Chapter Sixteen - A Busy Night

Thirty galleons! Gabrielle arranged the gold in a circle, creating an extravagant corral for her zombie puffskein. Thirty galleons as a finder's fee, and more if she would help in future sales, either with a vision of the past or a smile for the gullible. The second part gave her pause, but Gabrielle figured that the first was where she would be the most help. Anyway, thirty galleons! She had enough for an owl now; she had enough to buy an owl.

Of course, the problem was finding an owl. Gabrielle had thought about this, when not stacking and restacking the galleons. Clearly, stopping by a convenient owlery was out of the question. Someone in camp -must- have an owl, though. Abby would know. Surely, thought Gabrielle, she could borrow a bird for a galleon. Or even two, which would be outrageous everywhere else except in the hinterlands of the magic world.

Whether the expedition would stay in these particular hinterlands for much longer was now slightly in doubt. The preparations for the evening meal had had a hurried feel to them, and fewer dishes had been made. Which was a good thing, thought Gabrielle, as, for some reason, the knife had been more unwieldy than usual or her coordination off. Her fingers were covered in Nona's gross poultices. The cottage had always been very spare, but this night the place had had a very distinct air of being packed up. There was no change in the old crone herself, though. Gabrielle had been thoroughly ladled when Nona had discovered that Gabrielle was not wearing the corroded medallion, and she had been forced to ga and get it. "Sempre," Nona had told her again. In a very emphatic way, the memory of which made Gabrielle rub her head.

Thinking about the necklace and Nona, thinking about the big black cauldron and the crystal ball now hidden away, and thinking about owls and galleons forged a moment of perfect clarity for Gabrielle. It was as if all the secrets of the world had been laid bare, the Hidden Realm unhidden. She was a witch, and witches could make magical ink. The ink from Gringotts was just ready-made and not, decided Gabrielle, required. A Seer, a professional Seer - thirty galleons! - could use any magic ink. All she needed was a cauldron, a recipe, and the ingredients. Then she would be able to scry George again. And as for the owl, thought Gabrielle, well, there were all sorts of Post owls, were there not? That meant that there was no particular kind of owl that was needed from some special breeding farm - eh, aviary. The woods near the clearing where the camp was made were probably full of owls. The birds would likely not be as reliable, but if she used three of four then surely one would get through. That would save her professional galleons.

Being a professional Seer, while very cool, was also a cause for some worry. Gabrielle was pretty sure that one needed a Ministry license to be one; the Ministry had licenses for everything. There might be a test, too. Papa, thought Gabrielle, would know for certain, though it might be better if her new status was kept a secret for a while. After all, the Ministry had taxes for everything as well.

Right now though, concluded Gabrielle, the first order of business was to tear up her desperate apology to George that she had hurriedly written earlier, and write a proper letter. If he was not angry, then she did not have to be sorry. Then she would have to make several copies of the new letter, and find some willing owls.

v - v - v - v - v

"That's not on this map."

"We know, Ron. That is why we are not using that map," said Hermione patiently. With the exception of the aggrieved Verity, everyone was sitting in the small garden outside the flat. Hermione had made sure with numerous spells that the conversations could not carry beyond it. Harry was not fooled by her demeanor though. It was the third time she had said it, and her tone was getting brittle.

"At least it works," claimed Ron. The map folded itself neatly at the tap of his wand. "See?"

"Yes, it makes a smashing party-favor. Unfortunately, it isn't much of a map," said Hermione. She suddenly smiled, eyes devious. "This one... has restaurants marked on it."

"Yeah? Lemme have a look," said Ron.

George flicked his wand at the folded parchment his brother had dropped, sending it flapping to his hand. "It's a little behind, but it's not totally useless."

"A little? It's a century out-of-date," protested Hermione. "Or more."

"Yeah, all right, I'll grant you that," agreed George. "The thing is, Italy hasn't moved much in that century. We'll need it to stay on course out over the water."

"Help me find a restaurant that doesn't serve vegetables," said Ron.

"Why would you want a place that won't serve you?" asked Fred.

"What?" asked Ron, looking up from the muggle map. "What are you bleeding' laughin' about?"

"Nothing," said Harry, making as if he had coughed.

"Speaking of which, how is Pookie doing?" inquired Ginny.

"Ah, she's in one of her funny moods," sighed Fred.

"Don't you mean homicidal?"

"She was just trying to do it up all posh-like, for Harry," explained Fred.

"For me?" asked Harry in surprise.

"Wanted to impress the Boy-Who-Lived, that sort of thing."

"With raw broccoli?" wondered Ginny.

"I am impressed! That door was smashed right through," noted Harry.

"You can award her a commemorative, signed scroll for 'Best Fred-shaped Hole'," suggested George. "Let her know her efforts didn't go unnoticed. Girls like that sort of thing."

"That's bloody rich, you giving advice like that," snorted Fred.

"What this? What this? What are you saying? I'm always -"

"Lucy Warbeck," interrupted Fred. It caught George off-guard, because whatever was going to come out of his mouth did not. "Hah! You don't even bloody remember her."

"'Course I do! She was the one with, uh - um..." started George.

"Long, dark curly hair?" suggested Fred.

"Yeah, that's her. Whatever happened -"

"No. She had short, straight, brown hair, a tenuous grasp on sanity, and she tried to stab you because you had her birthday wrong. Then you told her it might have been another girl's birthday you were thinking of," reported Fred. "When folks want to see someone digging their own grave, they look you up."

"I remember that knife. A stiletto, from Italy as it happens. I still have it," said George, apparently, noticed Harry, untroubled by the incident that gave him the blade.

"You two really know how to pick 'em. Didn't Gigi stab the both of you gits?" reminded Ginny.

"Technically, yes, but it wasn't much of an effort," critiqued Fred.

"Can we get back to Italy?" asked Harry. Only Mad-Eye could take longer to plan things.

"Wouldn't think so," started George. "Haven't been -"

"I meant back to planning," clarified Harry. "It's nearly dark already."

"Are you and your bride - bird - flying with us, Fred?" asked Ginny.

"If that was an attempt to be clever, you might want to try an Engorgio on it," dismissed Fred. "But no. As fascinating as a trip to the backside of Albania is surely likely to be, there's a full moon coming up. So we'll soak up a bit more sun and then head back to that green and pleasant land."

"What are you doing at the full moon?" It had to be something to do with Moony, thought Harry. This would be a way to get a note to his guardian.

"What are you doing in Albania?" retorted Fred.

"Harry's just off to pay a visit to one of his Dad's old chums," explained George. "Might drop off a tin of Vargot's Old Reliable silver tarnish remover for him."

"There's a coincidence. I'll be popping 'round to one of Harry's Dad's old chums myself. Harry's Dad's hairy chum," said Fred.

"It's Moony, right? You're talking about Moony?" asked Harry. "Can you take a message to him from me?"

"Can I look at it?"

"What? No."

"Then rent an owl, mate."

"What?!"

"Go ahead and let him, Harry," said Hermione. "Just let me be the one to seal it."

"Erm, yeah, all right," said Harry. "You can have a go, Fred."

"Oh ho! A challenge. Stakes are a bit thin for my taste, but at least it'll give me something to do on the bloody moors," said Fred.

"But Moony has to be able to read the original," added Harry quickly.

"Whatever are you implying? I am renown for my subtle skill and careful techniques," claimed Fred.

"And explosions," nodded George.

"Can you hold this a moment, Fred?" asked Hermione, holding out a book with a leather cover mottled with mold. "I've got one more, as a hint."

'Don't - " started George, but it was too late. Fred's hand closed on the book and he was gone. George gave Hermione a peeved look. "Have you ever heard the phrase 'bad precedent'? Where to?"

"San Marino, I think," said the girl, nonchalantly checking the map.

"San Marino?! Without Verity and the pieces of her camera? She bloody will kill him!" exploded George.

"Oh, you meant Fred? Just back into the flat," replied Hermione calmly.

"Does this mean we aren't flying?" asked Ron.

"No, we have to fly. Portkeys are a bit like apparition that way; you can only go to a place you know," explained Hermione. "And I, er, can't get them to go very far."

"Then you may want to get a head-start on Fred," advised George.

"Should we be worried about the French Ministry?" wondered Harry. "Portkeys have to be authorized here as well, right?"

"Well, yes, they do, but, er, such a short distance is probably untraceable," said Hermione, her face turning slightly pink.

"Probably?" repeated Ginny. "That's comforting, innit?"

"Hermione," started Harry crossly.

"Leave off her," barked Ron. "She's worked really hard on this. Anyway, she's done it before, no problem. And you were keen on it before."

"Well, yeah. I was thinking it might be handy in an actual emergency," said Harry. "Fred isn't an emergency."

"Might be one now," laughed George after the outside door of the flat slammed open, revealing Fred with his wand at the ready. Hermione disappeared with a bang.

"I'll give this bludger a thump," said George. He headed off toward his twin. Fred was aiming his wand at the dustbins.

Harry's relief was cut short by Ginny, who noted, "The thing about beaters is that they mean to aim the bludger at someone else."

v - v - v - v - v

Severus Snape sat, with a carefully arranged smile, in a private hell, which today was located in the dining room of the humble muggle inn. The Dark Lord, who would flay in an instant the skin from a loyal follower he had known for years, was accepting another helping of topfenknoedel he had wheedled from the doting, elderly muggles. Snape's 'nephew' was quite the charmer, and very good at the banalities required in these circumstances. The former professor knew he was not good at such, that he treated the banal with disdain. Fortunately, nothing much was required of him now as he did not speak the language used by the old muggle and his wife. Neither did the Dark Lord; that he managed a conversation easily was a trick that would be worth learning. Snape simply had to endure the treacly scene before him, smiling enough to show that he somehow approved of the ghastly prattle.

The Dark Lord, noticed Snape, was quite comfortable in his latest vessel, his latest puppet. Certainly his magical abilities appeared to have returned to form. While Azkaban had lost its dementors, Nurmengard had not. At the arrival of the Dark Lord, the infernal creatures had streamed... away. That too was a spell worth learning, thought Snape. Dementors roamed all of Britain now, though it was true that the sheer numbers of muggles diluted the risk greatly.

There were no unusual character eccentricities with the present embodiment either, no hint of the other. Perhaps the boy's youth meant that no strong proclivities had been formed, or perhaps his comatose state was simply continued. The only noticeable inclination was a penchant for double pudding, which would, of course, not be unexpected of a student. It seemed, considered Snape, that the Dark Lord had found a very favorable circumstance, and one that would let his plots move forward. The message, as cryptic as it was heavily warded, sent by owl earlier was evidence of that. The resurgence would mean the return of followers, both eager new and entitled old. That, in turn, would mean, sighed Snape, a return to the tiresome and potentially deadly jostling for favor and position. Would the Dark Lord continue to keep him close as one who knew his secrets, or kill him for the same? The key seemed to be the obsession with a fairytale wand, and how much attention the boy - the Dark Lord - would continue to give it. As always, he had been unreadable after returning from Nurmengard.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle chimed quietly as she approached the Abraxan's stall, an effect of the iron galoshes. She did not need them very often, but, of course, she could not know exactly when she would, so she had to wear them all the time. If she could only See the future...

The sound alerted Soleil to her presence, and he nickered quietly. Or perhaps it was just the smell of the whiskey-soaked oats in the heavy bucket she was lugging. The extra rations were an inducement to get his cooperation, a small snack so he would not be tempted to eat her quarry, and something Gabrielle decided to do since she was fiddling with the bottles as she set her trap. She had noticed that the missing whiskey was always taken, rather unimaginatively, from the back row of the corked, amber bottles. The next bottle in the row now had a little surprise in it. She had mixed in the tins of Poot Powder (EXP) George had sent. If dorm seven was any indication, it would be easy to find the one swiping Soleil's supply.

Gabrielle needed Soleil to look for owls. It was early evening still; any owls would be hunting. But, thought Gabrielle, so would other creatures. That is, if there were other creatures - the howls at night could have come from the mounted animal heads in her tent. In any case, it was unlikely that any beast would approach Soleil, and fewer still that would survive a kick from the Abraxan. If such a creature did approach and did survive, then it would be her and Soleil flying away instead of just her just fleeing on foot. In fact, mused Gabrielle, an Abraxan was possibly indispensable when it came to catching an owl. Besides the protection, there was the luxury of not having to walk to the woods in the first place. Also, she would be perched, ha, up high on his back, which was closer to where owls would be flying. That would make it difficult for the birds to ignore her. Which was good, because the evening meal had been cleared away so fast that she had not managed to set aside any meat scraps. All that Gabrielle had for a lure was a lump of the cheese from her handbag, and that lump was starting to get quite crusty.

Gabrielle set the pail down in front of the winged horse. Soleil bent his neck down to it immediately, so Gabrielle fetched out the halter and reins. She also decided to put on the girth, which she did not normally do when she exercised Soleil, since she did not use the saddle then. The great beast lifted his head when she approached again.

"I have something to do in the forest," explained Gabrielle as she worked the halter onto Soleil. "You can come with me. It will be fun, yes?" A snort emanated from the depths of the pail. "It might be," she argued.

Gabrielle now remembered why she normally eschewed the girth, and therefore the saddle: it was very fussy to get right, and the band had to be right or it would rub Soleil raw when he flew. At least the contents of the bucket kept him still while she made the many adjustments. Once the leather had been pulled tight, or as tight as she could manage, Gabrielle stepped back around to stand in front of the towering Soleil. Since his muzzle was back deep in the feed, she simply stepped over the pail and straddled his head, her arms holding onto his neck. "Eh, up. Up, please," requested Gabrielle.

Soleil obliged, and lifted his head. Gabrielle went from standing on the ground to sliding head-first down to the Abraxan's broad back. This was something that she had come up with on her own, and the maneuver was a lot easier than climbing the stall door and wall to reach his back, because there was no ladder. Gabrielle only used this method while she was inside the stall, because she was pretty sure it was a little ungainly-looking, if not actually comical. At least this time she was not in a skirt, which always required a quick rearrangement.

"I am ready now, Soleil," alerted Gabrielle. Since his head was down, however, her mount was clearly not. She would use a smaller pail next time.

"Gabby! Er -elle, there you are," said Abby as she peered around the edge of the stall's door. Soleil lifted his head high suddenly, and the dark-haired witch's face quickly pulled back. The Abraxan bobbed his head and whinnied.

"Yes, you are very fierce," said Gabrielle rolling her eyes. She leaned out onto Soleil's neck, gripping his mane. "Now let me down so I can, eh, find out what she wanted." As his massive head dipped again, Gabrielle swung out and hung from the animal's neck until she was able to drop down safely. The metal boots clanged loudly on the floor.

Gabrielle found Abby plastered against the side of the stall, her hand tightly gripping her wand. That, thought Gabrielle, was a little ridiculous. And, realistically, somewhat optimistic. Soleil had never really done a thing to Abby. "Really, there is no need for -" Gabrielle stopped, her mouth open.

"Professor Festeller sent me to find you, to bring you down to the crypt. We are ready to open it," said Abby. "He isn't coming out, is he?"

"Eh, what?" asked Gabrielle. "Nona's house is gone!"

"It is? Are you sure?"

"It was right there!" pointed Gabrielle. The grass where the cottage had been was still crushed. Gabrielle's first thought was to wonder when, and where, Nona had gone. Her second thought was more of a worry, and it was, who was going to do the cooking?

"We should inform Professor Festeller," declared Abby, tugging the still shocked Gabrielle away from the Abraxan's stall determinedly. The two witches were nearly running. Abby, thought Gabrielle, must really like Nona's cuisine.

v - v - v - v - v

To Gabrielle's eyes, little had changed inside the fallen tower, other than that the stone sarcophagus had been gouged from the wall, which was really the floor, and set onto the floor, which, of course, was actually the wall of the toppled tower. A large red lens mounted in a wooden frame stood nearby. The glass was as large as a platter. Beyond that, everything was still old, broken, and boring. Professor Festeller stood peering through the lens. Stanislaw stood next to him, gesturing at the glass. The protective footwear Gabrielle wore made the witches' arrival obvious.

"Ah. Mademoiselle Delacour, you are here, yes. We can begin," said the Professor with a clap of his hands.

"Begin?" asked Stanislaw. "What are you saying? There is still this Verkettung to untangle."

"Eh, Professor, sir, Nona's house is gone," reported Gabrielle. She wondered if declaring that she was not going to do the cooking would be prudent or just rude.

"Oh," replied Festeller looking perplexed. He turned to Stanislaw. "You will look, yes, into this?" Gabrielle calculated how much bread her handbag held. Without Nona, there was not only no one to do the cooking, but no Anthony either. No Anthony meant no supplies.

"Ja, ja. But this nonsense of beginning -"

"Mademoiselle Delacour will help, yes, there." Her professor gestured with an arm. "If you would, please, Mlle. Delacour."

"Eh, what?" asked Gabrielle. She had been following her own train of thought. No Nona meant no Anthony, no Anthony meant no supplies, no supplies meant no expedition. No expedition meant she could go home, with thirty galleons, and get an owl.

"What?!" asked Stanislaw more forcefully. "What do you intend?"

"My dear Stanislaw, this is a school, a Beauxbatons, yes, expedition. As such, yes, she will help in the unsealing," explained Festeller.

"You are mad," said Stanislaw. "Ein kompletter Irrer. [1]"

The Professor replied in more German, which led to a discussion that became more animated as it continued. While they argued, Gabrielle looked through the red lens, standing on tip-toe to look through. It was one of the Thurlow lenses, and with it she could see glowing lines that covered the stone coffin. There was a patch of more intense brightness, where several of the lines crossed, right over one of the bronze straps, in the center.

Finally, Professor Festeller said something which clearly upset Stanislaw and which he vehemently denied. At length. When he wound down, he began calling out orders to his cohorts. The wizards arranged themselves near the ends of the tomb, wands out. Stanislaw sighed, and turned to Gabrielle. "Take out your wand," he ordered resignedly.

Gabrielle complied, pulling out her blond wand from where it hung around her neck. It was tangled with Nona's necklace, and Gabrielle did not bother to tuck the corroded-looking pendant away. She looked back at the shuffling noises behind her; the rest of the expedition were taking cover. Ha, she thought, and, under her breath, called out the spell to conjure a small ball of flame. The flames were not the angry yellow of a serious fire, but a cheery blue that was nearly harmless. Unless one dropped them in a field full of dried grass, for instance. Which had been an accident. The sound of gasps and more shuffling made her grin.

"Finite," grunted Stanislaw, and he extinguished the fire she spun with her wand. "And stop that cackling. This is no time to play."

"I do -not- cackle," declared Gabrielle. "What am I to do?"

"Herr Professor," sneered Stanislaw, "believes you, the Goblet's chosen, alone will be enough. I will show you the spell to break the seal. It is, I am reminded, a Beauxbatons expedition."

Break the seal? That - that was the kind of thing curse-breakers did, thought Gabrielle excitedly. Curse-breakers were cool. Bill Weasley was one, and she personally knew him. If she could do the spell, well, she would be a professional Seer and a curse-breaker. Aunt Laurel would just die when she found out, and Maman, knew Gabrielle, would make sure her sister did. Her own sister, thought Gabrielle, would be quite put out as well, because when Le Monde Magique printed the latest exploits of a daring Delacour, it would be Gabrielle and not Fleur that the front page was about. And it would be Gabrielle, properly, and not Gigi, or there would be no more exclusives for them!

A hand passed in front of her face, making Gabrielle startle. "Is it a Seer's trance?" asked Stanislaw. "Is it a vision?"

It was, considered Gabrielle, a vision of a sort, but probably not the sort he meant. More of a daydream, obviously. "Eh, no. I was just, eh -"

"Pay attention. Danger is always possible. And," warned Stanislaw before lowering his voice, "I may have found another piece of the staff. I will need you."

Gabrielle started to calculate the finder's fee she would get for one piece of the staff, but gave up when Stanislaw sighed again. She had been paying attention though. It was not as if the incantation was particularly difficult, nor was the wand movement to break the magical barrier. Gabrielle thought about that. She was not stupid. If that was all there was to curse-breaking, then what was all the fuss about? No, she decided, the problem was working out when to snap the wand up and towards oneself. She put the question to her, possibly, former nemesis.

Stanislaw was surprised by the query. "Very good, Fraulein Delacour! That is something which only years of experience can earn. The spell connects you to the work, and one must use it to feel about with, like a... a-"

"Like you do with the rake before using the diamond inside a lock?" asked Gabrielle. Merde, added a second thought for the reckless confession.

The German wizard began laughing heartily, loudly. Gabrielle was not sure whether he approved or disapproved, but she blushed anyway, since she was sure everyone was looking now. Stanislaw, when he had composed himself, answered, "Yes. It is exactly that. Exactly."

The unsealing attempt was not a particularly impressive thing to see. Gabrielle and two wizards stood about a meter and a half from the metal-bound tomb. Each wizard had another behind him; Stanislaw stood behind Gabrielle and muttered in German. Since he had grunted Festeller several times, she did not worry about it. The wizard on her right raised his hand, then, after a moment, raised it higher. Then he waved it back and forth, which Gabrielle found somewhat odd.

"That is the signal to make the wand ready," said Stanislaw. "When he brings his hand down, you begin the spell."

"You, eh, never said that," said Gabrielle quickly, turning to give him a good glaring.

"It does not matter. The Verkettung, the nexus, is still tangled, as Klaus knows. The seal will not break," said Stanislaw quietly. "This has no point."

Gabrielle faced the tomb, annoyed. It may be pointless to him, thought Gabrielle, but this was her first curse-breaking job. Her future depended on it. She looked to her right and nodded confidently to the wizard. He rolled his eyes and raised his hand again. When he brought his hand down, Gabrielle started the spell,"Rogande!" She felt...

Nothing. Gabrielle waggled the little wand back and forth, and it did not feel like anything had happened. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the wizard on her left tugging at his wand, like it was tied to an invisible string. Like when, remembered Gabrielle, Monsieur Toulier would describe his muggle fishing. Gabrielle guessed, dispiritedly, that she must have done the spell wrong. Or, suggested a second, more optimistic thought, her smaller wand was too far away. Gabrielle took a couple of steps forward, just in case.

"What are you doing?" demanded Stanislaw. Gabrielle ignored him, because she could sort of feel something now as she swept her wand back and forth. Definitely feel something. The sensation was very much like feeling around with a specially bent wire inside of a lock, only much larger. More like the long, thin pieces of metal her friend Philippe would use. The goal, realized Gabrielle, must be one of the glowing lines she had seen through the lens. All she had to do was to catch onto it. Somehow.

To accomplish that took Gabrielle another step closer, and one a little to the side to get a better angle. And to shrug off Stanislaw's hand - she needed to concentrate. Once the tip of her invisible, metaphorical, specially bent wire had found purchase, Gabrielle snapped her wand up. And nearly lost her grip on it as the tip would not lift in the slightest.

A sudden, loud snapping made her look to her left. The wizard there had stretched the copper band at that end to its breaking point and beyond. The broken end flapped loosely above the stone top. The wizard still pulled hard at his thick wand though. A second, similar sound told Gabrielle that the band on the right end was now broken too. She could not do it, she realized. The corroded copper strap in front of her was practically falling apart by itself, and she still could not budge it. Of course, both wizards had arms as thick as her leg, which made it easier for them. But, thought Gabrielle, I move a metric ton. She added her other hand to the one tugging the wand, and pulled harder. A second thought began to worry that the blond wand was stuck for good.

The stone sarcophagus, with its thick lid and banding, had been little more that a large school chest up until this point. A vaguely creepy school chest, Gabrielle could imagine it being Lucretia's, but it was not anything to cause alarm. That changed now that the copper bands at the ends had been ruptured. The edges of the lid, many centimeters thick and roughly smoothed on the surface, rattled against the walls of the lower portion. Wisps of fine dust, or perhaps vapor, cascaded down the sides of the tomb, creating a fog at its base. Stanislaw moved closer to examine the phenomena, calling for Festeller. The wizards to either side of her continued their struggles. Gabrielle, whose arms were strongly protesting their current usage, felt that, if one looked very carefully, one could see a thin line of shadow under one edge of the center band. It was pathetic. There was no way she would get the metal to break. A kick from Soleil would have the rotten metal apart in no time, thought Gabrielle. A kick... The idea caught her attention, because while she did not have an arm as thick as her leg, she had a leg that was. It would, Gabrielle had to admit to herself, be cheating, but if she did it quickly while everyone was interested in the wisps, there was a reasonable chance that no one would be sure what had happened.

Metal over-shoe met metal banding, which was quickly followed by an ordinary shoe meeting the inside of a metal over-shoe. Since the ordinary shoe was full of toes, this was itself followed by a twinge of regret. And pain. But mostly regret, since the green copper had not broken completely. A jagged corner of the strap, torn where the corrosion had eaten nearly through, was bent up and outward. It looked very much like someone had kicked it. To add to the failure, her wand had lost its hold on the magic sealing the sarcophagus. A career in curse-breaking seemed very far away now.

That did not matter, though, for a couple of reasons. First, Gabrielle's quick, guilty glance toward her professor and Stanislaw revealed that the spell-casting wizard on that side had lost his grip on the magic also. Or perhaps he had managed to break through it, though he looked very surprised. Which might have been because of the second reason, and that was that the stone slab that topped the coffin had been thrown into the air, flipping like a knut used to decide who would try a potion first. The eruption destroyed the evidence of Gabrielle's actions completely, which was good, depending, of course, on where hundreds of kilos of rock landed.

"Reducto!" boomed Stanislaw, turning the arcing slab into a slightly less deadly, but more widespread, heavy shower of crushed rock. From behind Gabrielle came the bright tinkle of something expensive shattering, and the general commotion from the rest of the expedition.

Gabrielle did not look, because in front of her, perched on the side of the stone container, having emerged from -inside- the stone the container, was... the vampire. What else could it be? It did not look like it had in her vision, but she was sure it was the vampire. The dark apparition before her was gaunt and shadowy, like it was lacking substance. And the creature, the vampire, was looking right at her, radiating hunger. "Maiden," the figure hissed.

Gabrielle found her herself unable to move, unable to jump aside. Her wand hung limp in her hand. She had not even time to scream when the unholy creature shot forward as if it was riding a Firebolt. Spells from either side of her flashed past the vampire, sailing through where it had been moments before. Gabrielle could see the ashen face and long canines of the vampire as it reached out to grab her.

A burst of brilliant radiance came from Gabrielle's chest, blinding her just as the expected impact came. Not exactly the kind of impact expected, though. It felt as if she had been jabbed with a finger, a finger that belonged, if it were possible, to an Abraxan. The blow hurt quite a lot, and sent Gabrielle flying backward, where she landed among the larger chunks of the stone slab and the needle-like shards of red glass. As the afterglow faded from her sight, Gabrielle tried to catch her breath. She was bleeding now - she could feel it drip along her neck. Laying atop the rubble was extremely uncomfortable, but moving was more so. Something was broken, Gabrielle was sure of that. She could hear Stanislaw shouting. To her horror, as she stared dazedly up at it, the roof above the sarcophagus, which had also been a wall once, collapsed. This provided sufficient motivation such that Gabrielle began an earnest, painful, and slow squirm toward safety. Or at least away from the disaster.

"Oh Merlin! Gabby! Are you alive?" Abby's angular features appeared above Gabrielle and were knitted in concern. "Are - you - alive?"

"Duh," panted Gabrielle since breathing deeply was painful. Did not the fact that she had been trying to flee make that obvious?

"Everyone has to get out," declared Abby. As if, thought Gabrielle, I wanted to stay, or even be here in the first place. "Mobilicorpus!"

Gabrielle screeched as parts of her that should have been rigid shifted against themselves. Her chest felt like it was on fire, and she knew why her arms were not working - her collar bones were broken. And probably something else. Spots were dancing in front of her eyes now. Shock. At least, knew Gabrielle, it would not hurt when she was unconscious.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle woke with her face in the grass and her knees tucked under her. It was a peculiar position, and not a comfortable one. Had Abby, wondered Gabrielle, just dropped her, thinking her dead? She flopped onto her side - an even less comfortable position, so she groaned her way onto her back. Gabrielle could see she was outside; there was dark sky above her through the tree branches.

Healer Fixelos leaned over Gabrielle holding a grayish-white something shaped much like a fat summer squash. "Oh. I was hoping to administer this before you woke," muttered the healer.

"Eh, what is that?" asked Gabrielle. She found that she could breathe better than before, which was very good.

"It's a preventative. I was told there was vampire involved," explained Fixelos with an odd enthusiasm. "Lucky for us there was plenty of garlic laying around."

"I was not, eh, bit," assured Gabrielle.

"You were bleeding from punctures on your back and chest. It is best not to chance it."

Gabrielle moved her hands to her chest. "Where are my clothes?" she asked. The lack of them was an unpleasant surprise. For Merlin's sake, thought Gabrielle, this is the outdoors.

"They were all torn up. Now let's get you turned back over for the preventative."

"Is it a poultice?" The thing was the same color as Nona's gross, saliva-based cures after they had dried. Gabrielle could not imagine anyone modern using the same techniques.

"It's - it's like a pill."

"I can not swallow that!"

"I said it was -like- a pill. You take it internally, but it's not... swallowed," said Healer Fixelos. She wore the smile of someone who hoped the news would not sound as bad as it was. Gabrielle recognized it from her stays in hospital, and the hairs on the back of her neck went up. "You know what a suppository is?"

Gabrielle did. During one stay in a ward, a probably insane witch, being treated for Collasped Colon and Sphygmic Sphincter, all brought on by a nasty Puckering jinx, complained loudly, graphically, and at length about her treatment, no matter how convincingly Gabrielle pretended to be asleep. The experience made it obvious why people would pay extra for a private room. "I wasn't bit. I was -not- bit!"

"Hush," ordered the healer. She brought out her wand, and Gabrielle was arranged again face-down with her knees tucked under, and immobilized for good measure.

"Can you not shrink it with a spell?" cried Gabrielle desperately. Where, she wondered, was her wand? Faced, as it were, with this, she might have a knack for emergency apparition.

"I did shrink it," insisted Fixelos. "It's best that you try to relax." She placed a hand on Gabrielle's backside, and her patient howled.

"Now what has - Merlin im Himmel! Sorry. Sorry."

That was Stanislaw - Gabrielle was sure of it. Mon Dieu - who else could see her? There was nothing for it, though. "Help! Help me!"

"Silencio."

"What is it you are doing to her?" asked Stanislaw, his voice further away and coming from behind a tree. "Can she ride that damned beast yet?"

"She needs rest, and I was about to administer the Vampiric Suppositus," explained Healer Fixelos. Not bit, thought Gabrielle intently, in case she could overpower the minds of others in a crisis.

"I don't believe she was bitten," opined Stanislaw. "We are to leave as soon as we can."

"I am not sure that she was not, Monsieur Sammlermacher. Better safe than sorry," argued the healer.

"I thought it was 'First do no harm.' At least use a spell to shrink dass Wurst."

"I already did!" snapped the healer. "The creature is sealed back up, is it not?"

"No one will go near its stall! She is the one who must deal with - "

"I meant the vampire."

"Yes, but there is no need to tempt fate. Better safe than sorry, as you say. The stall must be disassembled for transport. Now," insisted Stanislaw.

"No need to tempt fate, as you say," replied Healer Fixelos with a grunt of effort. Gabrielle's eyes crossed as the treatment commenced, her mouth framing a soundless scream.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle staggered to Soleil's stall, dressed in her clothes that had been hastily, hastily and poorly, repaired and sagged against the thick wood of the gate. There was nowhere else to go, at least on this side of the camp. Nona's cottage had disappeared earlier, and Gabrielle's tent was gone now too. The thick-handled Dreadnought brooms were being loaded with boxes and bundles in a frenzy of activity. It seemed to Gabrielle that no one had much confidence in the resealing.

Gabrielle's awkward gait had been a true stagger as there was no way she could bring her legs together. Riding the massive colt seemed unimaginable. Gabrielle was very sure that she had not been bitten. The stupid vampire had just crashed into her. Vampires, werewolves - Gabrielle could see why people disliked the undead. Zombies, though, in her experience, were all right.

Soleil's muzzle dipped over the gate and nudged her gently. The affection nearly toppled Gabrielle. A snuffle made Soleil rear up and twist away, neighing in panic. The colt kicked the gate for good measure. The tough wood of the stall withstood the hooves, but shook the gate strongly enough to send Gabrielle to the ground. Recently repaired bones rattled, and Gabrielle lay in the dirt aching. What, she wondered, was the point of it all? Weary tears of misery blurred her vision.

"He can smell the vampire on you," said Stanislaw. He was wearing his hip-waders again, and squeaked a little as he approached. Gabrielle did not bother to answer. Her tent had been packed up. Presumably that meant her things had been packed up as well. She was wearing clothes that Maman would have burned on sight after Healer Fixelos's excesses, but at least they covered her, and their condition matched hers as she lay in the dust. In a metaphorical sense, that is.

"The fault is mine," said Stanislaw quietly. "I should not have left my position." Gabrielle continued her silence as any sympathy at all would be welcome, and this sounded promising. "The seal should not have broken."

"The others should not have pulled so hard," accused Gabrielle. She gave up the quiet pathos to make sure her side of the story was heard.

The wizard said nothing for a while, appearing lost in thought. Gabrielle was beginning to feel a little embarrassed just laying there. Then Stanislaw removed the hat he wore and ordered, "Give me those clothes." He produced one of the white boxes from the hat.

"Eh, what?" Gabrielle rolled to her knees, winced, and gently stood upright with her feet wide apart. She started to dust herself off.

"No! Stop! Stop, please. Change into this; your things are already loaded."

"Change? Eh, where?" The obvious place was the stall, but Soleil was still agitated.

The answer to where came when Gabrielle had removed the awful gray shift from the box. Stanislaw transfigured the cardboard container into a tall privacy screen. "Pass me the clothes you have now before dressing. Do not transfer dust," instructed the wizard.

Gabrielle gave a huff of irritation at the orders. She really, really preferred to do any changing indoors. And, thought Gabrielle, of course Stanislaw would pick the worst of the outfits. He probably blamed her for the vampire disaster in the first place. A second thought suggested that his choice might have been mostly chance, since she had tried the gray horror on last and so it would have been on top of the others. Also, noted this thought, rather cruelly, he was the only one who was minding her in the bustle. A third thought wondered if he had meant -all- of her clothes. He had already seen her before; was - was he trying again? That thought cast a whole new spell on things!

Gabrielle did change out of her ruined clothes, though. With Soleil acting as he was, she did not have much choice. She just kept a firm grip on the privacy screen, at least when she could. Particularly when she was handing over her blouse and denims, in case the pervert tried to pull her protection away. A weird thumping noise delayed the moment when she would have to don the shapeless garment that seemed to mock her as it hung on the screening. She peered carefully around the transfigured box. Stanislaw was swinging his wand to and fro. In response, her clothes, which hung in the air, shook violently, releasing clouds of dust that the wizard swept up into a twisting twirl. The swirling dust funnelled itself into a small glass jar. The denims, thought an annoyed Gabrielle, which might have been repairable, at least to her standards, will surely be finished after this. He does not, noted a second thought, appear interested in peeking.

"Ho ho!" cried Stanislaw suddenly. "Den Hauptgewinn! [2]' He snatched at the dangling blouse.

"What is it?" asked Gabrielle, not able to withstand her curiosity.

Stanislaw turned and held up an invisible something. "Ah, Liebchen, it is hair from the vampire. Two hairs. Very valuable to the right collector." Her clothes collapsed to the ground.

"Eh, what is in the jar?"

"Dust, from the vampire also. Not very pure. If you had not fallen..."

"What do you, eh, do with that?" Falling had not been her fault.

"The dust from a vampire, it is often an ingredient in longevity potions," explained Stanislaw. He folded the hairs into a piece of parchment, tucking the package deep into the depths of the hip-waders.

"I, eh, thought those did not work," said Gabrielle. Professor Pleinbouillois had said that.

"One day, when you are older, fraulein, you may find the attempt worth making," replied the wizard. "Older and wealthier."

"Why would he pay four hundred galleons for the broken staff?" blurted Gabrielle. She had immediately thought of Herr Schnickywicky, or whatever, when he spoke.

Stanislaw laughed. "They have their reasons, Leibchen. Who am I to judge? Some believe that a wizard is born with only so much magic. When they are old, and feel their magic is fading, they hope to draw upon the magic left in things by others. Some simply wish to possess the rare and unusual, like a hair from an infernal creature. Others believe there is only so much magic in the world, and try to free the power from objects in their isolation. The first two are the best customers, the third keeps the market tight."

"I, eh, thought that magic came from the pumping of the wizard's... heart?" Or was it the lungs? Gall bladder? It had not seemed pertinent to potions, so she had not written it down.

"That philosophy does not lead to commerce."

"But would that not -"

"Can you ask your questions while dressing? The brooms are nearly loaded," interrupted Stanislaw.

Gabrielle sighed. She supposed she could not stand in her underwear all night. Especially outside. She would just have to avoid mirrors. The strange gray shift was not hard to put on, which was fortunate, since it was easy to quickly cover herself when the screen was jerked away. "Soleil, no! Stop! Why would you eat that?"

The huge colt ceased munching on the privacy screen, and shook his head, the screen flapping, before continuing to chew. Stanislaw slipped closer to the far side of the stall. Gabrielle shook her head as well. Montaigne would never do something so dumb. Soleil, she thought, had a lot of maturing to do. She bent to put her shoes on, trying not to see the fluttering, gray material that made her arms look bony, and reached for protective metal footwear. Gabrielle looked up when she felt eyes on her. Stanislaw was watching her closely. He had seen her again. She would have to say something, but what? Was he enthralled? "Eh..."

"Unglück. Heh. Heh heh. That buffoon Festeller," said Stanislaw, half to himself. "The boots, they are iron, correct? Nullified iron, I would say. Sebastian said you kicked the Verkettung just before the magic broke. I thought it nothing; Klaus thought it unglück. I see it now - a simple accident, and an interesting technique, I think, for the future."

"Eh, what?" He was not making much sense, but he did not, decided Gabrielle, seem to respect Professor Festeller much. She and Stanislaw had much in common. Except for the not making sense part.

"This... amulet. How did you come by it?" Gabrielle looked up again after getting her footwear sorted. Stanislaw had the corroded brown disc from Nona, and her wand.

"Nona made me wear it," answered Gabrielle. And, it had saved her. At least from the bite. She wished she had had something to ward off the suppository.

"Did she... give... it to you? It, ah, may be quite valuable. To some," hinted Stanislaw.

"Eh, no, I don't think she did." Of course, with Nona gone, how could she return it? But then, Nona could See. The old witch knew to make Gabrielle wear the pendant, and had known enough to leave before the vampire. She would certainly know how the item would come back to her.

"Best not to stir the hag up," said Stanislaw, disappointed.

1 A complete lunatic.

2 The jackpot!