Chapter Twenty-Eight - Need Help?

"Do you not recall, Miss Delacour, my admonition regarding the abuse of privilege?" The Headmistress peered down at Gabrielle, leaning across her desk to do so.

Gabrielle did not quite follow the argument that McGonagall was trying to make, as admonition was a new word to her. She was listening though; she could do little else. Based on the reflection from the polished inkpot on the desk, Gabrielle was currently a very small fox with very large ears, stuck in the grip of the Windsor-style chair. This was not supposed to be allowed, yes? It was unfortunate that Papa was not still part of the French Ministry. A formal complaint from them would be hard to ignore.

The problem was, again, Fang. Except it was the absence of the hound this time, which meant that her emergency visit to the owlery was, apparently, an offense of the highest degree. Which was ridiculous since no one who had not lost their senses would take Fang to an owlery. She could only imagine how angry the owls would be, and also how she would be the only one there for them to take their anger out on.

The Headmistress was now looking at her as if waiting for a response, which only proved that the size of the ear had nothing to do with the span of attention. Gabrielle barked, yipped, and howled at length, mostly to annoy McGonagall as much as being transformed annoyed her.

Anyway what, barked Gabrielle, privilege was she abusing? The privilege of 'carrying on' Professor Hagrid's classes because the other professors did not want to? She had just happened to be near when Professor Hagrid was leaving. It was not her responsibility to prevent that. Was it her slight, and harmless, bending of Madam Pomfrey's rule about using the broom on stairs? That hardly merited the current circumstances, which came out more as a whine than a howl.

The strategy worked; the Headmistress became annoyed. With a flick of her wand she silenced Gabrielle. A second thought could not but wonder if a sincere-sounding apology for any and all alleged crimes would not have been a better course. That usually placated Maman, though it would have probably sounded the same to the Headmistress given the circumstances.

Personally annoying to Gabrielle was that it had all been unnecessary. It was only after sending off Lieutenant Mimsey, and interrupting his, eh, 'visit' with the owl hen, did she check the beetle again. The arrow was no longer spinning and pointed in the general direction it usually pointed. Which meant that in a few hours one of the Weasleys was going to receive a very confusing message. Gabrielle desperately hoped that it would not be Mrs. Weasley that received the false alarm.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle stared at the parchment in front of her, struggling to come up with another five or six lines needed for the length requirement. She was in the library, sitting in the potions section. Her choice of location was both for privacy and inspiration, but she was having neither at the moment. The potions essay was a discourse on the class of potions intended to make wood more edible. It was far too late to increase her the size of her writing, and nothing about potions was inspiring. That is why she left it for last. More edible - who was eating wood?

Privacy was desired because there was no way to alert the entirety of the school's witch population that the unicorn would not be returning to the halls. Gabrielle would ask the Headmistress to say something, but that did not seem like a good idea right now. She could hear at least three witches whispering behind the shelves near her. They sounded as if they were trying to convince one of their number to approach, which meant that they were probably first-years or second-years. Older witches were, eh, more forthright about asking. The main argument being used was 'because'.

Gabrielle turned her attention back to the essay. If one was going to eat wood, one would, it stood to reason, need a recipe. That was logical. She imagined that a hard wood like oak or ash would have the consistency of a carrot after soaking in a potion. A softer wood like pine might be more like potato. Possibly, because she had never heard of anyone consuming trees for their dinner. But, if there were such a person, then she could recommend several casserole dishes where the substitution could be made. Recommendations enough for the five or six lines. She picked up her quill. If she finished before the argument behind the shelves, then she could duck out of sight and use the apron.

"M-Miss Delacour?"

"Mags?!" Gabrielle was surprised because the girl did not seem like the type to be found in a library so late. Not that she was that type either. "Is zere somezing wrong? Did zey put you in ze lake again?"

"No! It's got ice on it. Um, Miss Delacour - "

"Can you sit until I finish zis?" Gabrielle motioned to the chair across from her. She wondered if she should have added quietly. Mags came around to the other side and sat, sliding her chair closer to Gabrielle. The first-year immediately began fidgeting.

Fortunately, the casseroles had a fair number of ingredients, so the essay was completed quickly. Gabrielle was still behind, but now at least there was less reason for panic. She began putting her things away. Whatever help it was that Mags needed, it was probably not for finding a book. "Eh, what did you want, Mags?"

"You're so good at quidditch Miss Delacour! And your broom's amazing!" gushed Mags.

Gabrielle peered into the girl's round face framed by her hair's bob cut. What could this be about? Did she want lessons? The only thing that Gabrielle knew for certain about quidditch was that she would rather watch it than play it. "Eh, what?"

"S-So we - I was thinking that you, um, could switch to chaser - I mean seeker," stumbled Mags. "You would be brilliant!"

Gabrielle, who had not missed the whispered correction from the other side of the wall of potion references, was even more baffled. She also realized that she knew one more thing about quidditch, and that was playing beater seemed like the easiest position. Chasers were always busy doing something, and seekers were constantly harassed by bodies and bludgers. She certainly did not want to have everyone angry at her for playing keeper. "Mags, what is zis about? Who is wizz you?"

"No one!"

She actually glanced at her hidden compatriots, noticed Gabrielle. It occurred to her that the belief that Gryffindors do not lie may be based on them being so bad at the effort that one could always tell. Gabrielle took up her wand, wondering if she could drag whomever was hiding into the light with the summoning spell. She would have to stand for that though, and need a bit of space. The sound of scurrying was also a good result, especially as she did not know what or who to summon.

"It wasn't my idea, Miss Delacour!" wailed Mags.

"Quiet!" hissed Gabrielle. "Zere is no reason to, eh, get ze detention. Now zen, what is zis idea?"

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle drifted down the main staircase, following the turns of the stairs. She had gotten into the habit of just launching over the side of any handrail, but that was probably an Abuse of Privilege. She was coming back from the Gryffindor tower, having ferried Mags back as it had been close to curfew. A second thought wondered, though, if it was past curfew now. An Abuse of Privilege.

There had been no new detentions from the Headmistress, though. Even she had to acknowledge the vast quantity of pre-punishments that had accumulated.

Gabrielle learned from Mags that the Gryffindor quidditch team had decided that the only threat from Hufflepuff were the bludgers from her. That was a surprise, partly due to the fact that she had forgotten about the upcoming match. They had forced Mags to try and convince her to switch positions. It was not much of a plan. Gabrielle felt that the other members of the team, especially the captain, might want a say in such a change. Did the Gryffindor team allow such whims? Or did they just assume that Hufflepuffs would be agreeable?

v - v - v - v - v

Gagnek sat at his desk, where he should have been tallying and verifying the various transactions before him. This was normally an extremely satisfying part of his day. He was not able to fully set aside the worries of the future, though, because the fraying of that was showing up in the transactions recorded. Larger and more frequent changes in assets was a sign of instability, not prosperity. Or perhaps he was just reading too much into the financial tea leaves that were these records.

Instead, Gagnek was staring at a rectangular iron box. The box was ornate, befitting its Gringotts origin, but the mere decorations were nothing compared to the unseen enchantments surrounding it. This, touched by the foolish, was lethal.

Worse, Gagnek was not quite clear as to what was so securely contained. Old Mustard Zlobak, his long-time mentor, had brought the box to him, and bade Gagnek to take charge of it lest he give into temptation and throw it into the Velikolepnok Smelter.

Mustard was not a traditional goblin name; it came from a short-lived fad where names derived from the human realm were considered fashionable, like Davik or Williank. Most children so burdened assumed another name. Mustard, which was awkward even among those from the time, had kept his. His dignity was assured by status of the Unclean clan, and a quick temper backed by exceptional magical prowess.

Over the decades, Mustard had, of course, aged. He had become grayer, and acquired a hitch in his step from an unspecified office accident. His force of will had not diminished, though, which was why his ashen, shaken appearance so filled Gagnek with trepidation.

It had taken two generous tumblers of something called gin to settle Mustard's nerves. The bottle was provided by Weasley, and it was strangely reminiscent of true goblin liquor, though with less of an acrid bite. Not exactly proper contraband, but exotic enough to mark the occasion.

Mustard was far too senior for what amounted to a simple courier run, but had used that seniority take the task due to the individual who was to receive the item. The occasional brush with celebrity spiced up a long career. He had closed the books before tallying all the transactions, though, and only learned the recipient was a different person with the same name. That was an embarrassing blunder, and then he learned the contents of the box. That, and that he would have to give it to a -wizard-, nearly made Mustard throw it, his career, and essentially his life into the only furnace hot enough to remelt galleons.

But he had not, and instead called in every favor Gagnek owed for him to handle the delivery in his stead. There was little that Gagnek would not do for the one who had helped set him up in his position, and had even introduced him to his eventual wife. Gagnek agreed, though, wisely, Mustard would not divulge the contents of the iron box, and claimed that he would be off to his own office to continue drinking until he himself had forgotten it.

This all began with a simple request to talk some sense into his brother's son, which led to the discovery of the doomed circle of debt instigated by the so-called Destroyer. All aimed toward the pointless killing of a dozen or so wizards, which then attracted the attention of the Ministry, and Harry Potter. His world was so much larger, wondered Gagnek, but still so small. The destination for the mysterious package so thoroughly protected was: G. Delacour, Hufflepuff dorm, third bunk bed from the left, top, side next to wall, Hogwarts. Should he bring this to Weasley's attention?

v - v - v - v - v

Minerva McGonagall sat comfortably behind the large desk in her office, facing the Heads of the four Hogwarts Houses. In accordance with long tradition, she rarely interceded in the affairs of the Houses, so long as the Heads of the Houses were not the antagonists. That seemed to be the case presently, except, well, special cases for special cases. "This does not seem very much like Gryffindor, if I may say" she opined.

"My sincerest apologies, Headmistress. I hereby offer my immediate resignation as the temporary Head," responded Professor Vector.

"Ah Septima, your dedication to the 'running gag' truly sets you apart. However, I feel that your dedicated services are still required."

"Yes, Headmistress," sighed the arithmancy professor.

The position of the Head of Gryffindor House was more difficult to fill than expected. McGonagall could not simply shuffle the existing leadership about, because to do so would be to treat one of the positions as a lesser role. Hagrid had seemed like an obvious choice, but she felt he did his best work outside, where the damage could be minimized. The House of Gryffindor needed a stern, steady hand at the reins. Someone unlikely, for example, to want to join in the fun. That described Professor Vector quite well, and so she was appointed acting Head of House. It was not an accolade that she cherished.

The issue to be adjudicated was a challenge by Gryffindor to the eligibility of the Delacour girl for quidditch. Sprout, representing Hufflepuff, was against the motion, probably on principles more than anything else. Flitwick and Slughorn were vaguely supportive, but also aware that their House teams had already faced Hufflepuff as currently constituted. The arguments focused on the various injuries that had occurred and the seemingly magical control of the bludgers by the girl.

Unfortunately for Vector, McGonagall had not missed a match so far, which meant that she was not exactly unbiased. She had seen no wand used during the match, and by all accounts, well, mostly Miss Berrycloth's, Gabrielle steered clear of all things quidditch otherwise. Which, considered the Headmistress, was interesting as it made tampering more plausible while also eliminating opportunity to accomplish the subterfuge. The Slytherin match had featured fresh bludgers in any case, and she had been among the ones injured by those. The whole motion felt underhanded. McGonagall wondered who was behind it, and if she should be worried.

"I should like to hear some evidence that the girl is capable of defeating the charms placed on a bludger, charms with the specific intent to prevent such, before reversing my previous decision," pronounced McGonagall. She straightened a stack of correspondence on her desk as a signal that she was too busy for this. No one need know they were nearly all from one sender. "Filius?"

"If Miss Delacour was casting a spell, I am sure that everyone in the stands would have heard, and seen it," replied Flitwick. "Quiet and subtle are the first steps on the meandering path to non-verbal and possible wandless casting. Miss Delacour is a step or two behind the first."

"Well then..."

"Tearlach believes she has, er, 'unglook'," offered Vector.

"Oh ho?" smiled McGonagall.

"Pardon, I meant Professor Korbel. My sincerest apologies - I shall immediately resign my position as -"

"Please, Septima. Where could we ever find as excellent an arithmancy professor?" This was also part of the serial humor.

McGonagall had, of course, reviewed the records from Beauxbatons. The possible condition had been invoked to explain a number of unusual incidents, and indeed had been touted as the rational for the ongoing stair problem. Yet, if that was the case, then was it not much the same as having an extraordinary talent for flying a broom?

There did not appear to be any new support for the motion forthcoming, which led the Headmistress to wonder who it was that prompted the attempt. She now suspected that a parent, undoubtedly of an influential family, was involved. That would be tedious. "Let us revisit this after the holidays. The teams will remain as they are. Try to find a new tactic."

v - v - v - v - v

"Here now, what's all this then?" barked the Ministry auror. He stood over the now shattered remains of the thick door.

The red head sitting at a worktable littered with colorful but distinctly charred lumps did not even look up. "Try to find some new material, dear brother."

"Oh give over, I got the robes down perfectly this time."

"It's the 'this time' that's the problem here, Fred. I've completely lost my natural instinct to flee."

"Our Ronnie will be glad to hear of that. I feel he may have felt slighted by your reaction. Anyway, I had to stop by. Got an owl saying you might be in 'danger terrible'."

"Am I?" George Weasley looked at his twin, then at the row of potions bubbling quietly. "I've got the fires damped properly this time."

"You've been messing with the BADAR devices again. I thought we agreed that while they are a magnificent magical achievement that was a whacking great boon to all of wizard-kind, we were going to drop them as wizard-kind are a load of skinflints with imaginations too small to see the value of such a premium product."

"But you're not at all bitter, and have cheerfully moved on to introducing wizard-kind to novelty cutlery."

"Affordable fun for every age."

"So many ways to use them."

"Simple too, with the new auto-mimic charms, patent pending. Magical humor at the touch of a wand."

"You can thank me again for insisting on blunting the knives."

"Yes, yes, I did not expect so many pranks to end with them in someone's eye," admitted Fred. "But back to beetles, because I thought we were getting our wands together for the launch of the Wander Floo."

"Launch? With the Ministry dead set against them?" asked George. "Did I miss a meeting?"

"No, you slept through one. The Wander Floo is new, and the Ministry is old, but older still is the magic, made from rounds of gold."

"Come again?"

"The solicitor's creed, I think."

"What did it cost us?"

"For the meeting? Not much, but more than what's right. The approved agreement requires Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, LLC, to pay for any new Floos needed, at twice the going rate. We are suspected of having the galleons."

"Er, LLC? What is that about?"

"No idea. It's something that that Philippe started adding. Which brings us back to the owl and the beetles."

"I already had that Talk with Dad," said George. "Ghastly. But hang on, when you said new Floo, did you mean actual, physical, enchanted hearth and chimney, or connection to the Floo network?"

"A man sees clearest when he stares not at the coins held dearest."

"Did we somehow hire Lord Tennyson's reanimated corpse as our solicitor?"

"No, though, to be honest, he is a bit bloodless. The number of wizards that would be using any particular Floo at any one time did not come up."

"Brilliant!"

"So why are you still messing about with the beetles? A ridiculously large owl woke me up in the middle of the night with a message that you were in danger. Apparently Gigi's beetle was acting up. Which is interesting as we didn't sell many and I don't recall -"

"A prototype for testing new ideas," explained George."She seemed, er, keen."

"And you sent her a Wander Floo. Who was keen?"

"Yes, well..." George waved at the cluttered worktable. "There was this idea..."

"What are those supposed to be?"

"Congolese Brick beetles." The beetles, native to Africa, had a shape and coloring that allowed the insects to camouflage themselves as bricks on the sides of buildings. They are rare, as opportunities to use their natural disguise tend to be far from the equally rare grimjim trees they feed on. The daily commute exhausts the rectangular, and mostly non-aerodynamic, beetles.

"Interesting choice," nodded Fred. "Does roasting them actually help at all?"

"I was having a go at merging the BADAR with the Wander Floo," explained George. "All the fire beetle species are very chunky, round buggers which are inconvenient for the pocket. So I thought, hearths can be made of bricks, right?"

"Should I mention that that isn't brick but that muggle plastic stuff?"

"It's good for the color and sheen, and it's light. Something a brick isn't."

"Burns a treat, too."

"There's a few more things to work the -bugs- out of."

"You've breathed too many of the fumes."

"Keeping the fire only where you want it is tricky."

"Another property of that plastic is how sticky it is when melted."

"Ah, right. And how is Verity?"

"More than a little unhappy about the new hairstyle, but otherwise fine," replied Fred. "Have you tried sticking it to something that doesn't burn?"

v - v - v - v - v

"G' day everyone. It's clear and dry this arvo but cold enough that the koalas will be falling from the eucalyptus trees. Today's match features the struggling Gryffindors going against the Black Widow and the rest of the Hufflepuff team. l'm Mickey, here with me mate Dickie. Give us a breakdown of the squads today, Dickie."

"Arrr, I be Drrread Pirrrate Rrricharrrd today, lad."

"... Wut?"

"The scurrrvy dogs of Grrryffindor werrre rrraided by the scalawags of Slytherrrin, then lost a harrrd fought battle to the prrride of these waterrrs in Rrravenclaw."

"Oh Merlin, no."

"They need to play to theirrr strrrength and stay aggrrressive on offense, but not give away tharrr booty with fouls. The crrrew of Hufflepuff will look to Delacourrr to blunt Grrryffindor's attack, and give them a chance to stay even. I see it coming down to the seekerrrs."

"Thanks for that Dickie, we'll come back for more after Madam Pomfrey has a chance to treat that blow to your head. Professor Flitwick will be the referee for the match; he's already called for the captains."

"Oy, I be Drrread Pirrrate Rrricharrrd."

"Oy?"

"Errr... Avast?"

"No worries. I have a note here that says there's a new school rule added to match play. 'No player shall attempt to damage the snitch with a bludger.' The Badgers were sprung."

v - v - v - v - v

"I told you I be fine like the fairrr skies, ya bilge rrrat. Arrr."

"Reckon I felt a bit clucky. Thought you might be hexed instead of a bogan. Greenhill takes it from Dresscote at mid-pitch. He's got Enders streaking on his right, but is late with the pass. That's come a gutser, and Gryffindor will regroup. What do you think of their beater strategy, Dickie?"

"I be Drrread -"

"Stop. Please."

"Arrr, it definitely be a new one. They be focused only on keeping the bludgerrrs away from Delacourrr. With herrr teammate Rrrombaum trrrying to feed herrr bludgerrrs and the Grrryffindorrr beaterrrs knocking them away, it's like tharrr be no beaterrrs in the match at all."

"It looks like it'll come good. Greenhill has it to the left of Waterholder and looks to pass it to - No, it's a fake, and he sends it through the center hoop. Fair play to him."

"He would be looking forrr his teeth if the bludgerrrs werrre in play. Hufflepuff has to give Waterrrholderrr some help."

"I can't wait to hear you say Rory Rackharrow, the Lions' seeker, mate."

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle drifted in the air, wondering what she was supposed to be doing. That was not completely correct. She was supposed to be aiming bludgers at the Gryffindor beater named Greenhill, but had no bludgers to bat. The two Gryffindor beaters were keeping all the bludgers away from her. Gabrielle knew her broom was quicker, but the opposing beaters were bigger with orangutan-like arms that could out reach her.

This situation was not upsetting, though Malachite was getting frustrated. Except, it was a stupidly cold day, and the heating charm on Gabrielle's left glove was already exhausted. She was not going to like freezing to death as the game just dragged on. What was it going to be like in January? Something had to be done.

The something that had to be done started with Malachite. Gabrielle started forward on her broom, then abruptly changed direction to slip past one of the orangutans. She pulled up next to Malachite.

"What are you doing?" shouted Malachite. "If we're too close they'll be able to control the bludgers!"

Gabrielle tilted her head. "Zat is what is happening now, n'est-ce pas?"

"But we weren't making it easier for them!"

"I zink zat we are, because you are only hitting ze bludgers to me, and zat is where zey are," argued Gabrielle. "We should do somezing different." That was logic, though, so Malachite might not understand.

"Like what?"

"You try to hit ze chasers zis time, and I will help, eh, Barky find ze snitch." Gabrielle wondered if either seeker was actually looking for it. The snitch was new, so perhaps it was harder to catch. It was also possible that neither wanted to end the match; that was some sort of strategy apparently.

v - v - v - v - v

"Strewth, mate, I fair dinkum have no idea what is going on out there. Both seekers and both Gryffindor beaters are chasing the Black Widow like she shoved a jumbuck in her tucker bag. How about it, Dickie?"

"Arrr, I think they be Potterrring, wherrre the seekerrr flies to block the quaffle."

"But -"

"Delacourrr might be showing Barrrrrrik how it be done, with the Grrryffindorrr seekerrr Rrrorrry Rrrackharrrrrrow trrracking."

"Good on ya for that senty! I knew it would be worth the wait. And the Gryffindor beaters, are they in it for keeping the bludgers out of her reach?"

"..."

"Dickie?"

"I think I sp'ained my tongue."

"Ah, rough go, mate. A pirate's life and all. This strato has the Gryffindor chasers bailed up, along with the other Hufflepuff beater Rombaum raging with the bludgers. The Lions need a think."

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle pulled up sharply, hoping to lose her pursuers. The maneuver did not work on the Gryffindor seeker, even though she was following her more closely than Barky. Gabrielle could understand what the opposing beaters were doing, but could not figure out what the seekers were doing. If she had seen the snitch twice, pointing it out to her teammate both times, then surely they had been able to see their goal more, yes? Why was the match not over yet?

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?!" shouted the Gryffindor seeker. Gabrielle thought she might be an attractive witch, but it was hard to tell with her dark hair tied back in a messy bun and her face scowling.

"I am looking for ze snitch."

"You can't do that!"

"Eh, what? Of course I can." Gabrielle added a Look that she hoped radiated dismissal and not worry over her numb fingers. "Anyway, what are you doing?"

"I'm looking for the snitch!"

"Oh? Is zat so? Zen where is it?"

"Over by the platform where those two prats are doing the announcing. You are supposed to be chasing bludgers!"

"Barky! Over zere! Over zere!"

"You little tit!" The Gryffindor seeker snapped around on her boom and flew after her counterpart.

Gabrielle, in turn, chased after the scowling witch. Barky was going to need help.

v - v - v - v - v

"Strewth, mate, some action at last. Barrik looks like he's on the snitch after a Point Me from the Black Widow. Rackharrow is closing fast, with Delacour in pursuit. Greenhill is taking advantage of the open pitch, tearing up the far side; Morehouse for Hufflepuff is well behind him. That Cleansweep of Rackharrow's must have an exy tune on it - she's nearly even with Barrik now."

"She's flying to inte'fe'. G'yffindo' needs the points diffe'ential."

"Deadset. Greenhill dodges Rombaum's bludger and - I'll be stuffed - Waterholder makes the save! Oh, but he didn't catch it cleanly. Enders should have a chance. Barrik is being edged off his line by Rackharrow, but the snitch turns to his side. I don't think he has the broom though. Enders holds the quaffle too long; now Grimmer for the Badgers is there to give it a burl. The Black Widow is diving on the seekers - I don't see what she hopes for there. Enders leaves Grimmer flat as a cane toad on the road but still hasn't taken the try. Barrik is off his broom! Delacour judged that one badly, and creamed him from the backside. Looks to have taken the worst of it too. Flitwick is on his way - what will he call?"

"The match. B'ik has the snitch."

"There's a fair suck of the sav! A quick match, and the capture leaves Hufflepuff, em... just a mo', I need to find me quill..."

"Even. Ende''s goal came aft' and did not count."

''... right, but where is extra bit supposed go again... Even, you reckon? Well, that's no help to Gryffindor's chances, Dickie. The captains are at mid-pitch with Flitwick now. Looks like he wants to give them the flick."

"The definition of blatching is 'intent to collide', but it's long been called only between opponents."

v - v - v - v - v

When the Gryffindor seeker turned and raced toward Barky, Gabrielle did the same. She was quite proud that her broom could match the seeker's burst, but also a little disappointed that she was still falling behind. As they raced across the pitch, Gabrielle was relieved to see her teammate actually chasing the snitch. She had begun to wonder if he even knew what it even looked like.

Of course, chasing was not the same as catching. It did not matter much as to who ended up with the snitch, but Gabrielle was sure that the Gryffindor did not want to end the match yet. She had known where the gold ball was and ignored it. That was definitely because she was wearing properly fitted gloves, and not borrowed ones that let the cold wind in at the wrists.

As expected, Messy Hair Bun had pulled up alongside Barky, and was leaning into him, angling him away. He was larger, and was pushing back. Mostly with his head, which he was trying to bury in her...

Okay, thought Gabrielle, that is just rude. And they were not particularly large anyway. If she had a bludger near, she would have used it.

The tussle did slow the two of them, and then the snitch darted back to Barky's side. Gabrielle wondered if he would notice, but he did. He just was not going to get away from Hair Bun on that broom. Or, came a second thought, perhaps he did not want to. Gabrielle decided he needed a little boost. She had not been slowed, and now Barky was closer. She dove.

The plan was to give Barky a shove forward. It was more of an idea than a plan, since a plan would usually have more thought put into it. Gabrielle leaned forward and slammed into Barky from behind, with both arms extended. As an example, a plan would have included something about how to hold onto the broom at the same time. Barky, formerly a beater, was considerably heavier. When Gabrielle's arms had done what they could, her face did the rest. He was vaulted, flailing, from his broom.

Gabrielle had come to a nearly complete stop in the air after the impact. Her broom had not, so she began to fall. She was not worried about hitting the ground as there were spells in place to prevent that, and professors who should be able to help. Gabrielle was worried about her nose though, as it really hurt and felt like it was mashed flat from hitting Barky's head.

A few moments later, Gabrielle did begin to worry about hitting the ground. She was not slowing at all, but then she did not know when the cushioning spells would take effect. The sand on the ground was soft as well, yes? She then quit worrying and started panicking as she passed Barky on the way down, who was waving the snitch in his hand. Then she stopped worrying, panicking, and thinking. The sand, she would later realize, was not soft.