(5) The Goblin Fair

Giselle, Herman, and Heloise were the only Hufflepuffs in the group of twenty-odd students going down the long gloomy corridor. Most were Ravenclaws, though Luna was the only one that Giselle knew by name.

Besides Harry, Ron, and Hermione, there were just two Gryffindors, Parvati and a boy Giselle didn't know.

Slytherin was represented by Draco, Pansy, Blaise, Millicent, and a stern-eyed girl who kept to herself; her shaggy brown hair like woolen curtains that nearly closed off her face.

No one said a word. The corridor was not the sort of place that invited conversations. It made you stare at the door at its end, as though it wanted you to be nervous.

The huge iron-studded door opened as the students approached, the hinges shrieking.

When you came into the chamber it felt as if you were at the bottom of a very deep rectangular well. Everyone looked up at the ceiling, half expecting to see a giant bucket; but what was there were slants of light from the barred windows.

"Find a desk, and partner up," said Professor Frumlow at the lectern, his voice rolling around the walls like the pronouncement of a god.

There were two rows of the ungainly desks on each side of the aisle. Giselle followed Herman and Heloise toward the front. She needed a partner. She was trying to get Parvati's attention, but then realized that the stern-eyed Slytherin girl was right alongside and beginning to bump her, Giselle, into the third desk from the front, on the left hand side of the aisle.

Giselle was too surprised to object. She fell more than sat on the bench seat, nearly tumbling off the end. The Slytherin girl sat next to her and busily emptied her book bag, putting a stack of parchments, a couple quills, an ink bottle, and her textbook on the desk's shelf.

Giselle sat there like a prim little girl at an adult social. She just wanted to run wailing out of the room. Who was this bossy Slytherin girl anyway, to push her down at a desk and plop down next to her like a guardian or something?

"It's me he likes," the girl said to her.

Giselle gave the girl a puzzled look. "Pardon?"

"Roger. It's me he likes. He mentions you now and again, but that's only because your Professor McGonagall's niece and he wants to get on good with the teachers."

Her voice was joining all the other echoes.

"I'm sorry, I don't know your name."

"Elenore," the girl said, her deep sienna eyes catching a ray of light and flashing like a warning signal. "Elenore Womblatt. You're called Gee, aren't you? Roger calls you that. But it doesn't mean a thing. It's me he likes."

Giselle was thrilled to hear that Roger spoke of her, apparently in the Slytherin Common Room. And surely not to 'get on good with the teachers,' but because... well, because maybe, just maybe...

"Quiet down now, apprentices," said Frumlow. The echoes gradually faded like fleeing ghosts. "Take hold of your staff when it comes to you."

And he tapped his two staves on the stone floor.

In the back of the classroom the closet doors banged open. A rattle of wood was heard. Amidst the hollow echoes the staves came floating upright down the aisle in single file. The students were gawking at them. Each staff seemed to be sniffing the air, tilting to and fro, searching for its master.

Giselle felt a hard gnudge on her shoulder. She turned and gasped. Her ashwood staff stood there as if awaiting orders. After her brief fright she smiled weakly, gingerly closing a hand on the lacquered wood. That warm pleasant sensation went up her arm.

Elenore grabbed her ebony staff as if taking up a stein of butterbeer.

"Has everyone got their proper staff?" said Frumlow.

"Yes, sir," said Hermione in the right-hand front row. ('Yes sir, yes sir, yes sir,' said the echo.)

"Very good then. Now rapt attention, apprentices. A bit of theory first, then we'll jump right into the first exercise."

Giselle swallowed a painful lump in her throat.

"Turn your textbook to Section One, paragraphs A through H. Tonight for your homework you'll answer the list of quiz questions at the conclusion of the article. Now," and Frumlow came around in front of the lectern squeaking and bobbing.

"Let's discuss the magic staff. Staves have just one type of core. Heartstrings from a red raven, a rare bird indeed. The thing to know is this: most red ravens have just one heart. Well, that's not surprising. But some have TWO hearts. That IS surprising. And here's the difference: the two-hearted red raven never mates. It is in love with itself. The one-hearted type mates and raises a family, like all other birds."

It was difficult understanding him, for every word sent an echo bouncing around the room. Giselle tried to read his lips, and this did help a little.

"The staff that contains ONE red-raven heart is loyal to its master," Frumlow was saying, "but a staff with TWO red-raven hearts will often express its own intentions. These-- yes? Is it Miss Granger? You've a question?"

"Are the two hearts from the same red raven?" asked Hermione.

"Yes, that's right. If the two hearts were from two different red ravens, there would be a conflict, and the spells would likely go awry. No, the two-hearted staff gets its core from one two-hearted red raven. Now, we find the one-hearted red raven in the foothills of the Himalayan mountains, in the area of Nepal, Sikkim, and Tibet."

He pointed one of his staves at a map on the wall above the blackboard.

"Staves with one heart are obedient to their masters and will channel the spells as directed. But," he added with a crooked smile, pointing to Egypt, "staves with two hearts channel spells as they themselves intend. We find the two-hearted red raven in the ancient land of the pharoahs, mainly along the shores of the Red Sea."

He took a breath as if something had winded him. "This doesn't mean the two-hearted staff ignores the master. No, they channel the spell that the master intones, but in their own way, with some differences, and the effect of the spell is exceptionally powerful."

Hermione raised her hand again and asked, "Why would anyone want a two-hearted staff? The spells are more powerful, as you say, but somewhat unpredictable. Why would anyone want a staff that doesn't do exactly as directed?"

Frumlow nearly lost his balance. He caught himself with his staves, his knee springs creaking as he rose and fell a moment like a puppet on strings. "Yes, why so, you ask. There, oops, all right." He put an elbow on the lectern to steady himself. "Power. It's all about power. It seems that the two-hearted staff delves deep into its master's mind to see what he or she truly wishes to happen. An exaggeration of intention, we might say. It is believed that the two-hearted staff understands the situation better than the master's consciousness."

Once again Hermione's hand went up.

"Does Ollivander's sell two-hearted staves? Mightn't we have bought one by mistake?"

"No, no, two-hearted staves are restricted by the Ministry. They are not sold publicly. Staff makers must get a license to craft two-hearted staves and can sell them only to authorized persons. And now for our first exercise!" said Frumlow excitedly.

Giselle felt her staff throbbing in sync with her rapid heartbeat. Here is where she would fail miserably, she thought, the exercise that would prove her to be entirely unfit for the class.

"Everyone up, and stand in the aisle, staff in hand."

No sooner had the students crowded together in the aisle when all the desks leaped up and stacked themselves along the walls.

Frumlow motioned at a narrow table on wheels. It came rolling up to him and positioned itself in front of the blackboard. It was a long table, spanning almost the width of the room. All down its length were small pyramids, about ten inches high, a total of twelve.

"Form a line facing the table, near the back of the classroom," Frumlow said. "We've twenty-four of you. I want twelve in the line, with your partner standing behind you."

Giselle managed to put herself next to Hermione, whose partner was Ron. On Giselle's other side was Harry, partnering with Parvati.

"I'll go first, Gee," said Elenore. That suited Giselle just fine. This meant that she was in line with Hermione and Harry, with Parvati and Ron in the front line with Elenore.

"Listen up now, apprentices. You all are familiar with the Accio spell. It works only when you know where the object in question is located. But suppose that the object is nailed down, or has been charmed to resist the Accio spell? What then, eh? Enter Alternative Magical Methods. The spell you would cast to bring the object to you is the 'Enlargo Proximus.' The canto is in C major, but the syllable 'prox' is on the dominant, which is G. Like so-- 'Enlargo PROXimus!' Eh? Now practice it together. Ready... Intone!"

"Enlargo PROXimus!" shouted the students.

"You needn't yell at the top of your lungs. Be careful not to hit the sub-dominant, F, or the illusion of the blackboard and table coming swiftly toward you will materialize and... well, you don't want that! When the illusion is right in front of you, reach out and take hold of the miniature pyramid. It will become actual, and the rest of the scene will vanish."

Giselle closed her eyes, listening to the echoes of excited whispers as the front line prepared themselves.

"Staff flourishes are quite simple," Frumlow said, to Giselle's relief. "In this spell, hold your staff at arm's length. As you intone the canto, draw the staff to your body. Eh? Are we game? All right then. Front line students, concentrate on the pyramid directly across from you and cast the spell when ready."

Giselle's eyes snapped open, heart pounding. She watched the staves extending out and being drawn back as the cantos echoed all around her. And the strange thing is, she saw nothing happening, except that suddenly the front line students were holding pyramids, and the table at the far end of the room was empty.

But not all the front-liners were so lucky. Several of them staggered back a step, including Parvati, who said "Oof!" and was caught by Harry, her pyramid rocking on the floor by her feet. It was as though these unlucky ones were smacked by table and blackboard rushing up to them.

"A very good first cast," Frumlow said, standing by a stack of desks, bobbing up and down a little and swaying dizzily. "Next up, the partners!"

With a wriggle of his staves the miniature pyramids soared back to the table.

Letting out a long shuddering breath,  Giselle took her place in front. Elenore had done well and was standing off to the side looking at Giselle with open skepticism.

"Good luck," she said in a snide tone.

"She doesn't need it," said Hermione, then quietly to Giselle, "Don't mind Elenore, she hates everybody."

"Concentrate! And cast when ready!"

The echoes dimned away.

As it happened, Giselle and Hermione cast the spell at practically the same moment.

"Enlargo PROXimus!"

As Giselle pulled her staff back to her chest she saw the far wall coming swiftly up to her, so vivid that she feared having hit the F note instead of the G. Wincing, she reached out to grasp the pyramid on the advancing table, her hand trembling.

She felt it firmly between her fingers.

A dark tunnel. A rank odor. Hermione touching her arm. A male voice raised in anger: "To the devil with Voldemort! This isn't about him! He's nothing but a foul memory, an envious whiff of despair! It's mine, it's MINE!"

Falling. The back of her head aching. Light from the high windows so bright it hurt her eyes. Parvati kneeling over her.

"Are you okay?"

Burning with embarrassment, Giselle staggered to her feet, her staff still clutched in her left hand, the pyramid in her right.

"Gee!" said Hermione, blanching with amazement and confusion, while Harry and Ron looked on with knitted brows. "Gee, did you hear that? Did you hear it? We were there together! Where--? Where--?"

"Order, class!" said Frumlow, weaving and bobbing his way up to them.

Giselle was in a daze. If Hermione heard what she herself had heard, and seen, then it wasn't her imagination. It meant something. She was versed enough in Divination to know that such ethereal events were often the future breaking into the present.

Giselle's one consolation was that Hermione had been with her.

"Stand back while I bring the desks back in their rows. Don't forget your homework lesson."

And as he raised his staves, Frumlow gave Giselle a quick look. It was one of uncertainty.

After sixth period Roger Roundhouse went to the office of the Deputy Headmistress, on the fifth floor of Gryffindor tower.

"Come in."

The voice of Professor McGonagall had him sighing with relief. He had thought it unlikely that she would be in her office. He went in and stood before her desk like a penitent.

"How may I assist you, Mr Roundhouse?"

She had turned from the file cabinet and was rolling up a scroll. "Be seated. Have a biscuit."

Roger took two and sat heavily in the guest chair, a biscuit in each hand. He was staring at them as if he couldn't decide which one to eat first.

"Professor McGonagall, ma'am, I don't like being in Slytherin house. I can't fathom why the Sorting Hat assigned me there. No one in my family was ever in Slytherin. Mostly Ravenclaw. I've tried, I've really tried, to fit in. But it isn't working. Could I please have another go with the hat?" Roger looked up at her pleadingly. "I was afraid to see the Headmaster about it. I thought you might be more sympathetic."

"The Headmaster is away from the school. What house do you think would better suit you?"

Roger said, a little sheepishly, "Hufflepuff, ma'am."

McGonagall cocked a brow. She stood there tapping a palm with the rolled-up scroll. "I'll send an owl to the Headmaster. I'll have an answer for you by--"

A folded sheet of paper flew in from under the door and presented itself to McGonagall.

"Excuse me a moment," she said and unfolded the letter. Without any change of expression she read the following.

'Minerva,

A most unusual thing in Greenhouse number three. Could you come down? I should like your opinion of the matter.

Pomona.'

"Anything else, Mr Roundhouse?"

"No, ma'am," he said hopefully.

"I'll have an answer for you by tomorrow morning. By breakfast, I should think. If Professor Dumbledore is agreeable, I will assign you to Hufflepuff. I have a summons to look into. Have another biscuit. That should hold you until dinner."

Roger took two.
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