Chapter Thirty-Eight - Watching
Gabrielle stared down into the black circle of ink, the smell of the rancid, threadbare pillow below her chin nearly making her gag. Why would anyone keep such a thing? She was propped on her stomach on several pillows, clean pillows, her face sticking out over the saucer with the ink. If it wasn't for her belief that the teens would quickly leave if she didn't at least try, Gabrielle would have done as Hermione expected and refused to go near the stained, reddish cushion. If there had been any green specks, they seemed to be gone now. There was no question that she could see nothing in the dark puddle, but if she stared long enough the ink would appear to either lighten, or deepen. Once, Gabrielle would swear the ink flickered, like a light was passing a dark room. That was enough to impress Hermione, who praised her efforts. Ron was less sanguine, but a glare from his girlfriend changed his approach.
"Maybe, maybe it's dark already where the wanker is," suggested Ron. "Let's go down to the kitchen to get something to eat. She can try later when the rat gets someplace lit up, right?" He stood up from where he sat on the floor, his cheerful grin fading under Hermione's peeved glare.
"Is that the answer then, Hermione? Did Ron do it again?" teased Ginny. "Only thinking of his stomach! How path- What are you doing Harry?" Harry had gotten up as well.
"I was, I was, erm... I was going to do us some tea?" offered Harry sheepishly. Ginny put her hands on her hips and a look of exasperation on her face. Then Hermione burst out laughing, derailing Ginny's snit. The two boys quickly fled when Ginny turned on Hermione. The red-haired witch deflated.
"Those idiots," sighed Ginny. She helped Gabrielle slide back from overhanging the ink. Gabrielle hoped that the stupid bandages would come off before her port-key left.
"How's the courtship coming along?" asked Hermione. For a moment, Gabrielle was going to answer, but then realized the question had been directed at Ginny.
"Is that what you call it when Mum is poking her head around a corner every few minutes? There was more privacy at Hogwarts," complained Ginny. "She has that bloody house-elf popping in too, wagging its bleeding finger at us."
"Ginny, language, please," said Hermione primly. "It's you own fault, you know."
"Never thought to try the old tree-house. Probably take a week to air out now, though," returned Ginny. "Don't tell me Ron's skipping revising?"
"Hmph. Your Mum won't let us alone either, and we're at least of age," griped Hermione. She looked speculatively at Ginny. "I know you're still sneaking around to see Harry. How are you doing that?"
"I don't know what you're on about," replied Ginny a little too quickly. She didn't look at the older girl. "Let's have a go at the ink again."
"I can try ze crystal ball, eh, zis time?" asked Gabrielle. She didn't see how the ink could work. It was dark, and so, well, inky.
"I don't think we've got one. I know I don't, and I've never seen Mum or Dad use one," shrugged Ginny. "What about you, Hermione?"
"You know what happened with Trelawney," said Hermione reproachfully. "And I've seen you slip into a room then not be there a moment later. Just how are you doing that? You can't apparate; even if you could there are wards and all."
"I don't believe this. You're following me too? It's no wonder Frenrir was able to get in undetected - everyone's too busy nosing into my business!"
"I'm neither following you nor nosy, Ginny. I am observant, though, and you're not careful," replied Hermione. Gabrielle suspected that she knew what Ginny was doing. Why did Ginny not want to share her secret, after sharing everything else?
"Eh, Crookshanks knows, I zink," suggested Gabrielle helpfully. "You can ask him, yes?" The cat, once more atop the wardrobe, lifted its head to glare at her.
A pink-faced Hermione admitted, "Crooksies has been no help at all when it comes to Ron. I rather think he's helping Ginny's Mum." Could a cat smile, wondered Gabrielle? Crookshanks seemed to at that. Hermione continued, "If you think Crookshanks knows, then you must know too."
"Eh..." began Gabrielle, trying to work out what was going on between the two witches, and what might happen if she guessed wrong. "Zat is, eh, possible."
"Why won't any of you tell me?" whined the bushy-haired witch, taking in turns Ginny, Gabrielle, and the cat.
Crookshanks appeared to answer with a rambling series of meows, none of which made his owner happy. Halfway through the feline soliloquy, Hermione drew her wand, but then looked embarrassed by the act.
Gabrielle felt she was definitely missing something. "What did he, eh, say?" There was no answer from Hermione, who looked both hurt and angered by Crookshanks... words.
"He might be telling her that falling for that oaf of a brother of mine is all sweet and such, but unleashing years of pent-up hormones with him might not be so, er, healthy," said Ginny. Hermione fairly crackled as she turned to Ginny. "That's, er, my guess, at least. I, erm, don't speak much cat."
"Remarkably prescient, then," said Hermione acidly. "And just how is it different than what you and Harry get up to?"
"The ropes, mostly. That, and you've worked your way through the whole of the middle section," replied Ginny, standing her ground. Gabrielle knew Ginny was talking about the book from Grandmere, and gaped. All of the center section? All of the devotions? Even the fourth?
"I will kill him!" hissed Hermione. Sparks poured from her wand like a firework, until she noticed it and stopped the flow with a good shake.
"It wasn't Ron! I swear," said Ginny quickly. Gabrielle wondered if Ginny would regret that admission. Certainly Gabrielle's own second thoughts were encouraging flight. She could use some help getting up, but after that she was sure she could run. In the meantime, she tried to be invisible, to fade into the background. "It was me, only me."
"But... why?" demanded Hermione plaintively.
"I... just wanted to, er, make sure he wasn't being the arse he usually is."
v - v - v - v - v
Black robes billowed as their wearer stalked behind the slumped figure in the hard chair, the intended menace obvious. "It does no good to pretend, Yardley. I can see your thoughts as easily as our lord can," sneered Severus Snape, stopping behind the once-comatose wizard. Although, knew Snape, the Dark Lord would have little interest in the man beyond punishing the failure. And such a failure. The images torn from the ne'er-do-well sluggard's weak mind showed an almost child-like naivetė. The house-elf had appeared before them and claimed to have been freed, though it appeared in Yardley's mind to wear nothing but its old rags. A discrepancy that went unremarked by any witness. Or was that witless? The elf set about cleaning and was gladly accepted, and, of course, forgotten. Later the Black family's former elf brought tea, and, Merlin help us, thought Snape, it was the one that suggested that they toast the Dark Lord. Yardley was thicker than the others, in body and mind, so lost total consciousness last. The very last of his latent memories puzzled. Through the fog of the potion and dimming eyes, Yardley saw Draco, already in a death-like state, lovingly stuffed into a small gift box by the overjoyed house-elf. The house-elf and the box then disappeared, both because the elf disapparated and because Yardley ceased to sense his surroundings.
Snape considered this. It seemed to be a clever variation on the trick Draco himself had managed, the one that had breached Hogwarts. Granger's work, surely. A transfigured vanishing cabinet, not the same one obviously, carried in by a foolishly trusted house-elf - right past the wards and barriers. There was a good chance, since Kreacher knew of the Malfoy Manor, that his elaborate precautions in travelling had inadvertently led that house-elf to its quarry. Another set of paired cabinets, mused Snape, must have taken quite a lot of effort to find, and technique had been wasted on an opportunity for personal vengeance.
The particulars of the abduction were not an immediate safety concern, given the Dark Lord's recent fascination with the gory innards of house-elves. It was odd though, considered Snape. The potion used took a good deal of tending to brew; why use it when a sleeping draught would have sufficed? The answer was, of course, obvious to those of a certain bent. The Malfoy heir would be insensible for years without the antidote, needing very little care at all to keep alive. The modus implied long-term imprisonment, probably in a place that was either very remote or magically concealed.
Snape remembered the wretched wizard in the chair before him. Yardley had feigned unconsciousness, but the added tension was too much and now caused him to twitch. The potions master dismissed the man before he further embarrassed himself. The Dark Lord, realized Snape, was indeed correct in surmising that depending on these louts would lead no where. That meant that his Death Eaters were expendable, a liability. It was not a pleasant thought. As Yardley scurried from the room, Snape headed for the Malfoy library to mull things over.
The walk through the halls, lined with once-more gleaming antiques and artwork, was enough. Snape decided that the situation actually held quite some promise. He did not know if the Gryffindors had found out about the Vow, but he was very sure that Draco's fate was a desire on their part for leverage. Long-term imprisonment, then, implied long-term leverage. Potter was emotionally unbalanced, but, thought Snape, was unlikely to be able to just murder the unconscious Draco. A lip curled with some satisfaction. This was very nearly an ideal situation. The young Malfoy was hidden in such a way that there was no simple way to locate him. However, he was also safe; safe from the Ministry, safe from the Dark Lord, and safe from other Death Eaters. The Vow, knew Snape, would be killing him by inches if it were not so. Severus also knew that he would be obliged to Potter's gang in order to keep his erstwhile ward unharmed. That would mean some contact with Potter, and passing information to or otherwise helping him. The Dark Lord would know, of course, because Snape would tell him. This was nothing more than the same game he had played before, a difficult game that he was good at. Just as Malfoy manor was past its dingiest period, so had Snape's prospects past their dimmest. Aid to Potter would have to be acknowledged by the Ministry should the Dark Lord actually fall. Any connection to Potter, no matter how tenuous and intermittent, would be considered invaluable to the Dark Lord. The future was likely to be bleak, especially without Dumbledore's guidance, but not as personally bleak as it had been as little as a week ago. Except for having to inform Narcissa...
v - v - v - v - v
An awkward moment ended when Harry and Ron returned. Actually, a series of awkward moments, the last caused by Gabrielle. She had questions about the mechanics of several of the implied acts. Some still seemed very unlikely. It was like they were all a coven again, albeit one where no one would look each other directly in the eye for long.
The boys were not alone, and Ron gallantly held the door open for Fleur. She entered the room regally, bearing a large tray. "'Allo Ginny, 'Ermione. I 'ave brought zee prop-air tea," said Fleur as a greeting. "Ze boys, zey are 'opeless." Gabrielle never had trouble fading into the background when Fleur was in the room. "(How are you now, Gabrielle?)"
"(Eh, I am fine,)" replied Gabrielle. It was mostly true.
"Hopeless?" asked Hermione with a frown for Ron.
"Ze cups, zey did not match, of course," explained Fleur. She pushed the tray into Hermione's arms and began distributing the matching cups. The nearly matching cups, noticed Gabrielle. One was smaller and quite a different color of white. Fleur held it out for her. "Zis eez from William. 'E says eet eez Ethiopian. I am becoming quite used to ze smell."
"I'b dot," complained Ginny holding her nose.
Gabrielle looked into the cup, with its rich brown liquid topped with a trace of creamy froth clinging along the sides. It was beautiful, and the aroma was wonderful. Not as complex an aroma as the coffee from Gaston, but perhaps deeper. A sip made her think of cool moutainsides over looking baking valleys, a place where the high forests sheltered hidden treasures. She pictured exotic-looking people in a kind of colorful wrap, tending goats. Gabrielle blinked away the images, and forced herself to put down the savory drink. Fleur was sure to mention it if she slurped.
Gabrielle tried to pick up the thread of the conversation again. Bill was naturally pleased about Frenrir's fate, and was celebrating with the man they called Moony, who was also quite happy with the outcome. The discussion of whether this Moony would be able to convince "the other werewolves" now that Frenrir was no more was puzzling. It was, guessed Gabrielle, probably related to the Or-friends. That such an unhealthy-looking man would be sent to face werewolves was amazing. There was no point in asking what it meant. Gabrielle took another sip of the strong coffee; she liked goats. Goats came in quite reasonable sizes, unlike, say, horses. Or hippogriffs, which came to mind as Harry was recounting another werewolf encounter in which one had saved him. Gabrielle decided that after she and George were married they would live in France, where it seemed much less hazardous. Or perhaps it was Harry and Ginny who should move to France.
A thought from the back of Gabrielle's mind pulled her back to the present, and reminded her to get the others off the subject of hippogriffs. Especially with Fleur present. Her sister found the whole 'Hatching' to be quite amusing; it was another item on the List. Fleur's friends were the ones Gabrielle was normally embarrassed in front of. But these, thought Gabrielle, were her friends. Well, she considered them her friends. They were at least like friends. Ginny and Hermione were part of the coven. That had to count for something. Harry had attacked a werewolf to save her. Not a full-fledged werewolf, admittedly, but it was probably not a thing one did for a mere acquaintance. Ron had been very happy about breakfast; Gabrielle suspected that was all it would take to be in his good graces. She had learned what Phlegm meant too, and that was definitely not a friendly nickname. Gabrielle didn't think she would use it in front of Fleur either. She also had to wonder if the teens had nicknames, that is, other nicknames, for her when she was not present.
And now it was too late. Fleur had launched into the incident with the hippogriff. Which was, Gabrielle thought reflexively, in no way her fault. The Auld Wizard's Zoo of Paris was a beloved icon in the French magical community. Beloved, but not very well patronized. The zoo depended on the Ministry to make good on the revenue shortfalls, and that, in turn, depended on maintaining goodwill inside the Ministry. To that end, the zoo held special programs and conscientiously invited the families of those in the Ministry. These were educational programs intended to show the magnificence of the beasts, their role in a healthy magicosm, and the utmost importance of having zoos to put them in.
The events were a highlight of many a summer week for Gabrielle. She recalled that she had been completely thrilled to be standing only about six meters from a real hippogriff, because she had just turned six in the days prior and the toy hippogriff she had gotten could still flutter around the room. Even better, the living hippogriff before her looked a lot like the minature, except for being a lot sharper in many places. It was not a frightening thing. The hippogriff, an old mare named Marseille, was tethered, and two keepers kept close watch. The creature seemed content to bob languidly at nervous, bowing wizards, who would then approach to nearly arm's length. Gabrielle would not take a turn because she was just a child at the time, but Papa would. They shuffled to the head of the queue. Gabrielle remembered being so excited that she had been jumping up and down in place.
A moment later and it had still been very exciting, but in a completely different way. Marseille, in an explosion of mottled brown feathers, snapped her tethers, flung the keepers aside with powerful wings, and lunged forward. Papa was bowled over, and the hippogriff's beak closed on Gabrielle. Just as suddenly, the beast's lunge reversed itself, and it settled back in its place, sitting calmly and haughtily, with Gabrielle as its prize tucked under its wings.
Gabrielle had not been hurt by the hippogriff, even though she had fit quite conveniently into its beak. In fact, Marseille's attempts at preening had hurt more, with clumps of her hair being pulled out. Gabrielle had always wondered if the keepers had known that, since one keeper cleared the enclosure while the other calmed Papa. Clearing the enclosure was simply a matter of enlarging the door, so the panicked flight of the crowd could sort itself out. Calming Papa had required a lot more spellwork.
Fleur had reached her favorite part of the story, when the initial danger gave way to farce. The mothering hippogriff had given up trying to arrange Gabrielle's feathers by way of pulling out her hair, and had decided that Gabrielle's plaintive cries for Papa were really cries of hunger. Marseille attempted to feed Gabrielle, in the hippogriff way, by regurgitating her lunch onto Gabrielle's upturned, then quickly down-turned, face. It had worked in a way. Gabrielle had not dared to make a sound after that, and had barely breathed, although that was because of the smell. It had been a hideously disgusting turn of events, and it never failed to garner a laugh.
It did so now. Ron was making enough noise for two, and Harry was nearly breathless. Ginny was laughing too; even Hermione was tittering instead of being indignant at the treatment of a coven sister. These were supposed to be friends, frowned Gabrielle. Her face was aflame. She thought of trying to cover her head with the pillow, or perhaps of just rolling off the bed and then under it. But Gabrielle remembered what Ginny had said about not hiding, and was willing to try it again only because she couldn't escape. She attempted a smile, rather forced. There was no way that she could join in the laughter; it had been entrails for lunch that day.
Hermione recovered first and noticed Gabrielle. "So Beebee, how did they ever get you away? I can't imagine the hippogriff went quietly."
"Eh, Fleur, she... saved me. She did ze dance, ze spanje-ples, and Marseille went to sleep," replied Gabrielle. And, remembered Gabrielle to herself, she had followed Fleur around for days begging to be taught that. It was the time in her life that she had tried to copy Fleur in everything. It had been so pathetic that even Fleur had had enough after a week.
"Cor, I'd liked to have seen that," said Ron reverentially before Hermione jabbed him.
"Like the dragon," blurted Harry. "You know, for the first task."
"Oui, zey are simil-air," beamed Fleur. Gabrielle would have made a face, just because, but realized that perhaps Ginny had been right after all. The attention was back on Fleur already.
"What happened to Mar-say?" asked Ginny anxiously.
"Nozzing, once eet was explained about Gabrielle," shrugged Fleur. "Zey gave us zee, 'ow you say... passes permanent, zough."
"What do you mean, explained about Gabrielle?" asked Harry. "I always thought hippogriffs were excellent judges of character."
"Well, you will see, once zere was..." began Fleur. Smile, thought Gabrielle. Just keep smiling.
Eventually Ginny and Hermione had had their fill of Fleur. For Hermione it was the unsolicited hair-care tips; for Ginny it was advice on how to be more organized. Which, Gabrielle had to admit looking about the room, was a reasonable thing to offer. Harry and Ron followed, taking a hint from the throat-clearing and arm-waving. Which left Gabrielle alone with Fleur. She braced herself for her share of helpful advice, but Fleur, after much fussing and and cleaning with her wand, sat back on Ginny's bed and pulled a very large book from a very small pocket. Gabrielle wondered at Fleur's unusual actions, but decided not to question them. It was better than being alone.
It was better then being alone, but not really that unlike actually being alone. Gabrielle passed a quiet couple of hours, which, supposed Gabrielle, was the point since she was intended to be resting. Just to break the silence, Gabrielle had asked after Gisselle; she couldn't be sure, but it sounded like the bridesmaid and Yvette had managed to switch dates. Fleur was more annoyed at the usurping Yvette than the wayward Gisselle. Charlie was excused, since he was 'an idiot.' It was a topic, because of Gabrielle's part in it, best left alone. Crookshanks dropped down from the top of the wardrobe to settle atop the rigid bandages over Gabrielle's chest. A warning hiss let her know that he was not interested in any petting. Fleur tsked her disapproval. A glum Mrs. Weasley arrived with a tray with Gabrielle's dinner, and more chocolate. Fleur gave her a brief, and unexpected, embrace before departing. It brought a short-lived smile to the matron's face.
v - v - v - v - v
The chocolate, reasoned Gabrielle, must have worn off. That was why she had woken, again, from a nightmare where floating dirty fingernails and disembodied yellow teeth lunged at her, all while she wore only her white, with pink trim, underwear. Crookshanks, who was, with apologies to Pepi-Z and Poisseux, warm and fuzzy, would have been a great help right now. The cat was no longer on Gabrielle, nor on the bed. Gabrielle wondered if perhaps he was under the bed, or was off trying to foil Hermione's plans with Pickle. Part of her hoped that he was. The fourth - ugh. That part was not the one that woke up in a fright though.
Gabrielle rolled to the edge of the bed, then tilted until her feet touched the floor. Pushing herself upright only knocked a dozen or so things from the table next to the bed. Gabrielle knew where a person's ribs stopped; the healer she saw all too often in France had a skeleton in his office. It was named de Gaulle, and would clumsily hand out hard candies at the end of an appointment. It seemed sad to Gabrielle, but the healer always claimed it was smiling. But, honestly, how would one tell? Gabrielle could not see why Madame Pomfrey had wrapped her so.
"Eh, Ginny?"
"Mmmfou?"
"I can, eh, sleep wizz you?" whispered Gabrielle.
"Mmmfou?" Well, thought Gabrielle, that was not the very definitive no she had gotten last night.
Getting into the bed without assistance was not very graceful. Gabrielle more or less toppled onto the edge of the bed, and rolled to stay on. That did mean rolling over on top of Ginny, but Gabrielle tried to do it quickly.
"Mmm-wha? Geroff Crknk..."
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle woke in the morning to a rapid knocking on the door. The room was quite bright already. It had not been a restful night. Ginny was a very restless sleeper, and the bed was not really made for two. Also, while the closeness of her coven sister had helped with Gabrielle's bad dreams, the reverse was not true. Several times Ginny had quietly moaned, "Not Harry, not Harry," and tossed fitfully, waking Gabrielle. At the moment, Ginny's head was squashing Gabrielle's arm, numbing it.
"Gabrielle, dear, are you awake?" came Mrs. Weasley's voice before the door opened and her head peered in. "You'll need to be getting, er..."
"I am here," called Gabrielle. Ginny rolled over and covered her head with the pillow. Gabrielle tried to rise using her clumsy arm, and failed.
"Oh. Er. All right. Madame Pomfrey is here; come down straight away," ordered Mrs. Weasley. "It's already getting on, and the port-key is an early one." She pulled back and closed the door before Gabrielle could ask for help, or ask why Madame Pomfrey could not come upstairs to the bedroom where there was privacy.
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle did not understand why Ginny was so grumpy in the morning. It was hardly morning to begin with, at least not early morning. And how could it have been a surprise that she was there, wondered Gabrielle, since Ginny had been draped over her for nearly half the night? It was not, really not, her fault that she was over-wrapped in a protective bandage shell. Getting back over the unhelpful Ginny had been difficult, and the comment about bony elbows mean. Gabrielle returned that she would be taking her Grandmere's book with her.
Madame Pomfrey was waiting in the kitchen, being attended to by Geff. That had to be because there was no one of school age available to order around, sniffed Gabrielle. The healer led Gabrielle to the sitting room again. Gabrielle very pointedly closed the door; if she had her wand with her and knew how to cast a, yes, ward she would have done so. Gabrielle did know a trick from Philippe to wedge a door shut, but she did not have any knuts either. Madame Pomfrey did not see fit to conjure even one screen this time, so Gabrielle made her wait while she put her housecoat back on after the wrappings had been sliced off. No one would be seeing her 'knickers' this morning. The medi-witch was delighted with Gabrielle's recovery, and with the efficacy of the Ephebian Water. Gabrielle could tell where this was headed, and quickly explained that she had packing to do and needed to see to it. She needed to leave before Madame Pomfrey pulled out her mallet.
Packing to leave was both easier and more difficult than packing to arrive had been. Gabrielle did not have to be as neat, for instance, since Maman was not periodically inspecting her progress. Deciding what not to take had been hard before; it was much easier now. Anything Fleur had packed was going to be left behind, both because Gabrielle hated the dresses and because she was supposed to have outgrown them. Explaining why the clothes suddenly fit again would be awkward at best. Gabrielle shoved the hideous frocks under Ginny's bed, where she thought she might have found Yvette's lost underwear. Gabrielle wasn't sure, and she wasn't going to touch them to check either.
When Gabrielle packed her trunk at home, it had been easy to know what to put in. She had planned it for weeks - all for naught, of course, thanks to Fleur. It was proving more difficult for the return trip. Mrs. Weasley had brought down many things from the attic with the ghoul, things that no longer fit Ginny. But did that mean Gabrielle was free to take them now? And what to take? The denims were an easy choice; Maman did not much approve of them so Gabrielle had to buy them herself when she had the opportunity, and she didn't always judge the sizes correctly. George's old quidditch jersey would go into the once-secret compartment, just in case, but what about the blouses that nearly fit her? Breakfast, thought Gabrielle, and some coffee would make it easier to decide. She turned to go, then came back into the room.
"Yeah?" asked Ginny, with a yawn.
"Eh, I need to, eh, dress, for ze breakfast," explained Gabrielle. She did need to dress. George was likely to be there to see her off, and she did not want to be in her ratty old housecoat. A second thought knew that was uncalled for, and mentally apologized to the housecoat. It was old, but soft and comfortable, and not ratty at all except, perhaps, a little at the back. A third thought wondered if a little more focus was not in order. Maman, and Papa even, would likely meet her when she arrived in France. Gabrielle knew that her mother frowned at girls wearing trousers, and anything she frowned at long enough tended to disappear. No matter how many of Gabrielle's francs it had cost! Gabrielle had brought some of the least offensive dresses she had with her; good for placating Maman, but they would make her look like a silly nine year-old and that was not what she wanted George to see. No, what she wanted was -
"Eh, what?" asked Gabrielle after realizing Ginny had called her.
"I asked if you're all right. Have you been sniffing hot chocolate again?" asked Ginny.
Gabrielle stared at Ginny. What in Merlin's realm was she talking about? "I, eh, was zinking," explained Gabrielle.
"Thought you might have gotten something from that pillow after all," said a stretching Ginny. Gabrielle only half listened. She had remembered the school uniform's skirt. That would meet Maman's standards, and it was more appropriate for a girl, young woman her age. Gabrielle imagined the skirt swishing and swirling, though on a person much taller than herself. There was the possibility that George might be overcome again, worried Gabrielle, but he would just have to stiffen his resolve. Stiffen, smirked a second thought. Ha!
"Hell-oo? What in Merlin's name is wrong with you this morning?" asked Ginny. When had she gotten out of bed?
"Nozzing," snapped Gabrielle. "I am fine. What is it zat you want?" Gabrielle picked through the clothes piled onto the table, and cringed. It was a good thing that Maman had not seen this; at least most of it was Ginny's. Gabrielle found the skirt.
"Are you going to give it another go? I thought maybe if you used my wand..."
"Eh... what are you talking about?" Gabrielle decided to wear one of the embroidered blouses. It was a little big and would need to be cuffed, but it would help disguise the current lack of pink goose eggs.
"The scrying. You know, Wormtail?" said Ginny, offering her wand.
Gabrielle turned to face Ginny again. Why, wondered Gabrielle, was she bringing this up now? "Your wand is not, eh, good." Ginny's face tightened, so Gabrielle quickly added, "For me, eh, zat is. I have my own, of -"
"You have Fred's wand, that's right," inserted Ginny.
"No. It is mine," said Gabrielle firmly, suddenly glad she normally rose before the redhead.
"Go on, you can't use it. Probably a trick one anyway."
"I can. I can do spells!"
"Hmmph. Show me. Get some ink," challenged Ginny, wiping out a stray saucer picked from the messy table.
"I am packing now, and zen I will have ze breakfast," said Gabrielle. At least she could act mature. Except now Ginny wore a knowing smile, like she had expected Gabrielle to shirk all along. I am a proper witch, thought Gabrielle; I know it. Why not, suggested a part of her, prove it? Prove it, and show them why Harry Potter had pulled her from the lake. She is provoking you, eh, us... me, warned a confused thought.
A movement caught Gabrielle's eye. Poisseux was pulling a napkin-wrapped item past the clutter on the bedside table, his tiny spellotape nails making scritching sounds as traction eluded him. Pepi-Z rocked excitedly from where he was perched on top of the thing. Gabrielle did not recognize what the little zombie toad tugged. The napkin was clearly too clean to have been brought in by the garden gnomes.
Ginny began laughing, and plucked the mystery load from Gabrielle's pets. "Look," said Ginny triumphantly. "They want to see you do it too!" Unwrapping the item revealed the silver inkpot from Fred. "Verity dropped it off after the wedding. Er, probably just as well you weren't here at the time. She was, erm... not chuffed about what you tried to do."
Gabrielle looked over to the zombie puffskein and toad. Pepi-Z had no real face at all, and Poisseux's was just layered tape. Yet they both managed to look eagerly expectant. She couldn't just refuse, they would be so disappointed. " Oui, d'accord. I will get my wand."