Chapter Twenty-six - What Is This?
Gabrielle sat with her eyes closed, wondering if she should be feeling any different. Hermione was on her third memory enhancement incantation, a variation of Johann Memonisch's seminal work. Since she had only read that in passing while researching (expand!) on why her cheering charm had gone so terribly wrong, Gabrielle supposed that she did feel different. Fuller perhaps, though it was the Greek warlock Canthuseecles that had proved that thoughts had no weight. That came from a book that Gabrielle had merely opened to hide behind when Lucretia had been in one of her moods. The recollection of the warlock's gory experimental method was very vivid.
Gabrielle was back in slacks, even though these were sporting new holes from the unicorn. The skirt was lost out in the fields somewhere, and the slacks fit her best. Which is to say they were the tightest. The stretchy green top also matched well, except that at the moment it would be stretching around the lumpy plaster instead of the toned results of the metric ton. That was not a good look, so Gabrielle chose one of Ginny's old blouses that she had been given. The garment was pretty but not exactly form-fitting.
The plaster was definitely a problem, and the reason it took slightly longer to change than Gabrielle had promised. She considered, at first, trying to remove the wadded cloth stuck to her, but worried about being left with the tar-like stuff underneath. And, the possible excruciating pain if she pulled both the plaster and her skin off. The not quite faint smell of cat was not helped at all by the spritz of perfume. It was a muggle concoction, and the only reason that she had it was because Maman and Fleur did not know about the clear little bottle. Gabrielle liked the scent, which was to her the way that flowers would smell if they were made of candy. Unless she used too much at one time, in which case her mind's eye saw inexplicable hulking stands of pipes and gleaming metal tanks. Unfortunately, what scented the air now was the way flowers would smell if they were made out of candy and doused in cat urine. Gabrielle convinced herself that that was at least marginally better, and, at the last moment, quickly pulled her metal beetle out of her handbag. She would have George show her how to send messages.
The beetle's wing, Gabrielle now very clearly recalled, had a crude arrow and numbers displayed on it, which she had worked out was pointing to something. George had been using his beetle - again - when he had dropped the pink water balloon on her even though she had been wearing Mrs. Weasley's apron. Using her talent for logic, Gabrielle decided that there was a very good chance that her beetle was showing her where George was, as his did her. That was not as romantic as George being guided to her by the power of their love, but it was very sweet. Because it was George - otherwise that would be a little creepy, like Allie and her notebook.
"[Oh Merlin, I think that was one too many,]" sighed Ginny. "[The cauldron's gone out.]"
"[Eh, what?]" asked Gabrielle, coming back to the present. Were they making the potion they had mentioned earlier?
"[Do you have one that'll make her pay attention?]"
"[Ginny, this is why no one who isn't stupid uses memory charms before an exam. If you can remember everything, then it's difficult to remember any -one- thing; you're constantly distracted by memories of trivial details,]" explained Hermione.
"[And you are telling us this now?]" Irritation tinged Ginny's question.
That did not make sense to Gabrielle. If one could remember everything, then surely it would simply be a matter of picking the right memory. She was, for example, remembering all the times at the Burrow when George had made room or left a space for her to sit next to him. That was not the case now. George sat on the narrow sofa with Harry and Ron flanking him, while she was in a wingback chair with Ginny and Hermione staring down at her. The seating arrangement might have been Hermione's doing, or it might have been the result of Soleil's haphazard nibbling. The way her hair had looked each time she had been next to George came instantly to mind, and every image was very far from its current disheveled state. She wondered if she would be allowed a few moments, far from Ron, to fix her mangled locks. Or at least change them, as the hair spells could be tricky, though right now she was sure she would know them perfectly. Though, she was still without her favorite wand, which the lunatic house-elf still had. Gabrielle definitely recalled, quite clearly, asking George to help her. Was he really not going to do a thing about it?
A better memory than of hair or of sitting next to George was the one where she lay next to him as he slept. The remembered feeling of where his hand had inadvertently landed was again extremely vivid, and sent a tingle down Gabrielle's spine. A smaller hand passed in front of her eyes.
"[Are you all right? You're looking a bit feverish,]" said Ginny, peering into Gabrielle's face. The room did seem much warmer to Gabrielle, but she nodded. "[This is ruddy useless.]"
"[Why don't we try asking her directly?]" suggested Hermione. "[Focusing is the problem.]"
"[Right, good idea. So, Gigi, do you - ]"
"[It is Gabrielle. You know zis. You have never, ever, said my name properly. I am certain of zat.]"
"[What?]"
"[You have never said my proper name,]" reiterated Gabrielle. And, she thought as the incidents played in her head, Ginny had also been very rude, many times.
"[Well, you've never used my given name either, and you don't hear me whinging on about it, do you?]"
"[The prophecy?]" reminded Hermione.
"[Mais, tu - Eh, everyone says you are Ginny! Zat is how it was when we met.]"
"[I like being Ginny. You don't like Gigi? How about going back to Beebee? Or Nibbles, for your hair?]"
"[Nibbles!]" snorted Ron. "[I like that.]"
"[Zis is anozzer time you are being rude! First, zere was - ]"
"[Stop it, the both of you. You're acting like immature first - er, never mind that,]" scolded Hermione.
"Je suis dans la classe de cinquième!" declared Gabrielle. Nearly in the fifth class, at least. "Et j'ai gagné deux Encours et trois Dépassé les Attentes! [1]"
"[She's forgotten how to speak - we're in for a bloody great row,]" noted Ron as Ginny and Gabrielle bickered. "[I've got five galleons on there being blood.]"
"[I'll take that wager,]" grinned George. "[Spells count too, just to give you an edge.]"
"[You caused Mum no end of worry, getting hurt stupidly.]"
"[Yeah, all right,] said Ron uncertainly. "[That's the way Nibbles!]"
"[It is you zat made her worry, going around without ze, eh, eh, knickers!]"
"[Can we please get back to the prophecy, Ginny?]" asked Harry.
"[ - and zen you took it and hid it - ]"
"Ce sont de paiement très bon, beaucoup bien, [2]" interrupted George. "[Quite good marks indeed.]"
"[Oh! Eh, eh - zank you, of course,]" flustered Gabrielle, derailed from her tirade.
"[You bloody cheat!]" hissed Ron.
"[You never wrote that you were doing so brilliantly,]" soothed George with, objectively judged, a smarmy smile. Gabrielle, despite her best efforts, blushed furiously. She was not judging objectively.
"[Sweet Morgana, I think I'm going to be sick,]" moaned Ginny.
"[Eh, I, eh, did not want to, eh, jinx myself. You see? If you, eh, say your score before ze end, it will not come as you want,]" explained Gabrielle. Exactly seven upperclass students had warned her of that Beauxbatons' hazard.
"[That must have been hard for you, being a Seer and all,]" crooned George smoothly. The fading blush reversed itself.
"[Well that's done my stomach now too,]" announced Hermione.
"[And these prophecies! What's that one Ginny wants to hear?]"
"[I have some mushrooms from Iceland,]" remembered Gabrielle. George had needed some for his plan. "[Zey have white, eh, spots. Silvain sent zem.]"
"[Oy, you've got competition,]" whispered Ron theatrically.
"[Shut up and go fetch my galleons,]" said George.
"[I, eh, put him in ze toilet when he was a fish. I zink I should have flushed him.]" Gabrielle realized that she was babbling, but with all the memories crowding her head, some had to be let out.
"[So, he does write, this Silvain?]" asked Ginny innocently, though her grin suggested another intention.
"[Harry will cover me.]"
"[I'll what?]"
"[Come on, luv. What was the prophecy you told Ginny?]" asked George, leaning forward as if to hear better. To hear better, and to ignore the others. Gabrielle matched his posture, because it brought her closer to him, but there was still too much of a gap for... well, anything.
"[Go on, you've got enough to splash out,]" said Ron. "[It's Ginny's fault, anyway.]"
"[I don't. Your Mum and Dad have most of them, and the Firebolt took the rest,]" admitted Harry.
"[Ze splintered soul approaches wizz youzz reborn, wizz a darkness once stopped by purity horn. He seeks what ze rat hid and the simple, eh, eh, stoat stole, and ze power of destiny for his evil goal. His servants at his side, he holds neez-zair's full heart. One repays ze debt; ze ozzer's lost at ze start,]" recited Gabrielle. She remembered the words perfectly; she just wished she remembered why it was important that no one found out about Poisseux. Were the memory charms failing already? Or was there just too much in her head? She needed to empty herself a little. "[Ze mists zat hide ze Hidden Realm have, eh , parted, and ze spirit spoke zat we had met once and zat I, eh, am a 'fine witch'.]"
"[I'm not spotting you a knut, Ron.]"
"[That's fine if you don't want to be paid back.]"
"[How is it my fault?]" asked Ginny. "[Oy, I thought there was a toad in there somewhere?]"
"[It is splintered also, and not spinster,]" responded Gabrielle. That was not a lie, so it could be said even with Ginny watching her face. It was good that Poisseux was confined to the handbag. Which, Gabrielle remembered suddenly, clearly, and anxiously, lay open on her bed, dropped in the rush.
"[Very mystical,]" judged George, sitting back. "[Or should I say mist-tical? What's it all mean, do you think? I mean, the rat's obvious, yeah, but splintered? And all that rubbish about horns and purity?]"
"[I missed it, haven't I?]" realized Harry. "[Ron, you ruddy ars- Erm, can we go again?]"
Gabrielle stood up. "[Eh, I remember zat I need to take care of somezing in my room. It is important.]"
"[More important than your prophecy?]"
"[Sit down. Ginny can take care of it, whatever it is,]" said Hermione.
"[I'm not one of your prefects that you can order around, you know.]"
"[Broke Mum's heart that, after Ron had made it and all,]" added George sadly.
"[No! Not Ginny!]" blurted Gabrielle. "[Eh, zat is, it is rude to, eh, have guests clean.]"
"[You want Hermione rooting through your collection of naughty candles?]"
"[Eh, what? I have no idea what you are talking about.]" Gabrielle avoided all eyes as remembering, vividly, the candle brought to mind, also with perfect clarity, the incident with Ron last summer and every single one of the woodcut images from her Grandmere's little book, even the fourth devotion. She fought for composure. "[I will not be gone long.]"
"[Yeah, I'll go along to make sure of that,]" said Ginny. "[You were forever in the loo, messing up - er, around with your hair.]" The redhead stood up also.
"[Zat is not - ]" started Gabrielle. She was going to say that it was not necessary for Ginny to help her, but her off-again coven sister was already heading for the bedroom. An unbidden memory of how Ginny had gone after the locket flashed through Gabrielle's mind. She decided that Ginny was never going to listen, at least not to her, so instead, Gabrielle ran. That was sort of a talent as well, and she was already past the older girl before Ginny started sprinting after her.
"[I've not lost yet,]" grinned Ron.
v - v - v - v - v
The face of the boy was oddly passive, given the seething rage of the man inside. A rage that had little to vent itself upon, and so was useless. He, Lord Voldemort, the last wizard the world needed, required Snape. If for no other purpose than to torture the unspeakably inept Wormtail through the Mark. What an utter waste of magic the - no, not the man. It was conceivable, even likely, that the true form of the buffoon -was- the rat, and it was the rat that was the animagus. Manimagus, as it were. A bark of laughter escaped his lips. The youthful pitch of the outburst hid the bitterness behind it. He had, the Dark Lord knew, expected Wormtail to fail. Lord Voldemort knows. The intent had been to reveal the strengths and weaknesses of the camp. Instead, fumed the Dark Lord, Wormtail had fallen into Potter's hands and had, according to Snape, shown that thorn in his side where the prize lay. The body of the boy and the essence of the man turned to look at the trees of the wooded hillock. They were anemic compared to the ones of the Forbidden Forest; probably had been cleared several times for farmland. There was nothing worth destroying.
"[My lord?]" began the potion master. He had risen once more, slowly, to his knees. The Dark Lord had taken the news badly.
"[Power that the Dark Lord knows not - it is an inconceivable idea, Snape. The so-called Chosen One just has a surfeit of good luck - damned, blind, sodding luck,]" denigrated the Dark Lord. "[That is not true power, and knowledge, complete knowledge, can obviate luck.]"
"[Yes, my lord.]"
Lord Voldemort stared down at his servant. The bowed figure was not as far down as he had once been, but the current vessel the Dark Lord used still had a growth spurt or three to go. In the pause, the Dark Lord could feel his mind filling in the details of an intricate plot, seeing the web of deceit needed. The Cup had stronger protections on it than had surrounded the Locket, so there was still time for -
Unless, reconsidered the Dark Lord, his hands clenching around his wand in fury, a ridiculous series of highly improbable circumstances allowed Potter to defy him again. The sallow skin of the potion master was - Now there, thought the Dark Lord, was an idea. Luck was normally fleeting, and was only good or bad when in contrast with another's. For Potter's luck to run out only required that he, Lord Voldemort, have better luck. And that luck could be brewed. "[Felix Felicis, Severus. You know this potion?]"
"[Of course, my lord.]" The words were calm, but the flush of affront at the implied questioning of the potion master's knowledge was detectable. Lord Voldemort knows. There was something else, though.
"[But?]"
"[It can not be brewed under these circumstances. The sparging of the base elixir requires particular glassware, and must begin on the last day of the new moon. It must remain utterly undisturbed for thrice-seven hours,]" explained Snape. "[That assumes the rather extensive list of ingredients were available.]"
"[You know others capable of brewing it. A standard challenge for accreditation, I recall. It could be... acquired.]"
"[That is one of the selections, yes, but recent events would tend to suggest that no witch or wizard has a supply at their disposal,]" said Snape dryly. And rather boldly, thought the Dark Lord. "[Slughorn claimed to have brewed a cauldron-full two years ago, but demonstrated no proof of its efficacy.]"
Time and resources, grumbled the Dark Lord to himself. Always time and resources. A Time-Turner would solve this problem, but, as blasted luck would have it, Potter had shattered those years ago. He looked at the wand in his hand. While quite good, it just did not have the power of his former wand and certainly not that of his future wand. If it could be done, he would summon a whirlwind of Fiendfyre large enough to engulf the camp and then pick the Cup from the smouldering ruins. It was an abomination that there was a limit to the magic he could do; Lord Voldemort was the magic.
The Dark Lord focused on his servant still on bended knee, and sighed. "[I shall require three owls.]"
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle sat in the chair in her room. There was not much choice about that - she was tied to it. While she had been faster than Ginny, she had not been faster than the redhead's wand. Even then, it had been a close thing, since the first spells had been fended off by George's gift, sparking away harmlessly to the walls. It was the low bench that has erupted from the floor that had done it.
Poisseux hung by his leg, stuck to the mirror by a Sticking charm, the ornate golden trophy still held stubbornly in his mouth. Ginny had used the zombie toad as a handle. Her free hand she had actually held in her own mouth; Gabrielle had seen the marks left by her teeth.
Ginny, Gabrielle concluded, was insane. Still insane, a second thought recalled. The unprovoked assault was aggravated by this invasion of privacy and theft. Kidnapping too, if you included the spellotape amphibian. These were then followed by Ginny soothing Gabrielle's barked shins and fixing Gabrielle's mangled hair. Gabrielle was not so much speechless as incapable of speech due to a close-range Silencio, but what could she ever say to this turn of events?
"[Hmm... It's a lot better evened off, but not much. No wonder you went with the beads,]" considered Ginny. Insane and rude, thought Gabrielle. "[It just sort of lays there, you know?]"
Gabrielle did know, but that was what hair did. Her hair, at least. Fleur's hair was far more animate, flowing and shimmering nearly on its own.
"[Let's try curls, shall we?]" Gabrielle immediately thought no, but then wondered if that was only Maman's opinion.
The hair of a full-blooded Veela is not, to be precise, actually hair at all, and is an important element in their transformations. It is never cut, nor styled. When the Veela concentrates, his or her hair is, for the intended target, essentially perfect. Gabrielle, having only a quarter of Veela heritage, did not manifest this ability strongly, or even at all compared to her mother and sister. Gabrielle's Aunt Laurel always said that Gabrielle had her father's hair, though Gabrielle's hair had always been as blond as - No, nearly as blond as - Well, blond. Things that are magical, however, have a way of holding onto that power, until an event occurs that can release it. A latent magic. Usually the trigger is something that the magic does not like. To summarize, Ginny's spell did not go well.
"You pig-headed English idiot! You have less brains than Sauveuret and he is a squirrel!" mouthed Gabrielle silently, uselessly. She threw herself against the conjured ropes, rocking the chair.
"[Oh Merlin! I - I don't know what went wrong,]" said Ginny in a voice reduced to a whisper by the horror. As if, fumed Gabrielle, that was any sort of apology at all. Not that she would accept one so easily! Gabrielle would have tried to eviscerate Ginny's self-esteem with a Look, but that would have meant opening her eyes. Since she faced the mirror, that in turn meant that she would have to endure the sight of Ginny's handiwork again. It was too much!
Gabrielle's hair was curly as an ocean was a puddle. Every single hair was tightly coiled, and every single hair did its best to fly away from her scalp in its own direction. She had not looked much different after Fred's shocking package, it was true, but her hair had at least been its normal texture. She looked like she had a yellow puffball on her head, like a gigantic, blond version of Pepi-Z was trying to eat her head. And it was all Ginny's fault, which made it really unfortunate that Gabrielle had already used up all of the Poot powder EXP.
"[Er, yes... I - Oh, I should probably get Hermione,]" admitted Ginny after several more spells, one of which left the distinct odor of scorched hair lingering in the air. Then, to Gabrielle's utter astonishment, the older girl left. Gabrielle risked the sight of her own head to verify that. Ginny had simply left - left Gabrielle tied to a chair, left Gabrielle silenced, left Gabrielle alone with Poisseux and his teething toy. Ginny also unknowingly left Gabrielle alone with the aforementioned Sauveuret, who now came tail-flicking his way across her pillow, behind which he had been hiding. That, came a fastidious thought, would soon be Ginny's pillow.
Speech was still not possible. When Gabrielle cast the Silencio spell, it only lasted a few minutes at best. She knew Fleur's could last for hours. So Gabrielle reached out with her mind to communicate with the eternally nervous squirrel. This was done by staring at Sauveuret, then toward Poisseux, then at Sauveuret, and then again toward Poisseux. She did this until the squirrel finally skittered to the edge of the bed - the sheets would be Ginny's too, schemed Gabrielle, until she remembered what the redhead and Harry had probably been up to on their's - and jumped onto the vanity.
A second thought wondered why freeing Poisseux was the first priority when Sauveuret's teeth could be gnawing at the ropes, but it all came to naught when the forest creature turned and headed back toward her. In his mouth was her hairbrush.
v - v - v - v - v
"[The bruise is gone, but it still bloody hurts,]" complained Ginny. Her shoe and sock were off and she was running her wand over her freckled skin. "[She's a menace! I think my ankle's broken.]"
"[It isn't, and you brought that on yourself,]" admonished Hermione.
"[I didn't.]"
"[You tied her up and did -that- to her hair, and you didn't think she might get a little upset?]"
"[Why isn't it working?]" asked Harry. He had tried the spell that George had shown him three times now, and the gold cup looked the same as ever. The spell was supposed to make an object with a soul trapped in it glow or something.
"[I thought it was brilliant,]" noted George. "[Try aiming next time, mate.]"
"[Yeah, an' can I just say that no girl is going to find that a compliment if you start by falling to the floor laughing?]" advised Ginny. "[I can't believe you can even get a date.]"
"[Oh, that part's easy enough. Magnetism and all. Not getting stabbed - that's been the tricky part.]"
"[Aim? I'm right on it.]"
"[How can you tell if you did have a broken ankle?]"
"[Ginny, you were walking on it before. It isn't broken,]" repeated Hermione. "[And there's no point in that, Harry. Even a wizard would hide the one thing that made an object unique.]"
"[Oh, er, that makes sense,]" said Harry. He kept his wand ready though. He did not like the way the toad was eyeing him. "[How can we tell if this really is Hufflepuff's cup?]"
"[Apart from the distinctive markings, the goblin-wrought handles, and that Wormtail is here, there's the fact that Ginny turned it up,]" replied Hermione. She faced her well-thumbed copy of "Hogwarts: A History" toward Harry, showing a portrait of Helga Hufflepuff. On the table she was posed at was the cup. "[Professor Festeller and his team should be able to verify that.]"
"[Just to be clear, that actually -is- You-Know - yes, yes, all right - Voldemort's hairy heart?]" asked George.
"[I didn't find it, Nibbles did. Those ruddy metal galoshes of hers...]" muttered Ginny, still massaging her ankle. Harry wondered if he should offer to help. There did not seem to be any swelling, but if Ginny wanted something rubbed then he was certainly game.
"[Metaphorically, I suppose, yes,]" said Hermione. "[On that topic, why is it that the heart is hairy? Is that important symbolism, representing societal estrangement?]"
"[What a peculiar thing to say,]" started George. "[A still-living, beating heart outside a bloke's chest? It would get cold, right? Stands to reason it would grow an aorta of hair.]"
"[Yes, that's right. Cold-hearted; socially withdrawn. It is symbolism,]" nodded Hermione.
"[I don't think it is.]"
"[Where's Ron gotten to, do you think?]" asked Harry, more to stem hormonal, and other, surges as he imagined other areas that Ginny might like to be rubbed. "[I should have gone with him.]"
"[Don't worry about Ronnikins,]" assured George. "[He'll be fine, and we'll be rid of Wormtail as long as he doesn't mix up the Weasley Wildfire Sky-Scorcher Supreme with the Weasley Wildfire Door-Knocker Hollywood Addition because -]"
"[Hollywood Addition?]" wondered Harry. He was now certain that he should have gone with Ron, and equally glad that he had not.
"[Ask Fred. It's something like muggle zombies compared to real ones - bigger and flashier, of course, instead of drippier and, um, lurchier. Anyway, I did mark them with - oh dear. Ron does know his goblin numerals, does he?]"
v - v - v - v - v
It was well after the evening meal when Gabrielle ran out of places to be. Other than her tent. Nona did not need help, or, more likely, did not want Gabrielle's help. There had been a small, well, not a discussion because of the language barrier, but a... contest of wills, during which Gabrielle had made it very plain to the old crone that she would not be seen in public with her hair like that. Nona had understood, or, a second thought supposed, merely relented. Especially since it was clear that the unnatural 'sproing' of Gabrielle's hair helmet reduced the ladle to a bare annoyance. That Nona was irritated at having to serve the meal herself was obvious - the interior of the cottage darkened noticeably and even the round barrels seemed spiky.
But then, recalled Gabrielle, the Albanian witch had been acting peculiar all afternoon. First, it was Nona who had made the tea, and set out a cup for herself and one for Gabrielle. Strongly spiced and overly sweet layered dough blobs were offered, and there was not even a hint of a customer. Gabrielle took the smallest of the haphazard pastries, and saw the strong, brown hands belonging to her as she ran them through the drying pods. A cloud redolent with spice enveloped her. Her young son Golpol sat and played in the dust nearby, for which he should have received a scolding. But as he drew animal shapes in the baked dust, Golpol sang of Lord Shiva in a voice like the flitting saulari made human. No one could stay cross when little Golpol sang, and that included Gabrielle.
Unfortunately, hearing the lilting spiritual from the child meant that Gabrielle had not heard Nona, who was looking pointedly at the now half-empty plate. Gabrielle reddened, and would have immediately apologized, but her cheeks were stuffed with sugared dough. She tried to chew and swallow unobtrusively. Nona put the remaining lumps on a barrel next to the table and as far from Gabrielle as could be managed. Then, sighing, the old witch spoke at length. Which was just five or six sentences, but it was more than Nona had ever said to Gabrielle at a time. It was, naturally, all in Albanian, and did not seem to involve tea, cabbage, or that she should pay attention. So Gabrielle was quite at a loss as to what it all meant, except that she was probably not in trouble. When she had finally swallowed enough to look up and try to say something, Gabrielle found Nona's dark eyes waiting for her. The dour old woman was not angry, or annoyed, or impatient. She seemed... satisfied. Gabrielle found that, frankly, more unnerving. Nona then brought out a small, very small, crystal ball and pushed it across the table to Gabrielle. The witch then made shooing motions with her hands, which either meant that Gabrielle was to take the orb or that the cottage was full of pigeons that only Nona could see. Gabrielle had picked the crystal uncertainly, but before she had decided that it had to be a gift and should thank Nona, the usual piles of potatoes had appeared between them.
The oddness continued when Nona had, while Gabrielle was busy slicing potatoes, and the occasional finger, tried to smooth Gabrielle's hair down. That had been completely unexpected, and vindicated Gabrielle's view. If even Nona, who wore the same dark clothes everyday, could tell how awful it was... Nona had even resorted to her most ancient and powerful magic - spit - to try and tame the wild locks. Disgusting as the unexpected, and ineffective, application of saliva had been, the act bolstered Gabrielle's stubbornness when it came time to serve the evening meal.
Having been curtly dismissed from the cottage, Gabrielle went to tend to Soleil. That was certainly a private place to go. The big Abraxan was put off by her new hairstyle as well, mostly because the springy mass tickled his nose when he tried a nibble. The sneeze of an Abraxan is much like the animals themselves - very big and very loud. The explosions did not stop Soleil from trying for what a very annoyed Gabrielle felt were dozens of times. The colt was beginning to kick the stall's walls in frustration toward the end, so Gabrielle made her excuses to leave. Not that she expected Soleil to understand, of course! She had had enough mucus for the evening, and needed to clean up.
There was an owl waiting for Gabrielle when she returned to the entrance of her tent. The bird was one of the big Ministry owls, so Gabrielle assumed that the wrapped bundle it dropped on her was from her father. She also assumed, hoped, that whatever was inside was not fragile, though it was certainly hard. Head protection was the singular advantage to her stupid hair. The owl's delivery was at least a bright spot to the evening, as long as the package did not include a mirror. Or more useless leks.
The owl post was a surprise, and the tent held another. That was Abby, who, Gabrielle instantly noticed, was sitting next to George. Very, it seemed to Gabrielle, next to George. They appeared to be discussing a length of parchment on the low table pulled up in front of them. Except calling it a discussion would be generous, since George's contributions, from what Gabrielle heard as she approached unnoticed, -again-, were all permutations of it, here, and on. Abby was going on about Gleasson Aparati. Was her voice breathier than usual?
George, Gabrielle was glad to see, looked up first. "[Hullo, luv. Missed you at dinner.]"
That brought a smile to Gabrielle's face, and allowed her to completely ignore the shocked look on Abby's face.
"Gabby-rel! You - you changed your hair," blurted Abby. "It, ah, it looks -"
"It was not my fault! It was Ginny's spell that went wrong," explained Gabrielle. She subtly emphasized Ginny's responsibility by saying her name twice as loud. "[Hello, George. Eh, where is everybody?]" She glanced at the parchment. Gabrielle surmised that it was a diagram of a Gleasson apparatus based on the snatch of conversation she had heard and the curling lines that might have represented easily crushed brass tubing, but the image was almost obscured by lines, arrows, and arithmancy symbols drawn on top of it.
"[Off to talk to that Professor fellow. What have you got there?]"
"[Oh! Eh, it is a crystal ball, of course. Nona, eh, gave it to me,]" replied Gabrielle, holding the glass out. Why the witch had given it was still a mystery. A second thought wondered if he had meant the post.
"[Huh. Means I'll have to bathe in the dark, of course,]" winked George. Gabrielle's jaw dropped and she blushed. She had forgotten that George had caught her scrying him. And she had not been planning that at all!
"[I am sorry! I was, eh - It was, eh, for practice,]" sputtered Gabrielle in a rush.
"What did he say?" asked Abby, a slight, or possibly imaginary, edge to her voice.
"Eh, what? Eh, he, eh, made a rude joke, an English joke, because I have the crystal ball," replied Gabrielle. That was true enough. "Does this mean you got the new feed-into horn?" Gabrielle pointed at the parchment. She hoped that would be enough to distract Abby.
"In-feed horn. Yes, but how did you - Ah, yes, Herr Sammlermacher must have told you," deduced Abby. "It's still not resonating strongly." She smiled toward George. "George here has been sweet enough to try and help come up with a fix; I tried most of these already though. Don't tell him that!"
Apparently, thought Gabrielle, Abby's relationship with Pietre was not resonating strongly either. She stole a calculating look at the older girl. If they were to be rivals, then Abby's advantages were a shared interest in Gleasson thingies and her being old enough to actually be in a conventional, narrow-mindedly defined relationship. And, also, hair that was not capable of scaring small children. But then, Abby's disadvantage was a complete obsession with curled brass.
"Oh, I nearly forgot. Professor Festeller needs you tonight." Abby turned back to Gabrielle. "You can find him yourself; it's the second tunnel on the left."
"Eh, what? I can not. My - " Gabrielle nearly mentioned her ruined hair. She had her hand on her head, but decided that as an excuse it would sound stupid. "My head hurts - I have a headache."
"I think you have to - you are only a student, after all."
"I do not! What if there is another vampire?" argued Gabrielle. Only a student! "I, eh, don't think Professor Festeller knows what he is doing."
"What? He's brilliant! He's discovered so much about how magic was used in the past. At just this site, he's uncovered evidence of - " enthused Abby before Gabrielle interrupted.
"The Master of Time?"
"Well, no. But he has found signs of experiments with portals. That's a kind of magic circle that -"
"I know what a portal is," said Gabrielle sharply, vexed. 'Signs' of experiments? Did Stanislaw not tell the professor about her vision? If she got in trouble with Festeller again because he did not, then, well, there would be many more galleons for her, vow or no.
"What are you to work?" asked George is lightly tortured French.
"[Zere is a magic circle or somezing. Zat Festeller wants to kill me with it,]" accused Gabrielle. Probably not intentionally, Gabrielle had to admit, but he certainly did not seem to care if it were a possibility.
"[More of that curse-breaking you wrote of? Brilliant!]"
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle entered the chamber at the end of the second tunnel on the left for the second time. The first time she had been accompanied by George, who professed interest in both the proceedings and the Gleasson apparatus. Abby, of course, had come too; her interests were really the rebuilt device and anyone - George - who cared about it in the least. Gabrielle was returning for the second time because Stanislaw had sent her back for the metal overshoes. Just, as he said, things went 'Zu scheißen'. The trip back to her tent also gave Gabrielle the opportunity to freshen up, cleaning off the Albanian witch magic and Abraxan sneezes. It was a calculated risk; more time for Abby to be alone with George versus less repulsiveness for Gabrielle.
Professor Festeller had not been present for Gabrielle's first arrival, but he was now. So were Harry Potter, Hermione, Ron, and the insane Ginny. Ron, Gabrielle's experienced eye could see, had recently been slathered in burn paste. He had both arms wrapped in gauze; Harry had his right arm wrapped. Gabrielle wondered if the rat wizard had gotten loose. There should have been some general alarm, and a specific alarm for her! George was standing with Abby at her worktable. Gabrielle would have been jealous, or furious, or even disappointed, but he was banging on the side of her equipment with a broken chunk of tower. The apparatus was still spewing clots of a green goo, though in far smaller quantities now than Abby's face and clothes suggested had been the case earlier. A budding romance, thought Gabrielle with a smile, this was not.
"Fraulein Delacour, what are you cackling about now? By me, if you would," instructed Stanislaw. He was not, noticed Gabrielle, wearing the rubber trousers today, but an actual robe. The circle, a double ring with runes between them surrounding a large pentagram, was carved into the floor. Since the tower had toppled centuries ago, the whole of it was nearly vertical. Stanislaw was positioned at the lowest of the five vertices. Sebastion and Adalhard dangled from thick ropes that held themselves upright from the coils on the ground; the curse-breakers were at the highest vertices.
"I do -not- cackle," reminded Gabrielle. She hoped there would be a new spell to learn. It was too bad that she only had the wand with her Grandmere's hair for the core. That made it harder to learn new magic. Gabrielle drew it out, and could not help but to look around to see if the onlookers still cringed. They might have, but loose stonework had been piled up into protective barriers. At least the scattered giggles because, she was sure, of her hair ended. There did not, Gabrielle now worried, seem to be any sort of pile near Stanislaw.
"Nein, nein. Mademoiselle Delacour, you will be, yes, at the center." Professor Festeller hurried over.
"Eh, what?" The center? Gabrielle looked up at the looming pentagram and the runes. There was a swing of sorts dangling from thin cords. Someone had decorated the edges of the seat with ornate fretwork. That seemed dangerous - the perch, not the intricate woodwork. The hairs on the back on her neck might have stood up as a premonition, but all of Gabrielle's hair was already standing on end. "I, eh, don't think that is a good idea."
"Nor do I," added Stanislaw. "We will make the test of the circle first before anyone enters it. That is the correct procedure in curse-breaking."
"That is, yes, true. But Mademoiselle Delacour will, yes, make things take less time. You did, yes, say that the seal should not have, yes, broken?" argued Professor Festeller.
"Releasing a vampire!"
"Easily dealt with, yes. What is the rate, yes, for your curse-breakers?" hinted the professor.
This was important career information that interested Gabrielle a great deal. Stanislaw certainly saw a lot of galleons.
"What of the expenses for healing?" retorted Stanislaw.
Gabrielle stepped away quietly. The two wizards had begun arguing in German, which meant that Professor Festeller would soon say something that would force a glowering Stanislaw to reluctantly acquiesce. Then he would come, muttering to himself in German, looking for her. And then she would have to stand next to something that would likely explode instead of being safely behind the piled, protective barriers. Gabrielle rather thought that she would like to try the correct method of curse-breaking. There was, she noticed, a feeling, a substance to the air of the chamber. She did not think that another vampire was involved.
Gabrielle made her way over to where Harry and the others were. They stood in a knot near one of the vertices of the pentagram. Hermione was gesturing toward the point carved into the former stone floor and the runes. Gabrielle supposed that the older witch would be able to read them, and that would be interesting, but right now she had a question for Harry. If Wormface was running around loose, then she would like to know.
"[ - so the magic potential builds up at the points, then spreads along the runes until the whole circle is activated,]" lectured Hermione as Gabrielle neared. "[Then the spell is cast.]"
"[Why?]" asked Ron.
"[Why, Ron? That's all? Why what?]"
"[Why not just do the spell straight away? It must've taken ages to do all the wiggly bits.]"
"[They are runes, not 'wiggly bits'. Similar to the arithmancy and alchemical runes we use today.]"
"[You mean you use.]"
"[It's pretty obvious why they doing this, isn't it?]" started Ginny. "[It's got to be a pretty big spell to need five wizards.]"
"[Broadly correct, Ginny, but it could also have been something like Reparo. This was before wands and magical education were common. It could have been a way to use less, er, focused potential,]" explained Hermione.
"[Like Ron?]"
"[Oy!]"
"[Eh, excuse-moi. Did zee rat-wizard escape?]" asked Gabrielle.
"[Nibbles! You bloody gave me a start. Where'd you come from?]" asked Ron.
Gabrielle ignored him, and directed her next question to Harry. "[What happened to you arm? Did, eh, Wormface do zis? Did he escape?]"
"[Wormtail didn't escape. We, erm, let him go,]" said Harry sheepishly as Gabrielle stared at him.
"[Eh, what? After he attacked?]" Gabrielle turned to Hermione and demanded, "[Zis is true?]"
"[Er, yes. As I understand it, though, the boys attacked him, a bit, so it's only fair, really,]" hemmed Hermione.
"[But, eh, he hurt Harry and -Ron-,]" argued Gabrielle. Now she would have to sleep in Soleil's stall again since she would probably not be allowed to stay with George.
"[George and the 'wiggly bits' that were goblin numerals did that to Ron; he's fine. As for Harry, a spell backfired when he tried to melt the cup,]" said Hermione.
"[You don't have to be like that.]"
"[I'm fine,]" added Harry.
Melt the cup? Harry, thought Gabrielle, had lost his senses! Which, came a second thought, made him a good match for Ginny. This, she decided, called for subtlety. "[Eh, where is ze cup now? Eh, because, eh, zat Wormface will come back for it. I am sure of zat.]" Not a good start, recognized Gabrielle, but she had covered it well.
No seemed to notice. They were all looking at Hermione with various expressions of annoyance. Harry and Ginny more; Ron less. Hermione was pinkly defiant. "[Well, now we're sure that it really is Hufflepuff's Cup.]"
"[Yes, but he's kept it, hasn't he?]" complained Harry.
"[We need to find a way to destroy it anyway. At least it's safe,]" rationalized Hermione.
This was not making any sense to Gabrielle. Why worry about something's safety if one wants it destroyed? Gabrielle recalled that Hufflepuff was one of Hogwarts' founders; she knew that because of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Why was Harry Potter so intent on destroying it? "[Eh, who has it?]" asked Gabrielle as innocently as she could.
"[That poncey Professor bloke,]" said Ron. "[Never did like him.]"
Ah, thought Gabrielle, of course. Professor Festeller liked the things of history, and this piece of the past was actually whole and not even covered in dust. He would naturally be protective of something like that. She wondered, idly of course, if the Professor would tell her where it was being kept. Just out of curiosity. Fleur would be able to find that out easily. Could she smile well enough? Probably, sighed a realistic thought, not when her hair was like a bottlebrush. A different thought wondered where all this was coming from. That was not a question she could think on long, though, because, as she had expected, Stanislaw, with a face like thunder, was stalking toward her. Perhaps, Gabrielle considered, she should learn German. There would be less nonsense like this is she knew their secrets. She turned to face him.
The curse-breaker did not even look at Gabrielle, but instead spoke to Hermione. "Have the others take their places. We start now," he ordered. Only when Hermione began directing the other teens did Stanislaw turn to Gabrielle. "Fraulein Delacour, come with me."
Gabrielle followed behind the annoyed German as he stomped back to the low vertex. He halted abruptly, and then bent down to bring himself closer to her ear.
"If you have never Seen because you have wanted, now is the time to do so, liebchen. If there is any hint of what this," Stanislaw waved irritably at the circle and its center, "is for I must know now. Nullified iron or not, I do not... You should not be here. Or there." He pointed at the suspended seat. Gabrielle could not agree more, but there was nothing but a hint of unease in the chamber, and that could be coming from Stanislaw himself. Or, perhaps, Abby. It would make her look even more ridiculous than her puffball hair already did, but the lead curse-breaker's anxiety was contagious. Gabrielle stepped to the face of the upright circle, and buried her nose into the carved line.
1 I'm in the fifth class! And I won two Outstanding and three Exceeded Expectations!
2 These are very good payment, very good.
