Chapter Thirty-six - Old Friends
Gabrielle woke, but did not open her eyes, instead taking a moment to luxuriate in the warmth. She could tell that she was in a bed, which meant that she had been rescued from the frozen forest floor. That was the best news of the day, which ever day it was. Was it day, though? Or was it night?
A small stretch revealed that she was not alone in bed, which was not an unusual circumstance because of her worrying dorm-mates. This time, though, she was completely pinned by sleepers on both sides of her. Logically, a talent, Gabrielle deduced that she was in the infirmary. Her assigned bed was bigger there, though not so much bigger that the word cramped would be inappropriate for the current occupancy. The dip in the mattress on one side suggested Malachite, while the hair she felt suggested Sukiya. She decided that it was probably night, if her bed companions were sleeping that soundly.
When Gabrielle woke again, she was not nearly so warm and had plenty of space to stretch. Which, logically, meant that it was at least morning. This time she opened her eyes. She was indeed in her special section of the infirmary.
"Happy New Year, oh Mistress of the Mighty Nap," greeted Ginny.
"Eh, what?"
"You haven't missed much. Here," continued Ginny, shoving a nearly fist-sized chunk of chocolate into Gabrielle's mouth. "I'll just let Pomfrey know you're awake."
Ginny left before Gabrielle could say anything, and, of course, she could not say anything anyway. The chocolate in her mouth was so large that Gabrielle could not even really chew it. Happy New Year? It was then that she noticed the stacks of wrapped presents where the stuffed toys usually were. She had missed Christmas?
The initial shock gave way to sadness. She had missed the Christmas Ball! She had missed a chance to be in George's arms that was allowed, that would not be frowned upon. She realized now that of course Madam Pomfrey had not woken her earlier. She had been the perfect patient, doing nothing but resting quietly. For weeks. If the concern was whether her soul had been sucked out, then would it not be best to find out immediately by waking her? Gabrielle was certain that was what the hospital in Paris would have done.
These thoughts were bringing tears to her eyes, which if her nose became sniffly would be a problem. That was her only way to breathe with a huge glob of melting chocolate in her mouth. It was not even particularly good chocolate.
A second thought wondered, though, if she had frozen solid, and had needed to be thawed. She remembered falling to the ground in the Forest. What if no one had found her until the next day? Once, when visiting Philippe and his family, she had learned that unfreezing a large goose could take a week without magic. She was larger than a goose. Is that what happened?
No, Gabrielle answered herself. While the Touliers were muggles and her friend Philippe a squib, she was at Hogwarts. If she had been frozen solid like that goose, then surely Madame Pomfrey would have used some sort of thawing spell. She had unfrozen Mags' toes before, after all.
This was just the normal unfairness of her world, thought Gabrielle. There was no reason for her to be sent out into the Forbidden Forest alone, at night. There was no reason for her clothes to be Black, forever. There was no reason for her not to have been healed in time for the Ball. It was just the way it was. What about the rest of her exams?
It was not Madam Pomfrey who entered, but Mrs. Weasley. She carried a present wrapped in a green and orange plaid paper that was hard on the eyes, which was another reminder of what Gabrielle had missed. Tears spilled from her eyes.
"Oh my, it has been a rough night, hasn't it?" said Mrs. Weasley. She set the present on the table next to the bed, and leaned in to embrace Gabrielle. Gabrielle hoped she was not drooling chocolate on her.
"Chocolate will set you right, pet, but, er, smaller pieces next time, I think." Mrs. Weasley settled back into the chair, and patted Gabrielle's head. "The present is from George. He wrote that you shouldn't open it until just before the Ball, but not in the dorms. Er, I know you two are, er, fond of each other, but, well, do be careful."
A present from George, who was fond of her! That was, of course, not a surprise to her, but to hear Mrs. Weasley say it was something. It worked better than the softening chocolate to lift her mood. Gabrielle hoped it was not a prototype - those had been... Wait, what? Open it before the Ball? What did she mean? Had she been asleep for a whole year? Gabrielle needed to know, and so swallowed the chocolate glob in her mouth. Sort of swallowed the glob - she massaged her throat to hopefully move it along. It was the longest, and most painful, swallow she had ever had and it nearly had her panicking. Gabrielle felt the lump every bit of the way to her stomach.
"Combien de temps j'ai dormi?" Gabrielle asked when she could speak.
"Er, room temperature, I suppose."
"Eh, what?"
"Sorry dear, my French is quite weak," apologized Mrs Weasley. "I know dormez is sleeping, though."
"How long was I sleeping?"
"From what I gather, about twelve-"
"Twelve years?!" exclaimed Gabrielle. Her mind reeled. Why did Papa not come and take her to the hospital in Paris? The doctors there would have been able to help her. She was sure of it. Did that mean the presents on top of the dresser were also from George, one for each year she was unconscious? How horrible it must have been for him, with the love of his life gone for so long.
Mrs. Weasley laughed, "No, dear. Hours. You've slept about twelve hours, at least from when Hagrid brought you here."
"Eh, what? Hours? Mais, Ginny said zat..." Merde.
"Oh dear. What did Ginny say?"
v - v - v - v - v
Madam Pomfrey's bird flew in over the top of the surrounding curtains, landing on Gabrielle's chest. It eyed her suspiciously, at least in Gabrielle's opinion, but did not say anything, because it could not really talk. The crow hopped toward her face, but Gabrielle pushed it away, earning a peck on the hand.
Madame Pomfrey entered shortly after the bird flew off. She arrived with a leather-covered case, and a familiar brown bottle. "Now, Miss Delacour -"
"Zere is nozzing broken!"
"Professor Granger has told me otherwise."
"That is still so odd to hear," commented Mrs. Weasley.
"But not that surprising either," added Pomfrey. She poured out a small dose of the hated Skele-Gro into a cup.
"I zink ze ribs fixed zemselves," suggested Gabrielle hopefully.
"There's a simple diagnostic for that. Finite Incantatem."
There was a twinge of pain, but it was barely enough to cause Gabrielle to gasp. Perhaps it was true that her bones had healed. Mostly healed. How long could that take, anyway? That is, without magic or potions? She tried a smile.
"Well, if you're as right as rain, then I believe you have a transfiguration practical within the hour," said Madam Pomfrey. Merde, thought Gabrielle again.
"Oh, that's right, I have Ginny's old uniform here," said Mrs. Weasley. "I understand yours is fit for rags."
"Eh, what?"
"The dire-wolves ripped your uniform quite badly dragging you, and the foul creature's remains, to Professor Hagrid's cottage. Easily fixed, of course, but the blouse and jumper had a large holes burned right through the front," described Pomfrey. "Those holes will not close up at all."
"Eh, zat was not my fault. You should know zis."
"I rather expect that the amulets you wear were the cause."
"Oh." Nona's amulets had saved Gabrielle before, so she could believe it.
"Now," continued Pomfrey. "Up you get. You don't want to miss your exam."
Gabrielle sat up, trying to show some enthusiasm. Bones shifted in her chest, and she fell back with a whimper.
"Oh, dear," said Mrs. Weasley, with sympathy.
"I'll just say that with your bones properly aligned and not crushed into tiny pieces, the Skele-Gro will be hardly worth the fuss you've made," said Pomfrey, without sympathy. She took out her wand and repeated the spell that Hermione had used. Gabrielle could sit up again, and so was handed the steaming cup. There was nothing to do but choke it down.
Madame Pomfrey patted the case she had brought. "I can hardly wait to try these new mallets. They're made from English beech."
v - v - v - v - v
There was pain, but not the usual constant, sharp, stinging pain that one gets when whole bones are regrown. The pain from Gabrielle's ribs was more like occasionally being poked with a hot fork. It was still, in her judgement, worth the fuss to avoid.
It was difficult to avoid anything, though, while trapped in a bed in the infirmary. Really, anyone. The curtained-off area should imply privacy, yes? It did not seem to. Mags arrived, still damp, and Gabrielle could hear her shoes squelching. The first-year had heard that Gabrielle had been Kissed by the dementor, or maybe had Kissed it instead using her Veela powers. For some reason Mags had, eh, Ghomley, perhaps, from the Divination class, in tow. He mostly stood quietly, looking stupid. Mags did not seem to realize that an enthusiastic embrace might not be appreciated by someone with partially repaired ribs. That was a lot of hot forks, all at once. Gabrielle endured it as best she could, since Mags had helped her. It was finding out how Mags had gotten wet that made her angry. An explosion in a girls bathroom and the next thing she did was come to the infirmary? There should be, and were, standards. If Ghomley had not been there, Gabrielle would have vanished Mags' wet garments. Well, not really, since that would have resulted in more trouble for Gabrielle, but she did demand that Mags always bathe, with soap, before visiting.
Stanislaw's arrival chased away the first-years, which was not really any improvement. He wanted things, and did not express any concern for Gabrielle's condition. Though, he probably did not know what had happened to her. One of the things he wanted was the strange rock, and was not happy to hear that Professor Slughorn had analyzed it nearly out of existence. She reported that it was no closer to being a Philosopher's Stone, or even a, eh, Philosopher's Pebble.
Stanislaw was happy, though, to hear that the goblins from Gringotts had come. He stood, and Gabrielle wondered if he expected to her to go to London immediately. She pointed out that she was in the infirmary for a reason. That led to an awkward silence, and Gabrielle was sure that Stanislaw was trying to come up with a way to get his galleons, now. She had an idea that would definitely be better than anything he could come up with.
"Eh, Dobby?"
There was a pop, the house-elf appearing on the other side of the bed from the curse-breaker. Dobby was attempting trousers at the moment, the legs mostly rolled into thick cuffs. "Dobby is here, madwozelle."
"Eh, you can go to Gringotts for me? It is in London. You went zere for Mrs. Weasley?" Gabrielle found her handbag from under the bedside table, and started looking for the box with the key. She had been given it recently, so it was at the top of the miscellaneous mound that was growing inside.
"Dobby knows, madwozelle."
"Zen take zis key and have ze goblins give you six percent -"
"(Seven and a half percent,)" reminded Herr Sammlermacher. Funny, thought Gabrielle, how he knew numbers in any language.
"I, eh, mean seven and a half percent," she admitted to the house-elf.
"(And the forty-two galleons I loaned you.)"
"And zen anozzer forty-two galleons more."
"Dobby is needing a galleon, madwozelle."
Someone must have told Dobby that he was charging too little for his labor, and now he had gone to the other extreme. ''Zen have ze goblins give you one more for you to keep," sighed Gabrielle.
"Dobby is sorry, but Dobby is needing the galleon before, madwozelle."
"Eh, what?"
"Dobby has shopping to do. It is better to do that not holding a bag of gold."
Gabrielle stared for a moment. "Oh, eh, okay." She had a few galleons left, which were in their own decidedly shrinking pile within the handbag. What had happened to the shovel handle?
"Dobby will be back!" The house-elf disappeared with a pop.
That left Gabrielle waiting with Stanislaw, which was awkward and sort of weird. She hoped that Mrs. Weasley would return, or Hermione would visit. Even Ginny would be better. Could she get him to teach her another curse-breaking spell?
"(Now, what to do about that strange rock,)" said Stanislaw, scratching his chin with his thumb.
"(I showed it to a professor like you asked me to. I can not make him give it back,)" argued Gabrielle.
"(It was not yours to give away.)"
"(I did not give it away. Professor Slughorn is still trying to see if it is valuable. He may want to buy it if it is.)"
"(And when it is finally consumed, what will he pay? It was not for sale.)"
"(I do not understand why you had it, if it was not for sale.)"
"(We are the same, liebchen, in that regard. I suspect it was bait.)"
Gabrielle did not have anything to say to that. She could not think of what might be attracted to a useless rock. Besides Professor Slughorn. She was certain that Stanislaw would be asking for something in return, though, even if it had not been for sale. "(Eh, bait for what?)"
"(It was given to me by Harry Potter himself, so I fear the worst.)"
It took a moment for Gabrielle to understand, but then she smiled.
"(You are amused?)" asked Stanislaw.
"(Eh, no. This is a secret, I think, but the Dark Lord already did something with the Head Boy. Eh, maybe. He knew about the rock, and did not take it.)"
Stanislaw was silent after that, and Gabrielle wished that Dobby would come back soon. Then Gabrielle had a thought about how to distract the curse-breaker from his existential crisis. She dug into her handbag to find the claws from Pince's minions.
The parchment wrapping the claws was glued together by the blood of the weird creatures, which had not dried but had become a sticky tar. It occurred to Gabrielle that that was probably not the sort of thing to store next to cake. The wrapping tore as she tried to pry it apart, and she nearly dropped the mess. Of course, catching the sticky parchment before it landed on the sheets meant the black, tar-like residue was on her hand. She... had regrets.
"(What is that? Salted licorice?)" asked Stanislaw.
"(Eh, what? No. These are claws from a sort of gargoyle, I think. Perhaps they are worth something?)" Gabrielle held the claws still stuck to the torn parchment out to him. Who would put salt on licorice? Unless that kept it from coming back after one got rid of it.
"(Gargoyles have nails, not claws.)" Stanislaw took the offering carefully, tilting it in the light. "(What did these creatures look like?)"
"(They were gray and wizard-shaped and, eh, short, with little wings on their backs. I never saw them fly, though.)" Gabrielle was always reluctant to call someone or something short. "(They made a weird grinding noise when they spoke.)"
"(A... grinding noise?)"
"(Eh, yes. I did not understand them until they got close and started to affect my sensory humours. I am grounded by the sensory humours. Then there was a sort of vision, and I could understand them.)" Gabrielle wondered if she should clarify that she understood the words, and not what the creatures meant.
"(Where did you see these creatures?)"
"(In the library. Portia said the Madam Pince summoned them to look for books that a student took, but then they could not, eh, leave the library for some reason,)" explained Gabrielle. "(They were unhappy about that.)"
"(I do not think those were gargoyles, liebchen,)" said Stanislaw absently.
Gabrielle was going to point out that she had said that they were only -like- gargoyles, but a period of hot forks kept her silent.
"(How did you take their claws?)"
"(I didn't,)" replied Gabrielle, her words coming in a burst between the stabbing. "(They gave... them to me.)"
"(They gave them to you,)" repeated Stanislaw. He sat back in the visitor chair for more chin scratching. The pain for Gabrielle quickly subsided again. All bones should be aligned.
Stanislaw pulled out a set of small lenses and a floppy leather notebook. He used what looked like a thick muggle pencil to start sketching in the notebook. He seemed like he was in a better mood, so now all Gabrielle needed was a way to have him leave. That required Dobby to return. Could the house-elf not have done his shopping at some other time? What did a house-elf go shopping for?
The answer to that question was obvious when Dobby did return after two more rounds of hot forks. House-elves, or at least this house-elf, needed colorful hair ribbons. Dobby arms were festooned with a dozen each of ribbons which dragged along the ground.
"Dobby is back, madwozelle," announced Dobby. He placed the heavy bag of coins on Gabrielle's lap, then handed her three bars of muggle chocolate, and, from under his hat, a paper cup with a flimsy white lid.
"(Is that herring soup?)" asked Stanislaw. He flapped his notebook in front of his face.
"(Eh, what?)" Gabrielle had been distracted by the ribbons. She was not going to say it - Maman would be proud - but while house-elves did have hair it seemed like it was usually sparse and not the sort of feature to emphasize with decoration.
Gabrielle put down the chocolates and hefted the bag over to Stanislaw. The coins were disturbingly heavy. This worried her at first, because she wondered if there would be any left for her. Then she remembered that this was only a small fraction, so there should be plenty. A second thought reminded her of the extra forty-two galleons, though, which could be the rest of the fraction. She would have to visit Gringotts over the holidays while at the Burrow.
"Eh, why do you have ze ribbons?" asked Gabrielle as she tried to arrange an area to steady the cup. The lid was that plastic stuff that muggles liked. If one was not careful opening the little flaps, then the contents would spill and Fleur would complain to Maman about the 'stinking mess'.
"They are disguises, madwozelle," explained Dobby.
"Oh, eh, zat is good." Gabrielle smoothed a section of blanket in front of her. A tray or plate would be better.
"Where is Hetty?" asked Dobby.
"Eh, what? Hetty? I zink she would be -" There was the sound of apparition.
"Hetty is here, Mistress!"
"Eh... okay." The white lid had more than one possible opening. What if she chose the wrong one?
"Please cover your eyes for a moment, madwozelle," said Dobby.
"Eh, what?"
"Dobby will show you how the disguise works!"
The house-elf practically twitched with excitement, which Gabrielle found worrying. She put the confusing cup on the table next to the bed, and covered her eyes.
After a moment and the sounds of a brief tussle, Dobby announced that she should now look.
Gabrielle was not sure what to expect, but what she saw fell short of all. Hetty stood there with a ribbon wrapped around her head. It was not holding back her hair, but went straight across her forehead. "Eh..." she began. Then she saw Dobby behind Hetty, winking at her. He was new at subterfuge, so he was using his fingers to pinch one eye closed and hold the other open. Right, thought Gabrielle, a disguise.
"Eh, who are you? Where is Hetty?" asked Gabrielle, wondering if this was going to be a mistake.
Not-Hetty frantically tore the ribbon from her head. "Hetty is still here, Mistress!"
"Incroyable!"
"(What in Merlin's realm is this about, liebchen?)"
"(I have no idea.)"
v - v - v - v - v
Stanislaw left, though Gabrielle was not sure when he had done so as she had finally worked out the lid quandary and had thoroughly enjoyed the contents of the cup, oblivious to the world around her. The drink was a triple-shot mocha latte, which she knew because she could See the preparation. Gabrielle watched as she, well, not she but someone, used their secret technique.
Gabrielle had seen espresso made before, but only at a distance, and had thought the gleaming mechanical device the little pan of ground coffee was attached to did most of it. The vision showed her the preparation needed for what, in the vision, was felt would be a world-class espresso. The coffee beans were ground fresh, then sieved to remove larger bits. The grounds were then poured past a fan, which made a mess but helped remove the dustier parts. The remaining grounds were carefully weighed out. Then, when no one was watching, she remembered thinking, a third of the quantity was put into the portafilter basket and tamped with a twisting motion. The next third was layered and tamped, but with the twisting reversed. The final portion of the coffee was added and tamped, reversing once more. A single whole bean of coffee was placed at the very center, and then the portafilter holder was loaded into the machine. It was, Gabrielle noted smugly, all about avoiding channelling and optimizing particle size distribution. Whatever, eh, that meant.
She had felt pride in the quality of the resulting espresso, then some amount of disgust when she poured it into the cup with the mocha syrup. It was like completing the Mona Lisa and then having a child glue macaroni and glitter on it. Would no one appreciate her artistry? Certainly the owner of the cafe did not, always glaring over the long line of waiting customers. Customers who wanted not just coffee, but the greatest expression of the beverage! That is, with, and this brought a scowl to her face to match management's, loads of sugar and milk.
Gabrielle had not noticed Stanislaw's departure, but there was no way to miss Madam Pomfrey's return. That was announced with a blow to her head from the finest English beech. She would now never learn the secret technique for superior steamed milk. She snapped at the healer, fortunately in French, and swatted at the brass trumpet stuck in her ear.
"An opportunity to further research," said Pomfrey, completely ignoring Gabrielle's outburst. "No resonances detected, and no signs of cerebrum putridum." She lovingly secured the mallet back into the velvet-lined case she had brought earlier.
Gabrielle put the empty cup down. One of the drawbacks to being grounded by the sensory humours is that it makes it difficult to fully enjoy things. The sticky parchment with the claws was on the table, but there were only two chocolate bars now. Had she eaten one in the midst of the vision? Or had Stanislaw helped himself to one because the claws were worthless?
"Classes, and exams, are finished for the day. You may leave if you wish, or you may stay until morning. I can send for one of your dorm-mates if you do stay."
"I will go to ze dorms," said Gabrielle. There was less chance of a mallet away from the infirmary. "Eh, is Mrs. Weasley here?"
"I believe she is with her prodigal son at the moment."
"Eh, what?"
"A small family reunion," replied Madam Pomfrey. Gabrielle did not find that much of an explanation. As was usually the case.
"She, eh, had ze uniform for me?"
"She did. You'll find it just under the bed," replied the medical witch. "Now, I need to prepare an expectorant for Miss Goodnow at the moment. She's quite full of phlegm." Madam Pomfrey considered the mallet case. "Perhaps loosening the lung effluent would help sort things..."
Gabrielle dressed, finding the experience of putting on clothing that was not Black somewhat exciting. She should have borrowed Ginny's old uniform from the start, if she had only known to ask. Then there would have been no detentions. She would have to find away to hide the Gryffindor crest though. And, have someone adjust the fit some. That was difficult, Gabrielle knew from experience, to do well on her own. Was this really Ginny's first-year uniform, though? At least the robes were not dragging on the floor.
Her cloaks were under the bed too, the standard Hogwarts one and her Cloak of Darkness. Both were the Black she suffered with, but now had new burned edges. There was nothing to replace them with, though, and she did not want to catch the Grippe.
v - v - v - v - v
"Why, Blago, has production ceased?" It was a reasonable question for Lord Voldemort to ask. His nigh invincible army was more of a stodgy bridge club at the moment.
"Output comes from input. We are out of alloys for the work, and out of galleons for the workers," shrugged Blago.
Once more, Lord Voldemort was surprised by the craft-goblin's lack of fluster. He seemed to act as if he was peripheral to events, like he was just a clerk at a shop that sold poison instead of the poison-maker. At least it meant that he was not hiding anything.
"Galleons for the workers? Where is their dedication to the rebellion?"
"Sure, if you want songs after a few rounds at the pub, they'll oblige. Especially if you're buying," replied Blago. "Otherwise it's another job, and one that is supposed to be secret. That costs more."
Labor was easy to replace, considered Lord Voldemort. The automatik itself could be set to the task of creating its copies. Material and expertise, though, could not be as easily replaced.
"Provide a list of what is required, and several locations that would have stores of it. I will do... the shopping." Done in the correct order, the raiding for supplies could further destabilize goblin society.
"Sorry, was that meant to be ominous? It sounded as if it was meant to be ominous."
v - v - v - v - v
It was not the Defense Against the Dark Arts practical that brought tears to Gabrielle's eyes; that had gone well enough. If one could manage a decent shield spell, then high marks from Professor Korbel were a given. She had learned the spell years before coming to Hogwarts, so no problems there. The source of her woes was the newly fitted uniform.
Gabrielle had missed Mrs. Weasley the previous day, and so had looked to Hermione, that is, Professor Granger for help. She had quickly grown tired of being asked if she had shrunk. Few people noticed that the uniform was the proper color, or wondered if she had really changed Houses. Nearly everyone immediately assumed that she had gotten smaller. Gabrielle had actually feared that Malachite would force the entire platter of sausages into her at breakfast.
One of the people who did not grasp the addition of color was the Headmistress. Gabrielle had gone to her as quickly as possible for relief from her weekly detentions. McGonagall had claimed to know nothing of any punishments, but then she had been in the midst of dealing with some Ministry paperwork, which covered her desk in several towering piles of scrolls. Gabrielle quickly explained that her uniform was no longer a violation, and so the weekly detentions with Professors Hagrid and Trelawney were no longer justified. She did not add that they had never been, because that was the sort of thing that would make Maman angry. The Headmistress told her that that was not how things worked and dismissed her. Gabrielle argued further, which resulted in both rejection and ejection. The spiral staircase meant that she tumbled the entire way down instead of falling from the height.
Gabrielle had waited until Her- Professor Granger left her private quarters, which took a bit since Ron was still around. She tried to look only at the names, and quickly, on the magical map since the position of the tiny ink footprints were, eh, suggestive. When the couple were on their way, to the kitchens apparently, Gabrielle had a chance to intercept. And that was when it all went wrong. With the final wave of Hermione's wand to adjust the fit, the Black speckles started to spread and she fled.
The reason Gabrielle ran was not that she had burst into tears. That was a perfectly normal reaction to the situation. Though, it may have still been a small part of the reason. What mortified her most was not the expletive she had blurted, but that she had actually stamped her foot in anger and frustration. Who did that at her age? She was nearly fourteen and should have outgrown tantrums.
v - v - v - v - v
It was difficult to be alone in Hufflepuff, especially with nearly all the exams finished. The formerly studious were now after her with cups of soggy dregs hoping for a hint as to how the Christmas Ball would go. It may have been just her mood, but Gabrielle was seeing a lot of broken bones in the residue. It made her wonder, possibly unfairly, what George had planned.
One place to be alone was the owlery, since that involved leaving the castle. It was sleeting outside, but only a little. That little, though, was coming down sideways in a gale. The distance was not too great, so Gabrielle found a somewhat protected spot where the stairs met the wall, and waited for a break in the wind.
The wind howled, and tree branches thrashed against each other. A second thought could not help but wonder if this was a good idea. The wind howled, growled, and roared. Wait, thought Gabrielle, that was an actual roar, and not just the wind. It was a sound that she thought she had heard before. She listened as the roar outdid the gale again. It was so familiar...
Oh, oh no. Professor Hagrid had filed paperwork for an extremely dangerous creature, had travelled to France to arrange something, and it was a to be surprise for her. It could not be... "Corey?" called out Gabrielle, which was useless as her voice was lost in the wind. She stepped from the protected corner to listen for where the roaring was coming from. That was a mistake, though, as a wind gust lifted her up by her sail-like cloaks and dropped her onto the only rocky patch between the castle and owlery. It had not hurt as much as it could have, since the hat appeared on her head mid-tumble to cushion the landing. She decided to head for the shelter of the trees, mostly because that was the way the wind was blowing.
Not that the trees were a good shelter, though. There was too much crashing and snapping from the canopy for it to be one. The swaying trees did block the wind enough that Gabrielle could choose a direction to walk in, instead of being blown along like a large, dark leaf. She already knew where to go, though. If one was to acquire a blind old Hebridean Black dragon with a mangled wing, then an enclosure made from freshly stacked boulders would be the obvious place to keep it. Gabrielle did not need the roaring to guide her.
Was there not a student, Gabrielle asked herself suddenly, who had been recently attacked by a Dementor in the Forest? And, did any one know, for certain, continued the second thoughts, how many Dementors there were lurking nearby?
Gabrielle knew the answers to both questions, and wished she had thought of them before leaving the castle. Well, she knew the answer to the first question. Not knowing the answer to the second was what made it bad. The hat-coven had said there were Dementors and had taken care of one. The unicorn had torn another apart, leaving as few as zero remaining or as many as she-should-be-leaving-now.
Except, there was a little bit of distress to Corey's call. If it was really Corey, that is. Gabrielle could imagine that a cranky old dragon would be upset at being dragged to a strange new home. Being blind and unable to fly probably made it more stressful for him. Checking on him now, though, meant more time in a Dementor-infested forest.
This was a dilemma that was solved when Gabrielle remembered that she was a witch, and brought out her broomstick. And new boots. She did not want to try and fly in the heavy winds that bent the trees, but zipping between the tree trunks was definitely faster than walking. Provided, of course, one made sure where the between part was before the zipping part. Gabrielle has slightly misjudged that, clipping a tree with her shoulder, which now hurt.
v - v - v - v - v
When Gabrielle reached the boulder enclosure, she flew around it just high enough to see within. Even just that was barely managed. Muggle flying machines were always in the air near Paris, without regard to weather. Was that because they were metal? She had a thought to put Mags back into the armor to find out.
Even though Gabrielle had been expecting it, she could hardly believe her eyes. It was Corey! How had Professor Hagrid ever managed to find the Pommejoues' shop? The dragon was moving back and forth restlessly, at the very least annoyed. Gabrielle could see why also. There was no roof nor overhang for shelter, and the deer intended for his dinner was just running loose. Corey was a dragon, yes, but he was old, lazy, and had to drag around what remained of his left wing. This was not right.
There was not much that Gabrielle could do about the conditions, beyond scolding the Professor, but she could do something about his meal. She started calling out directions in French, getting the dragon to face the opposite way. Then she landed inside the enclosure and aimed her wand at the deer. "Obducuni pedae!" It was a kind of hunting spell that Madam Pommejoues had taught her. Gabrielle held the spell and the poor deer eventually fell to the ground with its feet drawn together. She hated this part, since she now had to tether the helpless animal. They always looked at her as if she had betrayed them.
The problem, Gabrielle found, was that there was no rope. She had meant to keep some in her handbag for rescuing Mags, but had not found any. Conjuring enough to tie the deer in place was optimistic, and unlikely. She did not want to sacrifice another pair of leggings either. Could this be solved using logic?
"Charlie! Accio imbecile!" Gabrielle was jerked from her feet, tumbling for a moment. She had not made much progress anyway. She stood back up, and tried to see who was aiming spells at her. "Accio imbecile!"
Gabrielle, once she had gotten up again, was ready. Her shield spell, arguably the best in her class, successfully fended off the summoning spell. "Stop zat, imbecile!" Her attacker was a petite blond witch, but not a student. Or if she was a student, then she was completely out of uniform.
"(Do you want to die, idiot? Get out of there! Charlie!)"
"You are ze idiot!" started Gabrielle. Wait, that was French. "(You are the idiot! It is rude to cast spells on others! You should know this. I need to tie down the deer; then I can leave.)"
"(What are you talking about? The dragon will kill you!)"
"(You know nothing about Corey! He is blind and lazy. His food is tied down and then you tell him where it is - that is the way it is.)"
"(Oh Merlin in Heaven, please let her be too stupid to die! Dragons have a better sense of smell than a dog, and better hearing than an owl. He knows where you are!)" The witch touched the wand to her throat, and thundered, "(Charlie!)"
Gabrielle turned around to find Corey looming over her. "(This is true?)" The dragon's unseeing eyes were a hazy, cloudy, purple, but focused on her. There is at least, came a second thought, definitely one imbecile here. "(Every day I did that for you! Why did you make me do that if you could find it yourself?)"
The dragon was making rhythmic hissing noises, which Gabrielle was having trouble hearing as anything but laughter. She attempted a Look, but that was dumb as Corey was blind. "(I am, eh, going to see about your roof now.)" That did not sound like the curt dismissal she had intended. She picked up her broom.
There was a wet crunching behind her, which meant dinner had started. She really disliked that sound. Gabrielle had not taken two steps, though, when she was hit from behind and swept from her feet. It was not the dragon's doing, nor the hippogriff's, but Charlie Weasley swooping in on a broom. That was something she realized once she was dropped on the other side of the boulders.
"All right there - have we met before? At that wedding, right?" asked Charlie.
"Oui, Gabby, she 'elped us meet, Charlie," said the witch. Gabrielle remembered her now, though the witch looked very different now. Taut, in a way, and, eh, weathered, in a less nice way. She tried to recall her name; she could not refer to her as 'the slag'.
"Eh, yes. It was my sister's wedding." Gabrielle wondered how Fleur would react to her wedding being referred to as merely 'that' wedding. "It is Gabrielle, please. Also, zat hurt, if you did not know."
"Less than being bitten," shrugged Charlie. "What did you think you were doing?"
"I, eh, took care of Corey in France. He needs his meals tied down and to have, eh, some help finding it," explained Gabrielle. Apparently completely unneeded. No need to explain about the apprenticeship.
"Corey? Hagrid was calling him Flamewraith," said Charlie.
Flamewraith? Even though he was a dragon, Gabrielle had never seen Corey breathe fire. Perhaps it could be his last name. Corey Flamewraith - no, Sir Corey Flamewraith! Sir Corey Flamewraith, First Dragon - no, First and Most Dread Dragon of Hogwarts. "Eh, where is Professor Hagrid? Zere is no roof for Corey, and it is cold." It was actually very cold, noticed Gabrielle, now that she was just standing around. The owlery would have been warm for the owls.
"Hagrid went looking for burn salve, and Hebridean Blacks are literally native to this area. They'll both be fine."
"I zink Corey will be cold, zhough. Southern France is warmer," argued Gabrielle. "Eh, you can put a warming charm on my cloak?"
"You spoil them like Yvette does," muttered Charlie, ignoring her request. He was looking at the boulders of the enclosure. "Won't take long for him to try climbing, though."
"(I will do it,)" offered Yvette. "(I must say I did not expect you to see you here.)"
"(Eh, things happen around Harry Potter. Everybody knows that,)" said Gabrielle cryptically.
"(I really want to thank you for getting us together.)"
"(Even though there are dragons?)"
"(Yes, the dragons make it exciting,)" smiled Yvette. "(Now, a warming charm is actually quite simple...)"
"(I know how to do a warming charm. I, eh, am just not allowed cast one right now,)" interrupted Gabrielle before she had worked out how to explain that without looking stupid.
Yvette tilted her head and looked askance. "(My charms get too hot,)" added Gabrielle. "(There was a fire, and the Headmistress, she, eh, over-reacted.)"
"(Really? When I was a first-year, my charms could barely -)"
"(I am in my third year!)"
"(You must be very advanced for your -)" Fortunately, a jet of flame flared over the enclosure walls before Yvette could finish, completely absorbing Gabrielle's attention.
"(Did you see that?)" asked Gabrielle excitedly. "(Corey never did that before!)" Maybe the miserable climate of his native range was more to his liking after all. He was certainly more active than he had ever been at the Pommejoues' shop.
"(A lucky thing for you.)"
"(I'm going to see,)" declared Gabrielle, climbing onto her broom.
"(You will be a cinder if you get too close,)" warned Yvette, who had some experience.
In her excitement to see the dragonfire, Gabrielle forgot why it was she had been previously flying so low. As soon as she was above the treetops, a sudden gust nearly debroomed her. She struggled back onto the broomstick, but had lost too much altitude, and landed, sort of, on the wall of the boulder enclosure. It was definitely not a crash because her feet had touched first before the rest of her. She had to admit, though, that it felt a bit like a crash. Could Madam Pomfrey just give her a jar of Bruise-Be-Gone and not make her stay?
Niffler claws, potentially sustainably harvested, were an amazing addition to boots. Gabrielle had no problem climbing the boulders to see over the top, where Corey was attempting to burn Charlie Weasley to death. George's brother did not appear to be bothered at all by this because Corey was not very accurate. Charlie would use his wand to make a little sound some distance from him, which Corey would target. The flames, admired Gabrielle, were amazingly hot and beautiful.
Niffler claws, unfortunately, however harvested, made a scratching sound on the hard rock before digging in. A very noticeable scratching sound, very less subtle than the ones Charlie was making with his wand. The dragon heard and turned its head towards Gabrielle. There was a glow from within Corey's throat, and Gabrielle ducked below the edge. The flames roared over her head, and the heat was quite nice given that it was still sleeting some.
Gabrielle enjoyed the sudden burst of warmth, she could see the steam as her cloak dried, but then it did become far too hot even for her. Mostly on the top of her head, which had been closest to the fire. Removing the now burning hat, with its weird round dome, solved that problem. She smacked it against the rocks to beat out the flames. That left nothing but the shouldering brim now, which somehow looked at her accusingly like it was one giant eye. That hat-witch was going to be so mad, thought Gabrielle. Below, Corey was now swinging his head from side to side, listening for a new sound.
"(Are you dead yet?)" shouted Yvette.
"(Eh, what? No!)" Gabrielle could see Corey lifting his head. "(To the right!)" she called.
Corey turned his head to his right, which was in the direction of Charlie. Gabrielle had meant her right. She was able to see the dragon breathe his fire from the very start. It was the most amazing sight. She wished there was a spell to conjure that!
Speaking of spells, Gabrielle discovered that she could neither move nor speak. She had been about to direct Corey to face the other way, but now had no way to help Charlie. While she tried to free herself from the spells, a small bird made from leaves and twigs landed in front of her, hopped onto her head, and started pecking. Loudly pecking. Corey turned and -
"Accio!" Did Yvette not know any other spells? That was Gabrielle's first thought, one that was held briefly as tumbling and bouncing down stacked boulders does not provide a lot of time for thought. The dragonfire engulfed her previous position. Probably. It was hard to tell as she fell.
"(Are you dead now?)" repeated Yvette once Gabrielle had reached the ground.
Gabrielle was not sure, but that meant that she was not, so she shook her head slightly, which hurt. Most things hurt.
"(Charlie does not like people fooling around when working with dragons. That is when people get hurt.)"