Chapter Eight - Every Journey Starts With A Single Stumble
The owl perched expectantly on the T-shaped perch that his witch had made for him. It was his favorite place to rest, but not to roost, because the simple stand was just the tiniest bit wobbly. Sleeping on the piece risked calamity in the night, and the other witch's ire.
Besides, the night was there to hunt for the furry little morsels that scurried along the walls. It was true that there had not been any for nights already, but the owl remained confident that there would be more. There would always be more mice to eat; that is why they were there, their purpose. And, the owl knew, he was there to eat them.
Well, to eat mice and to deliver things for his witch. She was preparing a bundle right now, and was speaking. The owl focused his attention on her as if she was an intriguing rustle in the darkness. That always seemed to please his witch, more so than showing off his powerful wings. Especially indoors. His witch's words meant nothing to him, but the owl was able to understand the gist of it. She was both confident in him and worried for him. Or, as it was, the usual.
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle set down the quill, having finished her instructions to her beloved, George. There was actually quite a bit more that she wanted to advise him on, but in the interest of time and with only the meager one and a half meters of parchment she had been able to sneak, well, some prioritization had to take place. She carefully blotted the drying ink, then rolled the parchment up and tied it with some ribbon. Properly, it should have been a lock of her hair that tied the correspondence, but her blond tresses were far too short for the purpose. The considerable but tidy scroll was then lodged into the center of the folded, thick towel, where it quickly became slightly squashed.
The towel was not the best that Delacour Manor had to offer, which was why it here at the very modest Winterhall Estate, but it was much, much better, and larger, than the ones at George's flat. Gabrielle had thought to provide two towels, but second thoughts considering how that would be interpreted stopped her. As a 'his and her' set it was not so bad, just a little presumptuous, but what if the extra was taken as just a guest towel? She did not want him to entertain that sort of guest! One would have to do. Gabrielle was certain that once George experienced the difference in quality he would quickly replace his own. She had helpfully provided the names of several shops where he could acquire this new luxury. They were all in France of course, but if he had to travel there during the summer, for instance, then that would be fine.
When the bundle was closed up, Gabrielle turned back to her owl, Lieutenant Mimsey Plumes. "(Please be careful carrying this. Hold it here, you see? That way your talons will not tear George's towel,)" instructed Gabrielle. The owl raised a leg to show his large talons, which momentarily threw off his balance. A quick spread of his wings saved him, but nothing could be done for the ill-balanced perch, which promptly fell over with a crash. That was not completely due to its less than expert construction though. The bird had not actually been flying when the perch tipped; his leap into the air provided for most of the crash. Lieutenant Mimsey fluttered to the sofa that Gabrielle had been using as a bed looking, as ever, rather proud of his prowess.
Gabrielle sighed and righted the stand. She had expected the caretaker to, well, take care of her need for a way for the Lieutenant to rest without gouging the furniture. But, he only seemed concerned with dressing up the parts of the property that Maman might see. It may be that he had not understood Gabrielle; certainly she could hardly understand him. The caretaker only showed up as Gabrielle and her family were either leaving or arriving at the old farmhouse. That, Gabrielle thought, probably made sense since he was supposed to take care of the place while they were not there.
"(After you deliver this - be careful, it is, eh, bulky - you should find me at Hogwarts. They have an owlery there. You will be able to find it, yes?)" The owl bobbed his head, and Gabrielle gave him an uncertain smile. Lieutenant Mimsey did not have to cross the Channel, of course, but Hogwarts was quite a ways away. The worry was not that he would not find the school so much as him arriving at all. There would be quite a lot of novelty between Diagon Alley and there, and, well…
Once the owl was off, climbing quickly into the gray clouded sky of dawn, and heading in what was almost certainly the wrong direction, Gabrielle called for Sauveuret to come back in from the drizzle. She could not tell if all the tail-flicking was the squirrel bidding his avian friend farewell, or a frantic warning for him to turn around. Not that she herself was worried; Lieutenant Mimsey was definitely a reliable owl. Just not so timely, if there were new things to see.
Gabrielle turned back to packing the required school trunk. Not that there seemed to be much need for the leather-covered box. There was the school uniform to go in - two black blouses, two black skirts, a jet-black tie, and two black robes. At least the robes had been black to start with. One would think, the useless complaint repeated in her head, that the uniform for a magical school would be even the slightest bit resistant. But no, the clothing was no more immune to the jinx than the items Maman had paid to have enchanted. Underwear went in too, disappearing amongst the inky background. Gabrielle sometimes had trouble finding her socks again when her clothes were all packed together like this. Toiletries and the new cauldron went into the trunk as well, but not the books, potion supplies, or the thousand other things she might need. Those were in her handbag with its magic liner; there was no need for deciding what to take or leave - she would take it all. Gabrielle had packed the clothes just for the look of it. An empty trunk might be thought of as weird, and she did not want to draw anymore attention to herself than the jinx undoubtedly would. The final addition to the trunk was the crumpled form of Poisseux and the Sisters clinging to him. Gabrielle dropped the toad cluster into the cauldron and slammed the trunk's lid shut, locking it. The toads, the living ones and the double-zombie Poisseux, would get out. They always did.
The closing of the trunk's lid coincided with the arrival of the second owl of the morning, which meant that Gabrielle did not notice said arrival until the bird began tapping at the window. The first owl, a striking grey bird with red eyes, had been from her new friend Suki-chan. To say that the bird's arrival was a heart-stopping moment was barely an exaggeration, given what had happened just prior to starting what should have been her second year at, eh, the other school. Gabrielle readily agreed to meet her fellow transfer student just outside of platform #9 ¾.
The second owl did not provoke a similar moment of terror, because it was just so tiny. No one, thought Gabrielle, would send an official message with such an unimpressive bird. Gabrielle opened the window to allow the owl in, which again allowed in the chill, damp air. To her annoyance, the little owl perched on the sill, preventing the window from being closed. The old farmhouse on the Winterhall Estate was drafty enough as it was.
The scrap of a message was in Ginny's handwriting. Very surprising, thought Gabrielle, given how regrettably early it was. The brief missive was an instruction to ask George about something called a 'Browning Ma Deuce.' That was simple enough, though decidedly cryptic. Even with Lieutenant Mimsey Plumes already on his way, Gabrielle could just use her beetle. But, simple and cryptic combined seemed, well, suspicious. After all, the owl could have delivered the message directly to George. The bird was perhaps a little more than a third the size of her own owl, but it looked capable enough. Also, there were the family meals at the Burrow; Ginny could just ask George directly.
Gabrielle dug her quill back out of her handbag to tell Ginny that she could ask George herself. She had just finished inking the quill when the little owl flew off. Which meant that Gabrielle now had to clean the quill, leaving no doubt that the bird was from Ginny.
The cleanup gave Gabrielle more time to think, and she concluded that there were only two possibilities. One was that George was incommunicado, with his hand of the family clock verging on 'mortal peril', and that the beetle was the only way to get this potentially life-saving message to him. The other was that 'Browning Ma Deuce' was a reference to some extremely painful, extremely embarrassing moment in George's life, one that he hoped would never be discovered by others. It was Ginny's attempt to derail their relationship! Again!
Except, recalled a second thought, Ginny had not told her to use the beetle. If the Lieutenant had not already been on his way, then Gabrielle would have used him. While her owl was probably superior to the little owl, unless distracted by a water faucet, either could have done the task, or neither. So that, logically, left one possibility, and one course of action. She would destroy the message and cast a memory charm on herself so that she could never accidentally bring up the forbidden phrase. Once she had learned a memory charm, of course. And had practiced it, perhaps on Ginny.
A third thought, regretfully reviewing the memories of the many, eh, no, occasional times that spells had not quite worked out as planned, quickly suggested another second option. What if this mysterious phrase, this whatever, was something that George was actually interested in, fascinated by? What if, and this did make it sound less plausible, Ginny was providing her with a way to get closer to George? Magic was real, so it could happen.
Two possibilities, and polar opposites, left Gabrielle unsure of what to do, except to look into the mysterious topic herself. By tomorrow she would have access to the Hogwarts library, which was bound to have some sort of reference on it.
The question now deferred, Gabrielle turned her attention to the challenge of actually getting to London. Which was not the real challenge, since Papa would drive Mr. Weasley's car again. Unless it caught fire, again. No, thought Gabrielle, the real challenge was to arrive at Kings Cross station when she wanted to instead of when Maman wished. Gabrielle wanted to arrive early enough to meet up with Suki-chan, and to begin a completely ordinary school term. Aside from the odd note she needed to research, and the talk from Hermione that she had mostly put from her mind. Gabrielle held out the hope that her sister transfer student, having grown up in a different culture, might also enjoy muggle coffee.
Arriving early, of course, meant leaving early, and leaving early was important because there was, completely not her fault, the occasional, very occasional, upset in circumstances. Usually not her fault, corrected a second thought. Gabrielle was certain that she would not be the cause today; it was her mother who would make them late. Gabrielle thought that her parents were awake, that there had been some movement, but Maman had yet to demand an inspection of her choice in clothing. Not that there was much point as all her clothing matched now. There would be an argument, but Gabrielle needed to wear George's old quidditch jersey today. The baggy sleeves would be perfect for Sauveuret, wherever he had gotten to. It only hurt a little that the 'G Weasley' on the back was barely visible now. She wore the the skirt of the school uniform with it, and leggings.
After what seemed an appropriate wait for further evidence of wakefulness, Gabrielle decided to force the issue a little and make breakfast. The old stove and the cast-iron pan would clang together nicely. In an incidental way, of course. The effort, estimated Gabrielle, might be considered almost as helpful as it would be annoying.
The heavy frying pan clattered nicely. And that was not even intentional - it was unwieldy unless one could use a wand. A smaller cooking pot made less noise, but its little face huffed loudly in reaction. The kettle went on next, with a little extra clanging as it banged against the other cookware.
"(The stove is cold and I am empty, you clumsy fool,)" complained the kettle.
"(Eh, what?)" asked Gabrielle, putting her hand to her ear as if she had not heard. This was unexpected help.
"(The stove is cold and I am as empty as your head!)" repeated the kettle loudly.
Gabrielle said nothing, because -she- was trying to be quiet. Incidental sounds aside. Creak went the door to the firebox. Scrape went the shovel for the cold ashes. Bang went the new firewood as it was loaded into the firebox.
"(If you are doing that on purpose, you may stop now,)" called Maman,
"(I am just starting breakfast,)" replied Gabrielle helpfully. And loudly.
There was a long pause. "(Why? The sun is not even up yet.)"
"(It is past dawn, Maman. The day is just overcast,)" informed Gabrielle, pulling out her wand to conjure a flame for the wood in the stove. She nearly dropped it as if the wand itself was burning - no spells now!
"(The stove is still cold! Put me back. Put me back carefully until a real witch needs me,)" barked the metal face on the kettle. The sauce pan added, "(Yes! Yes!)" The frying pan said nothing, busy as it was humming a tune of some sort. Though, to know that meant that one had once asked since the actual sound was more of an annoying buzz. That was why it was here, and no longer in Maman's kitchen.
Gabrielle realized that she would have to start the fire the old-fashioned way. She started edging her way carefully around the chalked line drawn on the floor, which marked the boundary of one of the places where the Past was too strong. The jar with ashwinder egg paste, under its layer of oil, was on the shelf behind the stove. Gabrielle did not see the tiny gold spoon used to apply the dark red paste though. She dared not use one of the utensils Maman had brought, and she knew enough not to use her fingers, because that had hurt. A lot.
Gold, thought Gabrielle, was shiny and did not tarnish, did not stain. The various blades and, eh, things hidden in the muggle knife were shiny, and also stainless. At least, that was what was written on them in tiny print. Gabrielle decided that resisting tarnish was the important attribute, certainly more so than color or sheen. She chose the long and rather plain blade for the task; it was just ordinary, unlike the more dangerous-looking and exotic options. Gabrielle carefully scooped out a dollop of the red paste, her hands fully inside the firebox in case there was a spill. She was being careful.
Gold, a noble metal, does not tarnish because it does not normally react with other elements. Stainless steel does not tarnish because the element chrome that it is alloyed with it forms a protective oxide. These are not the same. As the smothering oil, taken from a gland in a dragon's neck, not so much rare as decidedly inconvenient, dripped away, the finely ground ashwinder eggs ignited. The blade quickly heated to red-hot, then further to a blinding yellow-white while spitting white sparks.
This was alarming. This was unexpected, and alarming. The adjectives very or even extremely came to mind, but Gabrielle did not panic. Panic when a bit of fire gets slightly out of hand is the sort of thing that leads to hectares burning. For which she had already apologized. Gabrielle wiped the blade against the wood in the firebox, and quickly pulled her hands back as the dry wood burst into flames also. The knife was dropped onto the stone of the hearth, and the lid was replaced on the jar. Without panic, nothing bad had happened.
At least, nothing as bad as burning the farmhouse to the ground. Which, in Gabrielle's opinion, would not have been a poor result at all, really, since then she and her family would have had to stay at the Burrow. There was now only half a blade sticking out of the gift from Gaston, which was a little upsetting, but the immediate problem was the smoke. It should have been going up the fat metal pipe from the stove and then out of the chimney. Instead, the grey smoke from the burning wood was pouring from the firebox door.
"(There is finally heat, but I am still empty,)" complained the kettle. "(Do you even know what I am for?)"
"(Cough! Cough!)" the sauce pan added. That was said, of course, because there were no lungs behind the embossed face.
"(Damper,)" announced the frying pan cryptically before returning to its buzzing.
Gabrielle stared at the growing pall. Smoke was not as bad as fire, so long as the windows could be opened, but -why- was it not using the chimney? It was natural for smoke to go upward, not sideways. Although, a second thought noted calmly, this same errant smoke had no trouble rising up the stairs. Calmly, but with a kind of tremor to it, as if possible disaster was near. This was true, added a third thought. Maman was upstairs.
Gabrielle flew to the window, cursing silently, and wrenched it open. The slamming startled the caretaker, who banged his head pulling it from the space between the wheel and the rest of the car. He cursed, possibly, as far as she could tell, and the hairs on Gabrielle's neck went up. Even in the urgency of the moment she noticed that. It might be a premonition, which was Seeing more than the Past, more than just the only-nearly-Past.
"Ah. It's only ye, ma mirky lass," said the caretaker.
"(The chimney is not working,)" blurted Gabrielle, because she doubted he would answer the question, "What were you doing?"
"A peaty bog is clearer than 'at," muttered the man, scratching his head. "If ye ur smokin' a meal at fesh, ye shood dae it outdoors."
"Eh, what?"
"Th' hoose is fillin' wi' reek." Now he held a wand, so he -was- definitely a wizard. It was, Gabrielle frowned, pointed at her, which was rude.
Oh mon Dieu, thought Gabrielle, there is no time for this. "I zink zat ze chimney has stopped working." The wand was still pointed at her, but the caretaker was now slack-jawed. That, that was not good, knew Gabrielle.
"(I think that your brain has stopped working,)" said the voice that Gabrielle had been dreading. It was Maman. "Robert, s'il vous plait." This was said with a wave that, as the wide sleeve of the thick housecoat slid down, revealed a pale, delicate, and quite bare arm. The caretaker all but collapsed to his knees, which were also bare because of his kilt.
"Willnae be boot a minute, mah bonnie sweit mistress! Nae boot a minute!"
Robert Mac- eh- Mac… Robert-the-caretaker came in through the window, which Gabrielle found shocking, but not quite as shocking as what did not seem to be under the the tartan plaid he wore. Not that she was looking! He hurried to the stove.
"(Why are you doing this?)" asked Madame Delacour. She swept her wand in a circle over head, then flicked it toward the window. The fog of smoke in the air formed itself into a twisting, twirling, snake-like cloud racing for the outside.
It was, perhaps, thought Gabrielle, intended to be a rhetorical question. And, it was such until she finally dodged the spiraling smoke and stopped coughing. "(If we do not leave for the station in London early, then Papa will have to go as fast as the other cars on the road. Perhaps… even faster?)" Gabrielle kept her face neutral even as her mother's fell ever so slightly. The caretaker Mac.. Each - ear? Arm? It was something he had two of. He was now using the butt of his wand to bang on the metal pipe that led from the stove to the chimney. Gabrielle did not see the sense in that.
"Willnae be but a moment, mem!"
That loud assurance derailed Maman's reply as she turned to give the pipe-banger a polite wave. Gabrielle rather doubted the claim herself. The caretaker was standing on the stove now, and she could see his ridiculous green boot beginning to smoulder. That did not really concern her though, so she pressed her advantage with Maman. "(Also, what about Louis? If we, eh, miss the train and have to use the car to travel all the way to Hogwarts, then he will have even less time with you!)"
A second thought wished that the first thought had been a different thought. To speak of missing the train - had she just jinxed herself? She did -not- want to be an apprentice forever. And then little Louis - reminding Maman that she would not have much time with him also reminded herself that she would have even less. When would Louis see his favorite aunt again?
"(Madame, please! Save us from these idiots!)" cried the kettle. Not that Gabrielle cared, but she could see that the kettle had been nudged by MacEach-arm-or-leg's boot. A smear of molten green rubber marred its polished surface.
"(Yes, yes, these idiots!)" added the sauce pan. It was becoming obvious to Gabrielle why it had been brought here from Delacour Manor.
"(Am I cooking bacon?)" wondered the frying pan. "(Something sizzles, no?)"
"(We are not that far from London,)" said Madame Delacour uncertainly. "(I am sure that your father will -)"
"(You are on fire!)" warned Gabrielle. "Eh, zat is, you are on fire!" This was directed to the oblivious caretaker, whose boot was now doing something more than smouldering.
"It's comin' noo," he warned. At least, Gabrielle thought it was a warning. She also thought that those were not at all just muggle boots, since even under Maman's thrall he should have felt the burning.
With a slash of his wand the caretaker sliced apart a section of the pipe and thumped it. Out fell the seat cushion missing from the chair by the backdoor, now shredded, and possibly three of Papa's socks, equally shredded. Next came a #2 cauldron-worth of acorns, owl treats, toad pellets, half a box of crackers, and half a dozen tea biscuits. Sauveuret followed last, sliding backwards trying to hang onto the smooth insides of the metal tube. Another thump shook the squirrel loose, and he landed in the frying pan. Only briefly, though, with a panicked leap onto Maman, and then another, even more panicked leap onto Gabrielle's head.
Gabrielle was stunned. Not by the furry collision of her familiar, nor his burrowing down the neck of the quidditch jersey and into the left sleeve. That was the reason she was wearing the oversized jersey. The shock was from the knowledge that the stove had been used last evening, which meant that Sauveuret had spent the hideously early morning hours building a nest that he knew he would be leaving!
Or it may be, came a second thought, that Sauveuret had not expected to leave his new nest. No, had not -wanted- to leave his nest. Gabrielle had never considered that the squirrel would not wish to come with her to Hogwarts, and that thought made her sad. She pulled open the sleeve of the jersey to peek. Sauveuret was licking his four scalded paws, one after the other. There was probably some of the #5 unction from the Pommesjous in her handbag. Gabrielle was not exactly sure what it was good for, since she had been instructed to use it for nearly every malady the creatures she had cared for during the apprenticeship had suffered from. She would need to bandage his paws, of course, or it would all be licked away. Especially if Sauveuret reacted to the formula the way the stupid jarveys had, because then he definitely could not -
"Aah!" yelped Gabrielle. She looked up, holding the arm Sauveuret nestled in next to against her chest. Maman was putting away her wand. Gabrielle opened her mouth to protest, but her mother spoke first.
"(Ah, now that you are listening, tell him that he may go now,)" ordered Madame Delacour. "(Be polite, of course. Perhaps, I think, tell him to go and find more bushes. He seems to enjoy that, yes.)"
"(You can speak his language, you know this,)" complained Gabrielle. Robert MacCaretaker had refitted the pipe, though somehow it had an extra hole now so smoke continued to pour into the room. It did not look like he was finished.
"(No, I am sure I do not,)" dismissed Gabrielle's mother. "(And, child, it would be poor manners to return upstairs to get ready to leave while he is here. I thought you were in a rush?)"
Gabrielle huffed in annoyance, remembering that Maman's judgement of maturity was determined by how little arguing was done. She cleared her throat, "Robert… eh, Robert. My mozzer -"
"Nearly hae it noo, jist need tae tighten up th' gaps, yer mirkyness."
Gaps? It is more like a gape, thought Gabrielle. She started again, "Eh, yes. Zen, my mozzer… eh…" 'Wants you to go away' did not sound polite at all, just accurate. "Zat is, ze, eh, ze cludgie - my mozzer does not wish to see it from ze house. Zere could be bushes, or, eh, vines, yes?" Or it could be carried off and burned.
"Och, yer bonnie maw is keen oan creepers? Ah ken some 'at will coure it reit awa'. 'At will be dain, nae problem, lass."
That did not, considered Gabrielle, sound much like 'yes, I will go plant some bushes right now.' Creepers might mean vines, though. "Zank you, I, eh, zink. Your foot is not burning?" He still stood with one foot on the stove, green rubber dripping down the side of the boot.
The reply was, very strangely, in song. "Wellies they ur wonderful, och wellies they ur sweel!"
"Mes anges, bon matin."
"Papa! Bon - " That was all Gabrielle could manage. Her father stood at the top of the stairs dressed nearly as strangely as the caretaker. He wore a thick-looking, quilted shirt and trousers that appeared to be merged at his bulging waistline, white, with small, colored patches of symbols and writing covering his chest. The largest read 'Xietmiz', which was the peculiar name of the distillery he ran. Under an arm he carried a shiny white globe.
"'F it wasnae fur yer wellies, whaur woods ye be?" continued the caretaker. The problem with the stove's pipe was resolved. He had created a second opening in the fat pipe that gathered in the smoke that the first opening allowed to escape. The sooty cloud was now confined to a tight, looping path between the two points. The caretaker jumped down from the stove, during which the hem of his kilt fluttered up. Gabrielle turned away quickly.
"Henri?" asked Gabrielle's mother uncertainly.
"(I am very hot and still have no water.)"
"(I have studied the fastest of the muggle drivers, and they all wear garments such as these,)" explained Gabrielle's father, answering his wife's unvoiced question. "(I assure you, we will make the train.)"
" - ae the flu or e'en plurisee, if ye didnae -"
"Robert!" snapped Gabrielle, more sharply than she intended, but he seemed to have lost his senses. "Eh, ze, eh, 'cludgie'? For my mozzer?" She smiled sweetly, which was easier to do if she saw no part of the man's kilt.
"Reit ye ur, mistress ay th' mirk as Ah say. Yon cludgie will be seen nae more by yer brammer mammy. Ah teel ye 'at!" The caretaker clapped his hands together once, making Gabrielle flinch.
"Eh… bon! Good. I zink," said Gabrielle. "If you plant zem, eh, soon, zen perhaps zey will be ready when Maman returns?"
"(I am so hot that I think I will melt,)" declared the kettle. "(Melt? Oh steam! Her plan all along! Murder! I am being murdered!)"
"(I am done for as well! She has killed us!)" shouted the sauce pan.
"( - Alain Proust being the most famous Frenchman. See here? I have transfigured my hat to match his, er, helmet. I believe that is - )"
"(No problem,)" chirped the frying pan. "(I am cast iron!)"
"But when yer oot walkin', in th' country way abit -"
"(Enough,)" said Gabrielle's Maman quietly. It was barely heard over the commotion, but it felt like it echoed around the room drowning the ruckus out. The room fell silent. MAdame Delacour had her wand out, and used it to lift the cooking pots from the stove. Gabrielle was glad to see that the wand was pointed elsewhere, even though she had not been part of, at least not recently part of, the racket that was finally quieted. It just seemed like the sort of thing that she would be blamed for.
"Merci, Robert," said Maman, with a tilt of her head toward the door. Her hair shimmered even in the dull light from the grey skies.
"Reit, th' cludgie," said the caretaker, sounding surprised. That might have been caused by the unexpected movement of his legs, which had started for the door on their own.
"(Gabrielle, load your things in the car, then -wait- in it. Do not play with any of the buttons.)"
Gabrielle started to argue, but bit back her protest. Maman did not like cars, and so probably did not know how they worked. The vehicle needed to be running for the buttons to something. Probably. She also changed her mind about arguing because she had not been last. Also, it was mature. This time it was Papa who would receive the full brunt of Maman's attention. He was likely to have the worst of it, even if she had not had breakfast yet. Gabrielle took up the handle of her school trunk, and dragged it behind her as she hurried for the door.
"(Henri, you look utterly, thoroughly, and completely -)" That was all Gabrielle had heard before she escaped the expected howler-like outburst. "(- dashing!)"
v - v - v - v - v
There was an old saying, or, at least, one said by old people. It was this: magic fulfills the want, not the need. Gabrielle did not much like the proverb because, in moments of regret and disappointment, the aphorism sounded a lot like "I told you that wouldn't work", "I bet that hurts," or "You are a silly little girl." The saying came to mind now because what she had wanted was for Papa to drive faster, but what she had needed was to get to King's Cross station in time to meet Suki-chan and get on the train.
Papa -was- driving faster. Much, much faster, and almost cackling with glee over the way the new speed-dependent spells were working. The blur of cars they passed was entirely due to those, and the absence of Maman. She had decided to visit Louis which Gabrielle was both grateful for, and jealous of. The car's progress certainly had nothing at all do with Papa's ridiculous clothing. It was a surprise to Gabrielle that her mother had allowed him out in public like that.
While the car and Papa could keep up with muggle traffic, could more than keep up with muggle traffic, could more than -double- the speed of muggle traffic, turning was still a challenge. Or, more directly, knowing when to turn, something Gabrielle had come to realize when they raced into Liverpool.
Gabrielle was willing to take some of the blame, since most would go to Papa. The great majority, in fact. While the sensation of speed did not bother her in the least, it was actually fun, barrelling through a clot of lorries at breakneck speed did. She had shut her eyes for a while, and so had missed the chance to spot the correct turn. Gabrielle would have assumed, well, reluctantly assumed more of the blame had she had any idea what the correct turn was, but her father had stuck the handwritten set of directions to the window on his side of the car, and then had never, ever looked at them again.
The problem, aside from Papa, was that they had no map. A list of turnings is perfectly serviceable until a step is missed. Then it is just a List of one's further failings. Gabrielle could not work out how Papa was deciding where to go. She suspected that he was navigating by the stars; given that it was well into the morning it explained the lack of success. And, he was too intent on passing everything to use his wand.
At that point Gabrielle brought out her beetle. She had two now. The second she had found gripping a, eh, thing on the inside of the, eh, thing where the outside wheel was. She had tried to open the discovered beetle, but it had not been cooperative, flailing legs and snapping mandibles. Gabrielle was certain, fairly certain, mostly certain - George had complained that they had not sold many - that the metal bug had been placed by the caretaker. She had had plenty of time to find it - Papa had been on the stairs when she fled, had been dismissed, but then he had only emerged from the farmhouse nearly an hour later. That was a long time even for one of Maman's scoldings, and Papa had exited looking far too jovial for that. That was, in Gabrielle's opinion, weird.
Gabrielle had intended to contact George for help in escaping the busy roads of Liverpool. The spell was a squib, however, when it came to how that might be done. They were driving too fast to even read the street signs! Staring at the veined wing membrane, though, ready to peck out her plea for rescue, gave Gabrielle an excellent idea. She sent her message, then told her father to find a road going to the right. George, Gabrielle assumed, was either in his in the shop or in his flat above the shop. The shop was on Diagon Alley, and that was in London. The little arrow under the wing case pointed the way to them all. And if George got her message and did go to King's Cross station, then they have no trouble finding it! And, there would even be a chance for a farewell kiss…
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle kept watch on the glowing arrow. She and her father were in London now, which still had wide roads but not the sort of wide roads that had been so useful before. Her favorites had been the ones starting with 'M' and then a number, since those were not confusing and had very large signs that essentially said, "This way to London." As the arrow swung around, it confirmed what Gabrielle already suspected: they were going in circles and not getting any closer to the station, no matter how fast the insane man next to her who used to be her father drove.
There was a way out of this. A desperate ploy, but one Gabrielle knew Fleur had used more than once. It was all a matter of getting one's mind right. And, pitching one's voice a little lower. Gabrielle cleared her throat quietly, checked the arrow, then commanded, "(Henri. Stop.)" She added a wave of her right hand, in case it helped, since her utterance had not really sounded like Maman was suddenly in the car.
One or the other worked, though, and her father veered the car to side, screeching to an abrupt stop. Gabrielle was halfway out of the vehicle before it had stopped rocking. "(Thank you, Papa! I will walk from here! Meet me on the platform if you find a place to put the car. I love you, bye!) she said in one breath as she struggled to pull her trunk from the rear seats.
"(Ehh, but.., Wait, my lamb.)"
Gabrielle was already hurrying toward the huge arched windows when she remembered something important. She called back to her confused father, "(Give my love to Louis!)"
v - v - v - v - v
Finding the right platform in the sprawling building was not hard. Gabrielle could have consulted the fake beetle for the general direction, but she worried about attracting muggle attention. There were quite a few muggles gazing down at small devices in their hands, but of course none of those had six legs and wings. Instead, she asked for help from the first -accompanied- elderly man she found. Margie and Stanley, not Stansy as he requested, were very helpful. Almost too helpful. Even though the chest was mostly empty, the couple had insisted that Gabrielle take their luggage cart. Well, mostly it was Stansy who insisted. They, he, said that it was no trouble, but in the end the old man was huffing and red in the face, and his wife was ruefully shaking her head, after all of their own bags were lifted off. That did mean, though, that the idea of them leading Gabrielle to her platform had to be abandoned, for which Gabrielle was glad. The offer would not have hurried things at all; Margie was using a walking frame.
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle reached the area between platform 9 and platform 10, and quickly found Suki-chan. She was not hard to spot; she was wearing the same billowing red and white outfit as before. Gabrielle did not see George, but assumed that he was waiting on the other side of the magical barrier. With flowers was probably too much.
Suki-chan bounded over to Gabrielle and hugged her tightly, which was a surprise. "Gigi-chan! I worried you were attacked," explained the girl, her long black hair draping Gabrielle like a cloak.
"Eh, no. Zat only happens when - " replied Gabrielle before catching herself. "My fazzer got lost. Eh, where are your zings?"
"I have pushed my things through," said Suki-Chan. "Fuheime-dono, my owl, can be difficult. We should hurry now." She made little shooing motions with her hands toward the disguised portal, which Gabrielle initially bristled at since she was not a child, but then decided that it was just Suki-chan's strange way. Her new friend was from Japan after all,
Gabrielle looked around. There were small knots of muggles not far off, but they were preoccupied with their own luggage. Gabrielle pushed the borrowed cart toward the wall. She did not run toward it, did not take mincing, tentative steps just before. Gabrielle knew the barrier was there, and what would happen. This was not her first time passing through such a thing, although the last time had been with her Maman. Gabrielle moved with the confident stride of someone who had -not- just been caught in the act, something she had learned from Philippe. Her behavior would not attract attention, and even if someone saw she would be through before they could be certain of what they had really - Wham! Pomf!