Chapter Twenty-Five - Wrong Way
Gabrielle sat on the sofa that was in front of the largest fire, her feet tucked under her. Of course, none of the fires in the common room hearths were as large as they -could- be, but she did not want to risk even adding a bit of wood to the low flames. Saruchi sat next to her, sharing some class notes. The girl had no memories of the Head Boy that she had so obsessively tracked, nor of the missing notebook that recorded her observations. There were no memories of what had become of the map either. The situation bothered Gabrielle quite a lot, but since Saruchi did not know what she had lost, it did not bother her at all. Saruchi was filling her suddenly empty schedule with revising, which was helpful right now but was likely to become tedious. Gabrielle had fallen behind a little with assignments due to some extenuating circumstances.
Suki-chan was on the far end of the sofa, quietly working as a way to be contrite. She had been quite angry with Gabrielle for the livid orange hair which occasionally twisted into tiny quidditch players on brooms. The spectacle had cost Hufflepuff points throughout the day, particularly in Charms when Professor Flitwick tried his wand on the lurid locks. The hair had remained orange, but then twisted into several large spiraling cones to blast out the Cannon's team song. Gabrielle suspected that Flitwick guessed what would happen, since he giggled a long while to himself after taking five points.
All was forgiven, though, since, in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Suki-chan's crush was apparently a huge fan of the Cannons and was quite taken with her hair. They talked far longer than they did after she had managed to curse him. So Gabrielle was forgiven, even though she had only been getting her own back.
The sofa was much closer to the fire than it had been, nudged into place with the aid of the couch-boys. The couch-boys, and lone couch-girl, were a Hufflepuff clique that rode the few remaining animated sofas that George had charmed. Gabrielle could not see why this would be something that anyone was interested in; the sofas could just barely get up to a gallop. It was probably for the costume, into which a lot of effort went. The couch-girl, who went by Sallie-Mae now instead of Carol, had a series of long leather strips, like a horse's mane, on every seam. They liked to, eh, 'toot', 'root', and 'wrinkle' - eh, no - 'arrangle' the other, stationary furniture. At least the Darkest Shadows had their Convocations out of sight.
A shadow fell across the page Gabrielle was reading, so she looked up. It was a girl from Slytherin house, holding a teacup, both of which were unexpected. "How did you get in?" blurted Gabrielle, which might have been slightly rude. "Eh, zat is, hello. Sorry."
"It's 'Wand and a Cauldron, Broomsticks'. Is there really anyone who can't get in?" asked the girl. Gabrielle could name two who still had trouble. The taller witch seemed familiar though. "You read my tea leaves before the Halloween Ball?"
"Eh, zere were a lot of teacups..."
"You told me that I would meet the man of my dreams at the dance?"
That, thought Gabrielle, is what everyone wanted to hear. Especially those that had used their fingers. She should have reminded the ones holding the cups that their dreams might change. At least she did not have to give refunds. Gabrielle did remember the girl, though. "You are, eh... Mitty?"
"Mittsy. Would you read my leaves again?"
"Eh, yes, I can try," nodded Gabrielle. Using her talent, one of her talents, counted as revising.
"Then you can redo this whole paragraph on the use of Stygian roots," added Saruchi. "You've got them mixed up with something else entirely."
v - v - v - v - v
The leaves left at the bottom of the latest cup were not as obvious as they had been in the earlier cup. There were also a lot less of them, which might have been the cause. That may, thought Gabrielle, be an important technique to remember for a paid Seeing session - make certain that there is enough crud to actually read. The only notable thing in the residue was a nearly straight streak across the bottom of the cup. Or, noted a second thought not so helpfully, the top or even sides, depending how the cup was turned.
Gabrielle had an idea of what she was supposed to be looking for, since Mitty's concern was an abrupt change in Head Boy's attitude. The thought came that perhaps he had decided that she was not actually the girl of -his- dreams, but that was the sort of thinking that had no place in Gabrielle's head. A worse thought, and likely a true one, was that the man of Mittsy's current dream was actually the doppelganger that had replaced the Head Boy. The sudden change in the Head Craig's demeanor towards the girl happened around the time of the attack on Saruchi, which made clear what the streak meant. The goblin doppelganger was planning to make his move soon, and did not need to maintain his secret so well. Gabrielle had to wonder if the Slytherin would be attracted to the real Craig Torrae afterwards.
"Eh, ze mists zat, eh, obscure ze Hidden Realm have lifted, eh, some, and I have Seen," hedged Gabrielle. "He is, eh, embrouillé, but that will change, eh, soon."
"Er, he's a flan covered in a hard sugar shell?"
"Eh, what?" asked Gabrielle. He was muddled, not an afters.
Mittsy sighed. "I suppose the leaves were too dry."
"I zink the word I mean was, eh, confused." But that was not really the same. "Eh, mixed up," tried Gabrielle. "You could have come at breakfast."
"I can't be seen talking to you. At least not today," said the Slytherin. What did that mean, wondered Gabrielle. "Anyway, what's to be confused about? I am smart, attractive, and my family is well-placed. He is a natural leader, intelligent, and has rugged good looks of his own. Marriage, Ministry post, then Minister. We'll purchase an estate in Cotswold for the manor."
"Eh, maybe he is trying to decide between zat and quidditch?" suggested Gabrielle. She handed the teacup back as a hint that the girl could go.
"Quidditch? Quidditch is for id-, er... Craigy is not on the House team."
Gabrielle felt as though she should be offended, but also that she agreed. Craigy? "He helps ze Ravenclaw team wizz zheir plays. He did not say? Hmm." Gabrielle knew this was a little mean, but George had played quidditch.
"Merlin's pince-nez, how do you know that?"
"How do you zink I know?" That sounded much cooler than saying that she heard it from a Ravenclaw who thought she was cheese.
v - v - v - v - v
Gagnek sat in the lone wooden chair in the comfortable, well-lit room and scrubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. He contemplated the wastrel that lounged on the bed, still shackled to it by the chain of dark wood. There was a practical limit to the Weasley hospitality, it seemed.
He was beginning to think that realigning his brother's son's thinking with reality was an investment without possible profit. The hope was for Unk to realize, to understand the crisis the rebellion's scheme had caused. The pound of flesh was beginning to be quietly collected. The quiet would not last, if past history was a guide. If Unk truly understood, then it might be possible to track the siphoned galleons to the one ordering their spending.
The issue, though, was Unk's solution to the unwinding spiral of debt. "But Uncle, we make the galleons."
That was true, of course. But galleons were not simple coins of shaped gold. A great deal of craftsmanship and magic went into their creation, making them trustworthy in a world of other magic users. Further trust came from the careful management of their availability.
Gagnek tried again, "You need to think in terms of percentages, not merely a simple count of what is in your purse. Your galleon today represents the fraction of the entire economy you own. Stupidly increasing the numbers of galleons only reduces that fraction, leaving you the poorer. The well-to-do might withstand the decline, but what of those who are not?"
"They would get the galleons as well, when the golden age of -"
"The bread they buy also represents a fraction of the entire economy, and one that is not so arbitrary. The new galleons would quickly be lost as the bread takes its fixed, earned fraction. Prices would rise."
"One purse, one natsiyak, one -"
"Stop! One purse means that -only- the one -holding- it is wealthy. That is always the case, no matter how authentic and fervent the pledges made," argued Gagnek. The history of the world was rife with nations and peoples decimated by such schemes. At least, that was the case in the goblin and human worlds. Wizards did not seem to fall for such claptrap. It was said that the natural number of wizards was one, though, so perhaps the efforts of each wizard to make that true helped. They skipped the grinding poverty and jumped directly to the usual blood-letting.
Unk launched another diatribe about some historical betrayal or the like, but Gagnek was not listening. Collectivism fails not because of flawed practice, but because those who can escape it, do. A downward spiral follows.
Gagnek finally concluded that he was going about this the wrong way. Unk, though involved up to his neck in the plot, was merely a slightly sharper tool than the decidedly dull Oggie and Max, and one wielded by another. An insect trapped in the web; to find the spider one should follow the threads leading to the center. "Tell me about Krang Earrot," interrupted Gagnek. "He is the Half-Breed, the runner, I hear."
"Halfling."
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle poured Sauveuret out of his weird knitted sack and held the shelled walnut under the squirrel's nose, which soon started twitching. Pepi-Z and Lieutenant Mimsey were her only reliable pets. The dozing squirrel was at best part-time, it seemed, and Poisseux had his own agenda. Gabrielle was almost certain that while the Hufflepuff dorm was chilly, unnecessarily chilly, it was certainly warmer than the forest. Did Sauveuret actually need to sleep so much, or was he just lazy?
Once Sauveuret's eyes fluttered open, Gabrielle scooped him up into her lap. "This is Poisseux now. He has a new body from the house-elves, you see?" showed Gabrielle. "You were, eh, sleeping then too."
The squirrel arched his tail over his back, flicking it to try and catch Poisseux's scent. Which the toad did not have, unless the odor of the adhesive counted.
"You used to carry him, and now he can carry you," said Gabrielle. She set Sauveuret down on the toad's spiked back. Neither pet looked comfortable, so Gabrielle fitted the knitted, blobby sack over the spikes. The squirrel settled in, while Poisseux shifted to an angle of annoyance. "Eh, it is only for a little while." Perhaps longer, thought Gabrielle, if it keeps the wayward toad out of trouble.
v - v - v - v - v
The divination classroom was deserted, which was completely the point of sitting in it. No one used the divination classroom for extra practicals. Ever since lunch in the Great Hall, Gabrielle's fellow Hufflepuffs had been giving her strange looks. She had checked her head for excess ears, but had found none to explain the extra attention. So she slipped away from Saruchi by using her broom. That was rude, but there was such a thing as pacing one's self, even for revising.
Which was why the door slamming open startled Gabrielle so badly. "Bloody hell, there you are, Delacour!" snapped Malachite. "You're meant to be down at the pitch!"
Gabrielle rubbed the leg she banged when she jumped from the desk. Mount Mal was dressed for quidditch, which was odd. "Eh, what? Ze match, it is cancelled, no?"
"What?!"
"It is, eh, raining, you see." Gabrielle pointed helpfully to the view through the mostly clean windows. It was, at the moment, pouring down, and she knew it was cold enough that the only reason it was not snow was that the drops had not put enough effort into matter.
"Merlin's ghost! You don't cancel quidditch because of weather," said a shocked Malachite. Her eyes narrowed. "Did the Slytherins tell you that?"
"Eh, no. It is common sense zat-"
"We saw you talking to one of them, you know."
Gabrielle rolled her eyes. "It is cold, it is wet, and zere is wind, very much."
"Right. You couldn't hardly get a match in this time of year if you waited for good weather."
v - v - v - v - v
"G'day and it's bloody pelting down this arvo, so cheers to the big mobs of blokes and sheilas in the stands for coming out to see the dunny rats of Slytherin fly against the ockers of Hufflepuff. It's your mate Mickey here, with my mate Dickie. What'll we see today, Dickie?"
"... Dunny rats? Are those like those quackers you've got living in your hedge?"
"I think we both agree that Slytherin absolutely stole that match against Gryffindor."
"I would put it differently, but it's true that Slytherin was the underdog there. Goading the Gryffindors into penalties made up for Slytherin only really having one standout in Culpepper, and that misplayed snitch finished the Lions."
"Reckon we'll see a close burl?"
"Er, possibly? Unless you meant a lump in wood or cloth."
"Don't be a drongo, mate. The convo is quidditch."
"If I'm being honest, sometimes it's hard to tell. But, on parchment at least, the match should be competitive. Hufflepuff has a bit more experience on the team, but Slytherin has the better brooms. In the air, though, the Badgers didn't show much while the Serpents made the most of their team's talent."
"Talent for giving a gobful, and too right. Oi, and I don't mean to whinge, but it's a late start here. Any thoughts on what the delay is?"
"No, but the referee has fired a few spells into the Hufflepuff side, which might be a clue."
"That would be Professor Korbel again. I expect he'll have an easier time of it compared to the hard yakka of the Gryffindor match."
"Yes, Hufflepuff traditionally plays clean, so the Slytherins will need to have a new strategy today."
"Ah! Here come the teams now, with the captains meeting mid-pitch with Korbel. Can't tell from here, but it looks like the Slytherin captain Selwyn has a complaint already."
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle sat on her well-behaved broom, holding the bludger that she thought of as George-B. She was quite warm, having insisted on every member of the squad casting a warming charm on her mismatched uniform. Warm, but wet. There was probably a rain-proofing charm that she should have asked for. A second thought wondered if she was too warm. Steam was rising from her in the cold rain, though she could also see her breath, so perhaps she was not being slowly cooked.
The bludger had been released accidently, and Gabrielle had been sent to retrieve it because Hufflepuffs are always helpful or something. The bludger was fidgety, but easy to hold still since she had -borrowed- both of Donna's gloves. They were still a little too large, but at least she would not look like an airborne fiddler crab this time with a massive, mismatched glove on one hand.
This time - the words rankled Gabrielle. Each team would play a total of six matches, every year! No one had told her that. Not, like, specifically. She had only agreed to play under duress, because Malachite could be a lot of duress. But she was stuck for now, sitting in the air, in the rain, watching the small conference taking place. What was taking so long? Although, Gabrielle observed, it was clearly less formality and more argument now. Arms were being waved and fingers pointed. No wands were out - yet. She did not fancy the Hufflepuff captain's chances if it came to a duel. Would that be enough to cancel the match?
The fingers, alerted a second thought, were mostly aimed towards the Hufflepuff side. That, Gabrielle saw, was a gentle way of leading to the realization that they were pointed at her. Her heart jumped at the thought of being expelled, but then she remembered that being expelled from the quidditch team would not be so bad. It was not as if the act would hurt Hufflepuff's chances at all, and Maman did not even know that she was currently part, slightly part, of the team.
Professor Korbel left the captains and called for her and Malachite. Gabrielle raced to meet him first with a quick burst of speed. She could really use her repaired broom to the fullest on the pitch; losing that would be the only drawback to getting kicked off the team. Her abrupt stop caused her to nearly lose control of George-B, since she needed one hand for the broom. Not that it would matter, thought Gabrielle, if she was no longer on the team. Also, they were on the pitch now anyway, where the bludger was supposed to be.
Korbel did seem concerned by the near drop. At least, that was Gabrielle's guess as to why he was staring at the bludger. She placed her other hand on the iron ball and smiled reassuringly. "Nein, es kann nicht korrekt sein," muttered the Professor. "Unglück."
"Professor Korbel, sir," greeted Malachite when she pulled up. "What is going on? The Slytherins can't want a foul called already - the match hasn't started!"
"Nein. Zhey vant a change ov equipment. Zhey beliefe Fraulein Delacour has charmed the school's bludgers."
"Eh, what? Zat is not true!" said Gabrielle.
"Oh? And we're just supposed to use bludgers they've charmed?"
"The Slytherins haff arranged for new bludgers from a trusted source," explained Korbel. He raised his arm and pointed at a pair of flyers emerging from the clouds just past the stands.
Gabrielle turned to watch the new arrivals, who were also dressed in quidditch gear. Wait, was that -
"Oh Merlin, the Valkyrie!" gasped Malachite. The students in the stands were starting to cheer.
"Eh, you are certain? I zhought zey rode horses and had ze armor?"
"That's Valmai Morgan of the Harpies, and, and..."
"Ginny Weasley," added Gabrielle, now that she could see clearly. She had suspected before - the Weasley red.
"Wotcher gir-er, ducks," greeted Valmai.
"Cor, Gigi, you play beater on the House team? How is it I didn't know this?" asked Ginny.
"Eh, no. Zat is, eh, only during ze matches," said Gabrielle. "You are playing quidditch now?"
"Gigi?" said Valmai. She waved at the crowd.
"Yeah. That is, only not during the matches. Do us an introduction, then, Gigi."
"Eh, zis is Professor Korbel and Malachite Rombaum. She is ze beater. I am Gabrielle Delacour. Professor, zis is, eh, Valmai Morgan and Ginny Weasley."
"What is with your kit?" asked Valmai. "I couldn't even tell you were a -"
"Let's leave that alone for now," inserted Ginny. She pulled a Wheeze box from under her cloak. "I can see why you need new bludgers; that one's a bit knackered."
"It is not," said Gabrielle instantly. "Ze match, it has not started."
"Zhat is something to correct. You haff a new set for the school?" asked Korbel.
"We do, at that. Certified for match play as of the day before yesterday. Only a few dents from Masterson's head," replied Valmai.
"And Meyer's," added Ginny, rolling her eyes. Valmai found that funny.
"These are real, actual League bludgers?" asked a breathless Malachite.
"Yeah, duck. Slightly used, mind."
Ginny extracted the case from the special box, which then needed both Harpies to handle. Professor Korbel unlatched the lid and carefully lifted it. The iron balls were dark, almost black, and were imprisoned by chains, not just leather straps.
"These are brand new!" gushed Malachite.
"Zhen Hufflepuff agrees to use zhem?" asked Korbel.
"Yes!"
Gabrielle reached out to touch the mostly smooth iron. The bludger was very different from George-B. She thought of the word haughty at first, but that was not right. Neither was angry, nor mean. She finally settled on: Abraxan. "Oui," she whispered, lightly stroking the iron. "Yes."
"Right..." said Valmai uncertainly, watching Gabrielle. "Uh, maybe we should just check with the Slytherins again. I know they called in a favor for this, but..."
"Nein. The delay is enouf and the rain is not going to stop. Zhey hafe insisted," declared Kobel.
"Only, the Harpies employ bludger-boys built like bears to handle these. Not a one of them can hold any bludger with just one arm."
v - v - v - v - v
"No, I mean, I understand why you're wearing the hat: it's raining. What I meant was, why have you got bits of rubbish hanging from strings on it?"
"Couldn't find enough cork, mate. Bits of bat wing bone are a fair dinkum subbo, no wukkas."
"Merlin, I hope the match starts soon. I know I likely won't understand the answer, but what are they supposed to do?"
"Strewth, Dickie, they keep the flies off."
"Flies? But, but it's November."
"Looks like Korbel is set to get things started. Ah, no, he's just called for the Hufflepuff beaters."
"Looks like Hufflepuff found a broom for Delacour. Not a make I recognize."
"Is Korbel sending them off? No, he's, he's pointing? I'll be stuffed! That's the Valkyrie!"
"Valmai Morgan, leading scorer on the Holyhead Harpies and ninth overall in the League."
"And with her is?"
"Couldn't be a French model, not with those lines. Not Italian either."
"I'm sure it's a bottler, mate, but you could be a bit more sly about watching her bum than using the Omni'."
"What? No! You know I have an interest in quidditch-"
"Bums."
"Great Merlin, I swear I am going to make you eat that stupid hat! Only, only after turning you into a grass snake so that it takes longer to swallow."
"I don't mind a bit of a biffo, but not a giraffe? There's a creature that would be clapped out after a long swallow."
"And give you legs to kick with? Not to mention those knobby bits on the head."
There was a brief pause in the commentary due to a small explosion. When the smoke cleared, the Headmistress declared, "That is the end of that nonsense."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Defo!"
"Hmm…"
"No worries. Right, Dickie? And it looks like things are finally sorted with Korbel."
"Those are 'Watterson' bludgers. They're going to let the Black Widow have a go with those?"
"Looks like. The teams are - Korbel has lost his grip on the school bludger, and it's as mad as a cut snake! Delacour is after it! That broom is quick! She's caught hold of it!"
"That's not been thought out."
"Too right! She's off her broom and is spinning through the Slytherins, who had their heads together for the pre-match shout."
"Selwyn is down! Slytherin's starting Keeper!"
"How will Korbel call this one? The match hasn't officially started and the Hufflepuff beater has put a boot to the Slytherin captain's head!"
"Definitely a tricky call. In a 1923 match the Appleby Arrows beater collided with two Wimbourne Wasps during the warmup period, and two penalty shots were awarded at the start of the match. But it would be hard to call blatching or cobbing here, as she wasn't even on the broom and didn't use her elbows. I should note that the Arrows later appealed the goal scored."
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle knew that she was right. The new bludgers were a lot like Abraxans. She was going to count that as a successful premonition, the only bright spot on an otherwise dismal day. A witch, thought Gabrielle, should be naturally waterproof. Which, a second thought noted, was certainly true; she had skin. But Gabrielle really thought that the idea should extend to a witch's clothing.
The difficulty with Abraxans was that they only did what they wanted to do. One could challenge or entice an Abraxan, but, short of a heavy hand with the wand, they did as they pleased. The problem right now was that the bludgers were doing what they wanted to do, which was to tear around the pitch and try to hurt everyone. Gabrielle could see that none of the beaters were having much success at redirecting the iron balls, and the ones who did have a slight effect on the bludgers seemed to be trying to aim them at her. One of whom was Malachite, which was a continuation of the questionable strategy she had used last match. The other was a ridiculously large wizard from Slytherin. In an unfortunate turn, he deflected a rising bludger just enough to put her in its path. Gabrielle had seen it, though, and tried to dive away. She had forgotten the thing about a beater's broom, however, and flipped head over heels. The resulting tail-strike sent the bludger back, driving the opposing beater through the wooden boards of the stands. He shook the hit off after a brief stoppage to extricate him. And to, eh, shore up the stands. Gabrielle was now even less impressed by the Slytherin captain, who had retired from the pitch with a bloody nose. Granted, a very bloody nose that resisted magic, but the huge beater's shoulders sat at different heights now and he was still on his broom. And, she herself was still flying too, even though her foot really hurt from the very unintentional collision.
There was a strategy that Gabrielle was supposed to follow. Malachite had told her to concentrate on the Slytherin chaser Culpepper. Now that she had worked out which flyer that was, the question became, what was she supposed to do about him? The bludgers, when directed towards her by friend or foe, were not impressed by her bat, and they were already having fun. Gabrielle quickly recognized that she could not use the broom every time, because what if it snapped? The broom was holding her up and she rather liked that. Also, she had never intentionally tried the technique, and did not want to experiment with a murderous iron ball closing in.
Gabrielle had an epiphany of sorts. She was going about this the wrong way. She was not a beater, no matter what Malachite insisted, but she had cared for Abraxans. And what she knew of Abraxans was this: if there was more than one, then there was a hierarchy.
v - v - v - v - v
"Slytherin has clearly been affected by Selwyn going down. If it weren't for the lackluster play at the other hoops, the match might have gotten away from them."
"Too right, Dickie. The Hufflepuff chasers Morehouse, Dresscote, and Grimmer are having the young Slytherin keeper, Gotobed, for brekky. Now it's Marymack at mid-pitch, with a long cross over Grimmer to a streaking Culpepper."
v - v - v - v - v
The broom, Gabrielle had learned, was all about acceleration. Up to a point, though, since it was definitely slower than the Firebolts that the Slytherins were using. Importantly, she could catch up to one of the bludgers after it had hit someone or been hit. She had done this now, cradling the iron mass against her chest. She had hoped to ease the bludger onto a new path, but it was having none of it. She was not carrying the ball so much as flying next to it. "Are you the best bludger? Can you win the match? Show them," thought Gabrielle to herself, hoping the ideas would come across through her facial expressions. Also, hoping that the bludger would have a way to notice those expressions.
The results of her efforts were equivocal. There might have been the slightest drop in resistance as Gabrielle tried to steer. That was probably the most that she could hope for, so she gave the bludger a shove toward the oncoming Culpepper, who always seemed to have the quaffle. She mostly pushed herself away. "Zere, go! Ah! I mean ze quaffle! Merde!"
v - v - v - v - v
"Culpepper leaves Dresscote dangling like a dead dingo in a eucalyptus and makes a run for the near hoop. Looks like it's up to Delacour to stop him, and she - oh! Crikey, Dickie, I didn't even see her swing the bat at that bludger."
"I think she was carrying it."
"Holy doolie, that makes it rekturing mate! Where's Korbel? Oh, and it looks like Culpepper's day is done - arms aren't supposed to bend like that. Bit of a bite to the Black Widow, yeah, but hardly fair play."
"No, no. Rekturing is when one beats one's opponent with the bludger or bat held in the hand. It looked to me like she threw it, more or less."
"Reckon? You would know as you've been keeping a keen eye on her... broom. Tough arvo for Slytherin with the loss of two starters."
"Two and a half if you include Liston. He's switched the bat to his off-hand. The Serpents will need to rely on their seeker now. And, I swear, that broom flies like a vintage Silver Arrow, as rough as it looks to be."
"Fair dinkum. Greenhill is coming on, so we should be resuming soon. He doesn't look chuffed for the oppo at all."
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle rubbed the swelling in the middle of her forehead, which was the result of colliding with the snitch. Even though the stupid golden ball had flown into her on its own, the result was a penalty on Hufflepuff. There was definitely going to be a mark, sighed Gabrielle to herself.
The match did not seem to be any closer to ending, even with all of the scoring. Some of the warming charms, Gabrielle noticed, were beginning to fail, which could soon put her in a very dire situation. There had to be some way for her to help end the match. Beyond, she hoped, bludgering all the Slytherins. Bludgering? Bludgeoning? Anyway, there was not even much scoring anymore. Gabrielle did not know how the charms that drove these league bludgers worked, but the level of frustration brought to the match had to play a role. The bludgers had come to understand that hitting the quaffle was more irritating to the chasers than having to dodge the bludgers themselves. Less bones were broken, but was it helping to finish the match?
The bludgers, thought Gabrielle, were not really like Abraxans. She did not even think one iron ball was aware of the other. They were so similar too; there was almost no reason to think of them as individuals. Which was, perhaps, due to the same wizard or group of wizards making both. The Hogwarts bludgers were more mismatched, and much more interesting.
Gabrielle decided to try and get one of the iron balls to hit the snitch. If that flew slower, then one of the useless seekers could catch it before she caught the Grippe. She set out to chase down one of the bludgers.
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle blinked her eyes open, and was confused by where she was before recognizing the curtained area that was her special bed in the infirmary. What had happened? She remembered finally spotting the snitch from near the edge of the pitch, and urging the bludger she was guiding along to go after it. That did not explain much. Gabrielle tried to sit up, got dizzy halfway through, and then collapsed back with a groan.
The Headmistress stepped through the curtain. "You have a commendably hard head, I'm relieved to see. How do you feel?"
"Je me sens étourdi."
"Ah. I'm certain that Pommy can help with whatever that means," said the Headmistress.
Something alighted on Gabrielle's chest, so she reopened one eye. "Dizzy," croaked the large black bird. Gabrielle closed both eyes tightly, recalling Professor Elavagre's experience.
"That should be no trouble at all. Now, then, Miss Delacour -"
"He does not really talk. You should know zis."
"Wrong again," rasped the crow.
"Odd. I usually find this fine feathered fellow far more eloquent than most first-years," said McGonagall.
"What, eh, happened?"
"You were not the only one with a bat, of course. Unfortunately, visitors for you have been restricted until cooler heads prevail. We have much to discuss in any case."
"Eh, what? We do?" Gabrielle felt the crow fly off, and squinted cautiously. The bird may have been planning a trick.
"Why did you not inform Professor Sprout or myself about the attack in the forest?"
"Eh, what? Zere was no attack."
"Miss Berrycloth seems to think otherwise."
"Oh, eh, Prince Smarty sat on her, eh, only. Zat was not an attack, not really."
"Perhaps I should let Pomfrey treat you a bit more first. 'Prince Smarty' does not sound like a centaur name."
"Eh, no. He is one of ze dire wolves. Ze centaur was, eh, Torn. Or, eh, Turn, perhaps, I zink. He was looking for strange wizards, but I told him zat zere were none."
McGonagall said nothing, but glanced toward the bottled potion on the small tray. It sat next to a folded bit of parchment. Gabrielle tried to clarify, "Ze wolves, zey are, eh, big, but I do not zink zey are so much dire."
"Miss Berrycloth claims that an arrow had been shot at you."
"Eh, no. Ze arrow was shot into a tree. Zat was on purpose, zough he said he missed at first," explained Gabrielle.
"So, at your assertion of not being strange, the centaur just nodded and trotted away?"
"Well, ze hat-fo- eh, hat-coven came, and zen ze -"
"The… hat-coven?"
"Zey are witches zat make you wear ridiculous hats."
"I see. It is quite possible that you are delirious in addition to being dizzy."
Gabrielle frowned. She did not feel delirious. Except, would she know? The last thing she recalled was sending one of the bludgers toward the snitch. ''I have, eh, met zem before. Ze hats are not good, but I do not zink zey mean harm. Eh, at least to me."
"Harbingers of haberdashery, oh my. What next?"
"Zat is when ze unicorn came."
"Really? I find it strange that Miss Berrycloth did not mention any of this."
"She is, wizzout doubt, embarrassed about what she did."
"One needs self-awareness for embarrassment. She may be immune," sighed McGonagall. "Quite a busy place at night, the Forbidden Forest. The high foot traffic perhaps explains the hat purveyors' interest."
"Eh, what? No, zey said zey had a message from Nona."
"Nona, the witch who gave you that amulet?"
"Oui."
"What is it?"
"Eh, quartz, I zink." It looked like quartz.
"The message?" That came with a sigh.
"Eh, zey said zat it was 'get on wizz it'. I zink it was something more, but Nona speaks, eh, Albanian," explained Gabrielle. Probably. "Also, zey said zat zere are dementors in ze forest."
"Professor Hagrid has never indicated to me the possibility of dementors within the bounds of the forest."
"I did not see any, but, eh, zat might be because of ze unicorn." Gabrielle did not want to dwell on the topic of the Professor. What if she were considered an accomplice for not reporting his absence? That would not be fair, but in her experience, headmistresses were not known for fairness.
McGonagall said nothing for a bit, which Gabrielle took to be a bad sign. Surely connections were being made, suspicions confirmed, and punishments decided. Why did the headmistress always believe Mags?
"I am aware of Professor Hagrid's expedition. The Ministry contacted me directly to confirm a rather comical attempt at my signature, and I have acquaintances in Cardiff. I also have several of his accomplices who have now expressed no small amount of regret," began McGonagall. "Do you know what creature he intends to procure?"
"Eh, no."
"No?"
"Ze Professor, eh, said, only, zat it was a little surprise..."
"Ah, so you did know."
"No! Eh, zat is, eh, mostly no. Almost all!" Merde, thought Gabrielle. Merde, merde. "I, eh, only found out zat he was leaving right before ze detention. Zis is true!"
The Headmistress went silent again, and Gabrielle prepared for the worst. Was there anything to distract McGonagall with? She should have opened the package Harry sent! No - there was something. "Eh, Professor Trelawney is having ze visions."
"Is that so?" asked McGonagall skeptically. "This would not be just a desperate attempt to distract me, would it?"
"Yes! Eh, I mean no. No, I mean yes. I zink. But also no. Eh, perhaps I am delirious?"
"Ah! Madam Pomfrey will be delighted. She has recently acquired a set of rather larger mallets she wishes to test," said the Headmistress with a small grin. Gabrielle saw it, but could not discern if the amusement meant it was a joke, or anticipation. "Before that, however, is there any hint that anyone connected with Beauxbatons has been in contact with Professor Hagrid?"
"Eh, what?"
"The three prestigious schools of magic in Europe, Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang, are considered of equal stature, and compete in a genteel way to the first among the equals. Beauxbatons is experiencing a period of difficulty, brought about, in my opinion, by excess ambition. The Headmistress of that institution instead blames a particular family as the cause of the difficulties. Your family, in point of fact. Written and unwritten conventions guide the great duel. Occasional stretching of the defined boundaries can result in surprising rancor.
"It would obviously not be difficult to tempt dear Professor Hagrid into an illegal act if the creature was sufficiently 'interesting'. Which is to say incredibly dangerous and potentially deadly. The controversy would draw away some of the light currently illuminating the troubles at Beauxbatons."
Gabrielle decided that she was delirious. That was easier than trying to understand how everything could possibly be her fault. She ignored the role illegal Wheezes might have played. She knew Professor Hagrid was going to Paris, but that was for the "an' such". Where else he had planned to go was not something she had asked. "I do not know about zat. Eh, ze Ministry form did not say what creature?"
"No, only the classification. It does seem an important bit of information to leave off, doesn't it?"
"Eh, yes?" Gabrielle suspected that it was another Ministry department's task to find out what was brought in. That made the Ministry larger, something her father would now rant about, since he was no longer part of it.
"I would not have a concern," began the Headmistress, "but with the quidditch season winding down the papers will need to be filled with something. Professor Trelawney's visions do not offer a clue, I suppose?"
"Eh, well, zey are full of woe."
v - v - v - v - v
Harry Potter peered into the abyss, and found the abyss peering back. Except it was not the abyss but his long-time friend Hermione looking up. She was gliding upward very slowly using a broom, and quite a lot of rope. The rope was woven and knotted around her, and more lengths of rope slithered along the sides of the deep hole, grasping and coiling around thick beams stuck into the walls. Harry estimated that he could have been to the bottom and back again three times already with his Firebolt.
"Hullo, Hermione," greeted Harry once the rope arms had found purchase past the edge of the pit. He had remembered Ron's warning and so was not pulled in by the animated ropes. "Er..."
"I realize that it's more rope than strictly necessary, but the spell works better the closer it is to octopus. Hello, Harry."
"Right, I think. Ron and Ginny are here too. They've brought some dinner." It was time to get Hermione's thoughts on the Hogwarts plan.
"It's a bit early for that," commented Hermione as the ropes slithered away. She settled the broom to the ground. There was a leather bag hung from the handle, which she foisted onto Harry.
"What is in this?" The unexpected weight nearly caused Harry to stumble. That, he thought, was why she had used both hands.
"Rocks."
"Rocks?"
"Rocks."
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle sat squashed into a corner of the couch, patting the jowly, slobbery head of Fang. The massive dog had finally realized that Hagrid had not returned yet, and was bereft. Loudly bereft. The dog's howls bothered Madam Sprout, who then felt that Gabrielle should do something about it. The task saved her from Pomfrey's new mallets, although she had been made to promise to return to the infirmary.
Gabrielle did return, of course. She was not going to risk being expelled. Fang was very excited by the new sights, running and barking and generally crashing about. Gabrielle had looped Fang's chain around her broom's handle to lead him on the way to the infirmary, but, well, the infirmary was not a flight of stairs. Where Fang went, she was dragged along behind. Madam Pomfrey was not pleased with her efforts, and aimed several spells at the huge hound. Those mostly seemed to frighten Fang, which made him try to hide under the beds. That was not possible, but at least none of the overturned beds had been occupied.
The chaos allowed Gabrielle to escape once again, though her detention was only postponed. She had quite forgotten about that. Would the entire detention just be trying out the new mallets? That was experimentation, was it not? It sounded like the sort of thing that was not allowed.
Bringing Fang to the common room was logical. Fang was large; so was the room. Gabrielle, eh, remembered there being several more points, but could not recall them now. She should have written them down. In any case, there had been a lot of running and barking at first, but the couch-boys had helped there. Mostly by chasing Fang around until he was exhausted, it was true, but that saved Gabrielle from having to do the same and distracted the hound from investigating the other silly, panicking students. A Digger, or two, had agreed to go to the kitchens for her. Gabrielle recognized the one, but the other hid behind the first, so she could not be sure. They came back empty-handed, which was annoying. Moments later, however, Hetty appeared draped in meat and offal. That seemed risky to Gabrielle, since Fang could probably fit the entire house-elf in his mouth. Hetty was acting sullen, but it was hardly Gabrielle's fault that the house-elf had not thought to bring a platter or bowl.
The exercise and food settled Fang right down. That only left the question of what to do with him when it was time for bed. Gabrielle wondered if she could get the Ipswich Diggers to take Fang back; it was snowing. She could tell by the magicked ceiling above her, and it made her feel colder.
Something nearly as large as the dog stepped in front of Gabrielle and cleared its throat nervously. Gabrielle assumed it was the Slytherin beater, mostly because of his size. What was his name again? One of his eyes was swollen shut, and there was some dried blood on his chin. Malachite stood behind him, and prodded him.
The Slytherin cleared his throat again, and began. "While not contravening the actual, formal rules for match play, I now see that my actions fell outside the bounds of proper sportsmanship and the spirit of the game. I apologise."
"Eh, what?" Gabrielle had expected a grunted "'m sorry." Perhaps that was more of a Hufflepuff thing.
"Go and wait outside for me - I've got your teeth," said Malachite, giving him another prod. "I'll explain it to her."
Gabrielle watched the Slytherin slouch away. "You, eh, beat him in a fight?" Gabrielle could not imagine it.
"Don't be daft. Addy let me beat him," said Malachite, watching the Slytherin beater slip from the common room.
"Addy?"
"It's short for Adronicus," smiled Malachite. "Listen, that was very nice of him to do, so, um, I want to do something nice for him."
The way the word 'want' was breathed caught Gabrielle off-guard. "Eh, what?"
"l - I know how all the, um, bits go together. But, um, how, um, do you get started?"
This was not a question that Gabrielle had expected. It was not even because it came from Malachite. She was not even certain she could answer it. Being part Veela, most instruction had been about rejecting advances, not making them. A second thought wondered if she should be insulted or flattered that it was thought she would know. Probably insulted.
Gabrielle did remember that Yvette person from Fleur's wedding, though. She had had the sort of immediate response that Mount Mal was looking for. Except there was no dancing right now. That probably was not the important part. "Eh, pull him down on top of you and, eh, kiss him until he, eh, kisses back?"
Malachite's mouth moved wordlessly, and she turned pink. Gabrielle wondered what the girl had expected, then wondered if she had understood which bits were being thought of in the first place. If she had misunderstood, then… Gabrielle blushed too.
v - v - v - v - v
"Still feels like somethin' is missing, to me," declared Ron Weasley.
"Are you touching your head? It may be your brain was swallowed by your stomach, same as my pudding," snapped Ginny Weasley.
"Ron, can you try to explain why you think something is missing? In a way that Harry can understand?"
"Oy, Hermione!" complained Harry Potter.
"Tough one. You know those quidditch types," grinned Ron.
Harry chose to say nothing, mostly because he had not been paying as close attention as he ought to have. The distraction was the rocks that Hermione had collected. And Ginny, who also now fell into the quidditch category and was currently using her wand to remind Ron to not be a git.
In his first year at Hogwarts, Harry had held a Philosopher's Stone. The rocks were not that, but even so the glitter of the tiny red crystal in them, and the slight sort of tingle he felt, made him wonder if they could become such. The idea would definitely be too distracting for Hermione - look what the search for Ravenclaw's diadem had become.
Ron grew tired of being his sister's hex target and started using some of the more heavy-handed spells from his training. He was not particularly good at most of them, but very good with a few of the blunter ones. Harry used his wand to shove Ginny out of harm's way. The china cabinet was smashed flat against the wall of the magical tent.
"Right. Let's call that even then," decided Hermione in a curt tone that suggested a third side might otherwise join in. Harry slid the bag of rocks out of sight beneath the table. "Go on, Ron."
"Even," muttered Ron.
"Go on, Ron."
"Look, these things can be deadly -"
"Are deadly."
"Yeah, but only if you don't know about them. They're, they're like pawns. You can't lose if you're only being attacked by pawns."
"That's not-"
"Unless you're Harry."
"I'd say that the Carrows lost. Those metal men can shrug off and shoot through spells. What more do you need to kill wizards?" asked Ginny.
"They nearly won," insisted Ron. "The bloody thing fell straight into that conjured pond."
"Yes, but then it climbed straight out," Ginny pointed out.
"I did say nearly won. A deeper hole would've helped, 'specially if it was filled back in. Same as the other attacks - goes where you point it until it can capture. So, pawn."
"I'm not quite certain that this is the metaphor that you should be using," said Hermione carefully, "given Harry's -"
"No," said Harry. "I get it. With a little preparation, these, er..."
"Mecha," supplied Ginny.
"They're not unstoppable. Something's missing, for them to be a useful weapon. Assuming that the Ministry tells folks what to do." But, wondered Harry, what was missing, and for how long would it stay that way?
"The Ministry is still laying low after that Waverly fiasco," said Ginny. "I think folks would do the opposite of whatever they said."
"Actually, a big wall would work," noted Harry. "If it was thick enough."
"So, about like Ron?"
''Ha ha, Ginny. I'm sure your training regime does not include puddings anyway," replied Hermione. "Muggles call it wind resistance. But, the Ministry does need to tread carefully though. Can you imagine the disaster if word got out that the goblins were behind these attacks?"
"Can't tread any more lightly than not treading at all."
Harry nodded. The Ministry was still a bit of a shambles, and unlikely to be trusted in any case. Especially when it came to emergency proclamations. This was nearly the perfect situation for Voldemort's next move. Maybe winning with pawns, except for a couple of extreme examples with extenuating circumstances, like too much absinthe, was improbable, but they could still take pieces off the board.
The thought came to Harry that maybe they were going about this the wrong way. There was no need to begin with the Ministry - he was interviewed by the Prophet all the time. He stood up. Luna would surely help as well.
"Care to let us know what you're thinking?" asked Ginny.
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle laid on a couch in the empty common room, going over the long list of tasks that people thought she should be doing. It was ridiculous. She could not even keep up with her post - the packages from Harry and Stanislaw were unopened. The problem was that it was hard to be alone in Hufflepuff. The current opportunity did not count, because Fang was deeply suspicious. He would lurch up from the couch every so often to patrol the deserted room. That meant Gabrielle had to get up as well to see what had fallen and to clean up any, eh, territorial markings. She was not able to work on her school assignments, or read her correspondences, because Fang needed to know about them. Everything went into his mouth, and, if it came back out, was wet with slobber and had teeth marks.
One thing that had not come back out was the cryptic note left for her in the infirmary. It was from that Valmai, and said that she hoped to meet again in six years. What, wondered Gabrielle, would happen in six years? She would have to ask Ginny. She thought to ask Malachite, but the girl had come back very late and gone right to the dorm room without saying anything. Gabrielle did not want to be blamed if things had not gone as expected. Or if there was regret because they had.
Gabrielle sighed. The only way she could have privacy was to use the apron to hide until after curfew, and then find an unassuming spot that wandering professors would ignore. That would give her an hour or so before she had to return to sleep, because there were classes and detentions. Slipping away unnoticed was more difficult now that she was both Gabrielle, Mistress of the Mirk and the Black Widow. Never mind the cheese thing.
A second thought wondered if the first thought was the wrong way to go about it. After all, if she needed to do some Seeing, then the Darkest Shadows would certainly help. If something was meant to be secret, well, she could definitely trust the members of the League of Transfer Students, and there was the League room. She could probably get the Ipswich Diggers to help her as well, as long as, apparently, it did not involve Fang.
Gabrielle decided that that sounded easier for her. She would find Portia tomorrow to ask when the next Convocation was. Her first thought was to use some of the galleons from Stanislaw to buy the Darkest Shadows some incense that did not smell, which then made her realize how tired she was. Except, there was a clatter in the darkness where Fang had gone. Sigh.