Chapter Eighteen - Not Yours

Gabrielle's awful night turned, if it were possible, into an even worse morning. Which was not possible, since there were no vampires in the morning, although there were a lot of potatoes. It depended, Gabrielle supposed, on when one considered morning to have begun. The vampire had been terrifying, but it had not managed to bite her, and then she was cruelly cured of the non-bite. All that had clearly been at night. If the cure of the cure, and the terrifying healer involved, were moved to the morning, then it was possible for the morning to be worse. If that were true, though, then it would imply that she thought it reasonable to be up that early in the morning. Which Gabrielle did not, especially when she had not gotten any sleep. There were aesthetic considerations too, ruminated Gabrielle. All together the night would have a terrible symmetry: creepy old thing, painful in, painful out, creepy old thing. That made it seem natural to consider the ordeal one long horror show, a new low-water mark to compare the past and future to. Gabrielle decided that that was best, if for no other reason than the list of the bad would be one shorter. Also, that way of thinking meant that the day was already better! Even with the potatoes, which Nona needed many of, and which needed peeling and dicing. There was nothing wrong with potatoes, of course, thought Gabrielle. Maman's potato mousse dish was a favorite. But with every meal? That could not be good for -

Thwock! "Kushtojnë vëmendje. [1]"

Gabrielle glowered. There was no need for the ladle. She had been paying attention, or would have been if she had not taken one measly moment for herself. Between the piled tubers, Soleil's brushing, and meal clean-up she had not had a chance to rest or even think. Now she was seated on the stupid barrel at the table, staring at the crystal ball with Nona's second customer of the day. Another elderly muggle, from the looks of the woman. Where, wondered Gabrielle curiously, did Nona find them? And what, wondered a slightly rude thought, would she do for customers in another decade or two? The camp was made on a farmer's field, so it was close to the farm. Gabrielle had seen some of the buildings when she had checked on the Abraxan colt. The buildings were oddly familiar, but then most farms looked about the same to her eyes. The farm, in turn, had to be close to a town. Which would probably mean a lot more customers - Gabrielle vowed to find herself a cushion, or to put one of the chairs from her tent into her handbag. Then at least her legs would not keep -

Thwock! "Kushtojnë vëmendje, fëmijë."

Gabrielle gritted her teeth. The old crone had begun her chant, and Gabrielle had missed it. Watching Nona work at the crystal ball was at least pertinent to her education, if not sufficient compensation for the chores. And, lately, Gabrielle had come to believe that she was doing more than just watching. Her professor, Madame Sombrevoir, had spoken of 'etheric resonances'. It was how crystal balls worked. The professor had encouraged the class to keep an eye out for unusual, odd-shaped rocks or interesting bones and shells. Gabrielle's roommate Lucretia had a necklace of mouse skulls that she had made herself, but most found it easier to buy amulets and bracelets. Gabrielle had two necklaces with gemstones and crystals, because Maman liked to shop. Gabrielle did not think that those helped since they were not the ones she had wanted. Nona, Gabrielle now suspected, was using her as an odd-shaped rock, as a way to -

Thwock! This time Gabrielle had had enough. Before the ladle could move off, Gabrielle snatched it out of the air and threw it to the ground with a loud clatter. She was a professional Seer too. More or less. At least the one time. And she deserved to be treated with respect! "I am not an odd-shaped rock!" Gabrielle thundered, jumping to her feet.

The intent, at least, was a thunderous declaration. It was bit more screechy than that. Actually, it was quite a bit screechier than that, and it was in the wrong language. The ladle lay on the ground with its handle bent, looking pitiful in an accusing sort of way. The two old woman stared at Gabrielle silently with small, patient smiles that said to her, in Maman's tired voice, that it was just a phase, that it came with puberty. Gabrielle turned away, a blush racing up her neck. She was embarrassed by the outburst, and annoyed that it had been such a sad spectacle. Not an odd-shaped rock - stupid! "I, eh, I will, eh, make some tea," announced Gabrielle to the hearth. She just knew the door would be sealed, and she was not going to add to her miserable performance by struggling with it.

Gabrielle did not even like tea, but it gave her something to do that did not involve having to face the two women. She did wish the brewing process was louder, though, because she could hear the pair quietly talking. Quietly discussing, more than not. Part of Gabrielle wished she knew more Albanian; the other part wished she knew absolutely none. She was certainly tired, they had that right, and there was a lot of 'punë'. That might have meant chores, or it might have meant potatoes. It was hard to tell since they were much the same for her.

The kettle boiled and whistled. Gabrielle poured the water into the teapot, and gathered three cups - all done while studiously keeping herself turned away from the reproachful eyes she knew would be watching. Gabrielle knew she was running out of prep work, that she would have to turn around and sit. She wondered who she would have to watch die this time. Nona's first visitor had been a thickly built, alarmingly hirsute widow. Her husband had been lost at sea, in an accident. Gabrielle knew this because the crystal ball had shown the fishing vessel's engine exploding, and the jets of water from the pierced hull. The man had died because he had tried to drag the broken body of a fallen crew member with him. It was horrible when the boat capsized and the water closed in. Gabrielle had found herself gasping and near panic, with her chest hurting from holding her breath. It was a completely awful vision, but the widow had gone off happier for it. She might have lost her senses along with her husband.

The tea was ready, so there was nothing left for Gabrielle but to take a deep breath, turn, and carry the tray to the table. Where she would be Nona's odd-shaped rock, or stare into her cup and try to become invisible.

"Ne do të fillojë përsëri, [2]" said Nona firmly. That, Gabrielle thought, might mean it was time to get started, or that she should have brought the honey to the table. It would depend on whether there was another ladle.

v - v - v - v - v

Harry Potter and company had decided to avoid entanglements and slip away from the still unconscious pigeon. The concerted effort quickly turned into a troll fire drill, since, for safety's sake - constant vigilance! - everyone had been disillusioned before leaving the tent. That, however, meant that no one could easily see the person they were supposed to be helping, nor the thing they were supposed to be helping with. Ginny might have been able to see through the spells a bit, since Hermione was tripped up a couple of times.

At least following George on his broom was easy. It was not pleasant though. He was using Poo-Fume to mark his trail. The gagging made it simple for Harry and Ron to steer clear of each other in flight. They flew low over the Italian countryside for cover, staying clear of towns and villages. As far as Harry could tell, they were heading due east, roughly following an arterial roadway.

They stopped on the far side of the regional capital of Potenza. It made Harry wonder, again, if he had been too dismissive of Moody's mania for planning. They had plenty of francs, but now the currency was lire. Hermione had some idea of the exchange rate, but doubted the local bake shop would take the francs. Ron had trouble seeing the problem. He asked, "If it's not gold, then all that's different is a bit of ink, right?" That earned him Hermione's attempt to explain the muggle international monetary system, which led Ron to appreciate the goblins a great deal more. Going to a currency exchange in Potenza, however, meant facing flocks of pigeons, any one of which could be a spy. Which was exactly the sort of thing Mad-Eye would go on about, thought Harry in chagrin.

Starving was not about to happen right then, probably not for weeks. Mrs. Weasley had provisioned the travelers with a small mountain of ham rolls. No one would go hungry, not even Ron, but Harry had to admit that the food was getting a bit stale already. That was fine for him, a childhood at the Dursley's giving him little better, but he had the odd thought that he ought to do better by Ginny. It was too late for a preservation charm, though.

Which Hermione asked about, and for which Harry had no excuse other than he had never even thought of it. George then provided his recipe for sandwich soup, transfiguring a rock into a bowl and conjuring hot water. "The bread softens right up and makes a broth, see? Like it's fresh again."

Ginny looked at him incredulously. "This is what you eat, is it, now that you're on your own? Mum's leftovers minced in water?"

"Not all the time," said George defensively. "It's not like I can pop down to the Hogwarts kitchens when I'm busy in the workroom. Anyway, there's always a chip shop or pub open."

"No wonder Mum wants to set you up! That's pathetic."

"Hah! You're wrong there, dear sister. Can you imagine Batty working at a stove?" retorted George.

"Batty? You mean Matty, your date at Fleur's wedding, right?" asked Hermione.

"Batty, Matty. Batty Matty. You can call her whatever you want, 'cause I'm not."

"I see. You prefer the kind of girl willing build architectural wonders out of breakfast meats, huh?" teased Ginny.

"My point is that a wizard has an easy time of it when living rough," explained George, ignoring Ginny. "Ever heard of Muncible's Digestible Sieve?"

"Yes. It separates the edible portion of something from the whole," replied Hermione. "It can be a bit ghastly."

"Wot, like taking the peel off an orange? What's ghastly 'bout that?" puzzled Ron.

"More like liquefying the orange into two puddles; one you can eat, the other you shouldn't. Now picture the same thing but using a cow," cringed Hermione. "And, it... has a liberal definition of digestible."

"Just the thing for a curry gone off," enthused George. "You use the extracted bits as the source of matter in conjuring a new curry. Bloody brilliant, if I do say so myself."

"Isn't that a bit much? From what I've read the spell is quite involved, and can take hours. You need several pinches of zeolite mineral as well."

"Well, yes, all right, there is that," admitted George.

"Hours?" burst Ginny. "You could get down to the Leaky Cauldron and back sooner."

"Look, when you're in the middle of -"

"How can you be in the middle of things when you've got time to mess with moldy take-away?"

"Thinking and planning of -"

"Oh, right. Took bleeding days to come up with Poo-Fume, I'm sure," dismissed Ginny.

"Counting galleons - that takes quite a lot of time too," boasted George.

"Oh? And what is that supposed -"

"I think," interrupted Harry loudly. "I think that gull is giving us the, erm, eye." This was, of course, true because they had food and it was a gull. But it was a good way to derail the coming Weasley battle. Anyway, Ginny might scoff, but Harry had copied George's actions, and the soup was pretty good. Not that he would mention that now.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle stomped back to her tent, her protective footwear giving a very satisfying stomp. Someone had neatly combed flat the farmer's crop within the camp's boundary, which made the stomping more obvious. She wanted to make it clear that the next stupid person who said something stupid would have their toes broken. Which would not work, of course, if that stupid person was stupid Festeller again, since she would still have classes with him and professors could hold grudges. Even if they were not much hurt and you had apologized.

The professor, if that was what he really was, sniffed Gabrielle, had blamed her for the vampire fiasco! As if it was not obvious now that the markings on the copper bands had been bats, and not hourglasses at all. He should have known that. He was supposed to be the history expert, thought Gabrielle, not her. Festeller demanded to be told of any future visions, and of any information, yes, pertinent, yes, to the expedition, yes. Gabrielle was tempted to tell, yes, him, yes, yes, but for a, yes, fee. She was a professional, or nearly one. Stanislaw, that pig, dismissed her vision as useless - useless, after hundreds of galleons - and would not let her speak. Literally would not let her speak - her lips were sealed magically. Stanislaw then distracted Professor Festeller by announcing that he had acquired a new something-something in-feed horn for the Gleasson Apparatus by selling the vampire dust. Gabrielle did not say anything, she could not, but she would soon be asking him about a finder's fee for that.

The new dig site was quite obvious. It was a circular pit right in the middle of the encampment, nearly thirty meters across and only two from Gabrielle's tent. So far, it was just a hole with neat, vertical sides carving through layers of soil in a number of shades of brown. Now Gabrielle understood why her tent had been placed there. No one else wanted to be so close. She stared over the unprotected edge at the wizards tediously vanishing thin layers of dirt. She knew she could vanish more at a time than that, but she was not going to volunteer for even more chores. She waved back to Abby, who had looked up and noticed her. The dark-haired witch had her table set up again with her cobbled-together Apparatus. She seemed to be enjoying herself, which made Gabrielle doubt her sanity. Or perhaps Pietre had grown his facial hair back. Abby's lashed-up equipment did not look any different to Gabrielle, so maybe the in-feed thingy had not yet arrived.

"You got an owl, Gabby!" pointed Abby. Gabrielle followed her raised arm. A large owl was perched on the center pole of her tent, a letter in its beak.

Gabrielle forgot about stupid Festeller and the evil-ish Stanislaw, and did not even bother to correct Abby's method of address. The owl could only be bringing good news. Either it was from George, he does write, and was further proof of his forgiveness and devotion, or it was Maman and Papa, writing with word that she would soon be on her way home. These were the only likely possibilities, decided Gabrielle. A second thought, puzzled, made to disagree. What was important now, thought Gabrielle, was making sure the owl did not leave before she could prepare a letter or hopefully, two.

Gabrielle lured the owl into the tent with a promise of owl treats, but the magic done to seal the tent opening only made it flap weakly. Even that might have been from a passing breeze; at least, that was what she claimed to the now suspicious avian messenger. The owl treats were difficult to find in the handbag. In her head, Gabrielle heard her mother telling her, again, to put away her things properly. She was sure that she had had some owl treats left, though. Neither of her pets would have eaten them; Pepi-Z did not have a mouth and Poisseux was made of spellotape. He was mostly translucent and she would know if he had tried to eat anything. Using the Accio spell, with either of her wands, extracted none of the tidbits that should have been there. Gabrielle wondered if something had gotten into her things, but that should not have been possible. She was the only one able to open the handbag. That was what George had said, at least.

It was a very good owl, its feathers a light tan color with lots of brown speckles and a wingspan of more than a meter. The bird was certainly the nicest one Gabrielle had ever used. It did not, for example, nip or fly off in a huff when it was offered only some crusty cheese rind. The owl roosted on the antlers of one of the mounted animal heads in the common room of the tent, the Russian Sabre deer, if Gabrielle remembered correctly. The deer's eyes rolled up to look at the fowl nibbling its meager snack, but it did not shake its sword-like rack to dislodge it.

The letter the owl carried, Gabrielle was shocked to discover, was from Silvain. He was still in Iceland. There were several varieties of lichen spellotaped to the parchment, along with two dried mushrooms that reindeer were reportedly wild for. There was also a photo of Silvain and his family sitting in an outdoor hot spring. They waved madly at the camera, then started whacking each other with green boughs. The pink shapes moving below the milky blue water made Gabrielle wonder if they were wearing any clothing at all. It came to Gabrielle that perhaps she should have flushed that toilet.

The owl was friendly, surprisingly satisfied with the cheese rinds, and patient. But only up to a point. Gabrielle wrote a short letter to her mother and, especially, her father describing the vampire attack and the terrible treatment she had endured afterward. It took some time because she had to carefully choose the right euphemisms. When she had finished folding the message and addressing it, Gabrielle made the mistake of giving it to the owl. The bird had hopped down to her looking excited, so she had decided to let it hold the letter. Even though she had told it there would be two letters and had shouted after it, the owl flew off.

v - v - v - v - v

"There are mountain trolls less thick 'n you are," growled Dolohov, his voice harsh with barely controlled rage. "I'd kill you now but I know our lord will enjoy the opportunity himself."

"Look, how was I to know that -" began Rowle.

"Had it all figured out, didn't you, you clever dick? Right up there with Merlin himself, you are."

"The address was at least a place to start a search," argued the blond Death Eater.

"Oh yes. Like knowing it were King's Cross will automatically lead one to the right flat," spat Dolohov. "You bloody idiot. It'll be a miracle if we don't fail our lord now."

"Can I at least see the message the owl brought?"

"No."

What a pillock, thought Thorfin Rowle. As if getting caught and slapped up bang into Azkaban, twice, was proof of competence. He looked out over the bluff. A mist lay low over the water. "This should be about where we left the boat. Er..."

"It's not. Look how close the water is to the base of the cliff. It was further out where we landed. You've gotten us lost," accused Dolohov.

Rowle grimaced. "You mean it was farther out -when- we landed. The tide's come." And, it was not necessary to add, taken the boat. Blast! Rowle blamed the twisty metal thing; completely useless as an anchor. He prepared to apparate back to the French portkey terminal, since once Dolohov caught on the man would probably go berserk. That would not get him back to England, but it would make it harder for his compatriot to kill him. Going back would have to wait until the fog cleared to even think about apparating, or until another boat was found.

"The... the tide," repeated Dolohov. His frustration boiled over and his face contorted. A jet of purple sizzled from his wand, passing through the empty air where his target was no longer. He settled for forcing the next noisy, obnoxious muggle vehicle off the road and over the cliff. That, unfortunately, brought a lot more muggles to the scene. He apparated to the beach below to hide, and to figure out a way to get back before it was too late and he failed the Dark Lord. Also, how to find and kill Rowle.

v - v - v - v - v

"San Marino is the larger of the wizard enclaves, of course. It looks absolutely gorgeous from the pictures, and the shopping is said to be brilliant! Did you know it was one of the few places that successfully resisted Grindelwald on the continent? It still has its wizard towers," gushed Hermione to Ron who, Harry had to admit, was doing an admirable job of feigning interest. "Some of the few examples left standing anywhere."

"Will we pass close by?" asked Ginny. She was helping to examine George's map, while George was examining his large metal beetle. Harry could not help noticing that the shape of Italy on the old wizard map was decidedly suspect, not very boot-like at all.

"Shouldn't think so," said George. "We're about here. Or, uh, here. Possibly here too; I blame the muggles and their Uncertainty Principle."

"Why's that?" asked Ron.

"Well we started in Salerno, right, and are heading for Albania, so we're staying, I think - "

"No, I meant about the muggles."

"Oh, that. I read that muggle boffins have worked out that they can't know everything," said George. He fiddled with the legs of the beetle.

"Huh, so what? Ron's known that for ages."

"I said can't know everything, not anything. Anyway, it sounds daft but I think they're bloody brill. They got something like a -million- galleons to prove that they not only didn't know the answer but that they would never know the answer. It's the biggest wheeze ever," explained George, his voice hushed in awe and wiping away a tear. "Fred selling water as prank pranks, our greatest achievement, is a flobberworm to their dragon."

"Muggles are mad."

"No," started Hermione. "That's not it. The Uncertainty Principle just states that you can't know both the position of something and its, er, momentum with full accuracy. If you know one perfectly, then you can't know the other. It's, it's like - " She paused, mouth still open. Harry immediately scanned the area for birds, thinking she had been hexed.

"Can't know everything - it was too much to take. I'm so sorry little brother, but I think she broke," offered George solemnly, patting Ron's shoulder.

"The parts he's interested in still work," sniffed Ginny nastily.

"Bugger off the both of you," snapped Ron. He reached for the bushy-haired witch's hand. "'S'okay, really, you can still know -most- things."

"What? No, that's not - " said Hermione with a shake of her head. "Harry, do you remember Dobby saying that wizards are all in one place?"

Harry did, sort of, but did not want to admit it quite yet in case he was expected to have made a logical leap also. "Erm, what's that got to do with it?" That, thought Harry, was pretty good. It nearly answered the question, but, in fact, did not.

"It may explain the difference between apparition and what the house-elves do. You see, 'all in one place' might mean that a wizard can know his, well, call it position absolutely, which means his momentum can be anything. A house-elf 'takes all the steps at once'. If you take that to mean their momentum is known absolutely, then their position can't be, and so could be anything," explained Hermione, which was then followed by a large breath. "Of course, that's more the principle than the actual mechanism."

"Ah," nodded Ron.

"Ah? Ah what?" asked Hermione watching his face.

"Ah as in 'ah, you're not talking about food then?'," suggested George.

"Shove off! It was 'ah, you'll have something to work out over the water'," insisted Ron.

"Must you take lessons in lameness from Harry?"

"What?"

"Anyway, I'm not sure it applies. According to Mr. Fondle-Bug there, we are in three places," noted Ginny.

"And if we left it up to Miss Fondle-Di-"

"-I- think we could all use a good rest," said the Head Girl firmly. "I'm sure we've managed to lose the people following us."

"Are you really? Thank Merlin I had nothing more amusing to do than come along," said George. "We've had a couple of wizards trailing us the whole way. Or witches, because - Oh, don't bother looking Harry; if you could see them you would have."

"Why didn't you say anything?" demanded Harry heatedly. George grinned as if Harry had said something humorous.

"One would think," started George loftily, "that someone running around with the sobriquet 'The Chosen One' might expect some followers. If they weren't thick."

"That's the Prophet's doing!"

"How can -you- tell?" asked Ginny suspiciously.

"Erm, it was printed in the Prophet," replied Harry, nonplussed. "I'm sure you saw it."

"I was asking George."

"I think what he said should be proof enough," declared a pleased George.

"What?"

"What?"

"We're all very tired, George. How do you know someone is watching us?" clarified Hermione, while holding her wand in such a way as to emphasize the question.

"Badar, of course," answered George. It was, thought Harry, a typical twins' answer: not really one.

"Bay-dar? What the 'ell is that?" This was from Ron.

"Beetle Assisted Detection and Recognisance," explained George, patting his pocket. "Keeps good time as well, if you remember that insects use the lunar day."

"Why, er, beetles?" Harry hoped that that did not sound thick.

"It's beetle-shaped."

"So if was griffon-shaped it would be gay-dar?"

"No, no it would not."

"The wizards following us, can you tell where they are now?" asked Harry.

"About a half mile back the way we came," replied George. "Probably just there to make sure we're not staying. We should reach the coast soon, but we'll have to wait until dark to cross."

"Can we be sure they're from the MInistry?" wondered Ginny.

"From -a- ministry, probably," noted George. "The political situation is complicated."

"That's true," added Hermione. "Each enclave claims the official Ministry of Magic, including the muggle government. According to the Concordanza di Velocità, every witch and wizard is under the jurisdiction of whichever ministry catches them. It makes international efforts very, er, chaotic. You never know which delegation will be the first, see?"

"On the other hand," said George, "there's nothing faster than an Italian racing broom."

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle took a deep breath, reassured her second thoughts that nothing would happen, and stepped past the line of boulders. Nothing did happen, so she released the breath she had been holding and un-scrunched her eyes. Of course nothing had happened! She had been completely correct in her guess that the camp's wards would be there to keep muggles from noticing the sudden arrival of a dozen tents and a flying horse, and not to keep witches inside. Gabrielle took another step, this time into the farmer's crop that had not been flattened. She wore the charmed apron from Mrs. Weasley, so she was sure that no one in the camp would have paid attention to her leaving. It was her hope that the item worked on muggles also, since the farm buildings were pretty far away. Gabrielle looked back to see if she could see the camp, and found, to her relief, that she could. She also found, to her dismay, that she was leaving a decidedly noticeable trail through the grain stalks. That was not something she had accounted for.

It took a minute or two to work through the problem, then Gabrielle saw the solution. She opted not to try any of the hair-care spells she knew, grain being like hair in that it had roots, a stalk, and split-ends, since nearly all of the spells had more to do with laying hair neatly instead of sticking it up. Although, her first attempts at the magic had proved that the reverse was possible. The rest of the spells were for cutting, or un-cutting, hair. The second kind was the first that Maman had shown her; Gabrielle had always wondered why, since it was logically out of order. Logic was the magic here too, thought Gabrielle. She would, on her way back, simply walk backwards along the trail she was leaving now. That would undo the bend in the stalks, leaving no trace. Except, warned a second thought, for the time between coming and going.

Philippe, her childhood friend and, well, squib, was always saying that logic was beyond wizards and witches; it was one of those things that people just said. Gabrielle was beginning to doubt the adage. She had been using a lot of logic lately. That was why she was going over to the muggle farm buildings to find a delivery owl. A farm would have a barn; a barn would have mice. Logically, barn owls would live in the barn to eat the mice. Gabrielle would treat the barn like the school's owlery - she would just ask whichever bird whose eye she caught if it would take her post. This was why she carried a liver, heart, and possibly a kidney wrapped in paper, taken from Nona's chopping block. The leaking package went a long way in explaining the popularity of owl treats. She would get to the bottom of the mystery surrounding the missing tidbits later. At first, Gabrielle had wondered how she would tell a magically inclined owl from one that was not, before realizing that all she needed to do was to ask. An owl would either respond, or it would not. Very simple if one thought logically. With all this practice, Gabrielle decided to have another go at Philippe's silly question, the one about the two guards that lied or something.

"Is anyone watching, Pepi-Z?" asked Gabrielle. Her pet, on watch and tethered to a hair clip, indicated no with a couple tugs. So far, thought Gabrielle, so good. Poisseux, possibly because he could not see, squirmed from inside her shirt to cling to the strings of the apron.

The cluster of three buildings hid a fourth, which was a modest home where the farmer probably lived. The farmer or his family were home, and only Pepi-Z's extraordinary senses and frantic tugging prevented her from turning the corner and being discovered. Not that the building had corners - it was very round, like a tower. A tower, noted Gabrielle, without windows, which meant no owls. That made it unlikely to be a barn. At least a proper barn.

The other two buildings had many more barn-like qualities, such as corners and windows. One looked new in that it had an oversized feel to it, as modern muggle buildings tended to have. Gabrielle guessed that it was a replacement for the older structure nearby which was clearly not new. One could tell by the way the whole of it was canted some ways off vertical. Muggles were very particular about things being straight. But then, so was Maman. And, oh mon Dieu, Fleur. The wracked walls meant that the openings in them were no longer square. The windows were cracked and broken, and the door did not close properly. This was a building that would easily allow mice in, and the owls that would eat them. The chain and padlock on the door would not easily allow her in, though.

Gabrielle looked for another way in. She had learned an unlocking spell at school, not in class, of course, but there was always someone showing off. That someone had been Drago, who had been, she suspected, trying for a discount on pranks. Her one attempt had not been completely successful, since the internal mechanisms had sort of exploded. But, that had been done with the wand that had Grandmere's hair at the core, which always seemed to Gabrielle to be impatient. Possibly with her. She thought she could probably, eventually, pick the lock, if she had her specially bent wires. A second thought noted that it -was- possible to take things out of the handbag and actually carry them. The thought was not helpful.

There was a door on this side of the barn, a very wide one, none on the side she had seen as she had approached, and no way to use the side that the house faced. A low window, conveniently left open, would suffice too, thought Gabrielle. Instead, the last side of the tilted structure had no doors and only very high windows. It also had several lines of what she had to assume was Albanian painted on it in big, block letters. Familiar big, block letters, which Gabrielle now recalled from the very first scrying that she had ever done. She had seen this writing, this barn before. There was a rat here, which was to be expected, logically, since the owls would need to eat, but it was not just a rat. Gabrielle could see that some of the building's exterior was damaged; vermin would have no trouble getting inside.

Gabrielle remembered how the rat had seemed to look right at her during the scrying, and how much more nasty it had looked compared to a normal pet rat. Harry Potter had wanted to find the rat, or the wizard who was the rat. Now she wondered why, and whether Harry had come to Albania to get him. There was not much news in this hinterland, but one would think that if Harry Potter visited here there would be some commotion. Unless, thought Gabrielle, he was using his invisibility cloak, or was - Oh no!

"Poisseux! Oh mon Dieu! What are you doing?" cried Gabrielle. While her attention was elsewhere, her pet toad-ish zombie had made for the hole in the barn. "Stop!"

It was too late. The former amphibian was already within the walls, and Gabrielle had learned the hard way about putting her hands into unfamiliar openings. She raced back to the door, pulling out her favorite wand from around her neck. "Alohomora!" The lock jiggled on the heavy chain. "Alohomora! Alohomora!" she tried desperately, waving her wand wildly.

No, came a second thought. This is not the way to do it! Poisseux was made of spellotape; nothing would eat him. At least, for long. He was just trapped, and not in danger. He was not, realized Gabrielle, even trapped. Poisseux was just disobedient. Gabrielle took a calming breath, put down the offal, and lifted the lock up. Taking better aim, she tried again. "Alohomora!".

This time the lock jerked in her hands with a distinctly mechanical, orderly click, as opposed to the bang-rattle of the first time, and opened. Gabrielle slipped inside and pulled the door closed. Without the lock and chain, it was swung ajar. She thought of Philippe, but he would probably be annoyed by her not having used the wires.

Inside, the barn was bone-dry, dimly lit, and smelled of heat. Heat, with a strange, sharp smell to the air that tingled her nose. A large muggle vehicle was rusting in one half of the front of the space. It looked partially disassembled, but Gabrielle was certainly not an expert in farm machinery maintenance. She merely assumed such, based on the numerous metal shapes on the ground around it. On the other side of the floor was a pile of large cloth sacks, filled with who knew what and labeled with numbers. Probably peter-chemicals of some sort. The sharp odor was stronger there. Unfortunately, that was the side Poisseux had disappeared into. It would be back into the handbag for him!

"Poisseux! Bad toad! Come out here," called Gabrielle. She would normally allow the zombie quite some time for his plodding pace, but he had just shown that he could move much quicker if he wanted. The floor was only packed dirt, and covered with old hay and whatever blew in on the wind; she could not hear the tick-tick Poisseux's claws normally made. "Pepi-Z? Eh, can you see Poisseux?" There was no reply, and Gabrielle quickly patted her hair to check for the animated bobble, in case he had fallen off. However, Pepi-Z was still tied to his thread. He was just not moving.

Gabrielle remembered her intention, and knew why. The zombie puffskein could not be eaten any more than a spellotape toad could, although Madame Chouisse's cat had tried. That did not stop ravens and other birds from swooping down for a speculative peck, so Pepi-Z would stay still unless she was in danger. Diving birds not counting. Which meant, logically - she was getting good at this, that there was an owl or even owls here. She called for Poisseux again, trying for the tone Maman would use, then went back to the door to retrieve the internal organs of some poor fowl. Gabrielle carried them to a nicely open area, opened the paper, and held them out. She scanned the rafters for a likely avian candidate, but it was very gloomy up there and she could not see any at all. Gabrielle felt, rather than saw, the first owl. It swept past silently, the only sounds being a whoosh of air, her "Oh!" of surprise, and the rustle of the paper as it fell to the ground minus most of the meat.

"Hey!" cried Gabrielle as she realized what had happened. "You have to take my post!" The owl, she could see as it disappeared toward the roof, was a good size. She bent and snatched up the remaining bait, which was the kidney. "You, eh, won't get anymore until you do," warned Gabrielle.

What a rude owl, thought Gabrielle as she waited. Presumptuous, noted a second thought, which Gabrielle agreed with. It is not coming back, added a third thought, which she ignored for its inconvenience.

Just before Gabrielle was going to have to admit that she had been beaten by the avian marauder, two things happened. One was the arrival of an owl, which flew down and landed next to the fallen paper. The bird gripped the paper in its talons, and looked up expectantly. This was more like proper owl behavior, except that this was not the owl Gabrielle was expecting. Or wanting. It was, eh, smaller, and... and... Runty and slightly chewed, supplied a tactless thought. "Eh, the post will be, eh, heavy," hinted Gabrielle gently. The little owl spread its wings and flapped. It would have been a more impressive display of power and flight-worthiness if it had not been accompanied by a swirl of lost feathers, and, also, if the bird had not fallen over.

Gabrielle turned her attention to the second event, which was the reappearance of the truant Poisseux. He was emerging backwards from behind the stinking sacks, dragging a shiny object through the debris. Oh Merlin, sighed Gabrielle to herself, now what has he gotten himself into? She was sure that she had told him that they were going to get an owl, and that was not an owl. It was not even a bird. The translucent toad had found a, well, to Gabrielle it looked like a small version of a tournament cup, the kind with two handles. The trophy was gold in color, so whoever it belonged to had won. Gabrielle was very certain, though, that it was not Poisseux's.

"What is the meaning of this?" scolded Gabrielle. The key was to emphasize the word 'what'. Fleur could almost make one feel it. "That is not yours." Although, asked a second thought, if it was inside the wall of an old barn, is it anyone's? She reached for the cup to pull it from Poisseux.

The toad had a very good grip on it, and came along with the cup. Gabrielle dropped the kidney to grip Poisseux as well. The vaguely tattered owl pounced on the fallen organ immediately, still dragging the sticky, soaked wrapper with its talons. The bird may, noticed Gabrielle grudgingly, have some aptitude. Now that she held the golden cup closer, Gabrielle could see that it was of very high quality, with fine engravings, including one that might have been a bear. The handles were very finely wrought. The style, all curlicued and floral, spoke that it was very old. And that it should not be chewed by a toad. Poisseux was not letting go, though, however hard Gabrielle pulled. How strong could tape be?

It was a question for later. The little owl launched itself into the air in a small cloud of feathers, and tried to land on her shoulder. The metric ton notwithstanding, there was not enough shoulder for a bird with that wingspan to do so, especially with one foot already clutching something. The owl ended up hanging from the apron's strap. It was not enough to distract Gabrielle from the rat. The rodent boldly crossed the open floor. There was a twinkling as it scurried past, and it seemed as if the animal was carrying something silver in its paw. Or had a silver paw. Gabrielle just knew that this was the rat she had seen while scrying. It was, eh, Rattail! Or something like that. She stood very still, or as still as she could with a demented owl hanging off her. The rat-wizard did not look at her. The apron was worth its weight - actually, since it was only cloth, it was worth -her- weight in galleons. Even if people did make her take their filthy plates and garbage. Gabrielle put both the cup and Poisseux into the apron's pocket, because they were apparently of one piece now. He would be going into the handbag for a good long time.

The rat disappeared behind the pile of sacks, exactly where Poisseux had emerged from, and Gabrielle untangled the owl. She was confident the apron would hide her from sight, if she did not say anything. A less confident thought was more certain that she would be better hidden from sight if she was not actually there at all. Another thought carried the day by pointing out that that was extremely logical. Gabrielle sidled cautiously toward the door. May as well hold the wand, added the logical thought.

There was a distinctly angry, distinctly rodent screech. Gabrielle froze, unsure as to what to do. The rat emerged from its hiding place and jumped onto the mound of sacks, raising himself on hind legs and tail. Pepi-Z started tugging, but Gabrielle already knew. He may not be able to properly see her, but what about smell? The sacks stank, but she did not smell like them. The rat looked right at her.

"Compunctio!" shouted Gabrielle. The spell struck the rat, who tumbled before righting himself. The next spell nearly said itself, springing to mind as if it were natural. "Flagrate Projucio!" The spell did what it always did when she tried casting it, which was to make her wand produce a rather sad little 'phut' noise and spit out a small gout of flame. Gabrielle had assumed, having a Veela heritage, that she would have a natural affinity for the magic. So far, it had been disappointing. The tiny ball of flame would barely make five meters, and this time was no different in that respect.

What was different this attempt was that Gabrielle was not in a deserted stone corridor at Beauxbatons, which had nothing to burn but the portrait on the wall behind her. It had really only been slightly singed - another howler. This time she was in a old, dry, wooden barn with kindling on the floor and sacks of flammable fertilizer ready to go. It was a disaster just waiting for a spark, and her well-practiced flames were far more than that. The wall of fire built quickly. "Merde! Merde!" cursed Gabrielle. There was nothing that she could do; she had always meant to learn a water spell. The farmer will be so angry. A shape much larger than a rat grew up behind the curtain of flame, and Gabrielle ran.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle was hunkered down behind her magic wards. Actually, hunkered was a bit of an exaggeration. She was seated very comfortably in one of the chairs from the tent's common room, with her feet on another, transported within her handbag to the back of Soleil's stall. Also, the magic wards were more conceptual. There was the Abraxan colt to stomp and kick rat or wizard, and Pepi-Z to let her know when to ask for Soleil's assistance. Only Poisseux, and his cup obsession, was of no help. He was in the handbag. This was as safe as she could be, until she could come up with an explanation that did not sound as if everything was her fault.

That would be very difficult, thought Gabrielle. Unfortunately, retracing her path through the grain had not unbent the stalks and erased her trail. If anything, her passage was even more obvious. It had to be because she had not walked backwards through the crop as she had planned, but had fled back to the camp as fast as she could. Which was fast enough to be there before the fire broke through the roof of the structure, and for it to become a curious spectacle for the rest of the expedition. It had been quite a sight, remembered Gabrielle. She would not have guessed that muggle flames could be that color. No one seemed to notice the damaged crops as the day's light faded.

Gabrielle primary defense shuffled over for another pat on the nose. She would have to make sure the colt got his exercise tomorrow. How that could be done without her being seen would be Stanislaw's problem. Gabrielle wondered if she should also tell him about that Rattail. Soleil nibbled the upholstery. "Non, non, Soleil, please," said Gabrielle pushing his muzzle. "You are on guard, remember?" The Abraxan's ears pricked up and he turned to face the gate, neighing his challenge to the night. Gabrielle rolled her eyes, and went back to her note. It was difficult to write as she had to hold her wand for light. The ragged little owl had followed her back, still carrying the wrapping from the bait. Closer examination revealed that the owl was not so much small as young and definitely not well cared for. The bird had a slightly chewed look to it because it was, in fact, slightly chewed. Gabrielle soothed the wounds with a salve Professor Elevagre had prepared for the injured bowtruckles; the animal seemed to appreciate it. Gabrielle could not say no to the young owl's earnest look, so she was writing a very brief, and light, message to George. She had no expectations the bird would be able to deliver the letter, but it could try if it wanted. "Stop if you get tired, and, eh, it is okay to come back if it is, eh, too far," instructed Gabrielle, wondering if the owl would know French. She tied the folded letter to the owl's leg, taking back the used wrapping as the young bird swallowed down the rest of his cheese. "Please be careful, yes?"

v - v - v - v - v

"Harry?" asked Ginny right into his ear.

That was the best part of flying pillion, thought Harry; the way Ginny would nestle into his back, her arms around him. Racing through the dark, over the water, with her closeness - he could almost forget everything else. Almost. It was his scar. It was tingling, something it had not done for days. Still, flying like this, with Ginny, was fantastic, even better than chasing a snitch.

"Harry!" called Ginny more loudly. That, and her fingers digging into his abdomen snapped him from his reverie.

"What is it, Gin?" Harry had to nearly shout to make himself heard over the rush of air.

"How is it that George knows where to go?"

"What?"

"Why are we following George?" repeated Ginny.

"I dunno," replied Harry. "Why not?" It was a question that he had not even thought of. George did seem to know where he was going, so, well, why not? It made him feel better that Hermione had not asked that question either.

"Well, it's all a bit strange, don't you think?"

v - v - v - v - v

Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord whose very name was feared, the last wizard the world needed, wiped the smear of cream from his face. There was something to the geography of this land, perhaps, that led to such versatility with flaky crust and heavy cream. It would be considered out of character, the thought, and it was. One school of philosophy held that the essence of matter was not absolute, that it could be influenced by that which contained it. Thus, for example, potions to fortify the humour flow in the liver were kept in artfully crafted glass replicas of the organ. All very sensible, if not necessarily correct, until it came to urinary tract afflictions and those peculiar to women. The Dark Lord recalled that Cannilook's thesis on such being a very popular reference work among the naive first years. It was clear that the appetites, at least, of the youthful body were making themselves felt. He could not feel any presence of the other, though.

The Dark Lord held the wand, his wand at the moment, and concentrated. He had not done this since that wretched night a year ago, and was not sure if the confused stick he held now would allow it. In the darkness behind his closed eyes, Lord Voldemort imagined himself pulling back, rising up, to seek out the magic he left on his servants. Pictured as lights, one was very dim, and visible only because the bearer was close: Snape. An accomplished spy, the man never let down his guard. The Dark Lord looked farther afield. Wormtail was out there somewhere, trapped by the lack of his own wits. And there was something that he could sense, but it was faint. Too faint to be of use. Practice was needed to strengthen the ability, but in a little more than a day he would be able to deal with the miserable rat in person, and take back the magic that was to be Lord Voldemort's alone. Perhaps he would try again in the morning, when a great deal more magic would be available in the world as the parasites were purged.

v - v - v - v - v

They soared on the broom high over the Fey Wilds, diving into a long sweeping turn to head back for another loop around the Bone Tower. It was late spring, and the early flowers covered the formal gardens in a mass of color. Gabrielle was flying with George, showing him the forest, the best of Beauxbatons, and the outcrop near the bend in the river, where they would picnic. He had his arms around her as he leaned over to see. It was a beautiful day, sunny and warm, and at the best time of the year. It was perfect. Until the broom lurched.

"All right, luv?" asked George. Gabrielle could feel the touch of his breath on her neck; it made even her toes tingle. The broom shook and shuddered.

"It is the school's brooms. They sometimes do this," explained Gabrielle. "They, eh, often do this," she admitted. She reached up a hand to draw his face close. It was unexpectedly hairy.

"We should get up, fëmijë," whispered George.

Gabrielle giggled. "You mean down, silly. It - Eh, what?"

"Zgjoheni, fëmijë. Unë kam nevojë për ndihmën tuaj. [3]"

Gabrielle opened her eyes, which revealed Soleil's nostrils just above her. She shooed the huge muzzle out of the way and sat more upright. Soleil, noted a more awake thought, is on the wrong side. Gabrielle looked again. The Abraxan had shoved his way between the back wall and the chairs. She was now in the middle of the stall, between Soleil and Nona. The old witch held a lantern, and beckoned Gabrielle. "And this is guarding?" Gabrielle asked the colt disapprovingly. At least he had the sense not to say anything back.

Nona waited patiently for Gabrielle to put her shoes on. It still feels so late, thought Gabrielle. Can it be time to prepare breakfast already? The fog of sleep made Gabrielle miss a number of telltale signs, but she did not miss the bucket of water. And, the bucket did not miss her. She shrieked in surprise. "Oh mon Dieu! Have you lost your senses? Why would you do -"

The rest was smothered by a rough towel roughly used. Gabrielle flailed at the assault, and wrenched herself free. "Ju keni erë e kalit, [4]" said Nona, which Gabrielle found to be a very poor justification, whatever it was. "Të vijnë me mua. [5]"

This is Soleil's fault, thought Gabrielle. She should tell the rest of the herd about how he was afraid of an old woman. Then Gabrielle noticed that she was completely dry save for her shoes, which squelched as she walked. The herd might understand being afraid of a crazy old witch. She followed Nona into the cottage, and then it was too late as the door closed very firmly behind her. The table was set with the fancy crystal ball and covered by the special tablecloth. Seated at the table were two dark-haired, matronly women who Gabrielle thought could be sisters. It was not time to peel potatoes; it was a seance. The first time, Gabrielle had not even been sure if it had not been just a dream. This time, she knew she was to be a special rock. It was useless, but she turned to go anyway. Nona's steel grip caught her arm, though the crone tried a smile.

Gabrielle was seated on a barrel. The only change for the occasion was that a folded blanket had been placed on it for some meager cushioning. Apparently, sighed Gabrielle to herself, the extra distance to her tent was too much for Nona to bother with to fetch a chair. A steaming mug of herbal tea and two of Nona's doughy, sweet pastry lumps on a plate were set in front of her. Nona is being polite, thought Gabrielle. That meant that she did not have to what Nona wanted, except that if she refused then Nona would stop being polite.

Gabrielle took a cautious sip of the fragrant tea, mostly out of curiosity. After all, she was not likely to take part in the conversation. Regular tea was bad, and herbal teas were worse, but they were worth a few swallows to try and guess the ingredients. The black teas were always the same: old boiled leaves. This drink, considered Gabrielle, was mostly chamomile, with a little mint and a hint of ginger. There was some sort of citrus too, not exactly lemon. And an astringent flavor, nearly bitter, if she let it linger on her tongue too long. It was...

It was unusual to find, so close to a farm, to houses. She gazed at the purple spikes pushing up through the earth. Unusual because of what was needed to grow them, and she knew what that was. Was young Rastesis messing around again? There would be words if she had found another unicorn. There were so few of them these days; there were so few of many things, except the problems people had. The curved knife sliced through the colored fungus. The insides were creamy white. No sense letting them go to waste. Has the girl seen such an animal before at that school? Likely as not - the modern world. The more they learn the more they forget what was really important, and the less help they were to those most in need. The purple spikes were wrapped in leaves and tucked into the wicker basket. The girl worked hard enough. That was a pleasant surprise, though she wished the youngster would mind the knives more. Perhaps if she gave her -

The mug was pulled away, surprising Gabrielle. The two woman watching her laughed nervously, and it was enough to color Gabrielle's cheeks. Nona set the mug back on the table with a noticeable clunk and returned to her seat. Gabrielle focused on eating a pastry lump, carefully arranging it on the plate to avoid the staring eyes. The lumps were heavy, buttery, and covered with an overly-sweet glaze. Gabrielle tried to remember what Nona had once called them. The pastry layers were more like noodles than the light, airy dough there was in France. A mouth full of it made chanting quite difficult. Nona had to stop and wait for Gabrielle to try and swallow, something that made Nona's customers smile.

The magic seemed to have trouble coming together, and Gabrielle frankly hoped that it would not. She had not liked the first experience, and doubted the second would be better. Professor Sombrevoir had not covered seances, recalled Gabrielle, but she thought that the dead were supposed to speak through the medium. Nona had to be doing it incorrectly, either intentionally or by mistake. Already Gabrielle could feel a creeping chill. She resigned herself to the unpleasantness.

At first, the words coming from Gabrielle's mouth were almost gibberish. That was not completely true, it was that they were a mix of Albanian and English, as if she were speaking both at the same time. It was disconcerting if one was sure as to what was supposed to be happening; it induced panic if one did not. Gabrielle was writhing, trying to break free, when she sneezed loudly.

The sneeze seemed to clear Gabrielle's head some, and when next she spoke it was in English only. "[I beg your pardon, dear ladies. I shant be a minute, and then this fine fellow with the temper can speak.

"[Now, I know it is terribly rude to both interrupt and to ask a favor, but I need to warn Harry Potter.]" Gabrielle wondered, Harry Potter? "[You are all in great danger - What? Oh yes. The rules, of course. I'd nearly forgotten. Ahem.

"[The splintered soul approaches with youth reborn, with a darkness once stopped by purity's horn. He seeks what the rat hid and the simple toad stole, and the power of destiny for his evil goal. His servants at his side, he holds neither's full heart. One repays the debt; the other's lost at the start.

"[I must ask your forgiveness once more; that was appalling doggerel. By the way, we met once, Mademoiselle Delacour. You may not recall, as you were asleep in short order. You are turning into a fine young witch, and I - Oh, do calm yourself, my good man, or I will do it for you.

"[My time, even in this eternal land, is short. Good bye, dear girl, and give my regards to your parents.]"

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle staggered from Nona's cottage, the result of the soul-chilling effects of the seance and of the brandy given to counter the same. She wore two pendants around her neck, with the old witch's reminder of always. One just looked like a tab of silver, and that was acceptable. The other was the severed, dried foot of some poor creature, with some of the fur still attached. It was not acceptable, except who would argue with Nona after she had stopped the vampire? Gabrielle thought of making a cover for it, so at least it did not touch her skin or clothes. She had just reached the gate to Soleil's stall when there was a scream. A jolt of panic cleared Gabrielle's mind. It was the rat! She clambered over the gate, peeking back over it to see the danger. It... was raining wizards.

1 Pay attention.

2 We will start again.

3 Wake up, little one. I need your help.

4 You smell of horse.

5 Come with me.