Chapter Twenty-Seven - Lessons
This, decided Gabrielle, was almost certainly Ginny's fault. It was Ginny who kept insisting that she could speak with animals, that animals would do as she asked. And, she had sort of come to believe, a little, that there was, perhaps, something to the idea, that animals could guess what she wanted. But now the current emergency - the current, small emergency - was certainly proof that that was not true.
It definitely was Professor Hagrid's fault though. He had not returned for the start of lessons, and for some reason his classes had not been cancelled. That seemed like the normal sort of thing to do, in Gabrielle's opinion, but instead various professors were stepping in. All of them required her to be there, as some sort of punishment she supposed. At least there were not many classes. Especially as they were usually held outdoors near Hagrid's cottage.
Except, the professors had done nothing more than take attendance before telling her to 'carry on'. Gabrielle would give them a blank stare each time, but that did not stop them from just leaving. The very first class, the one she was actually in, was okay, since she and the few others in the class just carried on trying to breed colonies of crenellated ice worms. But the next class handled in this peculiar British fashion was a seventh-year class which only had three members. How was she to 'carry on' a seventh-year course? It was completely ridiculous, which is why the two boys just... sort of slipped out. They were there, and then they were not. Gabrielle had not seen how they managed it, and had heard no apparition, but she hoped to learn the technique as soon as possible. That would have saved her the awkward scrutiny of Cyndal. Gabrielle was acquainted with Cyndal through Kath, no, the other one, because Kath used to have a crush on Toad. He had not been Toad then, of course. Toad was in the Academy of Advanced Remediation and Deconstruction study group (Aardvarks), as was Cyndal. Since the older girl was a fellow Hufflepuff, she waited patiently for Gabrielle to 'carry on'. Instead of telling her that class was really effectively cancelled, though, Gabrielle became flustered and blurted out a simple question that led to the current potential disaster: "Would you like to see ze unicorn?"
Cyndal did want to see the unicorn, because who would not? Gabrielle led the way into the Forbidden Forest after a brief pause for protective footwear. She explained to Cyndal that the metal overshoes were needed because unicorns were very large creatures with hard feet that were not always experienced with smaller creatures with soft feet being close by. That surprised Cyndal, since it implied closeness, and led to the inevitable question. Gabrielle very definitely denied that any riding was going to happen. She also took that opportunity to explain that there was no need for nudity, that that was only a myth and definitely not a good idea given the weather.
Gabrielle discovered two things. The first was that the unicorn was close, almost alarmingly close, to the edge of the forest. They were barely ten minutes in, and found the unicorn sheltering under some pines by the path. The second discovery was that the metal overshoes felt so much heavier now. She really had been using the broom too much.
The visit was a success. The unicorn had allowed Cyndal to stroke his beard-like tuft, and no one was gored or stomped. It helped that the creature turned out to have a liking for cake, which Gabrielle was almost certain was not good for him but made for an excellent distraction. She had a lot of cake in the handbag. The seventh-year was weirdly emotional on the way back to Hagrid's cottage, hugging Gabrielle very tightly while crying. The need to deal with Fang, and dry her shoes, ended the awkward moment.
Cyndal had apparently recovered and told everyone she knew about her experience. The final, meager class of the day was a mixed group of fourth-years. And about a dozen seventh-year witches, who tried, when eyed by Professor Sprout, to look as if loitering by Hagrid's cottage in the cold was completely natural and totally coincidental. They barely waited for the 'carrying on' to begin before stepping forward to explain that they were there to see the unicorn, please.
Gabrielle agreed for two reasons. The first was that there were more of the -currently- polite witches than the actual class, if it came to a vote, which it did not because the fourth-years wanted to see a unicorn more than they wanted to learn practical anatomy. The second reason to acquiesce was the distinctly guilty thought that perhaps she had been feeding Fang the course material.
The five wizards in the class were a problem, of course, but the interloping witches drew lots to see which of them would have to link arms with the boys once the forest was reached. That was probably punishment enough for interrupting class, as the wizards had a bit of a pong.
The unicorn was closer to the edge of the forest than before, and very excited to see Gabrielle again. Or rather, to see She-Who-Carries-Cake. The ghostly white creature bounded toward her, completely ignoring the others close behind her. Gabrielle grabbed the ebony horn as the unicorn snuffled her clothing. That was a little unseemly. Gabrielle briefly wondered if Glouton or Gobeur was the better name. Briefly, because a nervous movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she quickly began lecturing on the fallacy of nudity.
Another successful encounter, since no one was gored, stomped, or wondering how long it would be before they could show their face again in public, had Gabrielle making plans. Her weekly detention class with the second-years was too large to keep track of in the Forbidden Forest, especially if there were other students with free time that followed. The unicorn was obviously hungry, and it probably would not mind a bit of warmth. If Professor Hagrid did not return this evening, then she would invite the unicorn into the entry hall. The plan was...
The plan was hubris. Gabrielle had set out fresh vegetables, and a small bit of cake, because it probably was not good for him, in the entry hall, and kept the second-years back toward the main staircase. She had felt that she would be able to entice the unicorn inside for at least a little while. That had gone as expected, and she even had the foresight to wrap the creature's ears with her scarf to deaden the echoey sounds of the castle. The unicorn, a free creature of the forest, was expected be skittish and be looking to bolt. All that Gabrielle thought she needed to do was to keep the path to the outdoors free of idiots looking to be gored.
Except this unicorn, who was definitely a Glouton, ate only the insufficient cake, and then decided to look for more. There was little Gabrielle could do to stop a huge, well-armed and magically-resistant equine. When it decided to enter the Great Hall, she could do nothing but go with it and shout warnings. Which were ignored as everyone wanted to be near Glouton. Thankfully the Hall had been nearly empty. The only possible injury was to the Head Boy, but Gabrielle did not see where he had landed after the kick so he might be fine. At least he had not been gored.
Unfortunately, the castle was built for students, and not, in general, quadrupeds. In particular, narrow spiral staircases were a problem, especially if such a creature changes its mind partway through. The unicorn was stuck halfway up one, having of course ignored Gabrielle's warnings and pleas. Where was the ability for animals to understand her now? That had been stupid to think, and Ginny had been stupid to say it.
There was one small bit of hope to the current situation. The bellowing, panicked unicorn was trapped on stairs, and stairs meant that Gabrielle could use her broom. There was not a lot of space left with the unicorn clogging the works, but there was enough for her to drift over his back and make her way to the animal's head.
There was no sense in shouting though. The slight emergency of a wild, magical creature rampaging the halls had already resulted in enough shouting for quite a while. It was better to pretend that the worst was already over.
"Eh, excuse moi. I zink zat we should go back outside now," said Gabrielle calmly to the unicorn. Its eyes were the color of opals, and the one she could see actually rolled around in its socket when she spoke. Gabrielle chose to believe that that was a symptom of vertigo rather than rudeness from a creature trapped in a humiliating position. "You do not zink so?"
Gabrielle waited until the unicorn dipped its muzzle slightly. It really was in a bad position. Not only was there no space for it to turn around, but the curve of the stairs meant that it could not even see what was behind it. "Zen I zink, perhaps, zat it would be, eh, best to go up a little more, zen down."
This time the large eye looked doubtful, which annoyed Gabrielle. "I live here, if you did not know zis. Go up, and zen I will show you a better way down, yes?" Gabrielle did not wait, and scooted forward on the broom. It was important not to be on the stairs. This set had the nasty habit of shaking if provoked. She tugged gently on the unicorn's silky beard, pulling just ever so slightly forward.
Once the top of the stairs was reached, there was a new problem. The alcove the stairs led to was off a hallway that was... not empty.
"Eh, try to zink of ze boys as, eh, big, eh, squirrels, or somezing," suggested Gabrielle. "Zey do not mean you harm, of course. And no more kicking, eh, please." Although, now that she said it, she might have been able to recover the map with the False Craig down. If he showed up again, then a little more kicking was okay.
The unicorn just shook his head at the reasonable request, which Gabrielle feared meant maybe. There was nothing to be done, though. She decided to stay on the broom, and draped an arm and a leg over the unicorn's neck. Halfway on the broom and halfway on the unicorn, she thought to distract the creature by describing the sights of the castle they would pass. Certainly she could nudge or tug the creature away from trouble.
The repaired broom was very quick, but only when it was going forward. It could fly sideways, but with no real force. Gabrielle found that she was more like the scarf the unicorn already wore than a guide. Glouton had no interest in alcoves with statues or paintings either. If he wished to snuffle a group of squealing witches, wondering what was under their skirts, he did so. If he felt like rearing and flailing his hooves at some gangly wizards, then that is what happened. Gabrielle could only remind people that they were in public and that others would see, or that they should flee.
Glouton was a very odd unicorn in Gabrielle's limited experience. The hallway was becoming more crowded. The boys were gathered ahead, wisely staying out of range but not actually leaving. The witches were following behind after the brief but welcome inspection. In the middle, like a bubble in a pipe, was Gabrielle and the unicorn. She would have expected terror from the creature at being surrounded, or perhaps it constantly seeking reassurance from her. Instead, Glouton seemed amused. She wondered it the hat-coven had done something.
Not all witches moved to the rear, or were completely pleased upon meeting a unicorn. Well, there was actually only one.
"Miss Delacour," said the Headmistress crisply, as the clot of wizards parted around her. Her wand was out, but pointed down and not pointed at anyone clinging to a unicorn.
Gabrielle cringed and took stock of her situation. She was using her broom in a hallway, halfway on the unicorn that she had brought indoors. It, eh, might be difficult to shift the blame for either onto someone else. "Eh, Headmistress. Eh, you see, eh, Professor Hagrid is not back yet and, eh -"
"You sought to carry on his regrettable legacy by bringing a dangerous creature into the castle?"
"Eh, what? No! He is not dangerous, just, eh, not careful." The unicorn turned its head, sweeping her in a wide arc. That was not very helpful. The question was whether landing the broom would show contrition or just emphasize the offense.
"To whom do you refer, Professor Hagrid or the unicorn?"
"Eh, ze unicorn," replied Gabrielle. "At ze moment," she added in a mutter.
"Indeed. And tell me, Miss Delacour, how many people have you known that have been gored by a unicorn?"
"Eh, zhree. But, eh, most of zem were accidents." A second thought mentally slapped its head.
"Now, bearing in mind that... Er, three, did you say? Not the two?"
"Oh, eh, Herr Von Schnittwinkel was gored in Albania," explained Gabrielle. She decided that she needed to clarify. "By accident, and he, eh, got better. Zat is, for a while."
McGonagall was silent for a moment. "You have met Herr Von Schnittwinkel himself, personally? The 'Scourge of the Clans'?" The unicorn took a nibble of her cloak, which the Headmistress allowed.
"Eh, what? He did not call himself zat. I read his palm, and I, eh, did warn him about ze unicorn." She decided not to mention her role in convincing him to pay hundreds of galleons for pieces of a broken staff.
"I am pleased to see that you survived the encounter."
"Eh, what? What does zat mean?" Gabrielle doubted that she would learn the answer, though, as Glouton was no longer interested in the older witch. He began moving forward again, with a stomp for the wizards ahead of him. Not an angry stomp; it felt more gleeful.
"Every side in a large fight has people who will not do certain things, and others who will do anything they think is necessary to win," said the receding McGonagall, which was not much of an explanation in Gabrielle's opinion.
v - v - v - v - v
Gagnek stepped from the fieldstone cellar wall and grimaced. That is, he emerged -from- the fieldstone cellar wall and grimaced. This was because it hurt, a lot. That was the only slight drawback to Rock Walk - if the rock used for entrance or exit was not large enough, it felt as if the circumferences of the rocks were a knife sliding through one's body. The goblin technique was far more useful than Apparition, of course. He could go anywhere there was rock in contact with the earth, not just places he had already been to or could see, which explained why most wizards were colloquial dolts.
It would, Gagnek had to admit, be more convenient if structures were more commonly constructed from large blocks of hewn stone. His destination would then not usually be a cellar. Such buildings were also very durable, so it was good value for the money. History being what it was, though, the ability to keep 'monsters' out of one's home tipped the balance the other way. Gagnek glanced at the wood framing on top of the foundation.
Even cellars were often impenetrable these days as well. Concrete was technically passable, but took a great deal of fortitude and dedication to manage, along with two or three days of recovery. Gagnek had never had a desire to try it.
A positive to cellars was that they were usually deserted, and the floor above them uninsulated. Gagnek could hear speaking above him, and since there was an occasional word in Gobbledegook he knew he was likely in the correct cellar. He hid himself behind the inevitable boxes and objects covered by sheets to listen.
"So he is not coming?" The voice, a male's, was louder than seemed necessary.
"No. Something you would know if you still had the beetle." A female voice replied, also too loud. Gagnek thought of the goblins tending the dragon under Gringott, slightly deafened by the noise of the Clankers. These two had been spending a lot time someplace loud. That was not much of a clue, though, since underground passages were prone to echoes.
"I still have it."
"Is it in one piece?"
"Do we need to move operations again?"
"Can we move operations, Blago?"
It was good, thought Gagnek, to be right. And less embarrassing if he was detected. If that was BIago, then the other was surely Tieka.
"I mean, technically, but it would only be moving, and not escaping."
"Good thing for us then that the Half-Breed says he was kicked by a unicorn, and not caught by aurors."
"Kicked by a unicorn? Is that a code phrase? It sounds like one of those code phrases that, uh, the other one -"
"Unk."
"- that he would go on about."
"No, but I wonder if it isn't a euphemism for something else. Like, maybe he just has diariyak or is makmurluk. Anyway, can't the automatik move themselves?"
"They can move, but not really by themselves. They are only following simple rules. Like, 'go toward that house' or 'shoot anything moving.'"
"Couldn't we just line them up and tell them to follow the thing in front of it?"
"Assuming the magic worked, and that a parade of a dozen shiny metal goblins could go unnoticed, yes."
"Shiny metal goblins - and one metal wizard. I forgot about needing a wand," said Tieka.
"The wand magic is not much of a problem, they aren't hard to make. But it is, um, hard to get right."
"You've tried, have you?"
"I have. It even moved a little, before shooting its own foot off. Not exactly a success, but not a complete failure either."
"The automatik really don't sound very useful."
Gagnek had had thoughts along those same lines. He had seen the action in the Omniscope, and had agreed with the Weasley assessment. These devices could be little more than a diversion, or blundering, clumsy assassins. Or meant to cause panic, which was Harry Potter's opinion. Meeting Potter had been a surprise. Sharoka appreciated the autographed jersey, though she had no idea of what a Seeker was, being an avid chicookvan fan.
"The important part is that the theory is proved out."
That theory was something that Gagnek would like to hear more about. He had been expecting to track the movement of immense amounts of oreikhalk, based on the size of the automatik. Even taking into account that the things were, according to Unk, hollow, the value in total had to be close to the entire assets of the French branch of Gringott. The larger the sums moved, the more counters would take notice, and so the conspiracy would, perforce, be larger. Perhaps large enough that the reticent Most Great and Grand Council of the Ancient Clans would step in to adjudicate the debts.
Except, there were no large transfers of the metal to be tracked. Nor were there a suspiciously large number of smaller transactions. The primary suppliers he had spoken with had, in the main, complained at length of how moribund the market was. Even after several bottles of expensive contraband. Gagnek had found oreikhalk at Blago's former home cum lab, so perhaps the theory was what to use as a replacement. That was a more comforting idea than the thought that Blago had found an alchemical means to transmute lesser metal to the rarer. The debasement of that valuable commodity on top of the cursed double-leverage scheme would surely be the end of all things. Gagnek made a mental note to spend the chunk he had found before it possibly became worthless. No more haggling.
Not for the first time, Gagnek wondered if he was doing anything useful. It might be better overall to take a more direct approach, like the spurned creditors of Gryndel Legal Industries. An unknown entity had blown a hole through the side of the parent Gryndel Industries' catacombs over near Maghull. Little else was known, because little else was admitted to by the involved parties. Gagnek wondered if he might be better off trying to grab the Half-Breed, as this seemed to be the most secure cell in any rebellion he had ever known. He had only found this place because he had gone and asked the oaf Max directly, and repeatedly, with smaller and smaller words.
"Oh, so that's why the heads screw off," said Tieka.
Gagnek wondered if he had heard correctly, and wished he had listened to the preceding explanation. It might be an important vulnerability - though, to be honest, most things were vulnerable to twisting their heads off.
"Then the extra hole in the wizard-shaped one is for?" asked Tieka.
"A wand," scoffed Blago. "Not nearly as efficient as the mechanical gun, but I think it's meant to be more frightening somehow."
"It's certainly the ugliest of the lot. Would it really be able to use it?"
"'Looks possible, but right now it would definitely slow or stop moving altogether. That work is harder to follow, though, as nothing is written down," shrugged Blago. "I only made the molds, not the originals."
"So, the magiarchy really will be smashed with these?"
"I don't know about that. I'm only here for the galleons for my research. Er, speaking of which..."
"The source for those seems to have dried up. Production expenses are higher than anticipated."
"I said I was sorry about losing that first bit of oreikhalk."
"Yes, but that didn't make it turn up, did it?"
Gagnek could hear that someone had started pacing. He assumed it was Blago trying to come up with a negotiation stratagem.
The pacing stopped. "You must have extra; you were skimming the entire time."
"That, Blago, that is just rude."
It seemed to Gagnek that only Unk and the Half-Breed were really taking the rebellion seriously. Not that most rebellions were taken seriously at all, of course. This one, though, had already done more damage than all others in the last ten years combined. Perhaps even the last hundred years.
Unfortunately, another constant of cellars was dust, which filtered down from the floor joists above after being disturbed by the pacing. Gagnek sneezed, twice. These nasal blasts echoed, and caused the pair above to scurry. Whether it was to the exits or to investigate was something that Gagnek did not learn, as he was already slipping into the fieldstone wall of the foundation, teeth gritted.
v - v - v - v - v
Professor Hagrid returned late that evening. Gabrielle knew this because she was outside, freezing, waiting for Fang to get on with his evening business. Fang was overjoyed by his master's return, and raced back and forth between her and the professor, barking and jumping, as if she had somehow failed to notice Professor Hagrid's approach.
Gabrielle was more relieved by his return than pleased. She had not completed last week's assignments, and had missed nearly all of her classes for the past two days. While it was obvious to her where the blame fell, she was not certain her other professors would see that as clearly. Especially Professor Slughorn, who was still in the infirmary waiting for the holes in his lungs where the ribs had gone through to heal up. That was really his own fault for attempting to pluck a hair from Glouton's tail while the unicorn was distracted by Mags, but Gabrielle expected that he would argue that the injury would not have happened if the creature had not been there. Apparently a fresh, whole hair was an incredibly valuable potion ingredient, and so tempting that one would lose one's senses. That was what Slughorn had told her when she went to visit Mags, who had managed to get bitten. Mags was fine after a little treatment; it was not as if she had been attacked by a crup - that, Gabrielle remembered, had really hurt.
The Head Craig was also still in the infirmary. He needed a bit more time to, eh, pull his insides back together. Madame Pomfrey had a whole tray of powders and potions for him. He only glared at Gabrielle after she politely asked how he was feeling. If he had not been in the bed right next to Professor Slughorn she would have been able to ignore him. Gabrielle found it strange that Madame Pomfrey could not tell that he was not the real Craig Torrae, but maybe he had been swapped back. And, eh, not told anyone what had happened. That would be terrible news for her, since her and George's map would then be gone for good. Escorting Mags back to Gryffindor tower was an excellent excuse to leave. Mags insisted on using the broom the entire way, which Gabrielle knew had nothing to do with the bite on the first-year's shoulder.
Professor Hagrid's arrival was a relief, but also somewhat confusing. He had a lot of luggage with him, but no cages that she could see. He had not turned the unknown creature, that had required a Ministry permit, loose in the forest, had he? That would be something that he would do.
Gabrielle had another thought, which was that the large boxes Hagrid carried contained a nest and egg, or, even worse, eggs. That would be the most efficient way to bring a new murderous herd to the Forbidden Forest. She would have to try and warn Pipe before more of him was eaten.
"Ho, Fang! An' 'ullo there, Gigi. Surprised ter see ye out here," greeted Hagrid. "Get down, Fang! This all is fragile and like."
So it was an egg, or eggs, thought Gabrielle. Probably eggs, since the Professor was carrying two huge wooden crates. Two, at least!, large eggs and probably one of each sex to establish a breeding colony. Gabrielle hoped whatever species they were was slow to mature so that she would graduate before there were more of them. "Good evening, Professor. Eh, what did you bring back?"
"These're cour'esy o' that Gaston fella. He's a peculiar one, e'en fer a muggle." Hagrid set the wooden crates down with a grunt. The two stacked up were large enough to actually hide him.
"Eh, what?"
"Di'n't want to let me in at all, so I had to let me'self in. He was a bit shirty on account o' the door, but he calmed down when I gave him yer letter."
The 'letter' was nothing more than a short note that Gabrielle had hastily scribbled that night, detailing the 'an' such' that Professor Hagrid was to acquire. That was followed by a desperate apology and a fervent promise. The note was needed because she did not trust Hagrid to remember the details; the apology was the result of not having any francs to give; and the promise was that she would personally see that he got them. Gabrielle felt sure Gaston would understand that, as a student living in Britain, her ability to exchange money would be limited. Never mind needing to exchange galleons. She had asked for two kilos of Gaston's 'Allied Victory' roast. Gabrielle could see that Hagrid had still managed to get it wrong. "Professor, how much did you take?"
"Jes' Hagrid will do. As my apprentice, ye ken."
"No." Gabrielle wondered if Hagrid knew what a kilogram was. His preferred unit was the stone. "Zat looks like more zan two kilos of beans."
"Ah no, this is them 'ere. But I don't think they'll do well in th' ground. They've been cooked." Hagrid produced a canvas bag from his coat pocket. It was as large as Gabrielle's torso. That was closer to the expected quantity, but still at least ten times the amount. "I think they've gone off too, from th' smell."
"Zen, eh, what is in zose boxes?" If they were from Gaston, then they probably were not full of eggs. "Where is ze creature? -What- is the creature?"
"I knew you'd be excited, but this were only fer paperwork and ter arrange delivery of th' li'l surprise," said Hagrid looking pleased. Gabrielle thought her tone was more one of alarm. "Can't say what's in them boxes. They were already closed up when I got there."
"Eh, what?" Not much of this made sense to Gabrielle. Of course, she had sort of overlooked the fact that Hagrid and Gaston might not share a common language. If Gaston needed francs for all this...
"He gave me this 'ere book to give ye too. Found the whole thing funny for some reason. Very odd, e'en fer a muggle."
Gabrielle accepted the book, which she recognized as one of those adjustable muggle, mechanical books. Philippe had one; Gabrielle did not trust it. One could change the pages as long as the parchment had three carefully placed holes. How could one know what was in a book like that?The metal rings that held the paper would snap shut painfully on innocent, inattentive fingers too!
A second thought remembered something that allowed Gabrielle to make more sense of it all. Gaston was old. Perhaps old enough that he was not recalling her as she was, but as the wife he had lost. Which was a sad thought, but one that might also resolve the franc situation.
She cleared her throat and changed topics, because the second part of the thought seemed a little too self-serving. "Eh, Professor, ze, eh, Headmistress knows about zis."
"No doubt abou' tha', lass. The castle is downwind of us."
"Eh, what? I mean zat she knows you wrote her name on the Ministry paper."
"Well, o' course she would."
"Oh, eh, zen what will you do? It is trouble, no?"
"Yeah, some, I expect. But, ye see, the Headmistress' first reaction would be ter say no. Then she would come 'round ter the idea. I am sure o' that. Jes' saving a little time."
That, thought Gabrielle, did not sound like a winning argument. Except, except that she had to hope it was, or she might be trapped trying to 'carry on' his classes. Which would hardly be fair. Obviously!
Professor Hagrid still insisted on keeping his surprise secret, even though Gabrielle had asked again very politely, and then he went off after Fang. That left Gabrielle with the huge crates, which were not a problem because those went into the handbag easily enough. She just started at a corner and wiggled. Getting them back out would be a problem for later. The crates had looked heavy.
v - v - v - v - v
Triumph. It was not a word associated with toads, unlike, for example, plodding or sad. There was nothing in particular preventing a toad from experiencing the feeling, save for a distinct lack of opportunity. Nevertheless, Poisseux did feel triumph. His plan had been flawless; his band of accomplices had performed well. Not perfectly, mind. The finch had panicked at the explosion and flown, and there were some singed whiskers, but none had been hurt badly. That result was certainly due to the unexpected size of the intruders - everything had been aimed upwards.
Poisseux was not an ordinary toad by any measure. He was not even toad-shaped anymore. Having been given first a second chance, then a third chance, he could tell he was a toad that was destined for greater things. And, now he had a crown to prove that his instinct was correct. Sort of a crown, at least. It was an object of power, and his reign would be glorious. It was also too large for his head, so it sat atop his spiked back. The reshaped toad knew he had to keep the object a secret for now, though, at least until he and his compatriots found a way to tie it on more securely.
That was a problem for later, and most witches had some string about them. For now, it was time for a reward. Poisseux grabbed the sack with his jaws and shook it, scattering his cache of purloined owl treats. With a regal nod of his head, his followers hopped and scrabbled forward for some snacks. He wondered what the brown nuggets tasted like.
v - v - v - v - v
The wisp of magical energy that was Lord Voldemort allowed his essence to spread thinly. It was his way of sulking. Another brilliant plot disrupted by pure happenstance was enough to make anyone want to diffuse to nothingness across this Limbo. Briefly, though, since overcoming obstacles was what a wizard should be about. One obstacle was power, and how little he could project. Another obstacle was time; the unfolding plot was nearing a critical point, like froth appearing on a brewing potion.
The last obstacle was the trickiest, and was how to subvert the will of the one that now possessed the diadem. Careful study of the thoughts and desires that the diadem gathered was needed, which in turn needed patience. That virtue was always touted as being freely available here in the infinite, but Lord Voldemort had always found it lacking personally.
So far, the thoughts and desires revealed by the diadem were... simple. That in itself was not a poor situation, as simple desires required only simple motivations. Unless the person wearing the item was also stupid, in which case constant supervision would be needed to keep plans from obvious blunders.
The rather dull and the very intelligent were one and the same when it came to the propensity of ruining plots. The Death Eaters had provided examples of both, in large enough sample sizes. The failure of the dullard almost had to be expected. They talked too much after drink, they were easily distracted, and could merely follow a plan and not formulate one of their own should something go awry. The very intelligent were dedicated, flexible in a crisis, and thought themselves far more clever than they were. Their scheming and 'inspired' additions would often cause more damage than any Goyle ever had.
It hardly mattered in this case, mused Lord Voldemort. The best course of action was to see that the reliquary was returned to the previous dupe, so that the parasite extermination, and his return, could begin. Success or failure was nearly the same.
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle stared in dismay at the little arrow that her metal beetle displayed. It was supposed to point to the beetle that George had. Why was it spinning? It was possible that he was flying in circles around the castle at ridiculous speeds; perhaps as some sort of prank on the Headmistress. It was more likely, Gabrielle concluded with a sinking heart, that this was trouble.