Chapter Twenty-three - Mists
Gabrielle trudged back to Soleil's stall with the bale of hay. She could use a Featherweight charm on an object, mostly, it would definitely be lighter after, but she had trouble thinking of a bale of hay as single thing. There were just so many stalks - or was it stems? - going in every possible direction.
Soleil bobbed his head at her arrival. Or, more likely, the arrival of his breakfast. Ginny knelt on his back, between the wings, waving her wand to and fro. The redhead had done some transfiguring, and now had three brushes working on Soleil's coat.
"[You are spoiling him,]" complained Gabrielle.
"[Me? You let him chew your head!]" laughed Ginny. "[I'm just trying to keep him calm while you were out.]"
"[Not my head, it is my hair, and only when he, eh, eh,]" began Gabrielle. Only when he wants to was the truth of it. Soleil would stop if she insisted, unless he would not. Gabrielle looked at the colt, and saw a king tended by his servants. But Soleil was not king - that was Montaigne. Professor Elevagre was going to have a real problem when it was time to fly back to Beauxbatons. Gabrielle then looked at the large bottle of amber liquid that waited. She should have poured the whiskey into the oats instead of giving the colt the spirits as she would Montaigne. She was spoiling him as well.
"[How do I get down?]" asked Ginny.
"[Hold onto his mane, and when his head is down you can fall,]" explained Gabrielle. It was too late to pour the whiskey into the pail of oats now that Soleil was watching her.
"[Is there a way that doesn't involve falling?]"
"[It will not be far, I zink,]" said Gabrielle. Ginny was taller than she was; nearly everyone in Gabrielle's class was too. Which was true, sighed a second thought, only if nearly really meant all.
"[Is there a ward on the walls?]" asked Ginny. "[I can't transfigure them at all.]" She was flicking her wand at the nearest of the walls.
"[Eh, what? No, zey are made from ze, eh, bois stériles.]" Gabrielle poured half the bottle into a bucket and put it in front of Soleil, who dipped his muzzle to it. Then she poured the remaining liquid into the oats. The Abraxan eyed her suspiciously. "The oats taste better this way, do they not?" said Gabrielle with a shrug, giving the animal an earnest smile.
"[Thought you said I'd have to fall?]" Ginny was looking down the long slope of Soleil's sturdy neck.
"[I did say it would not be far.]" Gabrielle could not help herself and started scratching behind Soleil's ears. They always looked so itchy.
"[Can I use his wing to swing down?]"
"[No! Zat, eh, zat will hurt him,]" warned Gabrielle. "[Zen he will be very angry.]" She pulled out her little wand and cut the twine on the hay bale. "[Diffindo! Diffindo! What is wrong? Diffindo! Finally! You can, eh, fall into zat.]"
"[Ha, no,]" said Ginny pulling her own wand. "[Engorgio. Now I can jump into it.]"
Ginny leapt from Soleil's back. At the same moment, the Abraxan took note of the novelty presented to him. It was hay, of course, but it was - really - big - hay. A meal fit for a king. He swung his head over to sample it, undeterred by Gabrielle standing in the way. She was swept into the really - big - hay. Ginny, already plummeting, shouted a warning. A warning that was heeded by Gabrielle, and which allowed her to stumble backwards just far enough so that when Ginny landed on her, all but her head crashed into hay. The really - big - hay. Gabrielle's world exploded in dancing, twinkly lights just in front of her eyes, then it all went dark quickly.
Gabrielle woke to the overpowering stench of Abraxan breath, and the mucus-slicked tongue of Soleil. Her head hurt a lot, and she groaned. The huge, rubbery lips tugged at her hair, and Gabrielle attempted to bat the colt's head away.
"[Thank Merlin, you're alive! Can you crawl this way at all? He won't let me near,]" said Ginny. "[There's gotta be a healer in camp, right?]"
Gabrielle heard Ginny, and half rolled over before giving up. It was difficult to say whether it was the blow to her head or Soleil's pungent breath that was making her dizzy. "The healer? The healer is -" Gabrielle's reply was cut off by a tongue the size of her forearm. One had to close one's mouth.
"[Well, it looks like he won't eat you. I'll get a healer. Someone will know where - gah!]" Ginny jumped back in surprise as a house-elf appeared with a pop right in front of her.
The very old house-elf bowed to Ginny. "Bitte Blackig, Herrin. Blackig wird ihr Heiler Leistenverletzunger. [1]"
"[Erm, that's nice. You run along now and fetch some tea.]"
"Excuse Blackig, mademoiselle. Blakig will take her to Healer Leistenverletzunger."
"[It's all right, forget the tea. How about a spot of dusting?]"
"I am fine," asserted Gabrielle. The healer was insane, and, really, very creepy. She pushed against Soleil's snuffling nose to roll onto her side as proof of her excellent health. It would have been more convincing if she had not whimpered.
What followed was a horrific battle between the possessive Abraxan and the determined house-elf, with Gabrielle as the prize. The house-elf used his magic to try and drag her from the stall, but that was countered by Soleil clamping onto Gabrielle's blouse and pulling her back. Blackig, who looked quite old to Gabrielle, with the extra-large and extra-hairy ears and nose of a grandpere, was somehow able to drag the Abraxan backwards by the tail. Equally amazing was that the little elf managed to survive the kick that mashed him against the back wall of the stall. In the tug-of-war between the two, the house-elf's magic was offset by his being small enough to stomp, while Soleil's advantage was waning both because Gabrielle's blouse was tearing and because Blackig, seemingly, could not be permanently squashed. It was Ginny who darted in during another tail-pulling attempt, and ended it. With one arm holding Gabrielle's body vertical and the other using Gabrielle's hair to hold her head up, Ginny convinced the colt that Gabrielle had gotten up on her own and was leaving. It was bad enough to be treated as an oversized doll, thought Gabrielle, but the voice Ginny did for her was completely ridiculous. There was no way that she sounded that squeaky. A second thought wondered if Soleil had acquiesced only because he could see that he might not win, and if that was actually clever.
v - v - v - v - v
Ginny, thought Gabrielle warmly, was definitely a coven sister again. Gabrielle lay on somewhat stained sheets that covered a lumpy cot transfigured from a small chest of drawers. Her position was uncomfortable because she was trying to touch the linen as little as possible. The lumps were from the drawer handles; Gabrielle was sure that she could have done better. She remembered Stanislaw saying that the Alchemical Arts were Healer Listen-for-it's supposed speciality. It was certainly not Wand Arts.
What had renewed the sisterhood, though, was not the fact that Ginny had helped bring Gabrielle to the haphazard infirmary, nor that she had repaired Gabrielle's blouse, but that she had not left! With a very good imitation of Mrs. Weasley, Ginny had denied, in no uncertain terms even with the language barrier, all requests that Gabrielle remove her clothing for a complete examination. Gabrielle supposed that the house-elf, what was left of him, could have forced the issue, but Healer Listen-for-it had taken one look at the poor creature when they had arrived and ordered it to stand on a small square of carpet to keep from dripping onto the floor. If only the sheets had been treated so well! All the badly hurt elf had to do was translate. Finally, Gabrielle was diagnosed with a misalignment of the brain caused by unknown circumstances. Which made no sense, because she was sure that she had told the healer that she had hit her head. The treatment consisted of two flexible wooden rods, half a meter long, with tiny hands carved on the ends, that were shoved up her nose so far that they nearly disappeared. Even with the wooden fingers curling into the palms, getting the rods into her nostrils was tight fit, and the, hopefully, necessary wiggling of the rods twisted her nose painfully. Gabrielle had to admit that her head definitely felt better once the implements were removed, but whether they had helped her initial condition was debatable. The side-effects, though, were definite.
"[Where did they conjure that old fossil from? He can't be the healer at your school?]" asked Ginny. "[Bit of a perv, if you want to know,]" she added as the old wizard disappeared into the back carrying the house-elf.
"[I see two of everyzing!]"
"[Huh. Good that he took the house-elf, then. Cor, that one's a wreck. That bwa-steer-real wood is dangerous. I tried a couple of spells to move you, and nothing happened!]"
"[Ginny, I see -two- of everyzing!]"
"[You want me to fetch Healer Wanna-peek? I'm sure he'll have some reason to have a look at your bum.]"
"[Eh, what?]" Neither Ginny was making sense.
"[Melusina?]" came a weak, thready voice. "[Is it her?]"
"[Hullo?]" called Ginny, looking around. "[You heard that, right?]"
"[Eh, I zink it is Herr, eh, Von Schnittwinkel,]" said Gabrielle. She could not see him, but that was not surprising. The tent was still a mess.
"[Ah, Mister Rubber-Trousers mentioned that name. Who's this Melusina?]"
"[Zat is, eh, hard to explain.]"
Herr Von Schnittwinkel was discovered by Ginny to be laying on a pile of woven rugs, tucked behind a stack of large specimen jars. He was not doing well, and his pale complexion had a bluish cast to it. Gabrielle suspected that his breathing was probably impaired by the large, open hole through the right side of his chest. It was the sort of wound she had seen before, on Pip Elmsley and Tibault Granencole. His flowing white mane of hair was still luxurious. Perhaps it was not completely natural.
"[You warned me, sweet Melusina, but... there is no way... to avoid our fate,]" said Von Schnittwinkel softly.
"[What is he on about?]" asked Ginny.
"[She is... a remarkable Seer,... and foretold that the... unicorn would kill me.]" The old wizard was wracked by a series of gasping coughs.
"[Really? Gigi?]" Ginny's tone was doubtful, which Gabrielle noticed right off.
"[I zink it was nearly kill. Eh, oui, zat is correct. Zis means zat you will be, eh... okay,]" assured Gabrielle. She tried to smile confidently, like you were supposed to when visiting the sick in hospital. Assuming, that is, added a second thought, he gets proper treatment. Why, wondered Gabrielle, was he stashed back here like the unused rugs he was on top of? Gabrielle decided right there that Stanislaw would answer for this. Herr Von Schnittwinkel was his customer after all, and had many galleons.
"[That is true... I did not... die when the... beast struck,]" agreed the wounded wizard. His voice was now layered with a low gurgle. "[I fear... the wound will be the end... of me.]"
"[Not if you were in a proper hospital, like ze one in Paris! Zey can do amazing zings zere! Like my hand. Or you can see Healer Maltranchier at Beauxbatons. He, eh, has experience, very much, wizz unicorn injuries.]"
"[He looks a bit peaky for travel,]" noted Ginny. Gabrielle glared at her. "[What's this about your hand?]"
"[Give me your palm,]" ordered Gabrielle, addressing the gasping man and ignoring Ginny. She added an imperious wave of her hand, but doubted it was necessary. Von Schnittwinkel presented his hand limply, and Gabrielle failed to grasp either of them.
"[Just close one eye, will you?]" suggested Ginny. "[With all the knocks you take you must know what to do.]" Gabrielle frowned at the implication. She would not have seen the healer at all if it had not been for Ginny. Or the vampire. Also, the ward that had exploded.
It was easier to gain the old man's hand doing as Ginny suggested. Gabrielle found the set of wrinkles on his fate line that represented the unicorn attack. His line -did- extend past that event; she had been right. Just... it did not go on that much longer, and it ended in a tangle of creases that she did not recall from earlier. Gabrielle wondered if that meant he was shrivelling up. That happened to old people. She decided to tell him that there was another battle. Who wanted to die from terminal wrinkles?
"[Perhaps... a small kiss, gentle fairy? Before my... time is gone?]" wheedled Von Schnittwinkel in a dry whisper.
"[Eh, what? No, not when you are like zis. I see, zat is, I See anozzer battle for you, so I zink you will feel better, very soon.]" Gabrielle was very pleased by the 'I See' part, and smiled broadly. A second thought wondered if 'the mists that conceal the Hidden Realm have parted, and I have Seen' would not have been more dramatic.
"[A kiss... when I can... stand again?]" Von Schnittwinkel bargained. His face, with its blue tinge, added a shade of red, leaving him purple.
"[Eh, peut-être. Not on ze lips, zough.]" It would be like giving Aunt Laurel a kiss, thought Gabrielle. Not necessary, but over quickly enough. He probably would not make a show of wiping -his- face.
"[My wand. Give me... my wand.]" The urgency of his request left the wizard coughing.
"[Eh, you must not strain yourself! Zere is time. You know zis,]" warned Gabrielle. "[Ze, eh, mists zat, eh, hide ze Hidden Realm, zey have parted, and -]"
"[This would be it here, right?]" interrupted Ginny. She held up a stout, ebony wand that, even in the dim light filtering past the specimen jars, showed deep scratches. Gabrielle wondered why people did not take better care of their wands, and if Ginny even knew how rude she could be. The wand was held out to her, and Gabrielle took it when she remembered to close an eye.
The wand was not so much heavy as weighty, and it felt like it was dragging along a history when Gabrielle gave it a small wave. It was not the wand of a frail old man, that much she could sense. There was, there was... an aura of violence, reluctant violence about it. She closed her other eye, then opened both of them quickly at the rush of carnage. "Schwarzemtearbeiter!" Gabrielle blurted. She thrust the wand at Von Schnittwinkel, and, most importantly, away from herself.
"[Ah... You would... of course... know that name,... gentle Melusina,]" smiled the white-maned wizard. He took the wand from Gabrielle, taking the time, she noticed, to clasp her hand in his. Insane, warned a second thought. "[It has been... a long time since... called that.]"
"[What's that mean?]" asked Ginny. Herr Von Schnittwinkel did not reply, and appeared to have fallen asleep, or... Gabrielle bent over the lined face of the wounded man, her ear turned to listen for his breathing. A second thought wondered why. The only thing worse than the poor man dying was knowing he had died right there, right then. She -had- warned him!
Herr Von Schnittwinkel was not dead. He was alive enough, in fact, to abruptly raise his head and steal a quick peck on Gabrielle's cheek. She pulled back and rubbed her face on her shoulder in annoyance while his laughter turned into a gurgling sputter. Honestly, she thought.
"[This is a Veela thing, isn't it?]" asked Ginny.
v - v - v - v - v
Lord Voldemort sat with furrowed brow, staring at the peculiar wand that he held loosely between the palms of his clasped hands. Enchanting metal was difficult. It was not difficult to manipulate, to change its shape and form, but most of the wizarding world could not set a ward or lasting charm on the material. There were but a few who had the talent and ability to place a powerful enchantment on a metal object of any size; there was a reason why the Hogwarts founders' relics were what they were. That proof of superiority was also why he, Lord Voldemort, had chosen them for the horcrux. Yet the goblins routinely magicked metals, base and noble. That seemed to indicate that their magic was not -his- magic. But the thin, troublesome wand, usable by a wizard, implied otherwise. Though it was not his wand by any means, the Dark Lord knew for certain that he could use it, if he deigned to sully himself. If it was just a mundane goblin wand, then those lesser beings were also feeding upon his very essence, and would need to be exterminated as well. It was also possible, considered the Dark Lord, that the wand was not common, but extraordinary. Perhaps it was meant as a gift or a bribe for the unfortunate blockage in the Floo, or his forebears.
Either way, the thin rod also represented proof to the Dark Lord that he could eventually leave a common flesh and blood vessel for a superior one of his own design. Careful preparation would be required, and certain arcane techniques would need to be learned, but, thought Lord Voldemort confidently, I have done that before, and succeeded beyond all others. Leaving this plebeian plane of mere existence for the boundless realm of pure magic was... destiny. And, the Dark Lord smiled, I know where to find goblins.
Further consideration of how the very world would be as a stone in Lord Voldemort's hand when he fully fledged as a complete being of magic ended as Serverus Snape stepped through the door, and bowed. The Dark Lord's eyes lighted on the thin, white sack the man carried.
"[You have been successful, Severus,]" said the Lord Voldemort. It was not a question, but an expectation.
"[Yes, my lord,]" replied the former professor. Though his mind was fully occluded, as always, the Dark Lord could read from his movements that his former spy felt put upon. There were more important matters to focus on than a servant's injured pride, however, as a small box was brought forth from the sack with a surprising amount of noisy crinkling. Leave it to muggles to fail at sacks, he thought. The box was opened, and presented.
"[Bakhlava, halivah, and tulumba. The shop was out of walnut cake for the day,]" described Snape levelly. Several of the tulumba - sticky, fried wads of batter if Snape was any judge - were selected by the youthful, deadly hand of the Dark Lord.
"[You have questions,]" stated Lord Voldemort, after swallowing the sweet dessert.
"[No, my lord.]"
"[You do, Severus. Lord Voldemort sees all. I value your counsel; I also value your obedience. Follow Wormtail. I have no illusions about his chances of success. We will learn nothing when he fails, unless there is a witness.]"
"[At once, my lord.]"
"[Take one of the tulumba; the small one.]"
v - v - v - v - v
"[ - and all you have to do is hold something? That's brilliant!]" enthused Ginny. Gabrielle was not entirely sure if the adjective applied to her talent - talents - or to the fact that she received galleons for her efforts, but she beamed anyway. Ginny did not have to know about the licking. "[You mentioned seances - do you get paid for those too?]"
"[Eh, no. I am only Nona's - ]" started Gabrielle. She had been about to say that she was Nona's special rock, but was saved by a second thought that could see how stupid that would sound. With Von Sneaky-lips apparently unconscious - Gabrielle was not going to check again - the witches had moved back to sit on the crude cot. The house-elf had left with Healer Leistenverletzunger, which was a relief. The double-vision would hopefully go away by itself, and not require some weird instrument to treat. "[Eh, I only help wizz ze chanting, and I, eh, make ze voices. I zink Nona's customers, zey are muggles. Zere would not be any galleons.]"
"[You make zee - the voices? What do you mean by that? It's all a show? Mum went to a seance once to check up on a cousin or something. Didn't see what good that would do, once you're dead, what more could happen? She got some old crackpot worrying about the cauldron he left boiling,]" described Ginny. "[Cost nearly three galleons, and the old fraud wouldn't give a knut back! She told Mum that messages from 'the beyond' were always cryptic, and that the meaning would become clear in time.]"
"[Zat 'appened to me!]" blurted Gabrielle. "[First zere was one voice, zen zere was anozzer! Ze second, eh, eh, spirit, he was English. He, he said, eh - ]" Gabrielle stopped, her mouth still forming the words. It had not been some 'crackpot' gabbling through her. It had been a prophecy! Wait until Madame Sombrevoire hears, thought Gabrielle excitedly. The Outstanding for next year will be so easy! Too bad, warned a second thought, no one wrote it down.
"[That's the thing about head injuries. Just when you think you're fine, it comes right back,]" sighed Ginny.
"[Eh, what? Nevermind zat. Ginny! You are all in, eh, great danger!]"
"[You're joking, right? Harry's been in danger since he started Hogwarts. We drove across the whole of France in a bloody tin with wheels like a bunch of muggles because of 'great danger',]" said Ginny.
"[Ze mists zat hide ze -]"
"[Oh, give it rest, will you?]"
"[Non! Ze mists zat hide ze Hidden Realm have parted - ]"
"[Lifted. Mists lift,]" interrupted Ginny.
"[Eh, what?]"
"[They don't part. Fog lifts, mists lift. Veils or curtains part.]"
"[Eh... zese ones parted. Ze mists zat - ]"
"[Funny sort of mist, then, as mists go.]"
"[Zey were in ze Hidden Realm; zey can be different,]" argued Gabrielle.
"[I thought they were hiding this Hidden Realm.]"
"[Ginny, shut up! Ze mists of ze Hidden Realm zat were hiding ze ozzer zings in ze Hidden Realm parted because zat is what zey do and I have seen. Zat is, I have Seen,]" said Gabrielle in a rush. Ginny laughed, and Gabrielle started to pull out her wand which hung from its ribbon around her neck. It was unfortunately tangled with the weird claw thing from Nona.
"[That needs work,]" commented Ginny, who was already holding her wand. "[So does your quick draw.]"
"[Do you want to know ze prophecy or not?]" demanded Gabrielle. Ginny was annoying, mostly because she was right. Which was very annoying. Shooting a ball of fire at her in here, thought Gabrielle, probably would have been a bad idea anyway, what with all the clutter.
"[Oh, now there's a prophecy too? You've been busy,]" mocked Ginny.
"[Oui, zat is true. I take care of Soleil and zen I have to help Nona, and also ze Professor, eh, lectures about ze stuff he finds in ze dirt. Zere is also zat Stanislaw - I must See for him and, eh, help wizz breaking ze curses,]" explained Gabrielle, missing the sarcasm. The last task was, in Gabrielle's opinion, completely true. Just ever so slightly exaggerated. "[It is not a proper summer holiday at all.]"
"[Well, at least no one is trying to kill you.]"
"[Eh, what? I told you about ze vampire, did I not?]"
"[All right, all right. I'm sorry for teasing you,]" apologized Ginny. "[Let's hear this prophecy of yours.]"
Gabrielle smiled, victorious. This was more like how she should be treated. "[Ze mists zat hide-]"
"[You did that part already.]"
"[Not properly! Eh, ze mists zat hide ze Hidden Realm have parted, and I have Seen,]" continued Gabrielle over Ginny's loud sigh. "[Ze, eh, spinster soul who, eh, is young... approaches. Zen zere was somezing about a horn. Ze rat found somezing ze toad stole, and destiny power. Eh, his servants... do not have hearts?]" Merde! That was not it at all.
"[Erm... yeah. That's about as useful as any of them. Any idea who it's for?]" asked Ginny.
"[It is for Harry Potter,]" said Gabrielle confidently. That part was clear. Then she worried if telling the prophecy to Ginny first was all right. It was, after all, her first one and she wanted to do everything correctly. "[Eh, I zink zere was more, but, eh... I can not remember it clearly... because, because, eh, I hit my head!]" Yes, thought Gabrielle, that is the reason.
"[No surprise it's for Harry. What in Merlin's name is a spinster soul? Someone's dead, cat-loving auntie is after Harry? I'm pretty sure Bellatrix was married to someone. Or something.]"
"[Eh, zat part may not be exact...]"
"[Ah. Maybe next time we'll wait for the mists to lift, eh?]" grinned Ginny. It was Gabrielle's turn to sigh; she should have written it down. Which, perked up a second thought, made it Nona's fault since the old witch had obviously failed to realize the significance of it. The seance should have stopped there. Except, noted a less forgiving thought, Nona did not understand English. Probably. "[Let's find Hermione. There's got to be a trick to the loads of the stuff she can remember.]"
Ginny reached out both hands to help Gabrielle up. Or was it one hand? "[Eh, I am not certain I can leave,]" worried Gabrielle. The insane old healer had not said she had to stay, but she had a cot. On the other end of the wand, thought Gabrielle, he may have forgotten her like he had forgotten his other patient.
"[Well, I'd be all right leaving you if you had proper knickers.]"
v - v - v - v - v
Tracking Wormtail magically was a trivial task. He was not actively concealing his movement, or was not particularly adept at doing so. That, thought Snape, indicated a degree of comfort and familiarity with the situation the Dark Lord had sent him into. Or, it indicated a not unprecedented level of incompetence. Either way, and since the main hazard to detection seemed to be the muggle buildings, Severus Snape had time to ruminate.
Not that these ruminations yielded a clearer picture of the world. Never had he felt so unmoored. The plots and counter-plots between the Dark Lord and the Headmaster had been as easy to follow as a child's tale compared to the aimless actions now. Snape, having taught, and suffered, the flower of wizardkind for years, blamed youth. The Dark Lord was clearly being affected by the stolen body. Most obviously in appetite. Where once a hundred subterfuges bent to an overarching goal were all in play, now there seemed only to be impulsive, singular actions. The unfortunate Madame Malfoy had sent another diatribe imploring, begging, and threatening by turns. As an afterthought, the missive had described, in brief, the fallout from the sanctuary debacle. A cadre of Death Eaters discovered within the damaged largest pinned the blame for the collapse of the the two smaller on the Dark Lord. The population of Hogsmeade, Snape was stunned to learn, had nearly been wiped out. But, as few Ministry families felt the need to move from their well-warded manors as they had urged others to do, suspicion and resentment fell upon them as well. The fabric of English wizarding society was being torn to shreds, and it would all make some sort of sense if the Dark Lord or his proxy was moving to seize the day. Instead, the Dark Lord stuffs himself with puddings like the student he resembles and focuses solely on Wormtail and whatever the worthless imbecile had lost.
Potter, it was glaringly obvious, had no apparent strategy either. Narcissa had written, in the main, with pleas and demands to locate her lost son. Where Draco was, now a year on, was still as mysterious as why he had been taken.
Pranks, thought Snape suddenly. That is what these events felt like. A large amount of effort expended for a short-term triumph, with little or no long-term gain achieved or even expected. Given Potter's obnoxious heritage it was really all that one could expect. The indiscriminate murder, though, of wizards and witches, foes and supporters, parents and children - it should all mean more, instead of being the equivalent of the least funny, and most deadly, dung-bomb ever. The wizarding world once ground itself between the Order and Grindelwald, between Dumbledore and the Dark Lord. Now it found itself nearly shattered at the hands of some dark version of the Weasley twins. The former professor's wished for an equivalent to taking House points, but then recalled that that had never stopped the Weasley pair from wreaking their mayhem.
The sight of fields of crops just beyond the edge of the trees refocused Snape's thoughts. Wormtail, he decided, would be scurrying across the open fields as a rat, at least until some hawk took notice. It was not necessary to hurry after him. The potions master could see the probable destination as he looked out past the scrub. There was a cluster of tents sitting in the middle of a field of grain, gathered around what seemed to be a rather large hole in the earth. Nothing in particular gave away whether this was a wizard or muggle gathering. The single, small cottage was an oddity, but both muggles and wizards shared in that trait. There was, however, a distinct lack of the huge, brightly colored mechanical arms that muggles somehow used to dig with. Caution and observation, decided Snape, would be advisable.
v - v - v - v - v
Proper knickers or not, Gabrielle never left the cluttered, ad hoc infirmary. This was due to the arrival of her very nearly betrothed, Fred, and two Harry Potters. Both twins were bleeding badly from their noses into identical towels pressed to their faces. Closing one eye reduced the casualty count, and the number of Harrys, by half. "[Oh mon Dieu! George! What has happened!]" cried Gabrielle, jumping up from her cot. She made to run between the Ginnys, but that turned out to be where the red-haired witch actually was.
"[Oy! Don't just step on me,]" complained Ginny as Gabrielle clambered over. It was an emergency!
"[Sit down! Sit down! I will get ze 'Ealer!]" Gabrielle pulled, then pushed George toward the cot. Their progress was impeded a little by the fact that Ginny was still in the way.
"[Merlin! Harry, help me up,]" demanded Ginny. "[I was safer in the stall with the bloody Abraxan.]"
"[Id's dottid, luv,]" murmured George. Which Gabrielle ignored, since when she pulled the towel away she could see his nose was mashed flat and blood still spurted. George grunted when, in alarm, she pushed the soaked towel back against his face.
"[Merlin's ghost! Harry, what the heck happened?]" asked Ginny.
"['Dunno, really. Hermione had a go at him,]" said Harry, a note of shock still in his voice. Gabrielle turned to look at him as if he had spoken Gobbledegook. Hermione had done this?
"[What with? Not one of the Firebolts, was it? It'll be a Bat Bogey hex worthy of Dumbeldore if it was.]"
"Pardon Blackig," said the old house-elf after a sudden appearance. The creature was still bruised, but closer to his original shape as a result of the numerous splints. "Healer Leistenverletzunger will come."
"[Erm... is that spellotape?]" wondered Harry, looking closely at the placid elf. "[What's he saying, and what happened to him?]"
"[Eh, Soleil, eh, stepped on him. Many times,]" explained Gabrielle. Then, so they did not get the wrong impression, she added, "[It was zat Soleil did not know him.]" More or less.
"[Ib you would dot press so hard, the paid wold dot be so bliding, luv,]" hinted George.
"[Eh, what?]"
Healer Leistenverletzunger did finally come, shuffling in unconcernedly. His suitability for the position was further lowered in Gabrielle's estimation when Blackig translated his first question: "What seems to be the problem?" Gabrielle wondered if the house-elf relayed even a tenth of the invective she directed at the insane, demented healer because, for his part, Healer Leistenverletzunger just smiled at her in a pleased sort of way. It sort of made her skin crawl.
The treatment had to be, reasoned Gabrielle, logically, because of his background in the Alchemical Arts. In Wand Arts, one needed, well, a wand. In Alchemical Arts, one needed cauldrons, carboys, stirring rods in glass and silver, mortars and their pestles, knives, condensing coils - all manner of things. So instead of a careful spell and a tap on the nose, like a proper French healer would use, Healer Leistenverletzunger rummaged through the unpacked crates for a leather mask with a dozen straps. The cracked, aging leather had only a hole where the wearer's nose would poke through. Blackig, the house-elf, turned up the small cardboard box containing the nose forms, and the wedges used for customizing the result. Which led to the inevitable: what did George's nose look like before? Everyone had an opinion, even Ron, who showed up without the guilty Hermione.
"[That's definitely a Weasley nose,]" pronounced Ginny.
"[No, George's nose was more, eh, eh, viril,]" disagreed Gabrielle, George's chin in her hand. She did not notice the tips of his ears. Gabrielle was closest to George because, well, where else would she be? Also, she could translate for Blackig, who then translated for Healer Leistenverletzunger. The trilingual back and forth was not efficient, which was unfortunate for the patient since each reshaping involved the use of a mallet for the wedges.
"[Looks good to me,]" opined Harry.
"[Zat is because zis is Ginny's nose. It is too small.]"
"[So my beak's big now, is it?]" smirked George. Gabrielle pinked slightly.
"[Come to think of it, his nose was probably longer. It was always sticking into my business,]" said Ginny with a wink.
"[And more, you know, angled. So's he could look down it at me,]" added Ron, without the wink.
"[I zink a little larger and not so stuck up,]" judged Gabrielle. "[Definitely not as big as Ron's, zough.]"
"[That counts for two and brings us even,]" said George. "[Sticking it into other people's business and looking down it sounds more like your ball-and-chain, Ronniekins. Or should that be rope-and-chains?]"
"[S'your own fault, I'm sure,]" replied Ron.
"[Not one for the rough stuff myself. Know a shop she might fancy, though,]" said George. "[Off to find a knife, do you think?]"
"[She's having a look at the hole with that Professor fellow,]" shrugged Ron.
"[My nose isn't stuck up, is it Harry?]"
"[No, it's, erm, lovely, Gin,]" said Harry.
"Pardon Blackig, mademoiselle. Healer Leistenverletzunger asks if there is perhaps a photograph or painting?" translated the house-elf. "He further invites you to join him for a nightcap this evening. Pardon Blackig, but Blackig thinks you should not go." The insane healer kept winking at her, prompted, guessed Gabrielle, by her having to close one eye to avoid poking George in his eye. Again.
"[You would tell me, right? Only I couldn't help but notice that little pause,]" noted Ginny.
"Eh, okay," said Gabrielle carefully, not completely sure what a nightcap was. She looked at the old, battered house-elf closely. He was now sweating noticeably and vibrating. If he wore an apron and served espresso at Beauxbatons, Gabrielle would guess that he would soon be throwing up. She did not think the elf's tattered smock was a disguise, though. "I do have a photograph," she told the house-elf. Perhaps the good news would help.
"[What pause?]" asked Harry. He looked askance at Ron, who unhelpfully circled his finger around his ear.
"[Ginny, can you bring my handbag, please? I have a picture of George in it,]" asked Gabrielle brightly.
"[Are you sure? I thought you left your pile of advert clippings home.]"
"[Eh, what?]"
"Pardon Blackig, but... Blackig, Blackig is a Bad Elf!" cried out the house-elf suddenly. He banged his head against the cot quite theatrically, but Gabrielle could see that he mostly hit what little padding there was to the transfigured chest of drawers. An unexpectedly cynical thought noted that the house-elf was also not using his master's language. Gabrielle made to tug George to safety, which, a different, slightly self-conscious thought acknowledged, might look like an attempted embrace. It was, however, a strictly precautionary measure, one that required, since George was bigger and broader, that Gabrielle lean in and wrap her arms around his torso.
Ron snatched up the house-elf by the scruff of his neck, and gave him a bit of a shake. "Ruddy things! Growing up, I always wished we had one, you know, to do the chores. Now that there's one creeping round the Burrow, you wonder why anyone would want one at all. D'you know Mum had to get a load of Ever-Dust just to keep the blighter busy?"
"[Ever-Dust?]" wondered Harry.
"[Yeah. You spread it around, and it makes dust appear no matter how often you clean,]" explained Ginny, prodding the end of her nose.
"[Erm, doesn't that happen anyway?]" asked Harry. He was quite certain it did. Life with the Dursleys had given him experience in the matter.
The crisis over, Gabrielle realized she would have to release George. She had not been able to move him anyway; he had become rather stiff. She now remembered her plan, and whispered, "[I am wearing a skirt.]" Which she immediately regretted, since it was completely obvious, not very clever, and entirely stupid.
"[Not in just a few hours, Harry,]" said Ginny absently. She was looking at her reflection in the glass pane of a cabinet.
"[Here I was, wondering about that bit of kit. Demi-toga, I thought? Micro-sarong?]" said George, rather more loudly than Gabrielle's whisper.
That was a little hard to decipher, so Gabrielle tried a new tack. "[To wear ze skirt, you need, eh, certain things. You see?]" hinted Gabrielle, rather more quietly than George's response had been.
"Setzen Sie den Haus-Elf nach unten, wird er in Stücke fallen bereits, [2]" requested Healer Leistenverletzunger. No one moved.
"[What, like legs?]" replied George. Then, a little more softly, he added with a leer, "[Did you -want- me to see?]"
Gabrielle felt the blush color her face. That he would say such a thing here, now, out loud! She was glad for the distraction when the house-elf rasped, "Pardon Blackig. Healer Leistenverletzunger asks that the wizard release Blackig."
"[Put him down, Ron,]" ordered Gabrielle. Then, because Ron did not immediately, she waved her hand at him. Did that still work?
"[I could take a look right now. Got my wand right here,]" whispered George, holding his wand lightly.
"[Eh, what? No!]" blurted Gabrielle, rather more loudly than George's threat. Oh mon Dieu, she thought. I should not have worn the skirt - he can not control himself! She looked to the others, desperately hoping that no one had heard or noticed. The others, particularly Ginny, were looking at her. "[Eh... my handbag, Ginny. You can bring it?]"
"[Fetch it yourself, Mel. King Leer will be fine on his own,]" snipped Ginny.
"[Mel?]" repeated Harry.
"Schauen Sie sich diese Schiene - aufgeschnappt in zwei Hälften. Was haben Sie getan, du alter Hund? [3]" asked Healer Leistenverletzunger, prodding the battered Blackig with the mallet.
"[No, I, eh, must translate. You know zis, eh, eh,]" said Gabrielle, totally failing to come up with a ridiculous name for Ginny. It did not help that she startled when she thought something brushed the back of her skirt.
"[I think I'll find Hermione too, Mel,]" said Ginny. "[Come on, Harry.]"
"[Mel?]" asked Ron.
"[Er, I thought I would have her try to do that scrying thing,]" said Harry. "[As long as we're, you know, waiting.]"
It was not anything that Gabrielle did, but since Ginny did not get her way, it was a victory. Mel - what a stupid thing to try.
1 Pardon Blackig, Mistress. Blackig will take her to Healer Leistenverletzunger.
2 Put the house-elf down, he is ready to fall to pieces.
3 Look at this splint - snapped in two halves. What did you do, you old dog?
