At lunch there was a good deal of talk about what happened to Leon Vlaud and what it could mean. Giselle saw that Boris was not present and that his father must still be in the Infirmary, as he was not at the faculty board.
But Mrs Dursley was. She sat between Sprout and Flitwick, glancing around with her incessant look of amazement. You couldn't really tell what she felt about her situation. Her demeanor was a mix of haughty superiority and flabbergasted confusion, but she did seem to be enjoying herself despite being like a fish out of water.
Giselle smiled at how Harry was ribbed by Fred and George, teasing him good-naturedly about his aunt sitting amongst the teachers. He was shrugging and shaking his head, still in disbelief, apparently.
Giselle was waiting for Ron to finish shoveling down his food. He had promised to show her to Charlie's room in time for a chat before the lunch hour ended. It was doubtful that Hermione would join them. She had her Herbology homework spread out around her plate and cup. Bea was sitting with her, the two of them chirping over the Bloodwort Bird-of-Hades plant that had pecked at them during first-period Herbology. Their sample leaves were fluttering around like bodiless wings.
Ron stood and waved to Giselle.
"Can I come along?" Deidre asked her. "I've never met a dragon tamer."
"Please do."
"Is Harry coming with you?" asked Cass with feigned indifference.
"Doesn't look like it. He's having a laugh with the Weasley Twins."
"Oh, well then..." Cass picked at her salad.
The three of them went out into the Hall and down the dungeon stairs, Ron going bouyantly ahead of the girls. He walked with a swagger. Giselle thought it very likely that he was hoping to impress Deidre, whose family was quite well-to-do.
He led the way down the transverse corridor and around to a narrow passageway lit by feeble sconces on the moldy stone walls. It was not a pleasant place. The smell was bad and the shadows seemed almost to have a life of their own, lurking like thieves in the empty niches and the ceiling arches. It reeked of dark intentions.
"Blimey," said Ron, gesturing at a sign on a scarred wooden door on their right.
DO NOT DISTURB
"Can't mean me," Ron said with a grunt, "I'm his brother."
When he knocked loudly on the door, getting a splinter in his knuckle, the sign spoke up:
"My apologies, but I was up very late last night working on a project, and will be sleeping most of the day. Come by this evening and I shall be happy to see you. Good day."
"Oh come on, Charlie," said Ron and pounded a fist on the door. But it made no sound whatsoever. He might as well have shaken his fist in the air.
"That's that, then," said Deidre, turning back with a hand on Ron's arm. "We can try again after sundown."
'After sundown.' The phrase haunted Giselle.
She stayed by the door as Ron and Deidre started back down the passage, talking about the upcoming tournament and what part Charlie was to play in it, if any.
Giselle, like virtually all Hufflepuffs, was a Sensitive. The door was like a heart to her, throbbing silently with emotions. She ran her fingers gingerly over the wood, sensing a terrible hurt.
It may have been that all the past occupants of the room had left imprints of themselves behind, and if so, most of them, if not all, had suffered misfortunes. It was as though this 'supply room,' as Snape called it, was a refuge, a place to come to for healing.
Giselle felt helpless to do anything but sympathize. She was sure that Charlie had something painful going on in his life. He had been quite carefree on his summer vacation at the Burrows, and to think that something very sad or terrible had happened to him over the past six weeks made Giselle want to cry.
But she mustn't give in to depressing speculations, she told herself. She would see him later. Hopefully she was overreacting. It might not be anything more than a bout of fatigue. After all, he had gone to Transylvania to investigate a type of dragon so incredibly violent that people preferred to think that it was only a myth. Charlie had overworked himself and needed a quiet place to rest. Yes, she thought desperately, yes, that was probably it.
She went down the passage until a familiar male voice spoke to her. Startled, she turned back and saw a tall figure in the shadows, vaguely outlined by the meager light.
"You are the neice of Professor McGonagall," he said in a friendly tone.
Giselle patted herself on the chest. "Sorry, but you surprised me. I can't think where I've heard your voice before."
He stepped closer. It was Sanquino. He was slightly transparent, but even so he seemed very much alive. Giselle caught her breath. She spoke with a stammer.
"I... I didn't... know that portraits could... could leave their paintings altogether."
He smiled proudly. "It is a rare thing, very unusual. But then..." He stared off into space. "I was an unusual wizard. Sanguino of Toledo." His face took on a melancholy air as he dwelled a moment on his past life. Then he shook himself resolutely and said, "Time is the handmaiden of life. Bodies decay to dust and ashes, but the soul continues forward. I beg your pardon for disturbing you, but I wanted to inform you that Charles Weasley is very fond of you."
Giselle's heart leaped. She breathed a laugh of joy. "Is he? Well, I'm glad. I'm fond of him too." Then a thought struck her. "Did you see him last night in the Hall? Was he the one you spoke to?"
Sanguino straightened his shoulders and stared down at her sternly. "I spoke to no one last night," he said so emphatically that Giselle did not dare ask him any more about it.
"Oh," she said, as if the subject was unimportant. "I have to go now. My fourth period class will be starting soon."
Sanguino bowed. "My respects. And do consider visiting Charles this evening."
Tonight was the Goblet of Fire ceremony that would reveal the identity of the Hogwarts champion. But seeing Charlie meant more to Giselle than ceremonies.
"Yes, I'll come see him. Thanks awfully for letting me know. Bye."
Sanguino was fading into the shadows. "Buenos dias," was a far-away echo.
Leon Vlaud, propped up by pillows, tossed a copy of The Potioneer onto the medicine tray and said angrily, "I don't want this splashed all over the Daily Prophet. And if word of this gets out among the student body, I shall remove Boris from Hogwarts and enroll him in Durmstrang."
He spoke to Madame Pomfrey but was glaring at Dumbledore.
"All this is strictly confidential," the nurse assured him. "You do not suffer from vampirism. You have a condition that is super sensitive to sunlight. It can be cured over time."
"Don't mock me, woman! This sensitivity to sunlight is the first stage of developing vampirism. Evidently I was bitten last night in my sleep by a vampire. You, Headmaster, have failed to provide adequate protection for your guests. Vampires roaming the castle! I shall speak to the school's Board of Governors about the shoddy way you run this place. I'll have you digging ditches for a living!"
Smiling, Dumbledore said to Boris, "I admire your dedication to your father, but your fourth period class awaits you."
The young man stood up from his bedside chair. He said to his father, "I will say goodbye for now."
"Good day, dear son."
Boris was already marching out of the room that was darkened by heavy drapes over the windows.
"Thank you, Poppy," Dumbledore said to the nurse. She nodded and went into her office carrying her patient's lab reports.
Dumbledore sat in the vacated chair. "It so happens, Leon, that there is an epidemic of your condition in Promethea. Are you familiar with the village?"
"That ramshackle little nothing of a town? I'm not in the habit of acquainting myself with bunches of hovels inhabited by riffraff."
"Be that as it may, the epidemic is thought to be caused by a vampiric creature that has apparently left its lair and gone somewhere else. According to an expert investigator of undomesticated magical creatures, it is not a dragon. It is a type of Roc. A giant reptilian-like bird that feeds on blood."
Leon scoffed. "Are you telling me I was bitten by a bird?"
"Oh, a Roc is much too large to come in through a window or doorway, even if it could encroach upon the school grounds undetected. No, the problem is this, Leon. The dragoneers who are in the forest preparing the first challenge in the Tri-Wizard Tournament have heard a strange call that they do not identify as draconic. It may be that the Roc is roosting in the Forbidden Forest. I have brought Charlie Weasley here to determine what sort of creature is making these strange noises. He is the expert I mentioned earlier."
"And how is this supposed to help ME, laid up in the Infirmary thanks to YOUR incompetence and negligence? You had better do better than that, Headmaster, if you value your position here."
Sixth period on Fridays was Advanced Flying Skills for Giselle and Bea. They had been practicing vertical spiralling on the east lawn not far from the Whomping Willow, which provided opportunities for flying amid moving obstacles. That was quite scary, and Bea had a bruise on her forehead to prove it.
The class broke up at 4, an hour before first-call for dinner. As Giselle and Bea were walking back to tbe castle they heard a long drawn-out wailing scream.
A school broomstick went zooming past them, with Mrs Dursley dangling from it by her hands, her feet dragging over the grass. They watched her flying straight for Hagrid's hut, certain that a disaster was about to happen.
But fortunately for Petunia, the Arithmancy teacher, Professor Vector, was just then coming around from behind the hut with a wicker cage in one hand. She at once drew her wand, flourishing it, and saying a canto that Giselle couldn't quite hear. The result was that Petunia Dursley ended up buried in a haystack. The broom, freed of its burden, glided over the hut and drifted off toward the Quidditch stadium.
"She's getting better," Bea quipped.
She took the Bloodwort Bird-of-Hades leaf from her robe pocket and said with exasperation, "This THING just won't behave itself. It keeps flapping and gnawing, but I daren't do a spell on it, it might wither. Sprout wants them back in good health, you know."
Giselle laughed. "I'm glad I opted for the dingleberry drying. Smelly, for sure, awfully smelly, but I don't have to carry them around in my pocket."
It was then that the big serrated leaf escaped from Bea and went flapping madly into the air.
"Gee, you're the Seeker! Go catch it for me!"
Giselle mounted her broom and rose slowly, gauging the erratic swervings of the leaf. Then off it went at a remarkable speed, as if it knew it was being chased.
Giselle followed a few meters behind it, rollicking to and fro, snatching at it whenever she got within reach of it. They were angling toward the Forbidden Forest.
'Uh-oh,' thought Giselle, 'I'd better catch it before it gets into the trees. I'll never find it if that happens.'
But it did.
She flew a short ways over the tree tops, gazing hopelessly down at the maze of light and shadow. It was no use. The Bloodwort leaf was gone forever.
Suddenly the upper branches of oaks some fifty meters away began to sway and shiver. A flock of scallywag birds erupted from the swaying canopy and flew off screeching in alarm. This had Giselle reversing her flight so that she went backwards, keeping her eyes on the disturbance.
There--! Was that the Bloodwort leaf swirling up into the air?
It certainly looked like it. Giselle soared up after it.
At a dizzying height above the forest she caught it, and, trembling slightly from her fear of great heights, swooped down until her feet brushed the tops of conifers that bordered the groundskeeper's yards.
She could see Bea cheering her. And Mrs Dursley being helped to the castle by Professor Vector.
Giselle had a bad feeling about the leaf as she landed on the lawn. It felt more like a feather than a leaf.
And she was right.
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