Friday, 17 June 1994
It was still early in the morning when Gwen woke up, as refreshed and relaxed as she had not been for a long time. She stretched luxuriously, yawning loudly, then relaxed back into her pillows, closing her eyes. When she heard a high-pitched giggling, she opened them immediately, and just got a glimpse of the backs of two electric blue pixies escaping out of her open window.
She propped herself up on her pillows, put on her glasses and looked around her bedroom, but she had obviously noticed them in time, since the room seemed undisturbed.
As she felt hungry, she threw back her covers to get up. She padded to the kitchen, put on the kettle, humming 'Somewhere beyond the sea'.
That was a lovely evening, she thought.
While she rummaged through her kitchen cupboard to look for something to eat, she let her mind wander.
Aren't you in love with Roberta? an inner voice, which she used to call her 'inner censor', scolded. Why do you start … well what? … with Jonathan now?
Gwen frowned and tried to concentrate on her search for food. A sudden crack announced Wookey's arrival in the hallway.
"Good morning, can I help you, Miss?" the house-elf asked after entering the kitchen. "I heard you had got up," she plucked shyly at her pink, frilly terry towel. Gwen knew that Wookey had an extremely good hearing.
"Morning, Wookey. Breakfast would be nice. You know what? I'd fancy some millet gruel with fruit and yoghurt. Do we have millet?"
Wookey looked startled and shook her head. "I'll get some," she replied, "and some strawberries and a banana. Do you want cream, too?"
"No, no cream, thanks."
Wookey disapparated on the spot. Whistling happily, Gwen prepared her Darjeeling tea, put a cup on the table and sat down to just stare out of the window.
She tried to sort her thoughts. I am accountable to none. I am free after all. It's true that I fancy Roberta. But I like Jonathan, too. She remembered yesterday evening. He smelled good. And he tasted good.
She took a sip of tea and burnt her lips. That brought her back to reality. Don't worry too much, you just kissed and hugged. It had been long kisses, though. Enjoy it as long as it lasts.
Wookey apparated back and started at once to cook the gruel, and wash and slice the strawberries.
Gwen felt a need to be nice to someone. "The sandwiches you made yesterday were superb, Wookey," she praised the house-elf, who blushed scarlet and hastened to set the table for her.
The breakfast was delicious, and Gwen ate two bowels full of gruel. After she had finished her tea, she scribbled something on a piece of parchment, rolled it up and asked: "Are you going to Miss Carthew next?"
Wookey nodded and bowed.
"Could you please bring her this?"
The house-elf nodded, bowed again and withdrew.
She extracted the tarot cards from her dark-blue satin pouch and drew one. The Devil.
"Now what..," she gasped, staring at the huge bearded and horned figure above a pair of naked and horned humans, who were chained to the Devil's seat.
It often means confusion, she tried to calm herself. Or adherence to obsolete ideas, an error, a delusion. She put the cards back into the pouch. It surely doesn't mean that what you're doing is devilish. But she felt a nagging doubt.
An hour later, Gwen entered the Atrium, deep in thought. Perhaps I should stop drawing a card every morning. It confuses me.
At the same time Miss Carthew, in her nice tidy cottage, opened the piece of parchment Gwen had sent her, sipping her morning tea, while Wookey served her some toast with orange marmalade.
"Dear Miss Carthew:
Macnair has no alibi, but says it wasn't him, since the person in question was a pure-blood. Admits, however, to have known him, and claims to have lent him a lot of money. The widow, however, does not know him at all! No further news. G. B."
~ooOOoo~
The wormwood was prattling angrily in its corner. Gwen ignored it, and wished Crow, who was pointing his wand at the brain in the tank, and Jonathan, who was sitting at his desk, quill in hand, a good morning.
Jonathan beamed at her. Surprisingly Mrs Beresford was nowhere to be seen. "What is it singing today?" Jon asked her brightly, pointing with his quill at the greyish-green wormwood.
She suspected that he wasn't really interested in the plant, but simply wanted to talk and look at her. His eyes were shining. She grinned conspiratorially and listened to the plant's sounds.
"Sounds to me like Thirty thirsty sailors," she informed Jon. Crow raised his eyebrows, but didn't say a word.
"Perhaps it's thirsty," suggested Jon, "it sounds so grumpy. Has anyone ever watered it?"
Gwen shrugged, but went to the corner and felt the potting soil. The wormwood stopped singing and prattling, and gave a soft moan.
"I think you're right." She looked around and found no watering can.
Jon stood up, and took one of the mugs, a pale-blue one, from the small table at the wall.
Gwen's heart nearly missed a beat when she saw that he filled what she thought – and had told him! – could, after all, be a horcrux with water from the sink.
Nothing happened. Gwen relaxed. Her knees felt like jelly. Jon hadn't noticed her shock. It's just a mug, she thought, a blue mug. You're getting paranoid. But then, merely touching a horcrux might mean no harm? She didn't know.
Jon watered the plant, which first sighed happily, then gave a sudden shrill shriek, tumbled over and wilted on the spot.
Jon jumped. "What's the matter with it?" he exclaimed, looking at it aghast. "Is it…?"
Gwen took up one of the leaves and felt it. "Perhaps it wasn't thirsty after all. Or it's just gone to sleep?" But she knew at the same time that something was wrong. She felt sorry for the plant, even though it had got on their nerves constantly.
Jon shook his head.
Now even Crow approached. He touched the leaves and the stem, and examined the plant closely. He cocked his head and said slowly: "If I were you I'd examine the contents of this mug," he pointed his long slim finger on Jonathan, who was still holding the mug in his hand.
"Is there anything left inside?"
Jonathan jerked as if awakening from a trance and looked inside the mug.
"Yes," he answered, "only some droplets, but that should be enough. Do you think…?"
"All I know," Crow said, "that a singing wormwood is a very robust plant and manages to get along without water for a long time. Sometime, however, it needs water as any other plant." He took a deep breath. "But only water," he emphasized.
The wormwood was obviously stone-dead. Jonathan put the mug slowly down on the desk.
"Do you want to imply that this mug contains anything dangerous?" he asked Crow bluntly.
"Doesn't it seem so?"
"Why would Dusk and Mayfield need a dangerous substance in here?" Gwen interposed. "Were these things always standing together on this table?" She pointed at the other items on the table and looked at Jonathan meaningfully.
Jonathan shook his head. "I'll go and ask Mayfield." He took up the mug, ready to storm out of the office.
As he opened the door, Crow said: "I recommend you ask Evelyn Anderson, she's our poison and toxic potions expert in the Death Chamber." Gwen eyed him, surprised at his sudden cooperativeness.
"I'll ask no one in this Department, we have our own experts," Jonathan replied, somewhat fiercely. The door thudded closed and he was gone.
Crow and Gwen looked at each other, Crow sneering, and Gwen rather baffled.
~ooOOooOOooOOooOOoo~