Chapter Eighteen - Prank De Deux
Headmistress McGonagall could hear the stairs moving, and so was able to completely conceal the thin catalogue from Borgin&Burkes. The mere pamphlet listed not even a tenth of Knockturn Alley's most notorious shop's magical items, but then they could hardly stay in business if the aurors knew to look. Anyway, she was not interested in buying so much as the comparable values.
"Ah, Professor Sprout," greeted the Headmistress curtly.
The professor sighed and brushed back wisps of gray hair. "There's no use holding a grudge, Minerva."
"It's not a grudge. It's more of a snit, and I am quite entitled to it, thank you very much," returned McGonagall. "Would you like some tea?"
"Please. And, I just so happen to have a fresh batch of homemade hobnobs in my hat, if you're feeling peckish."
"With a pinch of catmint, I suppose?" asked the Headmistress. Sprout smiled and nodded. "Well, let's have them then." A conciliatory gesture not to be ignored.
Tea must be brewed, and done properly, to be enjoyed. Water can be brought to the perfect temperature in an instant, but all attempts to use the wand to speed the blooming of the leaves simply conjured disappointment. A similar principal held for muggles as well, though the standards for what constituted disappointment were quite a bit lower, given that powdered tea existed. The wait for the tea to steep is traditionally used to fetch cups, saucers, spoons, and up to a dozen potential additions for the hot beverage.
Once settled, Sprout sipped her tea, with just a little bit of milk, and broached the topic. "About the Delacour girl…"
"Oh? Is she complaining about the new arrangement?" asked McGonagall sharply. "It is a lesson to be learned then. I will not allow flagrant - "
"Minerva, please. It is agreed that the Forbidden Forest is not part of the castle grounds, though I am quite certain of what you intended," interrupted Sprout, gesturing with her hands to temper the heat of the moment. The fresh-baked biscuits earned some leeway. "As to that, you may want to reconsider if it was meant to punish. The girl is rather proud of the work and views it as quite important."
"If you knew what I intended, my dear Pomona, then why did you side with her?"
"Unfortunately, what you said to the child was not as clear as your intentions."
"I had thought you would be more upset over the damage to the forest, to be honest."
"Oh, it was far too moist for there to be much damage. What burned was mostly the acromantula nest," dismissed Sprout.
"Hmm. By my count, there were fourteen - "
"Mostly, I did say. I myself would expect Hagrid to be the one who was upset. He views the loathsome creatures as his children, does he not?"
"I hope not, based on his past actions. Though, I do expect any offspring Hagrid might one day sire would be far harder to stomp. Does Gabrielle not know even the simplest light spell?" asked the Headmistress.
"She claims the flames are a Veela pastrami." Sprout noted the familiarity of the name.
McGonagall coughed after accidentally inhaling her sip of tea. "Does she now?"
"Of course, half was in French at the time. You nearly scared the life from her."
"The sole punishment it seems. What has she done now? Pomfrey has not reported anything for days."
"I am given to understand that she intends to join the Hufflepuff quidditch team," explained the head of said house. "Or rather, the team intends for her to join. There is, I gather, some dispute."
It took several moments for the Headmistress to come up with a response to the news, which was to ask if Sprout if she was being serious.
"This needs your permission, of course, due to the special circumstances and all," noted Sprout after assuring McGonagall that this was not just a jape.
"With Merlin as my witness, I can not imagine that this is a good idea," began Minerva. "However, I do grant permission. The teams this season seem a bit dull. And absolutely no fire or flames of any sort, cured meats aside!"
"Yes, yes, of course. Thank you, Minerva. I've no idea if Delacour will be thrilled or disappointed by this."
"And what position is she going for? She has the frame for Seeker."
"Er, beater," disclosed Sprout. She then took out her wand to clean up the spluttered tea.
v - v - v - v - v
It was difficult to be alone in Hufflepuff, thought Gabrielle, but not impossible. Not for her, at least, when she wore the charmed apron. She was in the library, with both the apron and a dustbin. The number of scofflaws who brought food into the library was truly disappointing. What had they done with the wrappings and remnants before she was there to silently accept them? Gabrielle looked speculatively at the seemingly untouched books on the surrounding shelves. What would she find if she checked behind them? When did they teach vanishing?
She did not peek behind the books because, she decided, it was probably more than what she would want to deal with. Especially since the point of being alone was to relax, and not have to read tea leaves, cards, or palms for fellow students all eager to know who they would dance with. Gabrielle had no proof, but she felt certain that Mags was behind it all. Gabrielle found it amazing that some believed that an annual Halloween Ball would show up etched on their palms. It was not even the first one! The notion made even less sense than when Carrow had confronted her before leaving. He demanded to know why she had not Seen the murder of his mother when she had read his palm. It, eh, would have been better, in hindsight, to not point out that it was not like it happened to him.
Gabrielle also needed to be alone because she needed to find out if George had included more Floo powder. She could not use the Wander-Floo without some, having used the whole bag on the first call. That has singed Fred, so it was not a total waste, but, well, Gabrielle knew where Maman bought hers, except that was in France. She was hopeful that George had thought to include more. Privacy was needed to go through the rest of the package, though, because there could be more secrets he was sharing with her (and no one else!). That, Gabrielle smiled, was a tingly thought.
The various Wheezes, another of the decidedly dangerous W-Holes, and an egg were not secrets nor Floo powder. The egg was nearly the size of a bludger, grey, and had a pebbly texture. While it was reasonable to wonder if the egg was viable, or even real, Gabrielle did not. She just knew George had included it because he imagined that whatever happened would be entertaining. The package had arrived prior to the, eh, comparatively minor incident after the quidditch tryout, so he would not have known how close she had come to being an apprentice again.
Not, Gabrielle knew, that that would have stopped one twin or the other from including the egg. Regretfully, the thing was also the last item in the box, which then disappeared. Leaving it in the magicked box would have been a good plan; keeping it in her handbag was not. Who knew what whatever creature emerged might want to eat? Giving the egg to Professor Hagrid was unlikely to end well - he would of course try to hatch it and then breed the creature with a frog, or stoat, or even Pipe. If only there was some way of identifying what laid an egg like… Gabrielle looked around at the books stacked around her, relieved that she had only thought that and not said it aloud. She put the egg into her dustbin and headed for the zoology section.
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle pondered the state of wizarding communication while she waited for George's reply to start appearing on her beetle. She was in the Restricted section, because hatching and raising dragons was at the least highly discouraged if not completely forbidden. In fact, possessing such an egg might mean a certain sentence of apprenticeship, if allowances were not made for the unintentional nature of how the thing was acquired.
Gabrielle had snuck into the Restricted section before, and it seemed to be the apron that allowed her to do so. The two Slytherins who tried to give her their empty crisp packets did not appear to even notice where they were going until they were thrown back with a bang and a loud, squawking alarm. They were then set upon by Madam Pince, who lately always had a glare for Gabrielle, which made the apron very handy in the library. Gabrielle could honestly say that she did not know what had become of the librarian's so-called minions. Well, except for a bit of them - yuck. She wondered if she should give Pince the claws, as a memorial token.
The beetle was slow, but very portable, and it let one know there was a message coming by biting. The Wander-Floo was more natural, but needed Floo powder and was portable only in comparison to a normal Floo that had a house attached. Also, unless it was open, how would one tell that someone was trying to make a call? What was needed was a beetle that was also a hearth on the Floo network. Eh, somehow. There were fire beetles though, so Gabrielle wrote down the thought for George. She had a quill and some parchment at hand because she was carefully noting what -not- to do to cause the egg to hatch. Gabrielle felt a little bad about that, but dragon eggs could keep a long time. Long enough to send back, at the very least.
"Oh, you noticed that." That was the reply from George. It made no sense - he had put the egg in the box with everything else. The bludger-sized ovoid was not hidden in any way, and one knew the box was empty when it disappeared. So there was no real way for the egg to not be found.
"Think of it as leverage," came next while Gabrielle was trying to decide between being annoyed or being angry -and- annoyed. She was certain that the reply did not make any more sense than the previous one, even once she found out what that was. There was no point to worrying over it now, so she sent, "You and I will have XXX." Three kisses was not an unreasonable expectation, but she put the beetle in the handbag so he could not argue.
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle looked into the teacup, with its dregs carefully shaped into a specific letter. She tried to reason out the thinking behind the action. Was the hope, the desire written in used up, shredded leaves supposed to come true simply because Gabrielle, Mistress of the Mirk, said it aloud? While that would quite magical, extremely magical, really, it would not actually be divination. And she -was- Gabrielle, Mistress of the Mirk, which was not the best but still a little cool, and divination was a talent.
Although, breakfast would be a lot more peaceful if she were only Gabrielle, Mistress of the Blackened Forest. Grove, really. Perhaps even Small Stand. For which she had apologized. It had been an accident, anyway. Also, it was more the fault of the acromantulas; they were not supposed to be nesting there.
Gabrielle looked up at the second-year girl, a Gryffindor, then to the other girls holding teacups. They were always girls. Not because girls trusted divination more but because boys were thick and still unaware of societal norms, like dancing. "Zey are ze idiot. Go and tell zem zey are your dance partner at the ball, because of, eh, McGonagall. Zey are not going to know, suddenly. You must tell zem."
"Uh, er, that is, I just can't-"
"No, you can. Tell zem it is only for zis Ball. Zen you can, eh, decide later," advised Gabrielle. Some boys needed a billboard. That is what Hermione had once said, although she had been thinking about Ron at the time. "It is, eh, written in ze leaves." With your fingerprints in the drying tea, Gabrielle added to herself.
"Gigi-chan, I can not find psylliostachys in index," fretted Sukiya. She was doing more of her own work lately, which Gabrielle was quite proud of. The League of Transfer Students was mostly another study group. And, a convenient way for Saruchi to keep tabs on the Head Boy, at least when he was in the hallway on the seventh floor.
"Eh, what? It was zere before." Gabrielle gave the cup back to the second-year, and waved her away. One would think that a Gryffindor who knew what she wanted would at least try to get it.
"Why are you looking in the 'S' section?" asked Saruchi, leaning over.
"Oh Mistress of the Mirk, forsooth, I -"
"Eh, what?"
"What?" It was Portia, holding another likely useless attempt at overcoming the Jinx Gabrielle had very inadvertently afflicted herself with. This took the form of a Cloak of Darkness; the Coven of the Darkest Shadows did not even try to find one that fit her anymore, using whichever was extra or volunteered for their experiments.
"What is, eh, forsooze?"
"It is not right?" asked Suki-chan.
"The first letter is a 'P'," noted Saruchi, pointing with her quill. "Just like you… wrote it."
"Ehh? So it is pa-sylliostachys?"
"Um, I think it is Shakespeare? Anyway, we worked hard on these," assured Portia. She actually held two cloaks.
"Can you read my cup? Please? Or, or, forsooth?"
"Did you, eh, use your wand or finger on it?"
"N-no!"
"I can tell, you should know zis," warned Gabrielle, trying to give them a suspicious glare. She could at least tell when someone tried to use the dregs of the tea as finger paint.
"Put this one on first, we used an ancient Ritual -"
"Of Darkness?" teased Saruchi.
"Shut up. At least we are trying."
"Ah, but trying to do what, exactly?"
"Sh-Shut up!"
"Er, I'm just going to freshen my leaves up a bit. They've gotten a, a bit… dusty?" The girl hurried away, followed by two more who also just noticed their leaves were similarly dessicated. That left one smug-looking girl from Slytherin, who might have been a sixth year.
Gabrielle put on the latest cloak. This was a waste of cloth, but the Darkest Shadows had been trying all week. The cloak was more of a small tent, and gathered in folds at her feet. She thought that she could get two cloaks out of it. The magic did seem to be holding up and - no, never mind, the inkyness had just begun to spread on the back. It was still surprising that it was so easy to see even on such a dark cloak. Gabrielle sighed.
"It's fine, forget that one, I didn't think it would work," said Portia, helping take the cloak. "This is the one."
Gabrielle told Suki-chan that the 'P' was silent, pulled on the latest cloak, and took the proffered cup. It was not as if she wanted to be alone all the time, but this was becoming too much. The cup easily had twice the normal amount of residue in it; Gabrielle supposed that was to make sure that there was something to see, that is, See. And, there did seem to be more to the cup. Gabrielle tilted the teacup back and forth, and rotated it. The way the light glistened off the dampness was different, changing the shapes and forms as the cup moved. Like, like a muggle movie!
"Miss Delacour!"
"Oy, yer that spying firstie!" complained Malachite. "Guess you can swim after all."
A tragic movie, if that blob was supposed to be a grave marker. Gabrielle stared at the cup as she shifted in the light. A gathering, a person - an animal? - good fortune, tragedy, long life. These were quite the dregs! Amazing!
"Miss Delacour?"
"You will find ze man of your dreams at ze dance, but, eh, somezing terrible will happen to zem. But, eh, not to you. You will be fine," announced Gabrielle, looking up from the cup.
"I will?"
"Eh, no, Mags, not you," said Gabrielle. She handed the cup back to the Slytherin girl, catching sight of the utterly black cloak she now wore.
"Steady on," said the holder of the cup. "Am I -going- to the dance with ze - the man of my dreams, or will I only meet him there? Will this terrible thing happen at the Halloween Ball?"
"Eh… I mostly See the Past, and zey are only wet leaves…"
"Well, fine then. If neither is the man of my dreams, then I'll go with the better looking one. It's not like he will end up dead, right?"
"Miss Delacour!"
"Yes, Mags, what is it?" asked Gabrielle. The chronically damp brunette, nearly vibrating with excitement, stood there with Flannagan from the first-year Divination class. She did not have a cup, and neither did he.
"Hey there, Flannagan," lilted the sixth-year.
"You're invited to the Slug Club, Miss Delacour!"
A slug club, wondered Gabrielle? That did not sound very fun. Did they have races? They probably would not appreciate that she fed specimens to the Sisters.
"Actually," put in Flannagan, "Professor Slughorn is hosting a special get-together after the Halloween Ball. You and a guest are invited to it." He held out a fancy envelope on a small silver tray. "Hey Mittsy. You hair is really nice this morning."
"I can go with you!"
Gabrielle was watching the Slytherin girl, who had tittered and blushed at his compliment. She recalled the small army of girls who had tried to defend Flannagan during the unfortunate events of the Burning of the Tower. Weird. "Eh, what?"
"I can go with you to the party, Miss Delacour!" nodded Mags encouragingly.
"Oh, eh -"
"I shan't think that necessary, Miss Berrycloth," declared Headmistress McGonagall. "Mister Flannagan, please inform your Head of House that he is to be in my office within the hour."
"Yes, Headmistress."
"As for you, Miss Delacour, I trust that you are not 'exhausting your mystic energies'?"
"No! Eh, zat is, I do not zink so?"
"Good," said McGonagall. "Do try to reserve some. Now, Miss Berrycloth, five points -"
"What?! No bloody way! That is so unfair! I, I…" The first-year stopped after seeing the grin playing across the face of the Headmistress. "Cauldron crud."
"Indeed," chuckled McGonagall. "You'll be up to your elbows in it."
v - v - v - v - v
Oh, thought Gabrielle, what to wear, what to wear? I know, continued her internal monologue, how about black? Ooh, good choice!
Black leggings because it was cold, a black dress with the somewhat messy edges of the new neckline covered by, well, black lace, and, because she was only a third-year, the formal school robe over all of it. At least that had started out mostly black. Just not so black as everything else. The neckline was of the plunging variety, but, because there was sadly little to plunge into, it was hardly to be noticed. And, the robe covered it anyway. Gabrielle removed the covering from the amulet she wore, sempre, because it looked silly like that when it was so exposed. Discounting the robe, of course.
That was the totality of Gabrielle's preparations for the Halloween Ball. She did not have enough hair to do much with, and the only Wheeze she could find in the handbag for coloring her short locks was a Chudley Cannon Deluxe. She did not know what made it Deluxe, and tonight was not the time to find out.
Gabrielle did not have any makeup, because her Maman never used any and Fleur could not be bothered to instruct her. She did know that selecting a product was an extremely arduous process, though. Her sister could spend an entire afternoon shopping and only come away with a single colored pencil. Gabrielle had no time for such a search now, so she did not join the other girls struggling at the mirrors. She wondered if she should tell them what Fleur would say, that if it did not look good then start over - more will not help.
Such advice would probably not be welcomed, Gabrielle decided, so she checked her beetle. George was still in London. It would not take a wizard long to travel the length of the country, of course. That is, if said wizard was inclined to do so. If he had not forgotten his promise. George had promised, yes? Gabrielle was sure of it - reasonably sure, at least, because she did like to think too much about that magic bathroom and the humiliation. And, thought Gabrielle, he had been sending her a daily countdown, instead of the reverse. That was a good sign.
Unless, remembered Gabrielle, George was on to something good in the workroom. Fred had said that George would ignore everything if he was. She checked the beetle again.
There was little point in ruminating about the impending social disappointment, so Gabrielle set about helping the other girls with their hair. Particularly Suki-chan, because her long, dark silky hair was so relaxing to brush. Surprisingly, for all the tea leaves she had read, it was true that most of the girls did not have official dates, but were planning to meet up in groups. That, Gabrielle supposed, should have been expected for Hufflepuffs. She looked at the small numbers under the wing case again, surreptitiously. They had not changed.
"Oy, Delacour." It was Beatrice Weale, who went by Binnsy because she was a prefect like Chinsy, except her name started with a 'B'. Gabrielle would have preferred using her proper name, but at least having arrived with a nickname saved her from a Hufflepuff effort. Binnsy did rhyme well, but what if the hefty prefect had been dubbed 'Gutty' for his large stomach? "You've got a vis-"
Gabrielle might have apparated, having reached the hallway so quickly. She slid to a stop just before the round door to the common room, to compose herself. And, really, because getting through the unusual door was not something that was done carelessly. She did not want to look flustered, like she had been anxious.
"'Ullo Gabrielle. I was wonderin' if ye might give me a hand wi' somethin'," smiled Professor Hagrid. "Got somethin' special planned, ye see." He tapped the side of his nose.
"Eh, what?"
"Won't take long, jes' a quick trip to the forest." His eyes were crinkled as usual when the fun was more like a danger to everyone else. Gabrielle could not believe this! It was not like she had missed one of her scheduled detentions. To ask right before the Halloween Ball - unbelievable!
A second thought pointed out that it was not as if she actually had a date at the moment, which was a surprisingly stinging thought. A third thought wondered if it was believable, because…
Gabrielle pulled out her beetle, and checked the arrow. "My, eh, git detector is not working properly… George."
"Well, tha's prolly due ter the number of wizards about."
"It is not a masquerade. You should know zis," said Gabrielle sharply. "I hope zat you 'ave proper clothes to, eh, change into."
"Ye do, do ye? Know a good place ter have a wash, eh?" winked the probably fake Hagrid. "Spent bloody weeks brewing this potion. And never mind the ingredients used! What gave it away?"
Hagrid has never used my proper name. That sounded better, thought Gabrielle, than saying that she had simply guessed. But not as good as this: "Ze mists zat hide ze Hidden Realm have parted, and I have Seen. Your, eh, aura, it is ze same."
"Huh. That's handy."
"When will ze potion wear off?" asked Gabrielle, concerned. She could not go to the dance with him looking like this - it would be too weird. "Is zere an antidote?"
"Now, now, no arguments, girl. Git yer cloak and le's be off," boomed George as Professor Hagrid.
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle sat on a fence rail near Professor Hagrid's stone cottage, la maison de l'amour, while Professor Hagrid went over the plans with Professor Hagrid, Professor Hagrid, Professor Hagrid, and Professor Hagrid. Gabrielle could tell George from the others easily because he was the only one who looked sure about what was going on. He was also better at mimicking the Professor's mannerisms. Gabrielle was certain that the real professor Hagrid was not present because Fang was glued to her side, not as frantic or confused but constantly snuffling for her familiar scent. Which was better than the barking and snapping. Gabrielle could also pick out Mags, because she would give her a small wave nearly as often as Fang would bury his nose into her.
Gabrielle sat apart not only to calm the dog but because she was recognizable as well. The potion, a vile concoction that George called Polyjuice, had only partly worked on her. She had the body of Hagrid, necessitating the privacy tent George had brought for the change; she had the timbre of Hagrid's voice; and she had his bristly beard. And, of course, Hagrid's clothing, which she found itchy. The amulet from Nona was around her wrist - that should count as 'sempre'. But, she still had the blond, pixie cut her hair preferred, though there was a lot more of it to cover Hagrid's, that is, her presently larger head. The reaction was unexpected, so George did not give her a dose of his 'Mite of Might' draught, just in case. She could not help carry the massive pumpkins with carved faces that were filled with an eerie, flickering green glow.
Once the Professors Hagrid started for the castle, George approached her with a handful of pumpkin vine. Since he now had the hands of Hagrid, there was quite a lot of vine. The tangle became a wig of dark, tangled hair with a wave of his wand, and was dropped on top of her head. Gabrielle sighed.
"Come on, luv, don't feel down. It'll still be fun even without a Gourd of Wonder, patent pending," cheered George. Gabrielle sighed again.
"Ah. You aren't, er, angry, are you?"
Gabrielle sighed a third time. If she was angry, she would be angry with herself for not being angry before. If she had been angry before, she would have shouted a bit and stomped back to her bed for a good, or at least theatrical, cry. Then George would have reversed the potion's effects and apologized, or, more likely, come by again after the prank. Either way, thought Gabrielle, she would not be sitting here consoling a dog with drooling jowls as a failed copy of her professor. If she had not wanted so much to be with George, to be part of George's fun, if - No, Gabrielle upbraided herself, who would not want to be part of the fun? She could not blame herself for that. She was not angry, just disappointed. Disappointed that she could not enjoy the Ball in the normal fashion, nor could she be part of George's prank.
"I am, eh, disappointed, George. I have been looking forward to ze dance for a long time, and now… zis."
"Aw, don't be like that. The potion shouldn't last too long, leaving plenty of time for whatever risqué adventure you've up your jumper."
"Eh, what?"
"I don't mind, of course. What's the point of having an advantage if you don't use it, I say. But, er, you aren't of-age and that tends to set certain witches off, and you know who I mean," explained George.
"I do not - Zat, eh, just, eh, happened ze last time. All ze times! And zere were no times!" declared Gabrielle. He did not mind, of course. What was meant by that?
"Let's not miss the fun, right?"
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle ducked low behind a table to avoid the spray of magic. Tried to duck - there was little to hide a Professor Hagrid-sized body. Several students were even using her current bulk for shelter. The tables were arranged in small groups, holding very small plates of very small foods. There was music, too, from the same sort of flowers that Gabrielle had seen at her sister's wedding. Professor McGonagall had explained the new strategy to her one Friday evening. The limited food supply forced students to move from table to table, and they could not eat enough before there was at least some dancing. Gabrielle had been carefully neutral in her reaction to the description.
The unpredictable pumpkins had struck Gabrielle several times already, but only with the spells that turned one colors. She was mostly orange with occasional surges of lilac, which was better than being partly transfigured into a mushroom. Or being forced to bray like a donkey.
The blasts of magic burst from the Gourds of Wonder, patent pending, in spasms. The huge pumpkins began exploding almost as soon as the Professors Hagrid had finished entering the Great Hall. None of the Hagrids had managed to put them down, and jumped and jerked as if shocked when their gourd went off.
Gabrielle was not sure this was fun or funny. Well, at least, not very funny. She was certainly glad that she was unable to carry a massive wonder. The word for this was chaos, a word that tried to raise the hairs on her neck but failed, possibly because there were so many more of them. That sort of made the word a premonition, though it was just as likely an accurate description. Gabrielle tried it out.
"Ze mists zat hide ze Hidden Realm have parted, and I can See… chaos."
"Here, you're not Professor Hagrid," complained a wizard hiding behind her.
"Well, I dun' know about zat," said Gabrielle. She wondered if that would fool him. After all, anyone who knew the real Hagrid would know that he would not be trying to hide behind a table with deviled eggs and bits of cheese on crackers.
Actually, wondered Gabrielle, where was Professor Hagrid? He was not in attendance, since he would undoubtedly be roaring with laughter at the antics of his facsimiles. Perhaps there were more acromantulas to stomp?
"You sounds like that French witch. Zis, zat, or ze ozzerzing. I say, are you really part Veela? Only I thought Veela were supposed -"
Gabrielle dove out of the way of a jerking Hagrid, so did not hear what a Veela was supposed to be, do, or look like. The boy asking now had a mushroom for a head - red with white spots. The frills under the caps fluttered when he tried to speak, and all that came out was, "Mwah, mwah mwah." Which, Gabrielle decided, was funny.
While the false Professor Hagrids lurched about with their giant vegetables, save for one of their number who moved with a bit more purpose - clearly George, there was suspiciously little reaction from the Headmistress. McGonagall was busy with her wand, it was true, but only, that Gabrielle could see, to extinguish the occasional small fires from the random blasts of fireworks. She certainly did not seem intent on halting the debacle. Gabrielle found that strange, and therefore worrying.
It was then that another Professor Hagrid crashed through the doors of the Great Hall. "Troll - in th' entry - thought ye ought ter… What in Merlin's name?"
That was the real Professor Hagrid, thought Gabrielle. And, well, that was about it for that. She could not spare any time to wonder where he had been, and where he had found a troll because Mags was heading for her again, and this time her pumpkin was spewing Slytherin' Sludge. A second thought went back to the word troll. This could not be his 'little surprise', could it?
A far larger head poked its way through the door. It had ratty dark hair, mottled green skin, and a grin on its face. That was a little incongruous in Gabrielle's opinion. But then, she did not know that much about trolls. The troll pushed past Hagrid and into the Great Hall, and raised a huge wooden club over its head. It then screwed up its face in concentration and, after a moment's consideration, said, "Yeargh."
The creature took a giant step forward, waved the club around over its head, and said, again, "Yeargh." Gabrielle's second thoughts puzzled over the idea that the utterance was said. Loudly, yes, but it was hardly even a shout, given the size of the lungs. Not a blood-thirsty roar, certainement. Her first thoughts were busy planning an escape. Third thoughts wondered if she should find Suki-chan before her friend brought out her cards. That is, talismans.
The first step in the plan, thought Gabrielle. was to get on her feet. However, she needed to wait until she was relatively safe from the other Professor Hagrids. Escaping with a mushroom for a leg would be far more difficult. Thus she was able to see the troll's face go from, eh, enjoyment, possibly, to confusion to panic. "Hagger? Haggers! Not Haggers!"
That was a lot more heartfelt, judged Gabrielle. A rather useless thought, though, since now the troll was no longer menacing with its club but was now using it. A Gourd of Wonder, patent pending, exploded into a cloud of bees when the troll's club struck it. The bees were rightfully angry, and sadly incinerated by a ball of fire from an ill-timed talisman from Suki-chan. "Shukufuku sareta hireyake!" Gabrielle liked that one; she needed to learn how to make one of those.
Why, Gabrielle found herself wondering again, were none of the faculty helping? That is, besides the true Professor Hagrid who was tugging at the troll's leg. The spells from the students had no effect on the huge creature. That is, when they hit it instead of striking a fellow student on the other side. Surely a professor's spellwork would be stronger, and, eh, more accurate? Perhaps it was that they were too busy tending to the victims of the errant spells?
One figure did come forward. It was the Head Craig, eh, zat is, Boy. He raised his hand, and said something calmly. The troll, club raised above its head for another smash, paused as if considering it. Then it brought its hands down in a deadly arc.
Or, so it would have, but Gabrielle had taken really careful aim with her wand and vanished the club. Quickly, and at least somewhat quietly, enough so that no one had spotted her and could draw attention to her. She then got to her feet to slip away, if that were even possible being the size that she was.
The Head Boy was now advancing on the troll, which seemed to confuse the huge creature as much as not having the club did. Gabrielle watched, because the troll was backing up toward the closest exit, which had featured rather prominently in her escape plans.
There was a sudden, high-pitched shriek, which cut through the tumult. Mags was standing among a pile of cloth, conspicuously not wearing any of it. There was a shower of laughter as another Professor Hagrid disappeared to be replaced by a very pink boy. Shock occupied Gabrielle's first thoughts, but her second thought had already concluded, "Merde."
Gabrielle quickly calculated that since she had been the last to take the awful Polyjuice she had time to make a run for it. Except… the potion had not exactly worked on her, and the troll, who was also laughing and shouting "Bum!", was nearly at the door. There would barely be enough time. She turned and sprinted, only to collide with another Professor Hagrid.
"Ah, right, sorry luv, but there might be a small, uh, flaw in the… uh, uhhh…"
It was George. He had stopped talking, stopped blinking, because she was not Professor Hagrid anymore. This was the worst, but Gabrielle also knew that she would treasure the memory of the look on his face. Since she was going to die of embarrassment anyway, she wanted to make sure that George would not forget either. She put her hands on her hips, kept her face up and her pelvis forward, and said, "See anyzing you like, George? Who 'ad ze risqué plan?"
Well, that at least was something Gabrielle had thought of while already crouching down to gather something to cover herself with. Crouching was far a less revealing course of action than bending over as Mags was doing. She had had the advantage of the vine wig, which probably covered her enough so that only her front had been seen. By George. The room then went dark. A magical dark, since the blackness was total. "George?"
"Just a pinch... of Peruvian Instant Darkness, luv, to... cover what needs covering," said her nearly betrothed. The pauses made Gabrielle think that he was doing something while speaking, and she wondered what the next prank would be. Then she remembered that he was also a Professor Hagrid, and perhaps not one any longer. Gabrielle determined that she would push him out of the magical darkness as her prank. And not at all for comparative anatomy purposes.
Gabrielle had managed to pull Professor Hagrid's oversized shirt back on, though now it was more of a housecoat. Not a proper housecoat, though, so she had to hold it onto herself at the neck, The arms of the shirt were far too long and impossible to deal with. It was not the best clothing choice for decisive action. Especially not in complete darkness, where the rest of the clothing that had once fit her lay in a treacherous tangle at her feet. Gabrielle's lunge was little more than a stumble, which did nothing than earn her a face full of comparative anatomy.
Which was actually quite a lot, once Gabrielle had worked out what was what. There was a saying about blind men and an elephant that seemed both appropriate and completely inappropriate. Was it a tree, a vine, or a branch with peaches?
George's reaction to Gabrielle's fumbling was to stiffen, eh, everywhere, and to push her away. She could hear another burst of laughter and cheering, so it might have been that he had accidentally slipped from the darkness as well as her grasp. That, eh, was just a figure of speech - she had not held anything longer than what had been necessary, completely necessary, to determine that she should not be holding it. Gabrielle gathered her makeshift wardrobe to herself again, and felt around for the amulet. She did not need a ladle to appear. What she did need was a sudden knowledge of mass memory alteration charms. She had never seen one cast, unless, of course, it had been cast on her.
Light dawned in her mind, but not because of some revelation of hidden magical knowledge. The darkness which hid her was dispelled, which allowed her to spot the amulet.
"Miss Delacour," sighed the Headmistress. "I believe we have spoken about abusing privileges before. Do you recall that?"
"Eh, what?"
"I shall take that as a 'no' instead of - what is that?"
"Eh, what?" Gabrielle was holding the amulet behind her back, The sleeves covering her hands, and the fact that one of them was occupied keeping the shirt on her body, made it impossible to put the amulet on. There was a reason that she normally kept it covered - it had been responsible for the abrupt end of her first apprenticeship.
"Am I to believe that you are now an addled dolt of child?" asked McGonagall severely. "Show me what you are hiding behind your back, or I will describe to your mother, and father, your current state and that of your co-conspirator."
"Eh…" Gabrielle caught herself before she asked 'what' again. The Headmistress was in a mood again, and Gabrielle knew it would be useless to argue. She would have to go to Madame Sprout to explain that nothing that had happened was her fault, which McGonagall was implying was the case. Where had George gone off to? Gabrielle brought forth the caged stone from Nona.
"Hmmm."
That was not the reaction that Gabrielle had feared. It was hardly a reaction at all, which was fine, but, well, it would be good to get her regular clothes soon. That would have been possible if the Headmistress had started swearing and fled, like Madame Noircallot.
"I should very much like to know how you came by that. Later, of course. May I?" asked McGonagall, reaching for it. Gabrielle ceded the chain and stone with a nod, wondering if that was a mistake. The Headmistress at, eh, at the other school had lost her senses and expelled Gabrielle. What if Headmistress McGonagall ran off with it? Nona, thought Gabrielle, would somehow know and blame her.
McGonagall, showing no sign of a desperate internal struggle - Gabrielle watched closely - simply hung the amulet back around Gabrielle's neck instead of confiscating it. The Headmistress seemed pleased, in fact, which Gabrielle took to be a lucky break for her, then she said, "Your fellow doppelgangers will have detention with you. Professor Hagrid will provide guidance."
Gabrielle nodded politely, since that was surely a safe course of action. It had not actually occurred to her that she would get in trouble for this. That, a second thought pointed out, had been rather naive. Completely so. Thick, judged a third thought, though it did explain the absence of George. Gabrielle's first thoughts were dealing with the notion that the Headmistress might think this was her idea, that she was the ringleader.
"He, eh, just, eh, happened to be here. Eh, to bring Madame Pomfrey more of ze, eh, Ministers!" blurted Gabrielle.
"I suppose that this will not surprise you," began McGonagall, "but Miss Berrycloth is rather obsessed with you, and will share quite a bit of gossip over the course of a detention."
"Eh… Zat is, eh -"
"I suggest you either find something more appropriate to wear, or put your transfiguration skills to use."
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle had not gotten far, because she had lost feeling in her toes. Feet, really. Standing on the pile of Hagrid-sized clothes had been fine, but she had only made it to the entrance hall before she could take no more. Professor Hagrid's coarsely woven shirt offered some relief, but only if she balled herself up to tuck the extra material under her. Which made moving impossible. Gabrielle was squatting down behind a pedestal on which stood a bust of Sir Bemonius Scott. It was a good spot in which to not be noticed. Sir Scott had done something, according to the attached brass plaque, with weather spells, and so the nose of his bust would shade redder or bluer depending on the temperature at the Tomnaverie standing stones. Currently the carved nose was decidedly blue. That might have been useful if Gabrielle had any idea of where the stones were.
Gabrielle could hear the sounds of the Ball grow, and things were almost as lively as before. She was certain that everyone was having fun and enjoying themselves, at least as much as she was not. The problem was the handbag. It was not with her, and it had all of her clothing. Worse, the handbag was at Professor Hagrid's cottage and she would definitely freeze to death before she made it there. Or come down with the Grippe and probably die of that. Maman would find out either way.
Magic should be able to help, thought Gabrielle, but she was not going to try a warming charm on herself. Ceramic was not supposed to melt, but it had when she had practiced the spell on Saruchi's cup of tea. That, Gabrielle felt, was her Veela heritage manifesting itself. Although, strictly speaking, she was forbidden from raising anything above room temperature anywhere in the castle or on the castle's grounds or in Hogsmeade or in southern Scotland in general, except for closely supervised classroom activities. The Headmistress had been in a mood.
What Gabrielle needed now was a pair of something to transfigured into shoes. Or, ideally, two pairs of somethings so she could have socks as well. A severing hex to cut up the ludicrous sleeves would work, if she had something to practice on first, except that Professor Hagrid might become angry about his wrecked shirt. It had to be difficult for him to find the right sizes in the shops.
"I know you birds can take forever to get ready, but to not even make a start?"
It was George, suddenly appearing from around Bemonius. He was wearing his clothes, and a suit of armor. Well, not so much a suit as the… trousers? Armored trousers? There was probably a special name for such a thing, but it was not really important right now.
"You, you aren't crying, are you?"
"No!" Not actually trousers, per se. He was wearing armored pants, if that was something that existed. Do armored trousers go over them, wondered Gabrielle, or under them, as George's normal trousers were?
"Ah, angry then. Er, I will say I expected the potion to last longer than that, bit of an embarrassment frankly. It's the ruddy boomslang skin - you just can't get the good stuff these days. So, you see, in many ways, it's the Ministry's fault."
"Eh, what?"
"You want to be angry with the Ministry, and not me."
"I am not angry, George. I am cold."
"Huh. Not angry. Not. Or crying. To be honest, I'm a bit out of my depth here. Those are usually the only two reactions I get after the first bloom goes off," admitted George.
"What are you wearing?"
"Clothes. You ought to try some of you're cold."
Should I, wondered Gabrielle, be angry? No, not if it was the Ministry's fault. Crying, though, that might have gotten her some sympathy. "Why are you wearing zat, eh, armor?" That was a question that came to mind before her second thoughts began to wonder why he had not brought her things back from Hagrid's.
"Helps to keep certain witches from temptation," explained George, emphasized with a gyration of his hips.
"Eh, what?" asked Gabrielle. Oh no, she thought, of course there would be rivals! And so much bolder than the ones at, at the French school. Um, started a second thought. That was enough to clarify his meaning, and Gabrielle felt a blush form. "Zat - zat is not necessary! Zere was no - I, eh, was playing ze prank!"
"By pulling the ol' Jolly Todger off? Fred was right about the French sense of humor," said George, shaking his head sadly.
"Eh, what? What do you mean by zat?" demanded Gabrielle. French humor was the, eh, regular kind, was it not? Perhaps not Maman's version, and any of the Poot Powder users, but -
"Oh, now you're angry."
"No!"
"Then at least mad for it."
Gabrielle decided that George was enjoying himself rather too much, so she abandoned the defense of French humor and culture she was about to launch. "I need my handbag."
"I would have thought you would start with some clothes, if you're feeling cold," suggested the redhead. "Or shoes."
"Every zing is in the handbag!"
"Ooh, all your eggs in your one basket."
"Eh, ze egg is in zere too," acknowledged Gabrielle, but she did not want to talk about that right now. "It is even colder outside, you know zis."
"What about your wand then?"
"Eh, no. I have my wand wizz me." Was her hint too vague?
"And you haven't summoned your bag yet? You had some talent for that spell. Wasn't it one of your first ones?"
The praise made Gabrielle warm all over. But not enough to forgo getting dressed. She had not considered summoning her things because they were so far away, and because the run-up she needed, still, would be too difficult in the borrowed shirt. "Ze spell, it is impossible, eh, like zis." Gabrielle raised an arm to flap the drooping sleeve.
"You should give it a go at least once," encouraged George.
"Non. I can not do zat and hold ze shirt on."
"So? If it works, and I'm sure it will, then you won't need that circus tent."
"Eh, what? George, I have nozzing… You pig."
"What? Nothing I haven't seen before," grinned her nearly-betrothed.
"Zat does not mean you will get to see it again!" snapped Gabrielle. "And, and zat was not on purpose! You know zis." What had happened to him being intimidated by her sexuality? Did it only work once? Merde.
"Oh yeah? I bet if I gave a little tug just about here…"
"Non! Arrete! Zat is, stop!" She could not tell if he was serious or not as she held the gathered shirt tighter. She also could not tell if that should make a difference or not.
"Inekari kami-kessoku!"
There was a flash as something struck the redhead from the side. Gabrielle knew that Suki-chan had used one of her talismans, which worried her, but she was currently preoccupied with George, who fell on top of her with a brief complaint of, "Bugger." He was heavier than she expected.
"Gigi-chan!" gasped Sukiya, staggered.
Heavy, perhaps, thought Gabrielle, but George was also warm. She was enveloped by his warmth, scent, and weight. Or so a romantic second thought tried. This was, she thought, not so bad. It would have been nice if he had landed face up, so she could kiss him. Nicer, if he had done something to deserve a kiss.
Less nice, Gabrielle sighed, was the reckless Suki-chan collapsing on to her too. Sukiya had tried to pull Gabrielle free from the awkward, but pleasant, situation using the last of her strength. Did Suki-chan's father not know what happened when she used one of his spells? As a wizard, he probably did not even think of it. Now the situation was awkward and uncomfortable.
"Miss Delacour?"
"Mags, I am here, yes." Gabrielle hoped that Mags would not lose her senses and attack either George or Suki-chan. She felt a little bad for not holding out much hope for help.
"Miss Delacour! Me, too!"