Chapter Five - Shopping Free
There - are - those who find dark tunnels, the deep mine, or the ancient catacomb intriguing. Gagnek Unkspel was one such. Not a wizard, of course, but a goblin. He took in the low, rough ceiling and walls formed with buttressed stone from a sofa upholstered with human skin, and marvelled at the utter… pretension of it all. The room was a near duplicate of part of the catacombs beneath the Parliament building, down to the mottled grey and brown carpet for the floor, but was located in the renovated ground level of an otherwise unremarkable Tudor-style home in Hailey, take the A10 to Hoddesdon then north at the first round-about.
The use of human hide was not all that exotic, and was certainly not proof of anything except a willingness to pay. The sofa was meant to recall the long past days when his kind hunted men. All it meant to Gagnek was that there was no shortage of unscrupulous undertakers willing to earn a bit more by burying a bit less. No one checked beneath the clothes of the dead.
Gagnek sat back as his brother returned. Tinderk carried a silver tray with two glasses and a bottle, which he set on the slab of rock positioned in front of the sofa. Though the slab appeared roughly hewn and uneven, the tray was perfectly level. Given the decor, Gagnek half expected bone cups and a bladder. The current fashion of pretending to live hidden away again in tunnels or catacombs held little interest for him.
"How are things at Gringotts these days?" asked Tinderk.
"Fair enough," replied Gagnek. With the recent upheavals finally behind it, wizard society was finally settling down and the economy improving. Galleons needed to move in order to grow.
"Hmm," acknowledged Tinderk. He gestured to the half-filled tumbler in front of his brother, and lifted his own. "What do you think of it?" he asked after his guest's first swallow.
Gagnek held up the glass, swirled the brandy therein, and wished that the light was not so authentically dim. "It's good; very good. Human?" Goblin spirits were notable for strength and an acidic bite from the traditional fungi used. Quite satisfying after a stew made from the rendered fat and bones of your enemies, or late-night fish and chips take-away.
"Wizard, if it can be believed," replied Tinderk with a smirk. "Imported," he added.
Gagnek gave his drink another swirl. Imported, when his brother used the term, often implied smuggled. Contraband goods of any sort were very desirable, and all the more profitable for that. Tinderk had been running his operation for almost as long as Gagnek had been at Gringotts, though his brother had once admitted disappointedly that very little of the secretive human 'underworld' was, in fact, underground. He finished the contents of the tumbler. "Enough of these pleasantries. Why am I here?"
"It's my (spawn)," said Tinderk, using Gobbledegook for the last. "Talk some sense into him. Or beat some."
Gagnek frowned, first at the imposition, then more deeply for the reason. He counted to two hundred and fifty, which did not take long for a goblin in the employ of Gringotts. Blood, it is said, is thicker than water. It is also far more irritating. "Leave the bottle."
v - v - v - v - v
Wizards befoul. That was the gist of goblin teachings concerning their rival magical beings, and Gagnek could not agree more. Halfway through the bottle of brandy, Gagnek had never dislike wizards more. That was because halfway through the bottle of brandy he was not any closer to losing control of his temper than after the third glass. The wizards had done something to the liquor.
Gagnek could not say that he hated wizardkind, because, in the end, they were Gringotts' customers. A business that hated its customers was not so much a business as a society meeting for the soon to be indigent.1 Of course, the period when they had been asked to use the probity probes had been a lot of fun, and as a young goblin he had dreamed of a new rebellion. All goblin youth did - it was the favorite childhood game by far. That is, if some volunteered to be the terrified wizards. Otherwise furniture or trees were used, and, while the stand-ins were as effective as most wizards, the game was not as exciting. But it had all been a game, and it was outgrown. Except, Gagnek supposed, for the eccentrics that gathered in their 'cells' on weekends to recreate past rebellions dressed in elaborate period costumes.
The thought gave Gagnek hope. He interrupted his nephew's stumbling reply to the quite reasonable question as to how the wizard bank Gringotts would continue to prosper in the new age of prosperity if it no longer had its current clients, the wizards. Gagnek had heard it all before. One should never trust those who would use the word prosperity; too often there ends up being quite a bit less of it. "Do you go as a partizanink? Or as one of the Unclean?"
"What? No! This is no game, chichok," protested Unk heatedly. "My cell is (the tip of the spear!)"
Gagnek approved of the Gobbledegook. It was not uncommon, but it was no longer as common as it should be these days. He did note that he was only chichok now, and not chestnak chichok. Perhaps he could goad his nephew into striking first. Certainly reasoning was not working. Unk must have studied the rebellion's phrasebook thoroughly, since he was able to string what passed for thought into long, very long, diatribes of nonsense. "Your cell? I thought the half-breed was the so-called leader. Or was that Dog's Tit?"
"Dog's Tit is no more than a stooge, a witless wizard doing our bidding for a galleon or two," dismissed Unk. "The Halfling - "
"Does everyone get an idiotic nom-de-foolishness? What is yours?"
"I am known as Unk the One-Eyed! Would you call that idiotic?"
Inwardly, Gagnek groaned. He, like many goblins, no longer used their clan names publicly. That, however, did not mean that they had no pride in them. If his nephew did something even more embarrassing than playing rebellion at his age, it would be better if it did not shame the clan. "A wizard and a half-breed. Do you trust them?"
"The wizard knows nothing more than what he must do for his pay," replied Unk. "The Halfling - "
"The half-breed. Is he goblin inside, or outside?" Gagnek's experience with those of wizard-goblin mix were not good. They held grudges against both parents. "It makes a difference."
"The Halfling is goblin on the inside, where it counts," insisted Unk. "He is loyal to the Unishtozhitelk, and his successful infiltration of wizard institutions is critical to the success of the plan."
"The Unishtozhitelk? The Destroyer? Is he the leader of the cell?"
"Forget that, please, chichok. The Halfling is a brethren, and we are all fingers of the Unclenched Fist."
"The Unclenched… Fist? The - Unclenched - Fist?" repeated Gagnek. He wondered if his deluded nephew did anything more than supply galleons. An accounting would be needed.
"That's, that's the name of my cell. Uh, can you forget that too?"
"The Unclenched Fist - the fist that is no longer a fist? The tip of the spear is an open-handed slap? That is the name for your cell, while being led by someone who calls himself the Destroyer?" Gagnek roared a laugh; Unk glowered. "I will find work for you in Gringotts. The Clankers make a lot of noise too, but are otherwise useless. I can see you have a natural talent for them."
"Koochik sin! Do you want our people to crawl in the dirt forever?"
Gagnek looked around at the faithfully replicated catacomb chamber that the room was decorated as, and laughed at his fuming nephew. "That seems to be a matter of choice, or rather, expensive fashion these days."
v - v - v - v - v
"Huh, I'm surprised you had to pay full price."
"Why would I not?" asked Gabrielle, thankful that the magical volume of the handbag hid the fact that the standard third-year potions kit was a bit more than standard, perhaps even past deluxe as well. It was not as if she had asked for the augmented kit, nor the extra moon lens for the telescope at the shop before that.
"I mean, the way he was fawning over you and all."
"He, he was, eh, just being nice," said Gabrielle. "Zat can happen when you are nice to people -first.-" That was not exactly what had transpired, though of course she had been polite. The shopkeeper claimed to recognize her from his days at school, and Gabrielle knew it was futile to argue. Also, a sheepish thought admitted, she liked the extras. It made her feel as good as Fleur. Which, an unhappy thought noted, was a thing she was supposed to be over.
"Oh? What's that supposed to mean?"
"You complained ze entire way in ze cab, you were rude to, eh, Tom in ze Leaky Cauldron, and-"
"You just can't get into a car with a strange man, even if he is just a muggle! Surely your mother taught you that," interrupted Ginny.
No, thought Gabrielle, her Maman had not taught her that, since her Maman had herself been taught that all men were there to serve. Papa, of course, had endlessly warned of such, to the point it was more of a joke than an admonition. Humphrey, the man who had saved her from the awful Tubes and had hailed and paid for the cab, had not seemed to be any more of a danger than Birdy. Ginny was just annoyed that she had not, at first, been invited into the cab. Nor at second, now that Gabrielle recalled. Ginny had simply pushed the rotund Humphrey and herself into the black cab. Was Humphrey a family name, or his first name? Gabrielle did not even know.
"C'mon. If we missed Hermione at the Leaky Cauldron, then she's bound to be at Flourish and Blotts," said Ginny. "Or do you want to see about a new wand?"
"Eh, what? Zere is nozzing wrong wizz my wand!"
"I didn't say there was. It's just that sometimes you can outgrow your first wand," explained Ginny. That seemed reasonable to Gabrielle, who regretted snapping at the older girl, at least until Ginny added, "Though I don't think you've outgrown anything."
v - v - v - v - v
Hermione was in the bookseller's shop, but she might as well as not have been from Gabrielle's underprivileged point of view. Ginny had found the witch in the cellar, the part of the shop that was age-restricted. Gabrielle could hear the two of them speaking, but could not push past the simple curtains covering the access to the stairs, because the curtains pushed back. It pained her to realize that even though talking to Ginny had to mean that she was here as well, Hermione was not hurrying to greet her. That would have been proper for a mentor, Gabrielle was sure of that.
At the other end of the wand, Hermione was very likely researching something of the utmost importance, Gabrielle rationalized. Something that could not wait, and something that Ginny could help with since she was of-age and allowed into the stupid restricted section. Important, came a second thought, and secret. And secret, imagined Gabrielle, meant something to do with Harry Potter. Protecting a protegé from the things, dangerous things, that happened around Harry Potter was also quite proper.
Furthermore, Gabrielle realized happily that with Ginny assigned the menial task of fetching books for Hermione, she could get on with her shopping in peace. All of her shopping, including a visit to the twins' shop and its hoped-for visit with George.
Finding the listed texts for the year at Hogwarts was no problem. They were all in bins, spread throughout the busy shop's rows and cabinets. Gabrielle had learned from her time as an apprentice that shops were never organized for efficiency, but for the opportunity to sell something else. In Monsieur Pommejoues' shop, for example, the various owl treats and fancier feeds were kept by the owls themselves, while the big bags of basic owl feed were stored at the back. Gabrielle wondered why the books were just in a messy jumble instead of neat stacks, but a crisp voice saying, "Accio "Intermediate Transfiguration", the second from the bottom," explained it rather clearly. A harried-looking attendant hurried to restore order.
Only two books were surprising, and luckily only one deviated from the syllabus that Hermione's notes were based on. That was the text for Defense Against the Dark Arts, though Hermione had advised her that this was likely. This term's textbook was the translated "Zauberstabkrieg" by Hermann J. Brennenkobold, a rather thick book with embossed leather for the covers. The sides and corners of the tome appeared scorched along two adjacent sides, as if the book had been just barely rescued from a terrible fire by the remaining, intact corner. Since all the books were damaged identically, though, it was just pointless decoration. Gabrielle wondered how much of the four galleons, five sickles, and three knuts went into that.
Of course, it was not just the expense that was surprising, but the forward for the book, which had been written by Herr Von Schnittwinkel. Gabrielle had met him during the disaster in Albania, and had seen him killed trying to protect her. She wished the paragraph had been translated as the rest of the book had.
The second surprise was the "Monster Book of Monsters", for Care of Magical Creatures. Not the book itself; Hermione had written of it numerous times in her notes, with whatever the preceding adjective had been thoroughly scratched out in every case. Since most of the blotted out words had been four or seven letters long, Gabrielle could guess what sort they had been.
The surprise was that when Gabrielle approached the wire cage the books were kept in there was, well, really nothing to remark on. The books were of course in an untidy heap, but instead of a writhing, growling mass they were just mostly squatting, inasmuch as a book could squat, and watching her. At least, she felt as if they were watching her. It was a little disconcerting. And a little disappointing, since she had wanted to see the charm that had caused the censored description.
The shop assistant, the witch with the thick, heavy burlap wrap around one arm, had hurried off after the sound of tumbling books. Gabrielle had seen her carefully, and rather slowly, stacking fallen books before. The door to the cage was only barred though. Gabrielle shifted the latch, opened the door, and reached in. Now there was a veritable explosion of movement as the books leapt and pushed to be on top of the pile she reached for. "I, eh, only need one today," said Gabrielle apologetically,
Which had been the wrong thing to say. Now the books were fighting, snarling and tearing at each other as they battled to be at the top. Gabrielle watched in fascination at how much damage a thing with no appendages could do. One text, which to Gabrielle's eye seemed just a bit thicker than the others, viciously fought off numerous challenges, flinging its brethren across the cage. Loose pages were now drifting like the leaves from a dying apple tree in front of a manor house. That is the one, she decided, and snatched up her champion before it could do more damage which, Gabrielle had begun to worry, she might be held responsible for. She found the fur covering the book to be coarse and stiff when she ran her fingers through it. Her choice snuffled and growled. Similar to the fur of the dingo-crup cross-breed the Pommejoues had tried, remembered Gabrielle, but hopefully much, much less prone to biting. Gabrielle avoided the touching the spine of the book. She did not want to break the charm just yet. The cover had several deep scratches on it, which Gabrielle gently explored with a finger. Did those hurt?
"Ano..." said a voice behind her. Gabrielle startled, then quickly closed the cage door and turned guiltily.
It was not the store clerk, but an asian girl with long, silky-looking hair that went to her waist. She was taller, but then nearly everyone was now. The girl wore strange red trousers that flared out so much that they were nearly a long skirt, and a white shirt, with equally flaring sleeves, made of a heavy material, tied with a sash. "Eh -"
The girl slapped her hands together in front of her bowed head. "Gomen masai! I am sorry! My book escaped!"
Gabrielle took a step back, bumping into the wire cage. The books inside rustled forward. "Eh, okay. Ze -"
The newcomer stepped forward as well. "Please! I will be in your debt if you give me another!" The girl spoke with a heavy accent.
Gabrielle smiled disarmingly, she hoped, and actually wished for Ginny's intrusive presence. She half-turned to the cage, to be able to keep an eye on the possible lunatic, and announced, "I need ze, eh, nice book now."
There were obviously limits to the charm, though. The competition for the title of most nice was the very same maelstrom of destruction as before. Gabrielle put an end to it by taking a book from the bottom of the pile, even knowing that weakest did not necessarily mean nicest. She thrust the book into the asian girl's hands, where it immediately began to struggle and try to bite. "If you stroke ze spine, ze charm begins to, eh, break," advised Gabrielle. At least, according to the notes it did. She helped hold the text while the girl finally managed a tentative stroke.
"As expected of a genius. I am Shimigina Sukiya - Ahaha, I mean Sukiya Shimigina. Arigato - thank you so much," said the girl, bowing slightly. She wrapped a red silk ribbon several times around the momentarily quiet book.
"I am Gabrielle Delacour," said Gabrielle politely. The girl repeated the name, her accent somehow managing to make all the l's and r's sound the same. It was awful, and it might lead to Gabby. "Eh, you can call me Gigi."
"Gigi... chan?" asked Sukiya. She squealed when Gabrielle did not protest, and a smile spread across her face. "You may call me Suki-chan!"
"Eh, okay, eh, Suki-chan," acknowledged Gabrielle. "Well, I have all -"
"And I will protect you from bullying," vowed Sukiya.
"Eh, what?"
"There was a boy at the shrine's terakoya who went ahead two grades, and the older children bullied him," explained Sukiya. "He was not so cute though."
"Did zey dig him out in time?" asked Gabrielle, horrified.
"Eh? Dig him out?"
"From where zey buried him," said Gabrielle. Wherever Suki-chan was from must be just awful.
There was a long pause before Sukiya rapped her own head with her knuckles. "Sorry, my English is not good. I mean they teased him and caused him trouble."
There was a shorter pause before Gabrielle felt herself beginning to blush. Bullying. How could she be so dumb as to think kids at a, at a, a - would bury each other? "No, I am sorry. I, eh, did not hear properly." Maman, reminded a second thought, would phrase that as not listening properly.
"So cute!" squealed Sukiya. Gabrielle was enveloped by the baggy sleeves as her new protector hugged her neck. The girl's hair was silky.
v-v-v-v-v
Gabrielle left the bookseller's shop in a very good mood. She was so pleased that she felt like skipping, though of course she did not because she was not a child. Suki-chan was her new friend. The girl was a little odd and very prone to hugging, but that was fine since she was also a transfer student, all the way from Japan, and was probably feeling lonely and anxious about starting her new school. Because she was able to visit with the Weasleys and Louis, and because she had been to Hogwarts several times already, Gabrielle had not realized that she was very much in the same situation as Suki-chan, that of going away to live in a place where everyone was a stranger. Now, though, thought Gabrielle, neither of them shared that fate.
There had not been so much time to chat with her new friend. Suki-chan's father, an absolute bear of a man dressed in strangely cut, dark robes, suddenly loomed up behind his daughter. His abrupt appearance startled Gabrielle enough that she dropped the books she was to buy. Her copy of the Monster Book of Monsters latched onto Suki-chan's red trousers, which earned it a slap.
Monsieur Shimigina had not said much, or possibly anything, since Gabrielle was not at all familiar with Japanese. His few utterances seemed more like grunts compared to Suki-chan's excited torrent. In the end, Gabrielle got another hug and Suki-chan said her father was happy to meet her. Gabrielle attempted a curtsey because he seemed so formal, but that was not something to be done when one's arms are full of books. Gabrielle dropped them again, which Suki-chan declared to be cute.
Gabrielle paused across the street from the goblin bank Gringotts. She could not recall exactly, but she did not think that the carved stone goblins holding the top of each of the hinge pins on the grand door had been there before. The stone faces glared at her accusingly, but she did not think they really knew.
A voice near her ear said, "You, dearie, look like someone who could use a hat."
That was a strange thing to say, but no stranger than the witches who would come up to Gabrielle in the shops and say, "Sorry for your loss." Gabrielle turned, but there was no one next to her.
"Zank you, but no," said Gabrielle. If someone was going to use a spell to make their voice heard, reasoned Gabrielle, then it would only be polite for them to use a spell to hear as well. Just in case, though, Gabrielle hurried forward.
At least, forward had been her intention. With each step, Gabrielle slid sideways can toward the darker entrance of Knockturn Alley. So, of course, she stopped taking steps, at least after trying a few backward paces, because that might have worked. "Not quite there yet, dearie," said the voice. It sounded a little smug.
Gabrielle did not move, but looked toward the foreboding street. On the corner there were three witches standing together. Gabrielle was immediately suspicious of them because they wore rather old-fashioned pointed hats, were holding their wands, and because they were looking right at her. "I do not need anozzer hat," argued Gabrielle. She had already been to get the standard uniform for Hogwarts. Which had turned completely black as soon as she had paid - even the embroidered emblem.
"You need a hat if I say you need a hat. Now come along, I've got my baking to do after." This time Gabrielle did not need to move at all to be pulled toward the witches. It was too late to shout - she had tried and found herself under a Silencio. No one on the street particularly noticed, because one could hardly be a witch or wizard if one was always surprised by the use of magic.
The assailants were easier to see now. One was old, with a weathered face and nearly white hair. The middle one was possibly Mrs Weasley's age, and had several large moles. The third was much younger, with curly brown hair showing below her pointed hat. She looked nervous, her eyes glancing up and down the street. Gabrielle was brought to a stop when she was within arm's reach.
"Don't be afraid, dearie. We're not here to hurt you. Today," said the middle witch. Gabrielle did not say anything because she could not.
"She don't look afraid," observed the eldest. "Should I set that right, I wonder?"
Part of Gabrielle was afraid, very afraid, and was worried about disappearing down the disreputable street without anyone else knowing. She rather suspected that not everyone would turn out to be like Monsieur Lunky. Another part of her was more curious than fearful. Not, oh mon Dieu, about anything to do with hats but about the witches themselves. Three witches - one young, one old, and one in-between - were the basis of a classic coven. A third part wondered if Ginny and Hermione had forgotten about her.
"No need for that, Aggy," said the one in-between. "You know what this means, right?" Gabrielle assumed that the question was not for Aggy but for her. A small crystal in a silver wire cage, dangling from a black cord, was in front of her, but only briefly before it was hidden away again. The amulet looked very much like the one Gabrielle hid.
"Mmm," replied Gabrielle. It was as much as she could manage, so she also nodded her head. These witches were connected to Nona. A normal witch, thought Gabrielle, would have sent an owl to request the return of the dress.
"You're either quite good, dearie, or you've had a lot of practice under that spell," said the middle one. "We don't usually hear a peep 'til Aggy let's 'em."
"Just give it to her before someone notices," insisted the youngest of the three.
"Oh, let 'em notice. I haven't properly cursed anyone in ages. Now, dearie, I - "
"What about that - ," began asking the youngest, pointing back up the dingy alley.
"That was a rush job. Now, then, I'm the Mother, you can call me Mum. Aggy is the crone, best not to bother her, and Nit there is - "
"It's Anita, actually, and I no longer qualify for my current position."
"The young today," huffed Aggy under her breath. "No flower and no shame. No ring neither."
'Yes, well, that's for another time," said the Mother. Gabrielle could not think of her as Mum, since that was sort of reserved for Mrs. Weasley, after the wedding of course. The Mother looked at her pointedly, so Gabrielle did the same to the one called Aggy. It was only after the witch in-between cleared her throat that the Crone waved a knobbly stick at Gabrielle.
"Eh, my name is Gabrielle..." started Gabrielle. "Zat is, eh, Gabrielle, Mistress of the Mirk," she finished. She had decided to withhold her family name, which a second thought applauded as a good idea. It did not think that blurting out something stupid in its place was of much help. The tongue slip did amuse Aggy. A third thought wondered why she bothered - they could find her if they wished to. "I do not want anozzer hat."
"Never said anything about want; I said need. Let's give it a try for size." The world went dark for Gabrielle.
"Mite big," snorted Aggy. Gabrielle still could not move.
"Nit, honestly, was this your best effort? It looks like a northern Devil's Toe worm is eating her head."
"You said she had a big head."
"Mistress of the Mirk," snorted Aggy.
The light of day and the three witches returned. The youngest was frantically running her wand over what Gabrielle could now see was a ridiculously large, dark grey pointed hat. The brim was very wide, and the whole of the hat was larger across than the witch working on it. The pointy part had to be at least half a meter tall! Where, wondered Gabrielle, could they have gotten the idea her head was so large?
"That were a turn of phrase," said the Mother. "Although Mistress…" She took the hat from the younger witch and put it back on Gabrielle's head. "Much better, and it'll keep the sun off her pale face."
"It'll keep the sun off'n more than her face," cackled the Crone. "The girl's a walking eclipse."
"It'll do for now," said the Mother, though her face showed doubts. "You'll wear it today for it to get settled and then - Cor… Are you doing that Aggy?"
"Why should I be bothered about the color? Ain't no bowl of fashion."
"Fashion plate. Nit?"
"It's not me. I liked 'frosted charcoal'."
"Huh. Well, no matter. Off you go, dearie." Gabrielle was spun around to face the street. She found she could finally move, so, despite better second thoughts, she turned back toward Knockturn Alley. The witches were gone, but Gabrielle had not heard even the quietest pop of disapparation. "I know you are zere," she accused the empty air.
"You don't. You're just guessing."
"Aggy…"
"I do not need zis hat," declared Gabrielle. She tried to sweep the ridiculous object on her head away dramatically, but the hat did not budge. She tried to pull it off, even using two hands and twisting, to no avail.
"Aah! Not by the brim! Not by the brim! Lift it by the puggaree! Mum - tell her to lift it by the puggaree!" pleaded the invisible Nit.
"And would I know if she was doing that?" asked the in-between witch? "Calm down, I can remember what to do. I just need to… oh, yes."
Thwock
1 Or an airline, which was described as a human joke by Tinderk, though he could not explain the meaning of it.