Chapter Three - King Louis
Ginny, Gabrielle noted to herself in a silent complaint, seemed to think that the world revolved solely around her. She was allowed to have secrets, even - gasp! - from Ginny, and Gabrielle did not know why Harry Potter had known of it. Gabrielle was running out of ways, polite ways at least, to tell Ginny that; she wished that Ginny would run out of ways to ask. Especially since a better question for Ginny was why her boyfriend had not told her himself. What other secrets was he keeping from her?
Gabrielle could tell that Ginny was trying that thing she did where her once-again-former coven sister stared into someone's eyes and spoke hypnotically, but it was not working this time. Gabrielle's mind was concentrated elsewhere. She was trying to recall her inventory of stockpiled Wheezes, which she had sworn to herself not to use except in emergencies. There probably was not such a thing, though, as an emergency that would require a prank to resolve. Except perhaps for Ginny.
And thank Merlin for that, added a thought in her head that sounded much like her Maman. Staying at the Winterhall Estate was the correct decision. The temptation to solve every problem with something wrapped in glittering orange and green was too great at the Burrow.
Gabrielle was pinned in the bedroom's chair by her redheaded captor bending over her. Ginny was concentrating so hard on... well, Gabrielle was not completely sure because she had not been listening at all, but it meant that the older teen missed the lilting "Bonjour!" that indicated the arrival of Louis. And, of course, Bill and Fleur.
Gabrielle may have been stuck with petite, but she was not a weak, wispy girl. Years - years! - of chores and heavy, protective wear had given Gabrielle a certain wiriness, which she preferred to think of as litheness since it was usually old men who were described as wiry. One could see it in her hands, especially if the one looking was Maman, who did not see lithe nor wiry but servant. A ten galleon manicure had softened the skin on Gabrielle's hands, but could not hide the sharp definition of the tendons.
Ginny was knocked aside as Gabrielle bolted for the entry hall, and left far behind. Not so far behind, though, that a tripping jinx did not catch Gabrielle as she reached the first landing. Ginny, thought Gabrielle, really seemed to have it in for her today.
Gabrielle's former captor did not succeed in reaching Louis first, however. In fact, the now second youngest Weasley was nearly trampled by the vicious matrons stampeding from the kitchen. Mrs Weasley and Gabrielle's mother were not completely responsible for Ginny's fall. Gabrielle knew a tripping jinx too. Her spell did not last as long as Ginny's - she still could not get up - but since the witch had been running down the stairs at the time it was just as effective. The victor who took Louis from Fleur's arms was Gabrielle's mother; the memory of the elbow she had used on Mrs Weasley was tucked away neatly. That would be sufficient should her Maman find out about the earlier failed prank.
While it was disappointing that her favorite nephew had to wait to see his favorite aunt, it gave Gabrielle the opportunity to greet George. And it was definitely George, now that she could see him. When she could finally take a step without collapsing, Gabrielle leapt from the last landing onto him, wrapping her arms around his neck as he staggered. This was necessary because it gave her the chance to kiss him properly. Otherwise she would have had to hope he had the sense to bend down.
"'E 'as ze eyes of 'is mozzer. And grandmozzer," proudly noted Madame Delacour.
"The Weasley hair, of course," returned Mrs Weasley.
Gabrielle's favor landed on George's lips, or would have had not a fat toad appeared between them at that very moment. She pulled the warty creature from her face, then looked at it briefly in case she knew it. The Sister's, not being apprentices themselves, had a far more active social life than she did and occasionally entertained. It was just a toad, though, but it cost Gabrielle her grip, and now she was slipping down George. Gabrielle had expected some additional support from George's embrace, except that did not seem to be forthcoming. He did have a hold of one of her ankles, which was really not much help and not at all what she had daydreamed of when they finally met again.
"Molly, take Louis's binky," asked Fleur in a way just short of an order.
"Of course, pet. Er, is this a stuffed toy axe?"
"Oui. Zey are your sons, Molly. Pair-haps you can get zem to explain."
"Ze 'ands, I zink, of 'is great grandpere," catalogued Madame Delacour.
Gravity, which a more distracted part of Gabrielle's mind wondered was another rock humour, won out. She stood on one leg, while her other leg was lifted because George had not let go. The stance was... awkward. Gabrielle could see that she was safe from Maman as long as she could fuss over her grandchild, and Ginny was now fussing over the bruise that covered most of Harry's cheek and eye. Gabrielle more than suspected that Ginny had summoned the amphibian - the redhead was too innocently ignoring her to be innocent. Gabrielle sighed. "George."
"You never said you were going to Hogwarts," interrupted her beloved.
The words gladdened Gabrielle, even though they were not any of the ones that wireless dramas would have one expect. She chose to hear the hurt in his tone, which probably did not sound different to unattuned ears. Those would not, of course, be Veela ears. They might be more realistic ones, hinted an annoying and easily ignored thought. It was clear that he wanted to be a part of her life, every part. George just needed help, guidance, in showing it.
"Yes, yes. 'E 'as 'is fazzer's chest and my ears, and Papa's feet."
"Oh, ze poor dear."
"- I - told no one zis," explained Gabrielle, stressing the pronoun. "I did not wish anozzer, eh, ze jinx." Neither did her parents; Gabrielle was certain that Maman wanted to tell Aunt Laurel, but would probably now wait until three years after she had finished because of the Beauxbatons humiliation.
"And now there's hardly any time to prepare," pouted George.
"I think his elbows are from my cousin…"
"Eh, no. Zat is, I have ze zings from Beau- , eh, from ze ozzer school, and we buy ze books tomorrow, perhaps," said Gabrielle. Unless he meant something else, worried a second thought. The less that brought her to the attention of the teaching staff, the better. And if any flaming bowls, goblets, or champagne flutes showed up, well, she would hide under her bed. It was annoying that she could still fit.
"If the Mums would just budge up a bit, us Dads could get in," suggested Bill. He was ignored.
"'Is ass is definitely 'is fazzer's, and so is 'is little, 'ow you say, Jean Thompson."
"Oh my!"
"'Is what?"
Gabrielle looked at George, who seemed lost in thought. While she was right there, standing next to him! He still held her ankle too, which, Gabrielle suspected, made her look stupid. She hopped around to George's other side, curling her captive leg around him and gripping his thick arm. That was nice, but not the sort of pose that she would want her parents to see. Not that they were likely to notice at the moment.
"We'll just stay out here, then?" sighed Mr Weasley.
It occurred to Gabrielle, though, that she might have become invisible. Or that George had become catatonic. This was not satisfactory. She reached for George's collar, put her free foot against his leg, and started to climb.
That did get George's attention. "Oy, luv. Mind la chemiste. Il est Fred's."
"Eh, who is Fred's chemist? Are zey here?" puzzled Gabrielle. She had reached high enough to hug George's head.
"I think I said shirt. This one's Fred's."
"Zat would be 'chemise'. Why are you wearing Fred's clothes?" With a groan, the door to the entry hall began to widen.
"'Cuz Verity is doing his laundry now," failed to explain George.
"Eh, what?" Gabrielle was still confused, and a second thought was confused as to why she had thought her current actions were a good idea. Maman and Mrs. Weasley were still distracted, but Ginny and Harry were not. A third thought reminded Gabrielle as to who might be coming through the widened opening.
"It's brilliant. I wear Fred's clothes, not up to my usual sartorial standards, mind, and she does the laundry so I don't have to." With pride, judging by his tone.
Gabrielle wrinkled her nose. "You, eh, wear his underwear - Ah! Non! George, stop!" exclaimed Gabrielle. George was using his free hand to pinch her imprisoned leg just above the knee, sending jolts up the limb. Gabrielle jerked about, trying to pull her leg free.
Gabrielle had correctly suspected that her mother and, especially, father would be very displeased if they found her there clutching George with a leg raised and curled suggestively around him. That insight, though, had failed to prevent the current situation, wherein her struggles to escape George's ticklish torture had somehow caused his head to get up under her dress. Neither of the preoccupied pair were at all prepared for the spells that came when the three husbands finally squeezed into the entry hall.
George disappeared instantly in a smoky cloud, and Gabrielle, unfortunately, dropped into the path of the second spell, which sent her crashing through the door to the kitchen's eating area. The last of fathers, Bill, did not use his wand on the couple. He was already using it to lead a long parade of pastel luggage into the hall.
The door had yielded with unexpected ease; Gabrielle was laying on top of the pieces. She raised her head carefully, in case something had come loose, squinting first at where the door had been and then at the toad hunching on her chest. She really did not want to be thinking of toads again. This was not the one from before, and it was looking at her with un-toadlike concern. This meant, logically, and this was as much effort as Gabrielle was going to put toward wayward amphibians, that one of the Sisters had escaped a locked cage and had stowed away in the car. She snatched up the toad and tucked it quickly down the front of her dress. Gabrielle was more preoccupied with calculations. Papa's outrageous behavior was worth at least two 'incidents', or six months of the various pellets that non-zombie pets required. She did not want to waste an indulgence on a set of toads who were banished because they were determined to share Maman's bath.
"All right there,Gigi?" asked Ginny, peering through the doorway. "You don't half make an entrance."
"Eh, I zink I am, eh, okay." Gabrielle answered quietly, so she could change her mind if Papa asked.
"A lucky thing Dad never got round to sorting the door from the last time I - it, er, broke."
"Henri Delacour!" came Gabrielle's sharp rebuke. His full name. Gabrielle adjusted the value upwards. "You will frighten Louis." What?
"(But, my lily, the Englishman..)"
"Ga!"
Gabrielle rolled over onto her knees, facing away from the opening the ruined door no longer covered. It had been a soft head and not a soft heart that had adopted the Sisters - the one down her dress was not staying still. She caught the toad with one hand on the outside of her dress and used the other on the inside to awkwardly rub the creature's abdomen. That would put it into a trance, hopefully long enough to find something that locked! Gabrielle felt the toad go limp. She wedged it under her bra, between the blacked-laced cups, and hoped that the addition would not be noticeable. It would be a little embarrassing if her captive was prominent than what was usually contained by the garment.
The remains of the door lay flat on the floor, so Gabrielle did not think that George was trapped beneath it. She supposed he had apparated. The question would have to wait, though, since Mrs Weasley had arrived with Louis already leaning out of her arms toward Gabrielle. Especially if Gabrielle moved a few steps to the left.
"Geff?" said Mrs Weasley as Gabrielle took a few steps to her left.
"Yes, Mu - issus Wheeze-lee?" answered the old house-elf. He was clearly insane, Gabrielle was sure of it. The clump of red yarn on top of his head was a clue; the fresh scabbing from the improvised freckle tattoos was definitive. Where could he have even gotten a muggle pen with red ink?
"The door, Geff. I wonder -"
"That wasn't Geff! Geff didn't do it!"
"Now, now, Geff, I never said -"
"It was - that - one. She, she is... sneaky."
"Geff!"
"I did nozzing!" protested Gabrielle. "It was Papa's spell. I, eh, zink." Yes, agreed a second thought, just overlook the sneaky comment. And who was really the sneaky one, if Geff had seen her at Ginny's door?
"Ga! Bl-l-l-l-lg," added Louis. He leaned out of Mrs Weasley's arms again, and this time Gabrielle was close enough to support him. There was an awkward moment as the near toddler hung suspended between his two admirers, which lasted until Mrs Weasley sighed and let go off Louis' lower half. Not that Gabrielle had been pulling, much.
"I suppose I should see to the meal. Geff, fix the door. Again. No arguments, now," said Mrs Weasley. She was wistfully watch her grandchild pull at Gabrielle's ear.
v - v - v - v - v
"Da!" shrieked Louis giddily, extending his chubby arm out toward nothing in particular. Gabrielle, once again proudly acting as the Chosen One, veered sharply away from Ginny's outstretched arms. It was the game she and Louis were playing now. Louis liked it because Gabrielle would swing him in big sweeping arcs as she turned. Gabrielle liked it for the looks on the others' - Ginny's - face as the baby was carried away.
Louis, Gabrielle decided, probably meant his father. Though quite precocious, little Louis was pretty much limited to a vocabulary of single syllables. There was a lot of reuse. Ma, for instance, could mean her mother or his mother, Fleur. Mee was for Mrs Weasley. And Mr Weasley, possibly. Gabrielle's own father was Po, but he was not going to be allowed near Louis after aiming spells at her and George. Nee was less specific, and meant Ginny, Hermione, or even Ron. A peculiar Jee sound was used for the twins.
Neither twin was present at the moment, which was disappointing because that obviously included George. Ron had arrived, but not with Hermione, whom Gabrielle wanted to thank again for the notes and study materials that had been loaned.
Gabrielle rounded the table to bring Louis closer to his father. She wondered if Louis would ever come to regard the scars on his father's face as ugly, then guiltily blotted out that thought by wondering about Ron. Suitable punishment, judged a second thought.
Ron was training to be an auror. At least, that is what she had heard. He had arrived wearing a uniform-like set of robes, but there could be some sort of powerful Confundus affecting the entire Weasley clan. And Hermione. Gabrielle had always thought that only the best witches and wizards could become aurors, which, well, Hermione's insistence, faith, or delusion aside, Ron was -
"(Louis will have to learn to walk one day,)" hinted Fleur. It was a little sharp, but Gabrielle knew that her sister was proud of the fuss others made over Louis. She did lower him to the ground, holding both his hands to help support his wobbly legs. Louis turned those unsteady legs and made for the kitchen proper, where his grandmothers, and the treats they might have, were. Louis was just starting on solid foods. That is, foods that were somewhat less than completely liquid. But, he would gladly eat anything in that form. Or biscuits as hard as Professor Hagrid's rock cakes. Louis had had one of that sort earlier, and had managed to turn it into a slimy, dripping mess. Black, Gabrielle noted, did not hide dirt as well as one would think, and the smudgy brown residue was all over her shoulder. That was all right though. It made her feel closer to Louis. He had been thoroughly smeared as well, of course, which meant another change of clothes - his third set.
v - v - v - v - v
Dinner, Gabrielle could tell, was a negotiated settlement. The large glistening roast was clearly Mrs Weasley's handiwork; the onion tart was Maman's. The puffed "Yorkshire" pudding - Weasley. The white asparagus soup avec chervil - Delacour. The potato dish looked to be a compromise, or an active battleground. They were not just jacket potatoes, which were actually just baked potatoes and not made to wear anything at all. Maman had gotten to them, and now the potatoes were split, scooped, and filled with a light mousse. Cheese and at least chives were involved. Gabrielle doubted that the Weasleys had truffles just laying about, so the recipe had to be improvised. Everything smelled delicious, to Gabrielle.
Not so much for Ron. He was examining askance the green flecks of herbs. Gabrielle expected that his serving of potato would suffer the same fate as his bowl of soup and be buried beneath a deluge of something called HP sauce from his wand.
Gabrielle sat next to Ron because he was an orangutan, Hermione's orangutan. The seating around the table began at little Louis's high chair. Bill and Fleur sat on either side of him. Maman had won again, and so sat next to Fleur. Mrs Weasley sat next to Maman. Mr Weasley took the chair next to his wife, which left Papa either sitting farther from Louis than he would like or sitting next to his son-in-law Bill. His unresolved and silly issues cost him. Hermione arrived and took the seat next to the curse-breaker. Gabrielle took the next seat in order to express her gratitude and to have a witch to talk with who was not annoying. It was a brief visit. Ron rather rudely relocated her, and dropped into her former place.
"(Louis will like the soup,)" insisted Madame Delacour.
"(Yes. Make sure it is only as warm as the inside of your elbow,)" advised Fleur to her mother who had had two children of her own. "Molly, can you fetch ze yellow bib wizz ze brooms on it?"
The forced rearrangement was irritating, but understandable from a master and pet point of view. Gabrielle turned her attention to the empty seat next to her, which she was reserving for George by keeping a hand on it. If he wore other people's clothing to avoid doing laundry, he would definitely return for a free meal. That was logical.
"Ginny, get off. Zis chair is for George," explained Gabrielle as patiently as she could. This was the mature thing to do, because Ginny had sat down on her hand, which not the mature thing to do.
"I wondered why you were trying to feel up my bum," said Ginny. "I wouldn't expect him back right off."
"You do not know zat for certain."
"I do if he's off to get something flash. Anyway, it's all your fault. What - were - you trying to do? Show him your - Oy! Watch where you point that thing."
Gabrielle's left hand was claiming George's spot, which meant that her right was free to pull her pale wand from her sleeve. That was a much better hiding spot for it than on a ribbon around her neck, which would have been uncomfortable now with the toad crowding the shallow valley where the wand would have nestled. A small ball of medium red flame, judged Gabrielle, would get the point across, and she could hardly miss at this distance. She raised the wand, and deep within her an anger flared and burst forth. In front of Maman and Papa? Have I, demanded a second thought, completely lost my senses?
"Zese are Firebolts. I meant ze bib wizz ze Cleansweeps."
"It's a bit difficult to make out from the embroidery."
"I was only teasing," winked Ginny as she slid over to the next seat.
Gabrielle was going to be gracious and thank the teen for finally being polite, but a movement to her right caught her eye.
"Ron, zis is - my - plate. You, eh, can not take zings from it," complained Gabrielle. "I wanted zat potato."
"I'm letting you have the posh bit," huffed Ron. He scraped the potato mousse from the stolen serving and let it drop onto her plate. Gabrielle stared at the splattered filling. Yes, it was the best part, but would it really be the same without the counterpoint of the toothsome shell? And why should she have to wonder about that when he could disembowel his his own food?
Another splat provided an answer. He was, Gabrielle realized, going to empty all the filled potatoes onto her plate. How was it possible for Ron to be training as an auror? Why was Hermione not watching her pet closer? Maman got upset if Sauveret made off with even one dinner roll.
"I am - completely - famished," insisted a voice to Gabrielle's left. Her immediate left.
It was not George, or even Fred, but Harry Potter. He was sitting next to Ginny, which was expected, but he was in the seat she had intended to save and would have, if not for certain wizards stealing her food. Her father quickly sat on the other side of Ginny, looking definitely smug, with the last open spot on the other side of him.
"I zink 'e 'is not 'ungry," worried Madame Delacour. 'E is speeting eet out."
"The herbs are putting him off. I pureed some of the meat," hinted Mrs Weasley.
"I will take 'im onto my lap, to make eet simple." An act that made them both happy.
"There's mashed up Yorkshire pudding as well. Louis will like that."
Gabrielle stared at the Boy-Who-Lived, glared really, wondering if he really did not know or if he was just playing along with a prank orchestrated by Ginny. It could not be that he was acting at Papa's behest.
"You can have my soup," said Harry, sliding his bowl over and pushing Gabrielle's plate aside. "I'm on a training diet."
"Eh, what?"
"You are what you eat - that sort of blather."
"You wish to be ze Yorkshire pudding?" asked Gabrielle, confused. The slab he had served himself was nearly the size of her entire meal, if one did not count the rising hill of rejected mousse. Would she too forget all proper manners after attending Hogwarts?
"The team cook believes vegetables dilute the competitive humours and cause buffeting from 'bumptious' wind," inserted Ginny. It was apparent from her tone what she thought of that.
"Team dietician," corrected Harry. Ginny rolled her eyes at that.
Gabrielle could not have cared less about whether there was 'bumptious' wind, whatever that was, or not. She turned away and leaned around the potato mangler. "Hermione, s'il tu plait, tell Ron to, eh, stop touching my food. Eh, Hermione?"
" - intersection of the ley lines was significant," finished Gabrielle's mentor, turning from her discussion with Bill Weasley. "Yes, what is it?"
"Eh," started Gabrielle, blushing slightly. She had wanted to speak with Hermione for many reasons, but to have her scold Ron was not one of them. It sounded as if she had interrupted something rather more important, for something that was clearly rather more stupid. "Eh -"
"Ron, what are you doing?"
"I'm eatin'," replied Ron after a loud swallow. "It's dinner, right? Hard day training and all."
"Hmm."
"It's the truth! Swear on my wand." declared Ron with a small spray of Gabrielle's former potato. "Run us absolutely ragged. No end to it neither."
"Really, Ron? Only I heard from a - quite - reliable source that you've been in the classroom the whole week until Auror Duncan returns from St. Mungo."
"Dickie," noted Ron.
"Dick-irina, is what I heard," snickered Harry.
"Bugger off."
"I'm sorry Gigi, what did you want?" asked Hermione after rapping Ron on his head with a spoon.
"Was - that - the spell you used?" snorted Harry.
"Eh," started Gabrielle again, and then reconsidered. Not out of concern for Ron's feelings, of course. If there was going to be a scene at the table, in front of her parents, then she would rather be an innocent observer or the victim. And not the one who, in any way, could be blamed as the provokateur. Saying nothing after interrupting Hermione's conversation would be rude, though, and not, Gabrielle felt, impress the older witch at all. Gabrielle chose the second thing that came to mind, the first being what did she see in Ron. "What is ze meaning of mirk?"
Hermione looked at Gabrielle for a moment before answering. "Mirk? As in 'Mirkwood Forest', or as in 'the water is murky'?"
"He said 'mistress eyes ze mirk'," said Gabrielle in an attempt to clarify.
"Who said?"
"Caretaker… eh, ze caretaker," replied Gabrielle. Whatever his name was again. How much were the goblins paying him? Oh mon Dieu, how much was - she - paying him? "For ze Winterhall estate. He, eh, always wears the kilt. And ze green boots." That, thought Gabrielle, is enough babbling. She did not think that Hermione had noticed, though, since she was adding to Ron's plate from her own.
"Mistress of the mirk? Ooh, that's posh," grinned Ginny. It occurred to Gabrielle that she may have made a terrible mistake.
"Mirk refers to darkness or gloom. I'm sorry, Gigi, but I think it has to do with your clothes," explained Hermione. "Speaking of which, your bodice is twitching."
Gabrielle knew Hermione was correct. And she did not fail to notice that Hermione had said 'your clothes' and not 'the way you are dressed', because Hermione understood that while it was undeniably her fault, it was not her choice. Hermione was someone that Gabrielle felt she could trust, someone who was helpful without asking too many questions. The witch had become a rolemodel, a true example of a proper witch. Except for the Ron part. Gabrielle planned to emulate her habits as much as possible at Hogwarts. And to learn from her whenever possible. "Eh, what is bodice?"
"It's this part of your dress," replied the shining example of witchness, indicating the chest area.
Gabrielle turned back to the table and bent low, so that her face was almost in the potato mousse mountain and what her hands needed to do was hidden. The stupid toad was waking up! Owls would eat toads, she was certain. If Gabrielle could only convince the Lieutenant that the Sisters were not actually his friends, then the worst pets would be glad to stay where she put them.
"'E eez not eating? 'Is 'e, pair-haps, ill? Or eez ze excitement too much?" wondered Madame Delacour.
"No, he is hungry, but I think for something else," replied Mrs Weasley.
"Let me take 'im to ze sitting room; I will feed 'im zere," said Fleur.
"I will bring Louis; zere eez no need to strain yourself."
"Molly, bring my zings, please."
"Oh, oui, Gabrielle," remembered Madame Delacour as she stood holding the fussing Louis. "Make your announcement now, before - what are you doing?"
"Eh, what? Nozzing!" declared Gabrielle, quickly straightening up. Please, she silently begged the trapped amphibian, do not move now.
Gabrielle's mother took a long, suspicious look at her daughter, but her grandchild needed more attention. "Your news?"
"Eh... oh! I, eh, have been accepted into Hogwarts, starting zis term," said Gabrielle. She found herself slightly embarrassed to be speaking out loud the secret that had been kept so carefully. Except that it was not quite as much a secret as she had thought.
Still, there was chorus of surprise and congratulations, and even some polite clapping. Gabrielle was herself surprised that the Weasleys, most of the Weasleys, seemed genuinely unaware. Fleur was among them, though you had to have looked quick in order to spot the fleeting shock. Ginny feigned her reaction. Harry did not, but Gabrielle could not tell whether Ron had known because meat was more important than listening.
"Bon! Now we will feed Louis," announced Gabrielle's mother, which earned her the slightest of eyerolls from Fleur. Which, Gabrielle had to note, Maman did not catch. She never caught that, from Fleur. "(Henri, guard the door.)"
"(But the Englishman, my dearest, I can not allow -)"
"(We spoke of that earlier, my love.)"
"(Yes, of course, of course. But I do not recall agreeing that this -)"
"(Henri.)"
"(The door. Of course, my pearl.)"
Gabrielle would have felt somewhat slighted by the abrupt exit just after her pronouncement, but Louis was a growing boy, so it could not be helped. He definitely had a Weasley appetite. Bill, who made no move to follow his wife, set to work on his plate in earnest. Mr Weasley excused himself also, saying something about fetching a bottle.
"Here, Gigi, we got you a little something I'm sure you'll find interesting," smiled Hermione. She was reaching across Ron's plate with what was clearly a total lack of concern for the safety of her arm, what with it straying so close to Ron's indiscriminate maw.
It was a book. There was little doubt about that, wrapped in pink paper patterned with cats or, supposed Gabrielle, kneazles. She took it reverentially. 'Eh, zank you, very much." Wait, came a second thought.
Gabrielle tore back the paper, then wondered if she should have opened it more carefully, more maturely. Inside was a copy of "Hogwarts, A History". Thoughts began to drop into place, and Gabrielle looked up sharply at Hermione.
"It's the latest edition, with the last few years included and updates to existing chapters!" enthused Hermione.
"You knew," said Gabrielle abruptly. She turned to Harry. "You, eh, also knew. How did you know? Why would you… Non. No! I can not do, eh, anyzing!"
"You tetchy little ingrate, you don't even know what -"
"Shut up, Ron. It isn't like that," began Hermione. Gabrielle looked first at Ron, then dubiously at the now pinking witch. "All right, it is a bit like that. But not at first! I - we - thought that the way it ended was very unfair to you, so Harry and I spoke to the Headmistress for you. Er, that was all right, wasn't it?"
"Eh, oui, certainement," answered Gabrielle. Who would say no? When it was the most brilliant witch and the most famous wizard speaking up for you? When it meant escape from the drudgery of apprenticeship? A second thought replayed the 'not at first', but whatever that portended was not enough to dull the glow that Gabrielle felt inside. It was one thing for bureaucratic processes to correct a complete injustice, and quite another for friends to stand up on your behalf.
"Hagrid - that is, Professor Hagrid had no problems with the arrangement, but I do have to say that Professor Trelawney was rather reluctant," continued Hermione.
"Shtood to reashun," added Ron before swallowing. "Mistress Mirk here's nearly done as many prophecies as the old baggage herself. Prolly 'fraid of losing her position again."
"I don't, erm, suppose there has been a new prophecy?" asked the Chosen One.
"Eh, non. Zere was not time! I had to care for ze creatures, except ze kneazles, and do - all - ze cleaning. And ze cooking. And -"
"Surprised she has any fingers left, then," whispered Ginny to Harry.
"And I had to study - Oh, eh, zank you so much for ze class notes, Hermione. Zere was no time to use ze crystal ball," finished Gabrielle.
"They don't just, you know, sort of come to you, out of the blue?"
"You mean out of the mists."
"Eh, no. Only when I was, eh, helping Nona wizz the crystal," explained Gabrielle. She wished the subject would change; Nona was not associated with any good memories.
"It'd be bloody brilliant if you could get one when you need it just by having a go with a bit of glass," noted Ron. "Much better than having to go all funny first. And what if you're in the loo?"
"Eh.."
"No, sorry, but I don't think it's just like ringing up your mates," said Hermione. "Hmm," she added thoughtfully.
"What do bells have to do with it?" asked Ron.
"I meant that it isn't like using a muggle telephone," clarified Hermione. "I mean, that I've heard of."
"Thank Merlin for that," declared Ron. "Everyone sounds so tiny, and it's, you know, just a bit unnatural not to see who you're talking to."
"They had the 'teleophonics' in Egypt too," interjected Bill. Gabrielle had nearly forgotten that he was still at the table. "Even worse than the ones here, if you can believe it."
"I just remember all the bread being flat, and the buildings pointy," recalled Ron.
"That aside, have you thought about what house you'll be be put in?" This came unexpectedly from Harry.
"Very subtle, Potter," whispered Ginny.
"We are staying at ze, eh, Winterhall Estate. Monsieur Winterhall gave - made me take it. After he, eh, died."
"He meant which house at Hogwarts," said Ginny. "It has to be Gryffindor, right? All of us - what have you got down your front?"
Gabrielle bent low again, which was sort of pointless as surely everyone knew what she was doing. What she had down her front was the amphibian equivalent of an itching hex. What she had down her front was a toad not so much struggling to be free as to be turned into potion ingredients. What she had down her front was decidedly, considerably larger than it had been. What - There came a sudden ripping noise.
What Gabrielle had down her front was, very suddenly, George. He was not actually down her front any longer - there was not enough dress left to have a front - but standing and hugging her tightly to himself.
"This might feel a bit funny, luv," warned the former toad. He was calmly reaching for his wand while the initial shock of the others gave way to laughter and umbrage.
This, thought Gabrielle, already felt funny, though also quite pleasing yet extremely embarrassing. She realized it was because the embrace was very, eh, intimate. There are limits to even magically charmed clothing, and the additional volume needed by a grown Weasley male was more than her dress, her brassiere, could accommodate. The shredded remains of those hung from her arms, which meant that, that... "Fermez la porte!"
"You've no idea how hard it is to stay like that once you remember that you aren't a toad," complained George. The shirt he wore wriggled its way up over his head and down over Gabrielle's. And that did feel very different, because, for a few heated moments, a few magical moments, there was - nothing - between her body and George's. "All right there?"
Gabrielle, slightly overheated, managed a thoughtful, "Ungh." George released her as the shirt covered her. The garment was still warm with the heat of George's body. Gabrielle pulled her ruined clothes from her arms and found the new sleeves.
"That was quite the spectacle," said Ginny. "I don't see you not agreeing to help now."
"Nothing like the spectacle to come, I expect, when her folks come back in for pudding," noted Hermione. Gabrielle froze.
"Can I borrow some of these clothes?" asked George. He held up one of Louis's singlets, the light blue one with tiny printed cauldrons.
"The one from Gringotts, yes. Fleur hates it," suggested Bill. "I think they'll hold off on killing you if the baby is asleep."
"Right. Let's see... Oh, urgh, are these supposed to be goblins?" George held up a bright orange singlet with what looked like messy blotches on it.
"Why in Merlin's name are you taking your trousers off?" demanded Ginny. Gabrielle could not resist, and turned to watch. It might be the last time she would ever see George.
"Can't do up the bottom snaps with them on." George used his wand to stretch the tiny baby bodysuit, and then he struggled into it.
"Little tight around the shoulders, I think," critiqued Ginny.
"Around the stomach too," put in Ron.
"I like the color," added the Cannons' new seeker.
"Quite a tight fit in the groinal department as well," added George. "We're not completely identical."
"Hermione, can't we, erm, do something to help Gabrielle out?" suggested Harry.
"I suppose 'we' can help," replied Hermione with just the slightest hint of sarcasm. She drew out her wand, and aimed it at Gabrielle. The borrowed shirt writhed once more.
"I can fix the color," volunteered Harry.
"Yes, black. Brilliant."
"No need to worry about that," said George. "She can keep the shirt."
Gabrielle, even knowing it was necessary, grimaced. She really did not like this part. The shirt, now transfigured into a good likeness of the lost dress, except for the hem being several centimeters lower and the color, was suddenly speckled with small black dots, like a spattering of ink from a broken quill. These quickly grew, spreading and merging until she was once more monochromatic.
"You can keep what's in the pocket too, luv."