Chapter Six - Visited, To and Upon

After the incident with the weird hat coven, Gabrielle had decided to have Hermione help her, because obviously the older witch would be able to, if not off the tip of her wand then certainly from a book she could name. A book Hermione could name, and that Ginny would then have to fetch. The redhead was the reason that Gabrielle was not headed back to Flourish and Blotts, though. Ginny would first laugh at her predicament, and then scold her for something that was clearly not at all her fault.

Not that Gabrielle was spared laughing and snickering in anyway. There was plenty of both from those she passed on the street. And for good reason - she had examined her reflection in a shop window. The hat she was cursed with, and what else could it be?, not only had a brim wider than she was but also a peak that was nearly a third again her height. As a witch, she knew there was nothing wrong with a pointed hat. It was very traditional, formal, and a tall peak could be very elegant. Maman had one such. The key was in the proportions, though, and this abomination had none. Gabrielle looked at her reflection and saw a giant black thumbtack on her head. The only advantage for the size was when it came to ignoring the bursts of levity that the sight of her evoked. It hid her blushing face completely.

Gabrielle knew there would be laughter at her destination too, but that was okay because it would just be Fred being, eh, Fred and George being silly. And when he was through being silly, Gabrielle was confident that George would be able to get the hat off of her. She had never made it to 93 Diagon Alley yet, but she was sure she could tell which shop it was even without looking to the numbers. It had to be the one with the blaring from large trumpets, and with the upper floor windows and facade bouncing along to the wandering beat. There was a large crowd gathered at the front of the shimmying building.

Closer, Gabrielle could pick out words in the music. It was not a song, because in a song the words would match the melody. Or beat. Or at least pitch. This was more of a, a chant, perhaps. There were numerous voices, a different mix of them, it seemed, for each word:

"Weasley's Wizard Wheezes!

Guaranteed to pleases!

Smashing fun a breezes!

Mind the leagaleses!"

The stanza repeated, well, thought Gabrielle, eventually repeated since the order of the lines changed each time through.

The crowd was tightly packed around the entrance, with the ones in back shifting and craning their necks to get a better view. A better view of what was a mystery to Gabrielle, who only had a view of the backs of the taller wizards at the fringes, who could still see. There was a bit of a gap between two of the onlookers, however, and even though it was rude Gabrielle made to squeeze past.

She had forgotten about the hat. That would not seem possible now that she was in eternal shade, but she had. The brim of the stupid hat poked into the bystanders' backs well before Gabrielle could step between them.

Interestingly, the brim of the hat did not bend or crumple. Nor did the budgerigar, possibly. It certainly did not come off. Neither did the two wizards turn to complain in annoyance. What they did do, to Gabrielle's surprise, was to shuffle slightly further apart until the hat no longer made contact. This meant that Gabrielle had to step forward again, just as an experiment.

Gabrielle ceased experimenting when she when reached the front of the crowd. She would have stopped sooner, but her Maman had always stressed politeness. Or, eh, silence. And, eh, silence. Gabrielle realized that that if she simply stopped when she could finally see, then the crowd behind her would have their view blocked by the ridiculous hat. Which would be what the ones snickering deserved. But instead, to be polite, she had to push her way all the through, which was not so easy once she had reached witches and wizards of similar height to her own. The children, noted a depressed thought. Then, she needed to duck her head and scrunge down a bit for it to work.

Kneeling down, because she was polite, in front of the large plate glass window, Gabrielle found that it was a product demonstration that held the crowd's attention. Really, a demonstration of products, since a wizard that Gabrielle judged to be a student still was staggering back across the enclosed space in his stocking feet, trailing smoke from his face and hair. If she had to guess, it was George that was waiting with the missing shoes, while it was Fred holding the large placard advertising 'Fred's 100% Authentic Self-Sticking Paper Bombs'. Fred's name was done in a highly stylized calligraphy which resembled Chinese writing, but it really just said Fred. It should, thought Gabrielle knowledgeably, be Fred-chan. Nearly everyone Suki-chan mentioned had 'chan' added at the end of their name.

George gave the probable student his shoes back, and pointed to the door at the edge of the space. The wizard, or victim, who Gabrielle decided was of the age of a second class - no, that would be a sixth year in Britain - looked very relieved. He shoved his feet back into his shoes and hurried to his escape. Two steps toward his goal, however, Fred raised his hand. The student stopped and looked crestfallen. Then his legs suddenly dropped through the floor. A simultaneous shouted groan came from the wizards in the crowd as the student came to a very sudden stop when the floor reached the top of his legs. He flopped forward onto the floor, face down. Fred, it was probably Fred, released what Gabrielle thought looked like a bee. And she was right, as the insect quickly expanded to the size of a small bird before swooping down to alight on the collapsed wizard. It then took off again, hauling the twins' unfortunate victim into the air by his underwear leaving his shoes and, Gabrielle noted proudly, socks behind in the holes. That brought a roar of laughter from the crowd, and it was sort of funny to Gabrielle also. The one she thought was Fred held up a sign reading 'Wedge-bee', but Gabrielle more interested in the other. Could he see her? Would he be able to tell it was her beneath the enormous hat?

With the demonstration over and the butt of the pranks back on the ground and, Gabrielle supposed, smiling over the fact he had survived, there was a surge toward the door to the shop. A surge that Gabrielle was not part of. It was all around her, but the pushing, jostling, and crush did not affect her at all as she made her way into the shop. The ease of her passage left Gabrielle of two minds about the hat.

The inside of the shop felt like a surge in the other direction, as if were just too full. Gaudy displays pushed and jostled for attention - was lurid or neon a better description for the palette? A dozen jingles tried to be heard over themselves, the chatter of customers, and the occasional explosive bangs from the interior. Gabrielle could not see over or past the taller witches and wizards hurrying forward; she could not see either twin now. The hat was no help there. Unless she could stand on it, and since she could not get it off that was indeed not much help. She decided to head toward the rear of the shop, where most of the shouts and loud reports emanated from.

Weasley Wizard Wheeze's was amazing. There were towering displays just inside the doors, which were flanked by rough counters with tellers and, Gabrielle was surprised to see, a grumpy-looking goblin each. The displays held the latest products. Gabrielle knew this because a large horn would blare every few moments, with a banner unfurling that said as much. Past the loud displays were half a dozen aisles of shelves stretching to the far side of the shop. The aisles held every sort of Wheeze, and products from other suppliers. Gabrielle recognized a lot of the names. She was halfway through the aisle, gently nudging her way past a knot of boys considering the sizes of Every-Book covers (Hide your favorite in plain sight! Rated #1 for History of Magic!), when a curious thought noticed something very unusual about the arrangement of the shelves. Not the chaotic ordering of the Wheezes, which was not quite as chaotic as one might guess if one knew the prices charged for each. The more costly and elaborate pranks were definitely placed higher up. That made Gabrielle frown slightly. Taller did not always mean older, and more mature did not equate to height.

What Gabrielle had noticed, though, was that the shelves on either side of the aisle held exactly the same items in exactly the same location. That was quite unlike any other shop she had ever seen. Gabrielle backtracked and tried another aisle; it was the same, or so similar that she could not tell. To be certain, she counted her steps from the pots of Guessing Glue to the start of the aisle, then back to the little brown pots in a new aisle. The counts were the same. That was interesting, certainly more so than the glue, the point of which was to stick one's victim to something until they were doused with the right liquid, which could take a lot of trials. 'Someone' had done that to Dilly, and it had taken quite a lot of Hollandaise sauce to free her. The 'someone' was awkward for Gabrielle, since she knew very well who had ordered it. Just not why that 'someone' had.

Was there not, interrupted a slightly confused but less distracted thought, a more important reason to be here? There was, and it was not how to learn to recognize the trick cauldrons. Gabrielle started for the rear of the shop again, though she did note that the specialty product lines were set against the wall. She did not check the other wall for symmetry.

One of the twins was speaking to a small group of future mischief-makers. When Gabrielle could hear, she felt sure it was Fred. He was explaining the 'art' of something called 'palming'. Since the group was mostly wizards her height, she regrettably guessed that they were first years, and unlikely to be able to do it without a wand. Fred was wasting his time. Gabrielle ducked her head and nudged her way in.

"The Blond Bludger! Lads, lass, this here's Gigi. Biggest trouble-maker in Beauxbatons' history and the most vicious up-and-coming beater in France," announced Fred. The young faces turned to her.

"Eh, what? I am not!" protested Gabrielle. She did not need her unfortunate and largely unintentional history preceding her to Hogwarts.

"You were at the tryouts - why didn't you make the squad?" asked Fred, nudging his closest follower conspiratorily.

"I, eh," started Gabrielle. She was going to blame the school's brooms, but changed her mind. There was never any intention to make the team. "Zere was -"

"Four with broken bones or heads and another two completely de-broomed," inserted Fred. "How long were you at it? Five minutes? Three? Two?" He stood among gaping mouths.

"Zey were all fine! After, eh, ze healer, of course," insisted Gabrielle. "Also, I am not -"

"Very handy for getting into locked places, this one," confided Fred proudly. Gabrielle did not mind his tone, but that was not a reputation she needed. "Have her show you her 'special' inkpot sometime."

"Fred, what are you saying?" The goblins were at the front and not from Gringotts, but who knew what they might hear?

"Do you know, the very first thing she did when she got her wand was to set me on fire?" The small group on soon-to-be rumor-spreaders tittered. "Set fire to Beauxbatons too."

"Only ze forest! Only -part- of ze forest! And, eh, ze meadow, but zat-" Gabrielle stopped. She was, a second thought determined, protesting too much. Too late, Gabrielle realized that she should have been helping to exaggerate events further so they were not believable at all. What, wondered a third thought, exaggeration?

"Helped knock the tower down, too," continued Fred.

"Yes, yes. And I opened ze vampire's crypt," said Gabrielle wearily, waving her hand carelessly as if these were of course true. That would make them sound unlikely. "Where is George?"

"Said she was handy for getting into things, didn't I?" noted Fred with more nudging. "Votre chateau est grande."

"Eh, what? Ze Winterhall estate is not-"

"I mean what is on your head."

"Eh, I zink you mean 'chapeau'," corrected Gabrielle. She could not tell if her attempt at exaggeration had worked. Or had even been noticed.

"Have you seen what is on your head? Stand with your legs apart and you'd be mistaken for the Eiffel Tower," joked Fred.

Gabrielle looked at her hand; it had been ages since she tried it. She waved her hand again, this time imperiously. "Tell me where George is," she ordered. Then, inspiration struck, and she slightly, only very slightly, embellished. "You know, my fiancé."

v - v - v - v - v

George had not seen her. At least, that was what Gabrielle had decided happened. She should not have been so polite, and instead should have stood in front of the shopfront window and waved. Fred, when he had stopped laughing, had told her that George was in the workroom upstairs. It had been Verity hovering nearby that had warned her that the door was warded and jinxed. Verity was Fred's fiancé, possibly, since things had gotten a little confusing. Gabrielle had not heard of any wedding plans yet, though. She would hear of them because George would invite her as his guest. Of course. Fred, she thought, had better hurry before Verity recovered her sanity.

The door she was expected to be blown up, or turned inside-out, or covered in boils trying to open was an ordinary-looking solid wooden door, opposite the stacks of crates that lined the hallway. No hinges were visible, and there was no keyhole visible either. But that was no problem. Gabrielle confidently drew her wand, squared up to the door, and…

And began poking at the wings of her beetle. She would simply ask to be let in. Gabrielle was not sure whether Fred had forgotten the shared beetles, or had assumed that she would be stupid enough to forget to use hers. It was even possible that he did recall, and his intent was simply to further distort her reputation to cause her problems later on at Hogwarts. Those likely first-years would have definitely heard Verity, and who knew what Fred had told them after she left?

"Not even going to have a go? Show some spirit lad."

Gabrielle turned, but it was only a portrait on the wall. The painting was of a man leaning out of a window and waving. Gabrielle looked closer - was that supposed to be his hair? It was more along the lines of Geff.

"Not polite to stare, lad."

"Eh, I am a witch, and you are a painting. Is zere anyzing else to do wizz a painting?" wondered Gabrielle aloud. The door had not opened, and a quick look at the wing showed that George had not replied. Yet. Er, came a second thought.

"Sorry, in this light it's difficult to make out the subtle differences. Very subtle. Lass." Gabrielle frowned. Was that intended to be rude? The portrait continued, "My name's Parnell Higglesworth. A giggle's worth of Higglesworth? No? I always thought that would be a hit. Suppose I should be glad my partner and I went with Zonko."

"Eh, well, zat is-"

"So go on. I promise you'll recover fully."

Gabrielle stepped back to the door, and opened the beetle's wing case again. Picking out an exclamation point would work the mandibles, and George kept his in his pocket. Eh, yes, interrupted a second thought, bringing up the memory of just which pocket it had been found in. Gabrielle looked at the crude arrow. Either George had silently apparated right beside her, or his beetle was still in her handbag. Merde, thought Gabrielle. What could she do now? She could not cast spells here because she was underage, and even if she could she doubted that she could out-spell the twins. She dropped her chin to her chest in defeat. She would have to beg-

Her dramatic slump of despair was interrupted by the point of the hat striking the door. That was unexpected, and Gabrielle found herself completely unexploded and undamaged. Was it all just a prank? She raised her hand to knock, and then lowered it, since it being just a prank is what the twins probably wanted a person to think. Instead, she used the hat to tap the door.

The difficulty was in trying to strike the door hard enough to be heard with something that was essentially made of stiffened fabric. So far, there had been no discernible progress regarding entry. Certainly George had not rushed to answer the door in his enthusiasm for her arrival. It was time for logic, and also time to give her neck a rest.

The hat, Gabrielle deduced, allowed her to pass through barriers, like the crowd, and it could obviously pass through wards. If there were wards. To move through the crowd had taken little effort. That was, reasoned Gabrielle, because there were spaces between individuals and they could easily move. A door of solid oak, if Philippe and his muggle grimoire were right, would have much, much smaller spaces between, eh, the even tinier door pieces. It was likely that those could hardly move at all. Therefore, logically, the hat would need a lot more force behind it to move through the door.

Gabrielle, logically, backed up as far as she could, against the crates across from the door, and lowered her head.

"This looks promising," nodded the portrait approvingly.

The passing resemblance to a monochromatic black rocket became more definite as Gabrielle launched herself across the hallway into the door. Logically. The hat knew its function was to protect, in a general way, its wearer. It also knew, in a far more specific way, that it was not a battering ram. There had to be limits, and it had already suffered through the embarrassing color change.

The protection was offered by way of the progressive collapse of the proud cone as it absorbed Gabrielle's momentum. The final impact was little more than that of a ladle. The limit came as the magically enhanced headpiece rebounded. The boxes on the other side of the hall were clearly less solid than the door, and would provide a valuable lesson in the importance of proper hat care. Gabrielle was flung backwards with equal force.

The crates were not as solid as the door, and were crushed as Gabrielle slammed into them. Unforeseen, however, were the contents of the crates. Dung bombs are not particularly powerful, nor particularly stable - the occasional premature explosion made them exciting and funnier. But, they are bombs. Several crates-worth together…

"Oh crap!" cried the portrait, mugging comically for non-existent observers. Gabrielle flew back across the corridor as a result of the large and very fragrant explosion. Unfortunately, that was very similar to the very logical actions she had taken moments before. And, logically, the same consequences ensued. There were not as many crates as before, but there were enough to send Gabrielle's dazed form back across again.

It was the final trip. A tall, brown-skinned man with a head of black hair peeked out of the formerly sealed door, which meant Gabrielle crashed into, and through, the door. And, therefore, the wizard, who, it can be assumed, had taken leave of his senses. If there is someone trying to smash their way through a door, then opening it is not going to dissuade them.

"Ginny's right. You don't half make an entrance," said a certain ex-beater from inside.

v - v - v - v - v

It started with thoughts about adding Verity, who was not so insane when she was away from Fred, to the rather tenuous coven, which then, oddly, became a recollection of a potions practical, except that it was more like observing someone else brewing. It ended with spluttering coughs and splashing. Gabrielle had dozed off in the steamy herbal soak, liberally dosed with Bruise-Be-Gone and bath bubbles, that Verity had set for her. At least, she was pretty sure it had been Verity. The multiple impacts and explosions had left the immediate aftermath fuzzy.

"You should be careful; you could drown yourself in there," said George. George? George!

Gabrielle yelped in surprise and instinctively covered herself. The sudden movement upset the fine balance of forces holding her position, and she slipped below the surface, which necessitated some amount of flailing to regain purchase. Gabrielle plastered herself to the wall of the high-sided tin bath, and peered over the edge. George sat on the floor next to his bed, looking thoroughly entertained.

"What are, eh," started Gabrielle. She stopped; this was George's flat. She recognized the toilet seats hanging on the wall from her scrying misadventure. Of course he would check on her. "I, eh, did not know you were zere."

"Verity likes to keep an eye on Fred. Bit of a hen, that one," said George. "But you could drown yourself in there."

Part of Gabrielle wondered why she was hiding herself. That part favored the bold strategy of standing up and offering herself to George. The bed was right there. Another part of her felt that the first part had definitely looked at her Grandmere's practical guide a little too often, and was failing to consider the death by fatal humiliation that awaited if the offer was rejected. The foam from the bath bubbles was mostly gone, and George was sitting on the ground so that not even an accidental peek was possible. That, yet another part considered, might be because George thought of her more as a little sister than the love he had been searching for all of his life. It would not hurt to hint otherwise; all she had to do was to raise herself up just a bit more. Squashed upwards against the side of the tub, certain assets might be more noticeable. Gabrielle carefully rearranged herself to kneel facing the side of the tub. The position was awkward because it was slippery. George watched, but did not start drooling. Gabrielle did think his ears looked a little pinker, and counted that as a total victory. Gabrielle also noticed what looked like the pieces of two beetles in front of George. "Eh, what are you doing?"

"Oh, er, just fixing up the BADAR devices to the latest spells," said George. "Wondered where mine had got to. I thought Ginny had nicked it."

That made Gabrielle beam. He did still want to remain in contact. He deserves a reward, came an innocent thought. Stand up and go to him. Oh shut up, answered a thought that was not fooled. A last thought caught something. "How did you get your beetle from ze handbag?"

"Ah, yes, well, see, I had to test it once it was done, right? And it's good practice to never ward yourself against your own ward," winked George with a grin. Then he frowned. "It's too bad these'll likely be obsolete in a year."

"Eh, zey will?"

"Yeah, that's if the testing on the Portable Floo continues going well. Hasn't been an explosion in weeks," explained George. He suddenly winced, "That's, er, sort of top secret, luv. The ministry isn't keen on the idea - been 'round to search a few times, even. Helps that they don't even know what to look for."

Gabrielle could not have been happier without bursting. George was sharing secrets with her. He was confiding in her. She was his confidante. And that meant they was practically lovers, and , no, she was not going to climb out of the tub. Say something, urged a thought less prone to planning the wedding. A worried thought provided inspiration, "Ze, eh, bay-dar will work, still?" International floo calls were expensive.

"Oh, sure. The spells should go for years even - more if they get topped up," assured George. He held up a partly reassembled example for scrutiny. "Didn't sell very many anyway - wanted to at least break even." He looked rueful and pulled a leg straight on the metal beetle, which set the rest flailing.

"What do ze legs do?" asked Gabrielle. The appendages only seemed to move when she tried to see what they would do.

George shrugged. "We thought it might be useful if it could come back on its own, you know, if you lost it. Come to think on it though, I suppose it was me that thought it would be useful. Fred thought it would be good for repeat sales if it didn't. Turns out that, despite all their poisons, there's a fair number of muggle bug collectors. Couldn't just have them crawling along on their own. The BADAR, I mean. The muggles could crawl about all they want."

"Oh," replied Gabrielle. A second thought noted that that did not hold up her side of the conversation very well. "Eh, zen, eh, zen ze legs do not need to move, yes? Zey could be one piece?"

"Well, yes," frowned George. It was obvious to Gabrielle now that he rather liked the superfluous legs, and she felt a little bad to have suggested an alternative. At the handle end of the broom, though, she was taking an interest in his work, and not trying to push him into another career. He would see that, right? But at the bristle end, too, was the fact that Mrs. Weasley wanted the other.

"If it does not need ze legs, could it zen look like a book? A diary?" asked Gabrielle, with a hopeful smile. The wing's shape was awkward, and the faux beetle was not a thin, convenient rectangle which could be carried easily. Gabrielle decided that it was better to engage George than to appease Mrs. Weasley. Otherwise she would be a Matty.

"Not a diary," said George forcefully. "Besides, it's Beetle Assisted Detection And Recognition. You need the antenna for that."

"Oh," said Gabrielle. She had not thought of that.

"I suppose," started George, before pausing to work some bit of beetle back into place with his wand. "I suppose if you don't need the legs… then there's no need for anatomical correcticity. A little more abstract… the wing case could be one hinged piece, sort of like a clam shell. There are some pretty flat beetles out there too… Ha, wouldn't need the goblins either. That would aim a shrinking spell at the unit cost."

Gabrielle smiled broadened as the frown left George's face. His eyes seemed unfocused though, and she imagined that he was perhaps envisioning a new line of immobile, value-priced BADAR devices for the common wizard.

This was nice, decided Gabrielle, but not as nice as it would be if she was sitting next to her eventual fiancé, perhaps innocently leaning into to him to see better what he was doing. He would be transfixed by her closeness, the slight scent of alleged apricots reminding him of, eh, eh… Maman's tarts. Yes, gushed the repeatedly ignored thought, go to him, climb into his lap. No - climb -onto- his -

"Why are zere goblins at ze front of ze shop?" asked Gabrielle abruptly, mostly to distract herself from the conjured images.

"They're there to stop what muggles call 'shrinkage' and what I call 'some bugger nicking our stuff'," explained George, somewhat. It would have been more of an explanation if all the words had made sense to Gabrielle. "We pay them mostly to look shirty, but they do have an eye for a guilty look. Provides us 'volunteers' for our product demos."

Gabrielle supposed that shirty meant grumpy, since an alternative might have meant that they could be worn. "Zen ze wizard from before - "

"I saw the hat; couldn't miss it really. Didn't know it was you under it or we would have brought you out as a special guest."

Gabrielle liked the 'special' part, but had no doubt that disaster would have followed. She reached up to touch the black monstrosity as a prelude to her complaints. Her hand passed straight through it, which was amazing since that meant that the hat was gone. The hat was gone! Only finally noticing this now served as proof as to how dazed she had been. Gabrielle knew that George would be able to remove it. "George? Eh, how did - George? George!"

"Oh, sorry luv. I got to thinking about that muggle plastic stuff, and whether it could take a charm. Loads of colors."

"How did you get zat stupid hat off me?"

"I didn't. It sort of spat you out on its own and start rolling off down the hall," replied George. "I think Verity has it now. Your clothes too, which were in need a bit of airing. At the least."

"Oh, eh, zat is good, also, I zink." Gabrielle was glad it was only that. If the hat could spit, it might have been able to bite.

"Wherever did you purchase such an extraordinary example of the haberdasher's art anyway? Old Parnell said you ran headlong into the door, but the hat was in perfect condition. Save for all the dung, of course."

"Eh, what? Oh mon Dieu, I did not buy zat hat!" asserted Gabrielle. It was quite likely that George did not realize what he was saying. After all, he was wearing Fred's clothes.

"You didn't? Then it must be old Cap Tegnum's work. He's bound to be as daft as Granary Winterhall was." This was said with a grin, but not one that matched the look in his eyes. This would have pleased Gabrielle if she could have been able to tell if it was jealousy or annoyance behind the eyes. She did not want to be thought of as a succubus. Or someone who would want such a ridiculous hat.

"George, I was attacked in ze street! Zey made me wear it!" explained Gabrielle. "It is true!" she added, since it did not appear that George felt the same outrage. Also, could he not grasp the terror she might have felt had she not been distracted by the witches themselves?

"Oh, what sad times are these when passing ruffians can dole out hats at will to young ladies. There is a pestilence upon this land, nothing is sacred," observed George.

"Eh, what?" Had he had some firewhiskey? "Zey were witches, not, eh, ze ruffians. Zere were zeree of zem - I did not say?"

"Too busy exploding a month's worth of stock to mention it, I suppose," grinned George. "It was Krishna S. who opened the door - he thought he heard knocking. Through two inches of barren oak. Really, it was his own fault."

Gabrielle shifted lower in the tub. Of course it was his fault! George could not believe she had intended that, could he? At worst it was simply an accident, for which she would apologize when she had the chance. But, this was definitely not the direction she wanted the conversation to turn. We, thought Gabrielle, should be planning dates, rendezvous, or… Trysts, supplied a thought that, though ignored, was not going to give up.

It was not as if that would take much effort. The materials from Hogwarts had touted two balls and a festival, all very obvious opportunities for George to be her escort. The presented opportunities should be so obvious that he should already know what he was supposed to do, but Gabrielle rather suspected that she should make certain that he did. She raised herself up again, the arms covering herself unconsciously working to create the illusion of cleavage. "George. You will come to ze balls at Hogwarts, yes?"

George gave the final reassembled insect he held a poke with his wand and watched the legs twitch with an expression of regret. He looked up at Gabrielle, ever so slightly down, and then winked. Gabrielle, who had noticed the quick glance, blushed a little but did not slip back down into the tub. "Yeah, all right. Always good for a laugh." He pulled open the wing case of the beetle.

"Eh, yes. But, of course, I mean zat you should -"

"Hold that thought, luv. I added a wobbly bit from Ron's ball-gag and chain to yours, and I don't think she and Ginny will be chuffed at the current, er, delecto, flagrante or not," sighed George. Gabrielle wrinkled her brow; every word had a meaning, but not all put together like that. Before she could say that she did not need anything of Ron's, George lay back flat on the ground and slid beneath his bed.

This surprised Gabrielle because, experienced in the practice herself, hiding under a bed was not all that good of a hiding spot. It was hard to see what was going on in the room from beneath the furniture, except for feet, and difficult to quickly escape from. George, she felt, should know that. At least he did not answer when she called his name, but that trick had not worked on her either since she turned six.

Gabrielle decided that George hiding in this way did not make sense. This meant that there was logic involved. First, if him being in the room while she was in the bath was viewed with suspicion, then him being found under the bed as if to hide guilt was far worse. Second, while there was a bed and a very cluttered desk in the room, there was no wardrobe, chest of drawers, or even trunk in the room. The wallspace was dedicated to random objects hung from floor to ceiling, including several toilet seats,which brought to Gabrielle's mind the tent with the mounted animal heads she had stayed in that awful summer. Behind her was a small WC and what might be a kitchen area for someone who did not actually intend to cook, since it was so cramped. There was no obvious place to store clothing. Of course, that might not have meant much for a wizard of George's calibre - there could be invisible furniture - but Gabrielle had never known a witch or wizard to bother with anything more than magicking the inside of a drawer or chest. This, reasoned Gabrielle, meant that George had used the secret exit under his bed, which probably led to another room with his clothing. Or Fred's.

Gabrielle reached for the towel set on the desk's chair and stood up. This was proof that she did not think that George was still under the bed, or that she was certain that he would see that she was no longer a little girl. Not that one could see much from beneath a bed, of course, but Gabrielle hurried to wrap the towel around herself. The amulet from Nona was under the towel. The knot on the cloth satchel had been redone. Gabrielle could tell because it was much neater than she could manage.

The towel was appalling. It was, Gabrielle could see, much smaller than the ones from home, and very much thinner. The towel did cover her when she wrapped herself in it, but without much to spare. Maman, thought Gabrielle, would consider this a cleaning cloth in dire need of replacement. It did at least feel clean, for which Gabrielle was greatly relieved, but it had been dirty, very dirty in the past. The stains were a surprise to Gabrielle, since she could, after only two years with a wand, mostly reliably fade a stain. Not that she had much need for practice now, since it was difficult to even tell that black was stained. But, George had been using a wand for a much longer time - well, not really that much longer, Gabrielle reminded herself; she would expect him to -

The wand flared in Gabrielle's mind. This was why Verity was the way she was! Fred could not look after himself properly. Well, no, not exactly, thought Gabrielle. The shabby state of the towel only explained why Verity fussed over him so much, not why she would want to. This idea formed with the absolute certainty that Fred would have the more disgusting, eh, habits. They were not exactly identical! But, George's habits had to be improved now. If, thought Gabrielle, he could not take of himself correctly, then how would he take care of me? She could not watch over him constantly like Verity did for Fred if she was working as a professional seer. And, what if she had to go away for a curse-breaking job? She certainly did not want to return to their home and find a smelly, stained mess. Although, while a career in curse-breaking was very cool and, from what she had seen, lucrative, the locations where it would be needed were dirty, remote, or both. And both. Gabrielle wondered if she could specialize in handling curses only in places near shops or coffeehouses. She had her doubts about that, based on her experiences, then remembered that Bill was working for Gringotts. Which, while not near a coffeehouse, was right on Diagon Alley.

Cheered by not having to abandon her chosen field before she had even entered it officially, Gabrielle decided to begin the program of self-improvement that George would need to follow. The first step was gauge the extent of the problem. She looked around. The room was cluttered, yes, but not really messy or filthy. That was good; only better decor and organization was needed. Certainly the toilet seats and old boots and what looked like a, a, well, a -chunk- of some muggle machine could be stored elsewhere. What was it about toilet seats? One had the Hogwarts 'H', another the Gringotts 'G', and the last was unmarked as far as Gabrielle could see because she was not going to touch it. Why was it special enough to be stuck to the wall? And were they sterilized first?

Gabrielle looked closer at the anonymous toilet seat, by carefully scrutinizing the item and not by getting any closer to it. A second thought tried to bring up the vague memory of Maman complaining to Papa about a bathroom at Delacour Manor after the debacle in Albania, but she had not paid much attention at the time since she had just been unfairly, unjustly, and unreasonably expelled from Beau- her other school.

Gabrielle turned her attention away from those depressing events and to the bed. She knelt by the side of it, noting that the sheets were not any better quality than the towel. This fact was added to her mental list. Gabrielle leaned forward to look under the bed. If the secret exit was activated by a knob or lever or muggle-style button, then she could check on the state of the rest of his linens. After all, if she would have been considered a 'special guest', then, logically, this should be the best towel. Which meant that the rest must be truly horrible. Or was the one she wore the only one? Gabrielle resolved to send George one of Maman's from the Winterhall Estate. Once he saw how nice a quality towel was, he could not help but raise his standards.

Gabrielle could not see anything that looked like it would work a mechanism. She did not have her wand, and anyway was not allowed to use it, so unless there was a hidden trigger the linen inspection would have to wait. It was awkward, but she tried feeling around with her hand, kneeling with half her torso under the bed. It was surprisingly clean under there.

This was why she banged her head on the frame of the bed when the door to the little flat opened.

"There you - oh Merlin! What the bloody hell are you doing? Cover yourself!"

"Reminds me, haven't had peach melba in ages."

"What? George, get out!"

"Oy, it's my flat."

"Conjunctiva!"

"Bloody hell!"