Chapter Thirty-nine - Going Home?

Gabrielle did not wake one morning and announce that she was back to health. Madam Pomfrey did that for her, informing her that she could return to the dorms and her duties. Gabrielle did not feel nearly as badly, but did not think being able to sit up most of the day was a sufficient sign. Perhaps, she thought, the healer was simply out of festive mint chutney. Admittedly, Gabrielle was not coughing as much or as, eh, productively as before. Returning to the dorm was not so bad; returning to her duties, though... What did that mean? It had better not mean being outdoors without proper clothing at all times. Or possibly not at all until early summer.

Of course, that was not possible, since there was Corey to visit. His enclosure was outside of the castle, forcing Gabrielle back to Black. She really needed a shopping trip, preferably in London. That would have been possible if she had been allowed to go to the Burrow for the holiday, but then Suki-chan would not have removed the Jinx and so she would not have bought new clothes anyway.

It was cold and damp outside, but the sun was out and there was no wind. The sun was not very high in the sky, which was different from France, and, of course, not as good. Gabrielle made her way to Professor Hagrid's cottage first. She knocked on the huge door, which was probably barely audible. Fang amplified her arrival with enthusiastic barking.

"Quiet doon, ya ruddy hound. And git out o' the way, will ye." The door opened, and Hagrid's head poked out. "Ah, Gigi, lass. Come in, come in. We were jes' - Fang!"

Fang had tired of the greeting, and squirmed his way past Hagrid's mass. Gabrielle expected it though, and had braced herself. Thanks to the new boots, her feet never budged. The rest of her, though, was bowled over and slobbered. Fang was massive for a dog, but he was, in fact, a dog. He would lick, sniff, and jump around her, then stop to run in a tight, excited circle. This let Gabrielle get to at least her hands and knees before Fang began a new attack.

"Fang! Enough o' tha' now." Hagrid grabbed Fang's collar and dragged him back. "Sorry, fer that. He likes company."

Gabrielle got to her feet and wiped her face. A more thorough cleaning would have to wait. She followed her professor inside, and found that Fang already had company. Charlie Weasley and Yvette shared a chair at the table. Gabrielle was glad to see Yvette, since she had not had a chance to give her the hidden dragon egg.

"Come set for a bit, lass. We were jes' talking about Flamewraith. Tea?"

"Eh, no zank you. Is zere coffee?" Gabrielle knew there was not. She sat in a chair that Hagrid had dragged over, and into which climbing was necessary. As soon as she was seated, Fang's head was in her lap, trapping her. Yvette visibly relaxed.

"Er, there's some kippers I can put inter your mug. I think tha's pretty close."

"No, it is not."

"Don't be stingy, man. She wouldn't say no to a hot chocolate," suggested Charlie.

Gabrielle would not, but, after seeing Hagrid pull out three pans of various sizes and stoke the wood stove, she might told him not to trouble himself. It looked like it would be a long visit.

v - v - v - v - v

Lord Voldemort had come to understand that the various hosts he had used each imparted a sort of residue, as it were, upon his thinking. They being so much less than he meant that these minor influences were ignored or suppressed, unless they could aid him in his subterfuge. He certainly would not trust a residue's judgement.

Which made the current circumstance unusual. The last wizard the world needed had not slain the goblin Blago, had stayed his wand, and tried to understand the value in the new situation.

"Where, Blago, are your fellow crafters?" asked Lord Voldemort as calmly as he could manage.

"They decided that they would not be needed much longer, and left," replied Blago. At the moment, he very much regretted trying to arrange transport for some of his samples and tools, eyeing the wand.

The Dark Lord had nearly sighed. As a wizard, someone thickly-built and working with mechanical implements implied peculiar hobbies or a lack of the intellect needed for magic. This reasoning might not have applied to goblins, crippled as they were by the lack of wands. Those who had fled had correctly read the situation. "And when they betray me?"

"They will keep the secrets. The contract they agreed to requires their silence," assured Blago.

"You seem confident. Or naive."

"This isn't a wizard contract where the meaning of every phrase can be argued. We meet our obligations and they will meet theirs," argued Blago. Only fools signed a contract written by a wizard, and only a fool of a wizard offered a contract a goblin would willingly sign. Business was hard. Metallurgy and alchemy only needed to pry secrets from silent ores.

"And what were 'our' are obligations?" There was no activity in the barn at all. Lord Voldemort suspected the answer.

"Payment of what was owed, and severance."

"Is this why there are less than the needed number of automatik?"

"Er, yes. I used some of the oreikhalk for the payments," admitted Blago, with a hard swallow.

"You lost more earlier. It is a singularly valuable metal. Why do you not treat it as such?"

"It does have a number of interesting and useful properties and is difficult to make, but overall there are several more inter-"

"One can make oreikhalk?"

"Uh, well, I mean, conceptually. Not with the equipment I have here."

"What is required?" There were ways through and locations from which the metal could be acquired, but they would not be small, clandestine operations. A new supply of the valuable metal, which was used as a second medium of exchange, could prove as destabilizing as the dance of debt.

Blago began to list the esoteric devices needed. If he was going to be killed, then at least he would go out in style.

v - v - v - v - v

"Hagrid, you aren't serious about wanting to do this, are you?" asked Charlie Weasley. "I thought you liked being at Hogwarts."

"Ye 'ave ter admit she's got a point, though. She took care o' him for a year, an' you saw how he is with her," argued Hagrid.

"Dragons don't socialize. They don't imprint. What they do do, Hagrid, is play with their food."

Charlie was right behind Fred on Gabrielle's list of least favorite future brothers-in-laws, and only because he mostly stayed in Romania. If Corey was to be Sir Corey Flamewraith, First and Most Dread Dragon of Hogwarts, then he certainly could not do that from a pit made from boulders. That was simply logical. He should be closer to the castle and more visible. She had been thinking of something more along of the owlery than the classroom the centaurs were using, but not having to endure the cold to tend Corey was good too. It just had not been her suggestion. Someone should be taking notes to, eh, note that.

"Corey does not play wizz his food. You need to tie it up," reminded Gabrielle.

"(He is saying the dragon would eat you,)" clarified Yvette. Gabrielle rolled her eyes.

"I think Flitwick and the Headmistress can make the windows work," said Hagrid.

"Windows? What in Merlin's name are you thinking?"

"It's like she said, no point ter havin' a dragon if you can't see it," said Hagrid. "An' being able ter see the students will keep Flamewraith happy."

"See the students? Hagrid, he's bloody blind."

"It was met'phoric and all, ye ken."

"(Can I speak with you in the back room?)" asked Gabrielle to Yvette. Hagrid agreed, in principle, to move Corey. Charlie could argue all he wanted, but he would probably need to leave soon. She did not want to miss her chance to be rid of the egg.

"(Is it about the ink on your face?)"

"(Eh, no. It is something else.)"

"(Okay, but, just so you know, I agree with Charlie.)"

"(It is not about that either. It is, eh, private.)" Gabrielle stood, hoping to convince Yvette that she had already agreed.

Gabrielle was about to open the door to the work area, but paused. "Eh, is zere anyzing dead in zere?" she asked.

''O' course not. All cleaned up," assured Hagrid.

That, thought Gabrielle, could probably have been phrased better, since it invited questions. The room did not smell funny when she opened the door, though.

"(What did you want to say?)" asked Yvette. She looked around the room curiously. The participants entering the Arena of Love needed both assorted comfortable pillows and odd wood-and-leather frames at times.

"(Eh, actually I wanted to give you something.)" Gabrielle rummaged through her handbag for the egg while Yvette examined peculiar, padded metal funnels. Gabrielle noticed that the Sisters had gotten out again.

"(Do you know what these are for?)"

"(Those, eh, help with the difference in sizes.)" It was not much of an explanation, but the full one was embarrassing. Gabrielle eased the egg out of her handbag. The cloth she had used to hold the mint leaves around the egg had mostly stayed in place. "(This is for you.)"

Yvette turned and gasped. "(-That- is a dragon's egg. How did you get that?)"

"(It, eh, was sent to me by, eh, mistake.)" That was probably a lie, but a harmless one.

"(It will never hatch like that.)"

"(Yes, I, eh, know,)" replied Gabrielle. That had been the entire point. Yvette had managed to sound disappointed. "(You and Charlie should take it to Romania or, eh, wherever dragons are needed.)"

"(You don't want it for Hogwarts?)"

"(Eh, we already have a dragon?)" Gabrielle was a little confused as they had just been discussing Corey only moments ago.

"(Dragons don't live forever.)"

Thank Merlin, came a second thought that Gabrielle did not blurt out. "(Then the school can, eh, find another then. Also, if Professor Hagrid can have two, then he will want ten.)" She wondered if she should have not said the last part out loud. "(It is a present.)" No one would be rude enough to refuse a present, yes?

Another gasp. "(How did you know? Who told you?)"

"(Eh, what?)"

v - v - v - v - v

"And zen, when ze students return in ze fall, you can breaze ze fire over where zey land. It will be trés exciting and dramatique, yes? You will be ze one to protect Hogwarts." Gabrielle knew the dragon was probably not understanding even half of what she was saying, but he was definitely settling down. She was certain that she was correct; Corey was bored and his role as First and Most Dread Dragon near the students would fix that.

There was going to be some time needed for the transition, of course. Corey would need to get used to the students, including the first-years. Hagrid would definitely agree to use his classes for that, or she could get the Diggers to find volunteers. How long would his room in the castle take to get ready? There was magic in the world, but there was also the Headmistress. Hagrid took it for granted that she would agree, eventually. Gabrielle was less certain that she would, and was more concerned that Hagrid received all the, eh, credit for the idea.

Corey circled his enclosure and, even though she had finished speaking, made a bee-line directly for her. It was true that he had never needed her help to find his meals. Gabrielle did not mind much, because it was further proof that she was right and that Corey would view the students as entertainment and not entrees.

Gabrielle patted the dragon's head, wondering if he could even feel it through his thick scales. She could hear Hagrid's sigh. Gabrielle felt that he and Corey had just had a bad start, and once the dragon had gotten to know him over the course of a year they would get along fine. She had reminded her Professor that she had been the only one to bring his meals for the longest time, and had played the Find the Food game.

Looking along his mangled wing, Gabrielle wondered if Madam Pomfrey would be able to do anything about it. She was, Gabrielle knew from experience, well-versed in the practice of removing and regrowing bones. Corey was not ever going to be able to fly again, since he was blind, but he would be better off. That he would be was probably not enough to convince the healer to help, though

Corey shifted his head, knocking Gabrielle off her feet. Charlie Weasley could probably help Pomfrey with the treatment, but he was acting all annoyed. Gabrielle could not tell if it was because of the egg, Yvette's reaction to the egg, or that he just did not like her - 'bloody seers'. How much potion would be needed for a dragon?

Gabrielle got back up. Thinking of Yvette, logically thinking, there were only three possible reasons for the reaction to the, eh, gift. The first was that she and Charlie were going to get married. The second was that they were going to announce that they were already married. The third possibility was they had skipped all that and gone right to having children. Yvette showed no signs of being pregnant, though, so that really meant there were two possibilities. Gabrielle hoped it was the first since, remembering Verity, it might be a Pattern of Behavior that she did not want George to follow. She wanted a proper wedding, with gowns and dancing and everything.

Her thoughts of a pure white gown with sparkly bits and without a trace of black were interrupted by Corey, who was slowly pushing her backwards with his scaly head. The boots Gabrielle wore were leaving gouges in the packed dirt of the enclosure as the tiny claws tried to oppose the dragon. "Excusez moi, but, eh, why are you doing zis?"

Corey did not answer because he was a dragon. He did not stop either, which left it to Gabrielle to work what he was up to. Which was going to be difficult as there was nothing in the enclosure except him and the boulder walls. She did notice that she was being pushed toward the walls, but it was not like there were other choices for a destination. Did he want her to leave? Or did he want to crush her against the rocks? If that was the case, she would never hear the end of it from Charlie.

The crushing did seem to be the likely conclusion. The dragon had kept up the pressure until the wall was right behind Gabrielle. She was at the point of asking for help when Corey did the unexpected, which was to jump. He jumped, but not claws first onto her. Instead Corey jumped forward slightly and twisted, flopping his damaged wing onto the wall and over her. This lead to the general conclusion that she was dead by the onlookers.

"I am fine," declared Gabrielle loudly. A second thought wondered if that was strictly true. Corey, being blind, might have simply missed. He was still now, but that might be because he was listening for any movement by her.

Or, Gabrielle began to suspect, it may be due to him wanting the patch of red, eh, fungus, possibly, under the damaged wing to be attended to. It was not as if Corey could ask. A second thought did feel that he could have put some effort into trying though. "Scourgify! Scourgify!"

The spell had little effect on the fungus, or whatever. There was not enough space for a good run-up, yes, but it was a spell an apprentice had to know well. The magic should have done more than make the scales shiny. "Eh, zere is some sort of red fungus on his scales."

"Wot she say?" asked Hagrid.

"She said she regrets her decisions and needs rescue," replied Charlie.

"Thought she said somethin' about havin' some fun,"

"(Is it smooth and bumpy or is it feathery?)" called Yvette.

"(It is feathery.)"

"Zere eez scale rot," diagnosed Yvette quietly.

"Scale rot? Does the spoiled lump not know how to clean- Oh, right. He can't reach that part of his bum wing," realized Charlie.

"Scale rot. Merlin," repeated Hagrid hoarsely. He was in shock.

"Sorry for your loss, big man."

"(It is not coming off,)" said Gabrielle, half to Yvette and half to Corey. If there was nothing that she could do then she would like not to be pinned against the boulder wall, please.

"(You need dragon-fire to burn it away,)" advised Yvette.

Well, thought Gabrielle, that was easy. There was a dragon right here. Corey just needed to lift his wing and... oh.

v - v - v - v - v

Gabrielle always thought that there were two qualities needed if one was to be a dragon-keeper. The first was that one had to like dragons, and the most obvious second one was that one had to have lost their senses. Charlie seemed to get by with only the second. He was not very helpful when it came to Corey's treatment, only insisting that she was the one who was insane. Yvette, who Gabrielle was sure loved dragon-keepers more than dragons, at least described the horrible effects of the disease. From, obviously, behind Charlie.

"Corey, zis is Professor Hagrid. I zink you met him before," chattered Gabrielle. She stood in front of Hagrid, which more normal to say than he hid behind her. "He will be getting you a new home at ze castle, wizz windows and, eh, everyzing. For now, zough, he will help wizz your wing."

Corey did not reply, of course, but he did not breathe fire or bite. Calmly speaking to creatures usually worked for Gabrielle. She had yet to be eaten. Nibbled on, yes, but not eaten.

"I will, eh, burn ze fungus, or somezing, on your wing, so you should roll onto your back. Ze Professor, he will hold up ze hurt wing since it, eh, does not move well," explained Gabrielle. "You are ready?"

The dragon was not ready, or perhaps had not followed any of the plan described. Which made sense. Gabrielle repeated the plan in French, in case that helped. It, eh, did not. She did not expect Corey to understand every word, but she did expect him to get the general gist of it. Somehow. Which, a second thought pointed out, was a rather stupid thing to expect.

"Don't think I've ever seen a dragon on its back before," commented Charlie. "At least, not a live one."

"I am sure Corey can do it," insisted Gabrielle.

"Why?"

"Because, eh, because he is not like ozzer dragons!"

"Really."

"Yes! I zink he does not know ze word roll, zhough," suggested Gabrielle. "You, eh, will need to show him."

"I need to bloody what?" asked Charlie reasonably, all things considered. "Are you seriously forgetting that the beast can't see?"

"No." It was not a lie because it was so blatant. Gabrielle sighed. The problem was that Corey was so large. Gabrielle went to stand in front of the dragon's head. "(Please, you need to fold your wing and turn over.)"

The instructions may as well have been the directions to Paris. Gabrielle found this frustrating, as Corey had made the effort to show her the problem. "(If it is not treated, your wing will fall off and you will die. You can not be the First and Most Dread Dragon if your wing falls off.)" The dragon at least raised his head, narrowing his unseeing eyes at her. "Roll over!" she ordered, jumping to grab one of his horns to try and twist his head in the right direction.

"Oh Merlin, what an idiot," groaned Charlie as Gabrielle dangled.

"Careful now, Gigi," urged Hagrid.

"That might not be in her vocabulary."

Gabrielle was beginning to have seconds thoughts, which always arrived too late to point out the obvious problem. Professor Hagrid should be the one doing this, she now realized, since she was too light. She continued to flail, jerking the horn as best she could. Gabrielle was becoming slightly angry that the others were not doing much to help. Would they really just let him die?

Corey lowered his head and began to twist his head and neck. "Yes! Like zat!" encouraged Gabrielle. "Use your tail too!" With her feet on the ground Gabrielle let go of the horn and moved to the dragon's side, "Charlie, help me push." She repeated her request with a wave of her hand, because he had red hair.

In the end, it took Charlie and Yvette pushing and Hagrid pulling to slowly get the dragon onto his back. Even then, Gabrielle suspected that his spiked tail shifting his weight had done most of the work. Corey clearly liked being the center of attention.

While Hagrid held the wing at its unnatural angle, Gabrielle set to work with her hottest flames. If they could melt a hole in Professor Slughorn's table, accidentally melt, they should be able to burn up some fungus. She tried not to think of the Headmistress and her restrictions.

With better light than there was when Gabrielle was under the wing, she could see the affected area was much larger. When she could see; the magical flame was so bright. The spell was exhausting as well, and several cake breaks were needed. Interestingly, dragons, or at least this dragon, liked cake, especially the lighter cakes with whipped cream filling. Gabrielle had thought the denser, chocolate slices would be his preference. Her remaining store of cake was quickly consumed, though.

Eventually, everyone agreed that all trace of the rot was gone. That should have been cause for celebration, or at least relief. Except, Charlie pointed out two scales that were darker, and duller. "These are dead," he pronounced. "They will fall off in a few weeks or so."

"Will zey grow back?" Gabrielle heard that was something fingernails could do, if one was a muggle and could not use magic.

"No."

"Is zat, eh, bad?" The question was more of a hope.

"Dragons can lose a few scales and get by, but the only thing that kills scale rot is fire, and what protects dragons from fire is their scales," explained Charlie.

"Well Gigi's done a fine job o' getting rid o' the rot," praised Hagrid. -Professor- Hagrid, noted Gabrielle to herself, someone who could get her extra credit that she could hopefully transfer.

"The red is the fruiting bodies. Couldn't tell you if they released spores already or not," continued Charlie. "He might have picked up the rot in the Ministry holding pen, in transit, or it might have been here all along."

"Zen we will move him to ze castle tomorrow," declared Gabrielle. "Corey can breaze all over ze room to clean it first."

"Er, not sure tha' can be arranged," said Hagrid uneasily.

"Ze house-elves can help. Zis is for Hogwarts."

"Th' Headmistress -"

"Ze Headmistress will agree because zis will make Hogwarts better zan B-, eh, ozzer schools. I am sure of zis. Eh, zat is, probably."

v - v - v - v - v

Blago kept his head down and tried to focus on his work. He had not yet received the equipment he had requested, though, honestly, some of those were the sort that would draw attention. Instead, he was puzzling over a muggle journal, which was describing a method for laying down extremely thin layers of materials to create new crystals. It was difficult to follow since almost every other word was new to him. Ion seemed like something important to learn, except it was associated with "electric" fields. The fields near the barn looked the ordinary sort to him, but then he was not a farmer. How could he tell if they were "electric"?

The other reason Blago had to keep his head down was that the Halfling, the Unishtozhitek, was showing a young witch around the barn. Blago could not fathom it. Smash the magiarchy one day, try to rekindle a clan war via theft the next, then finish the week by exposing the entire operation to get into a witch's robes. Madness. She did not even look like she had a drop of goblin blood in her. What were the wavy arrows in this diagram supposed to mean?

"The entire master-servant dynamic around keeping house-elves just doesn't feel modern. Don't you think, Mittsy?" asked the Dark Lord.

"It can be creepy, Craigy, no doubt," nodded the girl. She looked curiously at the shining statues.

"Exactly. I feel it brings out the baser instincts, what with the house-elf penchant for self-harm and all. Encourages the wrong sort."

"I wouldn't say that's universal," argued Mittsy. Her family had a house-elf, which mostly did the cleaning when no one was around.

"But common enough. We've all seen the type who hit and kick their house-elves in public. Wizarding kind should be better."

Wizarding kind, thought Blago, only shows its true nature when dealing with non-wizards.

"I don't see my Mum doing the dusting herself."

"Exactly what my work here is for. These are what I call automata, and they will eventually provide the labor for the drudgery in one's life," said the Dark Lord proudly, gesturing toward the statues.

"Well done and all, Craigy, but why goblins?"

"These are mere prototypes, so just the cheapest mold. I tried something different on the last one. What do you think of that?"

"Well, the one that looks like a wizard would be a bit less controversial than pretending to have a goblin as a servant," replied Mittsy. "It doesn't look the sort to be doing the drudgery, mind."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. It's in the eyes. Makes me think it would have you doing the work, given a chance. You know who was the model?"

"It's a Riddle. I found the original in a muggle art shop."

"What are they holding?" asked Mittsy, pointing to the goblin-like statues. This was like that old joke about seeing etchings, which would be a bit of all right, but there was a goblin here too.

"That was meant to be a universal accessory attachment point. l, er, did say they were prototypes."

"They have hands, though."

"Right. Prototype."

"They could just hold things."

"I know that! But then you couldn't sell accessory attachments."

"Oh. Brilliant!" gushed Mittsy. "Why's the wizard got such a small one?"

Blago slapped his hand over his mouth to stop the laugh. It occurred to him that he should make some excuse to leave, before things got even more awkward. Except, the barn was in the middle of nowhere, and he did not fancy an hour's walk to the pub in this weather, nor the effort for the glamour.

"Never mind that for now. I've shown that these move and can do basic tasks, but I need your help for the more sophisticated control spell."

"My help? Why?"

"You're perfect." Lord Voldemort paused for the dramatic effect. "For, for the spell!"

"Am I?" asked Mittsy coyly.

"I mean, you're perfect in other ways too. Lots of ways! You're clever, you're talented, you're..." The Dark Lord turned away, playing the shy school boy. "You're beautiful."

Blago slid beneath the table from his chair. If the floor was rock he could just slip away. A dirt floor was enough to silently excavate. This was as embarrassing as his own attempt at romance at the institute. And it was good practice for his shallow grave when this all went pear-shaped.

"Aw, Craigy, of course I'll help! As much as I can," said Mittsy. "I mean, I've fancied you since the Halloween Ball, when you took on that troll alone. So amazing."

Blago, sinking as surreptitiously as possible beneath the soil, watched as the witch started to learn the spell. It seemed to involve the pair getting closer and closer. When he was finally ready to seal himself away, the two had given up practicing the incantation because their mouths were busy. He wondered how long he should give them - he would have reasonable air for an hour.

v - v - v - v - v

Greater risk begets greater magic. That was something that Lord Voldemort knew well, and this might be the greatest risk yet. It was not so much the transition itself; he had accomplished that several times already. It was the method he intended to use in this instance that was a step into the unknown. Of course, it was not exactly an unknown to him...

Risk comes in many forms, and adding garden-variety risk does not increase the possibility of greater magic. A spell cast while hopping up and down on one foot atop a ladder will not be more powerful. So preparation and planning, even for the unknown, is essential. The Dark Lord cast a series of wards in a tight sphere around the now headless wizard statue. They were intended to keep out the stray, the curious, and, most importantly, the meddling. The besotted witch practiced the incantation, which she believed would make sure further magical energy would not escape and was the key to 'their' success.

"Are you ready, Mittsy?"

"I think I've got it, yeah."

"Perfect," grinned the Dark Lord. A recalling of the early compliments. He reached inside the automatik and held the Elder Wand in place. "Let's start."

"Foris Templum Incunabli," cast Mittsy with a sweep of her wand.

A bright cone appeared over the headless statue, engulfing the Dark Lord. It wavered some and he could see there was little time. This was the moment of greatness. "Avada Kedavra."

The point of the meticulous design and layering of the skin of the automatik was to contain and reflect magic. The spell, aimed not from the tip of the wand but to the side and within the cavity, was contained and reflected upwards. The Dark Lord felt the impact, the soul-tearing pain, and the vessel he had used dropped away. Whether the other was still within the shed husk, or had been the one to scream, was of no concern. Lord Voldemort felt himself reeling, struggling to keep himself whole, but he was able to focus enough to use the wand and replace the metal head. That improved his situation greatly, except that now he could hear the witch's shouts. He could also see her patting the half-goblin's face, though his sight was somewhat hazy right now.

Blago also heard the scream, and made the mistake of uncovering his retreat to cautiously poke his head out. The kneeling witch spotted him.

"Help me!" shouted Mittsy. "Ennervate! Ennervate! He won't wake up!"

"What happened?" There were no burns, which was the only injury Blago knew how to treat.

"I don't know!" wailed Mittsy. "He was doing something inside of the statue and then collapsed."

"I don't think he's breathing."

"Do something!"

"Like what?" Wizards, Blago tried to recall, had two hearts or something, right?

"We need to get him to Saint Mungo's, right now."

"Saint Mongoose?"

"Mungo's, the wizard hospital!"

"Oh. That's south of here, right?"

"It's in London! How can you not know that you stupid - er."

"Goblin."

"Sorry. Can you apparate with him?"

"No, not as such. Do you have a map of London?" Blago thought he could get to London, but doubted he could find a magically hidden hospital without help. He put off thoughts on how a goblin might reasonably show up with a dead wizard over his shoulder.

"No."

Mittsy was beginning to cry, which Blago found more horrifying than the probably dead wizard. "Er, how did you get here?"

"We took the Knight Bus to the last junction and walked the rest. Craigy said this place was Unplottable," sniffed Mittsy.

"Can't you take him that same way?" asked Blago.

"I can't carry him that far."

"You have a wand though?"

"I'm still under-age. I could only use it here because of the wards."

"Not even in an emergency?"

"Oh, right! This -is- an emergency, isn't it?"

"Not at this point, really," sighed Blago. Showing up at a hospital with a dead body would not be unheard of. It would, obviously, invite questions. Getting onto a bus from the side of the road in the middle of nowhere with a dead body would invite aurors. Blago knew he should have left with the others. "He's practically room temperature."

"So what? I just leave him here?"

"And say nothing about this place. At least for a few weeks." Long enough to clear out his equipment.

"Why?"

"Because if you're going to lead other wizards here then I want to be well out of it first."

"This feels wrong."

"That's wizards for you," shrugged Blago. "I'll bury him and his work together, deep enough that the Ministry will probably give up looking. No one has to know."

"The Mistress of the Mirk knows. She predicted this," said Mittsy, half to herself. "I should have had a second cup of tea."

"As long as she doesn't predict my name," said Blago. "Goodbye, and don't tell anyone for at least three weeks, right?"

Blago ended up accompanying the witch to the junction, which was only a small lane leading off of the slightly larger lane they walked along. It seemed the only way to get her to leave. He would be flabbergasted if wizards were not here within the hour. That still gave him enough time to bury everything, though. He could tunnel to his equipment later, or maybe have that Oggie and Max do it. That is, if he could find Tieka to find them.

Returning to the barn, Blago immediately set to work drawing an octagon in the dirt of the floor, hoping he could recall the runes for a clean excavation correctly. He supposed that was not as important as speed, though he himself stopped. The wizard-shaped automatik was not where it had stood before. And now that he looked at it, he wondered who had put the head back on. There was no time for the distraction.

The metallic buzzing was harder to ignore, though. The pitch rose and fell several times, and it was coming from the automatik. That one, Blago resolved, would be buried deepest.

"You already have a task, goblin." The voice was odd and unfamiliar, which was not surprising since it came from automatik. "Get back to it."

Blago stared first at the dead wizard, then the metal one. He could draw an obvious conclusion, but it was so outlandish that it was not worth the thought. "Hiding all this is my task," he gestured.

"The secret is safe; there will be no aurors."

"How can you know that?" How could it know anything? How could it say anything? Blago regretted everything that led him here; even a half-goblin had too much wizard in him.

"I know where she lives." And with that, what was formerly a crudely animated statue magically disappeared with a quick turn and a pop.

Blago sat back and looked at the near three dozen automatik around him. There was no way this was going to end well.

v - v - v - v - v

Harry Potter heard the knock at the door, and looked at the Foe Glass on the shelf. The milling shadows were no more distinct than usual. There was not much use for it here at the Burrow, though. That there were always so many of them made him wonder whether it was a bit too sensitive. Was it just picking up the supporters of other quidditch teams?

The Glass had been a gift from his godfather, Moony. His one-time professor was furtively researching horcruxes. That was not the sort of thing one could ask about at a library, so progress was slow. And, of course, interrupted monthly.

Harry opened the door, revealing Hermione. That was not much of a surprise, as the number of people who should be able to find the Burrow was low. "Hello, Harry. May I come in?" asked the witch.

"Of course," replied Harry, although Hermione was already through the door. That usually meant that she had news. "Is Ron coming?"

"No, he's still at Saint Mungo's. The Snargaluff on its own would have been difficult enough to deal with alone, but the 'rogue stump' turned out to have an Erkling living under it too," explained Hermione. "Of course, it would have helped if Ron had properly identified the plant first."

"I thought he had only a few scrapes? It's what he told me."

"He had several deep bites on his legs, and his hand was cut to the bone because he ripped one of the tentacles off with it. So, nothing too bad. I think the staff is just waiting to see if the Erkling bites get infected with something interesting."

"What? Really?"

"Well, the creatures aren't native to this area."

"And he's all right with that?"

"He's getting five meals a day," shrugged Hermione. "Is Ginny here?"

"Er, yes. She's, er..."

"You needn't be so sheepish about it, Harry. I know what you two get up to."

"You do?"

"Everyone does, whether they wish to admit it or not."

Harry wondered if that was true. They did use privacy wards and spells, and they had practiced them. Living at the Burrow was the safest option, though, for now.

"Anyway, I'm not here to judge. You recall how Gigi always wore black?"

"Erm, yes. For her brand, right?"

"That's just something Ginny came up with. Gigi didn't have much choice in the matter. She had accidentally given herself a nasty jinx, and could not get rid of it," explained Hermione.

"And I'm supposed to somehow help?" asked Harry. There were a load of people who thought his presence would make things better by - well, of course, by magic.

"No, that Japanese transfer student, Miss Shimagina, has managed it. She used a very complicated extraction spell of some sort, apparently prescribed for Gigi by her father."

"I see," said Harry slowly. He could see where she was going with an extraction spell, but his problem was not a jinx.

"It was an unusual case for her. Her special talent is treating people afflicted with youkai. Those are a sort of semi-incorporeal parasite endemic in Japan, which, if I understood correctly, can infect a person's 'soul'. It's rare, but no so much that she doesn't help out on one or two cases a month," continued Hermione.

"And you think she can help me."

"I think her father might be able to come up with a treatment, if he could examine you. He's in London at the moment."

"Is he? Why?"

"He's apparently been trying to litigate the Weasley twins."