Chapter Thirty-Two - Who's There?
When it came to revising and working on assignments, Gabrielle found that the Transfer Students League room was far more amenable than the meeting of the Glorious Tea Collective of May Twenty-third study group, even though the main purpose of the TC23 was for, well, study. The Christmas Ball was nearing, and her fellow Tea Cosies were increasingly asking for teacup residue-based advice.
At the other end of the wand, though, Gabrielle did miss the relaxed atmosphere of the study group. Saruchi insisted upon a rather higher level of diligence. Which, given the number of assignments that Gabrielle was behind in, was something she tried to see as a good thing. The only topics that could reliably derail Saruchi was youkai infection, or who was in the infirmary for what.
A knock at the door also made for a distraction, especially since almost no one knew where the League's meeting place was. Which, sighed Gabrielle, meant that it was Mags. She got up to answer the door, because the first-year would wait and knock for hours.
It was not Mags but, to Gabrielle's surprise, Hermione. She was wearing formal robes, which was unusual. "Oh, eh, hello. You can come in."
"Good evening, Professor Granger," greeted Saruchi.
"Konichiwa, Granger-sensei."
Right, thought Gabrielle, Hermione was an actual professor now, if only an associate one. She did not need permission to enter a classroom. "Eh, I am sorry, Professor. Would you like some cake?"
"No, no thanks. I don't mean to interrupt your revising. I just wanted to ask after the task I gave you to do." She glanced toward the other members of the League.
"Ze seance? Zere was nozzing, but zat might have been because of ze fight."
"The fight?" asked Hermione.
"It was, eh, nozzing eizzer. Ze boys never are chosen for ze circle, and I zink zey were bored."
"Why aren't they chosen? Is it because they might give you cooties?"
"Eh, what?"
"Never mind. Will you try again?"
"Yes, but, eh, it was zat Nona zat did most of ze magic. You should know zis."
"We'll see," said Hermione. She touched a finger to the parchment Saruchi was working on. "This glyph is missing a squiggle, I believe."
"Is it?"
Hermione pointed out at a spot in Suki-chan's work. "I'm sorry, but that is not an actual word."
"Ehh?"
Gabrielle sat and opened a reference book to look something up, very, very coincidentally covering the essay she had been working on.
Too late, though. "Your essay is fine, Gigi, er, Miss Delacour, unless you really meant growth spells as in the title instead of engorgement spells," advised Hermione. "They are not interchangeable."
"Merde," muttered Gabrielle. Which had she meant to do?
"I would like to be there for the next seance attempt, if that is all right with you. I've never seen one," said Hermione.
"Eh, I zink it will be fine, but I will ask Portia. Zere is a Convoc- a normal, very, meeting tomorrow night." Gabrielle would have to explain the eccentricities of the Darkest Shadows ahead of time, so Hermione did not laugh.
"Good. Now, I'm off to look for historic Hogwarts artifacts."
"Oh? Eh, where will you look?"
"Just down the hall, I think. The remnants of the past must be discarded somewhere."
"You should watch out for ze Head Boy. He uses zat room too," warned Gabrielle. She did know about him?
"What an interesting thing to say."
"Eh, what?"
v - v - v - v - v
"Portia, get down from zere," whispered Gabrielle as loudly as she could. The girl was climbing the library shelves to reach the higher ones. There was no way that every book was going to tolerate that, let alone what would happen if Pince caught her.
"It's fine; I've done the ritual. And you took care of the minions."
"Eh, ritual?" asked Gabrielle. "Also, I did nozzing to ze minions."
"I learned it from Honora - she's in the seventh year, you know. It's a bit embarrassing, actually extremely so, but I don't think anyone saw me."
The only thing Gabrielle knew about Honora was that the seventh-year was in the secretive Cabal of Inveteratus Ludibrium. She heard of them from George, because they tried to get discounts from the twins for volume purchases. If Honora suggested something embarrassing, then someone was going to see it. "I wanted to ask about ze Convocation."
"I don't see how we could stop a professor from watching if she wants to."
"Eh, okay zen. I will tell her it is fine," agreed Gabrielle. A second thought pointed out that not decorating the outside of the door of the Chamber of Darkness might help keep the secret. "I, eh, hope zat it, eh, goes better zis time."
"I don't think the setting was right," said Portia. She was holding the book she was after in one hand, the other gripping the top shelf that it had been on. It did not take a genius to see what was going to happen.
Gabrielle jumped up with her wand out. "Protego!"
Gabrielle's instincts were correct. A thick, boring-looking book with a dark cover shot forwards on the shelf, knocking Portia's hand free, and she fell backwards with a shriek. The instincts were correct, but the spell choice could have used a bit more thought. Portia landed on top of the shield spell, protecting her from the table's edge. Gabrielle, who was under the shield spell and therefore also under the falling Portia, was not so protected.
"Gigi! Thanks! You're the best!"
"I do not... feel ze best," wheezed Gabrielle. It only hurt when she breathed, but she was not going to stop doing that.
"Do you want to go to the - Oh!"
The bell was ringing, announcing that some idiot had let the unicorn in. Again. Somehow this had become the perfect crime - there were never any witnesses of the culprit. And that, Gabrielle had come to realize, was because only she was inconvenienced. If the unicorn would stomp or gore someone, then for certain this would be stopped.
"I'll come with you to help," offered Portia eagerly. Gabrielle rolled her eyes at that. The only help would be to volunteer to ride the unicorn.
v - v - v - v - v
The entrance hall was almost deserted when Gabrielle eventually reached it. Portia had been a help, keeping her upright when the world started to go gray. A visit to the infirmary might be needed after all, thought Gabrielle. If it could only be a short visit.
Almost deserted meant, of course, that something or, in this case, someone was in the entrance hall. The centaur named Turn, possibly, was there. His huge bow was slung across his chest, over his neck and shoulder. Had he snuck in with the unicorn, or had someone mistaken him for one? Gabrielle went over to him; Portia did not.
"Eh, excusez-moi, but... did you see which way... ze unicorn went?"
"What is that noise?"
"Ze bell is rung when... a dangerous creature is... let into ze castle," explained Gabrielle with what little breath she had. "Is ze unicorn inside?"
"Does it ever stop?"
"Yes." Gabrielle did not hear any screaming, and there was no blood or bodies on the ground, so it was unlikely Witherwings had been let in again. And, it was not easy for large quadrupeds to travel about the castle, so the unicorn should be close by. "Eh, I have to go look... for ze creature now. You know ze way out, yes?"
"I am a dangerous creature," declared Tourne.
"Eh, what?"
"I mean, I can be. If I want."
"Eh, okay..." What, wondered Gabrielle, was this about? Was she supposed to act as if she were afraid to soothe his ego? He was not an Abraxan.
Although, it occurred to Gabrielle that while the centaur might not be -the- dangerous creature she was supposed to deal with, he had, in fact, admitted to being one, if he wanted to. That should count, and would let her sit and rest a little. "Would you like... some tea?"
"Is there something wrong with you?" asked Tourne.
"Somezing, eh, fell on me," replied Gabrielle. Should she tell him that it was rude to ignore her questions? She took a step toward the centaur, then turned and started for the Great Hall. The maneuver had sometimes worked on the Abraxans, if they had no real reason not to follow her.
Gabrielle was moderately surprised that Turn, or Torn, did follow. When she glanced back, she could see that he had lifted the bow from his neck and shoulder. Was he trying to look dangerous? She headed toward Portia, who was sort of hiding behind the main staircase.
"Turn, zis is-"
"Tourne."
"Eh, what?"
"You said it wrong."
"Tourne, zis is Portia. Portia, zis is, eh, Tourne." Gabrielle waited to catch up on breathing, then added, "He is a dangerous... creature if you.. are ze strange wizard."
"I am a witch," pronounced Portia promptly.
"It is easier to tell with you," agreed Tourne, with a gesture as to why that was. Portia turned pink.
"Oh mon Dieu."
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle wondered if she should try and find other ways of entertaining creatures from the Forest beyond offering tea. She did not enjoy tea, and it always so awkward. Tourne could handle the cup and was familiar with the idea of soggy leaves in hot water, but he obviously could not use a chair. He was quite a bit taller to begin with, and more so when she and Portia sat. Sitting on the table helped, but it all seemed weird. Especially since the small groups of students scattered throughout Great Hall would stare.
Like the hippogriff, but with less spitting, Tourne also did not like cake, finding it too sweet. He was more amenable to one of Hagrid's rock cakes, once Gabrielle had cracked it open. That effort left no doubt about the state of her ribcage.
Gabrielle explained about the ceiling, mostly to interrupt the silence. Tourne nodded and said that he could understand wanting it, as living in a cave would be depressing. Gabrielle corrected him, as they were in a castle, not a cave. The centaur said that lightless with stone and rock all around was every cave he had looked into. She could not believe that Portia was nodding along.
After another rock cake, which Gabrielle had Tourne open, showing him how the knife from Gaston could fold into pliers, it was decided that the visit had gone on long enough. That is, Gabrielle decided that the visit should end, since she really needed to get to the infirmary. That is not what she said, though, but instead offered a visit to Professor Hagrid's cottage. She would have her usual detention with him later anyway, though she did not say it that way in front of Tourne. The important part was this: the cottage was outside.
Gabrielle did not exactly expect the centaur to be enthusiastic, even most students would not be. Tourne went quiet and looked really concerned, though, before blurting that it was the herd that were taking the sheep, and not drop-bears.
"Oh, eh, zat... is okay zen. Professor Hagrid does... not mind sharing... wizz ze herd," wheezed Gabrielle. She slid from her position on the table to stand, a surprisingly painful maneuver.
"Maybe we should go to the infirmary instead," suggested Portia.
"Zere are stairs," hinted Gabrielle.
"You can still use your broom, though?"
"Eh, yes, but... Tourne can not... use eizzer."
"I've seen you with three on your broom."
Gabrielle looked pointedly at the centaur. "I zink he... would count as... all zhree."
"When you say broom, you mean those flying sticks wizards use?" asked Tourne.
"Eh, yes." They were now in the entrance hall. That was good progress, thought Gabrielle, though Tourne was more headed for the main staircase rather than the doors. He was not lost again, was he?
"Those are small."
"They are fine... if you have... only two legs."
"I could hang from it like it was a branch," suggested Tourne.
"Eh, what?"
"Then we could all fit!" clapped Portia.
"No," refused Gabrielle. "If you fall... you will break... your legs."
"I will not fall. I'm not an idiot," argued the centaur.
"How often do you... climb trees?" snapped Gabrielle. "Eh, I should sit." And, a bit suddenly, she did. Sitting did not help, so she laid back, flat on the ground.
That did not interrupt the discussion of various potential, and, in her opinion, silly, safety measures, the use of the broom apparently being a foregone conclusion. What did interrupt things was a sharp, "What have you done to her?"
Gabrielle recognized the voice as belonging to Hermione. She tried to lift herself, but that was too painful. Lying down may have been a mistake. Also, the stone floor was freezing cold.
"Did you kick her or trample her?" demanded Hermione.
"No. She said something fell on her before. Maybe the tea made it worse," replied Tourne. "Pointing wands is something strange wizards do."
"Good afternoon, Professor Granger, who is a witch," said Portia politely.
"Something fell on her?"
"Er, it might have been a someone..." admitted Portia.
"Yes," said Gabrielle from the floor. "It was not... a centaur."
"Is everyone a witch now?"
"Where are you hurt?" asked Hermione.
"My, eh, cotês." Gabrielle lightly touched the sorest parts.
"All right, I'll need a bit of space," said Hermione, shooing Portia back and glaring at the centaur. Gabrielle found herself wondering why Hermione was acting so rudely, until a second thought pointed out that a centaur had shot an arrow into Ron. He was obviously a strange wizard, though, but probably not the kind that Hagrid meant. "This may pinch a bit. And, er, try to stay still. Costan Emundo."
The spell did pinch, but not as much as trying to rise had. Gabrielle tried a more normal breath, then a deeper one. She sat up, then got to her feet.
"I suppose this means the spell worked, and -"
"Why does Madam Pomfrey not know zis spell?!" blurted Gabrielle. "Wizz her it is always ze Skele-Gro and mallet!"
"Please, Miss Delacour, show some decorum. Madam Pomfrey assuredly knows the spell, as I learned it from her. She just prefers the permanent treatment."
"Eh, what? Does zat mean -"
"It means that the ribs are still fractured, but are now held in place by magic. Should someone cancel the spell, you would be back on the ground."
"We were just about to fly to the infirmary," announced Portia.
"Really? She was lying on the floor, wheezing."
"We would have helped her up. We were just working out how Tourne could use the broom more safely."
"That sounds like a terrible idea."
"Eh, I zhought we were going to Professor Hagrid's cottage."
"The snow might help cushion a fall," supposed Hermione. "But the frozen ground is no softer than the stone floor."
"Do you always fall off this broom?" asked Tourne.
"No, but zen it is, eh, made for me, of course."
"I wonder if the classroom Firenze used is still there?"
v - v - v - v - v
The classroom, with its illusion of forest and sky, was still there, tucked away unnoticed in a corner of the Great Hall. Thankfully, the actual weather was not mimicked. Tourne was slightly impressed by the magical room, though he tried not to show it. The tour of the room, with its connection to the herd, was an excellent way to end his visit. At least, that was Gabrielle's opinion. There was really no reason to use the broom, except that Portia and Tourne assumed that that was why the room had been chosen.
The centaur had to kneel to reach down to hold the broom when it was low enough for the other passengers to climb onto it. He could not hold the bristles, so Portia was practically sitting on his hand. This he described as being quite soft even though it was so small. Gabrielle could almost feel the heat from Portia's face.
Gabrielle had the broom rise slowly, so slowly that it might have been the centaur lifting them as much as the reverse. Eventually Tourne was on his hinds, and she worried over the flexing she could feel.
The problem was not the strength of the broom, but that the centaur was being pulled upward vertically. As the struggling broom took his weight, his hind legs slid forward when the balance shifted. Tourne panicked and let go of the broomstick. Unfortunately, he let go with his dominant hand first, which had been comforted by Portia's softness. The now unbalanced weight on the front of the broom activated its peculiar feature. The broom pinwheeled, launching Portia into the air and Gabrielle into the ground.
Portia did not go far, as there was a tree nearby, which was remarkably hard for an illusion. Gabrielle did not go far either, as they had only been the stretched-out height of a young centaur high. She was unhurt as she had landed on the prone Tourne. He was also unhurt, well, mostly unhurt, but now quite cross. Portia was at least not dead, according to Hermione. There would be a trip to the infirmary after all.
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle returned to the infirmary after her usual detention with Professor Hagrid, which had been spent mostly watching him and a terrifying creature named Grawp stack boulders in a light snowfall. Grawp, or Grawpy 'for endearm'nt, you ken', was the troll from the Halloween ball, which had not been a troll but an actual giant in disguise. She was introduced as Gigi, and she quickly told the massive creature that she was not a strange wizard. And that was as far as that went, as Grawp liked stacking boulders.
The visit to the infirmary was to check on Portia, of course, and to, eh, also ask where the Convocation was being held. Gabrielle was still not getting the newsletter. It was not as if she was missing meetings on purpose.
Portia was fine, having only needed a bit of brain unscrambling and some Bruise-Be-Gone. Still, Gabrielle was very surprised when Madam Pomfrey said that her patient could leave, as long as she was careful on stairs. Did rest not apply to head trauma anymore? She had once taken a bludger to the head and had had to stay the whole night. Pomfrey's pet bird just squawked, "Hufflepuff head! Hufflepuff head!" As if that meant anything - further proof it could not actually talk.
Portia's encounter with the tree had given her an epiphany, which was that the seance should be held where there are ghosts because that was where the Invisible Boundary Lines were thinnest. That seemed logical to Gabrielle, though she did not ask how one could tell when something that was invisible was thinnest. Perhaps these Lines, which she thought had been made up on the spot, were actually thicker, keeping the ghosts from leaving.
Regardless of the existence of invisible, or imaginary, boundaries, that was the entirety of Portia's idea. Gabrielle only knew of two places where ghosts could be found reliably. One was a girls' bathroom, which, besides how annoying the ghost was, would be a little weird for the wizards. It would also be too small to draw the big circles in.
The other location was the History of Magic classroom. The Darkest Shadows used whatever classroom the Mystic Alignment of the Ordinal Ley Lines indicated, so a new location would not be a problem. The only concern that Gabrielle had might be that the ghost, who was also a professor, might not take kindly to the use of his classroom. The Convocation would be after normal hours, but it was not like a ghost would need to have a late supper or anything.
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle was beginning to doubt that the latest seance attempt would be successful. While a lack of proper instruction in the art of a seance was definitely contributing, a significant portion of the blame for the lack of results was her suggestion for an outer ring of Shadows to, eh, concentrate mystic energies. That was solely to give those who were only watching a role and a reason to be quiet, or at least not distracting. Unfortunately, it had sparked their imaginations, which resulted in some being assigned to be Conduits of Blah Blah Whatever. They were meant to connect the outer and inner rings, which was awkward at best because everyone was already holding hands. Then, someone - there really should be name tags - authoritatively declared that the Conduits should align with Ley Lines, either primary or secondary. This led to an ongoing debate as to where those actually were, with occasional reshuffling of the Conduits.
Even if Gabrielle had been able to concentrate on the chanting, she had just spotted, over The Baleful's shoulder, the translucent head of Professor Binns poking through the blackboard. He did not look pleased, but that was no different than normal. Hermione was skirting around the outer ring to meet him, but he had a full professorship to her associate title. Gabrielle did not think Hermione would win a battle for the classroom, even if he was already dead.
"Oh, is it time for class?" wondered Binns aloud.
"Good evening, Professor," greeted Hermione. "No class. This is, er, an independent research project into the history of -"
"Research? One does not research history; it is already written down."
"Er, right. Sometimes, though, it may be necessary to research where it is written down."
"Really? Have you tried the library?"
Even as the chanting dwindled away, as the Darkest Shadows listened to the exchange, Gabrielle could feel a chill descending. The feeling was different from the creeping chill that came from sitting on a cold stone floor. It was the first hint that this was at all possible, and it was sad that it came just as the attempt was interrupted. It was sad, he was sad, she was sad. What, wondered a second thought.
"Cuthbert, my dear," said Gabrielle softly. "I believe I owe you a dance."
"Cuthbert?" echoed Portia.
"Hush! It's happening," whispered The Baleful excitedly.
"Dear, gentle Cuthbert. I have missed you."
"Iodine? Sweet Iodine?" asked Binns. "I have my doubts. You left with that Lord of yours."
"That was, ha, a lifetime ago," giggled Gabrielle. "Now I wish to spend time with you as well."
"You always did want everything," said Binns, drifting forward.
"And now I can have it, and you," Gabrielle spread her arms for an embrace.
"Ah, Professor," started Hermione. "Perhaps not in front of the students."
"Students? I see only my ever-lovely Iodine, waiting at the garden gate," whispered Binns. His ghostly arms reached for Gabrielle, who stepped forward to meet him.
There was a sound, sort of like a violin string snapping but with lots of echoing and squelching noises at the end. The sound did not match with the formal garden Gabrielle thought she had been standing in moment before, nor the classroom that she that she stood in now. That she was standing was a surprise too. "Eh..."
There was a stunned silence from the Darkest Shadows, broken only by a long, wailing "Ewwwww!" from The Baleful. She had been between Gabrielle and the ghost, and was the source of the squelching. She was desperately wiping a viscous slime from her hair. Gabrielle stepped back from the spreading puddle. It was different from the youkai's, eh... blood?
''She - she killed him."
"Eh, what? No! Zat is not -"
"Oh, Merlin, it's true."
"Weren't he already dead?"
"Do I have to finish my essay, you think?"
"Secrets," said Hermione forcefully. "You all keep the secrets of, erm, this group -"
"The Coven of Darkest Shadows!"
"Yes, thank you," continued Hermione. "Well, this is another secret until we know exactly what happened here."
"She killed him. I mean, we all saw it."
"Zis was not my fault."
"Can you kill a ghost?" asked Hermione. "They can appear and disappear at will. Perhaps he realized that he had been fooled and returned to the staffroom to sulk."
''What about that goo? Where did that come from?"
"An excellent question," said Hermione. "Corporeal matter is not something usually associated with ghosts."
"Can I get House points then? To make up for Potions?"
Hermione ignored the request, and instead waved her wand in the direction of the distressed Shadow standing in the puddle. The Baleful was now clean and dry. And looking very grateful.
''Hmm. We should get a sample of that to Professor Slughorn and Professor Korbel." decided Hermione. She conjured small vials and swept some of the slimy fluid into them with a wave of her wand. There was a slight, greenish tinge to the substance.
"You said it was an excellent question..."
"If that's not from Binns, then who's it from? The Mistress of the Mirk?"
"Zat is definitely not true, eizzer," answered Gabrielle quickly.
"I think that's it for the evening. Put the room back as it was, and we'll see if the Professor returns for his next class," said Hermione. "He is reliably punctual."
"Was, you mean."
"Say nothing about this outside of meetings until there is news," ordered Hermione. "How do you get in touch with each other?"
"We have a newsletter, the Clarion Herald of Gathering Darkness," explained The Baleful.
"They're brill too! Colored an' everything."
"A newsletter." repeated Hermione. "How do you get the newsletter to each other?"
"We send everybody the secret location of their copy."
"I see. And, well, how is that done?"
"I have the other half of everyone's Weasley Super-Duper Lovey-Dovey Exchange Diary. I write the location in my copy, and it appears in theirs," explained The Baleful. She added, with a glare, "Unless they forgot to write back to reset it. Again."
"Super-Duper Lovey-Dovey..."
"They aren't pink all over anymore."
"Right."
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle had a pass allowing her to be out after curfew, but that was only from Hermione, Or, rather, Associate Professor Granger. She had donned the apron from Mrs. Weasley as soon as she was alone. It was not that she doubted Hermione's authority, but Gabrielle wondered if the rest of the school's staff would acknowledge it.
Gabrielle was on her way to Professor Slughorn's private quarters, after checking the various potions labs and classrooms. In hindsight, it was silly to have thought he would be there; teachers do not live in their classrooms. Especially, she belatedly recalled, since she had stolen back, eh, that is, recovered the map that she and George shared.
The private quarters for the professors were all in a wing of the castle Gabrielle had never visited. It was, of course, off-limits to students, though Hermione had assured her that she would be able to enter. Of course Gabrielle believed her, but it was another reason to wear the apron, which had helped her slip into the restricted section of the library without setting off the wards.
Professor Slughorn was in a room at the end of a long hall, along which hung a variety of portraits, all with the same question. "I beg your pardon," they would begin, if they were polite, "Are you a student?" After the third inquiry Gabrielle just said no, instead of explaining about the pass and then explaining about Hermione. The shorter answer seemed to confuse the portraits into not noticing her moving on.
Gabrielle paused when she reached the door, because the Professor was not alone. Should she wait? Mags was with the Professor, and that definitely meant detention for the first-year. She could still deliver the vial, but Professor Slughorn would have questions for which the answers were secret.
A knothole in the door stopped being a knothole and became an eye. That meant that it, the door, and the occupants of the room probably knew that she was there. Gabrielle slipped off the apron and knocked, which was less suspicious than lurking.
Even though Gabrielle's knock had been beyond polite, well into faint, the door opened immediately. Something answered was her first thought, before realizing that it was a someone. Mags was barely recognizable, her face and hands covered in red, swollen boils. An eye was crusted over, and her hair was matted down. "Mess Delanour!" mumbled Mags. Her smile was replaced quickly by a grimace.
"Mags, what 'as 'appened to you?" asked Gabrielle in shock.
"Ah, Mademoiselle Delacour. Welcome, come in, come in," greeted Professor Slughorn. He wore a sort of dressing gown, bright yellow with a pattern. The trim for the garment was a deep blue. "Now, what brings you here? I myself was about to indulge in a nightcap; shall I can mix something milder for you?"
"Eh, what? Professor -"
"Miss Berrycloth is learning the importance of protective clothing when in a potions lab," explained the Professor. "I thought an hour or two of preparing bubotuber, and onions, would be sufficient example, but you can see she is having difficulties, even if she perhaps can no longer,"
That explained the boils; bobutuber sap was nasty. "Eh, I have somezing strange to show you. Eh, zat is, secret. Mags can leave, yes?"
"Of course, of course. Miss Berrycloth, you may soak in the dittany solution for a bit, then go back to your dorm."
Mags all but ran to the wide cauldron on the table, plunging not only her inflamed hands into it but her face as well. Gabrielle could not contain a burst of laughter.
Mags could hold her breath for an amazingly long time. Or alarmingly, depending on one's level of concern. Slughorn turned to filling a fat glass globe with leaves and limes, connecting it to a stand and a tangle of tubing. Gabrielle wondered if this was a new way of making tea, but also if Mags could actually drown herself. Professor Slughorn conjured a tiny flame beneath the globe, and Mags came up for air.
Gabrielle had moved closer to the first-year, just, eh, in case. Which was a mistake as Mags shook like a dog when she emerged. Gabrielle supposed the repeated dunkings in the lake had been good training. However, there was only so much that dittany could do. Gabrielle gave her the pass from Hermione, and told her to see if Pomfrey could help.
The assemblage of glass tubes was now producing a steady drip, and smelled strongly of mint. Professor Slughorn was crushing more limes and straining the juices through a cloth filter. Two tall glasses with ice waited. So, it was not tea.
Gabrielle held out the vial. "Eh, Professor, zis is from a ghost."
"In a moment, my dear. This is a critical juncture." Slughorn uncorked a bottle of liquid with the barest hint of yellow to it and poured two measures of it into one glass and barely a quarter of one into the other. Not yellow so much as, perhaps, dried feverfew. A similar small measure of the strained lime juice went into both, along with a silver spoon's worth of the distilled liquid each. The glass with the lesser amount was brought equal with bubbly water from his wand. The Professor slid the effervescent glass towards her. "Give me your honest opinion."
Gabrielle looked at the glass warily. She had been warned about nightcaps before, and this might just be one. She decided a cautious sniff was in order; she was suspicious of the mint. The Forbidden Forest held several treacherous varieties...
Gabrielle looked up and found herself staring into the pale green eyes of Professor Slughorn, who was much closer than a moment before. She jumped back with a squeak of alarm, before composing herself.
"Ah! She has returned to us. Excellent!" burst the Professor. "I've heard tales of your remarkable talent. Tell us, what did you See?"
"Zere was zis old house-elf, eh, doing, eh, zis wizz stalks to get ze juices," began Gabrielle. She made wringing motions with her hands. She remembered thinking that if it were certain wizards' necks instead of cane then the master would have an easier time of it, but that was a Bad Thought. "It was, eh, for his master's health, I zink."
"Purely medicinal, I'm sure," nodded Slughorn with a smile. He raised the glass in his hand to consider it. "The traditional method of preparation for this concoction is far simpler, cruder, but I prefer a clear drink without fines."
Gabrielle looked at her glass, which was empty. Since she did not know of the alternative preparation, she politely nodded her head. "It was, eh, very refreshing. You can look at ze vial now? Eh, please?"
"When you said a ghost gave you that, did you mean that tedious Peeves?" asked Slughorn. "Poltergeists can move physical objects; ghosts can not."
"Eh, no. Ze liquid inside came from ze ghost, who was - is - definitely a ghost. Ze vial is from Herm- zat is, Associate Professor Granger," explained Gabrielle. "I heard zat Peeves was, eh, stuck in a drain."
"Came from the ghost, you say. What do you mean?"
"Eh, ze ghost was zere, zen suddenly he was not and a puddle of, eh, zat appeared."
The potion master dribbled a few drops of the mystery onto a shallow glass dish, and held it up to the light. "It could be coincidence, of course, like your arrival as I was preparing the drink. The very first time I tasted such a cocktail I was also with a seer. An extraordinary witch named Tallula, who hailed from the Caribbean I believe, mixed the drinks using rum she brewed herself. She had quite the knack for predicting fish runs and commodity pricing swings. I was never clear on the latter. She had unfortunately run out of luck, though, and came to me looking for more."
The Professor mixed the liquid from the vial with different reagents, boiled it alone or with other substances, and even tried to set the liquid aflame. All the while describing the numerous times he had met witches or wizards with talents for divination, and mixing more drinks. Gabrielle noticed that his current colleague was not among those he touted. Since he was speaking to Gabrielle, and doing something that she had requested, it was impolite to leave. And, to ignore the freshened glass. She was definitely certain that it was after curfew now.
In any case, it seemed as though the opportunity to leave would come as soon as the dwindling contents of the vial were used up. A second thought began to wonder if this had been a fool's errand. The liquid had come from a ghost, after all, and not a cauldron.
One thing that did bother Gabrielle was not the drinks, those were tasty and educational, if, that is, she ever needed to process sugarcane. What bothered her were the Professor's conjured flames. They were low, yellow, and guttered as if there were a gusty breeze. No wonder that he could not get the liquid to burn. She had, just in passing in the library, innocently, come across a version of conjured flames that was claimed to be four times hotter than the ordinary version, and nearly as hot as dragon flame. Of course she had not attempted the spell due to the Headmistress's edict, but Professor Slughorn could allow it. Especially if he was old enough and she asked in a certain way...
Which would probably anger the Headmistress, warned a second thought. Gabrielle knew she needed to doing avoid that, at least until the ghost of Professor Binns reappeared. Still, it had been so long...
Gabrielle had a idea; she had the weird rock from Stanislaw. "Eh, Professor, I will show you somezing, if you allow one spell," lilted Gabrielle as enticingly as she could.
Slughorn froze, then downed the rest of his latest drink in one loud gulp. "Ah, er, my dear - may I call you Gabrielle? - I surely could see no harm in allowing one small request..."
Gabrielle was not certain he was speaking to her with that last bit, but decided that it sounded like agreement. She fetched out her wand and moved next to her Professor before he could change his mind. "Actinicium Flagrate!"
Nothing happened, save for a few small sparks from her wand. That was disappointing, but, sadly, not unexpected. "Eh, zat did not count." Was she doing the tip twirl correctly? Was there supposed to be a tip twirl?
"Mmm, I know of a similar spell," said Slughorn. "May I?" He took her hand and guided her through the motion, his other arm draped across her shoulders.
Ah, realized Gabrielle, it was more of a twirl and a jab. It had been hard to tell from the book's drawings. She had it now. Um, began a second thought... "Actinicium Flagrate!"
There was a blinding, blue-white flare that lasted until she was pulled away. It took a moment for the spots in her eyes to clear. There was a dark, smoking hole through the stone-topped table where the sample of the greenish fluid she had aimed for had been. Slughorn was busy extinguishing several small fires that were blackening books. She wondered if he had been able to draw any conclusions from the vaporized sample. Her only conclusion was that she really, really missed conjuring flames. "Did you see zat?" she asked proudly.
"Briefly," said Slughorn, peering into the new hole. "The enthusiasm of youth."
"Zank you for ze help," said Gabrielle. "And now you can see -"
"Ah, yes, perhaps some setting with the proper mood? Or at least less smoky?" suggested the potions master. "My private quarters are quite close."
"Eh, what?" asked Gabrielle. She held out the peculiar rock from Stanislaw. It was glassy in texture, and red like a beaujolais.
"Oh," said Slughorn, sounding disappointed. He took the rock and gave it a cursory glance, made to give it back, then suddenly raised it again. "My word."
There was a polite knock at the door, which Slughorn ignored. Gabrielle did not ignore the sound, because she knew very well that it could be the Headmistress arriving. The evidence still hung in a cloud over the room. She made a mental note to learn a spell to get rid of smoke. A second thought pointed out that covering up wrongdoing was not the same as not having done it.
The knock repeated, and an image shimmered into view showing the Head Krang. That was better than it being the Headmistress, but not by a lot. The, eh, prank with Mags in the infirmary was a sore point.
"Come in, come in," said Slughorn absently. "You know, my dear, I once paid a visit to the legendary alchemist Nicholas Flamel. I was young, brash. I believe he and his wife allowed it solely for their amusement. After a lovely dinner and a great deal of wine, I actually held the Philosopher's Stone. Though, the next that I can recall was waking up magically bound to the underside of a large muggle vehicle, headed, it turned out, for a ferry.
"I suppose I got off quite lightly. This shard looks and feels remarkably similar, but not quite the same as far as I can recall. Unrefined, shall we say. How did you come to possess it?"
"Eh, what?" Gabrielle was surprised by him having met the most famous ever French witch and wizard. "Oh, eh, zis curse-breaker asked me to show it to a professor, to find out what it is. He, eh, may try to sell it."
"Better that he sell it for what it might be, rather than what it is," advised Slughorn. "If it was a true Stone, it would be priceless. Er, do you mind if I analyze it for a bit longer, perhaps a few days? Ah, good evening, Mister Torrae."
"Good evening, Professor Slughorn." He stared at the rock in Slughorn's hand, with an odd expression.
"Eh, he will want that back," reminded Gabrielle. Or hundreds of galleons in exchange. Was this a detention for the Head Boy?
"Mister Torrae here is doing some impressive independent research involving the secretions of the common wood louse," explained Slughorn. Gabrielle had not asked and did not care. Did he think she would not notice that he slipped the rock into a pocket?
"Eh, Professor, ze curse-breaker - I need zat back," insisted Gabrielle. "Please!" She added a wave of her hand, in case it helped. A hand which still held her wand, coincidentally. The Head Boy stared at her now in surprise. He probably never politely asked for anything, thought Gabrielle.
"Hmm, yes, the curse-breaker. Difficult to deal with, those types, but not as much as a threat as one would think. If he does not ask for it, then let us meet again tomorrow night for more investigation, perhaps?" asked Slughorn. He held the rock in his hand.
"Oui, perhaps."
"It maybe that I myself will make an offer for it, depending on what is learned. For nostalgic reasons."