Chapter Fourteen - Look Good, See Good

Gabrielle looked at Nona in surprise. Not so much surprise that the old woman was in the tent; Gabrielle suspected that Nona had been in before. The overflow of garlic was evidence of that. The braided bulbs had been moved to the de-Abraxan-ation chamber, an unused suite several doors away where Gabrielle would leave the metal galoshes and whatever clothing needed airing, or, if Soleil had been very affectionate, drying. The surprise was that she had not heard Nona's approach. The animal heads overlooking the common room were usually very noisy. Even at night there would be grunts and growls as Gabrielle went past, or snapping if she got close.

"Ejani," commanded Nona, before she paused. The old witch then tried a smile before continuing in a much softer tone, "Unë dua një nder nga ju, fëmijë. [1]" She held out a hand. The hairs prickled on the back of Gabrielle's neck.

"Eh, what is it?" asked Gabrielle. She did not get up. Nona had never needed her after the evening meal was finished. It could not be chores, otherwise the ladle would be used.

"Të ndihmuar një grua e vjetër, [2]" said Nona. The message was cryptic. The tone was half request, half command. She beckoned Gabrielle. Where, wondered Gabrielle, was the ladle?

"I need to dress," said Gabrielle, acquiescing. What else could she do? She waited a pointed moment, then sighed when it was obvious that Nona had no intention of giving her privacy. Gabrielle recalled her earlier suspicions. "I, eh, have to stay with the Professor's expedition. You know this." The pronouncement had no effect on the old woman, so Gabrielle finished getting ready to leave, which included wearing the necklace of ribbon which held her real wand. Since the last of Maman's skirts was several suites away, Gabrielle pulled on her denims, which fit more snugly than she remembered. Into a pocket went the knife from Gaston, just in case. There was no room for Poisseux, so Gabrielle decided to leave both pets behind. They had had a trying day.

Nona led the way back to the little cottage. From the other side of the clearing came the sounds of laughter and hooting, though Gabrielle could not see past the other tents. She would have to count Soleil's bottles again!

Inside the single room of the tiny home was the old woman who had been there in the afternoon. She slowly got to her feet when Gabrielle and Nona entered. With her was another woman, who was much younger. She remained seated, in an armchair that Gabrielle recognized as coming from the common room of her tent. Nona, realized Gabrielle, could be very quiet also. The sight of the chairs the two women used, in Nona's cottage, was a cause for concern for Gabrielle. There was probably a jinx on them, or worse, a deposit, and Gabrielle decided that she was not going to bear the consequences for their loss. However, she could hardly say anything now; the old woman was finished greeting Nona and was speaking to her. Gabrielle smiled politely at her, not understanding a word. The old woman smoothed Gabrielle's hair once. It was a gesture only the elderly could get away with. At least she had not been patted like a dog.

Nona motioned the old woman and Gabrielle to the table, before busying herself with a wooden chest in a corner. The borrowed chairs meant Gabrielle sat in one of the home's wooden chairs instead of on a barrel. It was not that much more comfortable. The table was now covered in a dark blue tablecloth, much finer than the rest of the decor. The younger woman looked at Gabrielle and asked, "Ju nuk flasin shqip? [3]" Gabrielle tried to look as if she had not heard. She was tired of smiling blankly. "(You speak English?)" tried the younger woman.

"(Eh, yes. I speak English,)" replied Gabrielle.

"(I am Kaltrina Krasniqi. This is my mother,)" said the younger of the two, nodding to the other.

"(I am pleased to meet you,)" said Gabrielle out of polite habit. "(My name is Gabrielle Delacour.)"

"(You are student of the Nona, but you do not speak Albanian?)"

"(Eh, what? No. I, eh, am a student, yes, but I only help Nona wizz ze chores,)" explained Gabrielle.

"(My mother, she believes, still, in witches. She believes in the Nona. Tell me, child, what does it cost?)"

"(Eh, cost?)" repeated Gabrielle. The thought of Nona preying on gullible or Confunded muggles had occurred to her before.

Kaltrina smiled thinly. "(The future is very expensive. There have been others -)"

"(I only -See- ze past,)" said Gabrielle quickly. She was not going to be blamed for something Nona had done. A second thought considered the phrase 'the Nona'.

Kaltrina said nothing for a moment. Behind her, Nona was setting out candles. "(My mother... You showed the Nazis killing her brother. How can this be? My mother has little enough, and now for spirits?)"

"(Eh...)" Gabrielle struggled to understand. Nona's customers were her business, she thought, why not ask the old witch directly?

"(You do not know? You are not the miracle medium? It is a trick.)"

"(I, eh, I... will make ze tea,)" announced Gabrielle. She stood up. After making the tea, she would run. Hiding with Soleil was useless; he was afraid of Nona. The tent was also not safe. But Nona was old, and Gabrielle was used to moving in heavy iron footwear.

Thwock! "Ju jeni të ulur, fëmijë, dhe të bëjnë veten të qetë. [4]" It was Nona, suspiciously ladle-free. The room had darkened noticeably as the lantern light was replaced by candlelight. The fire in the hearth was just glowing coals.

"That is so annoying," groused Gabrielle in what might as well have been her own private language. She sat back down; tea was not needed. Madame Krasniqi smiled at her once again and held out her bony, wrinkled hand. A different hand than she had in the afternoon. Gabrielle hoped she had not been hurt.

"(You are to hold her hand,)" prompted Kaltrina. "(Then the theatre can begin.)"

"(I know zat!)" huffed Gabrielle. She gently clasped the old woman's hand, wary of the metric ton.

"(And mine.)"

Gabrielle swallowed any reply. What was the point of arguing? Nona sat down opposite to Gabrielle, and slid a rather nicer crystal ball to the center of the table. The clear globe sat on a gold metal base, cast to look like cherubic angels holding it with their wings. Or fat fairies; the sculpting was not that good. The distraction gave Gabrielle a chance to try and become invisible without anyone interrupting by asking her if she felt all right. When the accusations flew later, they would, perhaps, not notice her.

Nona began a soft chant, and Gabrielle joined in before realizing it was a different one than what she had learned. That was the opposite of being invisible, and Gabrielle felt herself redden when the mother and daughter turned to look at her. Nona kept up the rhythm, though, and Gabrielle was able to echo her after several repetitions. With the fire damped, the room felt cold. Madame Krasniqi stared eagerly at the crystal ball; her daughter kept an eye on Nona. Gabrielle wondered how she would know when Nona wanted her attention. She was not holding the crone's hand, and Nona was too far away to nudge her. It would probably be the ladle. Gabrielle felt a shiver run through her. Was Nona doing that?

The crystal ball seemed to fill with a mist, and gleamed dully, as if moonlight was coming from inside. Gabrielle stared at it, and wondered what Kaltrina thought of it. She shuddered again. No one else, noticed Gabrielle, was so affected by the cold, not even the ancient Madame Krasniqi. This was magic, decided Gabrielle, or she was coming down with the Grippe. Was this the signal from Nona? If it was, then it was too much. She could not feel her hands, and it felt like there was a yeti behind her, breathing an icy chill down her neck. Gabrielle raised her head to look, well, to glare at Nona, and found herself speaking...

"[Trina. Mother. Is my work never done?]" asked Gabrielle in perfect Albanian.

"[Of course, Armend - had you the sense to do it right the first time,]" replied Madame Krasniqi. Kaltrina looked on skeptically.

"[I doubt that I will be able to set it right now,]" said Gabrielle cheerfully.

"[What did you learn on your wedding night?]" blurted Kaltrina.

Gabrielle sent her a withering glare, then turned to face the elder Krasniqi sternly. "[I learned that Shpend Duka was a damned liar and the rest is not your business at all, girl.]" And they wonder, thought Gabrielle, why I drink. A pipeful would help too. Mother could never tolerate the smoke for long. "[I won't ask why you know to ask.]" A small thought in the back of her mind struggled to understand. What?

The old woman raised her chin. "[Kaltrina has three children of her own. Have you forgotten? She is no blushing bride.]"

"[Be it made as that,]" shrugged Gabrielle.

Kaltrina's mouth opened in surprise. "[Da would say that!]"

"[I still say it,]" snapped Gabrielle, still feeling aggrieved.

"[Never could get it right. The Swiss account, Armend. What of the Swiss account?]" queried Madame Krasniqi.

Gabrielle's face shuttered. "[Swiss account? What -]"

"[Did you forget I could read as well as clean? Armend, the Sigurimi are gone. You are beyond their reach anyway,]" soothed Madame Krasniqi before pausing. "[You -are- safe from them, yes?]" she asked with concern.

"[You bring nothing here but what you have done.]" The words made Gabrielle feel heavier, but she could tug at the hand held by Kaltrina. The woman's grip tightened at Nona's nudge. "[Just the money, Edona?]"

"[The grandchildren, they wish to study in America. This will be the reason for what you did. What is the account number?]" asked Madame Krasniqi.

"[I doubt I can recall it,]" said Gabrielle sadly. She could use a drink, if only out of habit. It was not the money, not the graft, but who had borne the cost.

"[The dead can remember everything, even that which they wish to forget.]" Nona's voice was low, but sharp. The words made the feeling of heaviness come back, but also distracted the younger woman. Gabrielle twisted her hand free.

As she recited a series of numbers, Gabrielle's freed hand felt for her pipe. It was always in her jacket pocket, but, strangely, she did not seem to have either pocket or jacket. This was not her office, so there was no point in checking for the bottle. I know, came an innocent thought, where there is whiskey. She preferred vodka, but that would do if there was enough of it.

Kaltrina jotted the numbers down, now that she had a hand to use. Gabrielle decided to follow the thought in her head that promised an alcoholic embrace. She stood up as suddenly as she could manage with the weight of her guilt dragging at her, and pulled herself loose. Gabrielle turned, and fell.

Great, thought Gabrielle, when finally free of the overbearing presence, I can not move. She was stiff from the cold and had trouble working out where her feet were. The desperate thoughts urging her to run, while entirely agreeable and correct, might as well have been demanding that she fly. A slow crawl, at least away from the table if not towards the door, was what she could manage.

Too slow. "Koha për të pushuar, fëmijë, [5]" said Nona. Gabrielle was lifted up by the old witch's wiry arms, then settled into the rocking chair. The woolen blanket was draped over her. Gabrielle still wanted to run, to escape, but decided that she could wait until the warmth of the blanket gave her back some speed.

v - v - v - v - v

"Zgjohu , fëmijë. [6]" The clear voice came from the white squirrel that scampered after Gabrielle. Which was scary, since she was soaring on a golden broom high above the ground below. Gabrielle turned to look back at the squirrel and saw the creature's huge dark eyes. It startled her, and she fell. The fence, posts topped with sharpened finials, rushed up toward her.

Gabrielle jerked awake, stretched, and opened her eyes. She was not in her tent; she was still in Nona's chair. The owner of the cottage was cracking eggs into the cauldron, and actually humming to herself. A large pile of potatoes sat on the table, next to a pile of onions nearly as high. Gabrielle sighed, slid from the rocking chair, and shuffled sullenly over to the table. This was the worst summer ever, thought Gabrielle morosely. She moved to pick up the sharp, heavy knife -

Nona's wrinkled hand pinned the blade to the table. The other hand held Gabrielle's collar and pulled her up out of the chair. "I am sorry!" blurted Gabrielle, mostly because these situations usually called for such. Nona led her around to the other wooden chair on the opposite side of the table.

"Të jetë ende, [7]" said Nona firmly. The old witch moved back around the table to sit. She began to cut the potatoes into small cubes. Gabrielle watched warily. She did notice that Nona seemed able to dice a potato with a single knife motion. Which, thought Gabrielle, would be a cool skill to learn provided no one knew about it, because if others did know of it, then she would have to use it. A lot. Gabrielle decided that she would rather learn how to charm a knife. Properly. Not like the first time. At all.

After cutting several of the tubers and scraping the pieces into a bowl, Nona reached down and set her regular, less ornate crystal ball onto the table. She then slid it purposefully to Gabrielle. "Ku është se tradhtoj Anthony? [8]"

The oft-uttered declaration, that she did not understand, almost came from Gabrielle's lips. This time, however, a quicker thought stopped her. And, probably, the ladle as well. Nona's question was about Anthony, and she had been given the crystal ball. It was obvious what she was expected to do. It was also obvious that the old witch would not help, since she had gone back to cutting vegetables. That, Gabrielle could see, led to the obvious conclusion: she would fail and get whacked in the head with the ladle. "Eh, I will, eh, wash first, and see to Soleil," declared Gabrielle. That was not, she judged, an unreasonable excuse. Gabrielle stood up.

Thwock. Gabrielle sat back down. This could be, thought Gabrielle, the worst day of the worst summer, because she remembered that Stanislaw would come for her too. She stared at the transparent globe. At Beauxbatons, Gabrielle had always looked forward to the chance to use Madame Sombrevoir's magnificent ball in class. There never seemed to be enough opportunities. Here in the spare, little cottage, in only a few days, she was tired of even the sight of the orb. A second thought advised that appearing to try might help prevent excessive ladling. Which, to Gabrielle, meant chanting softly, quietly staring, and trying to be invisible. A real effort would require something of Anthony's, like an article of clothing. Gabrielle tried to remember if she had noticed any, eh, aroma from him.

The chanting did seem to satisfy Nona, and she continued cutting the potatoes. Gabrielle found that her hands were feeling restless, itchy. She sat on them at first, to keep them still. It had not helped. Then Gabrielle realized why her hands felt at loose ends: they were loose ends. She had become used to holding another's hand when Nona was using the crystal. That was not going to happen this time, unless she wanted to risk getting her fingers diced. She would have to hold her own hands, which took a bit of experimenting to find a posture that felt right.

Eventually, the tedious efforts produced a hazy fog in the glass, which resolved into a fuzzy image of a field, looking down long rows of mounded dirt. A muggle vehicle, belching black smoke, slowly made its way toward Gabrielle's point of view. The mechanical thing was dragging metal blades through the earth as it moved, scooping up -

Thwock! The crystal cleared and Gabrielle rubbed her head; invisibility continued to elude her. That was not fair. There had been an image! Yes, thought Gabrielle, it might have been the potatoes, or the onions, but it was also possible that Anthony could have been inside the muggle tractor. Anyway, she was grounded in the sensory humours - if she were to See Anthony, then she would need a guidepost to the Hidden Realm. "Përsëri, [9]" commanded Nona. Gabrielle frowned. The old hag did not understand the problem.

The next hour was like a nightmare. Visions of farms, fields, and caged chickens were rejected by the ladle. It reached a low when Nona began cooking sausage, and Gabrielle watched the pig make its bloody way to breakfast. That too was rejected, and Gabrielle was so angry and frustrated by then that she was crying. Her head hurt as well, either from the prolonged concentration or the ladle. There was no sympathy for her though, not in the horrid little cottage in miserable Albania, not from her awful taskmaster. Gabrielle could not even see what the crystal ball showed next through the tears, and did not care. The ladle rang out its judgement.

The end finally came with a dim image of a tall blond man being ignored by a very pretty woman with long, curly black hair. It seemed to be Anthony. Gabrielle could not see his face, but the awkward way he moved as he trailed after the young woman was a clue. Of course, the lack of a blow from the dreaded kitchen utensil was a bigger clue. Gabrielle could not hold onto the vision long, and it faded very quickly. She risked a glance at her evil tormentor. Nona was coming back to the table. Gabrielle suspected that she was probably wanting to know why the ladle had stopped before Gabrielle had been rendered unconscious. Instead, Nona swept up the glass and set it aside. Then she drew out a medallion of some sort on a thin chain, and held it out. Gabrielle bent her head forward. As the medallion spun, Gabrielle could see that it was very ugly. It was a flat, roundish coin of dark brown, corroded-looking metal, with nothing decorating either side except for the pitting of decay. The disk looked a lot like it had spent its time on the floor of an Abraxan stall. Nona placed it around her neck. "Sempre."

That was Italian, not Albanian, and close enough to Latin that Gabrielle understood. At least, she understood the words, if not the intention. There was no need to argue though, when escape was so close. Gabrielle nodded, and started to move to the door. When no move was made to stop her, she hurried for freedom, only a little unsteadily. A hot shower, especially after the pig, would be wonderful. First, though, would be Soleil.

v - v - v - v - v

"This map's ruddy useless!"

"No, it isn't, Ron, if you are paying attention," argued Hermione. She stretched out her legs, digging her toes into the sand. The small waves hissed ashore. A large, conspicuous, yet unnoticed gap in the sunning crowd encircled the blanket.

"Me? The bloody map should! What good is it if it don't show you where you are?" asked Ron with a flap of the offending item.

"Muggle maps don't do that, and put your wand away. You'll burn a hole in another one," warned Hermione.

"Why can't we have a proper map?"

"We wanted one with roads that actually exist marked on it."

"Well this don't look like the Ardennes," noted Ron with furrowed brow.

"It's the Mediterranean, you thick troll!" burst Ginny. "The Coast O'Sure!"

"Oh, leave it be, Ginny," said Harry. The warm sun and sand was making him very relaxed.

"Hmmph!" Ginny dropped into the sand next to him, and laid her head on Harry's stomach with decidedly more force than necessary. "I'm getting sand in my knickers."

"Uhff." That would explain a lot, thought Harry. He could not say that, though, nor offer to help. The Tower of the Mind. "So, George, erm, where do we go from here?" asked Harry.

"Do you know, I thought we were heading for the Ardennes too?"

"What?!"

"Bloody hell! Let me burn it."

"Ron!"

"Only kidding," said George. "We've got a couple of options. We could find a fishing boat to take us around Italy, for instance. Might take a week. Or we could fly."

"Any of those nuddy beaches around?" asked Ron hopefully.

"What? Ginny! You didn't, did you?" demanded Hermione.

"Why can't we just drive?" suggested Harry. It was expensive, but it was easy to hide among the muggles.

"Ministry types are the same everywhere; very touchy about the edges of things," shrugged George. "There's a lot of boundaries to cross. The unusual provenance of our trusty steed might be a problem too."

"You mean the fact that it's stolen?" asked Ginny.

"It's borrowed, sweet sister, at least until the aurors find out. Anyway, I'll get it back to... Hmm. Well, it'll be left nearby. Besides, there's mountains to cross and the ol' 2CV might not be up to it." George produced a small metal beetle-shape from a pocket, and examined what was beneath a wing.

"We should fly," declared Hermione.

"Be there in two days if we did," commented George.

"Really? You'll be all right up there?" asked Harry.

"Up," snickered Ginny.

"Yes. Ron and I have been training hard and - " began Hermione.

"Hard training," snorted Ginny.

" - and a long flight won't - "

"Long, hard training!" guffawed Ginny. "Long - and - hard, I'm -"

"Levicorpus!" snapped Hermione.

"Hey!" gasped Ginny, hanging upside down.

"Er, the muggles..."

"Libracorpus," said Hermione, dropping Ginny into the surf with a sweep of her wand.

Ginny staggered upright, started forward, and lost her footing when a wave caught her from behind. She got back up red in the face. This, thought Harry, will end badly, especially since he could see the youngest Weasley's wand was already out. "We should get back to the car," he urged.

"Give us another moment, will you?" said George, looking at the faux insect again.

"Wait, Ginny! I'm sorry! Ugh -no! get off, you're soaking wet!"

"Am I now? Who's bloody fault is that?"

"What is that, George?" inquired Harry, ignoring tussle behind him.

"Ow! That hurt, Ginny. I said I was - What are you doing? Ron! Help me!"

"It's a twit-o-meter. Goes off whenever a champion twit is - Oh, hello there, Fred," nodded George. "Thought it was you. And Verity! You're looking very pink very all over."

"Cheers, mate. Mine went off scale when we started in this direction," greeted Fred. "Surprised it didn't explode," he added looking past Harry and his brother.

"Aargh! If you want help, then stop kicking!" complained Ron.

"Where do you keep it?" asked Harry. The very continental swimsuit Fred wore looked two sizes too small. He tried not to look at Verity, because Ginny would probably kill him. She was pink from too much sun, in a lot of places that normally only hear about the sun from distant relations.

"Ron - what are you doing? Get your hand out!"

"I'm trying to get the sand out!"

"Cor, do they ever stop?" asked Fred.

"Only when it's time to eat. I can tell you've been here a while," said George, tilting his head toward Verity.

"Yeah, we got here in the morning -"

"To see the nereids!" injected Verity brightly.

"Yeah, the nereids. Been getting a bit of sun, having a kip," continued Fred.

"Long night then, eh? Eh?" winked George.

"Sun is good for vitamin D," declared Verity. "That's good for his energy."

"Well now, this vitamin D. Is it red? 'Cuz you look about full up," said George.

"I thought vitamin D was for bones," commented Harry.

"I'm sure more energy and more bone are exactly what Fred has been needing," smirked George. Fred gave him a rude gesture, which made Verity gasp and pull his arm down.

Ginny came and sat next to Harry. Sand clung to her wet skin and clothes in a fine layer. "I hate the beach."

"I hate the sand," added Hermione, flapping the leg of her slacks so the that the grit tumbled out.

"Sorry about that," apologized Ginny in a mutter. She suddenly noticed that she was level with Fred's undersized beach attire. "Fer Merlin's sake, are you trying to burn my eyes too?" Ginny held a hand up to shield her face.

"You like? Verity picked it out for me," explained Fred, striking a pose.

"Might've tried it on for size before leaving the shop..."

"Am I right that you picked out hers, then?" asked Hermione.

"It's French!" gushed Verity. The blond twisted back and forth, as if there was not even less suit in the back.

"When do you go back and get the rest?" asked Ginny. "I can see your whole bum!"

"You're burned to a crisp, Verity. You really should get out of the sun," advised Hermione. "Especially considering where you are burned."

"I like it," decided Ron. "Where did you get it from?"

"It wouldn't fit you. The top would be all saggy," noted George.

"If we're going to be at the seaside, then, then we should dress for it, right?" asked Ron. "Blend in, you see."

"Yeah, absolutely. Ron's right," agreed Harry. Ginny would look fantastic in that bikini, thought Harry. She might need help with lotion too. "I'm sure there's a shop nearby..."

"It's a healthy glow," asserted Verity, poking at the skin on her arm.

"A few hours ago it was a healthy glow. Now it's closer to crusty blister," warned Hermione.

"Sit down, Harry. We don't need suits," said Ginny. "And wipe that drool."

"So there -is- a nuddy beach around here!"

"Shut up, Ron."

"Squidgums, what do you think?" asked Verity to Fred.

"Let's have a look," said Fred with concern. He hooked a finger into her bottoms and pulled them open, drawing an indignant gasp in a feminine pitch. "Ooh, might have left it a bit long."

"Squidgums?" whispered Ron.

"But we have the flat for two more days!" moaned Verity. "I don't want to sit inside for the rest of the time here!" She turned a glare on Fred. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I did suggest that we go back to the flat," replied Fred calmly. "You told me to bugger off."

"That's because I thought you just wanted to - um... You should have told me it was for my skin!" berated Verity. "And I never say bugger!"

"Yes, dear. Never, except for just then and earlier," agreed Fred with a facetious grin. "What's wrong with a nice um before tea?"

"Well, nothing, I suppose, especially if you - We can't even do that now with me like this! Our hon- er - is ruined now because of you!" raged the blond.

"Because of me?" mocked Fred. "Who's idea of fun is - "

"You're doing it wrong, Squidgums," interrupted George. Fred whirled to face him, but George was already winking. They studied each other for a moment.

"We're not that far from Chamoix," said a suddenly cheerful Fred. "I can pop over to the apothecary there and get something to fix you right up, and a nice herbal soak for the tub. All right?"

"Oh. Well, yes, all right," replied Verity somewhat sheepishly. "Can... can you look for French herbs?"

"Of course. It'll full of de la's and du's. Now get your cover-up, and see about getting a hat. A, ha, French hat," smiled Fred earnestly.

"Her cauldron's short one leg," opined Ron, watching Verity move off. "Barkin' mad."

"What are you two planning?" asked Hermione in a warning tone. She was not as fascinated by the sight of Verity's pink wobbly bits walking away, and saw the twins conferring. Innocent smiles were all she got back.

"You'd have to be barmy to even imagine marrying either of these delinquents," said Ginny.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle reminded Soleil, again, that his exercise time was up. The big colt was not tired, of course, but the others would remain hidden indoors, if they were at the camp, until Soleil was once again secured in his stall. Part of the reason for this was the incident when the Abraxan first arrived with Professor Elevagre. A larger part was that flying around in circles was very boring; Gabrielle encouraged the animal to swoop and dive, which was much more fun. She was always amazed at how suddenly the huge beast could pull out of a plummet with just a single stretch of his wings. The flights were very disruptive to the camp's activities, though no one had ever requested that they stop.

Gabrielle wondered if that was because they thought that she was barely in control of the Abraxan. She was tied to Soleil by the tether and harness, which she now wore backwards so that she could get out of it by herself, though it was even less comfortable that way, and she did not use the reins. Gabrielle did not bother with the saddle for such short flights either. That might, she realized, give the unobservant onlooker the impression that she was only along for the ride. While it looked like Gabrielle was clinging to the mane for dear life and flailing her arm, she was, yes, using the mane to stay on Soleil's back, but was also pointing out the direction he should take. It only looked like flailing because of the very dynamic flight path.

There was a trick Gabrielle used when Soleil was being stubborn about landing. She simply stood up on the Abraxan's wide back. Most times he would immediately level out his flight and lose altitude; he was such a worrier. If he still did not notice, Gabrielle would put a hand on his halter and dangle way out standing on his withers. That would get Soleil on the ground in moments. It was a ridiculous reaction, in Gabrielle's opinion. The colt could see the tether.

The exercise flights were normally taken after Gabrielle had finished helping with the mid-day meal preparations. Gabrielle was very, very relieved that today Nona had no visitors and that the crystal ball stayed hidden. It said a lot about her summer holiday when only dealing with mounds of cabbage was considered an improvement. Once Soleil was back in his stall, and fed, watered, and brushed, brushed, brushed, Gabrielle had a couple of hours to herself. Usually these were spent laying on her stomach on her bed wondering what kinds of fun her friends were having.

Usually. As Gabrielle left the Abraxan's stall, smoothing her hair where Soleil had shown his appreciation by slobbering, she encountered two creatures. One was avian; an owl, clutching several envelopes. The other was malevolent; it was Stanislaw, who led a parade of floating packages. She stopped, half-turned, wondering if the owl would follow her into Soleil's stall, and if she could stop Soleil from eating her post. It might be better to risk a return to Nona's cottage. Everyone gave her as wide a berth as the Abraxan. Except when it was time to eat.

The owl took the initiative, dove for her, and released its burden as it pulled up. The bird landed on Gabrielle's shoulder. The envelopes hit her in the chest, and landed on the ground. She had to bend at the knees to recover them, because if she leaned too far forward the owl would flap its wings and tighten its talons. The smaller envelope was from Philippe. She could tell, besides by looking at the return address, because he used several different colors of ink, and the precise lettering meant that he had used that mechanical printing thing. The second letter made her wobble. No return address, but the handwriting was one she had memorized - it was from George! Or Fred, warned a cautious, but ignored, thought. She stared at the folded parchment in shock. He did write - he does write. Was she forgiven? What did it mean? Her stomach was beginning to hurt. Perhaps George had not recognized her after all during the scrying. It must mean something. More importantly, the owl was waiting for a reply. Interestingly, noted a second thought, was that though it was an International Post owl, it was a French International Post owl. The postmark read Paris. Gabrielle turned toward her tent. Suddenly, the owl gave a loud, indignant screech and flapped off. "No!" cried Gabrielle. "Come back!"

"Fräulein Delacour, if you please."

"Eh, what?" Gabrielle turned back. She had forgotten Stanislaw, and saw now that he was tucking a wand back into his shirt. That action, and the owl's, added up to an outrage. "Did - Why - I - I needed that owl!" howled Gabrielle angrily. "Why did you send it away?" Evil, explained calmer thought. She fumbled for her wand on the ribbon. Knife, recommended a less calm thought.

"Have you forgotten our arrangement?" asked Stanislaw, grunting as he bent to pick up the boxes.

"Arrangement? You said three o'clock!" Gabrielle was forced to hurry, so there was no time for a proper run-up, and no space. She squatted down, then leaped into the air. "Accio owl! Accio owl!"

"Dummkopf! That does not work on -any- owl," said Stanislaw, the tone used questioning the quality of education one gets these days. "We must select your - "

"Compunctio!"

"Merlin's Gallenblase! [10]" gasped Stanislaw, nearly dropping the boxes. Then he did drop the boxes, taking out his wand again. "A curse?"

"I am sorry!" blurted Gabrielle. She meant it too, if not for her moment of temper then for whatever Stanislaw planned to do with his wand.

"Petrificus Totalus," snapped the German. That, thought Gabrielle as she fell flat, was not so bad. How often had Fleur used that on her? Even Fred had been nastier. It was, however, better to fall backwards. She was getting dust in her mouth. Dust that was alarmingly close to Soleil's stall, and what she raked out daily.

"That does not satisfy," mused Stanislaw. "Let us see... I have not used this since school. Formicolum." If she could have, Gabrielle would have squawked in surprise. Everywhere felt like it was getting stung, over and over. It was the feeling of a numb leg waking up, except it was all over, even her ears.

Stanislaw picked up the envelopes Gabrielle had dropped, putting them atop one of the boxes. Then, with a wave of his wand, Gabrielle joined the parade of boxes bobbing in the air. The wizard headed for her tent. The metal overshoes left twin tracks along the ground where her feet dragged.

Once inside, Stanislaw pulled the short wand from Gabrielle's frozen grip, and leaned her into one of the armchairs in the common room. "Finite," cast Stanislaw. Gabrielle collapsed into the chair face-first, free to move again and free of the uncomfortable tingling. When she had gathered herself up, she found Stanislaw with his wand ready. "That was from Durmstrang. As much as Herr Korbel would like to teach such small curses, he did not. A boyfriend attends Durmstrang?"

"No," replied Gabrielle curtly. She had another wand, but it was in her room on the other side of her foe. Without the metal boots, she might be fast enough. Still have the knife, hinted a peeved thought.

Stanislaw picked up the envelopes in turn. "One printed in the muggle fashion, possibly eine Glosse; both from Paris."

"Give me my post!" demanded Gabrielle. She fixed him with her deadliest glare, and held out her hand imperially. "And, eh, my wand."

"The post, yes, of course," said Stanislaw with what Gabrielle decided was a patronizing smile. "The wand is good - here." He laid the blond baton on the arm of the chair he stood by.

"What do you want?"

"Is your mind ein sieb [11]? The relics from history are only valuable if they have a history. If that history comes from your vision, then it is worth more if it does not come from a mere schoolgirl," explained the wizard. "We must make you something more." He chose one of the packages and thrust it at Gabrielle.

Gabrielle stared at the parcel, trying to decide whether to be insulted or not. Stanislaw clearly thought the vision was important, or would be important if it had not come from her. He wants to help? Gabrielle's mind reeled. "Eh, what is it?"

"Good grief, such a dummkopf," sighed Stanislaw. "Think of it as a... costume. Put it on."

Gabrielle decided to acquiesce for three reasons. First, Stanislaw had bettered his offer by placing the envelopes on top of the offered box. Second, with the twisted twig that was her other wand, she could retrieve her real wand. Of course, what to do then was difficult. The little privacy wards she knew clearly did not work - Nona had proved that. The final reason was curiosity. Gabrielle was interested in seeing what was to make her more mature, more mysterious. That kind of knowledge might be very useful. Gabrielle imagined the sort of elegant robes in rich fabrics that her Maman would wear to accompany Papa to Ministry functions.

In her room, Gabrielle regretfully put her post into the handbag, which itself was tucked in between the mattresses. As desperately as she needed to read George's missive, it was more important to keep both safe so that Stanislaw could not use the letters as leverage. She also pulled out the wand with her Grandmere's hair at its core. The darker wand fairly buzzed with excitement as Gabrielle considered some of the nastier curses she had read about. Not that she would dare to try them - a backfired curse could really hurt, and be really hard to explain, something she knew from experience.

Gabrielle opened the box inside her suite's lavatory. That gave her two doors of protection in case Stanislaw was a peeper. Black was the theme of the contents of the box. Black and complicated. To Gabrielle's eye, it looked like the inside of her roommate Lucretia's dressers. There were arm-length lace gloves, a long skirt with a very daring slit up one side, fishnet stockings, a garter belt to hold up the stockings, a short jacket, a shawl, and a lace-up bustier. Everything had its own kind of fabric and style of lace. The only unifying fashion was that it was all black, if one could ignore the different sheens. Perhaps it was more like Lucretia's laundry, thought Gabrielle. Fleur would be appalled. That, though, made the prospect of wearing the clothes just a bit more appealing.

Getting everything on was not easy. Fishnet stockings, thought Gabrielle, are stupid. She had trouble getting them on because her toes kept getting stuck. The lace-up bustier was a disaster. She could not tighten it enough, possibly because she was lacking a bit in the first syllable of the garment. The gloves were too long in the fingers; the skirt too long in the slit. Gabrielle decided that she looked like she was definitely wearing someone else's clothes.

An opinion shared by Stanislaw. "Nein, nein," he said as he circled Gabrielle. "You are pale enough, but you are not, not... you are too much still a girl. Your hair does not match at all." The urge to use a curse came back to Gabrielle as she stood there, pink with embarrassment. "You must try the next one."

Stanislaw turned to choose the next box, and Gabrielle darted forward in her stockinged feet to snatch back her wand. A loose bustier is very useful if a quick hiding spot is needed, unless one plans on bending, and the wizard showed no sign of noticing as he gave Gabrielle the next package. She walked casually back to her room, as if there was no chance that a spell would come her way. She had her eyes closed nearly the whole way, anticipating the shock.

The second box contained, Gabrielle supposed, the stereotypical gypsy costume. Another skirt, ruffled, a linen blouse that was worn off the shoulders, a handkerchief for her head, and a kilo of rings, bracelets, and bangles. No one really dressed this way, thought Gabrielle, except on muggle shows she had seen at the Touliers. At least it was easy to put on, although it took some time to find earrings that did not drag her head forward. She knew it would be rejected also as she stepped from her room.

"It is not bad," commented Stanislaw. "Covering your hair is good." Gabrielle was now fairly certain that there was no Madame Stanislaw. "Put your arms down."

"Eh, I, eh, can not," said Gabrielle. She was afraid this would happen.

"What? Ridiculous. Why not?"

"It won't stay up!" snapped Gabrielle. She glared at the animal heads on the wall, since she would not look at her nemesis.

Stanislaw said nothing though, which was a surprise, but just handed her the third box. He helped tuck it under one of her arms for her. Gabrielle learned that it was not actually possible to die of humiliation, or she would have done so. She had closed the door before she heard him roar with laughter.

The last of Stanislaw's cruel jokes sat on the bed. Gabrielle was tempted to just set it on fire, but decided that possibly burning all the mattresses that made up Fort Delacour would be inconvenient. Where would she sleep? There was Pepi-Z to consider too; he was probably wedged in there somewhere. Gabrielle could see now that she should have packed her school robes, or the robes she had worn to the Halloween dance, into her handbag, and not just the clothes she knew her Maman would clear away if given a chance. Use the vanishing spell, urged a second thought.

The third box contained a simple, shapeless shift, the kind one might wear while convalescing. It was gray, but not completely so. In fact, the gray color was really the result of fine threads of every color woven together. It seemed a lot of effort to duplicate the shade of a badly laundered sheet. The material looked like knobbly wool, but felt filmy and moved oddly, like it was as light as a spider's web. A common, everyday spider's web. The cut of the garment required no cleavage. It fit Gabrielle well enough when she pulled it over her head, though the sleeves were a little long. Except...

Except Gabrielle knew she did not want to wear it. The gray made the shift, and its wearer, seem to fade into the background, and its shapelessness emphasised her own. Her pale blue eyes took on a grayer cast, and her hair, which never had much to say for itself anyway, disappeared against the cloth. Gabrielle looked into the mirror and got the worrying idea that she was becoming nothing. The slow way the shift moved gave it, and her, an insubstantial quality. Ethereal, corrected a second thought. Ghostly, added another. That was probably the desired effect, judged Gabrielle, but it was all just too creepy. While she occasionally wished to be invisible, that was very different than fading away altogether.

Gabrielle pulled the shift back off and stuffed it back into the box, and hurriedly covered it with the lid. It was stupid, but even looking at it worried her. There had to be, reasoned Gabrielle, a curse or jinx on it. Definitely not a charm, which was a thought that made her remember the dress of leaves that Monique had made for her. That was pretty mysterious, or at least the motivation for it was. Gabrielle hoped it would either satisfy Stanislaw or that he had some elastic for the gypsy costume.

Leaves have stems. That was the main problem. They poked Gabrielle on the inside of the dress, making her want to fidget. She would have to wear a camisole beneath it, or people would think she was infested. Because it was from Monique, the hem, well, edge of the dress only reached mid-thigh. It was very roomy in the top too, because it was from Monique. Gabrielle looked in the mirror, and decided that she looked like she was wearing a bush. The style was not so much mystical as horticultural.

"Eh -" Gabrielle slipped back into the common room.

Stanislaw, who was poking at the wyvern head with his wand, turned. "Ah! Eine weisse frau. [12] That is good."

"Oh. Eh, okay. I did not like the - "

"You should make something for your hair, like a crown of leaves or a hat of bark," suggested Stanislaw. "I will stop by again just before three o'clock."

Gabrielle stared at his back, dumbfounded, as he turned and left. How long had she promised to help the rude oaf? Never swear on a wand! At least there was time for her post.

1 Come. I want a favor from you, little one.

2 Help an old woman.

3 Do you speak?

4 Sit down, little one, and behave yourself.

5 Time to rest, little one.

6 Wake, little one.

7 Be still.

8 Where is that fool Anthony?

9 Again,

10 Merlin's gallbladder!

11 a sieve?

12 A white woman.