Chapter Twenty-seven - Beater Naturalle

The old man hobbled forward, his hip arthritic and twinging in the creaky, damnable joint was not something he could take care of himself, but he could not, dare not, trust any of the others. That was why he lived secluded in his lonesome tower. They were jealous and ambitious - grasping - and he knew that they saw him only as old and failing. But they were wrong, and this work would be a surprise to those whom he had been, and still was, superior to. Strength, fading a bit with age, had been more than bolstered by cunning.

The staff struck the line drawn across the floor. The stone rotted and crumbled to dust along the length of it. The old man lifted the end of the staff and produced, at word, a swirling wind that scoured the groove clean. The grit settled along the walls, coating, among the sundry items, the still body of his young apprentice.

That was regrettable, but treachery had to be repaid in kind. And young was just a habit of thought, the kind of thinking peculiar to the old. The man should have made his own way in the world long ago, instead of lurking around in the guise of a devoted apprentice, just waiting for his master to fall. Or, in this case, not quite waiting for the inevitable.

The staff met the floor again, this time to take some of the weight from the aching joint. His rivals believed that he could no longer control a gateway, or use any but the smallest of circles. This grand construct would come as an unwelcome shock to those who were forgetting why he had held to his position for so long. The only other who might have discerned the work's true nature, its secret, had fatally misjudged his capacity for subterfuge earlier this morn. One final, inadvertent service for his old master, perhaps. None would learn the secret now, until he truly was not the wizard most feared by his peers, the first among equals. If they knew that this was but an -

Gabrielle blinked rapidly, and looked around. Stanislaw had pulled her back from the face of the tilted floor by her arm. "Eh, what? Why did you do that?"

"You had not moved for several minutes. You might have been cursed," said Stanislaw. "It is correct procedure."

"To use your hand? That seems like it would be, eh, dangerous, if I had been cursed," puzzled Gabrielle, looking at the hand still on her arm. She would have used her wand. If, that is, she could have come up with a spell to use.

The hand pulled back as if stung, and Stanislaw all but jumped back a step himself. He cleared his throat. "You are not harmed? You often are." Soft chuckling filtered down from above from his suspended associates.

"No. I am fine," said Gabrielle curtly. "It was a Seer's trance, of course." Gabrielle gave Sebastion and Aldahard a small wave in addition to the scowl they were getting from Stanislaw. Now that she was again in the present, since she almost always Saw the past, Gabrielle noticed a change in the chamber. The space was hushed. Gone was the banging George had been making. In its place was a quiet, intermittent buzzing, like a swarm of bees that needed a rest every few seconds. Since the buzzing only happened when Abby stuck her wand into the horn thing and since she looked ecstatic, Gabrielle assumed that meant that her roughly used Gleasson apparatus was resonating strongly. She was not so ecstatic, though, that the witch did not finger the new dents ruefully. George was looking at his primitive hammer with curiosity. Why had he also not been worrying that she might have been cursed?

"What did you See? What does this damned circle do?" asked Stanislaw.

"I, eh, don't know," replied Gabrielle. Stanislaw sighed loudly. "It is not my fault! You interrupted me!"

"Never mind that. You did See something?"

Gabrielle considered putting out her hand, palm up, as a hint, but decided against antagonizing the wizard. He had worried for her. "I think, eh, I think this is a trick; that it is, eh, not what it seems." She quickly explained about the old wizard and his dead apprentice.

"Yes, that is the way it was, in history. One stepped into the Dead Man's Shoes," nodded Stanislaw. He looked past Gabrielle, so she too turned to see Professor Festeller approaching. Festeller, noticed Gabrielle, was coming from one of the farthest barriers. Stanislaw added, urgently, "It is not what it seems, you say? What it seems to be is a huge öffnung to the Dungeon Reich. We should be lucky, then, if it is not."

"There is, yes, a problem?" asked Festeller.

"I work for an arschloch," said the curse-breaker under his breath. He addressed the professor. "Ja. Fräulein Delacour wishes a broom to reach the center," lied Stanislaw. Gabrielle gaped at him; he was trying to get her in trouble!

Festeller made a sour face. "Is it necessary? A simple spell will, yes, suffice."

"So close to das umfang?" asked Stanislaw, adding another sigh. "At least the healer is used to large numbers of casualties." He raised his wand toward Gabrielle, who nearly screamed.

"Nein, yes, no. There is no problem. I will, yes, send someone for one -"

"I have a broom here." It was George. Gabrielle gave him a smile, though one that hopefully communicated the idea that it was about time he had stopped bothering with a stupid apparatus. "I have a rock, also."

No one seemed to know what to make of George's announcement, so Gabrielle replied. "[Eh, zank you, George. I, eh, do not zink ze rock will be, eh, necessary.]" She nearly said 'useful', but that would have been a harsh judgement.

"[I'd take whatever I could if I was going up there,]" said George quietly. "[Thought this one through, do you think?]"

Probably not, thought Gabrielle. She accepted the broom, and the rock, which was very heavy in her smaller hand. "[Eh, how did you know what to repair on the Gleasson, eh, thing?]"

"[Repair? I was hitting it with that rock!]" grinned George. "[It was either a loose Weirmann tubule, or that rock is infused with magic. All I really wanted to see was how long she'd let me thump it before her cauldron blew. Bit of a disappointment there.]"

"Who is this? He looks... familiar," said Stanislaw.

"Eh, I'm sorry. This is George Weasley," introduced Gabrielle. "[George, this is, eh, Herr Sammlermacher.]"

"Ah. Possibly related to William Weasley?"

"Yes. They are brothers," nodded Gabrielle. It made sense that the curse-breaker would know Bill.

"That bastard made quite a stink in Egypt, it is what I have heard. I hope this one is less trouble," said Stanislaw. He called up to the other two wizards in German, who guffawed in response.

"[What was that about Egypt?]" asked George. He was not-so-subtly reaching into his shirt. If he could hide a broom there, what else, wondered Gabrielle, could he have?

"William is married to my sister," said Gabrielle acerbically.

"Your sister?"

"My sister, eh, Fleur, of course. She was the Tri-Wizard champion for Beauxbatons. It was in Le Monde Magique," explained Gabrielle. "She lost," a petulant thought made her add.

"Fleur Delacour is your sister?" asked Stanislaw. Was he, eyed Gabrielle suspiciously, mocking her? As a Delacour at Beauxbatons chosen by a stupid Goblet, did he really think it was just a coincidence?

Gabrielle decided to ignore Stanislaw. Anyway, George was now being berated by Professor Festeller, who likely remembered what had happened to the wine at the school and now worried what might happen to this Thing of the Past. Gabrielle doubted that George could understand even half of the harangue. She held her hand over George's broom. "Up. Up. Up!" Gabrielle glanced around. Did anyone notice?

"It is a broom English," said George, casually disengaging himself from a flummoxed Festeller in mid-tirade. "[An older Cleansweep, but with a bit of ginger up its ar- It's a beater's broom; don't pitch forward too, you know, suddenly.]"

"[Eh, okay,]" said Gabrielle, slightly baffled. It was just like in his letters (he does write) - an odd tidbit of information. She had no idea what the effect that ginger might have on a broom. But the English broom... "[Up. Up!]"

The broom rose to her hand with a slight wobble. That, thought Gabrielle, was more like it. A pessimistic thought estimated thirty seconds of flight before the old broom acted up. Luckily, all she needed to do was to drift up six or so meters; none of Professor Elevagre's hoops to fly through or poles to fly around. The gauntlet of heavy, swinging bags had been the worst. At least the one time Gabrielle had managed to reach that obstacle. Twenty-five seconds left.

Gabrielle climbed onto the broom as it rose, mounting it in a way definitely not taught in Natural Arts but quite de rigueur outside of class. She straddled the broomstick once it was level and climbed slowly until she was just above the swing - there was no need to hurry on such an easy, and short, flight. Her movements were sure, even, to her mind's eye, graceful. There would not have been a problem at all, in fact, if Gabrielle had remembered that her destination was, in fact, a swing. Reaching out to clamber onto the suspended seat merely pushed it away. With one arm not finding the support it needed and the other holding a rock, Gabrielle toppled. As a result, the broom pitched forward too suddenly and snapped into a violent somersault. Gabrielle barely managed to hang on through the maneuver, and only did so because she let go of the rock as down quickly became up again. It sailed high above the swing in a near vertical trajectory. The broom stopped level again, as suddenly as it had left. Momentum carried Gabrielle onto the handle end, which also pitched the broom forward too suddenly.

The wall, floor, and swing pin-wheeled once more, and Gabrielle screamed. The rock, completing an unexpected journey of its own, took another as it met the bristle end of the broom coming forward. It was quite a good hit, and the rock, not much heavier than the expected bludger, shot forward like it had been fired from a cannon.

The missile did not have far to travel, and slammed into the upturned floor in an explosion of dust and shards. Cracks spread from the broken flagstone, and a large wedge-shaped section tumbled down. Gabrielle only saw the extent of the damage later, since another sudden stop begat another sudden pitch. This time, though, the swing caught up the tip of the broomhandle. The bristle end of the broom was going up anyway, but now it had the additional speed that the handle end should have had going down. Gabrielle was thrown forward into the center of the encircled pentagram, slightly enlarging the hole already opened by the flung rock. This... hurt.

"Merlin im Himmel!" shouted Stanislaw. He had needed to dodge the falling debris.

"[Did you see that tail-strike? Une beater naturalle!]" enthused George. He fired a long thin cord from the tip of his wand, draping it over the swaying swing. Sebastion was also making his way to the hole slowly, the thick braided rope he clung to shimmying and undulating like a snake.

"Der umfang..." moaned Professor Festeller.

"[That went all pear-shaped, dinnit?]" said Ron, coming up behind the professor. "[Means we can go, though, yeah? After finding Nibbles?]"

"[George Weasley! If you did anything to that broom, I'll - I'll find a Floo and call your Mum!]" scolded Hermione.

"[I am fine,]" lied Gabrielle. There was a cut on her face that was running into her left eye, and there was another, quite a large one, on her right arm. The edges of the shattered rock had been very sharp, but she had suffered worse injuries before. Far worse than a couple of deep, freely bleeding lacerations was what she was standing in. And that, if her guess was correct, was the hapless apprentice, who was not resting peacefully but was instead futilely trying to grab her. Fortunately the centuries had left the corpse short on tendon, but her foot was caught up in his mouldering rib cage. One could not be a witch if one became squeamish over something's, or even someone's, innards, and technically Gabrielle's pets were also undead, but standing on, or in, an animated corpse was just not right. She kicked away a section of writhing spinal column. Gross. "I, eh, would like to come down. Eh, now."

Something crunched beneath her iron galoshes as Gabrielle stepped to the opening. That was probably some rib bones, but there was a lot of junk in this... What, wondered Gabrielle suddenly, was this? It was too small to be a proper room,perhaps two meters wide and the same high, but only half that front to back. The space was too large to be a proper grave, unless there had not been enough time for other victims. Given the large number of objects in a scattered mess, Gabrielle thought it could have been a closet, but who would seal one up behind stone?

The answer came from Gabrielle's vision. An insane old wizard who had just killed a man would do that, and turn the corpse into a pègresan. Gabrielle stuck her head out of the cave-like space, and stumbled back in surprise. Sebastion was unexpectedly just outside the hole.

"[Ah. Fraulein Delacour. You are not much injured?]"

"[Eh, no. A little injured, yes,]" replied Gabrielle. She wiped her eye. Sebastian had his legs and one arm wrapped around the thick rope that stood magically on its own. He reached out with his other arm toward her. Gabrielle smiled in relief.

"[Hold me, please,]" said the curse-breaker. Was he blushing?

Gabrielle took the arm and was lifted over to the rope. There was not much rope available to hold onto with the tall German in the way, so Gabrielle essentially clung to him, wrapping her legs around his hips. Sebastian was definitely red-faced now, no doubt because of whatever it was that Adalhard hooted. Holding tightly reminded Gabrielle exactly how large the wound on her arm was.

The rope swayed. It was not attached to anything at the top so that was only natural, but the braided fibers did not seem to want to settle down. "Was ist das? Stehen, Chauncey! [1]" ordered Sebastion.

Gabrielle could see the problem. One of the blond wizard's arms held the rope; the other held her because she was slipping. The strength from the metric ton was apparently flowing out of her arms with the blood from her cuts. That left Sebastion without a free arm to wield his wand. Gabrielle looked down, and watched slow, but growing, undulations wiggle up their support. George was halfway to the swing on his rope, which was all together better behaved. Gabrielle, while of course grateful for Sebastian's aid, wished it was George who held her, both because she would rather wrap her legs around him and because the rope he used was not beginning to snap back and forth. There was a great deal of shouting from below - the completely useless sort.

The rescue turned into disaster. The whipping rope slammed Sebastian against the stones of the former floor. He lost his grip on the rope, and fell. Gabrielle managed to grab the rope briefly, and the falling curse-breaker just long enough to tear his collar. Her grip on the rope was brief because without the weight of Sebastion, the rope moved with greater speed. Gabrielle was flung across the chamber.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle half-opened her eyes, and groaned. That had been a completely unpleasant fall, though she supposed it could also have been called a completely unpleasant flight. The last thing Gabrielle could recall was Abby's distraught, angular features rapidly nearing. The aches and pains she felt left no doubt that the witch had done nothing to cushion the landing.

Staring upward, Gabrielle could tell she was not in her room. The ceilings in her tent were a clean, if unimaginative, white, and the view of them was not crowded with specimen jars and shoddy boxes of potion ingredients. The jars, and the general lumpiness of what she lay on, told her that she was in the insane healer's tent. Gabrielle hoped that Ginny had been there to keep her safe, and her virgin territories unexplored. She moved slightly to try and determine what clothing she had retained.

"[Ah, you're awake.]"

Gabrielle opened her eyes fully. That was George! He had kept a vigil at her bedside - that was so sweet! A giddy, overly optimistic thought pondered the possibility that he would propose right there. It would be a long engagement, of course, but that was allowed. Or perhaps he was hoping to lead the expedition into the unknown territories. George sat in a chair, holding one of the jars in his lap. Something floated inside.

"[There's good news and bad news,]" began George. "[A bit more than bad news than good, I'm afraid.]"

Gabrielle stared at the jar, her head beginning to spin. The thing that floated in the tea-colored liquid was a hand. A pale, smallish hand. One that Gabrielle thought she might know the back of quite well. She tried to swallow, but could not. She pulled her arms out from under the sheets. Out came a hand on one arm and a bandaged stump on the other. The blood drained from Gabrielle's face, and from her head. With barely a gasp, she fainted.

"[Oh bugger.]"

v - v - v - v - v

The two witches sat on the ground in the shade of the cottage, trying to rub away some of the cramping in their arms and hands. The patch of ground, unlike all those around it, was raised to a comfortable level and had a dense cushion of moss atop it, like a thick green pillow.

"[So, erm, how is Harry?]"

"[He's fine, Hermione,]" replied Ginny. There was an angry neighing and a booming thud. "[Probably fine. Still a little shirty on some topics, mind you.]"

"[I do regret it, really.]"

"[How's Ron? Only I heard him moaning before.]"

"[Moaning?]" repeated Hermione, looking confused. "[Oh! That was when, er, ah, when -]"

The redhead looked at her friend's flushing face. "[You two are disgusting.]"

"[Anyway, Ron's fine also. Those fireworks don't do much real damage.]"

"[Yeah. Even Fred and George worked out that actually killing customers would be bad for business.]"

Hermione broke the silence that followed. "[I found out where Professor Festeller is keeping the Cup.]"

"[I suppose it being on the mantle of his fireplace would be too much to hope for?]"

"[It's in a chest in Herr Sammlermacher's tent. The one that Wormtail thought it was in,]" explained Hermione.

"[Thank Merlin for small favors! It's in a curse-breaker's locked, magicked chest. Practically in our hands again,]" teased Ginny. "[How did you that out?]"

"[They had left the top open. I wouldn't be at all surprised if Festeller had forgotten about the Cup, honestly. He's absolutely over the moon about what was in that hidden chamber -]"

"[Grave,]" interjected Ginny.

"[Oh, right, that grave that Gigi discovered,]" explained Hermione. "[There's something that might be a kind of primitive wand, the earliest one ever found. It's all very exciting. If Gigi hadn't - ]"

"[Nibbles,]" corrected Ginny. "[And I can't help but think smashed is more accurate than discovered.]"

"[Nibbles? Really? All right then, Nibbles, unfortunately, may have stepped on the artifact.]"

"[Have we reached the exciting bit yet?]"

"[Ginny, it was made from gold. Not well made; it may not even have worked,]" continued Hermione.

"[So this -is- the exciting part.]"

"[Historically, it is the goblins that make wands where the core was wrapped in a metal. If what was found was really meant to be a wand, then this is a tremendous discovery and opens all sorts of questions. For instance, was this a copy of a goblin wand? Did the goblins copy it instead? Were there once closer ties between the two races? This could literally change history overnight!]" Hermione paused for a much needed breath.

"[So… when the top of the chest was open, was anyone watching you?]"

"[No. Why do you ask?]"

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle was about to chase Madame Chouisse's cat down another of the endless hallways. It had something she very much wanted. The stupid cat was slinking away again with her poor, severed hand in its mouth. She had just managed to upset Professor Duedancorp's game with Professor Duedancorp. They had been using their wands to keep the appendage dancing over Gabrielle's head while shouting 'Expand!' at her. It was an unexpected aroma that distracted Gabrielle from her pursuit. She could smell coffee, muggle coffee, or a very good imitation of it. One of the darker roasts, she guessed, perhaps an Italian style. Not quite as sublime a scent as the coffee she had gotten from Gaston, but the fragrance was much better than the brew Beauxbatons offered - richer and deeper.

The cat, the professors, and the hallways seemed to be gone. Along, thought Gabrielle, more than a little sadly, with her little hand. Her hand? The last memories came back to Gabrielle suddenly, and she opened her eyes and shouted, "Paris!"

"The capital France, oui oui. The Arc de Trump."

"George! You must take me to - [You will take me to Paris! Ze 'ealer zere can put my 'and on. I know zis is true.]" cried Gabrielle.

"[Right, Paris. No problem there, luv, passed it on the way here. Just have some of this and we'll be on our way.]" He held out a cup made from heavy card, with a flimsy plastic lid. It was muggle coffee.

"[Eh, zank you, but zere is no time! And where is my - ]" Gabrielle stopped. She was holding the cup in her hand, the one moments ago she was certain was lost. Her face fell - she had completely fallen for the prank. A silly little girl, thought Gabrielle. A silly, stupid little girl. That is what George must think of me. Merde!

"[I, um, I'm sorry about that earlier, luv,]" said George clearing his throat.

"[Eh, what? You are?]"

"[I'm not saying I wouldn't have done it still, mind you. I'm sorry it was so... heavy-handed. As it were,]" grinned George sheepishly.

"[Eh, okay,]" said Gabrielle suspiciously. She took a very cautious sip of the liquid in the cup. It seemed to be coffee; quite good coffee, actually.

"[So no hard feelings? 'Cause there's a wheezy old nutter back there who's dead set on cursing someone,]" explained George. He gestured toward a cluttered corner.

Gabrielle furrowed her brow. She was not sure who George was talking about, but Herr Von Schwinky had been stashed over near there. He was still alive?

Gabrielle answered herself. Of course he was still alive! Had she not Seen that? This boosted her confidence, so she pressed her luck. "[It is, eh, proper to apologize wizz, eh, a kiss?]" That had not come out sounding like the obvious tradition that everyone of course knew that Gabrielle had intended. Now the challenge was to keep her face neutral.

"[That's French, is it?]"

"Oui. Certainement," nodded Gabrielle quickly. She smiled - it was working.

"[I suppose you would know,]" said George. He leaned in toward her. Gabrielle tilted her head into what she hoped was the appropriate angle. Her lips pursed on their own in anticipation. His face was just above hers. Gabrielle could smell his scent. She closed her eyes to focus on the feeling...

The feeling of his lips on her forehead. He had missed? That was Gabrielle's first thought, which a second thought pointed out was definitely dumb. George had kissed her, but it had been the wrong sort of kiss. She opened her eyes and frowned.

"[Just so you know, that Abby's still in a bit of a bother over what happened,]" said George. Gabrielle's frowned deepened. "[What's wrong? You look like you lost your wand.]"

"[What is wrong? Everyzing! What girl of my age wished for a kiss like zat? And zen to speak of anozzer? It is not proper, very much so. You are zee, eh, plunker!]" exploded Gabrielle. "[And I have lost my wand. I did tell you zat ze house-elf took it, and you did nozzing.]"

"[I'm sorry, but you French seem to have a lot of rules.]"

"[Zat is anozzer apology, and you, eh, must do ze first again.]"

"[Mind if I try some of that potion you're on?]"

"[Eh, what?]" Gabrielle looked around her. She did not remember any potions, and there were no flasks or bottles nearby. At least, no small bottles that looked like she should drink from them. The only bottles she could see were large, dusty, and had skulls on the labels. It was also beside the point and probably meant to distract her. "[Zere is no potion. Now you will give ze proper kiss. Eh, bozz of zem.]"

"[Look -]"

"[Zat means on ze lips, if you, eh, did not know,]" added Gabrielle.

"[How is it proper for a bloke my age to do that with a girl your age?]" argued George.

"[It is, eh, okay if you are my, eh, fiancé,]" tried Gabrielle. "[Zat is true!]" she insisted, loud enough to be heard over George's laughter.

"[That was a good one. I -thought- you were having me on,]" said George after a long while.

"[Not everyzing is to be a joke!]"

"[Seriously?]"

"[Oui,]" affirmed Gabrielle, attempting to look hurt rather than very embarrassed.

"[Seriously round the bend. Where would I get a ring out here?]"

"[You, eh, could get zat, eh, later.]"

George contrived to look shocked and affronted. "[You think I'm the sort of wizard who would make such a commitment so lightly? It must be proper, as you said. And said. And said. That means you've got to have a ring.]"

"[Of course, but, eh, but...]" Gabrielle was at a loss, so she sipped more of the coffee. A second thought made her look at the cup again. "[George, where did you buy zis coffee?]"

"[Oh, well spotted, that!]" praised George, which made Gabrielle smile. "[First chance I get I'll have a look round the shops.]" With that, the purveyor of pranks sat back.

Gabrielle's smile faded a bit. She had the distinct feeling of having both won and lost. "[You can go now,]" said Gabrielle with a touch of annoyance. "[Ze diamond, eh, does not, eh, have to be zat big.]"

"[No one believes a bird when she says that. Least not if they want to wake up with all the bits they went to bed with,]" teased George. "[I've got to wait for Ginny to get back from breakfast before I can leave. Or Ron, I suppose, though that would be an end-sign - him leaving before the food ran out.]"

"[Eh, what? It is morning?]" asked Gabrielle, surprised. And very quickly alarmed. "[Soleil! I, eh, I must go to him!]" The colt was her charge - no one else went anywhere near the stall if they could help it. Without her to feed him - the metric ton - Soleil would be hungry. And a hungry Abraxan would be an angry Abraxan. He would bite everything to see if it was food and kick what was not. Gabrielle sat up, with the sheet held to her neck, though she did still have her blouse, and tried to see if the casualties were already beginning to fill the tent.

"[Relax, luv. Ginny and Hermione are helping with breakfast, and we left the winged terror to Harry. Ron is supposed to keep an eye on the professor. Odds are he's forgotten which one he is,]" explained George.

"[You sent Harry Potter to Soleil?]"

"[Well, he gets on with hippogriffs all right, and you saw him with that dragon. He'll be fine. Or we've doomed wizardkind to slavery under You-Know-Who.]"

"[Eh, what?]"

"[Don't worry, I'm sure he'll muddle through. I should catch you up on a few other things as well.]"

"[Can I have my underwear back? If it is morning zen, eh...]" Gabrielle trailed off before she ruined the mood by mentioning Maman and her fresh-daily rule.

v - v - v - v - v

The figure dragged itself slowly over the low stone wall, tumbling into the garden. It's clothing was in tatters, scorched, and hung from the soot-blackened figure in ways that made it clear the dress had been unusual. A pathetic groaning came from the arrival's lips. This had little effect on the black-clad man watching the painful progress, though he did note the silver replica of a lower arm and hand.

"[I am astonished, Pettigrew,]" remarked Severus Snape. "[A spectacle such as this, and there are no muggles following you?]"

"[No,]" groaned the luckless Wormtail. "[Not anymore.]"

That might explain the wailing sirens earlier, thought Snape. "[Have you brought what the Dark Lord ordered you to retrieve?]"

"[Have to... tell our lord -]"

"[That Potter is here?]" asked Snape with a smirk. "[He knows. Lord Voldemort always knows.]" The former professor allowed himself the slightest roll of the eyes. Said Dark Lord was probably cajoling a muggle shopkeeper into a free second pudding in the small town near where the larger muggle roads crossed.

"[The pain,]" moaned Wormtail.

"[Not a healer, sorry,]" declared Snape. Admittedly, potions to soothe and repair went a long way into what was required to be a healer, but Snape had a long memory for what this rat had cost him and the wizarding world. "[Lost your wand, Peter?]"

"[Big. Firework.]"

Yes, remembered the potions master with some glee, the fireball had been huge - at least to his eyes. There had been no noticeable alarm among the muggles. The Weasley twins had either gained a focus they had always lacked in class, or the ongoing military action in the region had inured the population. "[I suggest you make yourself presentable for when our lord finishes his - returns. I further suggest you choose something you'd like to be buried in.]" If the Dark Lord left that much.

There was no response to this, nor to the prodding by Snape's foot. It was light work with a wand to bury the injured Death Eater in a shallow grave. Bowing to the knowledge that he was, in fact, not a healer, Snape left a large hole for Wormtail to breathe through. If the rat was breathing. The close proximity of an anthill would eventually provide the evidence needed as to whether to finish the job or not.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle put the paper cup with its thin white lid to her lips. It was only for show; she had finished the contents some time ago. The ruse was just to keep George from noticing the passing time. A hopeful thought reminded her that he had a very important errand to run, but then a realistic thought countered that it was best to put off the disappointment for as long as possible. These were all ridiculous, she decided finally, because she and George were having a lovely conversation. It was just not at a beautiful street-side bistro in Paris, nor atop the Wizard's Perch on the Eiffel Tower, with the grand views that Fleur had told her of. They did not cover the topics she hoped for either. But it was fun.

Part of what made it fun was that George had had some coffee as well. Actually, several cups of the coffee. Which was, perhaps, too much. He was soon speaking so quickly that she had trouble keeping up, and could not stop giggling at the stream of jokes and terrible impersonations, even if she did not quite get some of them.

It was not all silliness though. Sebastion had been badly hurt. The healer had needed to use one of his crude implements to uncrush the back of the curse-breaker's head. Gabrielle was surprised when George showed the bell-ended rod to her, making gross sucking noises as he showed how it worked. Monsieur Toulier had such a thing as well, though he kept his in the bathroom. Tucked in behind the toilet was not, in Gabrielle's opinion, proper storage for surgical supplies.

Abby had also been hurt as Gabrielle had crashed down like a blond meteor - or, less charitably, a bludger. George claimed that her injuries had been minor, but then he also described how she had somehow ended up getting impaled by the in-feed horn of her precious, and thoroughly ruined, Gleasson apparatus. The squealing George imitated, from the vibrations caused by the resonance as a wand was brought near, sounded horrible. This certainly did not sound like a minor injury at all to Gabrielle, but perhaps she had misunderstood George's over-caffeinated speech. She certainly could not see why her near-fiancé found it so amusing, nor why it was lucky that Abby was not saving herself for marriage. That his assertion might have something to do with the witch's injuries eluded Gabrielle. She, instead, worried more about the how and why George had come to know -that- piece of information.

A distraction came in the form of a toppled tower of specimen jars, the contents of which washed up against Gabrielle's lumpy cot like a pickled tide. A score of black, wizened toads righted themselves and glared irritably at Gabrielle, as if it were at all her fault they had lost their glass home. She could tell they were angry because of her experience with the recalcitrant Poisseux - just look at the angles. How rude! The true focus for the amphibian annoyance stumbled into view moments later. It was a very pallid, heavily sweating Von Schnickel-something. Even his long white hair had lost much of its lustre, but he was now standing. Swaying quite a bit, noticed Gabrielle, but definitely standing, with his wand held tightly to his chest.

"[Cor, it's that wheezy nutter with the frond fetish. I'm staggered he's staggered this far,]" said George.

"[...Melusina... your laugh... entrancing...]"

"[Oh mon Dieu! What are you doing?]" blurted Gabrielle. "[You should not be out of bed!]"

"[Should he even be alive? I've seen turnips with more blood in them,]" wondered George.

"[Eh, what?]"

"[...when... I was... up... You promised...]"

"[Eh, what?]"

"[Bitte Blackig,]" began the treacherous, wand-snatching house-elf, addressing the ancient, rasping wizard. "[Heiler Leistenverletzunger sagt, dass Sie nicht geheilt werden.] [2]"

"[Visiting hours for the pensioner home have begun, I see.]"

"[Eh,]" began Gabrielle. Don't say what, advised a second thought. It was bad for her image. A horrified thought then dug up a memory where she had, sort of, in a way, promised to kiss the man visibly graying in front of her. Which was followed by another, guilty thought that reminded her that that may be the only reason why he was still alive. Did she want him to die?

Events overtook Gabrielle. Herr Von, eh, S. raised his wand, Blackig raised his finger, and George stood up. A wobbly circle of red radiance danced around the house-elf, who looked at it with apprehension. With his black wand away from his chest, Gabrielle could see that the hole from the unicorn's horn had, if anything, gotten larger. Which meant that quite a lot of glistening, red, pulsating stuff was visible through it. The wounded wizard was using a language Gabrielle had never heard before - it was guttural, dark, and unpleasant in the ears. She recalled her brief vision after touching the ebony baton once, and raised the sheets higher.

Which Gabrielle quickly decided was useless and stupid. "Stop this!" she demanded, unfortunately choosing, in the dire moment, the one language the spellcaster did not know. The deadly wand was thrust forward with a word that was more grunt than speech.

"Protego!" bellowed George. The snaking red filament from the black wand struck the shield spell with a concussion that could only be compared, for Gabrielle at least, to the sound of a school tower collapsing. More jars and piles of clutter toppled; Gabrielle nearly lost the sheets from her cot. That was only a problem because her slacks were currently missing.

Herr Von Psycho sagged, went limp, and slumped onto the makeshift cot, and onto the stunned Gabrielle. The insane old wizard's face was buried in her legs so, a completely unfunny thought added, at least he had died happy. Blackig was staring at George curiously. George was shaking out the hand that had held the wand, and loudly proclaiming that he would never, ever, be able to sign bank drafts and legal settlements again.

"[...I... can see... paradise...]" announced a feeble voice that came from a place too close to Gabrielle. Herr Von Sneaky was still not dead, a diagnosis confirmed by something gently sliding along her leg. Gabrielle reacted with indignant energy and a squeal, pulling the sheets to her again while pummeling the impertinent lecher to the floor with the legs he so desired.

George sat back down after shooing off the fawning Blackig. The house-elf began to drag off his other patient by a leg. They left a dark trail behind them. "[Reminds me, I've brought your post.]"

"[Eh, what?]"

1 What is this? Stay, Chauncey!

2 Pardon Blackig. Healer Leistenverletzunger says you will not be healed.