Chapter Twenty-four - Clearing Up

The attempt at scrying got off to a slow start. Ron produced the noxious, reddish pillow that belonged to his former pet and was the Guidepost in the Hidden Realm to Wormtail, and greatly annoyed Gabrielle by insisting on repeatedly shoving the gross thing in her face. It was not as if she was ready to do the scrying, since she had nothing with which to do it. That seemingly had not occurred to the boys. How, Gabrielle wondered, did they think it worked? When Ron started with the pillow again Gabrielle sent him off sharply to find a crystal ball, or magic ink. The imperious wave of her hand had definitely helped there. Or was it the kick at his shin? Harry followed him, and the two started poking around in the stacked items.

George was busy fiddling with his metal beetle, poking at what was beneath the wing casing with his wand. Gabrielle frowned slightly at this. He had either regained control of himself while she had been dodging the rancid pillow, or he had only been teasing her before. Replacing teasing with flirting made Gabrielle feel better, though she decided that she had better see about that metal bug.

Healer Leistenverletzunger busied himself with the destruction of a tall stool that looked, to Gabrielle, exactly like the ones in the classroom at Beauxbatons where she had her Alchemical Arts practicals. That seemed a suspicious coincidence. The old healer, who, now that he had removed his wizard hat, Gabrielle could see was very nearly bald, was using the severed legs of the wrecked stool to reinforce the mangled Blackig. The house-elf seemed indifferent to the treatment until the wizard sliced his palm on the splintered wood. Blackig sprang up, disappeared, and then reappeared in an instant and began fussing over the wound with a kit of bandages and jars of ointments. Healer Listen-for-it made for a far worse patient than the elf, and the two began bickering in German over, apparently, who was treating whom. They more or less dragged each other along to the back room.

There was a crashing sound from the far side of the tent, and also a loud declaration that something was 'bloody'. Gabrielle decided that she had time before Ron and Harry returned. She sat down on the cot next to George. She hoped Ginny returned with the handbag and photograph soon; Gabrielle liked his old nose better. Though, really, this one was okay too. If, though, Ginny did not return too soon...

George was intent on the beetle, so Gabrielle slid over until she was pressing against him. It was, of course, absolutely required if she were to see just what was so fascinating under the beetle's wing case. She wondered, briefly, what had happened to the mallet, since George had not even glanced her way. Then Gabrielle remembered what Fred had said about his twin when George was working on something good. So she waited for her chance, and tried to think supportive thoughts.

The problem was that George did not, as far as Gabrielle could see, seem to be working on anything she would call good. He was laboriously drawing letters with his wand onto the beetle's wing, poking each veined pane on the membrane individually to make the shape. She sat through a 'v' and an 'e' before impatience won out over supportive.

"[George?]" said Gabrielle quietly as he began another letter. "[Eh, George? George!]"

"[What? Oh, er, sorry, luv,]" said George, sliding over a little and politely making unwanted room.

Gabrielle looked down at the newly opened, and unwanted, gap between them. Some boys, she recalled from Hermione, needed a billboard; Ron was his brother, so perhaps it ran in the family. Gabrielle slid herself over again, and boldly slipped her arm under his to help him understand. And, added a second thought, to prevent him from escaping. "[What is it zat you are doing?]" she asked. A third thought wondered what sort of billboard was required, having already sneaked into his bed. La la la, thought Gabrielle over the doubts.

"[It's a shopping list for Fred. I need a few things that'll be a little hard to find this close to muggles,]" replied George. He started on the next letter.

Gabrielle understood. Fred must have a beetle-thing as well, and what George wrote on his must appear on Fred's, just as George had gotten a message from his twin before. It all seemed very tedious though. The drawn letters, picked on the tiny panes in the veined wing, reminded Gabrielle of the jagged circles on her friend Philippe's computator, and she had a thought. "[Eh, Philippe, he has a, eh, board wizz many buttons. One for each letter, you see? He can push ze buttons very fast.]"

"[I would have guessed that. Ever hear the expression 'a man of few words'? He isn't,]" said George. He paused to regard the wing membrane critically before continuing.

"[What do you need from Fred?]"

"[Jarvey spleen and the root of a female mandrake, for starters. I can probably scare up the rest myself. 'Specially if there's unicorns around. Magical inclination, you see?]"

"[Eh, I do not know if Hemmor - if ze unicorn is still, eh, near. What do you need from her? I should be ze one to try - she knows me,]" offered Gabrielle. She was confident she could do what was needed, assuming Hemorrhoid could be found, and also assuming that George did want anything from -inside- the creature. Not, of course, that she thought George was that kind of wizard.

"[Thanks, luv, but it's toadstools I'm after. The right kind of, ha, magic mushroom will make things easier.]" All the while George poked with his wand. The mallet, thought Gabrielle. Being jealous of a fake insect, noted a second thought, is pathetic. What happened to the bond their hearts had shared at Fleur's wedding? If all it took was a stupid metal bug -

Understanding came to Gabrielle as dawn brings color back to the way too early mornings needed for the astronomy section of Natural Arts, and clarity came as a mist parting. Or possibly even lifting. He does write; George had stayed in contact with her after she had returned to France. The correspondence had not been as romantic as Gabrielle had hoped for, or even at all, but it was regular contact, if Ally's records were to be believed. She had, decided Gabrielle, already become part of his life. She was not old enough to marry, he knew that, and the whole, eh, shagging thing was a very gray area too, regardless of what was rumored in the dorms. George was obviously a proper, gentleman wizard who was, Gabrielle concluded, simply biding his time. The evidence was the faux beetle in -her- handbag. Regular contact was intended to become constant contact! With renewed confidence, she decided to go back to her ploy, to play his game. Gabrielle pulled her arm away, then stood up on the cot next to George. The skirt swung subtly as she shifted her weight.

George did not notice. "[There! Let's see Toulier's buttons do that!]" challenged George, turning the wing to where Gabrielle used to be sitting. She could still see the figure; it was an alchemical symbol.

"[Philippe uses, eh, mice to make ze drawings,]" explained Gabrielle. At least, sometimes he did. Other times nothing much happened when he moved the little box. Somehow, Philippe seemed to know. George turned to look at her standing, a puzzled look on his face. She set the skirt in motion.

"[Mice? That would explain his wonky circles then. They must have been nibbling at the edges.]" Gabrielle noticed he was looking rather intently at the skirt, just below her hips, and she flushed a little thinking of gray areas.

"[I, eh, zink I should sit on your lap,]" said Gabrielle, and cringed. It was not as subtle a ploy as it had sounded in her head, and there was a little too much squeak to her voice. "[To, eh, see better to work ze bug. Eh, beetle.]"

"[You what?! Er, uh... Hey! You're a girl - you can give me a hand with this.]"

Gabrielle knew that she had George this time. She could tell from the momentary fluster in his exclamation. So, she expected as she began to step over him, he would be forced to admit to the prank he had played, and she would win. George would think to himself, 'This is the woman that I can not live without.' Gabrielle did not, however, expect that George would suddenly stand. His upward lurch caught up her leg awkwardly, and she had to hold on to him tightly to avoid toppling. Which was not a bad ending.

"[Impedimentia!]" called out an angry voice. The spell hit Gabrielle, but it was George, a brief moment and spark later, that was sent flying backwards into a stack of crates. Suddenly unsupported, Gabrielle stumbled forward, then flopped head-first off the bed with a shriek, making an untidy, and very exposed, pile of Delacour.

"[Bloody hell, Hermione! What'd you go and do that for?]" shouted Ginny, pushing past the bushy-haired witch.

Gabrielle gathered herself up and pushed things back down. She added her voice, and language, to the outrage, "Have you lost your senses? What is wrong with you?" Gabrielle paused - curiously, there was only one of everything now. Unless there were supposed to be two, of course. She brandished the first thing she pulled from the shallow depths of her near-cleavage, but it turned out not to be her wand. The shrivelled claw did not shoot a ball of flame at George's attacker. Now Gabrielle could understand why people kept their wands in the pockets of their denims. The little, blond wand was out next, though. "Flagrate Projucio!" Fueled by Gabrielle's outrage, the little 'phut' was more emphatic than pathetic. The minature ball of flame that arced out was no more than usual, which was disappointing.

The bright ball was also easily swept aside by its target. Hermione used a shield spell that sent the flames tumbling off to the side. They landed among several strong containers woven from willow which were, unfortunately, flammable. Hermione then disappeared with a theatrical puff of smoke and a yowling screech, and was replaced by a decidedly annoyed looking cat with long, unkempt brown fur.

The fire built quickly with a sickly-sweet smoke. With a pop, the old house-elf appeared, carrying a bucket which contained a rather magical amount of water. This easily doused the spreading conflagration, and Blackig, showing no signs of actual injury, disappeared. He then reappeared right in front of Gabrielle and snatched the wand from her hand. With a wag of a finger, he disappeared once more.

"Hey! Give that back!" demanded Gabrielle uselessly, momentarily stunned. She looked around wildly. Hermione had escaped the transfiguration, but was perched unsteadily atop a wobbling wardrobe where, as a cat, she had fled the deluge. George was firing spell after spell at her, and advancing. Ginny was calling for Harry. Gabrielle tried to decide between looking for the stupid house-elf or throwing things at Hermione. The pillow would not be much of a missile, though.

"[Expelliarmus! Expelliarmus!]" shouted Harry in rapid succession. "[Stop it, the both of you!]"

"It was Hermione who started it," said Gabrielle in George's defense. Blackig was gone, but Gabrielle was sure that he was in the back with the insane healer. Probably having nightcaps and laughing at her, steamed an aggrieved thought. "George, the house-elf took my wand. George!"

The singular Weasley twin did not hear because he was either too intent on shaking the wardrobe or because he could not hear over Hermione's cries for Ron as she tried to stay on the rocking piece. Harry looked like he was getting ready to start shouting also. Since he now held three wands, Gabrielle did not see that as a sensible, or useful, plan. And it would not help her recover her wand from the stupid house-elf, which was obviously more of an emergency than Hermione's predicament. Gabrielle sidled up to George, and kicked him in the ankle.

It was an effective way to get attention - rude, of course, but effective. Especially after nearly a year in iron footwear, something which Gabrielle had not taken into account. The unsuspecting George went over with a yelp. The wardrobe went over too when he collapsed against it. If there was a sound from Hermione, it was lost in the cacophony as the contents of the wardrobe crashed, shattered, and possibly exploded, finishing with a long drawn out tinkling. It was a riveting spectacle, and it ended the shouting.

"I am sorry!" blurted Gabrielle.

"[Well, Ginevra, might as well get yours in too,]" grumbled George as he rubbed his leg. "[I'm sure I've got nearly two hundred bones left that aren't broken.]"

"[Hermione?]" called Ginny. "[Hermione?]"

Gabrielle knelt next to George. "[Eh, I am sorry. I, eh, needed your help.]"

"[What in Merlin's name is going on?]" demanded Harry. "[Have you forgotten why we're here?]"

"[Don't bother looking for the psychopath here, Gin,]" said George. "[I'll wager a galleon to get a sickle that she used a portkey.]"

"[I am sorry,]" repeated Gabrielle, in case George had not heard. Not that it had been all her fault in the first place.

"[Not as sorry as she'll be once Fred comes through,]" muttered George. He looked into Gabrielle's eyes. "[Et tu, Blondus?]"

"[Eh, what?]" asked Gabrielle. Then she realized, "[Oh, you have hit your head. I am Gabrielle. Eh, 'G' is for -]"

"Gabrielle, d'accord. Mais, pourquoi est-ce tu, er, 'kick' moi?" tried George.

"Tu dis 'donne un coup de pied'," helped Gabrielle, smiling proudly at his attempt. "L'elfe de maison a pris ma baton. Tu m'aidere de le récupérer, oui? [1]"

"[Uh... er, house-elves can be tricky little buggers to deal with. But, it'll do what its master tells it to do, and I'm thinking that old git will be thrilled to please you. Remember old man Winterhall?]" replied George. "[Besides, you have another, right?]"

"[Eh, yes,]" said Gabrielle uncertainly. That had sounded, when it came to the question of help, rather like a no.

"[There you are, you bloody wanker,]" huffed Ron. He struggled into view with the largest crystal ball Gabrielle had ever seen. It was easily wider in diameter than her arm, elbow to fingers, was long and, judging from Ron's red face, very heavy. "[Help me with this. It's as heavy as a rock.]"

"[More proof that N.E.W.T.s don't mean anything. Quartz is a rock, just like your head,]" said George. He got to his feet, then reached out a hand to help Gabrielle up. This pleased Gabrielle, and she held onto his hand awkwardly. "[Someone say healer. I'd rather not have the Chosen One staring at me with that look on his face.]"

"[What look? What do you mean?]" asked Harry. "[Why would I - I'm not!]" Ron was snickering. The weight of the crystal ball made the ad hoc cot sag. Why, wondered Gabrielle, would one ever need a ball be that big?

"Pardon Blackig, Healer Leistenverletzunger is indisposed," announced the suddenly present house-elf. "Please call again."

"Eh, what? He had only a small cut!" argued Gabrielle. "We have the photograph for George's nose."

"Pardon Blackig, but Healer Leistenverletzunger is tired and not at all well. Good day."

"Because of you, I am sure! He was fine before. And give me back my wand!"

"Pardon Blackig, mademoiselle, but Blackig is keeping Healer Leistenverletzunger safe and is saying no."

"[What's all the excitement with your girl?]" asked Ginny. She held the handbag. Nearly clutched, Gabrielle's third thoughts noted. The second thoughts were busy noting 'your girl'.

"What? You can not! It - it is not allowed! He must heal George's nose!"

"[I'm pretty sure the house-elf's name is Blackig,]" said George helpfully.

"Pardon Blackig -"

Gabrielle decided that she did remember poor Monsieur Winterhall, and sang out with what she hoped was a seductive lilt, "Healer Listen-for-it! Eh, anger? Healer Listen-for-it-hunger!"

v - v - v - v - v

The healer had come when called. That might have been a Winterhall-like situation, or it may not. After all, thought Gabrielle, she would answer to her own name. Which was why she was ignoring Ginny, who was still trying to call her 'Mel'. Ron had picked up on it also, but Gabrielle normally ignored him anyway. George's nose was back to its handsome, ruggedly noble form, and that had taken some effort. The house-elf had been completely unhelpful and would not translate for her at all, which meant that she had had to spend a lot of time pantomiming to the ancient wizard. Indicating which wizard in the photograph was George, and whose nose to fix had been easy. Trying to get the healer to order the recalcitrant house-elf to return her wand was impossible. The old fool had turned bright red and had a coughing fit every time Gabrielle had attempted to describe a wand with her hands, trying to show the shape. It was very strange, but she just put it down to him being an old, foreign, and obviously insane wizard. An impression that was reinforced when Healer Leistenverletzunger just smiled happily as she and the others left with the huge crystal ball.

Gabrielle was not as happy to be leaving, mostly because she had not gotten her favorite wand back. She had also not had a chance to pull out her other wand, since that wand, and its alleged metacore, was in her handbag, and Ginny was keeping that for her. Or something.

Leaving also meant returning to the now shared tent, and probably Hermione. And now also the smell, which came courtesy of Fred and his 'RPD', or rocket-propelled dungbombs, one of which George had sent flying into the tent just, as he explained, in case. Gabrielle was not impressed with Fred's ingenuity. In her opinion, one was supposed to outgrow dungbombs; it was why one learned little hexes and jinxes. The dungbomb was launched from a sort of short staff which, George proudly explained, also provided a one-time shield spell if tapped on the ground. Ron tried that, and the staff crumbled to dust. "What part of 'one-time' did you miss out on?" asked George when his brother complained.

In any event, Hermione had not been in the common area, where the dungbomb had exploded. Gabrielle, who knew she had a talent for vanishing spells, was glad not to have her wand at hand; it fell to Harry and Ron to clean up the mess. And to use their wands to flick the shrapnel at each other. One -was- supposed to outgrow dungbombs. Gabrielle had always assumed that applied to boys as well.

Ginny had gone to find Hermione. George had as well, with a decidedly malicious gleam in his eye, and another RPD. Gabrielle had a choice, and went with the handbag. She already knew where Hermione was. The worst place for the older girl to be was in Gabrielle's room, finding a certain rude wax replica. Looking back on it, Gabrielle decided to call it a premonition instead of her normal allotment of luck. This was significant because it was not a post-monition - she could See more than the past. Yet another talent! A second thought allowed that, while it was clearly not a 'post-monition', it might have only been a 'now-monition'. Gabrielle carried the internal debate by working out that if she could See something as it happened but was not there where it happened, then she must have Seen it -here- first for it to happen -there- at the same time. Eh, puzzled a third thought, what?

Getting Ginny to follow her had been simple. Gabrielle snatched the handbag away and hurried to her room. Once inside, Gabrielle found Hermione as she had Seen, at least the half of Hermione that was not under the bed. The witch, who Gabrielle had thought of as a mentor, had clearly lost her senses. The issues, Gabrielle noticed, seemed to begin once a person started doing, eh, things that a married person did before getting married. That made the gray area grayer. Gabrielle opened the handbag and found the second wand before clearing her throat very deliberately. She could sense the wand wanting to try the fireball spell, but it was, after all, her own room. Perhaps, suggested a second thought, she should have instead spent too much of her spare time learning an even slightly more useful spell.

Hermione emerged from under the bed at the sound with a jerk. She had her wand in one hand and the stupid candle in the other. Gabrielle sighed. Now she would have to explain why she had the tallow phallus, and in such a way that made it clear that it was all Fred's fault. Which Gabrielle was at least fairly certain it was. A second thought wondered why she had never thought to burn it. Gabrielle started to protest the violation of her privacy to set the tone, but Hermione jumped in.

"[And just -what- are you doing with this?]" demanded Hermione, a knowing accusation in every syllable.

"You would know better than I," muttered Gabrielle.

"I heard that," snapped Hermione.

"[Will you stop waving that wax willy around? Honestly, can't you think of anything else these days?]" asked Ginny.

"[What? Ginny, this is hers!]"

"[I seriously doubt that, or boys wouldn't make such fools of themselves over Veelas,]" grinned Ginny.

"[Eh, what?]" asked Gabrielle. "[Zat is Fred's!]"

"[Oh, you can tell them apart now?]" smirked Ginny. Gabrielle opened her mouth to speak, but could not come up with anything to say.

"[It isn't funny, Ginny. They lied to us about last night,]" accused Hermione, jabbing the ridiculous candle at Gabrielle.

"[Careful now. Not everyone is used to having one of those in their face.]"

"[There was blood on his sheets!]" hissed Hermione, eyes flashing with anger. This time Ginny was at a loss for words.

"[Eh, yes. But zat will, eh, clean if you use your wand,]" began Gabrielle. "[Ze stupid house-elf has my - ]"

"[Morgana's fanny! You mean you actually did it?]" gasped Ginny in shock.

"[Eh, yes?]" It was not like she had had a nosebleed on purpose.

"[It's not her fault - it's your brother who has to answer for this,]" said Hermione.

"[I can't believe George - she is Veela though, right? A little?]" Gabrielle frowned at Ginny's slight.

"[Veela or not, she's eleven Ginny! He's the one -]"

"[Twelve. I am twelve years old,]" corrected Gabrielle. She was not some silly little girl. "[It was bleeding a little before, eh...]" Gabrielle tried to recall the details of the story George had come up with.

The two older girls quickly looked at the anatomic candle, and Hermione dropped it. "[Eww!]" they squealed in unison.

Gabrielle began to suspect that she had missed something. "[I, eh, zink perhaps I mean no, before.]"

"[Well that's it then. He'll have to marry her,]" concluded Ginny.

"[Oh, eh, of course,]" agreed Gabrielle. She was not sure why her coven sister had brought that up now, but it seemed very reasonable. They would have the wedding at Delacour Manor. There was plenty of room for the Weasleys to stay. Monique would be the maid of honor. Her dress could be slightly different if she was still needing to be One with the trees, or something. There would be no fairies.

"[I don't see how that follows at all; these aren't the Victorian days. I mean, you know Lavender too. She'd be married to half a quidditch team by now,]" argued Hermione.

"[Punishment should fit the crime, though,]" said Ginny. Pranks, thought Gabrielle, will definitely be allowed, especially if they are on Aunt Laurel. Wait, a second thought wondered, what?

"[It isn't funny Ginny. If he was a muggle, George would be facing statutory rape charges. At least. Just because the wizarding world believes a witch can't be raped [2] does not mean this isn't serious!]" Gabrielle was stunned by Hermione's words, then outraged. What did she think went on? A second thought noticed the candle.

"[So, what? You plan on killing him yourself then?]"

"[No, I - I was just so angry at the - ]"

"[Ze blood,]" began Gabrielle loudly and with as much Fleur-like disdain as she could muster in case anyone tried to interrupt, "[came from my nose.]"

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle sat cross-legged on the bed, stared into the oversized crystal, and wished she had never gone near that stupid Goblet. If she had not even put in a blank scrap of parchment, would the thing still have been able to choose her? Gabrielle supposed it came down to talent. Talents. It was important to have talent - talents; she had always thought so. Gabrielle knew she had several talents. She could See, both the past and what was only nearly the past. She could also vanish filth and manure at an amazing rate, something that had been required after the second RPD had crashed through the door of her room to strike Hermione. And Ginny. And herself. The vanishing was really not much of a talent to brag about. A handier talent was the ability to have red-haired wizards do what she wanted. The last of the rocket-propelled pranks were safely in her handbag. Which was probably, again, with Ginny, who seemed to think Gabrielle could talk to animals. That is, talk -with- animals, since, really, anyone could talk to one. Gabrielle wondered if Ginny knew that Hermione could talk with her cat. Perhaps that was the reason Ginny thought Gabrielle could have such a talent. Gabrielle considered that the presumption could also have arisen from her speaking to Soleil, and his head bobbing. Ginny probably did not spend much time at stables and did not know that head-bobbing was an Abraxan response to nearly anything one said that did not get a kick. Or perhaps it was because Sauveuret, the squirrel that had saved her, was sitting next to her, close enough that his flicking tail brushed her leg. He seemed very interested in the glass also, which Gabrielle found curious. What, in his former forest home, would lead the creature to expect something to happen? Lieutenant Mimsey stood by her other leg, occasionally nibbling at the rancid pillow. The ball was not so mesmerizing that the squirrel did not take cautious glances at the owl every so often. Gabrielle was going to reassure him that the owl would behave, but then that would be Ginny's point.

"[I don't see a bloody thing,]" announced Ron abruptly.

"[No one expects -you- to, git,]" said George. Gabrielle tried not to let the fact that he was not looking into the crystal bother her. The disassembly of the beetle on her pillow, however, did. A little.

"[I think I know what's wrong,]" said Ginny. Gabrielle only half listened, because thinking of Soleil reminded Gabrielle that she had yet to exercise the Abraxan. He had already been upset by the house-elf; if Soleil thought he was being snubbed too... Also, after flying Soleil it was usually time for 'pune' with Nona. What time was it? The windows in the tent were bright, but they did not show the -

Thwock! The smack on the back of her head startled Gabrielle, and made her jump. Except that she was sitting with her legs crossed, so the jump was more of a sudden flop forward. Sauveuret scrambled for the far side of the huge ball, while the Lieutenant flapped his wings and screeched. It was obviously, thought Gabrielle, later than she had been thinking.

"[Ginny, leave off her,]" complained Harry. Ginny? Not Nona? Gabrielle sat up and looked behind her at the red-head holding a ladle.

"[I was just setting the mood,]" explained Ginny a little too cheerfully in Gabrielle's opinion. "[It helps her get started.]"

"[Eh, what? Zat - zat does not - zat is not how it is!]"

"[What about the chanting then? You want some help with that?]" The ladle Ginny held returned to being the hairbrush it had originally been.

"[Madame Sombrevoir does not use ze chanting,]" said Gabrielle airily.

"[I thought the old hag was called Nona.]"

"[Madame Sombrevoir is ze Professor of Divining Arts at Beauxbatons.]" Would adding that she was one of the top students in her class be too much?

"[Are you -at- Beauxbatons?]"

"[Eh, what? Ginny, Beauxbatons is in France. It is very famous; you should know zis,]" replied Gabrielle patiently. George laughed at this, then cursed softly as something went 'ping' and landed on the floor some distance away.

"[I knew that muggle map was rubbish,]" declared Ron.

"[I know where Beauxbatons is,]" huffed Ginny. "[You were using a crystal ball earlier and you were chanting then, right? So why not now?]"

"[It is only for Nona,]" argued Gabrielle. "[It is not needed to - ]"

"[Seemed to work, though. So did the ladle.]"

"[Zat is not needed! Very definitely!]"

"[One or the other then. Come on, Harry's counting on you,]" added Ginny.

"[Am I?]' asked Harry. He looked over to Ginny, received the message her eyes flashed, then continued, "[Er, right. 'Course I am - this is, erm, really important. The fate of the wizard - ]"

"[There, see?]" interrupted Ginny. "[The Chosen One chose you, and your mythical bond with George led us right here. Not going to disappoint them are you?]" Magical, corrected Gabrielle to herself.

"[Eh, no, of course not,]" replied Gabrielle, somewhat abashed at the attention. She knew she had let her mind wander before. They would not think much of her if they found out. That may be, realized a second thought, the entire reason for chanting. Certainly the words meant nothing to her. Gabrielle took the smallest sniff of the filthy pillow, and began to chant quietly.

"[That's it, the mists will be lifting any time now,]" encouraged Ginny.

"[No. Zey will part. You know zis. Ze mists zat hide ze Hidden Realm - ]"

"[I can make another ladle,]" warned Ginny.

Gabrielle decided not to argue - the fate of the wizard something or other depended on her. She settled back and looked into the crystal ball, barely noticing when Ginny took her hands and joined in chanting. Nothing happened for the longest time, and doubtful thoughts began to wonder if the polished sphere was just too large. It was reasonable to think that a small crystal would be easier to use than a larger one. That was even logical. Gabrielle wondered if George had any magic ink in that shirt pocket of his...

Eventually, with Harry chanting as well - which he might have only done to hold hands with Ginny - and with several delicate sniffs of the guidepost pillow, there developed a haze in the very center of the ball. Ron had added his voice too, but briefly and so garbled it might have been another language entirely, subsiding after a jab from Ginny. The haze, Gabrielle noticed, actually seemed to fade more than lift or part. Mentally she tried, 'The mists of the Hidden Realm have faded, and I have Seen.' No, not very dramatic. Not correct grammatically at the moment, either. It should be 'I See', because Gabrielle could See. It was the rat, sitting on its hind legs and looking for all the world like it was thinking very hard about something. The scene was dim, and seemed to be indoors. Perhaps, guessed Gabrielle, the other barn? She leaned in closer to heavy ball.

Ginny spotted her shift. "[You've got something?]" She sounded more hopeful than surprised, an impression that a part of Gabrielle was quite pleased about.

A larger part of Gabrielle was not pleased, but rather alarmed. The rat -was- thinking about something. The rodent sat contemplating a heavy, brass-bound, wooden chest - a heavy, brass-bound, wooden, -familiar- chest. Wormtail the rat was looking at Stanislaw's chest, in Stanislaw's tent. Which was, and this the alarming part, right next door to her tent!

Gabrielle reared back, blurting, "Wormtail is in the next tent over!'

"[You see Wormtail?]" asked Harry.

"[Wormtail is in, uh...]" started George.

"[Wormtail is in ze tent zat is next to zis one!]" repeated Gabrielle. An unexpected concern for her handbag came over Gabrielle, and she snatched it up from where it lay next to Ginny.

"[Which one?]"

"[A la droite! Eh, zat is, ze one to ze right, if you look to ze 'ole,]" answered Gabrielle. Now that she had her handbag, she opened it and brought out Pepi-Z. "Pepi-Z, you can watch for the rat?" she said to him, letting the bag drop to the bed. She clipped the bobble to her hair.

The act was an island of calm in the sudden pandemonium. Harry, Ron, and George jumped up - George leaving a trail of tiny metal parts. Ginny got to her feet as well, and faced a wall of very loud opinion on what she should be doing, which was nothing. Ginny's opinion to the opposite was nearly as vociferous. Gabrielle's expressed opinion, and her best plan, which was outright ignored, was for George to stay with her. She finally got up to get her iron overshoes. The backup plan was to put Soleil between herself and the rat. Gabrielle pulled Ginny after her because two wands were better than one.

1 The elf took my wand. You will help me get it back, yes?

2 The reasoning is thus: the defensive magic peculiar to witches that would be provoked is, as judged by wizards, more than sufficient to either prevent the heinous act or punish the actor. Therefore, for the alleged assault to have taken place, nefarious dark magic must be at work, and let's just see that wand, lad, eh? The Unforgivables are just that, generally speaking, and carry the highest penalty already. This is why the incident between Tibault and Natuche was so disturbing - those sort of spells at that kind of age.

Even muggles are dimly aware of this potent defensive magic, and refer to the belief in it as 'vagina dentata'.