all. She had expected him to resist better than that, to put his sense of duty first, and to not chase frilly robes. Monsieur Moody replied that they had been, and here his gaze, or gazes in his case, drifted to some place far away, more diaphanous than frilly, and that he had resisted quite valiantly until the Countess began to dance... back at his little flat... which they had retired to because she desired a break from the guitar-with-plug sounds. Mrs. Weasley was not impressed. Gabrielle had started in surprise - a painful thing with her ribs injured again. Her Grandmere had married a Count, her first husband, when she had first become eligible. It was a sad story. The Count's heart had failed within a year; Grandmere, even after remarrying twice, still wore a locket with his image. She also wore a locket with her second husband's image, of course, and now a third with Gabrielle's grandfather's. Could it, cringed Gabrielle, could it be that Grandmere wanted to marry Monsieur Moody? That he would, technically, be her grandfather?
v - v - v - v - v
Moody arrived after a short while. He stepped through the entry hall much more gingerly than his usual stomp. Gabrielle attributed this to a desire for stealth, lest Mrs. Weasley yell at him some more. Or, perhaps, the cause was the strange sling-like contraption that forced him to waddle. He would have been much stealthier if he was not softly groaning with each step. Mr. Weasley met him, and then led the aging auror slowly outside.
With the coast clear, George came back with tea, crackers, and a large hunk of chocolate. Gabrielle noted that there was only one cup of tea on the tray, a mystery that was resolved when George poured some tea into it and took a sip. Gabrielle stared at him incredulously.
"Wot? You don't seem to fancy tea," said George around his cracker. "You need the chocolate for the trauma to your psyche." He lightly tapped the lump of candy with his wand. The chocolate burst into pieces, some scattering across the floor, and some striking Gabrielle. "Uh, sorry. You can never tell with chocolate."
"Do not speak wizz your mouzz full. Eh, please," said Gabrielle in a peeved tone. It was the mildest of the many things running through her head. She took a piece of chocolate from her lap and let it melt in her mouth. It was at least good chocolate.
George swallowed hard. "Easy now, it's got to be quite a shock. Here." He handed Gabrielle the plate.
"I have not, eh, finished ze pieces on ze sofa," noted Gabrielle rudely.
"I can see you're a bit upset, of course. That's -"
"Why did you leave me?" demanded Gabrielle.
"Fred and I came as soon as we heard! I thought Fleur would keep you all -"
"Zat is not what I mean!" interrupted Gabrielle. "Your mozzer, eh, she was angry, very much, and zen you -"
"Mum? Please - you've got nothing to worry about there. Everyone knows you're one of her favorites. The, er, other daughter, as it were. Mum wouldn't be angry at you. Well, not for long at any rate."
"She was, eh, last night," Gabrielle pointed out. But then, almost everyone had been.
There was a distraction in the entry hall. Hermione stormed through, trailing the distinctive aroma of a successful dungbomb attack, and stomped up the stairs. Ron came in next, hurrying after her and reeking just as badly. He started up the stairs, stopping abruptly when the third step exploded. "Hermione! Come on all ready, help me sort Fred out. I'm sure he's sorry and -" Ron dove for cover as a brilliant blue flash lit up the hall. "Right, right. Er, maybe pop 'round after lunch then? Hermione?" Ron sighed, and turned to go. "Bloody terrifying. The gits have no idea..."
"Ah. Looks, ha, smells like the initial field trials of the Mark II dungbomb were positive," grinned George.
"Eh, what?"
"The tried-and-true dungbomb, or Mark I, is getting a little long-in-the-tooth. Rarely has... an impact, as it were, on anyone beyond first-years, really. Fred's been studying muggle munitions - real bastards at work there - for inspiration. It seems the custard, no, clustered version has potential," explained George, though it was not particularly illuminating to Gabrielle. He picked a bit of the chocolate out of her hair and ate it, which reminded her of the coloring.
"I see," lied Gabrielle. "What about my hair?"
"Oh, erm, it's nice. Looks good and doesn't seem like it's fussy," said George after a brief appraisal.
"Eh, zank you, of course," said Gabrielle with a smile. "But I, eh, meant ze color." She pulled at the colored locks.
"I'm a bit biased, but I'll say it's a smashing choice." The tips of his ears colored, which Gabrielle found curious.
"Eh, yes. I, eh, like it also, but when will it, eh, end?"
"Well now, that depends on when you put it in."
Suddenly everything felt right in the world again as Gabrielle relayed the events from Fleur's disastrous color choices. She and George were having a very nice conversation, and even though it was not over an espresso at a street-side table on a pleasant sunny day, it was quite nice. It may have only been the chocolate, of course. Even the news that the hair's reaction was Fred's contribution could not upset the moment.
Madame Pomfrey could upset the moment, though, and did. She bustled in, ordered George out, and conjured some white linen screens. Gabrielle was quickly stripped to the waist and thoroughly poked and prodded, as if Gabrielle was not, herself, able to diagnose - not - being bitten by a werewolf. Poisseux escaped under the sofa with his bobble friend as soon as they, and Gabrielle, were exposed. There were clearly gaps between the screens, something Madame Pomfrey dismissed even though Gabrielle pointed it out twice. It only got worse after Gabrielle was wrapped from collarbone to waist in rigid, white bandages. Madame Pomfrey seemed to like bandages. Gabrielle could easily see the Weasley brothers through the gaps, filing into the kitchen as Madame Pomfrey insisted on checking absolutely everywhere for scratches. Did her patients, wondered Gabrielle in annoyance, normally hide their injuries? Fred was led in by George. Gabrielle couldn't be certain, but it looked like Fred's legs were on backwards! The last to arrive was Bill. He was carrying -
Bill? Oh no, thought Gabrielle. That would mean that Fleur will be here also. And, expected Gabrielle, she was not likely to be happy that her first day as a Mrs. Weasley was ruined. Gabrielle knew she would have to... what? There really was no place to hide at the Burrow, except perhaps in the walls behind the grates, but that had been a total and filthy disaster. No, Gabrielle realized that her only hope was for Madame Pomfrey to confine her to her bed, where she could feign sleep until Fleur got bored and left. The healer was sure to do so. Once Madame Pomfrey finished looking at her wrist, of course. That was another part of her that Gabrielle was quite sure she had not been bitten on. What, wondered Gabrielle, was the medi-witch doing? Gabrielle gave an small tug to see if she could retrieve her hand.
"Just a moment, dear. Your mother passed along some of your healing history. I've heard of the experiments, of course, but I didn't know they could actually do it. And hardly a scar at all!" enthused Madame Pomfrey. Gabrielle suffered in silence, hoping the healer would soon be satisfied with her minute examination. The less said the better; she was not a medical novelty item.
While Madame Pomfrey rummaged in her satchel for more bottles, Gabrielle struggled to put her denims back on in preparation for going to her room. This proved impossible to accomplish, since she could not bend her torso at all. Where was the crocheted throw?
"Leave it for now, and down this," ordered Madame Pomfrey. She handed Gabrielle a small flask, then another. "That's for starters. take the other before bed. You're not to move about now."
"Eh, what is zis?" asked Gabrielle, cautiously sniffing the flask. The acrid smell recalled Skele-Gro, if it was possible to forget that, but there was something else. It was something that brought to Gabrielle's mind the idea of hot sand, in great dunes, carved by the scouring wind, and a shimmering pool near the horizon where an obelisk stood. It was to be hoped it was an obelisk. If it was not, then it was two days too late to -
"It is Skele-Gro cut with a bit of Ephebian Water, with a touch of tincture of aconite," explained the healer using a tone that said that that was going to be sufficient to be obeyed. Gabrielle grimaced as she began to gulp the contents down. Faster was better. "The Water should reduce the bony growths from repeated injury." Gabrielle finished downing the liquid, shuddered, and clamped her tongue to the roof of her mouth so that the concoction stayed put. "I'll stay a bit of a while in case of side-effects." Madame Pomfrey, at Gabrielle's silent, alarmed look added, "They are rare." Gabrielle relaxed. "But potentially fatal."
"Fatal? What eez zis? Zey said zat she was not 'urt badly, and now she may die?" asked an unnoticed Fleur shrilly from the doorway. She flung herself at Gabrielle, covering her sister with her swirling hair before pulling back slightly. "(I am so sorry, Gabrielle. I should have escorted you back to the house,)" said Fleur through tears.
"(Eh, I am , eh, fine, really,)" replied Gabrielle after brushing Fleur's hair from her mouth.
Fleur cupped Gabrielle's face. "(Do not try to be brave. At least your face is still... nice. People will remember you like that.)"
Gabrielle's expression tightened. "(What are you talking about? Have you, eh, lost your senses?)"
"Erm, I did say rare. I'm quite sure I did," noted Madame Pomfrey to the room.
"(I came as soon as I could,)" said Fleur mournfully. Gabrielle found herself wondering about that. Bill had arrived some time ahead of his new wife. Would they not have traveled together? Gabrielle decided the mature thing to do was to set her doubts aside for now. Set them aside, but not forget them.
"(I was not bitten. Anywhere,)" emphasized Gabrielle with a meaningful look at Madame Pomfrey. A look which missed its mark as its intended target was listening in different language.
"(You are not going to die?)" asked Fleur. Gabrielle listened for the disappointment in that, and found none. Second thoughts scolded her; Fleur was still her sister.
"(No, I don't think so. The, eh, potions may make me sick,)" explained Gabrielle. Fleur relaxed, settling back as though she had not been almost hysterical moments before. There was not a trace of self-consciousness about her. Every reaction that Fleur had, she believed was the right one. That was something Gabrielle found annoying as her own reactions were usually deemed pathetic or immature, and she wanted to throw her sister off-balance.
"(Why did you not come with Bill?)" Gabrielle asked with a touch of accusation.
"(You were not badly hurt, and the dishes from breakfast were still on the table.)"
Ha! "(You said you came as soon as you could, but Bill was here first,)" reminded Gabrielle.
Fleur returned a look that suggested Gabrielle was being stupid and silly. "(Do you need me to make a fuss again? Or should I fetch Molly to spoil you?)"
Gabrielle's indignation left her speechless. A treacherous thought suggested that she might have found the winning strategy in that. She took a deep breath to upbraid her smug sister, but before Gabrielle could, George came around the screens. He looked peeved and upset.
"You knew," said George coolly. "About Percy." Fred joined him, all the right way round this time.
Gabrielle's breath burst out, "George! I am not dressed!" She crossed her arms over the rigid wrappings on her chest. On reflection, that did not change circumstances much.
"Go on, we've seen your knickers before," said Fred.
"Why didn't you tell me - us?" asked George.
"Zey have not!" declared Gabrielle looking at Fleur and Madame Pomfrey in a terror. At least, she was fairly sure. After all, when would they... The cabinet, remembered Gabrielle. But the oversized jumper had covered her, had it not?
"White with pink trimmings," said George.
"(I wonder what Papa will say about that?)" mused Fleur with a predatory smile.
Gabrielle gaped at George. She wondered if he really had seen, and remembered, or was he just teasing? Certainly everyone had underwear that was white with pink trim. If George was not teasing, then Gabrielle was quite relieved to have worn her own underwear under the sheer black bodysuit that day.
"Sometimes I wish I was better at memory charms," said Fred looking disconcertedly at his brother. He pulled out his wand and Gabrielle feared for George. Fred had a different target though, and the sofa cushions folded over Gabrielle, covering her. Gripping her, in fact. It was not uncomfortable, but Gabrielle wished she had been able to move her arms away since they were now pinned in place.
Gabrielle focused back on George. She could barely see him over the cushion, but he was still so serious. "Eh, I could not tell, because of ze ozzers." Gabrielle added, "Because, eh, Harry said zat."
"I rather like that, Mister Weasley," announced Madame Pomfrey, indicating the cushions. "You must show that spell to me again."
"Must?" hinted Fred. Three blinking letters appeared on his robes, all W's.
"Ah, erm, Harry... Right, but blimey, you could have told me," complained George.
"I could name the burn ward after you," suggested the healer. "Or, er, your brother," she added uncertainly.
"I am sorry," offered Gabrielle, and she meant it even if it wasn't exactly her fault.
"I just... you know, since..." struggled George before giving up. "Er, I'm sorry too."
"Burn ward? More like burn bed. I've been in loos with more room," teased Fred.
"Officially, a ward is any closed-off area wherein specfic symptoms or conditions are treated exclusively," sniffed Madame Pomfrey. She eyed her bag speculatively. "You're looking a tad peaked this morning..."
"Shagged out, I suspect," winked George. He was, thought Gabrielle, apparently done feeling sorry.
"Oy! Watch it there brother," warned Fred.
"Just another bird, right? A little bit of -"
"No," snapped Fred. "Not just another bird," he admitted, then grinned. "Jealous are we? Just 'cause you'd have to wait, oh, ten years?"
"You left the stopper off the nundu bile again, didn't -"
"It is six years," blurted Gabrielle. She was pinkly defiant, since she couldn't actually escape.
"(Another little gift for Papa. Did you hit your head? Again? I think Maman made a mistake leaving you here,)" declared Fleur.
Another commotion in the entry hall distracted. It was Ginny, doing quite a good, if profane, imitation of her mother. "Go away you bloody idiot, you can see he's hurt!"
"Can't run to the healer for every scratch," growled the auror Moody.
"Is there another werewolf - you - missed then? No? Then Harry's done for now. Go check the wards, or something. No Potter, you're in here!" Ginny dragged Harry into the sitting room, her arm hooked around his back and her every tug making him grimace.
"Gin, that's not helping," groaned Harry.
"And chasing after Mad-Eye is, is it?" demanded Ginny. "He's lucky I didn't give his sling a yank." Fred winced at that.
"Least it didn't hurt," muttered Harry. Ginny whirled on him with a dangerous look. "I said he's made a start, er, you know, on what happened."
"Ooh! Story-time with Harry," clapped Fred. He hoisted himself onto the sofa, on top of the cushions that sandwiched Gabrielle. George climbed up as well. That shook her about, but they were not crushing her. She decided to complain anyway, mostly because Fleur was there and would expect her to.
"Eh, George, please, I -"
"Oh, right luv," said George. He reached down to her and stuck a piece of chocolate into her mouth.
Gabrielle protested around the sweet piece of chocolate, "Zat is - mmph." A larger piece was pushed in.
"Not big enough. Try that one." This, wondered Gabrielle, was George, right?
"I zink I will sit wizz zee adults," announced Fleur looking at the scene.
v - v - v - v - v
Harry was quite a good story-teller, mused Gabrielle. That must be because interesting things happened to him. And, supposed Gabrielle, awful things as well. She knew most of the story already, since she had been nearby for much of it, but it seemed more exciting when he recounted it. No less horrible at times, though. Harry had to repeat parts of the tale as more listeners drifted in. Hermione came in, freshly scrubbed, with Ron. Fred shifted back a little towards the door. She conjured her own chair, pushed Ron into it, and made herself comfortable on its arm and his chest. Charlie came in alone. Bill arrived with the man Tonks was seeing. They seemed a little tipsy to Gabrielle's eye,which did not seem appropriate.
It turned out that the dagger that Harry had carried in a sheath under his shirt was not the one from the box he had received at the quidditch shop. Monsieur Moody had not trusted that dagger, though he could find nothing wrong with it even after melting it completely down so it was not even a dagger any more, and had supplied Harry with another to carry. At all times. This was met with cries of "Constant vigilance!" Hermione explained that one needed quite a bit of skill to get metal to take an enchantment. Gems, crystals, or natural objects were more customary for wizards, while metals were easier for goblins. She smiled demurely in response to Ron remembering that she had spelled some galleons. Harry had not been able to reach the dagger properly, but had gotten his wand on it. He had launched the weapon hilt-first from the sheath, through his shirt, and into the werewolf. It was a claim that was met with some amount of dubiousness, tempered, of course, with the fact that it had actually happened. The man Tonks was seeing, and who seemingly answered to Moony of all things, found that decidedly amusing.
The mood turned grimmer when Harry explained Mad-Eye's theory. Gabrielle felt a little disrespectful thinking of him like that, even if it did sort of make sense. She hoped that Grandmere would not marry him. The auror suspected that the Weasleys' neighbor Tiltonson had been forced into carrying a sleeping or unconscious Frenrir through the wards. Hermione and Bill then discussed wards, and whether unconscious intent even existed, for far too long. Moony was interested in a story from Bill about a wizard who had fallen, dead-drunk, down a shaft in a pyramid and past nearly impenetrable magic, only to wake up to the shouts of the concerned, realize where he was, and be incinerated by a burst of green flame. Gabrielle mostly focused on the fact that an actual werewolf had been on the property for the whole of the wedding. And worse, Frenrir, like Yvette, though also very much the opposite of the witch, had been at the Burrow when the Fidelius was raised. He could have come and gone as he pleased, possibly bringing more of You-Know-Who's Death-Eaters with him. Harry, voiced Ginny, had saved all the Weasleys this time. Fred agreed, but opined that, be that as it may, it did not mean that they could go back to shagging.
Ginny was pretty fast with her wand, but George and Fred worked as a team. Mrs. Weasley, the real Mrs. Weasley thought Gabrielle, cleared the room after the short, colorful, and relatively harmless spell exchange. There were suddenly many tasks to be done, and these were assigned very definitely. Unless one was needed somewhere else, like George and Fred. Or were being treated by Madame Pomfrey, like Harry. Or were too stubborn and rebellious, like Ginny. Gabrielle wondered if Mrs. Weasley had heard the shagging comment. At least Ginny fetched her housecoat after the sofa was returned to normal, although Harry was now another boy that had seen her 'knickers' as Mrs. Weasley had not known. Gabrielle doubted Harry would tell Fleur, since he was as embarrassed by it as she was. Gabrielle wished that she had not accidentally called him an idiot before.
Madame Pomfrey finished up her ministrations by sticking the pointy end of a wide brass trumpet into Gabrielle's ear. The healer then quickly and unexpectedly whacked Gabrielle in the head with a polished wooden mallet. This was new, alarming, and painful. Madame Pomfrey swung at Gabrielle's head a second time after warning her not to shout out again, then a third time after she had to admonish Harry to stop laughing. Gabrielle considered that perhaps he was a bit of an idiot. She also understood why patients might hide their injuries. Madame Pomfrey then pronounced, after checking the other ear as well - another mallet blow - that Gabrielle's brain had not been liquefied by the Ephebian Water. Gabrielle, now slightly dazed, was led away to her bed. She was able to remember to demand new sheets.
v - v - v - v - v
Mrs. Weasley arrived with a tray for lunch. Gabrielle supposed it was lunch, she didn't remember eating lunch earlier and it was very light outside. So it was probably lunch. Things had gotten a little fuzzy since her treatment. She would not complain about the healers in France ever again.
Mrs. Weasley also brought news that she had spoken to Gabrielle's parents. The chocolate and selection of sandwiches, cut into triangles with the crusts off, suddenly did not look as appetizing. Gabrielle could not see how, but felt sure that her Maman would somehow find this to be her fault. Gabrielle tried to gather her thoughts to prepare a protest.
"Your mother nearly fainted when she heard what happened. Didn't seem at all surprised by the call though, I thought. She was very impressed with Harry's help; wanted to know if you were spending time with him." Mrs. Weasley scrutinized Gabrielle for a few suspicious moments before shrugging. "Your father was so upset, dear, he tried to come through the Floo. Can you imagine? On an international fire-call," said Mrs. Weasley shaking her head. Gabrielle could imagine it and almost giggled; Papa could be so silly at times. "Your mother had her hands full there. It can take days just to get back out of an exchange, you know."
Mrs. Weasley sat down on the bed. This, knew Gabrielle, was not a good sign. Healers at the hospital would do that right before describing what the patient would never, ever, ever be able to do again. Gabrielle was able to hear because she was pretty good at feigning sleep. "We've, er, arranged a port-key for you, for tomorrow," said Mrs. Weasley.
"Eh - oh. Zat is, eh..." Gabrielle had been bracing for worse. Not that there was a reason to expect a punishment, judged Gabrielle. She had, after all, only been doing as she had been told to do. There should not be anything at all! And, supposed Gabrielle, this was not really a punishment. Of course Maman and Papa would send for her. Except... Gabrielle had not yet visited the twins' shop, and if she went back to France now there was no telling when she would see it. It was not fair. "I am feeling, eh, better," started Gabrielle, although the Skele-Gro was definitely kicking in. Just an extra day was all she needed. That, and someone to take her to Diagon Alley.
"Yes, Madame Pomfrey is a wonder. Ephebian Water - that's a new one to me," praised Mrs. Weasley. Gabrielle intended to reserve judgment on that Water business. It did seem to make the bone-mending less painful, but that was definitely offset by the mallet.
"I can, perhaps, stay, eh, one more day zen?" Gabrielle smiled the smile she would use on Papa.
"I'm not sure you father could survive that," said Mrs. Weasley half to herself. "You've already gotten an extra day, and look what's happened! No, I think it's for the best."
Gabrielle, aware of the concluding tone in Mrs. Weasley's voice, rushed out, "But I have not visited George's shop. Eh, also Fred's." And instantly she knew that that was a tactical mistake. This was because Mrs. Weasley looked at her like she had said something completely stupid.
"Don't be a silly girl," scolded Mrs. Weasley. "We have the devil's time keeping you safe as it is without such frivolity. The port-key was hard enough to arrange - thank Merlin your father works for the Ministry there. We wouldn't have time for such nonsense in any case, what with, with the... memorial."
v - v - v - v - v
The chocolate wore off hours before dinner. Gabrielle was beginning to feel cold, isolated, and a little fearful. No one had visited her in some time, and she had only her little tape toad and zombie puffskein to keep her company for the longest while. She even let Pepi-Z wedge himself into her ear canal, just so he would be sure to stay. Slipping out of the housecoat and into George's old quidditch jersey had not helped for long. The sudden appearance of Crookshanks was as welcome as it was mysterious, since the door was still closed. The rigid bandages wrapping her took the cat's weight, and he kept his claws retracted when he stretched out to her neck.
It was not much later that there came the sounds of an argument in the hallway. It was a little indistinct since there was a puffskein in her ear, but there was no missing the sharp voice Hermione used.
"Honestly, Ron. Do you really think she'll want that putrid thing shoved in her face after what she went through this morning? At least try to clean it up some." There were other voices then, possibly Harry's and definitely Ron's. Gabrielle couldn't make out what they were saying. "Of course I know that's the point! But shake the dust off it, at least. What are those green specks? I wouldn't go near it if I were her."
"(I am sorry, Pepi-Z,)" apologized Gabrielle as she tugged the bobble free in time to hear Ginny.
"- say it's from the twins and I'll give galleons for sickles that'd she lick the thing. Anyway, she owes Harry for saving her."
"No, Ginny, she doesn't. Frenrir was only here because of me," declared Harry. "Everyone is -"
"Right, yeah, you're very special," interrupted Ron. Were they, wondered Gabrielle, just going to stand right outside her door and argue? Why did they not ask? "Look, you said she's a seer. Those types love to flounce about and show-off, right? Tell her we'll get her a load of incense, extra, you know, incense-y."
"Not Seeing. It was scrying, we don't know if she can do it, and I think she would prefer to rest quietly," asserted Hermione. She is wrong, thought Gabrielle. Even if it was only Ron, she would want him to come in.
It was suddenly obvious what to do. "You can come in," called Gabrielle loudly, earning a swat with a paw full of claws from Crookshanks. There was no immediate response from the far side of the door, just hushed accusations and apologies. Finally the door opened, Harry and Ron leading the way.
"Uh, hello, Gabrielle. We were, erm, just coming to see you," said Harry. Gabrielle tried not to laugh at the boys' lame subterfuge.
Ginny was not as patient and pushed past Harry. "Come on Effy, do us a favor?"