(4) The Goblin Fair

It was their twenty-minute break before the final class of the day. And a lovely spring day it was. Or nearly spring, with early March favoring them with the first hint of new growth; the garden trees beginning to show speckles of green, and little buds appearing in the out-of-the-way places that flowers preferred.

Giselle was seated at one end of the east porch where she could watch the Fair's caravan of curious-looking wagons rumbling into a big circle, in the level field close by the Quidditch stadium.

The goblin workers were the usual sort, stunted and brawny, wearing their traditional leggings and billowy tunics, their plumed caps lowered over their sullen eyes. But here and there was a tall goblin of the mountain kind; dressed in snug leathers of black and silver, with braided hair more blue than black. They walked with a swagger, their somewhat handsome heads held regally.

They looked fierce. Most carried sheathed daggers, and one, the tallest and least offensive looking, carried a staff. Giselle wished he didn't. It took her thoughts back to yesterday's orientation concerning Alternative Magical Methods.

The classroom was at the end of a long gloomy ground-floor corridor that hardly anyone had ever seen before. A huge door with iron studs opened onto a chamber that was so lofty and narrow that it raised echoes of every little sound made. Footsteps were like distant thunder, and voices rose like a choir of celestial spirits. And then there was the teacher, bobbing on springy legs and using two staves to keep himself from falling over when he went down the aisles between the school desks.

The desks were as big as tables and had a broad shelf along the front edge, for books and stuff. No chairs, but a bench instead. Every scratch and gouge on the wood, every ink scribble and stain, shone clearly in the light from the very high windows; shafts of light as dense and sparkly as sequined cloth.

And today, after break (Giselle gulped) was the first class in what would surely be her downfall. Terribly complicated magical methods. Her staff was stored away with the others. She shivered to think that soon she would be holding it, mocked by its strange properties, a staff for truly gifted magicians, not little bumbling sprites like herself.

Giselle forced a laugh and got up, too anxious to sit still any longer.

She joined Bea and a group of other Hufflepuffs milling around a small pond. Away off was the Beauxbaton house carriage, its winged horses nibbling the grass; the French girls in their blue caps and capes performing a levitation exercise in the shade of the carriage.

And away off in the opposite direction was the Durmstrang ship lying in anchor on the lake, a mystic fog curling around its hull.

Some Durmstrang boys were ambling by; Viktor Krum casting glances at Hermione sitting cross-legged on the lawn with Harry and Ron.

Deidre went over to them and started talking about the school All-Star Quidditch try outs, scheduled for the weekend. The Durmstrang and Beauxbaton students would be putting together their own team. The goblin team, called the Fair Flyers, were even now practicing in the stadium. Giselle hadn't much hope of winning the Seeker position. She thought she would also try out for Chaser.

This thought had her turning around to look at Roger Roundhouse leaning against a stone column on the north porch. He seemed depressed, his head down as though staring at the Slytherin patch on his robe. Giselle seldom saw him smiling. The charm he exuded on the Hogwarts Express was gone.

All through first semester Roger was like a different person. He had no end of female admirers in Slytherin, much like Cedric with the Hufflepuff girls. But unlike the affable Cedric, Roger was withdrawn; not in a shy way, but as though he was walking to the gallows to be hung for an offense he did not commit.

Giselle shook her head. Why hadn't he gotten over it? Was being sorted into Slytherin such a bad thing?

Cedric came out from the Hall. He gave Roger, Pansy, and Draco a cheery greeting. All but Roger ignored him. Roger looked up with a wane smile that faded almost instantly.

Cedric, tied for first place with Harry after the first two Tri-wizard challenges! Giselle was pleased for them both. Had the Snitch pea been right in predicting a tie? [Re: the previous story.]

She heard Lori agonizing over her mission in life: getting something going with Roger.

For weeks now Lori had done everything she could imagine to get Roger's attention. Well, she certainly got his attention. Many times. He could hardly miss seeing her books dropped at his feet, her wand following him to class while she chased after it as though she hadn't sent it off to do that very thing, and answering her questions in the corridors, such as, "Can you possibly know what time it is?" and "I think someone in my family knows your mother."

But the results were always the same. A polite indifference. The weight of his perceived misfortune was too heavy on him to be felled by the inane antics of an infatuated girl.

Giselle sighed. She missed Charlie. There was no one for her to chase after.

A tower bell bonged ominously.

The Muggle Studies teacher, Charity Burbage, accompanied Snape to the Fair grounds as students shouldered their book bags and streamed back into the castle.

Burbage was enjoying the outing. They had been sent by Dumbledore to inquire of the Fair manager if anything was needed. She was pointing out to Snape the various contraptions the goblins were setting up.

"Muggle-style carnival rides," she was saying happily. "That one there will be a Ferris Wheel. That one looks like a small roller coaster. And there, that's going to be a Tilt-A-Whirl, or something like it."

Snape's thoughts were elsewhere. He said drolly, "I am overwhelmed with fascination."

"Oh, and this--!" They stopped at the front of a caravan wagon near the start of a long, meandering track with canvas walls and roof.

"The Tunnel of Love!" exclaimed Burbage. "Actually, it's the 'blind date' type. It's totally dark inside. A girl climbs into a wheeled cart on one side, and a boy on the other. You can't see who you're sitting with until you reach the end."

"True love," said Snape in a distracted manner. He was watching a tall half-goblin approaching them from one of the snack vendor wagons.

"Mr Minnex," said Burbage, with a little wave of the hand.

He gave her a nod and walked to within a few paces of Snape. Here he stood with his staff held against his black and silver leather-clad side, his long bluish black braid of coarse hair lying over a shoulder and down upon his chest.

Burbage's glowing smile went out. She sensed a strong antagonism between these two formidable men.

"So, we meet again, Sev."

"You will address me as 'Professor.' Dumbledore may put up with your airs, but I will not."

Burbage saw the glint of anger in the half-goblin's appraisal of the potions master. She was totally unprepared for this. She had received no hint that such a dislike existed between Snape and the Fair's manager. To break the empasse she said, "The Headmaster asks if there's anything you lack that we can help you with."

Minnex slowly turned his attention to her.

"A monetary donation would be appreciated. Otherwise, no. We are well supplied."

Burbage spread her hands. "Just let us know if you should need anything. We want these next seven days to be problem-free and enjoyable for everyone involved."

Minnex was darkly amused. "For some of us, it promises to be quite enjoyable, yes."

He turned, eyeing Snape, and said as a parting word, "The red red raven goes bob, bob, bobbing along, Professor."

Minnex walked off to the line of vendor wagons.

Burbage furrowed her brow in perplexity. She glanced at Snape's face and felt its hard seething expression that, surprisingly, had a shade of distress in it.