Chapter Sixteen - French Witches
Gabrielle checked the annotated, animated map, and found George's name moving back down the seventh floor corridor. He was doubling back, and so she was now doubling back. The double double-back would cancel each other out. It was a little risky, but if she stayed closer to George then it was harder for him to surprise her with a shortcut. She was wearing the charmed apron, and could occasionally move faster by broom. Particularly upward, which why they had reached the seventh floor. That equaled George's apparently grimoire-like knowledge of the castle's layout. She had the map; he had the matching beetle.
The two had met, briefly, as Gabrielle was exiting the Great Hall. It had not been one of her better moments. All of the hurt, all of the confusion, all of the betrayal that was the result of 'Towel Girl' came rushing back. She had panicked and run. She fled, and George pursued, and because of that… Gabrielle felt a tiny bit better. That said, she still had no idea what to say to the man she had assumed that she was going to marry one day. So, she was not going to make it easy and kept moving.
Of course, a second thought pointed out, this game could not continue for long. She had Herbology in the afternoon, and detention with Professor Hagrid. Professor Sprout might forgive an absence if she cried enough, or she might end up with another set of detentions. The game would end at some point, though, and then she would learn the truth. The awful truth, probably, so Gabrielle intended to play as long as she could.
Which, because the true purpose of a second thought is to point out something that might have been missed, such as a patch of floor not quite the same color as the rest, was not long at all. As Gabrielle ran along the corridor to keep pace with her possibly-never-was fiancé, her foot caught on the ground and she fell forward into a now-revealed patch of sweet, sticky brown goo. Merde! It was a MolassMorass, eight galleons and two sickles - not aimed at the budget-conscious prankster. Gabrielle had seen it the catalogue, but no one had ever even asked about it. She was glad to have the short hair of the 'pixie' cut now, since not having her head glued to the floor made escape more likely. She would have to take off the apron and the Cloak of Dar - the dark cloak to free herself. And her shoes, but at least she had a hand free. Since that was that hand that held the map, Gabrielle still had an even pitch against George. Provided that she hurried, which was why her wand replaced the map in her hand so quickly. A small vanishing spell, at which she was an expert, would free her other hand.
No, screamed a second thought. That arrived just as Gabrielle was thinking, oh no. And, merde. All of which was just after casting the well-practiced, almost reflexive vanishing spell. The goo erupted into a sea of sticky brown tentacle-like blobs which flailed wildly; a wave of sweetness engulfed her. When it receded, well, it would not have mattered whatever her hairstyle was. She could only see out of one eye, and she certainly could not move. Her wand was still in her hand, at least, and would be until someone helped her or she found a way to get out.
Of course, the someone who would find her would be George. He would undoubtedly find this endlessly entertaining, like her thought on how to match both decor and skin tone when upgrading linens. There were two choices, thought Gabrielle. Fire would probably work, but had the drawback of being forbidden. And, also, likely to hurt, depending on how quickly it burned away. She could conjure quite a lot of flame, even if her wand could hardly move. The other choice was water. That was safer and actually allowed, but definitely slower, if she conjure it at all like this.
She could, in fact, conjure water in her situation. Quite loudly. She could see almost a teaspoon of water spray from her wand, and estimated that in only ten years or so her other hand would be free. That was probably not going to be quick enough, especially if she went hoarse.
"Hullo luv. Or, more formally, greetings and salutations to you, Gabrielle, Mistress of the Molass," said George, peering down at her. "No no, don't get up."
Gabrielle felt like she had already lost the argument, if there was going to be one, about how their relationship was going to be. "George," she mumbled, only partly due to the sticky tendrils of brown.
"Don't be like that, luv - that was the most fun I've had since foisting the GrandBoomer clock on the Ministry," grinned George. "You did well."
Gabrielle recalled Mags reciting lines from yesterday's Daily Prophet, and tried to imagine all of Hogwarts laughing along - no, all of Britain laughing, because George's praise for her ridiculous actions was making her forget that she was angry with him. She was the most fun. That was hard to drown out. He had published her private letter to him as a joke, though. That may be all she was, all she would ever be, to him. There was a thought that helped to focus her.
George did not notice her inner turmoil, mostly because she was almost completely buried in the trap. He was flicking his wand. Gabrielle felt there were even odds that she would be freed or deluged in brown muck again. Nothing at all seemed to happen though, at least from the monocular point of view Gabrielle had. Until, that is, George pulled and pried her slowly upright, strands of the molasses-like substance connecting her to the floor stretching until they finally collapsed.
"Er, we should find some place to clean you up. It'll harden after a bit," said George. He was holding Gabrielle steady with just the one hand while she tried to untangle her legs. "I probably should have brought some neutralizer with me, now that I think on it."
Gabrielle freed her arms, mostly. She could feel the sludge hanging from them like feathers on a wing. Her legs were less encumbered thanks to the sacrificial cloak. Would this make it into the newspaper as well? The glob of goo on her forehead started to slide. She might not be able to see anything soon, leaving her at the mercy of the one who set the trap. She might be featured in an ad for the prank in the Prophet, with photos of her oozing pathetically. Fortunately, Gabrielle realized, help was not that far off. She jumped at George. Or, at least, fell against him. Him, and his clean shirt that she could use.
"Ah, no! This is one of Fred's favorites," protested George as Gabrielle wiped her brow across his chest. His broad chest with clearly defined muscle groups. This, a second thought considered, might not have been a good idea if she wanted to stay focused. "Not one of Verity's favs, mind, so there's a bludger dodged."
"I had somezing in my eye," said Gabrielle coldly. Towels, towels, towels.
"Hey, since we're on the seventh floor, you want to see something interesting?"
"Is it ze magic room across from the tapestry?"
"Oh, you know of it? That's impressive. We can use it to get the MolassMorass off of you. Best not to use most spells, at least until it hardens up. But I think you know that." George was grinning again.
Gabrielle wished that she was wearing the iron galoshes, so that she could be sure George would feel her kick. Not that she did kick him, because it was very likely she would tangle in her heavy, clingy clothes, fall, and look ridiculous. Of course she knew that the pranks were not easily undone - she had just forgotten in the moment the vanishing spell came to mind. She turned to head to the tapestry, smearing herself on George further. That it was Fred's shirt was a bonus. Were the trousers Fred's as well? There was no reason to be surprised by a magic bathroom, thought Gabrielle, but why was this so secret? "Ze Headmistress told me, but, eh, I have never used it," she admitted. There was no reason to suffer further embarrassment by pretending otherwise, and then not know the secret to enter it.
"Dumbledore called it the Room of Requirement," explained George. He was following closely behind Gabrielle, because he was partially glued to her. He explained about walking past the blank wall three times, while concentrating on what you needed.
Gabrielle concentrated. She needed a shower and bath, obviously, but also something that would unsettle George, maybe even be a little intimidating. Something that would force him to change any assumptions about her that he had, but with a luxurious bath. On the the third pass, a dark, grimy door that was barely noticeable appeared on the wall. Gabrielle looked at it and wondered if she had done something wrong.
Once inside, she was more certain. There was a gorgeous white marble tub with stylish, modern lines; the fittings for the shower were covered in gold leaf. Those sat on a raised circular stage, with spotlights focused on it, in the middle of the otherwise dark and dingy room. Around the stage were tables and chairs, black and nearly invisible. There were at least a dozen tables before the darkness away from the center swallowed them. She could see no others, but there was a low sound like the murmuring of a crowd.
"Huh. It's - well, er… Huh," muttered George.
Gabrielle was also at a loss for words. This was like a combination of the pretzel and the castle's stairs. She had not had a specific bathroom in mind, but a shower should at least have a curtain, yes? She could not take a bath with George in the same - ah, Gabrielle suddenly recalled, she had once taken a bath when he was in the room. What a useless bit of memory for a magic room to pick up on! And a shower in those circumstances was quite another thing altogether, since that meant standing instead of hiding in the tub. "Eh, I can try again?"
"I can't say that I'm surprised at the suggestion," noted George absently. Then his tone became teasing. "I'm not sure there's time for that, so pop on up there and get started. I'll take a seat near the front. Two drink minimum, do you think?"
That, thought Gabrielle, was hardly fair. But, neither was sending her letter to the Daily Prophet for everyone to laugh at. She was angry with George, she remembered, no matter if she was the most fun. How, interrupted a second thought, was this supposed to be intimidating to him? That was part of what she had, eh, asked of the room, but, well, where was that to be found? In all aspects, this was the sort of place that she would never be…
Like Monsieur Lunky's shop in Diagon Alley, like the time in the healer's tent in Albania. Gabrielle had an epiphany - no, a premonition of sorts. George was intimidated by her raw sexuality. Her, eh, potential raw sexuality - a heretofore unnoticed part of her Veela heritage. And as an embarrassing part as one could have. That made clear what she should do. She…
Gabrielle did not take a step forward. It was all well and good to have arrived at a fundamental truth about herself and George, but it was quite another to convince the rest of herself. Gabrielle's heart was pounding, and she felt a little wobbly. Was this her raw sexuality about to manifest? Or breakfast? Could one manifest anything coated in sticky syrup? The first step would be the hardest, because that was a decision.
"Just teasing, luv," said George, leaning close to her ear. "Try for something a bit more plain, more appropriate this time."
Plain? Like her? Age-appropriate? Gabrielle bridled. George was all but mocking her with his teasing. No, that was wrong, he was mocking her. At least a little. He was obviously not intimidated right now. Could he not sense how angry she was? "Hmph! Sit down," she huffed with a wave of her hand. She took the step.
Gabrielle made it to the raised stage on momentum, willing herself not to look to see if George was sitting, coming after her to stop her, or had fallen to his knees to beg her forgiveness. The second thought added the possibility of him rolling on the floor laughing, but she probably would have heard that.
The stage needed a chair to climb onto, which she learned after she could not raise her leg high enough. The morass was hardening. Gabrielle went weak-kneed once she stood on the stage as the indistinct murmurings briefly became a ragged cheer. It was George that was supposed to be intimidated, yes? She left the perfunctory knapsack on the stage with her wand. The knapsack was standard, but she rarely carried anything but her handbag and a quill in it. With a deep breath and small hiccup, Gabrielle stepped carefully into the gleaming white tub. That elicited more vague cheering from the darkness.
One could have hot water or cold water; the gold shower head overhead could be on or not; the tub could fill or drain. That, Gabrielle summed, gave five possibilities. There were seven unlabeled gold knobs in front of her in one row of five with another two below. This was more, eh, mechanical than she would have expected. She turned the leftmost knob and was rewarded with an unexpected hissing noise. Nothing that hissed was good. Almost nothing - Professor Hagrid had a snake named Scarsdale that was very affectionate. Gabrielle twisted the knob back the way it had been, and tried the next, which appeared to do nothing no matter how far she turned it. The middle knob turned the shower on. That was hard to miss since there was a deluge of blistering-hot water pouring down on her. The cold water was the fourth knob, which was logical. What was the fifth, then, if the first was hissing? A twist changed the now merely hot water into a floral-scented cascade of soapy water. She rather liked that. Gabrielle stood beneath the falling water to clean her face and hair.
Gabrielle untied the apron and pulled it over her head to wash it, eliciting hoots and cheers that left her pink. The cloak was next - more cheering - and Gabrielle wondered how she would tell if things were really clean when they were all black. She had not noticed at first, but the whole of the stage was slowly rotating. The room was not something that could ever be drawn from her head. Was it from George? Gabrielle sat down to remove her shoes and the warm leggings. No hoots of approval for that. She tossed the wet articles over the side of the tub once she was reasonably sure that the brown goo was washed off.
The glare from the lights and the gleam from the white marble made it impossible to make out anything beyond the stage, including George. Was he watching? Was he even still in the room? If this was a game, Gabrielle asked herself, then what was the point? To see who would lose their nerve first? Gabrielle stood back up and started rubbing her blouse clean under the soapy deluge. It was mostly the sleeves that needed attention. She raised her arms to rinse them, and the small shimmy as a result of her moving her raised arms through the falling water brought an encouraging murmur from the room. She repeated the action more purposefully, for a greater effect.
Was this, Gabrielle wondered, the turning point in the game? Everything until now had been embarrassing and a little nerve-wracking, but even so she was just wearing the school uniform. Or, the school uniform if it was supposed to be unrelentingly black. She had not shown anything so far that other boys had not seen. "George? How is it?"
"It's been, er, revelatory. The drinks are watered, mind," said George.
Gabrielle could not determine anything from his reply. Certainly she did not sense any of the discomfort that one should feel if one is intimidated. Gabrielle supposed that raw sexuality was difficult to manifest through wet school clothes. At least she knew where he was, for the moment. Gabrielle turned away and unbuttoned her blouse. After, of course, a close internal argument pitting 'proper behavior' versus 'same as swimwear'. It was too late to worry about proper behavior anyway - that should have prevented the first step. The encouragement from the room's choir invisible was more raucous once the blouse was draped over the side of the tub. Which was nothing compared to reception when the skirt joined it.
This was it, thought Gabrielle, standing in the spotlights in the noisy room in her underwear - black with black trimmings. Gabrielle was not even wearing her good underwear; the bra was barely more than an abbreviated camisole. This was the turning point. She knew for certain because there was no way forward. If 'proper behavior' just barely lost out to 'same as swimwear', then 'nude is natural' had no real chance. She was not the same as her friend Monique, not 'One with the Forest'. Gabrielle unfastened the hardly needed bra and let the straps fall over her shoulders, holding it to her chest. That… that was too much. She had lost. "Can you not just say zat you are, eh, intimidé by my raw sexualité?" blurted Gabrielle with the frustration of having maybe overplayed her hand. Merde - that was not supposed to be out loud.
"I am intimidated by your - "
"And zat you will go to ze Halloween Ball wizz me?" Gabrielle added quickly.
"I am 'intimidated' by your, er, raw 'sexuality' and I will go to the Halloween Ball with you," pledged George. Gabrielle could hear in his voice the grin that was on his face.
"Can you say it again wizz a serious face?"
"Not a bloody chance."
This was, perhaps, a tie, thought Gabrielle. She turned to counter the rotating stage, fully facing away from George, and led the bra fall. Even as the thunderous cheers and shouts of the fake crowd still echoed, Gabrielle sat down and stripped of the rest of her underwear. Only groans for that. Plastered to the wall of the tub between her and the very real George, she started twisting the remaining knobs to fill the marble vessel.
Gabrielle's clothing, scattered across the exposed stage, leapt into the air and wrung themselves out before draping themselves over the closest chairs. Closest, but also out of reach. It was something that a second thought noted with some apprehension, but Gabrielle was too focused on another problem. That which flowed from the faucet was clear, but not what was expected. "Oh, eh, zis is not water."
"Oh dear, shall I take a -look-?"
"No! Eh, zat is, it is not necessary," assured Gabrielle. She tried to turn the knob back, but now her hands were too slippery with the loose jelly that was filling the tub. Gabrielle rubbed her fingers together. The substance was slick, but not oily. It did not smell of anything, which probably meant that it did not derive from a snail or slug, exotic or otherwise. Gabrielle looked up to find George standing at the edge of the stage. She floundered when she tried to hide against the side of the tub too quickly. The weird slime had no taste.
"I'm covered in Morass too. Should I join you?"
"No!"
"You're a strange bird, you know?"
"Eh, what?"
A wave of George's wand brought a stack of fluffy white towels to the tub. "This reminds me, have you read that new serial in the Prophet? It's bloody brilliant. Do you think these towels would pass… er…"
Gabrielle wished that she had a mirror to see what was on her face that even George could interpret it correctly. "Zat. Was. My. Private. Letter. To you."
"What letter?"
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle held her owl, Lieutenant Mimsey de Plume, by the talons as he flapped madly at the end of her arm. He was an excellent owl, mostly, and large with powerful wings. She knew he could carry twice his body weight when making deliveries, maybe even three times that for a short flight. Very impressive, but he was still an owl and she outweighed him by more than ten times, owls being mostly feathers. The Lieutenant was not going to get away. At least, not without using his beak.
The problem was that, even with her zombie puffskein Pepi-Z clipped to a feather to help with the thinking, all the Lieutenant seemed to know was that his witch was angry. The question that Gabrielle wanted answered, which was whether he had delivered the package to George or to someone who looked exactly like him, but was not, was not one the bird could fathom at the moment. It was probably stupid of her to ask anyway.
Gabrielle was not even that angry with the Lieutenant, though he was not going to find that out. The owl had never made such a mistake before, but perhaps the excitement of staying in Britain had overcooked his little brain. That organ was obviously much smaller than his wingspan. Gabrielle was mostly angry with the way everything had turned out, just when she thought it had turned to her favor. As she had wrapped herself in a towel to exit the slippery bath, George had pointed out that she would need to get McGonagall's approval, as the Halloween Ball was for students only. She argued that Professor Sprout herself would be escorted by her husband, who was not only not a student but also not even a wizard. George felt sure that she would have to abide by the rules for students, not the ones for the staff. He was fine with sneaking in, of course.
That was not something that Gabrielle had anticipated. She and Suki-chan had been captive in the chairs in the Headmistress' office during the Welcome feast. The announcement might have been made there. Claiming to be unaware of the rule would probably not work, not with McGonagall. Gabrielle wondered, if George just happened to be delivering more of the special leeches on Halloween, for instance, as a favor, could she argue that he should be able to stay?
Thus distracted, Gabrielle's attempt to exit the slime-filled tub demurely fell apart. She slipped as she was stepping out of the tub, tumbled, and slid off the raised stage. George caught her on the way down, but she slipped through the slick towel like a lamb being born from an ewe. Gabrielle ended up on the floor looking as wet and bedraggled as a newborn lamb, but far more naked. George tossed the towel he held onto her, then unleashed an avalanche of towels with his wand, followed by a good laugh at her expense.
It should not be possible to lose one's intimidating, raw sexuality by being completely nude, thought Gabrielle with some regret, but there it was. She let go of the Lieutenant, and then shouted a reminder to him to care care of Pepi-Z.
"Should you have tried hooting?" asked George.
"Eh, what?"
"Ginny is always saying that you can talk to animals. I thought you might try their native tongue."
"Eh, no. Sometimes zey pay attention, and zen it looks like I can," explained Gabrielle. A dark grey owl swept down from its high perch. Automatically Gabrielle put her arm out for it to settle on. "Eh, hello." The owl looked female, judged Gabrielle, and it bobbed its head.
"Whose owl's this then?"
"Eh, I do not know," replied Gabrielle. She added, in case he thought this was magic, "Sometimes I have extra owl treats. But, eh, not today." That was more addressed to the owl on her arm than George. She lifted her arm to help the bird into the air, but it did not feel like leaving yet.
"Unusual for owls to trust strange witches," said George. The owl nipped at his approaching hand.
"I am not strange!" The grey owl shuffled along her arm to Gabrielle's shoulder, then hopped up to her head, where it sat down.
"No, no, perish the thought. Nothing in the last half hour could possibly suggest such a thing," smirked George. "I meant strange as in unknown."
Gabrielle folded her arms across her chest to look affronted, in case George would apologize. All that did was to give a place for another two owls to land. The smaller, tawny owl was Kath's, no, the other Kath's owl. "Eh, do you have ze owl treats?"
v - v- v- v - v
Gabrielle made her way with George to the infirmary, walking arm in arm. Well, her arm around his, but he did not pull away so it was fine. When they could walk together, that is, since there were stairs. A group of seventh-year Gryffindors hooted at her and George like howler monkeys. They got a rude gesture in return from George.
"I've been meaning to ask about that broom," started George.
"It is, eh, a custom broom."
"I can see that it's… unique. Where did you get it?" asked George. "And did you save the receipt?"
"Zere is nozzing wrong wizz it!" declared Gabrielle. The broom was a little slow, it was true, but it worked well for her. A second thought noted that it was truer to say that the broom was very slow and worked well enough.
"Is it French? Èclair DeVent?" guessed George.
"Eh, no. It was made in France, zhough."
"Well, I don't know, luv. I've met Arnaud. It doesn't look like -"
"I made it," blurted Gabrielle.
"Wot? You never did. Really?"
"Eh, yes, wizz Monique, I did." They were nearing the infirmary, but Gabrielle stopped to let George examine the broom more closely. It, it was not that poorly made, was it? Gabrielle began the story.
v - v - v - v - v
"Monique, where is this? I thought we were going to your family's estate," said Gabrielle. Monsieur Toulier and his special lorry had just departed. A rare conjunction of events had freed Gabrielle from the shackles of the apprenticeship for the weekend, and she wanted to do something fun. Preferably in Paris.
"It is my family's estate. Part of it. This is the Etoillebois Forest," indicated Monique. She wore a sundress that looked like it was made of silk. That surprised Gabrielle; Monique's mother must be very convincing. Not completely though - occasional flower petals would tumble from beneath the dress. A band in her hair hid the shock of white among her brunette curls.
"It, eh, says it is a national park." There was a large sign and everything. It was not Paris.
"All of it is the national park, but the national park is not all of it," said Monique. "It's supposed to make it easier to hide from the muggles, because they stay on the trails and in the visitor center."
"You're going to take off all your clothes again. I know this."
"We get in for free, of course. Also, free food at the cafeteria! They have ice cream..."
Gabrielle gave up and smiled. It was not what she had hoped for, but all she needed to do was recall the tedium of her normal day as an apprentice to see that this was much better. Even if it was not Paris.
"And coffee," added Monique, though she made a face.
It was well that they had the ice cream, thought Gabrielle, since there was no means of transport, magical or otherwise, as she and Monique trudged into the heart of the park. They had not seen anyone else for a while, but since Monique had a properly magical map Gabrielle was not worried about getting lost. Still, it did not hurt to check. "Monique, where are we?"
The taller girl tapped the map with her wand. "Umm… We should reach the warding in about twenty minutes. Then it's about another five kilometers."
Gabrielle did some calculating in her head. They had already been walking for the better part of three hours, and there were two more to go. And, it was already after noon. The days were still getting longer, but… "Monique! It'll be dark before we get back!"
"It won't, if this works."
"If? If it works?"
"Well, I haven't done this before. I'm counting on you."
"Eh, what?"
"Can't you feel the energy of the forest? It feels so amazing!"
Here it comes, thought Gabrielle. She is going to take her clothes off. Monique's mother must have suggested this trip to a safely isolated spot.
Gabrielle knew when they had crossed the warding. It was not the slight tingle as she passed through that confirmed the boundary as much as Monique pulling the sundress over her head. The flower petals came from Monique's underwear, or rather, Monique's underwear was made of flower petals. There were serious gaps from the shedding. That did not matter as they joined the dress at the base of a tree.
"Come on, Gabrielle, you too. You could use some sun."
Gabrielle looked up at the forest canopy overhead. "What sun?"
v - v- v - v - v
"You French witches really will doff your kit without so much as a wave of a wand?" marveled George.
"Eh, what?"
"I'm shocked that Beauxbatons isn't the first choice of schools among your average teenage wizard. Would be quite the 'education'."
Gabrielle gave George a Look. "It is only Monique, and only since she became, eh, 'one wizz ze forest'."
"Oh, 'one with the forest', I see. What's that about, then?"
"Eh, I have no idea."
v - v - v - v - v
The map was hardly needed at this point. Even in the deepest shade the path was easy to follow, as it was a soft green carpet of grass and low-lying wildflowers. That, supposed Gabrielle, made it easy on Monique's bare feet. Gabrielle had kept her trainers on, but had taken off her socks and denims as a compromise. Now she kicked off her shoes too after the first kilometer.
The path led, after more than an hour of walking, and brief stops for hugs for Monique's favorite trees, to a bend by a broad, slow stream. There, on a small hillock close by the bend, stood a huge tree. The ground around the trunk was mostly a tangle of roots. Gabrielle was certain that the tree, a hornbeam from the leaves, would get a hug. The ancient tree, the mossy rocks, the clear flowing water - this was clearly magical.
The swarm of fairies gave it away too. They flitted around Gabrielle, pulling at her hair and clothes while she flailed at them. With one hand, of course, since she had to protect Pepi-Z, who was tethered in her hair and vulnerable. If she had kept her denims on, a second thought pointed out, she would have had her wand in the back pocket. Gabrielle would have tried to open the handbag to retrieve her blond stick, but she definitely did not want to loosen her grip on all her possessions. The bag made a good weapon anyway - she scored a hit that sent one of the buzzing pests to the ground. Monique did not seem to mind the obnoxious presence of the magical vermin. Then again, she had no clothing to pull at. Monique did have her wand though, and started firing Petrificus hexes at the fairies.
Gabrielle clobbered another of the flitting fairies, and Monique's spell caught one too before her aim went a little off, causing Gabrielle to fall backward onto the ground. It was not the strongest of hexes that Gabrielle had ever suffered, only half a Fleur at best, but, really, it was not very helpful. Monique was still casting.
"Petrificus! Petrificus! Petrificus!" Gabrielle could hear the rising panic in Monique's voice. "Petrificus! Petrificus! Oh Merlin it's going to eat you! Petrificus!"
The fairies, laughing their high-pitched laugh and making jeering noises as they yanked Gabrielle's short hair and tried to tear her blouse, suddenly flew off. That made it easier to hear the snuffling that definitely sounded like it was coming closer. Gabrielle started to wonder what sort of creature would be large enough to eat her. A second thought recommended trying to break the hex and escape instead. A third thought tried repeating 'apparate' to itself.
There was a crunching noise close by, then sounds that Gabrielle could only interpret as something large eating something small.
"What should I do? Gabrielle!" cried Monique.
Ask someone who could respond, thought Gabrielle. Lift your spell, added a second thought. Apparate, apparate, apparate continued the third.
v - v - v - v - v
"You make it sound as if you weren't terribly worried there, just a, ha, walk in the park. That's interesting," noted George.
"Eh, it is because people always say zat a creature will eat me, but zen zey never do. Professor Elevagre would be bitten, often, but he was, eh, just impatient, I zink."
"So, what eldritch horror had crept out of the dark woods?"
v - v - v - v - v
It was a bear, who looked down at Gabrielle with two very small legs sticking out of its mouth. Gabrielle preferred to think that the legs were jerking about because they were being chewed, as opposed to being attached to something gravely injured still hoping for rescue. The bear lowered its muzzle to her face, and had a good and thorough sniff. Gabrielle could hear Monique crying, though she also sounded further away now. Gabrielle felt certain, if their situations were reversed, that she would come up with some way of helping. The bear sniffed, snuffed, and snorted its way down to Gabrielle's knees. Then it evidently found another of the fallen fairies. There was more crunching.
Gabrielle finally shook off the effect of Monique's errant spell, and very slowly sat up. The bear was also sitting, by her legs, facing away. The animal sitting was as tall as she was standing. It was best not to startle it. "Eh, excuse me," began Gabrielle politely. "My friend was crying. I need to, eh, check on her, you see? So, eh, I'll just go and, eh, not disturb your lunch."
The bear, its fur brown and coarse-looking, half rolled, half flopped itself to the side so that its head landed in Gabrielle's lap. Gabrielle's conservative estimate was that the creature's head weighed at least a hundred kilos. She certainly could not move now, and, given what the head was attached to, she could not free herself. The bear used a paw to push the rest of a fairy into its mouth; the claws were as long as her hand. Gabrielle sighed; the bear had not paid attention in the slightest. She could see Monique now though. Her dearest friend was squelching through shin-deep mud along some low ground, carrying a dead branch. "Eh, what are you doing Monique?"
"I was going to, um, try and frighten it off."
"I don't think the bear will be afraid of you. I, eh, don't think it will be afraid of the branch either," explained Gabrielle.
"What should I do?" asked Monique plaintively.
"Can you find something for it to eat, like berries or, eh, fish? Or another fairy," suggested Gabrielle. That was unneeded, though. Now that Gabrielle could open the handbag, she could dip into her emergency food supply. And, get her wand.
The bread was not really fresh, and the cheese was not much better. In fact, there were bits of mold on it. The preservation charms that Gabrielle had tried did not last that much longer than the food would have anyway. The dried sausage was a little sweaty, but also the bear's favorite. The animal was a sloppy eater, though, and Gabrielle was able to get to her feet when the bear moved to find the missing sausage piece.
v - v - v - v - v
"What was its name?" asked George.
"Eh, what?"
"The bear. It's not another pet? Though I can't see your mother allowing it inside the house," said George. "Where is it now?"
"Eh, no. It is in ze forest, still, I zink," replied Gabrielle. She did not tell him the name she had thought of, Commodore Ursey Clawfoot, because that had been a stupid name. Commodores were, Gabrielle had learned, like extra-special boat captains. Not an appropriate title for a mighty land creature. "Ze bear left because of ze bowtruckles and, I zink, ze smell."
"Bowtruckles?"
"Oui. Zis was ze tree zat Monique's family uses for wands."
"Of course. And for the broom. Have to watch those bowtruckles - nasty buggers, like fairies but sharp everywhere."
"Eh, zey are?" wondered Gabrielle. The ones she had come across were not anything like fairies. But then, many of them had been, eh, burned in the small and very accidental fire at, eh, at her previous school. It was probably the longer winters that made bowtruckles in Britains buggers. "Zese ones were mostly nice. Eh, not to ze bear, as much."
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle had worked out that the large hornbeam was special even before Monique returned, because she was a witch of many talents, one of which was the ability to use difficult logic. Hornbeam could be a wand wood; the area felt magical; and the bear would not approach the tree closer than a certain distance. That meant that there were bowtruckles defending the tree because the wood was fertile. That, or something larger than the bear lived in the tree. Gabrielle checked the upper boughs, but did not see anything that looked worrisome. She sat with the massive animal just at the invisible boundary, waiting for Monique to return or for the bear to grow bored and remember that it had other things to do.
Monique returned first, and so did Gabrielle's feeling that while Monique was 'one' with the forest, she was perhaps not 'one' with all the things in the forest. Monique's right hand, arm, and the parts of her that would normally be hidden by two layers of fabric were covered in welts and very swollen. That was the hand that held a chunk of honeycomb. The other hand held a large yellow mushroom, a magical toadstool in fact, with obvious blue spots that clearly intended to send the message that it was inedible. Poisonous, in fact.
"That mushroom is poisonous. You should know this," declared Gabrielle pointing. Monique had other scratches on her face. I should not, thought Gabrielle, have sent her off alone.
"It didn't taste poisonous."
Gabrielle gave the bear the comb of honey that Monique had reached into a hive to get while, unbelievably, totally naked and unprotected. Monique got the bad side of a Kwestionable Kebab Skiving Snackbox. Gabrielle made sure that her friend was within the safe zone of the tree in case the bear decided that the honey was not enough. Once the Kwestionable Kebab took hold, Monique could safely go where she wanted. Nothing with a nose would want to go near her.
Fifteen minutes of projectile vomiting was, Gabrielle judged, enough to clear the poison from Monique's body, and to clear her head of the idea that she knew enough about mushrooms and toadstools to just go and eat anything that she found. The bear had left; one needed to be very good friends to endure that episode. Gabrielle recommended a soothing, and cleansing, dip in the stream for Monique. Checking for grindylows, and the like, first.
While Monique became one with the stream, she told Gabrielle to open up the bundle that she given her earlier. That was in the handbag, of which Monique did know about and would take advantage. The bundle contained a thick, old book not treasured enough to protect completely from mildew, and an ax. Gabrielle did not even touch the ax - the huge knife that Nona had made her use had been enough trouble. And, if one was looking for a way to provoke a bowtruckle, well, that was it. Also, fire, unless it accidently spreads from a dry meadow, accidently.
"What is the book?" asked Gabrielle. Always check before opening in case it was a magical book that was picky about who read it.
"It's a grimoire that's been in our family for generations," described Monique over her splashing. "I think. Maybe?"
"Eh, okay..."
"There's a chapter with the title: 'Blessings of Flight and That Which Connects the Heavens and Earth'," continued Monique. "You can make your own broom."
"Eh, what?"
"Then you would be able to fly better."
"Monique! I can fly on a broom!"
"Come on, Gabrielle. I did say 'better'. Anyone watching could see something is wrong. You fly level for a minute, then go down, then up, then down -"
"It was the school's brooms," insisted Gabrielle. They were old and, eh, very used.
"Yes! Right! You need one that is totally yours."
"Eh, I don't have to become 'one' with the tree, yes?" asked Gabrielle. Monique was wading from the water now. What was not blue from the cold waters was pink and puffy from the bee stings. "I'm surprised you found this book." That, a second thought pointed out, might be rude.
"Mother won't let me go out much. She locks me in the library. I found the book behind some shelves," explained Monique. "I was looking for a secret door."
"I, eh, see."
"I am -really- itchy. I'm going to look for some dittany."
"Then, eh, keep an eye out for the bear. I do not think he will be that, eh, hungry, but you do not want to surprise it," warned Gabrielle. She raised her wand. "I can do a soothing charm." Probably.
"No! Um, no, you should start collecting branches and, um, stuff, or we'll have to walk back in the dark," said Monique hurriedly. "The mud might be medicinal…"
Gabrielle pulled out the knife from Gaston, and unfolded the blade that was like a tiny version of Monsieur Toulier's saw. She opened the moldy book to the needed chapter, which was easy because of the large leaf that Monique had used to mark it. It was good that the thought wondering if the leaf had once been part of underwear came after it was removed. The second thought gave something for Gabrielle to think over besides what might have been not quite said in the last exchange.
The first few pages of the chapter could be summed up easily. Find a tree that has an affinity for magic and cut a broomstick-like branch from it. Gabrielle looked up the massive hornbeam. There was nothing low enough to reach that was small enough to cut. Climbing a tree full of bowtruckles was definitely not a good idea. Especially if one intended to cut a piece off of their home.
Logically, a way of thinking that Gabrielle was certain she had quite the knack for, there was no reason to climb the tree or even aim a spell at it. There were long-established businesses that made brooms for witches and wizards to buy. She had seen the prices for top-of-the-line quidditch brooms. Who would pay hundreds of galleons for a broom if one could make the same? The answer was no one, and since people did pay that meant that making a broom was too difficult. If a full-grown wizard could not create a broom, then what chance did an apprentice have? None, really, so, Gabrielle concluded, she could reach the same results with a branch found on the ground as she would with a champion branch that she risked her life to freshly cut.
Gabrielle found such a branch. It was a little soggy and a bit too short for a broomstick, but since it was not really destined to be one, what did it matter? She sat on a thick root of the tree that had outgrown the soil and started to strip the bark. There was, according to the drawings, some sort of mechanical tool that was designed to do the job. She did not have that. Gabrielle pretended not to notice the bowtruckle that had crept down the fluted trunk of the great hornbeam. Bowtruckles would only leave their tree to defend it. Or, if it was on fire. Accidently. One bowtruckle was not much to worry about. Bowtruckles were strong and tough, like they ambulatory vines, with sharp thorns for fingers, toes, elbows, knees - they were very prickly. They were also small. When they gathered as a tangle, though, that is when it could get dangerous. The creatures could hook themselves together to act as one; one large and strong enough to lift and throw a grown man. And, they would also go for the eyes.
The bowtruckle peeping round the trunk seemed to wave at Gabrielle, so she gave it a small wave in return. As she did, the branch she was working on was roughly torn from her grasp. Gabrielle exclaimed her surprise, but very briefly since, in the next moment, a different branch landed directly on top of her head. She cried out, and swore.
"Gabrielle! Are you all right?" asked Monique, struggling up the slope.
Gabrielle rubbed her head, and shook it to clear the ringing. The branch she had found had been on the ground and was even a little rotted. That should have been safe. "The bowtruckles hit me -" started Gabrielle, until she looked up at her friend. Monique was completely coated in mud, including her face and hair. Gabrielle stared. "Eh…"
"It's very soothing," gushed Monique. "And so-o-o alive!"
"Eh, with what?" asked Gabrielle. The class in Natural Arts had not covered much in the way of fungus and parasites, but an apprentice was expected to spot those before valuable stock was damaged.
"Is that the branch you're going to be using? It looks perfect," said Monique, ignoring Gabrielle's concern. "Did you use your little knife? It looks more like it was gnawed."
v - v - v - v - v
"You mean to tell me that the bowtruckles actually gave you a piece of their home tree?" asked George.
"Zey did not give it to me; zey hit me with it. And, it hurt," insisted Gabrielle. She had kept the branch, of course. The other one was gone. She did move further away from the trunk. Removing the bark from the green wood was much easier.
"I'm going to say that they replaced the material you were going to use for the bristles too."
"No, zey did not." That was true only because the annoying creatures had rained the thick fibers from the inner bark down onto her from the higher branches. That had not hurt, except when she was distracted and the knife slipped.
"This grimoire - was it a manky old tome with lots of words spelled funny?"
"Eh, yes?" Unless manky meant 'like new'.
"Then there had to be a part where you danced about without your knickers. That was very popular in the old magic. And, you know, French witches," smirked George. Or leered. "And now I can picture it clearly. With vivid details. Right down to the number of -"
"If you zink you are being funny," interrupted Gabrielle, "zen you are, eh, wrong." She had blushed again, a completely useless reaction. He did not need to know the details of the whole 'Imbue with Motion' episode. That he would imagine it and that he -could- imagine it left her with a swirl of emotions.
"Very nice work, really, I must say, with only that muggle knife," complimented George. He sighted down the length of the handle.
"Eh, no. My mozzer had it, eh, fixed - zat is, tuned. Several, eh, times." The unrefined lines bothered her mother a great deal. The broom had gotten Gabrielle and Monique back to the park entrance. Well after dark, though, since the broom could only manage a pace slightly better than walking. It was much better after the many galleons spent straightening the handle and shaping the bristles.
"Gilding the lily, I'm sure. Good morning, Poppy, my sweet."
"Madame Pomfrey, if you please, in front of the students, Mister Weasley," replied the healer. Gabrielle turned to face the witch.
"Why, this is hardly just a student," said George, patting Gabrielle on the head. Gabrielle was not sure what to make of that. Moments ago he was counting the somethings on her… on whatever, and now she was like a pet dog.
"Hmm. Be that as it may, Mister Weasley, the Headmistress expects a certain decorum. There are expectations regarding uninvited visitors too."
"I was invited," said George. He patted Gabrielle's head again, which Gabrielle was not sure that she liked. It just did not feel right. "I get invitations all the time."
"Yes, from the various Ministry enforcement departments, as I understand. I suppose I should have said unauthorized visitors."
"I am authorized," insisted George, with another pat for Gabrielle's head. This time she swatted his hand away, so he dropped his hand low and… patted something else.
Gabrielle jumped forward in surprise. Her first thought was shocked at his effrontery; her second thought was angry at his presumption. A third thought regretted even entering that room on the seventh floor - better to be encased in a toffee shell then to have anyone think -that- was all right with her. The second thought was in control of the wand. "Compunctio!"
George crumpled like a tower with a cracked heartstone and with a strangled gurgling that Gabrielle found both satisfying and alarming. She had aimed for his ham and eggs, or whatever the expression was, but, having managed it, now worried that he was badly hurt. She knelt beside him and asked a rather stupid question, "Eh, are you all right?"
"Hnng."
"Good show! All young witches should learn to wield a wand like that," approved Madame Pomfrey. "Now, shall we tidy up the hallway a bit?"
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle was still hobbling in Herbology, dragging her left leg a little, because the hybrid leeches were not all that George had brought Madame Pomfrey. There was also the muggle - strange? surge? - dart, which was a silver metal tube with a red puff on one end and a point on the other. Gabrielle liked the red puff; it reminded her of Pepi-Z. The dart fitted into something like a pipe made into a walking cane. Somehow, it was supposed to save Madame Pomfrey time when it came to a full infirmary. Gabrielle did not appreciate the way that the healer looked toward her when she said that the item might just come in handy. George explained how to 'chamber' the dart and then add the imported puff fungus behind it. Carefully, since it was liable to burst and release its red-hot spores with rough handling. George had asked her to move off a bit, just in case, which Gabrielle felt was ridiculously over-protective. She was a couple of beds away when she heard the pop and felt the sharp sting on the what had been most recently patted. Her hand reacted to the pain, and closed on the metal tube. Then she collapsed to the floor, thinking that George had, perhaps, been angry about her spell after all.
The lingering after-effect of the sleep draught, her leg being still numb, was not a problem for the class. It was, in fact, an advantage. Professor Sprout was determined to propagate the Whomping Willow, which meant getting cuttings. Gabrielle could not move quickly enough for that. Neither, it seemed, could most of the class, who were getting, eh, whomped. Suki-chan was in her element here, with the shining blade of her shrine maiden sword flashing as it sliced through the smaller ends of the branches. She cut enough for the entire class, diving and somersaulting over and under the larger branches. Gabrielle could see why she would wear the black pajamas instead of a skirt though. So could everyone else.
The cuttings were still thrashing when they were handled, but without the anchor of the great trunk it was more sad than violent. The most vigorous were clamped into pots filled with a carefully layered growth medium. It looked just like dirt to Gabrielle though. Securely fastened, unfortunately, let the severed cuttings return to whomping, which was really more like whipping because of the thinness.
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle met up with George at the infirmary after Herbology. She did not require Madame Pomfrey's services, though a few of the less wary in her class did, but knew that George was still there by consulting her BADAR device. She found him sticking halfway out of a small cabinet, only his legs visible.
"Eh, what are you looking for, George?" asked Gabrielle curiously. She wondered if Pomfrey knew he was poking around in her things.
The legs slowly disappeared into the small opening, which was followed by some clattering. She heard a 'whoops' and a 'steady there' before a head with red hair slid out, George looking up at her as she stood over him. "Well there's a sight I'm becoming -quite- familiar with."
Gabrielle jumped back with a bit of squeak, her hands pressing her skirt down tight against her legs. "What - George! You can not say zat!" stammered a horrified Gabrielle. The 'Room of Poor Judgement' could never, not ever, wind up on Fleur's List. What a complete loss of her senses that had been, and she had even talked herself into it. He can not, suspected a second thought, really see anything. Not enough to count anything, for certain. Gabrielle shuffled further back anyway as George continued to emerge.
"I thought I'd take a look around for that beetle," explained George. He was actually slithering along on his back like a snake, trying to close the gap between them. Gabrielle could not decide if this behavior was outrageous or ridiculous. "Or that ruddy Pipe."
Either way, Gabrielle put a stop to it by stepping forward to his side. There was no way that George could bend that much. "Eh, it got out of ze glass jar?"
"Obviously, luv."
"George, stop!" He was attempting to coil around her legs - he was going to topple her. "Do you zink it will try to find Suki-chan?"
"It shouldn't, but then it shouldn't be stinging in the first place."
"You can, eh, use anozzer beetle to find it?"
"No, sorry, the beetles are linked by the blood of the owners," described George. "A cheap and cheerful way to do a locate spell, but not if you don't have any of the blood."
Gabrielle drew her wand, her patience tested, and George got to his feet. "Suspicious how neatly the jar was put back on its base though," noted George. "Quite a trick for something that only had mandibles to grab with. 'Course, whoever added the poisonous sting might have added a clever glass-jar aligner too. Actually, yeah, I could see how that might work…"
Gabrielle waited a bit, but George seemed like he was somewhere else. She cleared her throat, then wondered if she would have to kick him to get his attention. "Zere, eh, was someone who came into ze infirmary, late in ze night. It is possible zat zey put ze glass back, yes?"
"Why would they go and do that?" asked George. He had been scribbling something on a scrap of paper pulled from a pocket, using what looked like a muggle fountain pen, except it was as long as her forearm. He noticed her stare, "Won't run out of ink so quick, yeah?"
"I, eh, zink zey may have taken somezing for a prank. Zey put ze jar back so it would look like no one had been zere."
"Or they might have just taken the beetle. Quite rare, you know, and expensive, though I can't say they're in high demand. At all," sighed George. "Any idea who it was?"
"Eh, yes," replied Gabrielle, taking a look around. She did not want to be the one to get a fellow student in trouble. She lowered her voice and leaned close, which she liked. "It was Krang Earrot."
"What? Are you sure?"
"It is what ze map said. Eh, showed."
"That's a goblin name," said George. "A clan name. Got an Earrot working at the shop."
"Eh, okay."
"I don't like it," announced George, frowning. "That caretaker was hired by the goblins and the BADAR devices are made by the goblins. Ginny is working up a goblin story for the Quibbler, and someone is killing wizards out in the woods."
"Eh, what?!"
"Ah," coughed George. "That last bit's a bit of a secret, so, er, keep it under your hat." Gabrielle immediately put a hand to her head to see if the stupid hat was back. "So to speak, luv."
"Why is it a secret?" asked Gabrielle. It was the sort of thing she would like to know, if she was a wizard living out in the woods. Who would not?
"Well, the only thing the Ministry thinks is worse than them not knowing what to do is having loads of witches and wizards also not knowing what to do, because one of them is bound to come up with something worse."
"Eh, zen how do you know zis?"
George smiled broadly. "That's another secret, one that Fred is quite chuffed about. And speaking of secrets, or, rather, not speaking of them, let's keep that earlier performance as our secret. Ron's old baggage will be coming around again soon, and I'd rather not have her have another go at me."
"Eh… okay?"
"Don't tell Hermione. Or Ginny. Or, er, anyone, really," clarified George.
"Of course," agreed Gabrielle instantly. She could not imagine wanting someone else to know about that ill-conceived, eh, exhibition.
"That sounds like something I would like to know," declared the Headmistress. She appeared suddenly, as if she had been lurking beneath a nearby bed. Eh, as a cat, presumably.
Gabrielle startled, turning too quickly and stumbling over her own feet. "No!" she blurted as she fell back into George.
George fell backward as well, taking Gabrielle with him. There was an awkward moment as she struggled to right herself as George did the same. She was tangled up, upside-down, with her legs up in the air. As the moment stretched on, however, she realized that George was probably working against her, and that his fall was likely theatrical. Gabrielle went limp.
"Ah," said McGonagall with a hint of a chuckle. "I see. However, I believe that I asked you, Miss Delacour, to see to someone for me. Yet this someone is still causing a scene."
"Eh, you mean Herr Sammlermacher, yes?" asked the inverted Gabrielle. "He can not be done wizz zat pretzel - zat is impossible."
"That curse-breaker from Albania? What's he doing here?" wondered George aloud from beneath Gabrielle.
v - v - v - v - v
"Thirty galleons," said George again, shaking his head. "He gave you thirty galleons for that burned up piece of - what was it again?"
"A charmed shovel," repeated Gabrielle. She did not mind because George sounded impressed. "It was owned by someone named Illiodor."
"Right. And that was?"
"Someone who buried wizards."
"Thirty galleons for a ruined grave-digger's shovel. I can see he needs a healer," nodded George. He was levitating Stanislaw as Gabrielle drifted along behind him on her broom, somewhat bending the rules. There had been stairs, after all. Sebastion had the shovel handle now, and would be staying in Hogsmeade.
"I zink he will be less, eh, rude once all of him is, eh, back inside."
"You're being charitable because he gave you thirty galleons. I never liked him," said George. "I will admit that the tubes are a bit dribbly."
Gabrielle was willing to admit that the tubes would be less dribbly if George would not keep knocking Stanislaw into anything protruding that he came across. Was it jealousy? "He will sell ze handle to someone, for hundreds of galleons. Zis is true."
Stanislaw was unconscious because he had been shot by a dart as Gabrielle distracted him with his 'artefakt'. Sebastion had jumped between her and George with his wand at the ready, but otherwise did not seem too bothered by the result. Gabrielle quickly explained that she was taking the older curse-breaker to the Hogwarts healer, because carrying one's own organs in a tin box was no way to live.
"I can keep ze, eh… What do you call zis?"
"Er, let's just call that a secret, luv," replied George.
Gabrielle furrowed her brow. "You used it in ze Great Hall. And, you showed it to Madame Pomfrey."
"Yeah, all right, sometimes it's hard to not be the pitchman. Let's call it a secret from Fred then. He's working a deal with the muggle Ministry that the real Ministry might not like… which is a pretty big secret too." George frowned. "You haven't been given anything by the Headmistress, have you? Or picked up any new jewelry in strange or mysterious circumstances?"
"Eh, what? No." The Headmistress had allowed her some pastries, without requiring tea, but that probably did not count. A second thought took over. "Eh, you could give me some…"
"Oh? You haven't even opened the last one."
"Eh, what?"