Chapter Three - I Don't Want to Go

One month earlier, in June.

Gabrielle stared intently at her notes on the desk in front of her, ignoring the stares she expected her fellow classmates would be giving her, and doing her best to ignore the current object of her ire: Professor Festeller. Except, of course, to write down what he was saying, since the end of the term was coming up. Although, she had considered all but quitting the course entirely. Gabrielle thought that perhaps if she failed the course then she would not be included on the Professor's stupid expedition. But she knew that that would not sit well with Maman, which would mean that even if she did not go to wherever with the Professor, she would also not get to go to Britain to see George.

It was not fair at all, thought Gabrielle for the hundredth time. The entry had been blank! Her name had not gone into the Goblet, so it should not have come out. Gabrielle would have protested, but her friends had seen her put the entry in, had insisted on it. How could she deny entering now without looking ridiculous? This, decided Gabrielle again, was a problem that Papa could solve. He could have the Ministry in Paris ban stupid expeditions from ever taking place.

Actually, thought Gabrielle, knitting her brows, how did she really know her name had not been put into the Goblet? Monique had been so certain she would be selected - perhaps it was her 'friend' who had truly entered her name. More than once? Well, decided Gabrielle, if that is the case then Monique will have to make it through Wand Arts without her help. That would mean no more time for Tristen - no, it was Jakob now. Or was it back to Royden?

Gabrielle would have suspected her enemies, but she did not think she really had any. Except the potential enemy that was Granencole. When he regained consciousness - if, corrected a worried second thought, which made her stomach churn - then he would definitely be her enemy. Assuming that he figured out not just to blame Impy. Even if he did not, he would still be, since she would have to protect the unicorn. Somehow.

When Fleur was at school, remembered Gabrielle, she had, of course, been very popular, like a celebrity; like a singer from the Wizarding Wireless Network. Her sister had had actual friends, followers hoping to share in the attention, several creepy worshipers - and a good number of detractors. The last group were, of course, uniformly female. The boys who were spurned did not blame Fleur, only themselves or their rivals.

Maman had been concerned that Gabrielle would be lonely, since she was not like Fleur. But Gabrielle found herself somewhat popular as well, for different reasons. The first few weeks had been one of craned necks and inquisitive stares, because she was part Veela, but that stopped when the other students decided that she was not, perhaps, Veela enough. Gabrielle did not mind such a turn. She already had several friends in her dormitory, and made more because she actually knew Harry Potter. The, admittedly, theoretical knowledge from Grandmere's little manual on how to be inappropriate even made her a confidante of sorts. Gabrielle was well-known among the male population also. That was definitely -not- because of the book, but rather because she was the conduit to the Weasley twins. While boys did not clamor after her like they would if she were Fleur, it was of no concern to Gabrielle. So she did not have jealous detractors as a result. In any case, her heart belonged to George. She hoped the feeling was mutual; it was hard to tell from the letters. Still, he does write.

George, Gabrielle suddenly realized, could be the issue. Perhaps she did have detractors after all. Gabrielle recalled the Halloween dance and the covetous stares from the girls in the upper classes. They might be planning on traveling to Britain themselves, and needed her out of the way! She would have to warn George that, that - that what? That attractive young women, eligible for marriage, or even shagging, were coming for him? How would one put that into a sentence that would not sound pathetic, or cause much eye-rolling?

There were, considered Gabrielle, a lot of strict rules about marriage. The rules about shagging were a lot more flexible, if any of the dorm gossip was at all true. Gabrielle had, in starts and stops, reached puberty. That meant she was definitely a woman, not a girl. A peeved thought noted that there was still depressingly little outward evidence of this important transition. Not that it would have mattered in the end, but now she wondered if, at Halloween, she should have schemed for something more than just a kiss. She could not even imagine managing to ask outright though. Grandmere's little book covered relatively ordinary flirting, unmentionable and, in several cases, nauseating acts, and magical rituals. Gabrielle had always wondered if there was a section missing, since it was not at all helpful in going from flirting to, to... the rest. Any ploys there would be useful. Gabrielle could still remember the way George's arms had felt around her even now, and imagined that same feeling sliding down -

"Mademoiselle Delacour? This is most pertinent, yes, to your summer," called Professor Festeller. "Do, please, pay attention." Gabrielle looked up with a start, aware that she had been hugging herself. "Can anyone tell me what this is?" He held up an egg-timer that dangled from a thin gold chain.

It was not an egg-timer, of course. Gabrielle knew enough not to blurt that out; she wished Dilly had also. Her friend was often mopey as of late, and prone to inexplicable mood swings. Such as the one under way now - Gabrielle could see her lip quivering even before the burst of laughter from the rest of the class ended. Allie gave Dilly a reassuring nudge with an elbow. Gabrielle consulted at her notes. The Accu-Scribe quill George had sent was very useful, provided she paid at least scant attention. The variations on Gabrielle Jeanne Weasley she had written absently were of no help.

"This is a time-turner, a replica of one, yes," explained the professor. "It is unfortunate, yes, but the only known collection of these ancient and delicate devices in Europe, yes, was destroyed." Gabrielle noticed that Professor Festeller always became quite exercised whenever he lectured about some historical object that had been lost. She wondered if he thought history was less real if there was not something to hold. Certainly the glass cases that lined the walls of the classroom were a testament to his fascination with old junk. It was a lucky thing for him that his classroom had not been in the Stone tower.

While the professor lectured excitedly, yes, about the history of time-turners, yes, and their, yes, unpredictable consequences, yes, Gabrielle wondered about Dilly. Her emotionality was possibly a sign of puberty as well, but Gabrielle supposed it was more likely because Allie was obsessing about Piers. Piers was in the fifth class, a transferee from Durmstrang, and a promising chaser good enough already to make the reserve squad. As far as Gabrielle knew, Allie had never even spoken to Piers, but now spent her time learning and reciting trivia about him - mostly to Dilly. If anything, the two girls spent even more time together than before, except now Dilly complained that she was sure Allie was always thinking of Piers. Gabrielle did not know what to say to that.

Gabrielle checked her notes. She certainly did not want ten centimeters of parchment on which of the two girls had lost their senses. The time-turners used the Sands of Time worn from the Rock of Ages, initially discovered by the first Master of Time. There, thought Gabrielle, was an ego. The whole thing sounded very dubious. The first Master of Time was killed by the second Master of Time, who was then defeated by the first Master of Time because, well, he controlled Time. The whole series repeated via a complicated series of paradoxes, which Gabrielle hoped would not be part of the exam, until the so-called Masters of Time tried to travel less than a grain's worth. They vanished without trace, according to various important scrolls the names of which she would memorize later, because they were things and Professor Festeller liked things. One had to wonder, mused Gabrielle, how these accounts came about. The way she imagined it, the two wizards started dueling, then, just as one fell, the room started filling up with duplicates until they all suddenly disappeared in a big explosion. So how did this long blow-by-blow account come about?

"The expedition this season, yes, will locate and excavate, yes, the ancient Tower of Caszase. That is where the first Master of Time, yes, ruled and fought the second Master of Time," described Professor Festeller with no small excitement. Gabrielle did not like the sound of that. Wasting a summer looking around dusty and dirty ruins was bad enough; this sounded dusty, dirty, and like a lot of work. "We will recover artifacts, yes, related to time-turners, and gather evidence of the duel between the Masters." Like, wondered Gabrielle, her nose wrinkling in disgust, body parts? Gross.

The class ended a little late due to the professor's enthusiasm for the summer's trip. All Gabrielle determined was that any place called a hinterland was unlikely to have a convenient International Owl Post Office. Allie tore from the room, leaving Dilly still packing up and looking very hurt. Gabrielle knew what Allie was doing. She was racing down to the quadrangle to see if she could spot Piers. According to Allie's very detailed schedule, he would be coming from the tent classrooms, heading for the Glass tower. Gabrielle could not see what Allie was hoping for; all it did was leave Gabrielle with an unhappy Dilly to listen to.

The tent classrooms were set up in the quadrangle, to make up for the ones lost when the Stone tower fell. Gabrielle, while safely in her bed when the disaster occurred, knew exactly what had happened. That was because the professors and the Ministry teams found that idiot Drago and his accomplice Clodeau under the wreckage, all but cooked completely through by the Abraxans' burning single malt whiskey they were after. Had she not warned him? The two were still totally covered in bandages even now as Monsieur Maltranchier tried to regrow their skin, and once a week some section of their bodies had the bones regrown. Gabrielle suspected that their lips had yet to heal, since she had not been expelled. She had visited Drago once to convince him to say nothing, even ingesting Poot Powder to get on his good side, but the screams of agony the muffled laughter had turned into quickly ended the meeting.

The most peculiar thing was that Madame Maxime was not overly upset with the two, though she might have considered their current condition punishment enough. The Headmistress was definitely more concerned about her flying horses doing without their high-powered fuel than the collapse of the tower. Professor Festeller was quite upset, because the tower had been a thing with a history, and now it was a large pile of broken stone. At the other end of the wand, though, he was able to demonstrate the techniques used during his stupid expeditions, and lectured at length about the tool marks and glyphs he found on the rubble. Gabrielle knew that the bit about the heartstone, which had cracked, was sure to be on the exam. The leading theory was that the two boys had blown up a wall, which had actually been the poorly protected heartstone, and that led to the failure of the magic and the collapse. There were no guesses yet as to what had been done to cause the explosion, or whom the two wizards had gotten the cause from. It did make one wonder about how muggle buildings stayed up, though. Many were even taller than any of the towers.

This disaster, and the sudden, unexplained absence of Hugette, began the rumor of the Jinx. Gabrielle knew nothing of Hugette except that she was in the third class, but she was certain that the two boys had needed no powerful Jinx to get into trouble. All three had been chosen by the Goblet, and now at least two were definitely not going to make the trip.

"Are you going back to the dorm, Gigi?" asked Dilly hopefully.

"Eh, no. I am going to the stables now," said Gabrielle. Dilly looked crestfallen. "You could, eh, come with me. Professor Elevagre will not mind. If, eh, you stay way back, of course."

"No, that's alright," sighed Dilly. "It stinks down there."

Well, yes, thought Gabrielle, it would, given the Abraxans' size and diet, but she did not have to put it so plainly. Gabrielle tried again. "We could, eh, take the long way? Impy will come, I'm sure." The appearance of the unicorn always cheered up Monique.

"I'll just go back to the room. I'm a little tired," said Dilly.

Gabrielle watched her go. If this had been Monique, then Gabrielle would have been very sure that her friend had spotted whomever was hot this week walking with another girl. Gabrielle decided that she had best ask the resident prefect to try a cheering charm on Dilly. Or perhaps Dilly could just choose another player on Piers' squad, so she could share Allie's obsession. The cheering charm was more likely to work; Dilly rarely talked to boys.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle leaned into the heavy door of the stable's tack room to push it open, and slipped inside. It did stink. The room was not as gloomy as it normally was because of the candles, their flickering light gleaming from the polished leather, brass, and silver hung from the walls. The candles also threw their yellow light onto the bleeding wounds of a wizard. "Professor! Oh mon Dieu! Should I get help?" cried a surprised Gabrielle.

Professor Elevagre grunted ruefully. "There is no help for this insanity."

"Eh, what?"

"I'll be fine," claimed the professor. A grimace and a hiss of pain seemed to refute that when the gauze, wrapping itself up his arm like a fabric snake, tightened into a knot. "Could you please bring me the other roll?" he asked calmly, more calmly than Gabrielle would have if she had been dripping like that.

The door to the tack room opened crisply, and the flames on the candles guttered. "Ah. The one have been looking for," said Madame Maxime severely. She was dressed in elegantly stern, and voluminous, robes; robes for -official- business. Gabrielle went white - they had found lips for Drago and forced him to talk! This was the moment of reckoning, of doom. Maman would surely step from behind the bulk of the Headmistress and ground her forever. "My goodness man, what has happened to you?"

"The newborn griffin is, uhn, male," said Elevagre as he staunched more of the bleeding. "The gauze, please," he reminded Gabrielle through clenched teeth.

"This is unfortunate timing. I need Montaigne and the sulky," said Madame Maxime, looking down at her robes uncertainly.

"It will just take a moment. Mademoiselle Delacour, go and put the bridle on Montaigne please." Gabrielle moved quickly to comply after passing him the rolled bandages. It was best to get away from the attention of the headmistress. The bridle was huge, and overflowed her arms with straps and cinches.

Gabrielle was at the doorway that led to the stalls when Madame Maxime ordered her to stay. The witch rounded on the Natural Arts professor. "Have you gone mad my dear Professor? They will... They need special handling."

"She will be fine, Headmistress," replied the wounded wizard. The white gauze was turning red. "Please, continue," he said, waving Gabrielle on. The Abraxans began whinnying and neighing on the other side of the doorway.

"Stop! They will kill her. Montaigne has eaten larger creatures by accident." As if to emphasize her point, the wall shook with a boom. The vibration rattled the tack on the walls.

"They can smell her. Mademoiselle -Delacour- will have to calm them before they kick the down the stalls," explained Elevagre. Excuse me, thought an aggrieved Gabrielle, I do not smell. It would be hard to imagine being allowed to go to classes if one could be noticed over the stable's odor. The animals could simply see her as she stood at the threshold. She did not want to attract attention to herself by correcting him, though. The tack room shook again as hooves crashed.

"I simply can not allow a mere student, in the sixth class no less, to - Oh. Yes - yes. Possibly."

"Lead Montaigne out to the rear yard, please. I'll have the sulky ready," requested Elevagre.

"Eh, yes, Professor," said Gabrielle. She juggled the leather in her arms so she would not embarrass herself by tripping on dragging straps, and hurried forward. Inside the sound of the excited animals was much louder; they were definitely more rambunctious than normal. Perhaps they were all expecting to go out? Gabrielle brought the bridle over to Montaigne's stall, then went to find the ladder. It was, she had learned, important to greet them in the proper order. At least for the first five or six. After that, the rank of which was more dominant over another was too difficult to keep up with, and the friction between the animals if she got it wrong was not so vicious. She kept track by making a mark next to their stalls with her wand; the symbols seemed to mean nothing to the animals. Montaigne went first, always.

The ladder was necessary because Montaigne was very much in keeping with his namesake. An ordinary horse was fourteen hands tall. The unicorn Impudanae was as tall as the biggest breed of horse at nineteen hands. Montaigne towered at thirty-four hands. Gabrielle had to climb up the ladder to rub his nose and scratch his ears. She had to go up the ladder, down the ladder, and move the ladder for each of the Abraxans. There was a ladder that could walk by itself, but it always closed up when Gabrielle went to climb it, and no amount of threats would make it cooperate. The greetings took a while. It did not need to take so long, but the aerial horses would not lower their heads for her. Which was, thought Gabrielle, a little rude. After all, the stable was their home and she was really a kind of guest. The iron galoshes did not make the effort go any faster.

Gabrielle pulled the ladder back to Montaigne's stall. "Madame Maxime is here," she told the huge, winged palomino as she worked the heavy bolts loose that held the stall's gate shut. "She is taking the, eh, sulky out. That is good, yes?" Sulky was a good way to describe Dilly, thought Gabrielle.

The massive head above Gabrielle bobbed and snorted. It might have meant yes, thought Gabrielle, but he did that a lot no matter what. "Madame Maxime thought you would, eh, eat me," she added. Gabrielle climbed up the ladder again with the tangle of the bridle. Montaigne gave her a long look with a fiery red eye. "Eh, you will open your mouth?" She held the massive bit out.

Holding the bridle always made it look more confusing than it was once it was fitted around around something horse-shaped, thought Gabrielle. She adjusted the thick leather straps with a tug, then started down the ladder. Montaigne lashed out with his rear hoof, resulting in a resounding crash that echoed among the stable's high rafters. Gabrielle froze. Montaigne kicked again, then shuffled forward to lean against the stall. Oh yes, remembered Gabrielle. I forgot the scratching. The Abraxans, if they were going into the tethers, expected to be scratched on their backs, just between the wings. They were quite spoiled. There was a lot of back to them too; it spread like a table. Gabrielle could have climbed onto the animal, but it was a long way down.

Gabrielle moved the ladder out of the way and pushed the gate open. When she was first asked to help in the stable, she had assumed that it was part of the detentions for the small, very minor forest fire. Small, minor, and accidental forest fire. She had resigned herself to mucking out the stalls while hoping to breathe through her ears. Instead, Professor Elevagre did the mucking while Gabrielle simply led each of the huge animals in turn out to the exercise yard. The high netting, like a spider web bubble over the enclosure, let them stretch their wings a little. The professor claimed that the chore was his favorite part; a sort of recap of his career. Gabrielle did not ask about that. Dragging the ladder all over the stable was the hardest work she had to do. She wondered if Professor Elevagre was affected by her being part Veela. He never said anything strange - at least strange involving her. It was possible he was insane like her Alchemical Arts professor, but at least he remembered who she was.

Gabrielle took the reins and started to lead Montaigne out. There was no point in tugging at the reins; the Abraxans might follow her, but they did it at their own pace. The huge creature stopped now, and stretched out his wings.

"There is not enough space for flying. You know this," warned Gabrielle. She walked back to the Abraxan. The professor had taught her a way to trick their instincts. One walked up to them, turned one's back, and walked away. Mostly, they would follow again.

This time Montaigne did not follow, but, when Gabrielle turned away, dipped his muzzle to her neck. Gabrielle scrunched up her shoulders. If there was one thing she could do without, it was the licks. Montaigne's breath, and saliva, gave a fair hint to the vile reactions going on in his gut. Abraxans had to extract every calorie of energy from their food, storing it in oil-rich tissues. They stank like a muggle petrol station.

Gabrielle batted at Montaigne's head, a symbolic gesture as she could no more move it than pull the animal with the reins. She felt the dreaded tongue between her shoulder blades; another visit to the laundry elves would be needed. The flying horse's great lips tugged at her robes. "Stop that Montaigne," complained Gabrielle. Montaigne pushed her hard, and something a lot stronger closed on her robes. "Montaigne! No!" One should never, came a late second thought, suggest that one could be eaten. The beast jerked its head up. Gabrielle was tossed upward, arms flailing, and landed with a loud clang because of the metal boots. She was certain she had screamed. Surely Professor Elevagre would have heard. Unless, worried Gabrielle, he and the headmistress were out in the rear yard already. They would never hear her through the thick walls. Montaigne, happy with his grip, easily raised his head, lifting a protesting Gabrielle into the air.

Gabrielle gave up and hung limply, dangling from the animal's mouth about two meters in the air. She gave up struggling, not being unhappy. "This is not very, eh, nice, you know. It is not funny either." Montaigne made his way along the stalls as if showing off his prize. "Eh, Professor Elevagre will be angry," she warned. The massive horse, folding in his wings, headed for the tack room. "No. To the yard! You will not fit!"

He did not fit, and had to lower his neck to barely poke his head in. As Gabrielle had feared, the professor and headmistress were already waiting outside. Part of Gabrielle was glad, though. This was not a very dignified position. Madame Maxime would not be impressed, Professor Elevagre would get into trouble, and her extra credit and the Outstanding would be gone. This was also, Gabrielle realized, a tactical mistake by Montaigne. She grabbed the edge of the doorway. "Ha! Now you will let go," she declared. And when he does, planned Gabrielle, she would get to the handbag, and her wand. Magic would not, mostly, affect the winged horse any more than it would affect Impudanae. At least magic -she- could do, but this was no time to worry about Tibault Granencole. Magic could affect things around the creature though. She would... transfigure a wooden box into something kettle-ish and throw it at Montaigne. Using her real wand, Gabrielle expected she might even manage a spout that actually stuck out. It would at least surprise him, and make her feel less trod upon.

That assumed that Gabrielle would win the contest between elephantine horse, robes, and her grip on the woodwork. She did not, because Montaigne cheated and did not just pull but also jerked her up and down. Gabrielle went back to hanging unhappily from his muzzle. She could feel his slobber soaking her robes and running down her back. There will be consequences for this stupidity, vowed Gabrielle. She would, would... do something. That something would not include a Bogey Blaster, though.

Montaigne ambled back along the stalls past the other Abraxans. Gabrielle rather suspected the head bobbing and low nickering was their way of laughing at her. Her captor was now headed for the rear yard, where the headmistress and her professor were probably deciding on whether to try and recover her bones or not. This situation was, suspected Gabrielle, likely to cause a scene. Since she was not hurt, yet, and there had been no damage, yet, Gabrielle held out hope that Maman would not be informed.

Thinking of the situation like that had given Gabrielle an idea. She realized that she had been asked to calm the Abraxans, put a bridle on Montaigne, and lead him out. Technically, she was about to accomplish those tasks. While it was more traditional to be walking, she was, in fact, in front of Montaigne, and therefore was leading him. Just because her robes were riding up did not mean that she was not in control. Gabrielle decided that if she tried to act like this was a new, but otherwise quite normal technique, there would be less commotion. She reached behind her back to find the reins. Holding the leather as if a more well-behaved horse was being led, Gabrielle put on her best smile just as girl and beast passed through the towering, open doors to the yard. Madame Maxine was tucking a parcel into the sulky and looked up in alarm. Professor Elevagre jumped up quickly, then more slowly, because of the bandages on his wounds, drew his wand. "Eh, here is Montaigne, sir. And madame," said Gabrielle, trying to seem proud of his new trick. Slobber soaked the back of her robes, and tickled as it ran down. She could feel the huge animal tense up. Gabrielle suspected that Professor Elevagre was not as patient as she was, and knew a lot more spells.

Madame Maxime came around the sulky in a rush. "Oh good grief, child! What are you doing? Come down immediately." The Abraxan sidled nervously away from the tall witch. He seemed a normal horse next to her. Except with wings, which he flared out.

"Wait, Headmistress, please. Let's get him into the tethers first," suggested the Natural Arts professor. "Mademoiselle Delacour, if you would?"

"Oh, eh, yes. Of course," answered Gabrielle, although she was not very sure how she was to actually have Montaigne do anything that he had not planned on doing anyway. Still, thought Gabrielle, she had to try. "Eh, Montaigne?" The flying horse responded with a head shake that set her swinging. Was that a rip she heard? "You will pull the, eh, sulky... which is over there," gestured Gabrielle. She gave the reins a pull in the general direction. Montaigne was definitely agitated, and was breathing more rapidly - into her hair. She would probably have to wash it twice.

It was difficult to steer the reluctant Montaigne to the front of the sulky. He kept circling it, which Gabrielle found frustrating. After all, thought Gabrielle, it was not as if he had never seen it before. Perhaps he expected to get in trouble once he put her down. It was frustrating, and, because Madame Maxime kept staring at her, very embarrassing. It was hard to keep smiling confidently while turning red. Thankfully, the professor was there to shift the small carriage with his wand. Horses do not like to walk backwards; Abraxans just will not move backwards.

Once the sulky was harnessed to Montaigne, he started to calm a little. It seemed to Gabrielle, though, that the creature intended to take her with him. The idea was appealing - if she were in the sulky. As it was right now, Gabrielle could not see how he would be able to breathe well enough to fly. He would have to open his mouth, and she would fall. Two meters was a sprain; two hundred meters was very near death. She sighed and, turning her head away from where the headmistress might hear, began to plead with Montaigne in a whisper to let her down. Gently.