Chapter Thirty-Three - The Return
Gabrielle sat in the Great Hall and glowered. The Hall was nearly empty because it was both before breakfast and before dawn. She was in a foul mood for a number of reasons, one of which was because she had been dragged from her bed to tell Stanislaw that she did not suddenly have ridiculous amounts of galleons. And, also, that his rock was not a Philosopher's Stone, or maybe that it might be. She had had to get dressed and washed to meet him, in order to answer questions she could have scribbled onto parchment and handed to an owl.
A second reason was her beetle, which showed George apparently orbiting the castle again. Gabrielle wanted to him to sympathize with her tribulations. He should, she decided, find a second pair of beetles to experiment on. She could find somewhere to use the Wander Floo, but his was probably in a workroom at the shop.
The weather was another reason Gabrielle was angry. She had thought to send her owl to George to tell him to make his beetle work again, but not only was it cold enough to make her nose tingle instantly, the wind was howling past the castle's towers. She would not ask Lieutenant Mimesy to go out in that, if for no other reason than she would freeze before reaching the owlery.
A diligent thought pointed out that this was an unexpected opportunity to catch up on assignments. It was not a thought that made Gabrielle happier in any way, because she knew she was not going to take advantage of the time. It was annoying to be nagged by herself.
What was needed, diagnosed Gabrielle, was hot chocolate. With a small cloud of whipped cream on top. That would definitely be appreciated, especially if it was brought to her. She really did not feel like moving. Gabrielle tried whispering the request quietly, but no soothing mug of sweet chocolate appeared. If Witherwings was here, that might have worked. Would a hippogriff like hot chocolate? To some animals chocolate was deadly.
Gabrielle would not call it a silver lining, but it was early enough that no professors were present. She looked again, and weighed the likelihood a professor would be disillusioned. "Eh, Hetty?" she whispered.
There was a muffled pop. "Yes, Mistress?" The voice came from beneath the table, which was odd.
"You can, eh, bring a mug of hot chocolate wizz whipped cream on top?"
Another quiet pop, and Gabrielle realized that the house-elf would have to ask the older Tembe if she could. It might be faster to go down to the kitchens. It was probably warmer there too.
v - v - v - v - v
Breakfast, when it was finally time for breakfast, was very different. Another international theme. There were three varieties of porridge to choose from, differing in color and lumpiness. Gabrielle served herself a helping of the medium lumpy, spooning raspberry jam over it. There was also syrnikis and dranikis, at least according to the placards on the platters. Those were a type of pancake, but different from the mound of pancakes that had no label, or had lost such. The draniki were made of potato and were very flat, while the syrniki were puffier than the regular pancakes.
The syrniki tasted a bit like cheese, and it went well with jam also. Gabrielle sat next to Suki-chan, who had chosen the lighter colored, smoother porridge. Malachite's plate was mostly filled with rashers and fried egg. Saruchi had several of the round buns that had some sort of cheese filling covering the center.
There continued to be hot chocolate, mugs arriving once every few minutes. Gabrielle knew these were intended for her, but she also knew Tembe had been involved in the making of them. It was not that the drink was not delicious, it was that there was a splash of rum in each. She had had two while in the kitchens, and from the visions had come to understand that tea and rum was Tembe's answer to any ills of his late master. Or perhaps, inadvertently, the cause of the ills. Gabrielle passed the fresh cups along the table and tried to eat faster.
There were not many owls this morning, but of the few was Suki-chan's family's owl Fulheim-dodo. The bird seemed extra cranky, loudly complaining with screeches and beak snaps. Once the message was freed, the owl stomped over to Gabrielle and nestled between two of the steaming mugs. She draped her napkin over the bird for additional warmth, and fed it a bit of zapekanka, which was a dense sort of cake that, again, tasted of cheese. Gabrielle started into a slice of sharlotka, an apple cake that really made her want coffee. Instead, another hot chocolate appeared.
"It is anozzer, eh, patient?" asked Gabrielle. Having been to the location once already meant that George could get them there again using normal means. There would be no need for another Land Over. There should never be a need for another.
Sukiya shook her head. "Father sent gishiki for you," she replied nonplussed. "Because of clothes."
"Eh, what? Because of clothes?" Gabrielle then realized. "I have apologized for zat already, and it cannot be helped. You know zis." The ceremonial clothes had turned Black.
"Father thinks it can."
v - v - v - v - v
There was no point in hiding, so Gabrielle waited at the bottom of the spiral stairs to the Headmistress' office. Portia, who did get the newsletter, had told her that the mystery fluid was probably 'echo-plasm', something ghosts can sometimes accumulate over time. Which, of course, meant that the Professor's absence from his classes in the morning was probably permanent.
Gabrielle could not help but worry about being expelled, having suffered that fate twice, but at the same time did not believe she would be. The result of the seance had been a total accident, with a member of the staff there to corroborate. All she needed to do was to appear very contrite and to apologize. Be, corrected a second thought, be contrite. Thus, she had come right to the Headmistress' office.
After an hour of asking the suits of armor guarding the stairs if she could go up, it occurred to Gabrielle that she had found the perfect hiding spot by being where she was going to have to be anyway. While amusing, she also imagined McGonagall storming about the castle searching for her, angry and frustrated. That would not help the situation at all. Gabrielle sat down on the padded bench and dug out the special map from her handbag, and began scanning the names for the Headmistress. She found McGonagall at the scene of the accident, the definite accident, with Hermione and Professor Korbel. Gabrielle's worries faded, and she brought out her potions essay. This was not the most comfortable place for revision, but it was quiet. Her act of contrition would be to wait here to earnestly confess to what was already being explained away.
On the map, Gabrielle had noted that Mags was down by the lake, alone. She would need to check on the first-year once the Headmistress had reassured her that it had been a terrible accident and, of course, not at all her fault. Gabrielle imagined the Headmistress being so concerned by her being so close to the tragedy that she decided to end at least some of the weekly detentions. It was a thought that left the wrong sort of expression on her face for contriteness.
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle sat quietly in a corner of the office, largely ignored by the Headmistress. That was because she was a special case, and been transfigured into a walking stick again. The antlered stone was not even pointing in her direction, probably because she could not speak. As unjust punishments went, it was not much. The magic did temper the expectation that some of the weekly detentions would be reduced, though. The hole in the wall made by Sebastion, she noticed, had been repaired
While her plight did not really reach a level where it could be called a plight, Gabrielle's circumstances did win her some sympathy from Hermione and Professor Korbel. Briefly, at least, as she was a special case and there were other things on McGonagall's mind.
"Royalty and wizards have a long, distasteful history of 'stepping into the dead man's shoes'," began the Headmistress. "It is not a practice I wish to see return."
"Professor Binns was not murdered. You could say he, er, sort of left," said Hermione.
"Some will see it as having been lured to his... well, not death, of course, but disincarnation. Do not disregard her Veela heritage; the Prophet will certainly not."
"But for vhat gain? Fraulein Delacour has no motife. Vith her, an accident is alvays expected," said Korbel. Rudely said, in Gabrielle's opinion.
"Which brings us back to the dead man's metaphorical shoes. The Department of Magical Antiquities has only just been established, with you, Miss Granger, as its only active member. And now an associate of yours is involved in the unfortunate incident that has opened a position in a closely related field. There will be talk, if for no other reason than there are no quidditch games with Potter playing right now," explained McGonagall.
"You are implying that I am to take the Professor's place," asserted Hermione. "There would be no controversy if I did not."
"Both surmises are correct. However, from an expediency and budgetary perspective, it is very advantageous. I am afraid we must do what is best for the school."
"You could announce that Professor Binns is taking a sabbatical to pursue a long lost love," suggested Hermione.
"The re-departed Professor taught for a very long time. Not one of his former students would believe that, even if, perhaps, it is closer in some way to the truth," doubted the Headmistress. "Although, claiming such would be even more advantageous for the budget, as a full professorship would not be needed."
"Ah."
"Indeed."
"Could Professor Binns return?" asked Hermione.
"Once zhe dead fully leafe ziss vorld, I know of no vay for zem to fully return. Efen mirrors and desk drawers hafe only a shliver of who zey vere," replied Korbel.
"Sorry, desk drawers?"
"A brief fad once. Not at all as helpful for finding things as touted," explained McGonagall. "This appointment will be just fraught with controversy." That sounded like something dire to Gabrielle, but the Headmistress seemed pleased.
"What about Gigi - er, Miss Delacour?"
"I think," began the Headmistress as she picked up the walking stick, "that I will check that Peeves is still lodged in the U-pipe."
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle hurried down the path to the lake. Mags was still there, and so was probably in need of help. Gabrielle hoped that it was something easy, as she was missing her potions class. That was going to be the case regardless, though, as Peeves, or rather the crystal box restraining the poltergeist, was still in the toilet drain. A cleansing bordering on the previous ritual purge had been needed. Whether she missed half or all of potions was not as important as not also missing transfiguration.
Clambering down the banks and onto the ice was no trouble. The new boots gripped the ground tenaciously, and were perfectly toasty. Now all Gabrielle needed was a hat, a pair of gloves, and a cloak that were similarly enchanted. At least the wind had died down.
Mags was standing on the ice, but did not seem to notice Gabrielle's approach. The girl's feet were embedded in the lake's frozen surface. Was she also frozen solid? That was sort of funny, but Gabrielle also knew that was a little mean. She wondered if Mags had a List that was recited by relatives for entertainment too.
Gabrielle fetched out her wand. Clearly heat was going to be needed. This was not required coursework in a supervised classroom, but it was sort of an emergency. She stepped back for a good run-up, raised the wand, then lowered it. How deep, wondered Gabrielle, was the water under Mags? If the first-year sank in, the situation would definitely be worse.
Rope was something to add to the list of things in her handbag, because Gabrielle had none and the plan she had come up with needed some. What she did have were several pairs of, obviously, black leggings. These she tied together into a large loop, after passing the ends under the stiff arms of Mags.
"M-M-M-M," tried Mags.
"Oh, it is, eh, good zat you are alive." Gabrielle had begun to wonder. The rest of the loop went around her broom. The middle of her broom - Gabrielle did not want to be flung through the ice inadvertently. She rose into the air, stretching the leggings to their limit. Then she pulled out her wand. "Flagrate Projucio!"
Grapefruit-sized balls of flame crashed through the ice, causing huge clouds of steam to billow. That was the intent, at least. Gabrielle had never managed anything larger than a few grapes in size. The gouts of flame that sprang from her wand with a flatulent 'phut' were not crashing through so much as splashing on, but they were melting the surface of the ice. It was going to take a while, but this was valuable practice.
It was interesting, in an annoying sort of way, that as cold as it was it only took the merest brush of an errant fireball to set Mags' cloak on fire. These mishaps were quickly extinguished, but Gabrielle hoped someone knew a spell to fix the singed patches.
Finally, the broom lurched as the ice released Mags. Success! An epic rescue accomplished. Gabrielle had planned on defrosting the girl by trying the curtain of fire spell the Head Krang had used, but now she was tired and cold, and did not actually know the spell at all. She flew slowly back to the castle so that the dangling Mags did not spin in the air too much.
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle walked along the corridor, yawning repeatedly. She was on her way to the infirmary, heading there after a long, but nightcap-less, session with Professor Slughorn. He was still interested in the rock from Stanislaw, and he had spent hours trying various mixtures in an attempt to dissolve it. Gabrielle mostly watched, helping out as instructed. Her goal was to gain some extra credit to help her waning potions grade. She did offer to help melt a sample, but Slughorn declined. His refusal came a little too quick, and a little too emphatically, for politeness in her opinion. She was also of the opinion that trying to duplicate the achievements of a legendary alchemist might actually require the use of alchemical techniques, not potions ones, but she did not say that as the extra credit was important.
Gabrielle was on her way to the infirmary because Mags was sad, or something. Madame Pomfrey's note, delivered by her stupid bird, was short on details but definite on demands. Which the bird emphasized with several quick pecks, instead of explaining why. She knew he could not really talk.
There was a jingly, tinkling sound from ahead of Gabrielle in the corridor. It was well after curfew, so the hallways should have been deserted. Professors patrolling the halls did so silently. Otherwise they would never catch anyone. Therefore, it was probably a student. Or, and Gabrielle could not explain why this thought came to her, it was Professor Binns dragging his love back from the Beyond in chains. Very light chains, admittedly, going by the sound.
Assuming it was a student, Gabrielle wondered who it might be, and what they might be up to. She paused to don the apron from Mrs. Weasley. She did have a pass from Professor Slughorn, but she had noticed that professors never seemed to date their passes, which made them potentially valuable for future emergencies. Wearing the apron would let her catch up to whomever was ahead, and still be safe when they were caught, because they were making too much noise to not get caught.
It was not a student or group of students that Gabrielle discovered. She nearly gave herself away at the sight. It was Sauveret and the Sisters. The squirrel was bounding along the corridor in fits, with the leg of one of the Sisters held carefully in his mouth. That Sister held onto the other two, who in turn held onto some sort of metal circle. The circle was not heavy, but more delicate and definitely not something of theirs. Gabrielle did not know what the item was, but it had the shine of something that should not be dragged along the ground. It was difficult to believe toads had once been popular pets.
Gabrielle trailed along behind, wondering if brandishing the dried toad leg she wore as an amulet would make the amphibians obey her. She knew they were headed for Poisseux; he was their king, their ringleader. Perhaps she could have the house-elves build a cage for him, with a small pond inside. That might keep Poisseux out of trouble.
No, thought Gabrielle suddenly, it was already too late to keep her Spellotape pet out of trouble. This was a premonition, the hairs on the back of her neck tingling. This had happened before, in Albania, and that had led to total disaster. Had Poisseux not learned anything from being crushed by that rat-wizard?
Sauveret stopped at a narrow door left ajar, which the squirrel struggled to open further. Gabrielle swooped in to scoop up the toads and metal object when he let go of them to focus on the door. She tried to avoid touching the wide ring, which was like a headband, as much as possible as she stuffed them into the handbag. There was no way that it was not the same as the cup Poisseux had found.
The sudden movement revealed Gabrielle to Sauveret, who jumped half her height into the air in surprise. She pulled open the door, which led to a brightly lit storeroom. Or rather, what now some sort of indoor garden. Large metal tubs filled with a hairy moss were stacked on shelves, with a small cloud over each one keeping the moss damp. A puddle on the floor suggested one of the tubs was leaking. Was this for Professor Sprout's classes, Professor Slughorn's, or Madam Pomfrey?
Sauveret chittered at Gabrielle, then scampered under the tower of tubs in the corner. She was not going to catch him by crawling on her hands and knees, and she did not need to. The squirrel would come to what little sense he had when he needed a nut. Poisseux would not. She backed up to the opposite corner to give herself a good run-up, took out her wand, and sprang forward, "Accio Poisseux!"
It was probably not the best casting of the spell, as the water had been on the floor long enough for slimy things to grow and Gabrielle had nearly fallen after slipping. It was not the worst either, but nothing emerged from under the tubs. Poisseux had been remade to be stronger - was he holding on to something? Gabrielle tried again, avoiding the puddle this time, but without success.
With a sigh, Gabrielle got on the floor to peer under the tub. Poisseux was just sitting there, and Sauveret was not holding him at all either. Could her spell have been that poorly done? Or, suggested a more optimistic thought, had the house-elves provided some protection for him? While that might be good for the toad, it was very inconvenient right now. She stretched her arm under the tub and felt for Poisseux, finding a leg. She pulled her arm out, and stared in confusion first and then horror. All she that she held was the leg, or, a more accurate thought added uselessly, a quarter of the toad. Another useless thought wondered at how thoroughly the house-elves had replicated the muscles and organs.
Closer to the tub, Gabrielle spotted movement among the moss. She lifted a patch of the moss curiously, and found that it covered a pile of soggy, rotting wood. Wood that was crawling with woodlice.
The sight terrified Gabrielle. Not because of the thousand tiny dark forms crawling in and over everything with more than a dozen legs each, but because the only person over the age of five who had any interest at all in the damp isopods was the Head Krang. And, he had complained about her pets before. And, he was hiding something, and had probably attacked Saruchi. And, Harry Potter was suspicious of him.
The storeroom was not safe. Gabrielle flailed under the tub until she had the rest of Poisseux, stuffing him into the handbag but well away from the Sisters. The cuts were very clean, and there were only four pieces. A Reparo spell might even work. Then she apologized to Sauveret and gently, she hoped, petrified him. That was mean, but it was easier than catching him and this was another emergency.
Actually, where was it safe? The Burrow would be safe, at least, recalled Gabrielle with a shiver, if she stayed indoors. George's flat over the shop would be safe too, because he would be there. Those were not really choices she could make, though. At Hogwarts, the office of the Headmistress would be safe, if McGonagall and a few other professors were there. That was a possibility, and she could check by using the map. Gabrielle started to pull it out, then looked around at the tubs and decided that she should get out of the first place that the Head Krang might come to.
v - v - v - v - v
The essence of Lord Voldemort was back among the corporeal, at least to some degree. His situation was not ideal, but he had chosen the path that lay before him. The key now was to move decisively. Cajoling a lesser will was replaced by suborning the same.
Of course, it had not taken much effort at all to lead the first bearer of the diadem to its doom. The creature's wants were simple and nonspecific. And, its death had not been the goal. Simple discovery by the right individual had been the aim. The violence perpetrated had been unexpected, but otherwise unimportant, save for the rashness pointing to a lack of judgement. An aspect had been useful.
The half-goblin, half-wizard that had reacquired the diadem was in a great amount of turmoil. The plans he had set in motion were, to his eyes, crumbling. To Lord Voldemort, who knew, who orchestrated, the whole of the plan, the strife upturning the goblins was merely the logical conclusion. An individual goblin was not afflicted by avarice any more than a wizard. A goblin organization, though, was many times more so, and would punish any who failed to make good on what they owed. And now, everything was debt.
To solve these problems, to lead, to build a better tomorrow, one needed wisdom. Wisdom that could only come with age. The diadem was old, and had sat on the head of many elders. It could see the potential in the mind of the one who now wore it, and was willing to help. It would transfer the wisdom and clarity to the wearer if, and only if, a sacred pledge was made to one day return its powers. Or so whispered Lord Voldemort into a receptive mind.
The pomp and circumstance of the pledge was meant to divert attention from the true nature of the magic involved, and, as importantly, to demonstrate a willingness to be a participant. A vague, future promise to return something freely given is almost never refused. And thus, a new puppet of flesh had been gained. One that had access to strange, alien magic, a magic that Lord Voldemort would have once thought inferior. Now, though, his foremost thought was: mine.
The magic that was most immediately useful was the goblin version of apparition, which was the ability to enter one rock face and then exit from any other. The long, peaceful coexistence with the goblins had caused many to overlook protections from the technique. Especially for structures that were essentially decorative. That category included tombs.
It was a truth that was often left unsaid, that risk made a magic more powerful. The one known as the Dark Lord, however, knew the axiom well. Possessing this student so completely had required the abandonment of the reliquary before knowing success was assured. That his life hung in the balance added force to the magic. Though the phenomenon was barely acknowledged, the thinking was that one's natural, defensive magic was added to magic cast. This was not taught, of course, in a population that was already small and prone to mishap.
There was no intention of masquerading as a student. Taking the Elder Wand from its hiding place was the first step, followed by taking the invulnerable, immortal body created by the guileless craftsman. Craft-goblin. Once the wand was acclimated, new horcruxes would be created. Of course, finding items of appropriate significance would take some time. Perhaps the skull of the late Headmaster would do, considered Lord Voldemort, for being his greatest foe while also ironically bringing the greatest Wand to him. With an unstoppable army at his side, all the magic would be his.
v - v - v - v - v
Gabrielle woke, Mags still clasping her. She had gone to the infirmary because she had been summoned there, and because Madam Pomfrey was there for protection. She would have sought out Hermione for protection, but the map showed that Ron was visiting. She was certain they wanted to be alone, based on how close the map showed their footprints. Gabrielle had just not planned on staying in the infirmary, although the healer had assumed that since she had levitated Mags into the special, curtained section when Gabrielle arrived.
The distraught first-year was Pomfrey's fault. The healer had neglected to defrost the girl's brain before speaking to her, so the comment about how a muggle would assuredly lose their toes in a similar situation was heard as a declaration that Mags would definitely suffer that fate. Coupled with an irrational fear of leeches, which, when Mags regained consciousness from the magical sedation, were being applied to each still-existing digit by Madam Pomfrey, well, the hysterical Gryffindor had been kept magically catatonic for hours.
Of course, Gabrielle's arrival meant that when Mags woke again, it was to be her problem. There was no discussion as to why this would be so. She could not think of anything she had done to make Madam Pomfrey angry with her. Though it might have been due to all the coughing from the other side of the ward. Or was it having to take care of the silly bird?
Eventually, Mags woke with a jolt and sat up. She spotted Gabrielle sitting in a chair next to bed and launched herself at her, bursting into tears. Gabrielle had expected histrionics, but not to be pinned to the chair. There was a good chance that they both would end up on the floor.
Gabrielle braced herself and patiently waited while Mags wailed about something. Gabrielle could not make out a single word from the first-year because she was crying with her head buried in Gabrielle's lap. It was not as if the girl might have lost a hand. She patted Mags gently, repeating what good visitors at a hospital bed say. "It'll, eh, be all right."
When Mags had quieted, or suffocated, Gabrielle asked to see how bad it was. Madame Pomfrey had already told her that the toes were fine save for some discoloration, but it would be good for Mags to see that too. The younger girl flung herself back onto the bed face-down with her legs in the air. Her nightgown had rucked up, and Gabrielle could see she wore nothing beneath it. Gabrielle had spent enough time with her best friend Monique that that was not shocking or embarrassing, but, well, this was sort of her designated bed. Some standard of hygiene should be maintained.
There were, as expected, still ten toes attached to Mags' feet. They looked bruised but were otherwise normal. They also smelled more than a little like cheese. Gabrielle supposed wearing chronically damp shoes would do that but, well, standards. She began counting the toes out loud, pinching each one knowing that a long session of hand-washing would be coming. When she reached ten, she pinched the skin next to a big toe and counted one more. "All zere wizz ze spare!"
"What? Really?" asked Mags.
"See for yourself."
Mags rolled over and counted, disappointed at first by finding only ten then pleased at finding more than none. That led to excessive hugging, after which Gabrielle took out her wand and used the paw-cleaning spell she had learned during her apprenticeship. The kneazles had barely noticed the spell, while Mags thrashed and squealed throughout. Either she had gotten much better at casting the spell, or the fact that kneazles licked their own paws inured them to the sensation. After that came several vigorous Scourgify spells for the shoes. Cleaning had, eh, been important during the apprenticeship.
After questioning, and after trying to sterilize her own hands, Gabrielle learned that Mags had been on the ice trying to recover her dragon-hide gloves, among other things. It seemed there was not much interest in melting a hole in the ice large enough to throw her into anymore. Gabrielle pressed Mags on the topic of whether she was still enjoying her prank campaign, or was it just a Pattern of Behavior she had gotten stuck in. It was the sort of conversation Gabrielle had had numerous times with her Maman, and just as one-sided. She suggested several alternatives, including quidditch, or the school-wide, epic prank of freeing Peeves from the toilet. That was a stupid and probably impossible idea, but it would make an excellent distraction as it would assuredly take a lot of time and effort.
Gabrielle had intended to leave at that point, but decided to stay until the teary Mags went to sleep. Except, she had fallen asleep as well. Now awake again, she had no idea how late it was. The Head Boy had snuck into the infirmary before, so it was not completely safe.
v - v - v - v - v
Apron on and map in hand, Gabrielle headed back to the Hufflepuff dorm. There was almost no one moving around the castle, just three students and two professors. And Filch, whatever he was. Two students were together and probably a couple, and they were being tracked by the caretaker at a distance. The other student was a first-year she recognized from the divination class. He was going to make a successful return to the Gryffindor dorm, as the closest patrolling professor was near the Ravenclaw tower.
The remaining professor was just ahead of Gabrielle, but she was not worried as it was only Professor Trelawney. She was not particularly attentive during the day, and Gabrielle could not imagine she would be more so after having time to drink, eh, that is, this late at night. If it had been another professor, Gabrielle would have detoured. She was almost certain that the Headmistress, for one, could still detect her.
Closer, Gabrielle wondered if Trelawney needed some help. She was bracing herself against the wall with an arm, looking ready to collapse. Gabrielle crept closer unnoticed, intending to pass by with a large berth.
But then, Trelawney suddenly spoke, "The tomb is broken. What was hidden is taken. The vessel is empty. What was taken is hidden. The Dark Lord raises a new army from the old, but knows not the greatest treasure is with the other. The tomb-"
"Eh, what?" That had not been the Professor's normal voice, and there had been no mention of cosmic disconnects. The question definitely broke the charm from the apron, though.
"What?" returned Trelawney, trying to straighten. "Er, are you supposed to be out of the dorm so late?"
"Yes."
"Oh. Really?"
"Yes," replied Gabrielle, which was only a small lie. Small, a judgmental thought added, because it was only one word. "Eh, you said somezing about ze, eh, Dark Lord, before."
"Did I?" Her Professor looked surprised, then began to smile, which seemed strange if one had daydreams about that.
"Yes." Gabrielle began to feel excited, because she realized that it was perhaps not a sad, sick daydream induced by sherry but, almost definitely, a prophecy. An actual prophecy that she had actually heard herself. "I zink it was a prophecy!"
"Well, I am known for them, of course. Er, how did it go?"
"Eh..."
v - v - v - v - v
While agreeing that recovering the exact wording of the prophecy was important, Gabrielle did not agree that the Headmistress should be woken right that very moment to help. There was little chance that McGonagall would ignore her flagrant curfew violation. If they just waited until morning, the 'when' could be left uncertain. Professor Trelawney would not be dissuaded, though.
This time it was Trelawney who was the walking stick. A heavily bejeweled walking stick. Gabrielle knew that pounding on the door to McGonagall's private rooms was going to be disastrous. She was merely gripped by the Windsor-style chair, the stone with the antlers off to the side but carefully pointed. It was three hours after midnight, and she sensed that the Headmistress was in not in the best of moods.
"It has been shouted at me that there has been a prophecy."
"Eh, yes." That had been a statement, but McGonagall was probably looking confirmation. Brief answers were probably best.
"That you overheard?"
"Eh, yes."
"In the hall, clearly violating curfew?"
Gabrielle closed her eyes. "Yes."
"A fortuitous happenstance in this instance," concluded McGonagall. "Less fortuitous is your lack of ability to recall this latest prophecy in its entirety. I would send for Madam Pomfrey and her largest mallet to knock it loose, but, alas, it is only three o'clock in the morning. We are forced to rely on less amusing means."
Gabrielle said nothing because, so far, things were going well. The minor transgression would be overlooked because of the importance of the prophecy, she was not going to be going to be hit with a mallet, and it had been Trelawney that had dragged the Headmistress from her bed. It was annoying, though, that being completely truthful and staying quiet were something that Fleur and her Maman had always insisted on.
The Headmistress had disappeared into the private office, and returned shortly with the marble bowl of the pensieve. She also carried a small glass bottle with a cork. "Now, just lean over the basin and remember what you can."
Gabrielle, gripped by the chair, could not possibly do that. She tried anyway. "Eh, I cannot reach."
"Ah, of course. Allow me to help." McGonagall stepped behind the chair. Suddenly, Gabrielle was tipped forward until her chest rested against the desk. The pensieve was repositioned to be closer. The curfew thing was, it seemed, not entirely forgotten.
"Think back to when you approached Professor Trelawney; see it in your mind. Ready?"
"Eh, yes."
Gabrielle felt the touch of the wand at her temple and tried to concentrate on... what? There had been something, she was sure of it.
"All right, let us see what we have," said McGonagall.
The pensive filled with a mist, which became an image of Trelawney leaning unsteadily against the wall with one arm. She looked ill to Gabrielle, probably from too much sherry. Which was a little odd, because the Professor had seemed fine earlier when they had gone to wake the Headmistress.
The image at the Professor grew larger as the unseen observer approached. Suddenly, the figure raised her head and spoke. This was the prophecy? Gabrielle remembered that there was one and that she had witnessed it, but she did not recall - Oh, eh, right, came a second thought, bien sûr. That was her memory in the pensieve, so it was not in her head anymore.
The Headmistress replayed the sequence twice, taking notes. Then she gathered the hazy strand of the memory with her wand and guided it into the bottle, which she stoppered with a cork. The bottle was set to the side and McGonagall took up her notes. "The Dark Lord is explicitly mentioned, and I presume 'the other' is our Harry. 'What was hidden is taken.' 'What was taken is hidden.' So something was moved? A new army from the old... Does that mean winnowing the chaff, reanimating corpses, or recruiting offspring? And just what would He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named consider the greatest treasure? Yes, dear? What is it?"
Gabrielle, who had been staring at the bottle, asked, "Eh, I will have zat back?"
"I'm afraid not. It will be sent to the Ministry to the recorded and stored."
"Oh. Eh, why? You wrote ze prophecy down."
"For official scoring and authentication purposes, as I understand. The Ministry studies events and tries to determine if a prophecy has come to pass."
"Zey do not try to prevent zem?"
"Not as such for several reasons. Firstly, one can not be certain it is a true prophecy until it has come to pass, so it can hardly be used to justify drastic measures. There are such things as false prophecies and unscrupulous seers. Secondly, if it is a true prophecy, then it will come to pass regardless of the effort expended against it. They are best used to prepare precautions against the eventual outcome. And, lastly, seers themselves are rather against the idea, as a true prophecy is worth a bit to their reputations."
"Eh..." Gabrielle was at a loss for words. She had thought of a prophecy as something almost heroic, a way to save the day. The Headmistress made it sound more like an opportunity to say, 'I told you so.'
"Of course," continued McGonagall, with an edge to her voice, "The Ministry does not always bother with -any- justifications for draconian measures. Hogwarts is not immune to that."
Gabrielle almost declared that she was not from any ministry, and was glad to not blurt that out. She would have excused herself to go to bed, but it was not clear that the Headmistress was done with her. Also, the chair still gripped her.
"At least the goblins are not mentioned, unless they are what the 'other' refers to. The tomb is broken, the vessel is empty. Could it be the late Professor Membrudamm's? There was not much to him when they buried what was left in a jar."
"Eh, zis prophecy, it is very close to Professor Trelawney's visions of, eh, woe," reminded Gabrielle.
"Hmm. Then the new army would be her golden knights?"
"Or ze Dark Lord will wear armor made from Gringott inkpots," suggested Gabrielle. A second thought confirmed that that was as dumb as it sounded.
The chair loosened its grip. "It is rather late, isn't it. You may return to your dorm. I will see to the Professor."
v - v - v - v - v
It was the end of the week, and Gabrielle had the first period free. She could catch up on some over-due assignments, return to the warmth of her bed, or try to put Possieux back together. Or, she could go and find out why the bell was ringing again.
The bell won, if only because it would preclude sleeping. In the entrance hall was not one centaur, but two. Students stood in small groups and gawked. Gabrielle sighed. Why? If McGonagall could put up a ward to keep George out of the castle, then it should be simple enough to ward the doors to prevent creatures other than wizards and witches from entering. She, thought Gabrielle, probably finds this amusing. Thankfully, there were no bloodstains to be cleaned.
"Eh, good morning, Tourne. Zis is?" asked Gabrielle, indicating the other slightly smaller, obviously female centaur who was leaning heavily on Tourne. She gurgled when she breathed.
"This, this is Aethera. She is sick. Very sick."
"Eh, okay. Zen you should, eh, bring her to Hagrid. He can -"
"She does not need a wizard's help."
Gabrielle waited to see if there would be more, to make sense of why he would then bring her to a school for wizards and witches. There did not seem to be an explanation coming. "Would she like some, eh, tea?"
"I want to put her in the cave with the forest. She can not stay warm." Tourne scrunched his eyes as if in pain. "Please."
Well, that clearly signaled that it was an emergency. To him. "Zat is fine, of course. Eh, you will have to block ze door zough, to keep students out. Ozzerwise ze bell may ring more."
"I have some provisions. Is there any hunting in there?"
"I do not know," replied Gabrielle. It once was a classroom, which, in her experience, rarely had wild animals living in them. But then again, creatures from the Forest were getting into the castle frequently. The bell sounded for the dangerous ones, but what about smaller, prey animals? "I will ask Professor Hagrid about zat."
Actually, now that the idea of asking a professor had come to her, Gabrielle wondered if she should seek permission to allow the centaurs to stay in the first place. It was something of an emergency to Tourne, which would make the request understandable. Then, if something unfortunate did happen, it would not be her fault. Professor Hagrid, Gabrielle knew, would certainly allow it.
v - v - v - v - v
No good deed goes unpunished, it is said. Hagrid, as Gabrielle expected, was happy to allow the centaurs to stay. He was concerned with Aethera's condition, even asking Gabrielle if she could imitate the sound of the centaur's breathing. He said that the respiratory system of a centaur is complicated, with two sets of lungs working in tandem. He tried to explain using the fireplace bellows, but only had one of those, which made the impromptu lecture hard to follow. She wondered how he had gotten a look at the insides of a centaur. They were too big to stomp.
Now Gabrielle had to deliver a small cauldron of some sort of medicinal stew three times a day. And return the empty cauldrons, though she doubted the contents of the cauldrons could be fully consumed as they were a Hagrid-sized small. She needed to suspend the vessel from her broom to make the trip, the tights were completely ruined, and could only hope that the ocean of stew, which looked and smelled like pond scum, would work quickly.
Of course, that was just her immediate reaction. Once she set aside bemoaning this new task, Gabrielle waited for lunch to go and find some of the Ipswich Diggers. She could get Hagrid to award them house points for helping, while staying warm inside the castle. Warmer, at least.