(4) Here There Be Dragons

"May I have the feather, Gee?"

Giselle was reluctant to give it over to Bea, but could think of no excuse not to. It was a feeling she had, an instinct, that she should keep it and show it to her Aunt Minerva. But that seemed trite, and Bea was so eager to have it.

"Just think, Gee, maybe the leaf turned into a bird's feather! It has the same green and yellow colors as the leaf, with a spot of red, too. Professor Sprout will want to know what became of my leaf specimen, and I can't just say it flew away."

Giselle shrugged. "Okay then. Here. I'm off to our room to get ready for my visit with Charlie."

Bea brushed the feather across her cheek and sniffed it, while saying, "Aren't you eating with us? The ceremony's tonight at dinner, you know."

"Just a quick bite," Giselle said and hurried off to the great doors.

The entrance to the Hufflepuff Common Room was a short ways past the kitchen, in a broad nook on the right-hand side of the basement corridor. Here there were four rows of stacked barrels.

Giselle stood before the second row and tapped the third barrel from the bottom. Five taps in rhythm with the name Helga Hufflepuff. The barrels swung open, revealing a gentle upward slope of green carpet that led into a low-ceilinged room designed to resemble a badger hole, but much nicer, of course.

The Common Room's colors were shades of yellow and brown, with black trim along the round windows, through which the front lawns of the castle could be seen.

There were potted plants everywhere, mostly of the magical sort. The furniture was Old World Provincial, stately but cozy. Above the fireplace was a portrait of Helga, its frame of carven badgers. At either end of the room were steps leading up to a round walnut door with the knob in the center. Giselle went through the one that had a picture of a badger wearing a bonnet.

She went directly to her wardrobe closet. What should she wear? Something chic but casual. She decided on the bohemian look. On her patchquilt comforter she laid out her choice: embroidered blue jeans that ended at the knee; knee-length white stockings with pale blue and yellow bands; laced ankle-high doeskin shoes; and a ruffled short-sleeve pull-over blouse of a turquoise green with an ivy design.

She would have to wear her scholar's robe over it, but she could take off the robe after a quick dinner and carry it folded over her arm when she went down to visit Charlie.

That settled, she grabbed her soap and shampoo and went into the shower room.

Inside the stall she waited impatiently for the dark cloud to form above her head.

"Come now, hurry it up!"

There came a rumble of thunder, and then a cloud-burst of warm rain that poured over her.

"Ahhh..."

The first thing Giselle noticed when she entered the Great Hall was that the Goblet, and its rosewood pedestal, had been removed from the Entrance Hall and set up in the open space in front of the faculty board.

The second thing she noticed, as she walked to the Hufflepuff table, was that Mrs Dursley was wearing a white robe with a necklace of stones made from tree resins. This meant, astonishingly, that Harry's muggle aunt was now an honorary member of the faculty!

Giselle looked over at the Gryffindor table, and, well, of course, Fred and George were merciless in their teasing of Harry. Even Ron was poking Harry in the ribs. But Hermione was taking this very seriously, her chin on her hand, staring with furrowed brow at Petunia Dursley. The woman sat there like a newly crowned queen, and yet her expression still harbored a certain conflict of interest.

And, according to Cedric, who had heard it from Cho, who had heard it from Luna, who had heard it from Hermione, Mrs Dursley had yet to say a single word to Harry or to look at him for more than half a second. She seemed pleased enough to be at Hogwarts despite the frights she kept bumping into, but wanted nothing to do with Harry.

The result was that none of the students cared for her. They eyed her curiously and joked behind her back, making no attempt to befriend her. And she didn't seem to care for them, either. To her they were fascinating oddities.

Yet there was something about Mrs Dursley that Giselle sensed strongly.

Mrs Dursley was looking for something. Yes, but what? Giselle didn't know. She knew only that Harry's aunt would not voluntarily leave Hogwarts until she found what she had come here to find.

The food dishes appeared on the tables, and at once the air was filled with exclamations and noisy chatter. The Headmaster was talking with Auntie in a manner that told Giselle that no pre-dinner announcement would be made. Everyone knew what was coming after dessert.

Giselle declined most of the dishes that Bea and her other friends offered her. They were hungry and excited, but she just wanted to put a little something in her stomach and head for the dungeon. She had asked permission of Auntie at break before sixth period, and received it with some reservations.

"If Charlie doesn't come up before desserts, then you may be excused. But you'll be missing an historic event. You might regret it later."

When the dessert dishes came, and no Charlie, Giselle looked up at the faculty board. Her Auntie nodded to her. Not a minute later Giselle was turning the corner to the damp dark passageway, her robe draped over her arm and her eyes big with anticipation and worry.

There was no sign on the scarred wooden door. But when she knocked there was no answer. Breathless, she knocked again. And again.

Was Charlie unable to answer? Was he dreadfully ill? Was he in danger?

Giselle recalled what Auntie had taught her last summer at Merlin's Fair.

"If you come to a door that has been magicked to remain shut and can not be opened by any counter spell, transfigure the door to a clear glass, so you can see what is beyond it. If you decide to go in, transfigure the glass into a vapor. It will keep its door shape. It remains shut. But now you can walk through it. Be sure to hold your wand at the ready, just in case."

The door had a thumb-latch. Giselle depressed the latch, but the door would not open. After knocking several more times, she flourished her wand, intoning, "Alohamora."

The door remained securely locked.

Okay then, she thought. She paused to remember the spell particulars that would transfigure the wood of the door to glass.

Her first attempt was partially successful. The door was cloudy, but she could see the room beyond: a somewhat small chamber with shelves all along the walls filled with jars. At the back was a stairwell going down, with shelves on the wall above it, and more jars.

There was nobody in the room, apparently.

Taking a deep breath, Giselle made a slow-motion flourish and whispered the canto through pursed lips.

It worked perfectly. The door was now made of mist. After a moment of hesitation she stepped through the cold vapor with eyes closed.

When she opened her eyes she felt a twinge of fear. The jars contained indescribable things, so much more unnerving than anything she had seen in the Potions classroom.

Steeling herself, she called out, "Charlie? It's me, Giselle."

The only thing she heard in reply was the pounding of her heart.

'He must be downstairs,' she thought. But why didn't he answer her? She was filled with a tremulous mix of grave concern and a nagging fear, the contents of her curiosity.

It would be prudent to first cast a discernment spell. (Hufflepuffs are nothing if not prudent.)

Charms was not Giselle's best subject, so she decided on a simple discernment spell she had learned in her second year. When she cast it a vague golden circle appeared with a female face in the middle, one of the Greek Fates.

"Be careful," it said as it began to fade away, "and don't be too nosey."

That sounded all right, but Giselle was disheartened that no mention was made of Charlie.

Very carefully indeed she went down the stairwell. It turned left and descended a few steps to a chamber twice the size of the upper one.

It was a combination bedroom and workroom. The bed was unmade. Clothes hung over a chair back. Water dripped from a sink in the corner. A long central table was cluttered with books and scrolls, small cauldrons, jars and pots and boxes, ink bottles and quills, and the sort of paraphernalia Giselle associated with necromancy.

Above a hearth was what Giselle at first thought was a mirror. But then she realized it was a painting of the room.

There were candlelabras spaced about on various surfaces, their flames tall and still like sentries, shedding a faintly foggy light.

No Charlie.

But there was a doorway in the far wall that revealed an earthen passage, like a tunnel. Giselle went over to it. It gave forth a lively scent and a draft from the grounds beyond. The tunnel was quite dark. She couldn't see the end of it.

On a stool near the doorway was a cage made of wicker. Inside was the strangest bird Giselle had ever seen. It looked like a miniature dragon, but with feathered wings and long, curling tail feathers.

'The Bloodwort,' she thought, bending down to peer closely at the silent, unmoving creature... but reminding herself not to be too nosey.

The feathers were of the same colors, and length, as the one she had caught and given to Bea.

She looked over her shoulder instinctively and saw Sanguino enter the painting from the leftside frame, his back to her. He was searching for something on the central table.

Now a familiar noise sounded in the upper chamber that sent a volt of unreasonable fear through Giselle.

Klunk... klunk... klunk...

She couldn't say why, but she did not want Professor Moody to see her.

Lighting her wand, she shone it down the length of straight tunnel as she stepped quickly along its uneven dirt floor. Shortly it angled right. She extinguished her wand when she was out of sight of the doorway, and listened.

KLUNK... KLUNK...

The lower chamber. She went cautiously along with her wand-light as dim as possible until she came to a stone bridge over an underground stream. Here she paused to listen again.

Thunk... thunk....

In the tunnel, coming this way! She ran across the bridge, telling herself, 'Be careful! Be careful!' But in her recklessness she bumped into tree roots and protruding clods of worm-infested earth. Somewhere along the way she lost her robe

This stretch of tunnel seemed to go on forever, but in reality it took her only a couple minutes to reach its end: an open door made of tree bark.

She didn't hesitate to go out into the misty night, into a stand of massive, twisted oaks that shone black and silver in the ghostly moonlight. She pressed her back against a tree trunk and gripped her wand in both hands, tightly to her heaving breast.

She heard the groaning of hinges.

The thumping footsteps quieted.

Was he sneaking up on her?

A gruff cough. No, he was by the tunnel door.

There was another noise now, a crunching sound coming from the ground a ways ahead of Giselle; the sound of fallen leaves and twigs being trodden underfoot. Someone was heading in her direction. She held her breath, her ears ringing with the pulse of her blood.

In a clearing several meters away a man appeared. It was certainly not Charlie. This man was crouching and had a ratty manner, sniffing and fingering his chin, his beady eyes darting about nervously. Suddenly he looked back at the dark woods from whence he had come, and now he was positively shaking in fear.

Giselle heard Moody's gruff voice.

"Don't take chances!"

The man whirled back around to face the tunnel. He continued whirling until he had shrunk to the size and appearance of a rat.

It scurried toward the tunnel.

"Over here!"

For a minute there was only the insect noises of the forest. Giselle had her eyes tightly shut, listening for any tell-tale sound. She was remembering the story that Harry, Ron, and Hermione had told her and Bea on the train ride back to King's Cross after school ended last term.

"My godfather is innocent," Harry had said with passion. "It wasn't Sirius who killed those muggles.  It was Peter P (Giselle could not recall the last name),  or Wormtail, as they called him. A total rat. Too bad he got away."

"Here. This way." Moody again, his voice taut with anxiety. The thunking steps and squeal of a rat, going off into the forest in a direction behind and to the right of Giselle.

Was this 'Wormtail'? Why was he following Professor Moody? Giselle sank to her knees as her panic subsided. And where was Charlie? A terrible thought froze her. Had this evil rat killed Charlie? Tears ran from her swollen eyes.

She did not know how long she knelt there on the dead leaves, distraught, but when Hermione's voice called her name, she straightened up and replied, "I'm over here," and struggled to her feet.

Ron was with Hermione. They had their wands out.

"We've surprising news, Gee," said Hermione. "Harry's--"

She stopped so abruptly that Ron bumped into her. "What's wrong, Gee? Where's Charlie?"

"I DONT KNOW!" cried Giselle, breaking down completely; Hermione embracing her.

Ron stepped forward, raising his wand and saying tensely, "Wait! Over there! Listen!"

They heard, faintly, the unmistakable voice of Charlie, some distance ahead in the darkness:

"Don't make me curse you, Vlaud."