(10) The Goblin Fair

In her fifth period Transfiguration class, Hermione made a face of revulsion at the cast-iron cup on her desk, a cup filled with stagnant water. Its surface was fouled with green pond scum, its smell mixing with the other detestable smells coming from all twenty-one cups in the classroom.

"Without further ado," said Professor McGonagall, wrinkling her nose, "let's transmorph your cups of dirty water into bottles of French or California wine. Once again, class, the flourish is a crosswise pattern and the canto is on high C, nicely drawn out. Begin!" And turning her head she coughed into a hanky.

Hermione held her wand like a maestro for a moment, running the canto through her mind. Then, with a fluid slash and a lilting "Aqua metamorpheum," she touched the cup with the wand's tip.

A brief glow. The outline of a tall-necked bottle formed quickly, going from opaque to a glittering clarity. But-- where was the wine? Then suddenly it appeared, the slightly off-white color of a dry wine.

All around her were exclamations of success, and a few disappointments; a popping cork; a crashing noise that had Professor McGonagall shaking her head. "Mr Longbottom, get that sticky mess cleaned up. Miss Wallace, did that cork hit you in the eye? Off to Madame Pomfrey to have it examined. Mr Potter, that looks more like a pitcher than a bottle, but a nice reddish purple color. And... Mr Weasley, what is that thing swimming in your wine? Ah, Miss Granger, a delightful bouquet, a Napa Valley vintage I would guess."

When Professor McGonagall had finished evaluating the results, she went back to the front of the classroom and clapped her hands for attention.

"Remember that you are to take your bottles of wine to your next Potions class. Professor Snape will be teaching you the uses of wine in medicinal elixirs. And I DO expect," she added, giving the students a very stern look, "that there will be some wine left in your bottles when your Potions class comes round. There's the bell! Class dismissed. Miss Granger, stay behind a wee moment."

Hermione had started off with Harry and Ron, but turned back with her brows raised.

Ron said to Harry as they went up the aisle, "Is Teach going to have a glass of wine with Hermione?"

"Dunno. What's up next? Is it Hagrid's?"

Ron groaned. "Yeah, and it's bound to be those bloody Nose-Peckers everyone's been talking about."

Their voices faded away in the corridor.

"Yes, Professor?"

"You're excused from sixth period, Miss Granger. You are to report to Professor Snape in his office. The Headmaster will be there, and Giselle."

Hermione's first thought was that she wouldn't have to fuss with Hagrid's nauseating birds.

"Is this about the portrait paintings, ma'am? I had thought that the problem was all cleared up."

"No, it's something else entirely," said Professor McGonagall. Her voice had a maudlin sort of burr to it that intrigued Hermione. "Run along now."

Snape said curtly, "You have five minutes before the bell, class. Clean your stations. Make sure any spilled ingredients are swept up and placed in their proper containers. Label and sign your potion samples and place them in the student cabinets. Do not neglect to dry your cauldrons thoroughly before hanging them up. Mr Filch has been complaining about water on the floor, and you don't want to lose house points."

He looked directly at Giselle.

It was coming. His talk with her. She got busy cleaning her table and took pains in drying her cauldron with the most absorbent rag she could find.

The bell! She shouldered her book bag and stood glancing repeatedly at Snape as her friends, heading for the door, called out to her.

"My office," Snape said above the patter of footsteps. With bated breath she followed him around behind his desk and through the archway that gave access to the roomy office; black leather armchairs, the glowing remnants of a fire in the hearth, tall silver candlesticks with flames like blazing diamonds.

The stone walls were lined with rows of ancient books, their colored bindings muted by the dimness of the lighting; all but one: the volume Dumbledore was reading in a chair by the fire-irons, a hanging lantern shining above his embroidered cap.

"There she is," he said amiably, closing the book.

The Headmaster seemed to be looking at something behind her. Giselle turned and saw Hermione coming in past Snape as he stood with a hand on the archway door. He closed it firmly.

"Pardon our elaborate secrecy," said Dumbledore, motioning for Giselle and Hermione to be seated in the two armchairs that faced him across a braid rug. "This concerns a private experiment, you see. It will test your intuitive abilities."

When Hermione left the Transfiguration classroom she passed Krimson Johan and Elenore Womblatt in the corridor. She recognized them but thought little of it. Her mind was on the upcoming meeting in Snape's office. She merely gave them a nod and went on down the staircase that she hoped would not decide to change direction.

"Come, come," said Professor McGonagall impatiently as Krimson and Elenore stood hesitant in the doorway. She went to her desk and stood behind it, looking very sternly indeed at the two Slytherins coming up the aisle with distraught faces.

When they stood before her, struggling to express a certain defiance that would salve their egos, McGonagall said, "I am aware of the trouble you have caused for Mr Roundhouse, and the method you have used. Your actions are totally unacceptable and it is almost certain that you, Mr Johan and Miss Womblatt, will be expelled from Hogwarts."

The two faces hardened in a sort of angry despondency. The two said nothing, but in their eyes one could see the gears of thought turning.

"You will be summoned to the Headmaster's office this evening after the dinner hour," McGonagall continued. "You will wait for the summons in your Common Room. You will not go to dinner. Kitchen elves will send you something to eat. And you two had better be on your best behavior if there is to be any hope of maintaining your enrollment in the school. That is all," she ended stiffly, as the sound of her sixth period students came to her from the staircase.

Krimson and Elenore verily marched out of the room, threading their way through the group of fourth year Ravenclaws.

They did not go to the Slytherin Common Room.

All down the many stairways to the Entrance Hall, Krimson spoke of what the near future might bring: expulsion from Hogwarts, disgrace to their families, tutoring from itinerant teachers in stuffy parlours and open fields, a life of being looked down upon by Ministry officials whose office walls boasted pictures and awards from their Hogwarts houses.

When Elenore turned toward the dungeon stairwell, Krimson grabbed her arm, escorting her to the Hall's great doors. "Let's get some air," he said. And she noticed the strangely hopeful look in his squinting eyes. "There's something pulling on me," he hissed as they came out onto the porch.

"Maybe it's Dumbledore, summoning us early," suggested Elenore doubtfully.

"No, he doesn't do it that way, the old curmudgeon. It's... something else. I've felt it before. Ever since Christmas break I've felt it, off and on."

He was staring at the fairgrounds. "Let's have a look around the Fair. It's all set up."

"But Madane Hooch might see us. She's out there with her babies." Elenore meant the first years taking their flying lessons.

"Look here," Krimson said, turning to glare at her with a burst of anger and desperation. "What does it matter whether Hooch sees us or not? All the teachers except Snape have a bias against Slytherins. We're going to be expelled. What difference does it make if Hooch gets miffed at us for fooling around in sixth period?"

Elenore smiled sourly. "It might make a difference to Daddy. I thought you wanted to impress him?"

Krimson barked a laugh. "Do you think I was born yesterday? I know who's behind your game with Roundhouse. It's your father, Mr Hardmore Womblatt, and his Stalwart Group. Look here, El, Roundhouse will be given an antidote to the lust potion. Pomfrey will think everything's fine. Roundhouse will appear to be his normal piffle-headed self. But unbeknownst to Pomfrey and all the other starched robes, the Marvolo Curse will grow ever stronger on Roundhouse. It's what your father hopes will happen. Oh, sure, he thinks like YOU do, that the curse is probably a myth, like the gremlin superstition in Ravenclaw. But I've discovered otherwise. Didn't I tell you? I've got evidence, and it's to Hardmore Womblatt I'll be giving it."

Elenore flopped her arms in exasperation. "You keep talking about this 'evidence.' I haven't seen any evidence! The Marvolo Curse is said to make a boy into this so-called 'Serpent of Sexuality' who wraps himself around a girl and sucks the life out of her, turns her into a sort of zombie. Nobody's ever seen such a thing. Okay, it might be true, and Daddy thinks that it would be very useful to him if it IS true and he can control the person who's been cursed by it. But--"

"It's not just boys," Krimson said. "Girls could also be cursed. And... and that's what I feel now and then. The thing pulling on me. I feel there's a woman behind it."

He walked an aimless circle, kicking at the clumps of grass. "The evidence," he muttered. "It's the ace up my sleeve. I'll show it to nobody but your father. He's my only hope now, if we're expelled from Hogwarts."

Caprice sat on the steps of her gypsy caravan wagon smoking a hookah.

She could see the two Slytherin students on the lawn near the castle porch. But she couldn't hear them. She sensed, however, something of what was on their minds, and it made her smile.

A squat goblin came toward her. He took off his cap and eyed her warily as he approached. She was a very comely lass, her bobbed black hair stirring in the breeze, her necklaces of metallic charms tinkling drowsily.

He was afraid of her. All the workers were. They kept as far from her as they could, and when encountering her unexpectedly they doffed their caps and bowed. Caprice was not the sort of woman to oggle at or treat lightly. In some ways she was even more intimidating than the boss, Minnex.

"Mrs Minnex," said the goblin differentially.

"Don't you call me that!" she said, offended. "I am an Eff, of the Scottish Effs, and you had better remember that!"

The goblin bowed hastily. "Assuredly I will, ma'am."

"What brings your carcass here?"

"The Boss sent me to tell you that he wants to see you on some matter."

"Then tell him to pick himself off his lazy ass and come here."

The goblin paled, his long ears drooping down to his bony shoulders. "Madame Eff, I daren't say such a thing to the Boss!"

Caprice blew a smoke ring.

The goblin had been well informed about Caprice's magic. As the smoke ring began to come down over his head he jumped back, trembling, and cried out, "You needn't strangle me, Gracious One! I'll go straightaway and tell the Boss!"

She laughed to see him scurry across the field to the office wagon.