Chapter Twenty-two - In Repose

The flat was, to the passerby, something that should have been razed ages ago in the name of progress. Or beautification. Or even habitability. The run-down hovel sat forgotten down a street that was more of the alley it pretended not to be. The building lacked a few modern amenities, such as electric service, telephone service, and even running water. The second-floor flat did not need a new ceiling as much as -a- ceiling, with a roof to match. The whole of the upper floor was more of a pigeon loft now, although calling it a pigeon graveyard was more appropriate.

That was because the only birds living there, or living for any length of time, were the owls. One belonged to the current tenant of the lower flat - two, if her idiotic roommate did not return soon. It had been six months now. The rest of the handful of owls were -her- tenants. She was a witch, born Aiglentina Percéelle, but currently favoring the name Elvira. Just Elvira, with the second syllable drawn out for an extra beat.

Not that the few sickles a month per owl were needed as much, even if she was paying the entire rent herself. It helped that the landlord was a muggle gentleman, who could be "persuaded" to take any kind of small pieces of paper at all when things were tight. But mostly, it was due to the flat rectangle of a package sitting on the table. The shape was ominous; it was the size Elvira had learned was called A. Human nature being what is was, that implied that this was the smallest. She couldn't imagine the terror a Z would bring.

The colored ink was somewhat washed-out and did no justice to the logo. The W's, for instance, just sat there, which meant it was from Toulier. Elvira noted the extra thickness and winced. Had it been three months already?

Elvira's specialty as a witch was carving and enchanting ward stones. Her best works were lifelike lambs, in repose. She could also do a nice rabbit, in repose. The market was thin. Lately she had been picking up a few galleons here and there doing piecework for the Weasleys, mostly encapsulating, shrinking, and layering the foulest odors for the vile Poot Powder. While the product was completely unfunny in itself, she found a certain humor in the knowledge that the popular prank was little more than the concentrated stench from the muggle sewer system running under the pavement outside.

Elvira drew her wand and sliced away the perimeter of the package with four sure strokes. It was a sureness that came from years of carving stone lambs, in repose, with the wand. She lifted a corner of the top and grimaced. The vast sea of numbers, imprisoned in their ranks and files was there, and, argh, the little circles with the horrible colored wedges. She would need to brew a batch of Pepper-up before she went any further. Last time, the ten point 'mission statement' of the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes Way had taken nearly two batches to get through. How many points would fit on a Z? It was a question that made her shudder.

The cauldron sat on an open fire in the tiny kitchen. The smoke wafted through the fat metal pipe of the makeshift chimney, exiting the flat above via the gaping holes. While the cauldron heated, Elvira returned to stuffing her roommate's things into a Wheeze box, and wondered if it would be all right to sell some of them. The self-correcting abacus, the Ministry accountant's pride and joy - well, pride, at least, had to be worth something, and the wayward witch -was- responsible for half the rent. What, wondered Elvira with a sniff, had become of the plan to try and marry some Ministry clerk? To go haring off like that after some dragon -

The walls of the tired building shook slightly, and a fog of dust drifted down from the ceiling. That sometimes happened as the roof continued its slow collapse. Elvira knew she needed to either learn how to reinforce it magically, or come up with an explanation for the landlord that did not involve an over-priced lump of marble, a hidden fault, and an artist tantrum. It was not usual, though, when it came to the settling roof beams, for someone to be shouting in English. Elvira took her wand and climbed the rear stairs to what was left of the second floor to get a better view. The owls had fled, but she was not concerned. Her own flock of lambs, in repose, would protect her home.

The man rudely shouting was a disturbingly large Englishman, with blond hair. A wizard too - the idiot was firing spells at her door right there, waving his wand around in the middle of the street. "You complete fool! Put it away before the neighbors see!" shouted Elvira from the window.

"[Yeah. Look, I'm in a bit of a hurry. Is your name Yvette?]" asked the stranger. He did not put the wand away, but raised it toward her.

"Are you another bill collector?" The flat was not all that her roommate had run out on.

"[Do you speak English? Is your name Yvette?]"

"I do speak some, but I will not bother for you. Go away. Yvette does not live here anymore." At least, not without coming across with six months of back rent.

"[So, you are Yvette?]"

Not a boyfriend, obviously, thought Elvira, and probably not a bill collector, unless he and his client were complete incompetents. Not from the Ministry either, at least not this country's. "You must have troll blood in your family. Goat too, if your face is anything to go by. She does not live here. Go make an idiotic spectacle of yourself somewhere else."

The wizard below fired a spell at her, which gouged a hole in the brickwork around the window. "[That's yer one warning, luv. Where is Yvette?]"

Where is Yvette? Elvira did not have an answer for that. The mousy blond had gone off to England with her latest matrimonial target, another self-important Ministry drone, for the Delacour wedding, then came back days late obsessing about dragons, smelling of sulfur, and walking funny. She had moped for dreary months and had begun taking unauthorized absences from her post because it was 'boring'. But, wondered Elvira, what did she expect? She was, or had been, an accountant toting up the balances in the specialty herb trade. Finally, six months ago now, Yvette had showed up at the flat more than slightly soused and wearing a new set of fireproof leather robes. She had collected the gray blanket she had returned from the wedding with, slurred that she was going to Romania, and then disappeared entirely.

One, at the moment at least, handy benefit to being able to carve beautiful, peaceful lambs, in repose, from stone was the unusable lumps created when she tried to do anything else. Aside, that is, from the odd rabbit. In repose. The lopsided faithful dog, in repose; the regal lion-ish, tiger-ish feline, in repose; and the frightening baby goat, in repose; sailed out of the window with a sweep of her wand. One would think that if one could carve a lovely lamb then a baby goat would not be a problem, but the horns were just wrong - terrifyingly wrong. These were followed by the eagle, in repose, which looked more like a pointy duck, and Elvira's last attempt at expanding her oeuvre: a lamb, rampant. Lambs were just not a rampant sort of animal.

Elvira could hear the crack and clatter as the rejected works were burst in air, showering the streets, buildings, and cars with far more numerous shrapnel. It was a poor tactic, as the shattering glass and car alarms would draw even more attention, and eventually aurors. A loud grunt followed by a string of curses, in English, revealed another hazard of exploding rock - one can not dodge everything.

v - v - v - v - v

Severus Snape, black robes billowing as he flew, trailed behind the far slighter form ahead, and wondered why. What was his role here? He certainly was not the Dark Lord's spy, nor his de facto healer. Snape still posed as the adult to his putative ward in some ill-defined relationship, but that was hardly necessary. The anonymity of the current body, and the Dark Lord's obvious affinity for it, allowed him to project his will with ease. He could have the muggles believe that he was their king as easily as a devil-may-care youth with a sweet tooth.

Dawn approached, and also their apparent destination. A cursory glance showed it to be an old stone fortress, the dry stone walls standing but the roofs caved or missing. A more informed look revealed that the tall main tower still stood. The anti-muggle wards, thought Snape, must still stand for a reason, and he expected that the tower would be either guarded or at least occupied. The next question that came to mind was whether this was a social call on an expected ally, or an entry by force.

The answer came as the two wizards soared high above the conical roof of the tower. The Dark Lord suddenly dove for the roof, then conjured a large boulder in front of him. The flying spell was quickly recast, and he matched the falling rock's trajectory at a prudent distance, even as it smashed its way through the top of the tower. Snape followed, but slowed considerably at the splintered hole, where the shattered beams waited to spear the foolhardy.

Flying and hovering are, from an aeronautical viewpoint, two distinct actions. Coming to a stop while using a flying spell does not mean that one is suddenly using a hovering spell. It means that one is falling, at least until flying is resumed or levitation is used. Snape, out of his element in the open air, dropped through the hole in the tower's roof. He recast the flying spell in time to avoid serious injury. The potions master was aided in this by the gray-haired man directly below the hole, whose collapse into an unconscious cushion provided a few crucial seconds more. The Dark Lord laughed.

"Really, Severus, you might have let him finish making his useless threats," admonished the Dark Lord.

Snape landed unsteadily, sliding ungracefully. He straightened and swept his dark hair back. The Dark Lord had laughed - an actual laugh in jest instead of a cruel laugh for when his victim finally realized his fate. It was more of a shock than the method of entry had been. This odd change in tone had to be caused by the stolen body. The brief slip had brought back memories to Snape of the Dark Lord's early years, when wit and charm matched encyclopedic knowledge and extraordinary will, when cruelty and disregard were the rarer traits. The Dark Lord's followers had grown swiftly in number then, before being winnowed as a spear is sharpened. Snape turned and regarded the fallen man. "My apologies, my lord. I misjudged the angle. I will bring him around if you wish. I have a potion that -"

"No need, Snape. He will be a serviceable plug for the Floo. Notice the wand?"

Snape looked around the man, and was about to magically hoist the sprawled form when he spotted a thin, shiny rod near a chair. "Is that... metal?" asked Snape, surprised once more.

"It's a goblin wand - exceedingly rare. Most likely an heirloom, perhaps having been claimed on a battlefield. It's what the goblin rebellions were all about. Our host is rather tall for goblin blood though; I wonder why he was using it?" considered the Dark Lord. Then, dismissing the question and the man, turned his own wand on the ruined roof and ceiling. With a sweep of an arm, the debris on the floor rebuilt itself, leaving the tower whole. "See to the Floo, Snape."

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle shook herself awake, again. She was sure she had dozed; it was hard to stay awake when it was so late, when she was wrapped in George's warm, if unknowing, embrace. His scent filled her senses. She was tempting fate and she knew it, though. It was time to get back -

The frantic thought shouting disaster inside Gabrielle's head was finally noticed. The room was filled with a gray light; dawn, doom, and the morning were fast approaching. It was well past time to leave!

At least leaving would be simple, thought Gabrielle, as she slid slowly out of George's bed. He had shifted again in the night, and did not have his arm over her any more. She tried not to shake the bed at all, and did not wake George, mostly because, as she could see as she stood up, he was not there. Gabrielle stared at the empty bed, mouth open, as her brain struggled with what this meant, and if there was any plausible scenarios where this was not a complete disaster. The only solace she could find was that George had not kicked her out of his bed when he had discovered her.

And Gabrielle knew that George had woken and discovered her, because, she thought, why else would he not be here? Of course, the natural question after that was where he had gone? A hopeful thought wondered if perhaps he was fetching Harry's invisibility cloak, so the others would not find out. That would save her, and George was good at saving her. It was very sweet. He would not realize that she could use the apron. A more mundane thought suggested that she check the bathroom.

It was a mundane thought, but other thoughts quickly decorated it with anxiety. If George was in the bathroom, reasoned Gabrielle, logically, then he not only had not kicked her out but he intended to continue having her in his bed. That then meant the snuggling would go from inadvertent to intentional. Would - would a kiss or two be enough? Or would he expect more? Images of the woodcut illustrations from Grandmere's little book rose in her head like newt eyes in a potion. Her mouth went dry. Oh mon Dieu, worried Gabrielle, of course he would expect more! Especially from someone who had climbed into his bed. I - I am being loose, came a horrified thought.

No, resolved Gabrielle to herself, I am being stupid. This was just another step in her and George's relationship. A rather big step, she had to admit, but was that not the reason she was not wearing what she was not, eh, wearing? Gabrielle knew that it could hurt the first time, but she doubted it would be worse than two arms worth of Skele-Gro. She knocked at the bathroom door. They were not the loudest of knocks. Taps was a closer description; her hand made contact with the door was better still. "Eh, George? I, eh, am r-ready," said Gabrielle softly, with only a tiny quiver at the end.

There was no answer, and no other sounds from beyond the door. That was because there was no one in the bathroom. Gabrielle found she was more relieved than disappointed. And somewhat shocked at the dried blood on her face, now that she had a mirror. She washed up, and decided that it was probably best not to wait for George to return with the cloak. Not that she was scared, of course. It was just best that she got back to her own room before the sun was fully up.

Except... the apron was gone.

v - v - v - v - v

Lord Voldemort tested the new ward, reaching out with magic to survey the nodes. The protective spell was one of his own, allowing none but those that bore his Mark through. The ward covered the walls, windows, and, unlike the previous one, the ceiling and roof. It was the legacy of terrestrial thinking that made the walls two feet of stone but the roof less than one of wood. Muggles and even wizards could only see threats at their level; Lord Voldemort had moved beyond both as a being that was magic itself. He could see things in a new perspective and view them with purer sight. He could now sense the hidden, and feel the flow of the magic, his very essence. He could also feel hungry, no doubt due to the current vessel he made do with. The regional delicacies would be of honey and nuts, if he remembered correctly.

The newly set ward rippled slightly, as if a mayfly lighted on a still pond, even as Lord Voldemort thought of sticky pastries. He would have sensed the Mark even without the barrier, though, and it turned his attention back to the morning's business. "Snape. I am in need of your left arm. Show me the Mark."

The potion master wordlessly complied, quickly unbuttoning and rolling up his sleeve. The Mark was angry and livid against his servant's sallow skin. Blue veins showed under the skin all around the brand. The combination was unhealthy looking. The Dark Lord took no real notice of it, thought of Wormtail, and touched the tip of his wand to the lurid Mark. The tendons on the arm tensed against one another, something else the Dark Lord took no notice of. "Let us see if Wormtail is an early riser."

A minute later a small man with graying, balding hair appeared with a loud pop. He held a wand at the ready, looked confused, and asked, "Snape? What is going on?"

"Bow to your lord, Pettigrew, and lower your wand," advised Snape.

"My - my lord?"

"Yes, Peter. You don't recognize me? Perhaps a reminder then," said the youthful voice of Lord Voldemort. He whipped his wand toward the baffled wizard, sending a flickering tongue of blue to strike the man's silver hand, brushing aside the other's attempt at a shield spell. Wormtail's wand dropped to the ground as he sagged to the floor in agony. The Dark Lord ended the spell once his target was on his knees, then brought his wand down to flatten the fallen wizard to the ground.

"My - my l - lord," rasped Wormtail urgently.

"Always what you think they want to hear Peter. Be assured that I am Lord Voldemort, and Lord Voldemort sees all," said the Dark Lord softly. The prone wizard slowly rose into the air, turned over, and dropped back to the floor painfully, face up. "Now, Wormtail, you were sent to retrieve an object for your lord. But I sense that it is not on your person, though you are in front of me. Why?"

"I - I - I w-will bring it, my lord."

"That does not answer my question, Wormtail. Did you not hear it, or shall I add a few more holes to your head so that the sound can get in?" The Dark Lord stood astride Pettigrew, staring intently into his eyes.

"My lord! I did not know -"

"Did not know, Wormtail? Who else could summon you like this? You claim not to know, but Lord Voldemort... will know." The Dark Lord gave a thought as to when the young vocal cords would be able to match his intended ominous tone, then bore his gaze in Wormtail's. The wretch had never been hard to read, and his current, lightly stunned state made it trivial. Magic, thought the Dark Lord, was wasted on the man, the parasite. Pettigrew would happily spend years as a rat, as he had for nearly the whole of the last year. The only resistance to the mental rummaging came from the most recent memories. A resistance that meant nothing to Lord Voldemort, who was the magic. The hidden scene was brief. A young blond girl wearing an apron suddenly appeared holding the Cup before being obscured by a sheet of flames. Anger exploded in the Dark Lord, and an urgent sense of dread. His blood ran cold. "Kill the girl!" the Dark Lord heard himself command, his throat saying the words without a thought. The sudden impulse caught him by surprise; it was some vestige of the other, the original will of the host body. He forcefully reasserted himself, which was difficult as agitated as he was. The fool had lost his Cup to a mere chit of a girl! Was she even a first-year yet? Why had he ever accepted the filth he stood over?

A glint from Wormtail's hand caught his eye, and the Dark Lord recalled. Pettigrew had given him the Potters, and had been a convenient servant when he had first regained his corporeal form. Now, Pettigrew was just another failure, a leech whose use of the magic that rightly belonged only to Lord Voldemort was becoming intolerable. There was, however, one more use for the rodent, thought the Dark Lord. "Find the girl, and find -it.-," he ordered.

"At once!" squeaked Wormtail.

The Dark Lord suspected that the sudden exclamation was due to the mistaken belief that the interview was over. It was not. "And now, Wormtail, I shall reward you by renewing my... faith in you," said Lord Voldemort generously. The cloth on Wormtail's left arm split, revealing the existing Dark Mark. The Dark Lord put his wand to it. "Morsmordre."

The new wards did not dampen the scream at all.

v - v - v - v - v

The apron was gone. Why was the apron gone? That, criticized a second thought, was a stupid question. It was gone because George thought it would be funny for her to be caught. Did he even know what the apron really did? Probably, Gabrielle guessed with a sigh. The apron would be too useful for playing pranks for him, and Fred, not to know. On the bright side, added a third thought, he must be feeling better, so the diligent radiating had worked! It was too early, though, for optimism. Especially for something that now sounded so dumb.

It was also too early, realized Gabrielle with relief, for anyone else to be up. Besides George. She could make it back without the others finding out. Gabrielle was confident that George would not say anything directly. She did not even have to get back all the way to her room. All she had to be, logically, was on the correct side of the common room before anyone saw, and she could deny the rest. She would beat the prank. And she would need to keep her arms down, because the last thing Gabrielle wanted was for the hem of the quidditch shirt to rise.

Gabrielle backed out of George's room after another cautious, quiet search, which ruled out the way she normally cast the Accio spell, just in case the apron had only been hidden, and quietly closed the door behind her. She had her wand, but Silencio was a charm, which meant that it worked on something the way it currently was, and the door was not currently banging against the jamb. She needed a jinx, which would work when something happened to the target of the spell. Unless, of course, the door and jamb could be considered as one. The problem there was that the jamb was in the wall, so was it, wondered Gabrielle, really not just part of the tent? She was pretty certain that she would not be able to silence the entire tent, even with her other wand which had the twist and her Grandmere's hair. The twist still bothered Gabrielle. She had always suspected that the story about the meta-core, or was it mega-core?, was just that: a story. Professor Festeller, Gabrielle knew, would surely know, but the -

"[Gabrielle!]" Gabrielle yelped in surprise and spun around, hands automatically holding down the hem of the shirt. Hermione, Harry, Ginny, and Ron were sitting in the common area. Ron looked to be sleeping. Ginny looked like she was ill, and had Harry holding her. "[What do you think you are doing?]" demanded Hermione sharply.

"Nothing! [Eh, nozzing! Eh, I, eh... What are you -]"

"[- lot doing up already?]" finished... George! He was, a dumbfounded Gabrielle could see, just exiting her room. Her room! What did that mean?

"[George? What in Merlin's name are you up to?]" asked Hermione. "[Why -]"

"[Went to find the loo in the night - peculiar rhythmic thumping woke me. Must have got lost on the way back,]" claimed George.

A pinker Hermione looked doubtful. "[You've got a loo in your suite.]"

"[The rooms over the shop aren't so posh. I wasn't looking for one there,]" explained George.

"[Even so, that does not explain how you ended up in a first-year girl's bedroom.]"

"[I am a fifth-year student,]" clarified Gabrielle. Next year, officially. No - be invisible pleaded a second thought.

"[It does,]" nodded George.

"[It doesn't.]"

"[It does. See, when I was finished - er... finished, I went back to what I thought was my room. But it couldn't have been, since there was a first-fifth-year in it, so I went to the opposite side. Obvious, really.]"

"[Hardly. Why was she in your room then?]"

"[Maybe something gave her a fright?]" proposed George. He was looked at Gabrielle. "[Didn't say which loo I used.]" Did he, wondered Gabrielle, just wink? Was she supposed to know what to say next?

"[I, eh, heard ze rhyzzmic bumping, aussi,]" started Gabrielle. Then she recalled the ridiculous scene with Hemorrhoid, and added, "[Zen zere was zis, eh, howling, like a cat zat was stepped on, and -]"

"[You didn't! There was -]" Hermione stopped when George started laughing. Gabrielle's spirit soared. She had made him laugh.

Oh, thought Gabrielle, that Look from Hermione must have been learned from Fleur. And like Fleur, noted a second thought worriedly, she knows what to do with a wand.

"[Well there you have it. She was woken by a noise, heard something moving in her bathroom, and ran for safety,]" concluded George. "[A werewolf, a vampire, and Bellatrix have all had a go at her. You can hardly blame her.]"

"[And we're supposed to be all right with Gigi jumping into your bed, are we?]" snipped Hermione. Gabrielle thought the question made it seem like she had been a scared child - insulting. Although, that was probably better than being thought of as loose. Though not by much.

"[I suspect it was the only door not magically sealed or smelling like Fred's dung-bomb range,]" hinted George. "['Sides, I wasn't there all night.]"

"[What is wrong wizz Ginny?]" asked Gabrielle. A different topic for the conversation was needed, before the wands came out.

"[She might have picked up a burden that's too heavy for her,]" commented Hermione quietly. Gabrielle hoped not. Papa had done that, and he had needed the squeezing belt that hissed like a snake. That had not been a pleasant surprise for a five year-old. Probably though, came a second thought, Hermione meant something else.

"[I'm fine now,]" said Ginny hoarsely.

"[What, eh, happened?]"

"[You-Know-Who blew his cauldron over something Wormtail did,]" replied Ginny.

"[Voldemort,]" added Harry firmly. Gabrielle had been expecting it this time.

"[Riddle,]" said Ginny just as firmly.

"[Is it like ze seance, where you feel cold, very much, and zen ze voice begins speaking and - ]" Ginny was shaking her head.

"[More like an icepick through the eye. It bloody hurt so much I thought it was a Cruciatus Curse,]" explained Ginny. "[I didn't get much other than Wormtail lost it and had to find it.]"

"[Eh, what is zis, eh, it?]" asked Gabrielle. A part of her that was more awake began to sound an alarm.

"[Something of Voldemort's,]" said Harry. "[Something, erm, important to him.]"

"[Oh. Eh, how, eh, big would zis somezing be?]" asked Gabrielle carefully.

"Fëmijë. Nuk është puna."

"[Merde,]" groaned Gabrielle before she could stop herself. She smiled sheepishly. "[Eh, sorry. I must go and help Nona.]"

"[It's a bit early for a seance, isn't it?]" asked Hermione.

"[I have to - zere are ozzer zings I help wizz.]"

v - v - v - v - v

This, thought Gabrielle, this was a test. That is what it had to be. The comments about that Matty woman came to mind. George, decided Gabrielle, was testing her to see if a really irritating prank would make her run off. As if any of the others had! Except, those had mostly been Fred's doing. It might also, warned a second thought, be retribution for the night's foray. Either way, her underwear was gone. All of it, which was doubly bad since she started with a lack already, so it was not as if she could make do by turning them inside out. There was something else, resolved Gabrielle, to keep in the handbag.

What Gabrielle could not figure out was how hiding her underwear was supposed to be funny, unless she were to run from the room outraged and burst into tears or to hysterically refuse to come out of her room at all. If, thought Gabrielle, I just wore the denims, no one would really know at all. That violated the clean-underthings-daily rule of Maman, but she was not here to check and had finally stopped anyways. What was the point of George's prank? Gabrielle felt sure there had to be something more behind it than to see if she would have some sort of public tantrum.

Like another dawn, Gabrielle had an epiphany. Not public, but private. This was not intended to be a public humiliation, but a private prank. It was a test, yes, thought Gabrielle, to see how she would respond, and also a challenge. Another thought left her giddy - George was definitely flirting with her! Probably. She would have to play a trick on him in return. Gabrielle snatched up her handbag. Now she understood why George had sent the Wheezes. There was not much time though, so she would just have to take whatever she found first and then figure out a way to use it. Pepi-Z was sure to help; Poisseux too if he was finished being a Bad Toad. The loss of the apron, though, was a real setback. Gabrielle, her arm deep into the magical lining of the bag, pawed through the scattered items. I really should organize this, she thought. There were spare dressers and wardrobes at Delacour manor, but Maman would certainly notice if they went missing.

Gabrielle's fingers touched upon a silky something, and she started to pull it out. I am always prepared, thought Gabrielle, although she did not actually remember ever stowing underwear in the handbag. But it was not what she thought it was. The item she held was not white with pink trim, pink with white trim, nor even light blue with matching trim. It was the sheer black, short bodysuit that George had sent, from the twins' ShieldWear line. A year ago she would not have even considered wearing it without another layer beneath it; it was too daring. Now, though, she was a confident young woman. Also, there was not any other choice. George's prank had not worked. Gabrielle decided that she was already ahead of him.

Except, Gabrielle could not help but wonder, how would George know she was winning? The question of whether one was wearing proper unmentionables or not rarely came up, aside from Maman's formerly embarrassing inspections. Gabrielle supposed that inspections were something that Monique likely had to endure now, though that was less for what she wore than what she might have down them. Although, schemed Gabrielle, telling a humorous story about Monique would be a way to broach the topic of underwear. How it would end with her declaration that she was, in fact, currently wearing such needed some thought. The problem, considered Gabrielle further, was there was no reason for George to doubt that his prank had worked. If she threw a fit or refused to come out of her room, then he would know for sure his attempt had been successful. If she tried to act normally, then he would think she was just putting up a brave front in the face of adversity. What, thought Gabrielle, was something that could only be done if one was wearing underwear? That is, in public.

And suddenly it came to Gabrielle; she saw the solution clearly. She would wear the skirt again. That was something that would make George wonder! Gabrielle imagined herself curtsying and bending over to pick things up, each time sneaking a look at George's reddened ears as he struggled to understand how she could be so bold. Then his eyes would widen in surprise as he guessed or remembered, and George would grin at her as he realized that she was his equal. It would be a perfect moment, dreamed Gabrielle. She just would roll up the short legs of the bodysuit and not hike up the skirt much. Or at all, because the black garment really was -very- sheer, and they would be able to see everyth - Thwock!

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle wondered if Fleur had felt like this. Someone following you around, asking endless questions - she could see now that during the time in her life when Fleur was who she wanted to be, before the Tri-Wizard debacle, that her sister had actually been quite tolerant. Certainly more tolerant than Gabrielle was feeling toward Ginny. Of course, Fleur enjoyed worshippers, whereas Ginny was just curious. Or nosy.

The perfect moment would have to wait. The appearance of the ladle meant that Gabrielle was out of time, and she had had to hurry out of the tent to save herself the humiliation of being chased out by the kitchen implement. Again. The look on George's face was not so much shocked as entertained. Unfortunately, she had forgotten to wear the amulets from Nona, who was rather adamant about that after a shocking peek into Gabrielle's blouse. The ladle was also adamant, and chased Gabrielle back into the tent, completely unaware of the damage being done to her image as a mature young woman. The ladle herded Gabrielle out of the tent too, until Ginny snatched it out of the air and announced that she would be going with Gabrielle. This was not something that Gabrielle welcomed, since that meant that the youngest Weasley would discover the Gabrielle was usually little more than kitchen help, and not practically a full-time Seer. Ginny explained in a mutter that she was feeling a little suffocated by Harry. Gabrielle was more concerned by Nona's reaction, and gave Ginny a hurried description of the old crone's peculiarities. Especially the one about wands.

Nona, suspected Gabrielle, was completely unfazed by Ginny's presence by the virtue of Gabrielle expecting some sort of ornery upset. The old witch was just being contrary in sparing Ginny her usual dour glare. Gabrielle was further surprised by her occasional coven sister's actions. Ginny had simply taken a seat on the barrel at the table, picking up the knife set there. As if that happened all the time, Nona silently shifted over another barrel for Gabrielle, who was being shocked enough for the other two. She and Ginny sliced and chopped until the really, when Gabrielle thought of it now, small, rather minor accident, which brought out Nona's gross poultice. Gabrielle's knife was taken away and the crystal ball brought out, and she was ladled until Anthony was found.

After Nona and breakfast, at which Gabrielle had had to pick up a fallen fork twice near George, it was time to tend to Soleil. Gabrielle was sure George was still working it out. His nonchalant expression was clearly all an act. At least, came a heated second thought, he had been watching.

"[You, eh, must act afraid when you meet Soleil,]" advised Gabrielle. She was thinking that Ginny would be brave or defiant, and then Soleil would do something to change that.

"[Do you know what this is?]" asked Ginny, indicating her arm.

"[It was an accident and I have apologized already,]" sighed Gabrielle heavily. "[If zere was a petite knife zen I would -]"

"[I mean this gray thing.]"

"[Zat is ze poultice zat Nona makes.]"

"[I know it's a poultice. You're not stupid - least according to my git brother - what is this?]" repeated Ginny.

"[Eh, it is best not to zink about zat,]" said Gabrielle. Could she assume that the git was George? What was a git? "[Ginny, about Soleil -]"

"[Yeah, yeah. I'll do the 'oh my paws and whiskers' for him,]" said Ginny. "[Do you really need those boots?]"

"[Eh, what?]" Ginny was not making any sense. Abraxans had hooves, not paws.

"[I thought animals did what you told them to do,]" added Ginny.

"[Eh, what?]" asked Gabrielle again. "[Zat is not true. Also, Soleil's hooves are very big. Zere are, eh, accidents.]" Ordering Montaigne around was unimaginable. And possibly lethal.

"[With you around I can believe it,]" nodded Ginny, rubbing her arm in what Gabrielle felt was a completely unnecessary gesture. She -had- apologized. "[Are you going to work in the Ministry's Department of Magical Beasts?]"

"[Non,]" blurted Gabrielle in surprise. "[Why would you zink zat? I am going to be a Seer. Also, eh, I am learning curse-breaking.]" Not, she had to admit, on a daily basis, but this was not Beauxbatons.

"[I dunno - Seeing looks a bit painful,]" smirked Ginny. Gabrielle frowned - this might be a very long morning. "[Worse than Mum ever was, that Nona. Was that detention or something? That's what -]" The redhead stopped and slapped her hands to her nose. "[Sweeb Morgaba!]"

"[It is not zat bad,]" said Gabrielle, rolling her eyes. Yet. Perhaps she had been too generous with Soleil's feed lately. The two were almost to the Abraxan's stall. Gabrielle plotted how she could get Ginny to stand right in front of it while she raked.

"Mademoiselle Delacour." Stanislaw stepped out from spot beside the thick wooden structure. Soleil issued a ringing challenge. Stanislaw started to reach into his hip-waders.

"That is not necessary," said Gabrielle quickly. She did not want to have to spend the time needed to assuage Soleil's ego if Nona's doll was brought out.

"You must visit Herr Von Schnittwinkel," declared the wizard. "He is asking for you. Wear the leaves, liebchen, if they are still fresh." Stanislaw turned to go.

"What about my six galleons?" demanded Gabrielle, more to annoy Stanislaw than anything else. She would ask Hermione about breaking the vow. Von Schnittwinkel was old and insane, which was a dangerous combination in her experience. And, he was be being treated by the even older and more insane healer.

"-Five- galleons. I had not forgotten," corrected Stanislaw sternly. He brought out a leather purse from the depths of his rubberized trousers, poured out the coins, and handed them to a sheepish Gabrielle - it had not been a good effort. "Herr Professor will want you tonight. There is a circle."

"Eh, a circle? Of what?" puzzled Gabrielle as Stanislaw started to walk away.

"Magic, of course."

"[Who was that? Why did he give you those galleons?]" asked Ginny interestedly.

"[Zat was Stanislaw, and ze galleons are payment for ze Seeing I do for him.]" said Gabrielle importantly. Oh mon Dieu, that sounded so cool to say. Where to put the galleons was a problem. Gabrielle settled on her socks. Two for the left, three for the right.

"[Are you having me on?]" squinted Ginny suspiciously. "[Good thing he doesn't know about the ladle.]"

Gabrielle was not sure what to make of the last comment, but there was no time to think about it as Soleil tired of waiting. The thick timbers of his stall bowed from the kick. Gabrielle scrambled forward over the gate. "Stop that, Soleil. What if you get a splinter?" She noticed that Ginny was in no hurry to follow. "Stanislaw ran away," exaggerated Gabrielle. Much head bobbing. "Eh, I have brought a guest to see you. You must not try to frighten her too much." She hunched her shoulders to fend off the thick tongue. He seems, thought Gabrielle, to be in a good mood. She pushed open the gate. Soleil instantly reared and bellowed, crashing his hooves to the floor when he landed. Honestly, thought Gabrielle, when will he grow up? She turned to see where Ginny was.

Ginny had been crossing the entrance to the stall, and now stood directly in front of it looking very pale. She seemed frozen in place. "[Eh, 'oh my paws and whiskers',]" hinted Gabrielle, as Soleil stomped again.

"[Oh my paws and whiskers,]" mumbled Ginny. "[Merlin's ghost, he's bloody huge!]"

"[And still growing!]" chirped Gabrielle proudly. "[You should, eh, scream, or somezing. You could pretend to faint.]"

"[You won't let him trample me, right?]"

"[Eh, what? Of course not. He is just loud,]" assured Gabrielle. "[Like Fred.]"

"[Eeee!]" said Ginny unconvincingly. She dropped to the ground in an equally unconvincing faint, and covered her head with her hands.

"There, are you happy now?" asked Gabrielle, moving to stand in front of Soleil. He was obviously pleased, kicking the rear of the stall and whinnying victoriously. "There will be no whisky for your oats if you have scared her to death," added Gabrielle, wagging her finger. That settled the colt down!

Gabrielle made a show of hurrying to Ginny's side. "Oh, thank Merlin she is still alive," said Gabrielle theatrically. Ginny barely opened an eye to peer at Gabrielle. "[It is, eh, okay now, I zink. He has won his little game.]"

"[You're broom isn't short bristles, it's lost the handle as well. You know that?]"

"[Eh, what?]"

"[I felt the ground shaking from over here. You just stand next to that monster like nothing is happening?]" asked Ginny in disbelief.

"[You do not have to stay, you know zis]" said Gabrielle, annoyed. Soleil was not a monster; he was just playing. "[It is ze way he is.]"

"[So are you going to tell me now that he's really just harmless?]"

"[Eh... no. But now zat he has, eh, defeated you, he will not care zat you stay,]" explained Gabrielle. Probably - her scream could have been more realistic.

"[You did this too?]" Ginny stood up and dusted herself. Then she looked at her hands, not having realized in time what would be in the dust in front of an equine stall.

"[Non. But, eh, I bring his food, of course.]"