Chapter Twenty-Two - Lost and Not All Found
Gabrielle faced a small and earnest crowd of Hufflepuffs, some of whom she recognized as "Ironheads". Most members of the Congress of Iron Wills did not favor the diminutive, but Gabrielle thought that was much better than "Tea Cosy", which was used for members of the Glorious Tea Collective of May Twenty-Third. "Eh, what? Marigold?"
"'Ere, what have you got on your head?"
"She left ages ago and it's nearly curfew now and she isn't with you so she'll definitely get expelled!" explained Bean. Gabrielle knew his real name was not Bean, just as it was also not Beanpole. He was just a ridiculously tall first-year, almost taller than George already.
"I like her ears."
"Eh, zey do not expel you for getting caught after curfew." One might be forced to endure Filch, though. "I zink. I am not ze expert, zough." It had only happened the one time. Twice, if the first apprenticeship counted, noted a second thought. And it did not.
"I know, right? She doesn't need the cat ears."
"Umm... What?"
"Can you find her?''
"I will go too," announced Suki-chan after Gabrielle's sigh. "After, after I clean Brush-san. Gomen."
"No, it is okay. I am sure she is on ze sevenz floor. Again," said Gabrielle, shaking her head. It would take a while to reach the League room, and Mags had the pass. Gabrielle could use the apron, but not if Suki-chan came along. Especially if she brought her jingling knives. Gabrielle turned to head out.
"Oh, leave that to us Ipswich Diggers, Interrupters of Things. We're ready to, hah, interrupt whatever she is doing and get her back, toot sweet, as they say in… er. We just need to know where she is," said a boy with ruddy cheeks. His name was, was... eh, something like Wednesday. He was about three Beans in thickness. Which naturally said nothing about his age.
"Ze Ipswich Diggers?" wondered Gabrielle. Was that a quidditch team? Interrupters of Things - that sounded like a very annoying behavior.
"Ah! If you're thinking of acronyms, remember that one should skip prepositions," advised one of the Ironheads.
"Eh, what?"
"We thought you might use your murky powers to tell us where Marigold is."
"Mystic, her mystic powers."
"She's never missed a Congress of Iron Wills meeting before and she might be in trouble and need help is what we were thinking," added Bean. Gabrielle gave him a small smile, and wondered if he knew to appease his idol with curved, yellow fruits.
"I knew you would help!"
v - v - v - v - v
Of course I would help, thought Gabrielle. It just would have been nice to have a chance to say so. However, since this was some sort of crisis, the Interrupters of Things had sort of jumped ahead a bit. They had, for example, gone and 'borrowed' a crystal ball from the storeroom of the Divination Tower. And with sufficient forethought to allow Portia to draw an elaborate circle around it. Gabrielle wondered if the corners had been properly shriven. That is, properly Shriven the Ordinal Corners of, eh… There was a gate - no, a Gate as well, yes? Anyway, she hoped at least some of that effort had been put into actually looking for Saruchi.
Gabrielle began the scrying attempt by limiting the number of participants to four, including herself. It was good that many wanted to help, very Hufflepuff, but the circle was only so big. The cull provided plenty of volunteers for when she requested something of Saruchi's. They returned with a small stuffed animal that might have been a monkey made from a sock. It was named Minkey, and Saruchi slept with it. There was no hesitation about sharing that potentially embarrassing detail at all, which was also very Hufflepuff. It was hard to be alone in the House, so it was hard to have secrets.
With Minkey tucked into her collar for the scent, because she was in the Joining of Hands, and with at least two of the other three in the circle able to follow the cadence of the chant, Gabrielle was already able to see an image in the crystal. It was herself, because there was too much light. That gave the Diggers something to Interrupt, and they did it with enthusiasm. The common room was soon dark, save for the flickering light of the hearths and the cold starlight of the magicked ceilings. And, amazingly, the dim image that faded in and out from within the ball.
The image showed Saruchi, squatting with her hands on the ground between her knees. The view was from a bit behind and below her, as if she were on a platform or ledge. She was definitely not in the League room. What little light there was, was coming from what Saruchi faced. Gabrielle always assumed that there was a way to alter the crystal's viewpoint, and that she would one day learn it. Given the state of divination tuition at Hogwarts, though, it would probably need to be found in the library. She leaned forward to get close to the ball to try and get a glimpse of what the girl was looking at.
With that, the Joining of Hands became the Butting of Heads as the rest of the circle copied Gabrielle. The image was lost. Gabrielle, after a brief Rubbing of Pain, decided that she only needed Portia and the Ironhead Heather in the circle - Michael's head was too hard.
The second attempt took a bit more time, since the Diggers were speculating about Saruchi's whereabouts. The Restricted section of the library was the current favorite, though that ignored the fact that no books had been visible. The discussion made it harder to concentrate. At least, Gabrielle decided that was the reason. She rather hoped that her mystic energies were not exhausted already.
The mists of the Hidden Realm parted again, though, and the dim image of Saruchi reappeared. This time the view more directly faced the young witch, and Gabrielle could see the girl had the map. Saruchi was holding it too tightly, and it was getting crumpled. An annoyed Gabrielle could also see that it was definitely some sort of ledge, and that the ledge was along more of a tunnel than a proper hallway. That meant the League's Vice-President was more likely to be in the dungeons, past the cabinet of Redundant GIT. Gabrielle bent over the ball, alone this time, to see where the light was coming from.
Unlike when Gabrielle would use inky water, she could see no more details. That was disappointing. She supposed it was because when she scryed with darkened water in a bowl, she was really looking out of something holding water at the other end. It was as if she were in the cup or puddle herself, so looking around naturally made sense. The only risk there was that she might end up looking up out of a loo.
"Eh, what did you see?" asked Gabrielle to Portia. The image of Saruchi faded away as concentration was lost.
"Forsooth, oh Mistress of the Mirk, and verily," began Portia in her best, but, in Gabrielle's opinion, silliest, Darkest Shadow voice.
"Stop zat now."
"I saw goldish statues, and beings in armor wearing huge masks."
"Armor?! Like, like ze knights wear?" Was this part of Trelawney's vision? The woe part? A second thought began imaging a special crystal-gazing table with attached chairs that could spin easily around the ball in the center. Where one sat obviously mattered more than how one looked at the ball.
"Er, no. They could have just been workmen. It may be what they wore was more like leather aprons than, er, armor? Um, forsooth."
Gabrielle ignored Portia's questioning look. "What about ze statues? I zink she is in ze dungeons, but I could not tell where,"
"There was one of a man, and two that were definitely goblins," described Portia. "They had poles for flags or banners."
"It could be the atrium at the Ministry," suggested, eh, Wednesday (possibly). "I heard they were going to do something about the fountain again."
"How did she get there?" asked Bean. He sounded relieved by the thought.
"Magic. Think a bit first, right?"
"No," started Gabrielle. "She had my map of Hogwarts wizz her. I zink she was following ze Head Boy, so, eh, she is probably still in ze castle."
v - v - v - v - v
"Mate."
"Ron," nodded Harry Potter. Per the protocol of varying routines, they were meeting at the Ham and Cheese in Scagglethorpe. Harry was glad to see that Ron was not wearing his auror's robes. That saved on the wand-waving.
Ron slumped into the chair, looking thoughtful. At least, as far as he could. Then he leaned forward. "I wanted to talk about Hermione."
"Right. Erm, you do remember the list of things I'd rather not talk about when it comes to you and her, yeah?"
"I wanted to talk about her hole."
"That might've been item number one."
"I'm not joking."
"Neither was I."
"Ginny might be right about you needing to watch out more for bludgers," said Ron. "That, or you need a few more to the head. Have you been up to see her lately? She's dug a bloody half-mile down now, trying to trace an ear-thick vein. She's gone mental."
"You mean an aetheric vein," corrected Harry. He sighed, and held his wand under the table. Some wand-waving was going to be necessary.
"Whatever. She needs something else to do," declared Ron." Are you having a drink?"
"Yeah. I think I'll try the Black Sheep."
"'S fine, get me one while you're at it," said Ron as he went back to slouching.
"Bloody pillock," muttered Harry as he headed for the bar.
v - v - v - v - v
Twelve rounds later, a plan was formed. It was, if Harry was being honest, not much of a plan, since it came together after twelve, or was it thirteen, rounds of the local bitter. Still, Ron was satisfied that something would be done. The grand scheme only needed the cooperation of the Headmistress, being able to contact that German bloke they had met in Albania, and, of course, Hermione not refusing to give up her digging. Harry could not help but notice that a lot of the legwork fell to him. The Cannons' practices were actual work too.
Harry was certain that Voldemort was behind the spate of attacks, but not so certain that he needed to use the clause in his contract with the Cannons. Or, he just did not want to use the clause yet, because he really was playing quidditch professionally. He would just need to convince the Chudley management to let him have a few days now and then. That was probably going to be easier than asking the Headmistress to create a department of Magical Antiquities (Dug-Up-Crap to Ron) to distract Hermione. What he really needed was a way to get all three in one go.
v - v - v - v - v
The search for Saruchi got off to a slow start. One reason was that about half of the Diggers were of the opinion that she was in London. There was also the fact that the debate had taken too long, so it was already past curfew when the decision was made. One thing that the Interrupters of Things did not want to, eh, interrupt was the House points that Hufflepuff had won. Therefore, a smaller contingent was selected with Gabrielle as the lead. She would not necessarily have said no if she had been asked, but she had not been given the option. Yes, she had been out after curfew a few times, but she had had the apron or the pass from McGonagall each time. There was no way that she and six Ipswich Dolts would go undetected. They were not even all from Ipswich, she learned, wherever that was. The name was a traditional one, she was told. Except, fish heads sticking out of supper was traditional too, which did not make it much of an endorsement.
And so, the rescuers were detected. First was Mrs. Norris, who was happy to wander off after some petting and half of the last pasty. The cat was quickly followed by Filch, which tested the Diggers' resolve. He took the remaining half pasty, and snickered something about her and ducklings as he slunk away. It became clear that Saruchi was not in any of the classrooms in the dungeons, or any of the broom closets. They even checked the more unfinished corridor past the Redundant GIT, hoping to find the ledge. Which might have been in London after all.
It was while Gabrielle was explaining the idea of going up the down staircase using the handrail that Professor Slughorn found them. He, for the most part, completely ignored her retinue. Slughorn actually helped Gabrielle onto the railing, which was completely unnecessary. The Diggers, once well out of hearing range, were bemused. The consensus was that the Professor was trying to get a peek up her skirt. Gabrielle dismissed the idea, because she knew quite well what eccentric infatuation looked like. Besides, she had her Cloak of Darkness on, and tights. A second thought filed the accusation away in case the potions practicals did not improve.
What the Interrupters of Things liked to interrupt most, in Gabrielle's brief experience, was progress. The former Ravenclaw was not in the castle's dungeons, so Gabrielle thought it best to check the seventh floor also, regardless of what the crystal ball had shown. That was a long way up, though, and entailed a lot of explanations to the Diggers. Things went a bit faster after she finally gave in and agreed to use the main staircase. The expedition lost three Interrupters then; one over the side and two more to take the unfortunate to the infirmary. Before the two rescuers left with the third, they required something of hers in case they were caught. Looking at them as if they had lost their senses did little; if they were going to get in trouble then the only thing something of hers would do is implicate her! There was a lot groaning from below, though, so Gabrielle unclipped faithful Pepi-Z from her hair. She informed the two that they would definitely burn if the red bobble was hurt in any way.
Progress was better when Gabrielle realized that she could just have the Ipswich Dingbats go up a flight of stairs first, and then catch up to them. On the sixth floor, they met Professor Korbel on his rounds. He said that he did not mind the company, which apparently meant that Gabrielle and her company were to follow him. He spoke to her in French, providing her with the news from Beau- her previous school. That was, well, pleasantly odd, but not very helpful at the moment. Korbel was not particularly curious about the Hufflepuffs trailing her. She did ask if he had seen Marigold, though. He had not, but had caught a couple of Slytherins out. Or had he meant a Slytherin couple? Korbel then said that they could do the detention with her. He seemed very pleased with the idea. Gabrielle was not sure what he meant - the Friday detention or her one of her normal, weekly allotment?
Gabrielle excused herself when they reached one of the easier sets of stairs to manage. The Diggers went up, and called down to her when the corridor was clear. Then, Gabrielle charged up the stairs as quickly as she could manage. After a count of five, she jumped to clear the next two steps, which would collapse and send one tumbling. Only after the jump could she use the stonework of the walls to continue the climb up. The stones would shift a bit as the stairs just below her folded, trying to catch her out.
The Interrupters of Things were very glad to see her, because the corridor was no longer clear. Professor Flitwick had spotted them, and he was gleefully describing all manner of terrible punishments, which her fellow Hufflepuffs appeared to believe. Gabrielle's arrival was not sudden or dramatic, though, since she was moving slowly clinging to the wall of the staircase. It gave the Professor something else to enjoy.
Professor Flitwick did not seem impressed with the Diggers' logic that her presence explained everything, but at least he was concerned about the former member of his House. He promised to stop by the Ravenclaw dorms to see if she had been visiting. Gabrielle thanked him and said that she would look around a little more as well. It came out as more of a question than a declaration, though. Flitwick nodded, which was enough for Gabrielle. It was always best to start moving at the first hint of approval. She did make sure each of her cadre thanked the Professor also, since professors preferred politeness.
Saruchi was found in the League room, slumped over one of the few desks in the shrunken room. While it had been Gabrielle's first guess - oh mon Dieu, it had been a premonition! - it certainly was not where she had seen Saruchi in the crystal ball. That was something to figure out later, because her friend was not asleep. At least, she could not be awakened. There was a teacup on the floor next to the desk, but the residue left in it did not look like tea. Or not a normal tea, since the color was a dark red. Herbal teas could be colors other than brown, though, but so could potions. At least, other people's potions could be something besides a sludgy grey-brown.
Never had Gabrielle felt the loss of her broom more than now. The Ipswich Diggers went on ahead, the three of them carrying the comatose Saruchi under their arms like she was an especially long baguette. Gabrielle supposed that the girl's condition would be sufficient in case a professor found them. Without the pass nor her apron, she herself would have to rely on the accumulated pre-offense punishments. The infirmary was so far away, given the indirect route she would normally follow. Normally sans broom, that is. Should she risk the flames and try to use the chute? The charring would not show on her clothes, after all. Black is black.
A second thought offered a better plan. The contrary main staircases would be empty at this time of night. She could jump from one to the next just as it began to move. It was very easy to jump down, after all. Almost as simple as falling, warned another thought.
Gabrielle had not anticipated the hat. The ridiculous, oversized cone reappeared on her head just as she leapt from the first set of stairs, and the added wind resistance of the ludicrous brim threw off her aim. The stairs quit being contrary at that point, and started being malicious. They shifted out of the way of her downward arc until her momentum from the jump carried her past any hope of landing. That is, of landing on the stairs. The floor was certainly going to be more accommodating when it came to a destination. Unless her head popped free of her body before that.
A second thought pointed out that that was a lot of thoughts to have in the middle of a fall, and that if her head was pulled off, it was because the hat was pulling on it. That meant the intermittent headgear was slowing her descent. Another thought wondered if she would be taller as a result, but the subsequent and sudden landing would likely undo such.
Meeting up with the ground was an inescapable finale, over which Gabrielle had very little control. There was no way to steer, because if there was she would be trying to turn away from the gray tabby looking up at her curiously. Surely the Headmistress would recognize a coming disaster in time to help? Or avoid, which Gabrielle more expected.
The world of magic was filled with surprises. One never knew which shrubbery would try to grab, or which coat rack would eat the item hung on it. Or which Headmistress would try to catch a falling student by turning from a cat back into a professor at the last moment. The world of magic was also filled with bad ideas. One should never blow up the middle of a tower for a bit of firewhisky, or reach a hand into a Ministry's high-security cabinet in one's father's office. Or try to catch a falling student by turning from a cat back into a professor at the last moment.
Gabrielle did not land on the Headmistress. She landed on her feet just before McGonagall, then fell to her knees. Eh, painfully. The whole process of completing the fall carried on though, including toppling into the Headmistress. McGonagall then toppled as well, only backwards, and with a nasty smacking sound as her head hit the stone floor. Gabrielle was horrified by the sight, the sound, and the awful thought that wondered, "Had anyone seen?"
Gabrielle recovered quickly, though, and blurted, "You are dead?"
"Not at the moment, no," groaned McGonagall. "I will need some help rising, however."
"Eh, of course." Gabrielle wiped the hand that had explored the condition of her knees on her ruined hose. Blood was hard to see on black.
"You do know it is after curfew?"
"Eh, yes, but Saruchi was in trouble, so I had to go wizz ze Diggers."
"Hmm," sighed the Headmistress. "I suppose my head hit harder than I thought."
"Eh, what?"
The Headmistress was a little unsteady on her feet, which was something that Gabrielle could do little to help with because of the imposing brim of the hat. McGonagall bemoaned the lack of her walking stick, often enough that Gabrielle just knew that the blame would fall to her. The hospital wing and Madame Pomfrey were one floor up. How was she to manage the Headmistress on the stairs?
Gabrielle's world became rigid and narrow. Rigid, like a full body-bind as strong as Fleur had ever inflicted, and narrow as in her point of view. She felt like everything had suddenly become wider, or that she herself had narrowed. The hat dropped over her eyes briefly before disappearing with a velvet pop. She did not fall, though, as McGonagall was there to grab her in her hand. A baffled thought tried to work out how the Headmistress could wrap her fingers around both shoulders.
"That is a bit better," said McGonagall. "One wee twiccian."
The hand around Gabrielle's shoulders moved to the top of her head, and pressed. Gabrielle shrunk, and then the weight on her head increased further. If the hat's aid had stretched her out at all, then this would surely reverse that small gain in height.
Gabrielle's thoughts turned to the various kinds of magic in the world. Conjuration, for example, or summoning. Calling for a house-elf probably fell under summoning too. It would have been these magics that she would have used if she had been the one in need of a walking stick. Not transfiguration, unless there was a handy, and mostly stick-shaped, chair or branch available. The Headmistress had chosen transfiguration, but had declined to use the source material decorating the entrance hall, preferring to use a nearby and already very helpful student. Gabrielle was the walking stick. And, not a happy one as she was swung back and forth. The collision with McGonagall was almost completely not her fault, and she had been trying to help.
Also annoying to Gabrielle, beyond the humiliation of having her stick head ground further into her stick chest on each swing, was that the Headmistress had no problem negotiating the stairs at all even though Gabrielle had no choice but to also be on those same stairs. That was normally a potentially dangerous situation, as the Diggers had found out. If McGonagall had simply lifted the hat from her head, they could have walked to the infirmary in the normal fashion, with the Headmistress acting as the ultimate pass.
v - v - v - v - v
"Hardly a bump, Minerva. Certainly no lasting injury," said Madam Pomfrey. "You've shaken off far worse before with little more than a tall glass of gillywater."
"I was younger then, of course, Poppy, and carried less responsibility."
"It was three years ago. And, I think, you mean worry."
"Younger, as I said; we are in agreement," nodded the Headmistress.
"-Are- you worried?"
"Mmm… I was not until that auror visited. The temerity of that man!" snapped McGonagall.
"I might be persuaded to prescribe a short glass of sherry. You've heard the rumors about the metal man, and the murders, of course?"
"I regret to inform you that all my glasses are of the tall variety. I also suspect that the store of sherry might be a bit depleted as of late, but let us leave Sybill for later," began McGonagall. "I have heard more than rumors. Several recent alumnae of Gryffindor house seem to have put a stop to the attacks, for the moment."
"Without requiring my assistance? I find that hard to believe. Is it You-Know-Who?"
"The informal, impertinent inquiry was about a goblin or half-goblin among the students. I answered as truthfully as my memory served. As for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, I see that Potter is still flying for the wretched Cannons. That tells me there is yet some doubt."
"As your memory served - you have put that pensive to use, I fear?" asked Pomfrey.
"I have put it to use, indeed. As a consequence, I rather expect, I have no way of telling whether it is to the good or not," replied the Headmistress. An awkward lull in the conversation ensued as a number of things were wisely left unsaid.
"Interesting walking stick you've acquired," noticed Pomfrey after a brief check on the two students. "The darkest ebony I've ever seen, and the knob - can't quite place the color, but I know I've seen it before, Also, I must say, it's a bit... glare-y, as walking sticks go. And those ridges, too - a bit like ears."
"Mmm. How are your new charges?"
"Spattsham landed on his head, the thickest part of him. I would have sent him on his way already, but the knock has, er, affected his speech somewhat," described Madam Pomfrey. "A bit of rest should do for him."
"Tough and taciturn. Fine traits in a wizard."
"Regrettably, it is more the way he is speaking that is the concern. I sedated him for now. Hopefully the fit will pass by morning."
"And Miss Lander?"
Madam Pompey sighed. "A case of poisoning by potion, I'm afraid. I've used the bezoar, but…"
''Oh dear."
"I believe it was meant to be a revision aid, a memory-enhancer. What ingredients I could pick out from the remains in the cup are consistent with such. But by accident, malice, or cruel joke, the effects are very much the opposite. I'll have Horace analyze the residue more closely in the morning."
Gabrielle, though just a walking stick at the moment, was so alarmed by the implied condition of her friend that she overcame, briefly, even the powerful magic holding her. She fell over. Onto her face, which did not hurt because she was, well, a stick.
"Minerva, we never use transfiguration as a punishment," scolded the medi-witch sharply.
"Special cases for special cases," dismissed the Headmistress. She flicked her wand at the fallen ambulatory aid, which widened a lot and lengthened somewhat less until it was once more a student.
"I see," sighed Madam Pomfrey as Gabrielle collected herself. "Though, which of you the second refers to is rather unclear."
"In any case, this was more of a matter of convenience. Possibly ill-considered, looking back now." The Headmistress addressed her former stick, "No harm done, right?"
"Where is Saru- eh, zat is, Marigold? I can see 'er, yes?" asked Gabrielle. It might be a little rude, but then so was the vague apology.
"Down at the end, in the bed surrounded by curtains," nodded Madam Pomfrey.
Gabrielle offered thanks and headed for the curtained bed. The thanks were in general, since nothing good would come of being impolite to the Headmistress.
"Did you do the ears as well?" asked Pomfrey.
v - v - v - v - v
Saruchi was in a bed surrounded on three sides by striped curtains. This was to afford some privacy, Gabrielle supposed, from the injured Ipswich Digger in the bed next to her. Circumstances being what they were, Gabrielle could not simply ignore him.
"I'm terribly sorry, but one feels fine, bettah than fine. I should be beck at the dorms, but Pomfrey, daft macaroon, simply insists one should rest."
That was his answer to Gabrielle's query of how he was feeling. It was not the way he had spoken before his fall, which, if she recalled which Digger was who, was as if he did not like to open his mouth much. Also, she felt certain that she knew what a macaroon was, but not why he had said it. Perhaps he was hungry from, eh, Digging.
"Well I say - what doh you mean, old bean? One sounds perfectly normal, eh what? One has potion essays; I jolly well can not just lay about."
Gabrielle advised him that he would recover faster if he did not speak at all, which may have been what Madam Pompey really desired. She told him she had foreseen it, which was a lie, but the sort of lie that was expected in hospital. Like saying, "I am sure you will be up and about soon, good as new."
On the other side of the curtain, though, was someone who looked like she would be hearing a lot of lies. Saruchi was sitting up, staring blankly, and wobbling a little. She was so pale, but smiled briefly, vaguely, at Gabrielle before returning to her vacuous watch.
"Eh, how are you feeling?" asked Gabrielle.
"Oh..."
Gabrielle waited a bit before prompting the stricken girl again. She could feel her eyes begin to prickle. Crying was not a good thing to do beside a sick bed.
"Fine…" said Saruchi finally.
"It's me, Saruchi," reminded Gabrielle.
"Hello, Saruchi. I'm..."
"Eh, no, zat is you."
"Hello, Saruchi, I'm... Enno?"
"Eh, no."
''Yes?"
Oh mon Dieu, thought Gabrielle in alarm. What has she done to herself? Madam Pomfrey had said it was the effects of a potion, but Saruchi was really good at potions. And, she had her precious, virtually undamaged, book of things that were poisonous, even to wizards and witches. Her making such a huge mistake was hard to fathom. She certainly did not need to revise more! So why would she even -
No, declared a second thought. She was Gabrielle, Mistress of the Mirk, and she had seen, that is, Seen Saruchi, eh, somewhere. The important part was that the girl had not been brewing a potion. The Head Boy's doppelganger had to be involved! Had not Suki-chan been poisoned too, and he had come to take the beetle?
A third thought agreed in principle, but had to point out that the problem potion could have been created earlier. Also, it was possible that keeping such a close watch on the Head Boy and his replacement had put Saruchi behind in her studies, leading to trying the potion to keep her status in the Congress of Iron Wills.
Gabrielle won the argument with herself because blaming the Head Boy or his replacement was too logical to lose out to more logic. Even more important than determining the culprit through her obvious talent for logic, was a memory that Saruchi's blank stare evoked.
"You should have some tea," announced Gabrielle. The particular tea she had in mind was the one brewed for the shop owner of Eyelops, who, if she recalled correctly, had no backbone. She had acted similarly, after Harry Potter's fight with that horrible witch. It was best not to remember much more than that. There were good reasons for her nightmares.
"Tea? It's a bit late, isn't it?" asked Saruchi.
"Eh, no," replied Gabrielle. "You need ze tea."
"I need the tea," considered Saruchi.
"Yes," nodded Gabrielle. She was already thinking of the next problem, which was how to get the needed tea. There were bound to be house-elves in the kitchens, but getting there would take forever. It was said that the house-elves were always around, just hiding out of sight. Kath, no, the other one, claimed she could occasionally spot them out of the corner of her eye. Gabrielle tried that.
"Are you all right?" asked Saruchi. "You've gone a bit funny."
"Eh, no -"
"Yes?"
"Eh, what?"
"Enno." Saruchi pointed to herself.
"I was looking for a house-elf," explained Gabrielle. Hopefully it was not too late for the treatment to have an effect.
"Oh. You might try turning your head then. It will help to look around."
"Dobby?" tried Galrielle. She did not know many house-elves in Britain. There was Dobby, Geff, and the waiter-ess from the wedding dinner, although she did not quite recall that elf's name. She was certain Geff would ignore her just to be rude, though. Dobby was different, and she could spare a galleon or even ten, let alone a sickle, to help her friend. "Dobby?"
"Dobby is here, Madwozelle. There was no need to shout." He had stepped out from behind the curtains. Dobby had apparently learned of neckties, and wore four - two down the front, and two down the back in addition to an ill-fitting Cannons jersey and a flat sort of cap with a bobble on it. The neckwear dragged on the floor. The bobble was not Pepi-Z, though Gabrielle had to look twice.
"Eh, what? I did not shout," insisted Gabrielle. She turned to the patient, who was exploring the texture of the wool blanket as if it was unfamiliar. "Zis is true, n'est-ce pas?" There was no response. "Eh, Saruchi?"
"Enno. You are Saruchi." She pointed first to herself, then to Gabrielle.
"Eh, no. You are Saruchi," repeated Gabrielle, though that did not seem to help much. She turned to Dobby. "She needs ze tea. Eh, please. Ze special tea, like ze kind made for zat shopkeeper in Eyelops. You remember zat, no?"
"Dobby is remembering, Madwozelle, but Harry Potter is telling Dobby it is a secret."
"Oh, eh, is not a secret to me. I was zere. But, eh, zat is a secret from my mozzer. Very much so. Can you make zat tea for Saruchi?"
"Enno."
"Dobby is thinking that Madam Pomfrey will not like it." He began to nervously pull on his neckties, which Gabrielle could see were not tied evenly at all.
"I can pay for ze tea," suggested Gabrielle. "Zen you will be doing a job, like ze wedding."
"Wanting pay for helping a Hogwarts student?!" gasped Dobby, clearly horrified. "Dobby is free, not, not Bad."
"Eh, no. It is -"
"What?" asked Saruchi.
"What?"
"You called my name."
"Eh, no, I was -'''
"Yes?"
Gabrielle narrowed her eyes. This was a bit of the Saruchi that she knew. Maybe her fellow League member would recover without the tea. "I zink you should be Marigold now. Zat will be less confusing."
"Then you can be Feverfew," returned Marigold, formerly Enno, formerly Saruchi, after a pause.
"Eh, what?"
"We can all have plant names. He can be Potato."
Gabrielle turned back to Dobby, who was learning that one must be careful when pulling on a necktie since his face was distinctly bluer. "Zen perhaps I can buy ze ingredients for ze tea? Zen it will be like I am giving ze tea, yes?"
"Erk…"
Gabrielle stepped behind Dobby to loosen his latest fashion fetish. "Dobby still thinks that Madam Pomfrey will not like it," repeated the house-elf.
"Zen, eh, bring somezing for her, as well," suggested Gabrielle. Visions of cake filled her head, even if it was late.
"Something for Madam Pomfrey? Dobby knows!"
"Eh, okay. Can you bring a little coffee for me?" requested Gabrielle. If there was going to be cake… "Ze muggle kind."
"It will be four galleons!" declared Dobby excitedly.
Gabrielle thought to protest, but a second thought brought up her earlier thought about 'a galleon or even ten'. Still, it seemed a little steep, given that the house-elves had repaired everything in Eyelops for a handful of sickles. She was not Harry Potter though. "Eh, I do not have my handbag wizz me."
"Dobby will take care of everything!"
v - v - v - v - v
Dobby returned, but not as quickly as Gabrielle expected. The house-elves had been able to find or make what Stanislaw had requested in minutes, including a giant pretzel, so it was quite reasonable to expect that tea, coffee, and a bit of cake would likewise take little time. Of course, that was assuming that there would be cake, which there was not. Instead there was a cage with what Gabrielle had thought at first was a raven but was really a carrion crow. Her Natural Arts professor at, eh, her former school had lectured on the corvid family as an example of creatures with an affinity for magic that were mostly harmless, and only likely to peck one's eyes out. Which was only nearly true; Professor Elavagre had only needed the eyepatch for a week.
"Is zere not cake?" blurted Gabrielle. "Eh, zat is, why do you have a bird and not cake?" Gabrielle had spent the better part of an hour with some part of herself thinking about cake. Most of herself had spent the wait trying to see what Marigold could recall. "I, eh, zought zere might be cake wizz ze tea."
"Dobby has brought biscuits, Madwozelle, for the tea," said Dobby as he placed the tray with five cups on the bed. There was one biscuit per cup. "The raven is for Madam Pomfrey."
"Zat is not a raven," noted Gabrielle. "Eh..." There was no cake, which she now realized she might not have mentioned specifically, and all the cups looked like they held the same sort of liquid. The house-elf had either forgotten her request or the coffee was going to be awful.
"Are there going to be others?" asked Marigold. She was looking at the tea.
"Dobby has only this one for Madame Pomfrey." After arranging the tea and biscuits, he turned to Gabrielle with her handbag.
"Eh, no, she -"
"Marigold," reminded Marigold.
Gabrielle ignored that because of the girl's state, and only barely resisted the urge to snatch the handbag from Potato, zat is, Dobby. It had nearly all her stuff in it! "Ze tea is for you. All of ze tea is for you."
"It can talk," announced Dobby.
"Eh, what?"
"Caw," stated the crow.
"I am sure zat does not count." Gabrielle handed Dobby the four galleons, with only the slightest sigh of resentment. It was for Saruchi, she reminded herself.
Dobby happily took the coins, and dropped them into his hat. Doing so revealed the tiny cup hidden under his flat cap, and filled the air with a beautiful aroma. Gabrielle instantly smiled and reached for the white ceramic cup. Marigold put her much larger cup down and covered her nose.
"I say, me old chaps, are there kippers?" The question came from behind the striped curtains.
There were not kippers. There was only a cup of fragrant, swirling dark beans, each an image of the lush tropical hillside from whence they came. They were one minute and thirty-two seconds past the first crack and just reaching the perfect balance between the roast and the origin flavors. Gabrielle reached for the lever, dumping the beans so that they could cool. The oil of the beans was only a light sheen on the surface - the timing had been spot on. She turned her attention to the previous batch, now cooled, and thought to herself, "A nation o' tea-drinkers wid ne'er convert fur juist th' ordinar. Th' grind wi' be juist a titch finer, fur a titch mair extraction. This wi' be th' strongest cup in a' o' britain. It wi' be called -" Thwock.
"Awa wi ye ye doolally witch," blurted Gabrielle. She shook her head to clear it, dislodging the ear trumpet that Madam Pomfrey had inserted.
"I beg your pardon," huffed Madam Pomfrey, holding a ladle.
"Eh, what?" Gabrielle looked at the empty cup. What was it called? She had just missed that, and now would have to find out from Dobby, and also if she could get more. Dobby had left though, and so had Saruchi. Gabrielle wondered if she would need more Diggers. Madam Pomfrey looked as if she was going to try to reinsert the brass horn, and - "Did you hit me wizz zat ladle?"
"Er, yes, the, er, mallet was not at hand."
"Why did you do zat? I did not have ze Skele-Gro wizz, eh, zat, eh, eh, amphibian water! You know zis. Eh, also, ze bird is for you. It looks like a raven, but it is a carrion crow. Dobby - he is a house-elf - brought it for you. Did you see where Saruchi, zat is, Marigold went? She might have gotten lost! Should I go get ze Ipswich Diggers, Interrupters of Things?" Gabrielle inhaled, then started giggling. I.D.I.o.T.s - hah! "If you take just ze first letters -"
"There is much talk of cosmic resonances," interrupted Madam Pomfrey. "I had hoped to detect such while you were in the so-called Seer's Trance."
"Eh, no. I -"
"Marigold!"
Gabrielle turned to where the shout had come, but saw no one. "Dobby also brought ze tea for Marigold, but did not bring cake. I zought he would, but zen he had only ze bird. Oh! And ze espresso. I saw, zat is, I Saw ze roasting! Ze roaster was green, not red like ze one in Gaston's shop. Zey are muggle machines and very interesting. I am grounded by ze sensory humours, so I do not zink I have cosmic resonances. You should know zis. Where did Marigold go?"
"Miss Lander is off to the loo. A consequence, I think, of imbibing so much tea," replied Madame Pomfrey. The way she brandished the ladle made Gabrielle wary. "If these resonances could be detected, then the thought occurred that they might also be, er, induced."
"Wizz ze mallet?" asked Gabrielle. "You, eh, want to hit Professor Trelawney wizz ze mallet until she has un vision? She has visions now. Zey are of woe. Woe, and knights and ze goblin. Also zere is a coffin zat is, eh, broken." Would the Headmistress really be fine with beating another vision out of Professor Trelawney?
"It was just a thought, and one should never stop trying to learn about the world," explained Madam Pomfrey. "I don't believe I have heard of these."
Gabrielle was about to try and explain Trelawney's thinking, but then decided to clear something else up. "Zen you were, eh, experimenting? On me? Zat sounds like somezing you should ask about, eh, first. And I would have -"
"I was assured that it would be acceptable as your head is known to be quite hard."
"Hah!" croaked the caged crow.
"Zat does not count eizzer. You must, eh, say at least zhree words togezzer for it to be talking."
"Says you."
"You may zink zat is funny, but it is not."
"Also, I am told that Weasley twins use you for testing as well," added Pomfrey.
"Eh, no. Zat is -"
"Marigold," said Marigold unnecessarily. "My water, it's blue!"
"Eh, what?"
v - v - v - v - v
Madam Pomfrey retired to her quarters after reassuring Saruchi that she was not suffering from Harden's Erubescolitis, if for no other reason than her nose had not fallen off. The obscure self-diagnosis was taken as a sign that the prescribed rest was working, so it should continue. That declaration came with a bit of a look for Gabrielle and the nearly finished tea, but Gabrielle was more interested in whether the very first symptom really was the loss of one's nose. The peculiar color of Saruchi's, eh, output was not commented upon. Gabrielle decided that that was due to Madam Pomfrey being taken with the crow, whom she had named Crowsey, which was quite a dull name. The bird continued to croak out random noises that happened to sound a bit like words. Madam Pomfrey was particularly pleased when Crowsey sort of said, if one were generous, "Need rest! Need rest!". Gabrielle was not fooled; it had to be three -different- words together for it to be talking.
Gabrielle did not feel tired at all, oddly, and neither did her fellow transfer student, not after four cups of tea. Anyway, Digger Spattsham snored. Or, at least, he slept loudly, since sometimes the noises he made sounded like, "Tally... Ho-o-o."
Between bathroom breaks, and therefore updates on the hue and possible dread maladies based on that, Gabrielle continued to pepper Saruchi with questions to see what she could recall. Gabrielle had not known her long, so she had to assume that the stories were true.
Madam Pomfrey returned with a stumbling, blinking Mags as a "sleep aid". That earned her a Look from Gabrielle, which was ignored. Really, how did Fleur and Maman do it? She and Saruchi were ordered to Gabrielle's special bed to allow Spattsham some peace, even as Madam Pomfrey needed to raise her voice to be heard over the I.D.I.o.T.
The bed was definitely, magically larger than before, though it was hardly needed as Mags was determined to try and occupy the same space as Gabrielle. That was not all bad - she was quite warm - but her hair was damp for some reason and she was as restless as a billywig. Even so, the first-year was soon asleep.
Marigold's effluent-enabled recovery was not complete, however. The evening's activities were lost. She did not recall the ledge, the tunnel, or the statues. She did not have any recollection of travelling to London, or to some obscure location within Hogwarts, or even to the League room. She recalled nothing after supper in the Great Hall.