Chapter Fifteen - No Rest
Gabrielle was confined to the bed. It was a nice bed, larger and noticeably better than the others she had seen in the infirmary. The bed was also cordoned off from the rest by curtains, with a chest of drawers across from the foot of the bed. Madame Pomfrey had not been teasing when she had said that she had special accomodations set aside. The chest of drawers was piled high with stuffed toy owls, unicorns, and bears. How old did the healer think she was? Yes, she had her favorite stuffed animal still, a pinkish nundu, but it was at home.
Suki-chan found the display very cute, and spent some time rearranging it. She was mostly fine now, though she said that her hand was a little weak. The treatment for that was, predictably enough, rest. Gabrielle was resting as well, since Madame Pomfrey had magically removed the bones from her crushed foot. The iron galoshes were not just for hooved creatures, Gabrielle thought with a sigh. Suki-chan had enjoyed poking at the floppy foot. Gabrielle was told that it felt exactly like 'mochi'. That was rice pounded into a thick paste, which was pretty much what had happened to her foot. The inevitable Skele-Gro was saved for the evening, where she might 'sleep through the worst of it'. Gabrielle, having gone through the ordeal at, eh, at her earlier school - twice - was quite sure that would not be the case.
Suki-chan started to work on the flowers next to the plush toys, and Gabrielle could tell that she was avoiding the opportunity to rework portions of the Potions assignment. She could have just said that her hand hurt too much. Gabrielle turned her attention to what the owls had delivered earlier. Maman's letter came first so that she could have George's package to cheer herself up, if need be.
Gabrielle read the letter once, then again. Papa was organizing a 'Grand Prix', to be sponsored by the distillery. There was a prize, but what that was supposed to mean was some sort of big broom race, but without the, eh, brooms. Instead, 'lightly' charmed muggle cars were to be used instead. Maman was asking if the Weasleys' car, because Gabrielle had been in it more often, was merely charmed or actually cursed. Did the wretched thing, Maman asked, hold a curse that caused its drivers or passengers to become magically obsessed with speed, noise, metal, and noise? Or did Papa just need a small adjustment to the top of his head?
Probably the adjustment, thought Gabrielle. It may be that the curse, if there was one, did not affect witches. Certainly Hermione had shown no such obsession with speed. Ron had though, so that was a possible explanation, though not to why there would be a curse at all. Gabrielle would never believe that Mr Weasley would place one on his own vehicle, or use one in general.
Gabrielle could sense Maman's dilemma. She was uncomfortable with muggle vehicles, no matter the driver. She said wheels disturbed her humours. Gabrielle was certain that a word from her would make Papa give up his plans. Except, well, Maman also believed in Papa's greatness. She could never say no if it was something that Papa truly wanted. That was, Gabrielle had been told, a big part of the story of how they fell in love. So this letter was a slightly desperate attempt by Maman to find some reason for saying no. Gabrielle guiltily tried to deny having the thought that this letter would probably be useful in bargaining.
Maman had included a picture of Louis eating, mostly, some cake. He was very enthusiastic about it, which was why it was all over his face. And the table. Also, the wall behind him. Gabrielle like to think of Fleur smiling, all the while slowly dying inside from the mess. Suki-chan found Louis to be very cute as well, but Gabrielle was not going to let her keep the picture. She had her wand now.
Gabrielle untied and pulled the twine around George's package free, the top of which promptly exploded in a blare of tinny trumpets and, with relief, a blast of confetti. That it was not something more noxious showed that Fred was not involved, at least, with the wrapping. She vowed to herself, again, to remember to open things at arm's-length next time, brushing confetti from her face. Sukiya rubbed the colored bits from her eyes.
The top of the box was gone now, so Gabrielle reached inside to pull out the first of the unknown number of items within. Unexpectedly, the item grabbed her hand back. A nightmare scenario for her, she jerked her hand back out of the box with only the slightest of ear-piercing shrieks.
"Wa! Kaikei-tan!" laughed Suki-chan as Gabrielle shook free of the creature.
Gabrielle recognized it now. It was a garden gnome, or, more likely, a guardin' gnome, though it did not have the red cap that indicated membership. The gnome picked itself up from where it had landed. Which had been on the bed that Gabrielle would have to sleep in tonight. At least Madame Pomfrey would be able to sterilize the sheets.
"Where is dis?" asked the gnome, looking around and scratching something that dropped to the sheets from its scraggly hair. Eww, thought Gabrielle. When he spotted the display of toy animals, he dropped into a crouch. "Badgers!"
"Eh, what? No. Zose are bears," explained Gabrielle before wondering why she was bothering. Why would George send a gnome? Or was -this- Fred's contribution?
"I'm doon fer, bit I'll fit 'em off whi' ye run."
"Eh, what? Zose are toys - zey can not move," reassured Gabrielle. She should not have said anything; the gnome would probably lose in the fight. What was the thing to do? It had been a long while - oh, yes. "Report!"
The gnome jumped up with his hand in a possible salute. He still faced the inanimate threat on the chest of drawers. "Field Mejer Pipe here, sah!"
"Eh, you are ze field measure? What does zat mean?"
"Thas rit bigjob, an' it's verry imp'tant an' all. Ev'ry day I show where da corners of da field are."
Gabrielle was becoming quite certain as to which of the twins had put the gnome in the box. What was she to do with it? "Never mind zat. Why were you in ze box?"
That seemed to stump the lumpy-headed creature for a bit as he looked around anxiously. "'Ere to guard da new pro'tip, rit? Verry imp'tant an' all, rit?" said the gnome. "'M sure it's 'ere somewhere…"
"Kaikei-tan is funny," giggled Suki-chan. "Is it your pet?"
"Non, definitely not," replied Gabrielle.
"Miss Delacour!" The curtains enclosing the bed were thrown open. "I came as soon as I could!"
It was the first-year, Mags, who did not appear to be wet, or even damp. This was the first time Gabrielle had ever seen the girl completely dry. "Eh, okay…"
"Is that a garden gnome? I'll take care of it! My dad said I was the best at it."
"Eh, no, it is -"
"Eas' now, bigjob. Dis is off'all cor' bizness an' - fox and badger!" Mags snatched up the gnome by his legs, and started to spin. "Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!"
The Gryffindor released the creature, sending him up and over the far curtains in a high arc. There was no thud, splat, or clatter though. Nothing but a distant, "Coo, now tha's lucky. Sof' as a ship." Gabrielle could not decide if she was relieved or disappointed.
"I heard you fought a hippogriff! I'm so glad you weren't killed!" burst Mags. She swung a burlap sack onto the bed.
"Eh, no, zat is not true. Ze table fell on my foot, only," corrected Gabrielle. "Hippogriffs are no problem." Now that she was older, of course, and did not look like she needed a feeding.
"As expected of a genius!" chirped Suki-chan.
"They said it was going to eat Goony and you stopped it with one punch!" Mags was looking at Suki-chan in an odd way. Gabrielle thought, Goony?
"Oh, eh, I am sorry. Suki-chan, zis is Mags. Remember, from Filch's office? Mags, zis is, eh, Miss Shimagina," introduced Gabrielle. Some hierarchy was needed. "She came from Japan. And 'zey' are wrong. I would never punch an animal." Perhaps a slap, if they were being silly.
"Can I sit on the bed too?" asked Mags.
"Eh, okay. What is in ze bag?"
"I brought some pudding I snuck from the kitchens," replied Mags, as she kicked off her shoes. Gabrielle had been about to ask if she had gotten any tarts, but stopped, surprised, as Mags pushed off her skirt too. The first-year sat down next to Gabrielle and slid her bare legs beneath the covers. She was very next to Gabrielle.
"Eh…"
v - v - v - v - v
Mags, healthy if not completely sane, was dismissed from the infirmary by Madame Pomfrey. The first-year complained that it was unfair because Miss Shimagina got to stay, until the healer revealed to her that Sukiya had been poisoned and needed rest. Gabrielle could already sense that Mags would soon be telling others that Miss Delacour could neutralize poison as well as stop hippogriffs. Still, there had been tarts, and those had not been in bad shape considering how they had been packed.
Gabrielle went back to the contents of the package from George, while Suki-chan sighed over Potions. The main difficulty for Suki-chan was that none of the sources for the ingredients were the ones she had grown up with in her native land. She also tended to confuse grating, chopping, shredding, and slicing, and so needed to be watched in the practicals. That was Gabrielle's job, since watching was almost all she was allowed to do. For now.
A red cap made for a small, potato-like head came out of the box next. Gabrielle dropped it onto the floor because she was sure it was absolutely gross. She gave a thought to the gnome now lurking somewhere in the infirmary, and did not like that either, since the gnome would be looking for her. She should have insisted on the Skele-Gro right away.
Gabrielle pulled out a folded sheet of parchment, which was a too brief letter from George. There was no promise regarding the Halloween dance. Again. The correspondence did have a spell to try, instructions for the 'Weasley Wonderful WanderFloo', and a list of commands that Pipe, the guardin' gnome, could mostly reliably follow. That was a rather short list, and mostly variations on the theme 'run' or 'hide'. All of it was completely overshadowed by the promise of a visit. Not for the dance, of course, but it would give her a chance to extract the needed pledge because George could be very silly. There were many quiet hallways with alcoves, where perhaps she would try to be very, eh, persuasive.
Gabrielle pulled out the next bit of folded parchment, tapped it with her wand and tried the spell. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." Wait, urged a late second thought, what?
"Nani?" asked Suki-chan. "You are?"
"Eh, well, I am stuck in bed, so I am not helping anyone. I zink zat counts," said Gabrielle. "Oh, it, eh, is un map of ze school wizz, wizz… mon Dieu…"
The parchment bloomed with hundreds of names, some moving along corridors, some in neat rows in classrooms. Amazing!
Part of Gabrielle was panicking though. That part drew her attention to the large heading: "Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs" Wormtail? That was the rat-wizard in Albania. That -had been- the rat-wizard in Albania. He had sort of… dissolved, she supposed. Why would George send her this?
"Muu, we are here!" said Suki-chan. While the foremost thought in Gabrielle's head was worried over Wormtail's involvement with the map, a second thought worried over this being another sort of little arrow pointed right at her. This left a mere third thought to wonder if the occasional, eh, cooing noises Suki-chan made actually meant something in Japanese. Sukiya suddenly shifted over to press against her. "My name moved! Ara, look, it is kaikei-tan."
There was a little dot labelled Pipe, which was being chased by a dot labelled Poppy Pomfrey. "Is zat Japanese for garden gnome?" asked Gabrielle, now distracted. Pipe had gotten into Madame Pomfrey's rooms, which meant that the creature had passed close by her curtained bed on the way. Perhaps, thought Gabrielle, there was no need to worry.
"No. It means 'little potato'," replied Sukiya. "Like you would call child."
"Ah, thought Gabrielle, like being called 'little cabbage'. Going back to her worry though, if there were four names, did that mean that there were three other maps? Wormtail was dead, and Tibault, but what if one of the others named there started working with You-Know-Who? What if You-Know-Who blamed her for what happened in Albania, even though she had only thrown a rock at the supposedly possessed Granecole, and he wanted revenge? Was there a way to turn the map back into blank parchment?
Gabrielle pulled out a bag of Floo powder next. Worries aside, she was quite pleased with the number of things the box yielded. Even if there had been Pipe and his cap. The powder was followed by a clock-sized, hefty wooden box, one side of which looked like a regular door to a house. Attached to the door was a small plaque reading '#1 Bludger Blvd'. The 'v' of the shortened version of boulevard had come a little loose and turned upside-down, making it look like 'Blnd'. A bumpy delivery was the likely cause, though a second thought had some doubt. She would try a sticking charm later since it would stay the right way round.
The miniature door handle on the miniature door was not locked, so Gabrielle opened it. Facing away from her this time, which of course meant that there was no shower of confetti. Or worse. Inside of the box was a short note, which was not as interesting as the actual interior of the box itself. It reminded Gabrielle of a doll house, though one with a strange sense of proportions. There was a hearth that completely dominated the tiny room, with a small fire smouldering within it. A small chair and table were set to the side, but both had almost no depth to them. The pattern on the rug was the same, all sort of compressed at the back edge. Gabrielle found it odd because in a world of magic one could never tell how much space there would be, while the box seemed to definitely know how cramped it was.
It was a 'Weasley Wonderful WanderFloo', according to the note from inside. A first-of-its-kind breakthrough, the note continued, in wizarding communications. One hundred percent satisfaction is intended. Not for transportation because you won't bleeding fit.
"Is that for Pipe-tan?" asked Sukiya. "Madame Pomfrey threw him outside." She was pointing to the map.
"Eh, what? Zat is, eh, no. It is a Floo, a new kind," explained Gabrielle. There was a warning of a possible fire hazard, and an address added by hand.
"O-oh. We do not have it in Japan," said Suki-chan. "Not since last war, it is said."
Gabrielle took a pinch of Floo powder from the bag and dropped it into the miniature hearth. Normally one would lean into the hearth to speak, but the door was not quite big enough for her head and the opening on the hearth too small anyway. How could this work? "WWW Number Four Privet Drive," announced Gabrielle carefully, her face partially wedged into the box. She had opted to use the abbreviated version of the preamble. To hear better, she pulled back and put her ear to the box. How could this work?
Well, it seemed to Gabrielle, it did not work. It was possible she had used too little of the glittery powder - she had used less because the hearth was so small. That was easy to fix. She set the box so the hearth faced upward, and upturned the bag of powder over it.
The falling powder landed in the now-horizontal, magical flame just as a tinny voice said,"What's this Gigi, skiving off aargh!"
Gabrielle set the box with the Floo back upright. That seemed to work, she thought. It was a thought to drown out a second thought that knew, from personal, painful experience, what disaster might be wrought from using extra powder in an open connection. "Hello? George?"
"Hello luv. How'd you know it was Fred?" A very small head and torso appeared in the hearth. That was odd; normally one only leaned a little into the hearth.
"Eh, well, sometimes it is easy to tell."
"This be one of the times then - his eyebrows are off," said George. "Did I forget to mention that this prototype is top secret? Only I can't help noticing someone right next to you."
"Oh, eh, zis is Suki-chan. You remember from London, yes?" said Gabrielle. How could he see anything? Neither of them were near the hearth. "Zere was, eh, nozzing about it being secret."
"Moshi moshi," greeted Suki-chan.
"Er, right. Cheers. Didn't Pipe give you his note? Spent ruddy hours going over with the little runt what to do."
"Eh, zere was a girl, Mags, who, eh, tossed him across the room."
"Madame Pomfrey threw Pipe-tan out window," added Suki-chan.
"Madame Pomfrey? You're in the infirmary? What - hang on a moment. For Merlin's sake, someone go and get Verity so he quits his whinging! Sorry about that -"
"Gigi-chan has mochi foot," confided Sukiya.
"You mean mochi mochi foot, surely?"
"Suki-chan was stung by the ozzer beetle and poisoned," described Gabrielle.
"What?" asked George after a long silence.
"Zis is true. She was, eh, playing wizz ze legs and it stung her. Zat happened in ze middle of your message," explained Gabrielle. She wished that the image of George was a little larger, but so far her satisfaction was one hundred percent. "It was, eh, very bad."
"I like beetle-san's legs. They are very cute."
"I'll put a mark in that column for you, bringing the total there to, er, one," said George. "Where is the bloody thing now?"
"Madame Pomfrey put it in a jar. Using ze pickle tongs," explained Gabrielle. "Eh, also, she needs more of ze, eh, ministers."
"That's good for me, then - I won't have to use up another trick to sneak in. Just need to clear my calendar," said George. He turned to the side. "Oy, you lot. I'm off, right?"
"You are coming now?" asked Gabrielle. How could she be persuasive in bed? That, came a second thought, had to be the dumbest thought ever, eh, thought. Details of woodcuts from her Grandmere's how-to book were recalled, showing just how persuasive one could be in a bed. Gabrielle flushed pink. The problem was where the bed was.
"Never seen a case of 'mochi mochi foot' before, have I? And - wha-hey!"
"Eh, was zat a cow?" asked Gabrielle. Something larged and legged had flashed by over George's head as he suddenly crouched.
"For me it's not so much 'is it a cow' but 'why is it a cow now'," sighed George. There was an angry bellowing in the background. "Might lean more toward water buffalo this time."
"Can you, eh, come tomorrow? Ze bones in my foot will be grown by zen."
"Yeah, all right," agreed George. Sadly? Was he crushed? One side of his tiny image was brighter and seemed to flicker. "Clean up and resets will take a bit anyway."
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle winced and inhaled sharply. As she had expected, one did not sleep through the worst of it, which were sharp lances of pain stabbing her foot. That hurt, a lot, and was irritating, but not as irritating as Madame Pomfrey using the mallet and ear trumpet. Once again, her brain was not liquefying from the healer's special brew of Skele-Gro. But, Gabrielle was certain that the contents of her skull were at least slightly concussed. She wondered if Saruchi had a reference for Ephibian water in one her books.
Another irritation was the sleeping Suki-chan beside her. Gabrielle had told her friend that it was unnecessary, that she would not be getting much sleep anyway. That made Suki-chan more adamant, since she intended to comfort Gabrielle. By, apparently, sleeping soundly. Madame Pomfrey tried to evict Sukiya as well, so they could both have a proper rest. Suki-chan refused the healer too and then, to Gabrielle's horror, explained about the nightmares and the sleeping arrangements. It was so embarrassing! Madame Pomfrey assured them that bad dreams were not uncommon among first-year students, to which Gabrielle reminded her that she was a third-year and she might not even have them anymore. The protest counted for little.
There was a quiet clink in the dark of the room. More correctly, there was another quiet clink. Someone was trying to move undetected, which did not strike Gabrielle as something Madame Pomfrey would worry much about. She hoped that it was someone, at least. A something might be a rat, or Mrs Norris, or the garden gnome.
Gabrielle's thoughts connected - the rat led to Wormtail which led to the map. Suki-chan had spotted Pipe on the map before. Gabrielle could check the map to see if the gnome was trying to find its way back. If she could surprise and stun the creature, then she could wrap it tightly in bandages and leave it in the chest of drawers. Assuming it was within hopping distance.
Gabrielle slid further under the blankets and covered herself. She had to use the plain light spell, obviously, to view the map. Since she had neglected to ask about the spell to turn it off, the map was still visible. There was not much activity though, since it was the middle of the night. She found the infirmary, and also found it was not Pipe that was creeping around. The intruder was someone named Krang Earrot. Gabrielle had no idea who that was, and she would remember a name like Krang. He, or she, was probably looking to steal a potion for a prank.
Since she was not going to be sleeping, Gabrielle eventually found Pipe. The garden gnome was inside of Professor Hagrid's cottage. Not in the workroom at the back, but in the main part of the building. Had the Professor found him, or had Pipe mistaken the stone cottage for the castle? Or was Fang responsible? Gabrielle supposed that the kind thing to do would be to retrieve the stupid thing before Fang ate it. Or, Professor Hagrid tried to cross-breed it with a weasel.
Gabrielle found Magdeline Berrycloth as well. She seemed to be spending the night in the Gryffindor showers. Perhaps she missed her daily dunking in the lake? Or, thought Gabrielle, she might be part mermaid. Or half-kappa, a thought she had as Suki-chan shifted in blissful, pain-free slumber that was not as comforting as the girl might have imagined.
Earrot was now slinking away. Not that Gabrielle could tell that by the map; he or she was just staying close to the walls. Gabrielle wondered if she should get them a Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes catalogue, though a stolen potion is obviously cheaper even with the twins' commitment to the budget-conscious prankster.
v - v - v - v - v
Gagnek straightened up and massaged his temples. On the desk before him lay the copied ledger, which was surrounded by other more substantial, more official ledgers that had cost him many hoarded favors, and too many promises, to borrow. There was no profit in this, not for him. He had spent nights decoding his worthless nephew's ledger only to work out that it was not truly a proper ledger at all. Beneath the surprising layers obfuscation was a record of changes and transactions for the other ledgers, describing how one set of galleons became another and how apparently fortuitous coincidences were carefully hidden intentions.
The task was almost beyond him. It was, in fact, beyond him had he not had his nephew's records for guidance. Gagnek could see the scheme, if not completely then enough to put a name to it: prokletiyak dvoen livurid, the cursed double leverage. There was a lot that he could not see, but Gagnek was almost completely certain of two things. One was that his nephew Unk was simply not capable of setting this circular chain of debt in motion. If he was, then he would have known not to have kept the incriminating ledger. The second was that, if Unk was extremely lucky, he would merely be killed for his role. The dungeons of Gringotts held dozens of examples of how a punishment could last several lifetimes.
Debt was like investment in that both were only potential. One could live as a king until the reckoning; one could live as a pauper until the profit was taken. The curse of the cursed double leverage was that everything was debt. The investment was debt, and the profit was debt that someone else had taken on to acquire the investment, which was debt. Deceived into a loop, the profit grew each cycle. Why be tentative when it was so familiar? No one sane, or with an intact sense of duty, would do such a thing. Which is why many of the links in the chain were hidden. And not, usually, detailed in one place by a moron.
The dance of the debt would end at some point, since things with a beginning usually will come to an end. The unfortunate financial entity holding the 'investment' last would lose as all the debt became clear. And due. The strong might survive, or at least leave enough fiscal meat on its bones for vultures. The weak would not, and could spread the disaster to lenders. Entire clans could be dishonored.
Gagnek stood and dragged his thoughts from the impending calamity, redirecting them to the liquor cabinet. The eight organizations identified so far in the cursed chain were spread among five clans. There would be no amicable agreement to share the pain. It could only shatter, as these things did.
No, Gagnek suddenly realized, the burn of this liquor called tequila, a gift from Weasley, giving him a jolt. There were nine organizations involved. At each step of the cycle, between major links of the chain, galleons were siphoned away. Siphoned away to fund the Clenching Anus, or whatever his idiot nephew's cell was called now, and the so-called Destroyer. There was no way to prevent disaster, but there was a way to direct the explosion.
v - v- v - v- v
The morning was… not good. That, Gabrielle knew, was a ridiculous way to think, though. The morning was bad, and getting worse. She doubted it would be worse than the morning in Albania when the lecherous healer had extracted, ugh, the vampirism preventative, but it seemed like it would be close.
Firstly, the morning had started much earlier than mornings should start. She had not gotten much sleep because as bones regrew they had to force their way back through soft tissues, and would pinch at the joints. And there were a lot of joints in a foot. Madame Pomfrey's version of rest was solely the ability to confine a body to a bed; whether that body had barely gotten any sleep did not matter. So Gabrielle was woken, had her foot tested, and been smacked with the mallet again, just in case. Suki-chan's hand was examined also. Madame Pomfrey prescribed a strengthening draught, but no blows to the head. Gabrielle wondered if the medi-witch would notice the missing potion right off, and if she should name the culprit. Gabrielle decided that that would set a bad precedent.
Madame Pomfrey was quickly followed by the inexplicable Miss Berrycloth, who had leftovers saved from the previous night's dinner badly wrapped in a wad of napkins. The soggy remains were set next to the fresh, hot breakfast plates that had appeared with a little sparkle. Was this, Gabrielle worried, going to be a new habit? The Hufflepuff common room was not exactly a Gringotts vault.
Mags was dry again, which Gabrielle knew because the Gryffindor insisted on hugging. It was an admittedly friendly act, of course, but it would be better if such were confined to the circumstances of the infirmary.
It was not as if Mags was so much more annoying than other first-years. It was just… why? The Gryffindor could not still believe Fred's stories, could she? Especially the one about being the 'Black Widow' - who had even said that? The incident in Filch's office was probably a factor, Gabrielle had to concede, but the stupid rescue from the lake could not be. The thing was, the girl was so… close.
"Why did you sleep in ze showers last night?" blurted Gabrielle because it popped into her head and it was too early to remember to not just say whatever popped into one's head.
"How - how did you know?" gasped Mags.
Yes, asked a second thought, what will you tell her? About the map, which was obviously meant to be secret? It was only activated if one was given the secret spell. Then, nagged the same thought, will the Wonderful WanderFloo be revealed too?
"I am Gabrielle, Mistress of ze Mirk. You should know zis. How do you zink I knew?" Gabrielle put a finger to her lips to try and prevent Sukiya from answering.
"O-o-oh," breathed a wide-eyed Mags. Gabrielle had an epiphany - she might have just made a big mistake. The first-year frowned. "They said it was me that lost the House points in Herbology but it wasn't it was Helena, and it was too late to go to the lake."
"Did you tell zem zat?"
"No! I'm not a tattle," declared Mags. "Anyway, they left the water on warm so they weren't that angry. I got out of the bind before morning too!"
The hot breakfast was shared between the three girls because the leftovers were, well, soggy. What else could they be after spending the night with Mags? Yesterday's Daily Prophet, damp, was shared as well, which was how Gabrielle learned of the 'Chronicles of the Overly-Attached Girlfriend' also known as 'Towel Girl'.
Gabrielle forced herself to show a smile and to chuckle as the 'loony bint' discussed thread count and its importance to securing life goals, at length. It was hard to maintain the facade; it was hard to even breathe. The humor piece was an excerpt of her letter to George. Not exactly her letter, but based on it closely enough. Ha ha - the six ways life is improved with the correct size towels - how balmy, ho ho. The worst bit was at the end, which promised more in the next issue. Gabrielle just knew that she would be overhearing fragments of her private, personal letter all day, all week. Every time someone laughed or giggled she would wonder which piece of good advice was the source.
How and why were the first questions that came to Gabrielle, but both had obvious answers. George had copied and edited the letter and sent it to the Daily Prophet. Why? Well, because he thought it was funny. Because he found the missive to be alarmingly insane. Because her feelings were never really reciprocated. She was only an annoying, silly little girl, tolerated only because Fleur was family.
What to do about that was another question, but one that was difficult. Finding someplace dark and hidden to sulk was not going to work. There were classes to attend and detentions to serve. Even without those, it was really hard to be a Hufflepuff and be alone. Gabrielle could not even manage it in her own bed at night.
Gabrielle declared that it was time to get ready for class, if for no reason than to get away from Mags who was repeating her favorites passages out loud. Collecting her things meant finding the package from George. It had not disappeared, so there were things still in it. But unless one of those undisclosed things was a clearly written declaration of eternal love, and an apology, she was not going to be interested. The box also reminded her that he was going to visit today. What was she supposed to think about that? It was like a cake that tasted of ashes.
The morning classes passed barely noticed by Gabrielle. The dry and somnolent History of Magic was faithfully recorded by her magic quill even as Gabrielle wondered if George had really meant anything by the gift. Her Divination class should have been easy to ignore too. All she needed to do was to choose one of the boys who sat way in the back as a partner. They did not want to be there either. Gabrielle chose one of the Slytherins, because she did not want to give any Hufflepuffs the wrong idea. It all went wrong when reading the clammy palm of her reluctant partner. Why do boys never notice the dirt beneath their fingernails? Gabrielle informed him that he was fated to die of unrequited love. That was mean, but in the spirit of the dire predictions usually expected in Professor Trelawney's class. Carrow was a backbencher, but he did know his way around a palm. That really surprised Gabrielle, which made it worse when he predicted the same for her. He was just a spiteful idiot, Gabrielle knew this, but he was also right and so the tears came. Which made things really uncomfortable; she was embarrassing herself and him. She spent the rest of the class with her head buried in her arms, hoping she did not die right there and make the prediction true. He spent the remaining time drawing new lines on his palm with ink.
Of course, Gabrielle had to compose herself for the weekly detention with the Professor. The first-years were going to do tea leaves again. The assignment was to divine something about the Halloween Ball. Reactions ranged from groans to squeals. The task surprised Gabrielle by being so specific. She was surprised further when Trelawney floated two large buckets onto her desk and filled them with her wand. She then announced that she would be attending to a vital spiritual disjunction and that Gabrielle would be collecting written summaries at the end. With that, the Professor swept from the room in a jangle of charms and amulets. Gabrielle, who had started distributing teapots, could see everyone look first at the brimming buckets, and then turn their heads to her. This, Gabrielle thought, can not possibly be the correct way to have a detention.
Since they were looking so expectant, Gabrielle cleared her throat. "Eh, yes. You will, eh, find un partner in, eh, in ze ozzer House, and zen get a teapot if you do not have one yet."
Hands were raised immediately, which was actually worse than shouted questions since Gabrielle did not know many of their names. She pointed at the nearest student, "Eh, yes? You zere."
"Can I just use the time to revise? And have some tea?" Many hands went down.
"No, zere needs to be ze summary for ze Professor, you see? Zat should not take long, I zink."
"Could a person leave once they've done the summary?"
"Eh…" Gabrielle hesitated. That seemed wrong, but she could not see why. "Eh, yes, if ze summary is done -after- looking at ze leaves, of course."
Even with the generally positive tone to the class susurrus, there were still hands in the air. Gabrielle sighed and pointed again.
"Can we have more than one partner?" More hands dropped.
Oh mon Dieu, thought Gabrielle, not this again. "No! Eh, no. But, eh, you can change partners, yes, if zere is a summary for each cup."
"What does zee, sorry, the summary have to be about?" This was a nervous-looking Gryffindor.
"Anyzing to do with ze Ball," answered Gabrielle. Had that really been unclear? "Zat could mean ze initials of who you might dance wizz, what food zere will be, or what ze surprise may be - anyzing is fine."
That answer left only one hand straining for the ceiling. Gabrielle sighed again. "Yes, Miss Berrycloth?"
"Can I sit with you again?"
v - v - v - v - v
That, thought Gabrielle, went much better than the last time. So much so that she was able to leave the room with almost half the period still remaining. This was an amazing method; a variation on the proper, French method. The ones who did not want to be there quickly finished, turning in truly astounding predictions such as "There will be pudding." That left students who were at least trying. Their summaries were somewhat longer: "The leaves say I will dance with 'S' but I won't because she called me mate a snufflewort." With the written work delivered and the authors departed, there remained only a small core of dedicated practitioners, and they rapidly exhausted all of the partner-swapping possibilities. Gabrielle provided these true students seeking the Hidden Realm with as much advice as she could, which was mostly to squint a bit and tilt the dregs so the light fell on it differently - eventually it would look like something.
There was only one problem with the expeditious completion of the detention. This problem sat behind her on the broom, as Gabrielle flew down the otherwise recalcitrant spiral staircase that led to the tower classroom.
"I wish I could fly inside the castle. You're so cool, Miss Delacour." Mags had stayed to the very end. She should, thought Gabrielle, have left with the first group based on her prediction. Although, anything to do with mud may come true for her.
"Zis is only because Madame Pomfrey said so," explained Gabrielle. She fully believed that, and was not going to change her story.
"The broom's a bit naff, mind. Didn't they have anything better?"
"It is a custom broom," said Gabrielle calmly. She knew it was not a Firebolt, but it was very, eh, reliable.
"Really?" doubted Mags.
"I need to go to Professor Trelawney's office, zen a study group. Can I drop you off at ze Great Hall?" asked Gabrielle. She regretted putting it in the form of a question. "Or ze Gryffindor tower?" added Gabrielle. She remembered that the tower was closer.
"The Great Hall," said the first-year, tightening her arms around Gabrielle's waist.
The stairs led to a vaulted, empty corridor perfect for, as much as Gabrielle's, eh, custom broom could manage, racing along. She landed the broom, though, because while she could argue that Madame Pomfrey insisted that she could not use the stairs, there was really no argument for flying on the broom otherwise. The Headmistress had been quite clear on that point. This made the suggestion of the Great Hall more foolish, as Gabrielle realized she might have given Mags the slip right there.
"I'll bet it's camouflage, right?"
"Eh, what?"
"The reason the broom looks a shambles," explained Mags. "It'll Confund the other team, and make them forget it's an official League broom!"
"Zat is really - oh, eh…" Gabrielle stopped when a tabby cat dropped down from where it had been lounging on the top of a picture frame, much to the relief of the couple in the rowboat in the painting. They had been looking up at the cat as if it were an imminent storm. The cat rose up and up until it was the Headmistress standing before the two girls.
"Miss Delacour and Miss Berrycloth. I believe you are both expected in Professor Trelawney's class?" hinted McGonagall. "Or has the classroom caught fire again?"
"No! Eh, I am sorry. Class finished, eh, early. I have ze work zey did here," explained Gabrielle. She flapped the sheaf of parchment sheets. "Zere was ze spiritual, eh, eh, disfunction, you see, and -"
"I am quite sure that I can guess the rest, thank you. You, Miss Delacour, have a rather obstreperous visitor waiting for you in the Great Hall."
"Eh…" began Gabrielle. What kind of visitor? It had to be George, right? She was not ready to face him yet! "Eh, I need to give zese to Professor Trelawney, and zen, eh, zen -"
"Dear Professor Trelawney would not be expecting those until after the normal class period. You will see to the… gentlemen in the Great Hall first. And take Miss Berrycloth with you. It has been nearly two hours since House points have been taken - she is overdue for an incident."
"I bloody well am not!"
"Five points, Miss Berrycloth, for rudeness, and for failing to see that you were being baited. And one hundred points from you, Miss Delacour, for the dress violation. Now off you go, the both of you."
"Eh, zank you, Headmistress," said Gabrielle automatically. She had not really been concentrating on the exchange, but rather trying to work out how to avoid George until she had a chance to figure out what to say to him. A demand for an apology was certain.
"A hundred points! That old bag of dung!" raged Mags, though at least out of earshot of the Headmistress. "You should be so angry!"
"Eh, what?"
"That self-righting old dragon took a hundred points from Hufflepuff! I mean, you're the Black Widow! It's not fair!"
"Oh, calm down. It is, eh, only her joke. Ze points are not taken. I have detentions instead," said Gabrielle, only a little bitterness creeping into her voice. Self-righting? Like a broom?
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle intended to separate from the first-year just as they reached the Great Hall. At least, that was her hope. Then, she would run and duck out of sight, put on the apron, and use the map to avoid having to learn what George really thought of her. Except Mags would not actually leave until they were inside the Great Hall, because that was what Gabrielle had promised. She could certainly see the attraction of throwing the first-year into the lake.
All the dread, all the tensing of legs to sprint away had been for naught, though. It was not George waiting for her, but… Stanislaw and, eh, eh, Sebastion? Gabrielle stopped short in surprise. They, well, mostly Stanislaw, were ordering several anxious-looking house-elves around in German. It did not look like it was working. This, Gabrielle knew, was about the package he had sent. Stanislaw was going to be disappointed in the shovel handle, but at least it would cost her nothing to give it back.
"Fraulein Delacour! Liebchen!" boomed Stanislaw jovially. Gabrielle creased her brow - something was not right. She hurried forward anyway, since the scattering of other students at the tables were now watching her.
"Herr Sammlermacher and, eh, Sebastion," greeted Gabrielle. That did not sound polite, but she had never learned the younger wizard's family name. "What are you doing here?" Politeness lacked again.
"You received the package, ja?" asked Sebastion.
"Eh, yes. If you had -"
"(Liebchen, do something with these house-elves,)" demanded Stanislaw in French. "(They are as useless as the students.)"
Gabrielle looked to Sebastion for a hint as to what was wrong with the older wizard, but it was Mags who spoke. "What did he say?"
"Mags!" blurted Gabrielle in surprise. She had forgotten about the first-year. "He, eh, he needs some help wizz ze house-elves."
Gabrielle turned to Stanislaw. "(What do you want from the house-elves?)"
"(Two liters of lager, a cauldron to hold that, and a schlook of Jagermeister liqueur. It's medicinal,)" listed Stanislaw with a loud laugh. He rubbed his stomach. "(A pretzel and sausage too.)"
"(Are those medicinal?)" asked Gabrielle. Was this allowed? The Headmistress had not said anything about house-elves. What was going on with him, she wondered, as he boomed a laugh.
Gabrielle relayed the requests to the nervous house-elves, having to explain both what lager was and what was meant by a German-style pretzel. It would be interesting to see what the elves could come up with. She told them to bring a bottle of the liqueur, since 'schlook' was not a unit of measure she recognized.
"That's amazing, Miss Delacour!" gushed Mags. "The house-elves aren't ever supposed to take orders from students."
"Eh, no. Zey are Herr Sammlermacher's orders, you see. I only spoke zem in English."
"Hah, no. The Hauselfin did not listen to me," scoffed Sebastion.
"Eh, okay," said Gabrielle. Did it matter that much? "I, eh, will be a moment, only, to get ze, eh, item." She really only need a moment of privacy to use the handbag.
"I can come and help!" chirped Mags.
"No, I zink - Eh…" There was a noticeable pop, and a half dozen house-elves appeared. One carried the beer and liqueur, with a cauldron full of glasses on his head. Another carried a large platter piled high with lengths of encased meat of various colors and a much smaller cauldron of mustard. The last four wrestled a gigantic pretzel onto the table. It was as wide as the table, longer than Gabrielle was tall, and in places as thick as her leg. What, wondered Gabrielle, had she said that this would result? She had described the desire pretzel as being very, very big. Was that one very too many? The house-elves bowed to her before disappearing again, except one had had a sort of grin on its face. Was this a prank? Was that allowed?
"(I never had a chance to get Herr Leistenverletzunger to deal with this after that night,)" began Stanislaw. He was undoing a screw-cap on the bottom of a tin box. The box had a leather flap on the top of it, and was hidden beneath his cloak. Some sort of orange-tinged fluid drained into the requested cauldron. "(It is a small burden,)" he added with a quiet groan.
Gabrielle watched the liquid gurgle out. "(Eh, what?)" Stanislaw soon replaced the cap, and lifted the leather flap. "(Oh my God! Is, is that your kidney?)" There were various tubes connecting him to the ruddy lump inside. The tubes pulsed rhythmically.
Stanislaw refilled the tin box with the bottles of lager, causing himself to shudder. Gabrielle wondered why he did not go to the hospital in Paris. Or, really, anywhere. "(It is fine, my dear,)" said Stanislaw through gritted teeth. Gabrielle cringed. "(The bubbles do not last that long, and it is preserved properly in alcohol, like a specimen. Now, what of the artefakt? Was there a vision?)"
The recounting of the vision for the shovel handle progressed haltingly, because Gabrielle told it to Stanislaw in French, who then passed on an abbreviated version to Sebastion in German. Sebastion always asked, it seemed, for more details. The younger wizard was clearly disappointed with the story of the shovel handle he was getting from Stanislaw.
That all changed with a single word, or more properly, a single name: Iliodor. Stanislaw ceased pouring the liqueur into the glasses of various sizes that the house-elves at provided, and drew his wand. Sebastion, now looking triumphant, aimed his wand at Mags before Gabrielle could stop him. The first-year was not turned into a newt or worse, though. She just took a sausage and sort of… wandered off unsteadily. Her uncertain gait might have had more to do with the contents of the glass she had been drinking from than any spell. Gabrielle felt a little guilty that she had not paid enough attention to warn off the Gryffindor. A second thought shrugged metaphorically - a quick dunk in the lake would clear the girl's head.
"(Names, liebchen. Names are important. Even a charmed chamber pot is revered, if it has touched Merlin's ass,)" guffawed Stanislaw.
Gabrielle wrinkled her nose at the crudity. The lager beer must be diluting the humours flowing through his submerged kidney. "(There was another name, then. The man he, eh, was to bury was, eh, Gregory Rasputin. Also, I think Madame Pomfrey can put that back properly.)" She pointed at the the box.
"Bitte, it is Gregory, or Girgori?" asked Sebastion.
"Oh, eh, Grigori, I zink." A journal - that, Gabrielle realized, is what she needed. A vision journal to record her, eh, visions. No, 'A Journal of That Revealed From the Hidden Realm by Great Talent', with that, and her name, written on it with fancy gold ink. She pointed at the corner of her mouth absently, then to the younger wizard. There was mustard on his face.
"Ja, ja, du warst richtig," said Stanislaw giddily. "Schuljunge," he added, which deepened Sebastion's blush as he wiped his face. That was apparently very funny, based on Stanislaw's braying.
Gabrielle was becoming certain that the Headmistress had merely mispronounced obnoxious. She was not trapped in Albania this time, though, so she stood to leave. "(I have to deliver these assignments,)" she announced.
"(Oh? You have not asked about a finder's fee, liebchen.)"
"(And you do not have your broken shovel,)" replied Gabrielle. Which sounded very cool, but then she knew she ruined the effect by impulsively sticking out her tongue.