Chapter Twenty-Four - Aftermath, After Ears, After Hours
Gabrielle sat with her arms crossed across her chest, face scowling. Or what she thought would be scowling. Anger is an energy, it is said, but Gabrielle had run out of it some time ago. She and George were in the Hogwarts kitchens because the Failing Fairy Ring of Stupid had taken nearly half again as long as it should have to wear off, and she had missed dinner.
The ring itself was supposed to be a premium class of prank. It was not actually metal all the way through, but only a thin layer over molded muggle plastic. The plastic, in turn, was used to hold dozens of barely visible, really tiny rune carvings in a very particular arrangement that George had a name for. Gabrielle did not know it because at the time she was seething over George's remark, "I keep forgetting that you're part Veela." She knew she was not Maman or Fleur, but honestly. Perhaps, whispered a second thought, she could try the earrings again.
The prototype premium prank product was supposed to shrink the wearer down to the size of a fairy, then the sprouted membranous fairy wings would allow the wearer to fly. That is, it was supposed to shrink the wearer - and all of their clothing too. George had suggested that it might be her French heritage that had left her naked and freezing in the corridor. Except for the amulet; that had reduced in size as well, but, eh, covered nothing. Gabrielle could not tell if he was being thick, being mean, or trying to be funny. The flying part was the "smashing bit", according to George. The weight a fairy would not have, but a transfigured witch did have, was sort of hidden inside a 'pocket' within the ring. That was the reason why she did not have the strength to free herself from her mostly not-shrunk clothing, and had to wait for George to do it after he finished examining the feathers on her not-fairy wing. It was then that the Veela comment was made. Removing the ring before the magic wore off was not possible. Or, perhaps, just not advisable.
George claimed to have seen a certain tabby cat padding toward them, so he stuffed the broom and clothes into a pocket of his damaged shirt. Then, in a shock to Gabrielle, he grabbed her up and they retreated down the hallway to a more proper one, one that had not lost its doors. The shock was not from being carried - the wings were not right and her legs were too small to keep up. The shock was that he was touching her everywhere. Everywhere! And, and, and everything! Which did a lot to keep her warm, admittedly. But, everywhere!
There was a storage closet hidden behind the statue of the wizard Bryan Redditt, who in the middle centuries finally eradicated the use of an 's' to pluralize salmon. Gabrielle knew this because George told her that as they ducked inside the narrow closet. She wondered if the retelling was required to enter, because it certainly was not particularly useful or interesting information. Gabrielle suspected that this Bryan had paid to have the statue made himself, and that it was kept around only because it was just the size needed to hide a closet door. Once inside, the magic George chose to conceal them needed two hands to cast, so Gabrielle was stuffed into a pocket.
The pocket was not a magic one similar to her handbag, so Gabrielle could move around. It was also not empty. She wanted to be able to see the spells, but the first thing that she stepped on to climb up was, eh, sticky. Gabrielle struggled to free her foot, stumbled back as it finally pulled loose, and fell backward. She ended up sitting in something equally sticky, and her reflex reaction to push herself up only trapped her hands as well.
It did not take George long to finish his spellwork, and Gabrielle emerged from the pocket not as a miniature, indecently exposed angel but as more of a clump. She was smudged all over with a sweet brown, with one wing stuck to her head by a blob. It was from fighting off the threat of suffocation that resulted in her clumping.
"Hagrid never does get his treacle fudges to set right. Which is peculiar because he overcooks just about everything else. I forgot about those," explained George after a good long laugh, totally missing the searing Look from the single eye Gabrielle was able to open. "Really forgot." She wondered if he had noticed, even if only a little.
Gabrielle did not say anything, because her lips were mostly sealed with the ersatz fudge. If they were not, she would have given George a very definite answer to his asking if she wanted to "nip up to the seventh floor for another show - er, shower." Was that supposed to be funny, thick, or mean?
George took up his wand again, and Gabrielle suffered a thorough Scourgifying. She was certain there were more appropriate spells to use, and told her hopefully betrothed as much. Since she could do so meant the spell had been effective instead of just stingingly harsh. She tried not to imagine what it looked like when she was dangled from one leg. Her complaints fell on mostly deaf ears, until George asked if she wanted him to do some licking too.
Gabrielle spluttered her explanation of grounded humours, the Hidden Realm, and the need for a Guidepost. She had thought George had not noticed the earlier slip because she was sure he would have teased her over it. Mocked, came a second thought. Then Gabrielle tried to explain that it was more just getting carried away in the moment and not more spying on him. Of which, a second thought hurriedly added, there was not any of in the first place. At least, not without the Gringotts ink. Thankfully the last part was only a guilty third thought and not something she blurted out. George, who had been simply staring at her in silence, then winked and said, "You know, luv, I've got a 'Guidepost' you can lick."
George found that to be profoundly amusing. Gabrielle found it to be another funny, thick, or mean quandary. This time, she decided on mean and blew her cauldron. Everything had been his fault in the first place! Mostly. She was still angry over the fake proposal, the humiliating fake proposal, and lashed out.
The tirade was not entirely effective. Most of the invective was in French, and it was coming from a very tiny mouth with a matching set of tiny lungs. Soon it was muffled by George's cloak, which he said was needed for her expected return to normal. When she ran out of ways to combine expletives, there was nothing left but to sulk. That prompted George to offer a belated "prop-air" greeting in the form of a kiss. Technically his kiss was to her lips, except it was also to her nose, chin, and forehead all at once. She needed to remind herself that that was not enough to make her feel at least a little better.
Especially since, once the magic of the ring wore off, George claimed that he had somehow lost her underwear. That was not funny at all - just stupid. Gabrielle had her handbag with her and plenty of replacements, or a wand that she could now actually lift if she wanted to try and summon the lost lingerie. She decided to ignore the pathetic prank attempt.
Gabrielle dressed carefully - carefully dressed - dressed, but carefully, to make sure that she was safely covered by the cloak. Then, after a refreshingly quick trip past the main staircase by the repaired broom, she was shown the best way to tickle the pear on the portrait concealing the entrance to the kitchens. Oh mon Dieu, thought Gabrielle, the broom was such a relief. George's weight did not seem to affect the broom at all too, though they were headed downward to the dungeons anyway.
The house-elves were happy to see the two, which Gabrielle found a little strange as they had just finished all the work needed for the school's dinner. She, at least, having been an apprentice which, in her experience, was almost the same as a house-elf, would want some rest. A slightly jealous second thought noted that the house-elves were obviously happier to see George than her. A dozen elves nattered about him, bringing numerous drinks and plates of food to offer. Only one nervous house-elf attended her, a younger-looking female named Hetty.
Attended - that was the difference, though, as Gabrielle watched George entertain the gathered house-elves with the latest Harry Potter stories. Her angry, sulking pose was largely ignored by her fated Weasley. It was apparent to Gabrielle that the younger elf had drawn the short-straw in having to focus on her. Or it was perhaps that Hetty was always the short-straw. Gabrielle had some sympathy for that, having felt the same for a lot of her life. She had even more empathy after a thrown ladle was used to correct Hetty addressing her as "Miss" instead of "Mistress". She was Gabrielle, Mistress of the Mirk, but she did not ask others to address her as such, because she was still up in the air about the mirk part. Sometimes it sounded too close to muck.
As for Hetty, it seemed like she was waiting to be told what to do. Which, a second thought reminded, was quite normal for a house-elf. "Eh, is zere somezing to eat from dinner?" hinted Gabrielle. She knew the answer because George was dismantling a roasted chicken with his fingers. That was added to the List of Things to Fix. The presence of Hetty was probably the reason he did not give her any. At least, that had better be the reason. The whole kitchen had no doubt heard her stomach sing.
Hetty disappeared with a pop, only to reappear moments later. "Yes, Mistress," she replied.
"Eh..." The house-elf had returned with nothing, which was unexpected. "Can you, eh, bring some to me?"
Once again Hetty disappeared with a pop. This time Gabrielle turned her head slightly to watch the elf ask another, wizened house-elf something. The older house-elf was much darker than the others, and very wrinkled. Like a raisin, which is why Gabrielle thought the creature was older. He was not dressed as the other elves, but wore a burlap sack with "sugarca" on it. The two were only a table-length away. "Yes, Mistress," repeated Hetty after the return pop. Empty-handed. Gabrielle felt that the delivery of a large amount of food would impress her more than the apparating.
Fortunately, Gabrielle remembered something very useful. "George, give me some food," she commanded with a wave of her hand. The silent sulking was not working anyway. "Wizz un plate," she added when George made to hand her a portion of the dripping chicken.
"Suppose this means you aren't angry anymore," said George. He stretched his own plate with a poke of his wand, but only far enough so that Gabrielle would need to move closer to reach it. This was something that she noticed, and counted as a total and complete victory. She moved closer.
"No, I am, eh, angry, still, but I am hungry, very much, and zis Hetty is not helping. And I will be more angry if you do not give me zat potato also."
"Hetty? You mean that house-elf?"
Gabrielle swallowed the massive bite of chicken and waited for it to force its way to her grateful stomach. She probably should have chewed it more. "Oui, eh, yes."
"That's interesting, luv. House-elves don't usually give out their names themselves."
Gabrielle shrugged as her mouth was full again. From what she had experienced in Britain, there was no normal for house-elves. She was almost certain one had told her its name at the dinner at Fleur's wedding. Perhaps because the 'waiter-ess' had been wearing a 'disguise' it was allowed? She swallowed, which was much easier with a more proper chewing, and asked, "Does zis matter?"
"Just another piece to a puzzle," grinned George.
"Eh, what?"
"You've no trouble using a broom inside the castle, and you're not fussed in the least about missing curfew. And now the house-elves are introducing themselves. Interesting."
"Pomfrey said zat I can not use ze main staircase so I must use ze broom, and I have four detentions every week. Forever! You should know zis." There definitely were extenuating circumstances. "Eh, zat, eh, is a secret from Maman, zhough."
George looked pained, which was a little surprising, but Gabrielle would take the sympathy. "Four per week... That's been, what, nearly fifty already? Merlin!"
Gabrielle frowned. Adding them up like that made it sound so much worse. She knew that she should wait for a real, actual apology from George first, but -
"That's cost me a thousand galleons."
"Eh, what?!"
"I have, ha, had a little flutter going with Fred on whether you would beat either of our detention marks for a year. He said you would, easily. Mind you, this was right after you blew up the shop's stock of dung bombs. I thought there would be more favoritism, on account of you being, er, you know."
Gabrielle decided to chew very thoroughly. A thousand galleons? A thousand galleons! What was there to say? At least she was not at fault here. Other than very accidentally beginning the Black Period, she had not done anything to warrant the detentions. This only strengthened the case for setting Fred on fire.
"I suppose I'll need to get cracking on that puzzle, then. You'll help, right?"
"After tonight?"
"You would have enjoyed the flitting if it had worked like it was supposed to, but I promise: no more prototypes."
"Zat is not enough. I, eh, zink a ring too." If George was going to spend a thousand galleons, thought Gabrielle, then he might as well spend them on me. That was logical!
"A zinc, eh, ring? Just how many rings do you need anyway?"
"Eh, what?" She had meant a real ring, a proper ring to make their fated engagement official. "I mean a real one, wizz everyzing it should have." The perfect setting, the perfect ring, the perfect moment.
"What, you mean like a finger already in it? I don't know. I mean, I know a bloke who knows a bloke who knows a bloke, that sort of thing, but..."
"Eh, what?"
"Do you want some of my mushy peas as well?"
"Eh, no. No zank you." Those were gross. "But, eh, I can have some of your drink?"
"You won't like it," warned George. He slid the mug over.
Gabrielle peered into the mug and thought that he might be right. It definitely was not tea. There was a strange, frothy oiliness floating on the surface, the sort of thing a normal recipe would instruct to be skimmed off. The hot liquid did not smell too bad. There was the scent of cinnamon and nutmeg, with some orange, and something sharper and stingier than those. The aroma was...
The warm breeze coming from the window smelled of the sea. The sea, with a hint of the flowers beginning to bloom in the garden. The sky was clear and the day was already bright, except for the dim enclave of the bedroom. She listened intently at the door before slipping inside.
"Fetch me a warming drink, dear Tembe. The chill pierces me," rasped the figure on the bed when it finally stirred.
"Yes, Mas'er." She listened to the ragged breaths before turning to go. It could not help, nothing, not even magic, would at this point, but it would not hurt and it would take away the chill he felt even in the tropical warmth. The concoction was more of a holiday drink, but she reached for the dark bottle anyway.
It took no time at all to heat and prepare the strong cup of buttered rum, but, even so, it was too long. It was not the lack of breathing. A wizard might be able to go about his life for some time without bothering about that. But the magic, the bond, was fading. She could feel it, and it was not right. There were heirs. Were there not? It had been a decade or more since England. Her eyes went to the wrapped bundle askew on the deceased's chest. It had her name on it in the twitchy scrawl of the master. Former master. Not, not, not clothes. Why?
A Bad Thought came, and she gulped the drink to wash it away, or to give time to consider -
Gabrielle's head snapped back as she sneezed, coughed, and sneezed more. The rum drink splattered everywhere as she flailed. The inside of her nose felt like it was burning, and the convulsive sneezing was not helping.
A white cloth fluttered in front of Gabrielle's face. She grabbed for it, and soon found herself under a new attack. The handkerchief was not content with simply containing her nasal explosions, but sought to root out the cause. A corner plunged into her left nostril and began worming its way deeper. No amount of tugging could dislodge the handkerchief, especially with the continued sneezing fits. When the squirming mass reached her other nostril, Gabrielle closed her eyes tightly. A sneeze now would surely send her eyeballs flying.
Gabrielle kept her eyes closed until she felt the handkerchief finally extricate itself from her face. She closed them again, since everyone was looking at her. House-elves could stare like owls.
"Elephants drink with their noses. Are you manifesting aspects of the elephant god now?" asked George.
"Eh, zee, eh, mists zat hide ze Hidden Realm have, eh, parted, and I have Seen," said Gabrielle.
"You haven't seen the state of that handkerchief - urgh."
"Eh, what?" Had she not said it correctly? Usually there was more amazement when she said it. Conceal, opined a second thought, was better than hide. 'The mists that conceal the Hidden Realm have parted' was less, eh, redundant sounding. Gabrielle opened one eye, just a little. Something rumpled, saggy, and crusted with brown dangled from the tip of George's wand, just in front of her face. She reared back in disgust, and nearly fell from her chair. What, she wondered, had gone on inside of her nose?
George took a bite of the fetid item, and Gabrielle gagged. "Just kidding, luv," grinned George. "I had a go at making homemade pasties. Zey were zee grosse erreur, nest paws? Now, what did our Mistress of the Mirk 'See'?"
"Eh, eh," stumbled Gabrielle. What had she been about to say? Obscure, decided a less than helpful thought. That was even better than conceal. "Tembe! Eh, zat is, Tembe made zis drink when his master died."
"Must have been a real bastard to celebrate like that."
"Eh, no. I do not zink it was like -" A burst of golden light distracted Gabrielle. The light came from around the wrinkled old house-elf, who pulled off the burlap sack he wore to reveal a tea-towel. The act revealed a bit more than that also as the tea towel rode up, so Gabrielle quickly turned away. That, unfortunately, left her facing a distraught Hetty.
"Hetty is-is-is a Good elf," stammered Hetty.
Good for what was Gabrielle's first thought, which she managed to not blurt out. A Helpful elf would be better than a Good one in her opinion. But, she was no longer hungry so she just nodded her head and said, "Eh, zat is nice, I zink."
"Hetty didn't say a word!"
"Eh, yes, okay."
"Miss is thwock Mistress is finding out herself!" The kitchen had a good supply of ladles. Part of Gabrielle began instinctively to worry.
"Eh, what?"
"I is 'Embe, Miss 'ress," introduced the wrinkled house-elf, bowing.
Gabrielle suddenly remembered that it was past curfew, and time to head back to the dorm where the number of house-elves near her would probably be close to zero. She stood up, then realized that escaping would likely mean parting with George. Whom she was still angry with. If she left now, he would lose the chance to apologize and make it up to her. That would be terribly cruel. Also, Hetty had turned ashen and was trembling. Gabrielle sat down. "Is somezing wrong?"
"I' no' 'Embe's place 'oo 'ell, bu' please, Miss'ress, give He'y a 'ask."
"Eh, what?"
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle opened her eyes and sat up. She had not really had any sleep at all the previous night, and had fallen asleep against George while the raisin of a house-elf listed every single brand, type, and variety of tea he had offered to his former owner. This was after explaining that the wizard he had served did not like tea at all, which was somehow interpreted as not having found the right tea to serve. Gabrielle did not know how long she had dozed, but there were still dozens of teas to go when she woke. In the end, the wizard had forbade tea of any sort, the mention of the beverage, and even utterance of the letter. That order explained the house-elf's odd accent "en'irely".
Hetty was still hovering close, but now Gabrielle had a thought on how to be rid of her. That is, for her to be useful. She reached into her handbag, but was distracted when something flopped down in front of her face. When she touched the thing she knew - it was one of the ears from Suki-chan's headband. Only now the ears felt like they were half a meter long, like those of an overgrown hare. She sighed.
"In my defense," started George sheepishly. "I thought they were nearly out of magic. I mean, you could hardly see them before. Looks good on you, though?" Gabrielle very much doubted that.
"Zis is my toad, Poisseux," said Gabrielle to Hetty, showing her the mangled ball of spellotape that was his current form. Hetty furrowed her brow and tilted her head. "He, eh, was a regular toad, I zink, before.
"Specially bred," grinned George.
"Zen zere was a duel wizz, eh, Harry Potter," continued Gabrielle.
Hetty pulled the long tips of her ears down and looked miserable. "Hetty is-is a good elf and keeps her master's secrets."
This time it was Gabrielle who furrowed her brow. What was Hetty upset about? Then she remembered that some things were still secret. "It is, eh, okay. I was zere when it happened, you see. Poisseux was hurt when, eh, when ze witch blew up the shop or somezing. Yes?"
Hetty nodded, but Gabrielle could tell it was just for politeness. The elf still looked confused. Gabrielle decided to skip ahead.
"Ze house-elves from Hogwarts made Poisseux a new body, but zen he was hurt again by zat rat-wizard. Please find zose house-elves and have zem fix him. And, eh, stay wizz zem until zey are done." Gabrielle hoped the last bit did not sound strange.
"Yes Mistress!"
"Wait! Tell zem to make him, eh, stronger, fiercer. If zey can." Gabrielle kept hold of her crumpled pet. He was a kind of zombie now, yes, but how many times could he be crushed before it was all over for him?
"Yes Mistress!"
"And, eh, bring some cake when it is done." A reborn Poisseux would be something to celebrate.
"Yes Mistress!"
"Also, take zis galleon." Gabrielle let Hetty take the mangled zombie toad, and pushed the galleon into Hetty's hand. Using the school's Spellotape for her toad was probably fine, but she knew very well how -some- schools were about using their property for personal reasons. The house-elf seemed confused by this addition, and looked repeatedly at the raisin elf. "You can, eh, take him too."
v - v - v - v - v
The older elf did not accompany Hetty, so Gabrielle endured the recitation of the many uses of the machineel 'ree native to whatever island he had been on. She wondered if Embe was actually the Tembe of her vision. The house-elf might have given his name on his own because he could not properly say his name, so it did not count. Gabrielle would have interrupted to ask, but that was not polite and George was intrigued by the plant's prank potential. The tedious litany caused her to fall asleep again.
When Gabrielle again opened her eyes, she found she could no longer see. She struggled upright in alarm to rub her eyes, and found that she could see once the ears had swung wide.
"The good news," sighed George, "is that this is their final form."
Gabrielle explored the oversized, leathery ears. She did not need a mirror to figure out what animal they had come from, though it would be interesting to see what they looked like on her head. "Is zere, eh, bad news?"
"That would depend on how much sleep you get. The magic normally advances when you sleep, but only if you get at least half a night's. I've been helping it along, a bit," explained George. "Really interesting ratchet and pawl effect in there. And, well, it's gone two in the morning now."
Part of Gabrielle listened, but most of her stared at the hulking mound of Spellotape on the table before her. It was the size of a dinner plate and covered in spikes. This could not be Poisseux, could it? Was it, Gabrielle wondered, even a toad? She fingered one of the spikes. It was not a needle, but it would definitely hurt if he were stepped on. The mass of wound tape settled into an almost cheerful angle. It was her pet. Well, thought Gabrielle, this probably counts as stronger. "Zank you Hetty," smiled Gabrielle. "He will be much harder to crush like zis." Hopefully.
"Looks like a translucent cross between a cane toad and a horned toad, which, strictly speaking, is a lizard. Don't let Hagrid see it," warned George.
"Oh! I did not tell you about ze Silence of ze Crambs..."
v - v - v - v - v
If Gabrielle closed her eyes, she could imagine that she and George were sitting at a small bistro along a quiet street close to the river, chatting away the evening. The dampness from the dishwashing gave it that feel. This was the best part of the long day, which also meant it was the best part of the new day too since it was so late. Or, eh, early. She did not close her eyes, though, because she doubted that she would be able to open them again until morning and she did not want this time to end. If only the house-elves brought something other than tea or warm milk. Gabrielle considered trying to get Hetty to bring her coffee, but, well, one galleon had disappeared already. Besides, Hetty had forgotten the cake when she had returned with Poisseux the MegaToad. After trying to bash her head on the table as punishment, missing and hitting Gabrielle's knee instead, the mortified elf was on a mission to bring -all- the cake. Gabrielle had been presented with forty-four helpings so far, most of which were going into the handbag after being magically wrapped and charmed by George. A second thought did worry about exactly what charm was being used, but it was more important that he did it out of love, or at least without much prompting. Although that did lend weight to the suspicious thoughts.
Gabrielle did not have a first period class and so could sleep in, but George needed to be at the shop. This meant another awkward goodbye, which Gabrielle knew she could put off for another half minute if George escorted her to the Hufflepuff dorms, which were just down the hall. Not much extra time, but worth it.
George asked for the map because of the, ha, cat-and-mouse game he had going with the Headmistress. He was surprised that Gabrielle did not have it, and very alarmed when she told him who probably did have it. She explained about returning the ink pot and how that should have been enough for the doppelgänger, and, just in case George thought it was her fault, about Saruchi's obsession with the Head Boy that had put her friend in danger and so lost the map. The extra details did not ease George's concern.
George flourished his wand and a translucent image appeared in the air. "These, er, statues you saw in the glass, did any of them look like this?"
Gabrielle looked at the floating image. The pose was different, but the size and face looked the same. "Eh, yes, I zink. It was just standing up, zhough. Ze ozzer statues were goblins, I zink."
"Probably in need of a kip after blowing away a bits of Birmingham," muttered George. "Other statues - bugger me with an erumpent horn! This is bad."
"Eh, what?"
"And not just 'Sorry, Verity, the buffalo got into the veggies again so it's steak and kidney pie tonight' bad. This is Potter-level bad."
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle woke, earless. Though, not completely earless, thankfully. She still had the much smaller, natural pair that had come as a set with her head. When she had returned to the Hufflepuff dorms the previous night, she found a small group of Tea Cosies watching for her return. A more truthful description was a small group of Tea Cosies sleeping on the sofas and Suki-chan watching for her return. Gabrielle was very relieved that she did not have to go and rescue the Diggers, but also both disappointed that they had not been sent out after her and glad about the same. There really was no point during the evening that they would have been welcome.
Sukiya found the elephant ears very amusing, then hacked them from Gabrielle's head using her ceremonial sword. The only warning Gabrielle got, if she had recognized it, was Sukiya drawing one of her magic circles. Then there was a shout, and two blue arcs flashed by Gabrielle's head. The magically generated ears were hardly noticeable unless one felt for them or if they blocked one's view, but Gabrielle definitely felt their violent removal by whatever the resident ninny had launched from her sword. The piercing pain from both sides of her head tried to meet in the middle, and produced a point in the evening where the Interrupters of Things would have been welcome.
Gabrielle's sudden shriek woke the Cosies, and they gave a small cheer for her safe arrival before wandering off to their rooms. While she had not been in danger until Suki-chan, they could not have known that. Gabrielle tried, and failed, not to feel slighted.
Now that she was awake in the morning, and Suki-chan was not, Gabrielle saw the opportunity to even the score. She had not asked for animal ears, just as Suki-chan had not asked for a way to show support, Deluxe, for the Chudley Cannons. It was quite simple to do, once Gabrielle found the bottle in her handbag, because Suki-chan had insisted on sleeping next to her even though the night had been almost over. And that was not a cackle.
v - v - v - v - v
Gagnek folded the latest copy of The Underground precisely, then threw it across the room. For an evening paper purporting to cover the whole of goblin life and times in Britain, how had they missed out on the collapse of Gryndel Legal Industries? That concern had only been recently made independent of the much larger Gryndel Industries, to much excited coverage in the same broadsheet. Surely there would be sufficient salacious clan gossip for at least a Society page mention.
Gagnek knew the story already anyway. The Six-Toe clan was one of the clans in the circular chain of leverage. A lesser clan, likely due to assuming an extra digit on a foot indicated leadership destiny. The senior members of the clan must have come to realize that they had over-reached, and so dumped the looming debts onto a disfavored branch of their own clan. That was a blacked eye for them, or, Gagnek supposed, a stubbed toe, but it was better than losing the main concern.
Except, Gryndel Legal consisted mainly of a small chain of pet supply shops and a manufacturer of traditional, and now decidedly unfashionable, boots. There was little to cover the actual debts owed, and while a pound of flesh, as the saying went, was satisfying, it did not do much for the one owed. It may be nothing less than the lighting of a fuse.
Gagnek also knew that what was truly bothering him was the unreasonable effectiveness of Weasley when it came to ferreting out this conspiracy. Just today the wizard had supplied a name for the plot's agent at Hogwarts. This was embarrassing, even with the distraction of a disaster greater than a few murdered wizards looming. He needed to get his hands around the neck of this BIago. The other one, Tieka, seemed like the shrewder of the pair and was more likely to stay hidden. Blago would, totaling the other column, need things, and those things could be followed. Especially if Oreikhalk was one of the things needed.
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle trudged down the slope toward Hagrid's cottage. She had hoped that McGonagall would be understanding and allow her to miss the usual Friday evening detention; she expected to have to make it up later. What she had not expected was being assigned a new detention with Madame Pomfrey as well. She had gotten a detention for missing a detention because of a detention! There was no way that could be fair.
There was little in the way of moonlight as clouds had moved in throughout the day, so Gabrielle lit her way with the very boring light spell. A tiny bit of flame dancing at the end of her wand would have at least helped warm her hand, but that was very much forbidden. What was the point of apologizing, wondered Gabrielle, if you did not get a second chance? Her other hand was dragging the black-but-not-quite-as-black-as-her-clothes sack that held the sickles. She stopped to rub her hands together. If this was not at least properly autumn weather by now, then she would be dead by Christmas. Her breath came as little clouds, and the air was cold and damp.
Waiting outside of Hagrid's cottage was a small crowd that was definitely larger than the number of Professors Hagrid there had been. There were only two sickles. Perhaps the cold was the actual punishment? Gabrielle did not recognize most of the students, save for one.
"Miss Delacour!"
"Yes, hello, Mags," greeted Gabrielle, waiting for the first-year to loosen her embrace. The girl was dry. There was magic in the world. The others looked at Gabrielle expectantly, which she deduced by checking behind her for someone else they might be looking at. "Eh, where is Professor Hagrid?"
"Cottage."
Gabrielle looked more closely at the speaker. "You are, eh, Splatterham, yes?" There was some snickering.
"Spattsham."
"Sorry." He was one of the Ipswich Diggers, the one who fell. "Why are you, eh, here?"
"Detention."
Okay, thought Gabrielle, at least there had been no lasting damage. Everyone was still looking at her like she was supposed to be doing something. Which she had been, having brought the sickles needed for the harvest. "Eh, I will tell Professor Hagrid zat ze sickles are here." And ask why he is not ready.
"Oh, he said we could go get started whenever you arrived, Miss Delacour," explained Mags.
"Eh, what?"
v - v - v - v - v
"Eh, what?"
"Ye got ter un'erstan', lass. Not easy fer a big man like meself te travel in-cog-neater," explained Professor Hagrid. "There's a ship leavin' from Cardiff in the morning, and the captain is a Hogwarts alumnitity. It's fer tha' lil surprise."
Gabrielle wished that she had a mirror. Whatever Look she had on her face now was making the Professor start to sweat. That would be useful. Especially if it brought the Professor to his senses. If that happened, she could go back to the hearths in the Hufflepuff common room and warm up.
Professor Hagrid suddenly needed to leave, and Gabrielle could not help but think that the need to travel incognito really meant that the traveling was not something the Headmistress approved of. After all, portkeys still existed, yes? That was not her problem, though. Her problem was that the sensible course of action was to dismiss the students that were there to have the scheduled detention. Professor Hagrid somehow assumed that it would be fine to leave her in charge of the detention. That would be a double detention for her! She knew where the bricklebriar patch was, yes, but this would be like punishing herself.
But, there were school rules and policies. Were there not? Gabrielle guessed, "A professor has to be wizz ze student during detention."
"Ye know tha's no' the case. Could har'ly get a thing done if I ha' te watch every firstie do a bit o' cleanin'. Jus' set 'em ter task and give 'em another if they don' finish."
Okay, thought Gabrielle, that was not the real try. Especially given her own experiences with Professor Trelawney. "Eh, ze Forbidden Forest is, eh, forbidden, unless zere is a professor zere." Or a wayward bludger carries a student in; that is okay too as long as nothing catches fire entirely by accident.
"Ah," said Hagrid, looking down at his packed satchel uncomfortably for a moment and pensively stroking his beard. This had the effect of dislodging a dormouse from the shaggy mass. Gabrielle was certain that she had before spied more than one. "Well, I mean, you'll be there an' all..."
"Eh, what?"
"I should no' have said tha'," muttered Hagrid. "I should no' have said tha'." He absently put the dormouse back.
"How does zat -''
"Er, I, uh... I'll make you an apprentice! Tha', tha' way you'll be on the staff! In a way. No trouble," smiled Hagrid, clapping his hands together with a thunderous boom.
"Eh, what?! No! No. No, no. No."
"Jes' fer the night. Fer, uh, extra credit, an' such."
"Extra credit?" Gabrielle did not think she needed any. At least for Care of Magical Creatures, since most of the creatures under the care of the students were more mucus than muscle. But if she could transfer it…
"An' such," nodded Hagrid. "Fer tonight, and, mebbe, some classes next week."
"Eh, what?!"
v - v - v - v - v
"Lis'en hear you lot," boomed Professor Hagrid. "This 'ere's Gigi, an' -"
"Gabrielle, please," reminded Gabrielle.
"Right, Mistress o' the Mirk an' all. She's my apprentice fer a bit. Do wha' she says - knows the Fores' well enough."
"What she says? You are not coming as well?" The quite reasonable question came from a Slytherin girl who was another non-Halloween addition.
"Urgen' business came up tha' I need ter see ter." Hagrid waved his luggage. "Gigi here'll -"
"Gabrielle, please."
"A first-year is going to take us into the Forbidden Forest?"
"I am ze zhird-year!" snapped Gabrielle.
"Miss Delacour is awesome!" added Mags.
"Ye'll wan' her ter lead you. I like ter check in wi' the neighbors, but she's no' welcome everywhere." said Hagrid.
"She is -that- Hufflepuff beater," whispered a Slytherin boy. Gabrielle remembered the encounter with Professor Korbel. If one professor could assign detentions to be done with another, then why could Professor Hagrid not do so now? That was because, Gabrielle answered herself, he is doing something that he should not be. This, she worried, this would not make her an accomplice, would it?
"Well, tha's sorted then," concluded Hagrid. "I bes' be off, an' you lot too."
Gabrielle watched his retreating bulk, and wondered if the "an' such" she had negotiated was enough. Professor Hagrid probably would have agreed to anything.
"What did he mean by you not being welcome everywhere?" asked the Slytherin girl. "If this is a speci-, er, a heritage thing, well I would just like to point out that Slytherin house is doing its best to be more in step with modern thinking. We are welcoming all."
"I, eh, know zis. I really do not wish to know about ze timeshares."
"The gift at the end isn't that good anyway," griped Mags.
"So what did the Professor mean by it?" asked the older girl again.
Gabrielle sighed. "Zee acromantulas do not like me." There were only a few that could speak, and they supposedly refer to her as She-Who-Burns. Gabrielle did not think that Hagrid was making that up, at least not as a joke. Perhaps, though, as a way to make her feel more sorry.
"We are going to be killed."
"Don't be like that, Angie. I expect that the two of us, together, are more dangerous than most things out there," asserted the older boy.
"Are you two ze couple Professor Korbel caught, eh, shagging?"
"We weren't shagging!" replied Angie shrilly.
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle led Spattsham, a cohort of Gryffindors - which was easier than remembering their names, a lone Ravenclaw named Harcourt, and Mags back toward the castle. The Slytherins had been allowed to leave before the start, after applying warming charms to Gabrielle's shoes , glove, and both of her cloaks. They had also been required to demonstrate the snogging, which was definitely not the same as shagging. That had been an attempt to embarrass Angie, short for Tangerine, because she found the explanation from Mags as to why Gabrielle had not done her own charms too amusing. It had worked, at least until the third go, when the couple seemed to forget their audience. Gabrielle supposed it had been educational for everyone, though Mags found it gross.
It was easy to keep the group close now, because halfway to the patch, Monsieur Timtims and his pack had stepped from the shadows made by the bobbing wands. Gabrielle ordered her charges to freeze, waving her hand to help even though it was the one that held her wand. Then, she had to wait until Monsieur Timtims once again failed to find her squirrel. It was while visiting each of the lower members of the pack that she found Mags had wandered a bit too far. The one Gabrielle thought of as Prince Smarty, a probable challenger, eventually, to Monsieur Timtims, was sitting on the first-year. It was a way to show dominance, though doing so over a student a quarter of his size was not going to impress any of the other wolves. She might need to decide on a new name. Gabrielle patted the wolf first, then Mags briefly, and then dragged the girl from beneath her captor by the neck of her cloak.
Gabrielle was not angry with Mags, it was just the way animals would handle wayward young. The act would not surprise or frighten the wolves, though she could hardly imagine being able to do either. Mags was now wet. Gabrielle could not tell if it came from the girl or the wolf, but that was not important. The cleaning spells learned during her apprenticeship took care of it. She could not use a drying charm for obvious reasons, but it was better to be clean and damp than dirty and wet. Keeping track of Mags afterward was trivial. The somewhat traumatized girl was always right behind Gabrielle, latched onto Gabrielle's cloak.
The conditions for harvesting the bricklebriar had not been ideal. The overcast sky blocked too much of the moon's light for the seed pods to be of good quality. At least, that was what Harcourt had read. The seeds in the hairy pods had an oil that was extracted to flavor biscuits for tea. She had everyone, save Mags, have a go at hacking down the dried stalks with the sickles. The Gryffindors kept a tally of how many they had each cut, while the Ravenclaw Harcourt only cut a few with the best pods. Spattsham cut the ones that were leftover.
Gabrielle wondered if Spattsham had deputized the other boys into the Ipswich Diggers. The Gryffindors were at the corners of the formation, while he and Harcourt were in the middle of the sides carrying the sickles and collected pods. She was at the front, with Mags in the middle having a bad night. It was neatly organized, which allowed them to move quickly. That was important because Gabrielle felt as if something was following them. Was it a premonition if the hairs on the back of her neck signalled nothing? It was unlikely to be the dire wolves again.
Gabrielle was having an internal debate about whether her neck was an integral part of her premonition alert system or just something that her growing talents had, eh, outgrown. That made the loud thunking noise even more of a surprise, which made realizing that there was a long, dark arrow shaft sticking out of a tree, and what it might mean, difficult. "Eh…"
"I did not have to miss. I could -"
"Eh, no, you did not miss. You hit ze tree right in ze center." Gabrielle pointed helpfully. Following the voice revealed a young centaur, his bow already drawn again. Gabrielle did not particularly like centaurs because they were too Fleur-like. They did not seem to think that she was worth speaking to, but then she was always with Professor Hagrid whenever she encountered them. This centaur had dark flanks and his torso was bare except for a sort of shawl of animal fur that covered his shoulders. His presence was odd because he was very much outside the centaur territory. Perhaps it had not been a premonition after all, but just good hearing.
"Of course. I am Tourne. I am going to be the best hunter and warrior in the herd!"
"Eh, you said zat you missed zhough."
"I was trying to say that I could have aimed somewhere else."
"Eh... okay," said Gabrielle politely. That was entirely obvious. "Do you want ze arrow back?"
"I, I could have shot it at you, you know." The bow, which was quite large, was lowered. Gabrielle wondered if it was really his.
"Eh what? Why would you do zat?" asked Gabrielle. She was fairly certain of where she was, and half the group knew how to do the Point-Me spell, which had all agreed.
"We do not tolerate strange wizards in our forest."
"Oh, zat is fine zen." Professor Hagrid had all the 'neighbors' helping to protect Hogwarts. Gabrielle turned her attention back to the arrow. She could remove it, but might have to convince Mags to let go so that she could get a good launch.
"You are a strange wizard," accused the centaur. He raised his bow again, but did not draw the nocked arrow back.
"Eh, no. I am a witch, you see. You should know zis," explained Gabrielle. "Eh, also, I am not strange."
"Can I talk to someone else?"
"No. We aren't allowed to speak during detention," declared Harcourt.
"Eh, what?" Gabrielle turned to see all the boys nodding. She had not said that, and Harcourt had done the most talking with his bricklebriar trivia.
"Miss Delacour is awesome," added Mags quietly.
"What about them?" asked the centaur pointing. "They seem like strange wizards to me."
"No, zey are strange students. And students are not to be bozzered. Ze herd knows zis. Verwanlium! Aah!" pomf Gabrielle had used this trick before. The key was to focus on the new hole in the tree as the start for the cup. That made it easier for the transfiguration magic to work.
Unfortunately, as before, the cup created in the middle of the tree was not able to do its original job of holding the tree up. Since Gabrielle had improved at transfiguration, the cup was larger and even less capable of its former support. The tree folded over immediately, toppling onto her and Mags. The wizards jumped to the sides, clear of the trunk.
The two witches were unhurt thanks to the sudden appearance of Gabrielle's, eh, faithful hat. She, and it, were slightly squashed though. Trees get to be rather heavy.
"Ah! What's she done to it?!" The voice came from a darker patch of the forest.
"Well done, Nit." This voice Gabrielle recognized as the Mother.
"Sorry, but, but just look at it."
"Are -those- strange wizards?" asked the centaur.
Gabrielle and her shadow ducked from under the trunk, which finished settling to the ground in a series of creaks and snaps. She picked up the freed arrow. "Zey are worse - zey are zee hat-folk. You can shoot at zem, but I zink zey will only find zat funny."
"Um, hat-folk?"
"Cheeky little cow, ain't she?"
That, Gabrielle knew, was the third in the hat coven. Professor Hagrid always had to go searching for creatures in the forest, recalled Gabrielle. That would be so nice. She looked at the retrieved arrow. Even in the dim light she could see that the arrowhead was heavily engraved, and smeared with -
"Zis is poisoned," accused Gabrielle. "You could have killed somezing."
"Er, yes?"
"This weather is giving the gyp to my hip. And I reckon I forgot to feed Skulker."
"All right, Aggy, all right. I was hoping not to have an audience though."
"Just say the word. Hat-folk, hah."
"Can I have my arrow back now? I was in the middle of hunting deer," said the centaur. He was looking off into the distance, though. That was rude, or he was worried.
Gabrielle followed his gaze, then sighed in resignation. A unicorn was trotting almost silently toward them. Its white coat shown like silver even in the filtered moonlight, and it was so large that it was undoubtedly a male. This, thought Gabrielle, could be bad. A second thought decided that she had had a premonition after all. Just not a particularly useful one. She ran out to meet the creature, but was immediately pulled down from behind. "Mags! Eizzer keep up or let go!"
v - v - v - v - v
"I've never in my life seen anyone approach a unicorn like that," said the Mother.
"I did not want it to hurt ze boys, explained Gabrielle. "Zey do not mind girls so much."
"I meant running at it waving your arms over your head."
Gabrielle did not say anything to that. The forest was dark and everything she was wearing was about as black as it could be. She had worried that the unicorn would not see her. But, she did not want to try and explain the Jinx.
"Looked like you had some practice handling a horn."
"Even more than Nit here," chortled the Crone.
"Oh, ha ha," said the younger of the three. She had snatched the hat from Gabrielle's head, and so was currently Gabrielle's favorite. "There's no saving this cone."
"Was the molten cauldron what did it," inserted Spattsham. More than one word, noted Gabrielle, and not at all helpful.
"You can take it wizz you when you go." There might have been a slight emphasis on the final word.
"Ah-cheap! Ah-cheap!"
"Zere. You see? I told you zat you would come down wizz ze Grippe," scolded Gabrielle, turning on Mags. She would tell Professor Hagrid to teach the important information that one did not have to take one's clothes off for a unicorn. Mags was going to have it rough for a while; everyone had seen her. And then she had needed one of Gabrielle's heated cloaks, which meant Gabrielle was at risk of the Grippe too.
''Aargh - dome or frustum?" asked Nit to noone in particular. "Hardly enough left for cushioning with the dome."
"You can take some from ze brim," suggested Gabrielle. "Most of it, if you need."
"What?"
"It is impossible for me to reach ze buggery, so I cannot take ze hat off by myself." There was a choking sound coming from the one called Aggy. "Eh, is she all right?"
"Never you mind her."
"Excuse me, um, Mistress Delacour," started Harcourt. "I grew up around ships. You can't navigate by the stars without maps and a sextant."
"Eh, what?"
"I think he is lost," the Ravenclaw whispered, tilting his head toward the centaur.
"So?" Thorn - or was it Torn? - was sighting down the length of his raised arm. Were there even enough stars to see?
"Do you want him to follow us?"
Gabrielle sighed. There were a lot of things she did not want. She should have doubled the "an' such". She moved to the Gryffindors. "You zere, eh, Litmus, and you, eh, eh -"
"Thorndike. Give Slytherin hell tomorrow!"
"Eh, what?"
"It's Linus."
"Oh, eh, sorry. Come wizz me." Gabrielle took the two oldest Gryffindors because they were about the same height, and headed over to the centaur. Mags went too, because that was inescapable. She had the thought that the wizards would be able to boost her up to speak with the centaur more equally, but then realized that she would look stupid explaining the idea to the boys right there.
"Excuse me," said Gabrielle addressing Torn, possibly. "Ze acromantulas, zey are building a new nest over in zat direction. You should know zis. Also, zere is a large patch of Devil's Snare in zat direction, if you did not know." She pointed in each direction.
"I knew that!" snapped the centaur. He lowered his arm.
Gabrielle shrugged her shoulders. She assumed that he knew -of- them, and now he knew -where- they were. That was probably enough for him to work out which way was home.
"Ah-sheep!"
"Oh, yes, ze Professor's sheep pen is zat way, close to ze path. You should be careful. Somezing is eating ze sheep; I zink it is, eh, eh, arctic drop-bears." That was a lie, it was true, but the polite sort. Gabrielle knew that Hagrid left the sheep for the herd to take if they needed. She did not know how he kept the other creatures at bay.
"Arctic... drop-bears?" asked Tourne.
"Zat is one - Eh…" Gabrielle was being dragged backwards magically, which drew her entourage along at a trot. She supposed that she had been a little rude before. "Eh, bon nuit," she called to Thorn, hoping to convince him that this was not strange.
Gabrielle stopped in front of the hat-coven, because that was what they wanted. She was certain it was the older one, Aggy, using the spell since no rocks or tree roots had been avoided. The youngest held a black hat, but it was not a witch's hat. The top was more rounded than pointed, and the brim was curled at the edge like parchment left out in the rain. Gabrielle knew that it came from the old hat only because it matched everything she wore. "Good evening," greeted Gabrielle politely, mustering a smile.
"Should have done it this way from the start," said Aggy.
"Would have missed out on the show," argued the Mother. "Now then -"
"Zat is not a witch's hat."
"Though, I am coming around on the matter."
"It is," insisted the one called Nit. "In the Spanish style, sombrero charro."
Gabrielle frowned. Did char-ro mean charred, burned? The fire in the Forest was not entirely her fault, and the hat had thrown itself in front of the overheated cauldron. For which, of course, Gabrielle was thankful.
"Any hat is a witch's hat if'n a witch wears it."
"There's a bit more to it than that, Aggy," began Nit.
"She's right. I've seen her make do with the heel of a loaf of bread tied to her head by horsehair at times," described the Mother.
"What?!"
"Eh, what?"
"Them were the hard days, for sure."
"Some just prefer a bit more fashion," added the Mother.
"Frippery."
"As it may. If the hat fits, wear it," declared the Mother, plopping the hat onto Gabrielle's head. "Why, look at that. It does. Now, I've got a message for you from the Nona. She says, get on with it."
Gabrielle furrowed her brow. If it was truly Nona, the getting on with it could mean chopping cabbage or peeling potatoes.
"There was a bit more, well, a lot more, but that's what I got out of it. I'll admit I'm not that good with the foreign gibberish," explained the Mother. In the background, Nit rolled her eyes.
"Eh, okay, I zink."
"She's talking about divining the future, not messing about with your young man. Girls today," sniffed the Crone. More eye-rolling.
"Eh, I mostly See ze past. Professor Trelawney, she has had -"
"How interesting," interrupted the Mother. "The Nona sent along this, too." She lifted Gabrielle's hat and tucked a small glass jar, with a plug of wax sealing it, into the hat, which she then replaced. Gabrielle saw that the jar held a syrupy liquid that was clear but yellowed. "Don't go using it all at once - a drop or two will do for a little thing like you."
"A drop or two will do, for a little thing like you," repeated Nit in a sing-song voice.
"And we're taking applications for the post of Maiden, if you're interested."
"Eh, what?"
"By the way, you've got Dementors in this forest. Might want to see to that."
"One less tonight," crowed Aggy. Nit shuddered.