Chapter Nineteen - I Just Wanted To Help
Gabrielle spent the night in Soleil's stall, even though she had the amulets from Nona. The rat was probably still out there and a menace, but she stayed hidden behind the Abraxan mostly because of the letters 'EXP'. Those, appended to Poot Powder, were apparently intended to indicate that the results would be explosive. Explosive not in sound, but in action. Wizards and witches had fallen from the sky because wizards and witches had been launched into the sky by magical exploding flatulence. It was obvious that thrust sufficient to send a grown wizard through the air had no problem with any clothing in the way. There had been a lot of pale, but reddening... flesh... exposed as she peeked through the gate last night. Which, she reminded herself, should not have been as funny as it had been. Someone could have gotten hurt! That is, hurt more than not being able to sit at breakfast. Especially the one wizard who had grabbed a tent wire. He had spun like a catherine wheel before letting loose and sailing across the camp. Gabrielle could only assume the loud crash that followed was the end of his flight.
What worried Gabrielle was that if one spent any time on the grounds of Beauxbatons last term the presence of dorm seven was almost unavoidable. On many still, cold mornings, the building would be hidden by its own cloud of vapor! That same presence was in evidence here at camp, at least before it erupted in a whoosh of bluish flames. It would be natural to suspect a current student. And that would be correct, too. Gabrielle's trap had failed though. She had expected to... sniff out, as it were, the culprit stealing Soleil's whiskey. The singular culprit, not the five wizards and three witches, including Abby, standing up at breakfast and wearing fireproof leather skirts. Kilts, corrected a second thought, for the wizards. The insane new healer did not believe, it seemed, in bed rest. Just bandages. There were still too many suspects.
v - v - v - v - v
Harry Potter was up early, even though he, Ginny, and the others had flown most of the night. He had been an early riser most of his life, more to get a start on the chores the Dursleys had for him than by choice. It was not chores that got him up early lately, though. Harry just found it best to be up and about before George was, leaving Ron to be the target of most pranks. He waved his wand at the magical fire, causing it to flare up. The flames were more difficult to keep hot than a regular wood fire, but there was no need for fuel and there was no smoke. Wizards really did have an easy time of it when roughing it, thought Harry. He set the kettle over the fire.
The small camp was made in the scrubby forest on the hills overlooking an inlet. The area was completely deserted, without any lights nearby when they had landed last night. The morning's light revealed only the slightest hint of people, in the form of a roughly paved ramp to the water and a trail-head.
"Morning Harry," said George. He piled several branches together and transfigured them into a rustic chair, settling into it with much shifting to get comfortable. "Bloody knots."
Harry could see that George had a mass of feathers in his hand. "Is that supposed to be breakfast?" asked Harry, cringing.
"It's supposed to be an owl," replied George. "Got any owl treats handy?"
"I thought we were warded against Post owls!"
"It's not a Post owl. Not a proper one, at least. Barely an owl too; more of an owlet. Or budgie cross, come to look at it," said George, pulling a wing out for inspection. "Looks like something did try to make it breakfast."
"Is it from Fred?"
"Dunno, haven't checked yet. The thing's only just crashed into the back of my head," explained George. "Give the fire a poke. The water's near boiled."
Harry poured the water into the teapot, and went into the tent to dig out a handful of owl treats. It had been ages since he had used Hedwig for much of anything. If there was a way for her to get through the anti-Post wards, then they could get some news, at least. Although the fact that Mrs. Weasley would probably have a great deal to say about the ruse made that less attractive.
Ron was still asleep, with nothing oozing out or sticking in. Which meant to Harry that his best mate was either not the target, or George had something a lot more subtle than last time, when Ron had been forced to braid the hair on parts of his body that normally did not see the sun. There was no movement on the female side of the tent.
Outside, Harry found George arguing with the avian messenger. "Look, you stupid bird, what don't you get about this? You can't have delivered it if you won't give it up," argued the older Weasley. The scrappy owl used beak and talon to fend off George's fingers.
"Why not use your wand to cut the string?" wondered Harry.
"Skived off more than a little, didn't we? Come on lad, you know magic and owls don't mix. It'd be a daft Post if any tit with a wand could mess it up," said George. "Give the thin streak a few treats. Maybe it'll fancy a kip for afters and we can untie the string then. Or maybe the bloody thing will choke on them."
Harry put a small pile of treats on the ground. George helped the owlet to the food by throwing it. "Erm, George? Remember when you said that a spell wouldn't work if you didn't know what it was supposed to do?"
"No, not particularly. But I can see you're disappointed so I'll say I've had a sudden recollection. What of it?"
"Well, supposed that happened. What would it mean?"
"Since it can't happen, it means it didn't happen. You probably saw someone cast the spell once, like when you were a child, maybe, or read about it. You just forgot you knew it," suggested George. "Fancy a biscuit?"
"I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have seen that spell at the Dursleys. Or any spell."
"Ah, right. Didn't you once meet Diggle, though? Fancy a biscuit?"
"We've got biscuits?" asked Harry, looking around. "Anyway, Diggle didn't seem the type for that sort of spell."
"We'd have biscuits if you'd go an' get them! I can see why Ginny's subtle hints haven't worked," huffed George. "But I'll bite. What is -that- sort of spell?"
Harry creased his brow. Subtle hints? He had not noticed any - oh. She must have been too subtle. More likely, sighed Harry, he was too thick. How was he supposed to know these things? If he could just map Ginny to a quidditch play, then she would be easier to read. Harry knew it was no good asking Ron. Hermione had given up on hints a while ago, providing Ron with lists and flowcharts, neither of which his mate ever consulted. Hermione might be able to help him, thought Harry, except she could be a bit shirty if one did not actually follow her advice.
On the other hand, noticed Harry, George was smirking more than usual. "Maybe I'll just wait until she stabs me?"
"Always reliable, that," nodded George sagely. "So, Potter, what's this spell that's got your Y-front all twisted up? Must be pretty bad, am I right?"
"It was, er, Sectumsempra. I just saw it scribbled in the margins of a book, then I nearly killed Malfoy with it!" Harry winced at his outburst and ducked his head. He added, more quietly, "I'm sure I'd never heard of it before, nor knew what it would do, but it worked when I cast it."
George whistled low. "It wasn't Moody, or his impersonator, that might have shown you that? You've been in the Restricted Section too, right?"
"I'm pretty certain of where I saw it, and all that was in the book was the incantation," said Harry, skipping mentioning the note's recommendation to use it on enemies. "And then... Draco..."
George downed the rest of his tea, and scratched his chin thoroughly before speaking again. "You were possessed by He-Who-Must-Not-"
"It's Voldemort, and yeah. But only for a little while! And it hurt him too."
"Right, right. So... maybe he was thinking of that spell, you know, rummaging through the playbook, as it were."
"I don't remember that. He was taunting Professor Dumbledore."
"But in his, you know, Tower of the Mind he might have been. You might know loads of spells without, er, knowing."
"What is the Tower of the Mind? I'm not sure I've got -"
"Oh bloody hell! Will you look at that? It -is- choking," complained George. He scooped up the owlet and squeezed it. A high-pitched whistle became a screech as an extra-large treat popped out. "There. Now give me the message, you runty - Oy!"
"If it's not a real Post owl, maybe it doesn't understand English?" suggested Harry, although he felt the bird was being more than a little ungrateful.
"That's possible," acknowledged George. "But I think I'll try a large rock first."
"Is that an owl? I thought there were wards?" Ginny staggered over to the fire, yawning. "The tea's gone already?"
"Probably, definitely, and sadly," replied George. "All manner of affirmatives." He had found a small boulder, which he raised over his head.
"If it's from Fred, it might be a French owl. I'll get Hermione," said Harry quickly. George stopped, looking slightly cheated.
"Oy, donnez-moi la lettre, git," tried George. "There's not enough to eat under those feathers anyway." The young owl stuck out a leg. It was the wrong leg, but it cooperated as George pulled the letter free. Since the message might have been from his twin, George unfolded the paper with his arms stretched as far from his face as he could. Ginny, still groggy from sleep and not thinking clearly, leaned in.
"Hey, that's - It's from Gigi!" blurted Ginny. George pulled the note to him, scanning it quickly. "He does write still - leave it to Fred to get it wrong," she added half to herself.
"Gigi?"
"Fleur's sister?" reminded Ginny. "She's obsessed with this git."
George, who had been examining his metal beetle, snapped the wing case shut. "Let's get everyone up and moving."
"What? I've barely had any sleep! If it weren't for Ron's snoring I'd still be asleep," complained Ginny.
"Yeah, but you're already up. No reason the other two should get a lie-in, right? Or a lie-on." argued George with a wink.
"What's the hurry? Did something happen?" asked Harry. "We're all exhausted. It's been nearly two days straight of flying."
"The youth of today! It's barely been a day and a half," replied George, shaking his head in despair. "Come on, get your lazy arse up."
"Why?"
"I think she's found Wormtail."
v - v - v - v - v
One certain way to avoid people, Gabrielle found, was to tie oneself to an Abraxan. There was something in the way the ground shook when Soleil stomped that cleared a path. Or it may have been the way he held his head so high, daring a challenge. If the others found out how he cowered before Nona, well, they would... still get out of the way. Just with less respect.
Gabrielle was leading the colt, when he followed, to Stanislaw's tent, where the German would explain to her exactly how she was to exercise the flying horse, or she would use his tent for that purpose. Which was the kind of fierce determination that beforehand was easy to have. She nonchalantly held only the halter as Soleil glided over the dig site. The excavation was much deeper, and stonework was beginning to emerge from the vanished soil. The wizards and witches working below looked up in surprise as she and Soleil swept over. Abby was again working her apparatus, standing like she was astride an invisible steed.
The problem with tents, thought Gabrielle, was that they lacked a door to knock at. Her tent had a large common area, as did the healer's tent, so poking one's head in to announce oneself was not really too rude. Stanislaw's tent was his alone, which did make it rude. And potentially embarrassing. Gabrielle hesitated. She knew his name was Stanislaw, but that was not a polite way to address him. Not that he always deserved politeness, but he used her family name when he was not being obnoxious. She tried to recall his family name; she was sure she had heard it before. Was it Hammakerslammaker? Slammakerhammaker?
Fortunately, Soleil was as good as any door knocker or bell. His loud proclamation that he was number one, which sent one of the kilt-wearing wizards back into his tent, was enough. Stanislaw's head popped out from the tent flap. "Dieser verdammte Biest! Ich - Was ist los? [1] Fraulein Delacour! What are you - no, never mind. Come in, come in."
"Eh, come in?" Gabrielle was confused. She was standing there with an unexploded Abraxan; did he not see where the tether led?
"It will only take a moment. I have several of the latest Artefakte. Perhaps you may have a - "
"I was about to exercise Soleil," interrupted Gabrielle. She pointed to the massive, winged palomino towering behind her, in case the wizard had somehow missed its looming presence. Hopefully Soleil was not listening, as he did not like being ignored.
"Ja, ja. I have something for that. But first, a little business," insisted Stanislaw. He held the tent flap open invitingly, which made Gabrielle suspicious at first. Then a thought struck her.
"There will, eh, be a finder's fee?" Ha, thought Gabrielle, that was the glumbumble in his tart!
"Ja, possibly," grumbled the wizard. "If there is some value."
Gabrielle turned to the colt, who was standing stiff-legged and eyeing Stanislaw. "I have to, eh, get something first, before we can go. You will be good, yes?" Soleil shook his head and snorted, which Gabrielle decided to interpret as maybe. The act also pointed out the real problem with Stanislaw's request. The tether would barely allow her to enter the tent unless Soleil was going to follow, and she could not take it off because there would be nothing left unstamped in the camp if he was loose.
Stanislaw had an answer for that, using his wand to stretch the leather tether. Soleil tried to bite the wizard's hand, but Gabrielle spotted it and slapped the Abraxan's considerable nose. "Was I supposed to let you bite his fingers off? Who do you think will get the blame?" scolded Gabrielle when Soleil tried to look hurt. He was not fooling her.
Ushered inside, Gabrielle was shown the latest rubble. She did recognize another piece of the staff, but beyond that she was unsure of what was expected of her. Stanislaw, who had thought that any round, charcoal-like piece of wood should be part of Wyrmbreath, was becoming frustrated. "Can you not See at all? Perhaps if you touch them, smell them?"
"I, eh, have," said Gabrielle. "They smell of dirt."
"This was found yesterday surrounded by a layer of powdered sapphire..." He held out a piece of the broken circlet of pottery. The other half was on the table. Gabrielle had examined them first, because the two parts of the clay, rune-covered ring were at least recognizable as something.
"But, eh, it was in the dirt as well," Gabrielle pointed out.
"Perhaps if you tried tasting it? The magical essence -"
"You want me to -lick- it?" asked Gabrielle incredulously, giving him a Look that even Fleur might be proud of. "Have you lost your senses?"
"For a finder's fee, one must find something," hinted Stanislaw.
"Like the, eh, vampire's dust?" hinted Gabrielle in return.
Stanislaw muttered darkly in German, which, Gabrielle noted, was very good for that purpose. She had a clear path to the exit and Soleil, so she was not worried. At least, not worried about Stanislaw, who was giving her a calculating look. The steady decline in the slack in the tether did worry her some. It meant that the maybe had become maybe not.
"Five galleons for the vampire dust," said Stanislaw abruptly. He gave her a lopsided smile. "We are not so different, liebchen. Now will you try?"
"Eh, and the piece of the staff? That is worth something?"
"Five galleons for the dust, and I do not mention the cause of the fire at the farm to Herr Professor." The smile became stern. Gabrielle paled. How much did he know?
"That, eh, that..." started Gabrielle. Was all my fault, suggested an honest thought. "That was -not- all my fault! Eh, that is, that was - not at - all -"
"The trail through the field led right to that damned beast's stall. No else goes near it, and you have set fire to the expedition before. I said nothing, though. If you are the kind to enjoy muggle-baiting, then so be it. But you will help me."
"Muggle-baiting!? How - how could you think that? There was a rat! Who is a wizard! He was going to attack, you see, because, eh, because..." Because, filled in the honest thought helpfully, he had been cursed. Gabrielle was not going to say that, though, and for some reason she knew she should not mention the cup. This was all Poisseux's fault, but Gabrielle did not think telling Stanislaw that would help. Resigned, she picked up the broken ring of pottery, wiped it as clean as she could on her blouse, and touched her tongue to it.
Which was just stupid. It tasted musty, -dirty- and felt gritty. Gabrielle tried not to think of the countless worms that had crawled along it. There was a strong hint of sulphur there, also, which...
- lingered in the air after the yellow fire tracing the runes had died out. Thank the stars she had ignored that blithering fool Constantine and had not cast the portal from metal! Gnarled hands loosed their white-knuckle grip on the staff. The attempt to reach the Other Side had failed. There may be no Heaven, but the nightmarish creatures, black, as if tarred, with tentacles, claws, and raw bone, that had reached through the opening wrought between worlds proved that there was a Hell. Still, it was a success, one deserving of description in the grimoire. Dangerous, too, and not for the first time she considered how much easier it would be to be the first among equals if only there were fewer equals. This arcanum, passed to others in confidence as a treasured secret - with judicious alterations, of course - might unleash enough of the unholy to bring their towers down upon their learned heads. If only she was able to reliably control a portal through the thin walls of the known, well, that merely proved that she was the most learned, and therefore -
Gabrielle blinked dazedly. Stanislaw held, pinched between a thumb and finger, the broken circle, which now glistened wetly. Gabrielle started to say something, then realized that the filth that was no longer on the hard clay was on her tongue. She stood there with it hanging out, wondering if there was any water.
"You are a very strange little girl," said Stanislaw, setting the pottery aside and wiping his hands on a summoned towel. "It was like watching a cat clean itself."
"Boo boo hab abny babber?" asked Gabrielle. And she vowed that when it came to the finder's fee, that comment would cost him. She, smoldered Gabrielle, was not a little girl, but a young woman, petite, with talents for both Seeing and curse-breaking. Which she would have reminded him of had her tongue been usable.
"Scourgify," incanted Stanislaw. Gabrielle spun away from him at the explosion of stinging pain. It felt as if she had dipped her tongue in a fizzy muggle soda made from vinegar! She could not say the words that popped into her head now, and the lunatic Stanislaw was the better for that. "Please. Surely your mother has done that as well?" said Stanislaw impatiently.
"No," said Gabrielle spitting repeatedly. "She is not insane! Why did you do that?" It was not a good question, since the spell had cleaned her tongue. And chin. And nostrils. "You could have given me some water," she added reproachfully.
"Spare the wand, spoil the child," shrugged Stanislaw. "Now, tell me of your vision."
v - v - v - v - v
A decade of teaching experience guiding him, Severus Snape watched the agitated youth warily. As said youth carried the essence of the Dark Lord, the potential outburst would not be a petty act of teen rebellion, he had endured those often enough, but would likely be far more violent, deadly. The face of the boy revealed nothing. It was the stiff posture and slashing movements of the body, as he examined the message that had arrived by owl, that indicated anger and disappointment. The former professor did not ask what the cause of the angst was. He was reasonably sure he would find out, even if it was only moments before he died.
Snape considered his life. Subjectively, it was greatly improved. He was eating better, though the amount of cabbage in his meals had reached alarming levels. There were no irritating students to deal with, nor their appalling inability to absorb the course material to suffer. There was no Potter, whose very visage goaded with past torments and all that he had lost. Objectively, though, Snape knew his life was more tenuous than ever. The obvious health of the boy's body meant that the value of his potion skills was dropping. The Dark Lord's inner circle consisted of no one. He was keeping his plans to himself. Snape was no longer acting as a spy for either side; the lack of any mission depriving him of the ability to steer events even slightly. He was little more than an accessory to the Dark Lord's guise as they travelled incognito amongst the muggles. Snape could see how he could be discarded as easily as a glamour was dispelled. Blame lay squarely at Potter's feet.
"Severus," began the Dark Lord. "How did you sleep last night?"
Snape considered the unexpected question carefully. It was very unlikely that the Dark Lord wished to exchange idle pleasantries, unless the act was intended for an audience. It was also unlikely that he would care about the comfort of a bed, or of any nightmare that marred sleep. No, thought Snape, something had happened, or was supposed to have happened, and the question is whether it was detectable.
"It is a simple question, Snape."
"It is, my lord. I recall waking shortly after one, thinking that I had perhaps heard something, or felt something passing. There was nothing though."
"Not a disturbance in the magic, as if a thousand wands cried out and then were silenced?"
"No-o-o," said Snape slowly, wrong-footed by the question. There was a school of thought that held that one's form shaped one's thoughts, which was why one should never transfigure oneself to an earthworm. This was just the sort of gibberish a student would spout. "There was nothing like that." Was the Dark Lord losing his mind?
"I did not feel as much either. What task did you give to Dolohov and Rowle?" This question was as sharp as the previous was meaningless. Snape steadied himself and withdrew further into his Tower.
"They wished to be of service to you, my lord. I merely suggested that they locate Potter's hiding place," replied Snape. Had the boy somehow managed to kill both Death Eaters as well? It no longer seemed inconceivable after dispatching the werewolf.
"Yes, Lord Voldemort knows. Can you then explain, Severus, why Dolohov was returning from France when he was captured again? He had splinched himself, and now occupies six very small cabinet drawers in Azkaban."
"France, my lord? I... have no explanation for Dolohov's actions save, perhaps, chronic idiocy."
"As I expected. That is your favorite diagnosis. Do you understand what has happened? Potter has only now to exist to disrupt my plans. No one is to seek him, no one is to move against him or the parasites around him, except by my orders alone. I must be the one to deal with him; I am the only one who can. And I shall, once I have my wand," said the Dark Lord via the wan face of the youth. "I believe I have discerned its location."
"My lord," said Snape neutrally. He could not bring himself to believe that the so-called Death Stick was real, but he could allow doubt. The Dark Lord had, after all, found and entered the Chamber of Secrets. It was of no comfort to realize that Potter had done the very same.
v - v - v - v - v
"It is a portal," muttered Stanislaw, turning the broken circle of hardened clay over and over. Gabrielle wondered if he was trying to calculate a market value. The total must have been disappointing, given the look on his face. "I will have to give this to Klaus," he said finally in annoyance.
"I'm sor-" started Gabrielle because of his tone. But what did she have to apologize for? She had done as he had asked; she could not make his finds valuable. Instead, since she was leaning against the pull of the tether again, Gabrielle stated,"I, eh, really need to take care of Soleil."
"What? Oh, yes. I had nearly forgotten the beast." Stanislaw crossed to the his brass-bound chest, poking his wand at the malevolent box. She hoped that he remembered her galleons. While she watched, Gabrielle decided that Stanislaw was being unfair to Soleil. Being tied directly to the colt, she knew exactly how well Soleil was behaving, and how patiently he was waiting. A second thought did cross her mind that the animal was being rather suspiciously well-behaved, but there was no screaming or shouting, so perhaps Soleil was just in a good mood. Or, he had found something close by to eat. "Soleil is, eh, not as bad as, eh, eh..." began Gabrielle badly. She had been about to name Montaigne, but that was not fair. Montaigne was, probably, still more powerful than the colt, but really was quite gentle as long as one remembered that he was king, and treated him as such.
Stanislaw turned back to Gabrielle. "Herr Professor has loaned this from his collection: the Diadem of Grosboule." He held up what, to Gabrielle, looked like a dead bird. "It covers the rider and steed with an acceptable disillusion charm."
"It, eh, looks like a dead bird," observed Gabrielle. She knew what a diadem was, and they did not normally have beaks and blank, staring eyes.
"It is a dead bird," agreed Stanislaw. "A vulture of some sort. Dead from natural causes, if that is important."
"A diadem is, eh, something you wear on your head, yes? Like a crown?" asked Gabrielle. Perhaps he did not know what one was supposed to be.
"Ah. That is underneath, like so? Let me explain. This was created by Madame "Half-baked" Grosboule in 1317, to hide her as she rode the countryside on her business. The charm conceals whatever is below the diadem - rider, steed, baggage - when it is placed upon the head," described Stanislaw. He looked at Gabrielle closely, as if expecting something. Gabrielle returned the look because he had not gotten to the feathered carcass yet. "Everything below the diadem means it, and the top of the your head, is visible. That would be far more noticeable than what would seem to be a bird in the air."
"That is stupid!" blurted Gabrielle. Was this an elaborate prank? She clutched the edge of the table to help counter Soleil's pull.
"Ja, half-baked. A very talented witch it is believed, Madame Grosboule, but not very thorough. The diadem will allow you to fly the beast without upsetting muggles. It is very valuable. Do not lose it," said Stanislaw with an emphatic end.
Gabrielle was not worried about losing the diadem. She was more concerned about the condition of the avian corpse that would be on top of her head, and about her slow backwards progress toward the exit. At least the deceased vulture did not seem to smell. The good possibility, thought Gabrielle, was that the lack of odor meant it was carefully preserved and clean. The other possibility, came a second thought, was that the fowl had met its demise very recently, and had not begun rotting and dripping yet. And she had to wear it on her head?
"I, eh, have to go now," noted Gabrielle. There was not much choice involved, she had let go of the table when it started to drag.
"I will lift the spell on the tether," said Stanislaw, handing Gabrielle the diadem. She took it reluctantly between two fingers. A second thought had worked out something important, and it tried to get her to say something as the wizard brought his wand down.
"Wait! No! It - aaah!" The magical stretch removed, the leather returned to its original length. Gabrielle on one end lost the battle of inertia to Soleil on the other, and was yanked forcefully from the tent. The diadem dropped to the ground, feathers swirling in her wake.
The flight was brief, owing to the magical acceleration, and nearly horizontal to the ground, also due to the initial acceleration. It ended at Soleil, whom she slammed into as if the Abraxan was a fur-covered wall. It hurt, a lot, because of, again, acceleration, but this time in the opposite sense. Gabrielle fell to the ground, winded and dazed. The second thoughts that had nearly worked out the start of this current debacle in time were now puzzling over Soleil's reaction. Startle an Abraxan and they will almost always jump into the air, since fewer threats can fly. And, since their legs and hooves were not then occupied, they will kick. It was a very effective survival instinct, since if the kick connected then the animal would also be propelled away from the danger, although the danger would itself likely be broken and bleeding. Soleil was, despite his reputation, trained, but not that well-trained. That she was alive meant that something was wrong, and Soleil was her responsibility. Gabrielle needed to check on the colt, once she could stand. Nothing, decided Gabrielle, felt broken.
Standing, or at least being upright, happened much sooner than Gabrielle expected, thanks to Stanislaw and his wand. She dangled just above the ground, now away from the crushing hooves. Of course, it was his fault in the first place, and if she could catch a large enough breath she would tell him exactly how big an idiot he was. Soleil whinnied in distress, and Gabrielle could now see the source of his unease. There was another of the crude little dolls made from bent twigs in front of him. Nona had been by, realized Gabrielle. The colt kept a wary eye on it, and shifted nervously, slowly inching sideways, now towards her.
Gabrielle tried to move to the doll to pick it up, and to reassure poor Soleil, but that was not possible suspended in the air as she was. It was Stanislaw who stepped in front of the Abraxan and scooped up the roughly-made figure. He stepped back with his prize, and Soleil turned to nuzzle Gabrielle, which set her drifting. Then the colt, with the threat gone and probably looking to save face, rounded on the German.
"Nein, du Teufel, [2]" growled Stanislaw, thrusting out the doll. Soleil stopped his advance and sidled to the side.
"Hey! You leave him alone," called Gabrielle weakly. It was not clear whom she was addressing, and both man and beast looked at her. It was then Stanislaw who stepped back, possibly because an Abraxan will not, but he was smiling in a predatory way.
"Stop by before the evening meal preparation, liebchen. I will have you present my compliments to Nona," said Stanislaw. His wand lifted Gabrielle up higher, and over onto Soleil's back.
Gabrielle, peeved that someone was casting spells on her, snapped, "Why not tell her yourself?" The dead bird, and the enchanted diadem it covered, sailed from the tent, bumping her in the chest.
"This is not the first time I have met a Nona. They go back to the time when wizards stayed in their towers and fought. Herr Professor has scrolls with such history. The Nona do not trust wizard magic. You can not use your wand, ja?"
"Eh, no," answered Gabrielle. What, wondered Gabrielle, was he talking about?
"The Nona prefer die alte Magie, the old magic. They want little to do with those they think of as wizards. You respect their wishes if you want their help," explained Stanislaw.
Other than cooking the meals, thought Gabrielle, Nona did not seem to help with anything. Except, she supposed, with Soleil once or twice. "You could have had a house-elf from Beauxbatons to do the cooking," pointed out Gabrielle. She wondered if the house-elves at Beauxbatons were as unhappy during the summers as that Dobby claimed the Hogwarts elves were.
"The cooking? That is nothing. Sebastion would do it, as before," said Stanislaw dismissively. Gabrielle shuddered, recalling the awful stews from the first camp. "The Nona... arranges... access to the sites."
"They, eh, she does?"
"Yes. This is an old country, even after the Communists."
v - v - v - v - v
"Soleil! Fly lower, over there!" shouted Gabrielle, arm outstretched. The trees were not so thick below, and she had seen something. "Over there!" Soleil tucked his wings and plummeted. Gabrielle gripped his mane and held on as she drifted off the colt's back. She enjoyed this part of flying, even on the school's brooms, which would tumble as well. With Soleil, though, she was sure the fall would end before they reached the ground.
The Abraxan spread his wings abruptly, and they no longer fell but swooped low over the trees. Gabrielle leaned out over Soleil's neck to search for the luminous, golden form. There! It -was- a unicorn. It was amazing that it was here at all, thought Gabrielle. The woods below were anything but deep and wild. "Can you land, Soleil, among the trees? Is it too much?" This was a kind of game, which, a guilty second thought noted, was a lie. The question was really just a kind of manipulation, since the colt was too proud to back down from a challenge. Gabrielle tried not to use the ploy too often, but she really wanted to look at the unicorn because, well, one should always take time to look at a unicorn.
The branches whipped Gabrielle as Soleil plunged through them, and she mentally kicked herself for not waiting until there more of a clearing. The Abraxan was leaving a sizable hole in the canopy, and there were resounding cracks as heavier tree limbs gave way. It will be your fault, warned a worried thought, if he is hurt.
Soleil landed heavily, with a bounding hop that thudded loudly in the former quiet of the woods. Gabrielle could no longer see the unicorn, but had not expected to with an arrival like that. She took off the diadem and rappelled down from the colt's high back using the tether, checking for cuts and other injuries. "Are you hurt Soleil? Show me your wings! Eh, please?" The Abraxan ignored her, watching something. The hairs on the back of her neck went up.
It was the unicorn, which stood half hidden behind the trunks of a thicket of saplings. The creature was young, possibly just a colt itself, with an ebony horn that contrasted with the glowing, pale gold of its coat. Its head was narrower than Impudanae's, and the beard on the muzzle was shorter. The young unicorn was beautiful, and Gabrielle stood motionless to watch. Why, some part of her wondered, was Soleil acting like that? Then the Abraxan stomped and snorted, flaring its wings. Wings which, Gabrielle was able to see, had quite a few feathers out of place. She would have to be more careful with him. "Calm down, Soleil. It is only a unicorn; you'll frighten it." That was, of course, thought Gabrielle, his intent. Gabrielle stepped back out of stomping range - even with the special footwear it could hurt - and Soleil immediately whinnied. "You have seen unicorns before," said Gabrielle, her brow wrinkling in confusion. "There was Impy, when he was hurt?"
Something was very wrong. That much, thought Gabrielle, was obvious. Perhaps Soleil had hit his head on the way down? It was a problem, her problem, made much worse because she was tied to the winged horse. If Soleil, crazed by the injury, started fighting or suddenly bolted into the air, well, there would be no way to avoid the insane old healer afterwards. She turned back to the unicorn, a creature known for its calming presence in a forest. It was close now, hobbling toward Gabrielle with a mad look in its eyes. Hobbling, because wrapped around the pastern, just above the hoof, of its right rear leg was a shiny strand of metal. Gabrielle recognized it as, eh, consternation, or something, wire; she had seen it just outside of Paris, strung along roof tops. A muggle, mechanical wire with double-edged blades spaced along it, it was nasty even to look at. "It is hurt!" blurted Gabrielle to Soleil, and she moved toward the dangerous horn. At least she could try to remove the twisted metal.
The unicorn lunged forward stabbing with its jet-black spear, blind with agony. The horn sliced the air where Gabrielle no longer was, having been jerked from her feet by a violent tug from Soleil. She lay, slightly dazed after tumbling end over end. The unicorn, because of its injured leg, was unable to recover from its thrust and stumbled, presenting its side to Soleil. The Abraxan pivoted once more and prepare to deliver a kick from its rear legs that could, and did, topple small buildings. "Stop!" cried Gabrielle, struggling to untangle the tether. "Has everyone in these woods lost their senses?"
As if in reply, Soleil staggered awkwardly from his aborted kick, catching up his wings in the branches of a clump of trees. The unicorn finally got its legs under it and darted blindly away from the huge Abraxan, embedding its horn into the trunk of a different tree. A small, ratty owl swooped down on the disguised diadem, sinking its talon in. The weight badly misjudged, it failed to get airborne again, flopping forward with the diadem and corpse on top as it flailed underneath. Lastly, a squirrel skittered down the tree nearest Gabrielle, who had been dragged along as Soleil lurched, and tried to climb into her lap.
v - v - v - v - v
The unicorn, a mare, was no less upset after getting its horn stuck in a tree but was a lot easier to approach. Gabrielle put her hand on its horn as if it was still a threat, since the creature had to be terribly embarrassed. She stroked the silky hair of its beard and spoke gently, trying to ease its anxiety. She even sang the unicorn song, which the mare did not seem to enjoy as much as Impy did. Then, because Soleil was giving her a Look, she explained to him, in a whisper, and with a roll of her eyes, that, yes, it was the Abraxan song but that she had changed the words. Gabrielle then vowed that she would visit Abby. She was spending too much time talking to animals.
Not that either the squirrel or the owl had much to say. The owl, when it was not tearing off bits from its 'kill', just hopped excitedly. She refused to believe it had actually delivered the message, if that is what bouncing about with spleen tangling from one's beak meant. No owl could get to France and back so quickly. And why had it not brought back a reply? The squirrel just answered everything with endless tail flicks, which meant Gabrielle had no idea why it was there or what, besides, perhaps, food, it wanted. The rodent-like animal clung to the back of her blouse like she was a tree trunk. It easily evaded her attempts to shoo it away.
Gabrielle was able to free the unicorn, both from the tree and from the cruel entanglement. The first was done with an expert, if not Outstanding - which it would have been if the Mademoiselles Deudancorp had not borne such a grudge - bit of transfiguration. She had already apologized anyway, several times. The gleaming black horn had pierced the tree completely. Which meant there was a hole in the trunk, like the hole in the handle of a tea cup. And so it became, widening enough to free the unicorn as the trunk bulged out to form the cup. Briefly, that is, since the whole top of the tree began to topple. Gabrielle cancelled the magic quickly. She could not tell if the top of the tree had always been at that angle or not. She decided not to try some sort of hair-straightening spell on it.
The method of removing the the tangled consternation - constant-stirring? Philippe would know - wire was clever as well, in Gabrielle's judgement. Before trying to work the leg free, Gabrielle slid twigs in between the metal blades and the bloody wounds. She had happened upon a patch of dittany while collecting twigs, too. Probably dittany; she wished she had her books. A potion was impossible here, but a poultice of some sort would help, if only a little. And if it was dittany. The unicorn had calmed down once its horn was freed, possibly because Gabrielle carefully avoided mentioning the faux pas. Her grip prevented the mare from stabbing Soleil with the spiral spike; his low nickering may have meant that he did make a comment.
Everything was going very well, up to the point when Gabrielle cut herself on the vicious wire. Con - concerted, that was more like it, wire is essentially covered in knife blades; it was almost to be expected. Gabrielle instinctively put the injured finger in her mouth, sucking at the pain. A mineral taste filled her mouth, and she pulled the bleeding digit out to inspect it. Gabrielle paled at the sight. Her hands, her fingers save one, were smeared with the silver-blue blood of the unicorn. She had drunk unicorn blood. "Oh mon Dieu, whispered Gabrielle in horror. "I am cursed. Merde. Merde!"
The tangled metal came away with one final twist. It is not fair, thought Gabrielle morosely. The reason a person drank unicorn blood should count for something. What would she tell Maman? Papa? His connections at the Ministry would be of no help now. She reached for the scraggly dittany she had found, not the best specimens, she knew, but look where they grew. Unless it was not dittany; she was not looking forward to mashing the bitter leaves by chewing. If only, thought Gabrielle tragically, I had spit out the blood. Actually, piped up an optimistic thought, there may still be time. Perhaps the blood had to be digested first before diffusing into the humours. If she could get it out of her system, there was possibly, probably still hope!
"I, eh, will need bandages for the pastern," announced Gabrielle. She would go back to the camp quickly, treat herself, then come back. It was a good plan, certainly Soleil was ready to leave, but the unicorn made obvious its intent to limp gingerly after them. Even after Gabrielle pointed out that the Abraxan had wings, and that they would be flying. She reached down to pick up the diadem, which was now hidden under a dead, eviscerated vulture. "Vous," said Gabrielle addressing the now dozy owl, "sucez." As for the squirrel, hopefully it would fall off in flight.
Gabrielle was sliding down Soleil's neck to the Abraxan's broad back, using her original mounting technique, when a second thought stopped her. What if the unicorn persisted? It would have to cross the farmer's fields to get to the camp. Even a muggle would notice such a creature in the open like that. They might try to catch it, or worse! Gabrielle could not just let that happen; it was a unicorn. She eyed the young mare. It was much smaller than Soleil, but already the size of a normal horse. The only way to conceal both animals was for the Abraxan to carry the unicorn, but Gabrielle doubted that flying would be possible. She swung down off of Soleil on the tether, which earned her an impatient stamp of a hoof the size of a dinner plate. "Soleil, you must, eh, carry the unicorn," insisted Gabrielle smiling her best smile - it might help.
That did not sit well with the colt. Soleil became quite petulant. Dangerously petulant. He was jerking the tether and purposefully stepping on the protective metal footwear, though he never did hurt her. The unicorn, who Gabrielle decided to name Hemorrhoid because of where the mare was a pain in, looked on dubiously while Gabrielle argued with the giant flying horse. Gabrielle knew the winning argument though. "Montaigne, eh, would do it..."
1 That damn beast! I - What's going on?
2 No, you devil.
