(6) The Goblin Fair

When Professor McGonagall came out from the courtyard gate and started off toward the greenhouses, she saw that the Fair's carnival rides were done being set up. It was a colorful cluster of odd contraptions fluttering with pennants, encircled by gypsy-style wagons and refreshment booths.

Her heart gave a little skip. She loved fairs. Every summer she took her niece and other family members to Merlin's Fair in the Cotswolds. She had never been to a goblin fair. To goblin markets, yes. From the look of things, this fair here was much like the market, but with rides and other oddities, like fortune tellers, snake charmers, bards and mimes, and so on. She looked forward to the fair's opening day... Was it the day after tomorrow? How time verily flew!

"Minerva," said Professor Sprout, in the doorway of Greenhouse number three. Her leather apron was unusually stained, McGonagall noticed as she quickened her stride.

"Nothing dangerous to the students, I hope?"

"Not to the students, no, but to my Algerian orchids, yes!"

McGonagall had only a passing knowledge of Herbology, but she was acquainted with these exotic desert flowers with their peculiar shyness.

"What's happened?" she asked as Sprout led her to the central table, at the back end where a mauve orchid lay exhausted in its pot.

"Oh dear. It looks to have been assaulted. Was it one of the mandrakes?"

"No, they're too young. Not pubescent yet." Sprout pointed to a tray on the sideboard by an open screen window. "That's the culprit, I strongly suspect. The Rapacious Monkshood. There were four specimens on the tray earlier today, and now look! Just the one. The other three are gone."

McGonagall frowned, adjusting her glasses for a closer look at the depleted orchid and the stout, rather satisfied-looking monkshood.

"I'm sure you took precautions to protect the orchid, Pomona, and this means that someone deliberately disspelled the charm. Could it have been one of your students?"

Sprout squeezed her hands together, a pained expression coloring her cheeks. "I don't want to make a false accusation, but yes. I had my sixth and seventh year N.E.W.T. classes today, after lunch. I suspect a sixth year Slytherin girl. Her station is right here at the table where I'm standing."

"Her name?"

"Forgive me if I'm mistaken about her, but it's Elenore Womblatt."

"Hmm," mused McGonagall. "What would be the intention? A love potion, perhaps?"

Sprout shook her head. "No, impossible with monkshood. Not love. No, but definitely a lust potion."

"Lust?"

"Consider, Minerva. A shy, withdrawn orchid. A bold, impassioned gang of monkshoods. What could be further from love?"

McGonagall thought a moment. "For such a thing to happen and no one noticing it... A Misdirection hex? If so, and if Miss Womblatt is the guilty party, then a Prior Incantatum spell will reveal it... if she doesn't delete her wand's spell history. And of course she would."

"Probably," sighed Professor Sprout.

To make room for the two extra dining tables in the Great Hall-- one for Durmstrang, one for Beauxbaton-- the four house tables had to be brought closer together. It was something of a squeeze getting in and out. You had to walk sideways to keep from bumping your shins on the benches.

But it was nice, in a way, for when Hermione sat next to Giselle at the Hufflepuff table that night at dinner, it was almost as though she were still seated at Gryffindor's. Harry and Ron had only to turn around to speak with her, their heads practically ear to ear with Deidre and Felix.

Hermione was all caught up in the mystic event in Frumlow's class. She was determined to discover what it could mean. She hardly got any food into her mouth. She'd bring the laden spoon right up to her waiting tongue, then start in again about the dank musty tunnel, whether it could be a passage in one of the Egyptian pyramids. She had once visited them during a summer recess.

Giselle pretended not to have a clue. She would just as soon forget about it. It reminded her too much of the strange and frightening adventure in the school paintings, six months ago. She still had nightmares every so often. She had been advised by Madame Pomfrey to double her dose of Snor-Alot.

She never spoke about her parents. They disappeared ten years back, and surely few if any students knew anything of it. She wasn't sure, however, about Hermione. She dreaded being asked about it. She debated with herself whether she should maybe discuss it with Hermione; the girl was so enthused about the subject of scary things in the pyramids, like animated mummies and the ghosts of tomb robbers, curses and bad luck; all that sort of thing.

But Giselle kept being distracted by how cozily Elenore was sitting with Roger at the Slytherin table. Giselle could almost reach over and touch them.

They had their backs to her. It was plain enough that Roger was trying to eat his dinner in peace, but Elenore was just too intrusive. She even poked at his food with her fork, as if suggesting which morsel he should eat next.

"It's me he likes,' ha ha, thought Giselle. Roger was too well bred, too much the gentleman, to tell Eleanore to buzz off. But he mentions my name, Giselle thought with a pang in her breast. He calls me Gee! We're hardly acquainted, and he calls me Gee!

Everyone around her suddenly realized that Viktor Krum was standing over Hermione, leaning down with a hand lightly on her shoulder.

"I would be honored, Miss Granger, if you would allow me to escort you to the goblin fair when it opens this Saturday."

Hermione looked as if a volt of electricity had run through her. But she quickly recovered.

"Oh," she said nonchalantly. "I think... yes, that would very nice, Viktor."

He pressed her shoulder gently, meaningly. "I am happy. I will come for you after breakfast on Saturday morning."

He sidled his way back to the Durmstrang table. Hermione scrunched down, darting glances around at Giselle and the others, trying hard not to laugh.

Ron had no trouble not laughing. His face had absolutely turned to stone.

Giselle saw that Harry had noticed Ron's reaction. She heard him say, "A game of wizard chess tonight, Ron?"

In the time it took Ron to answer, the Hufflepuff table came back to its usual noisy life, the chatter, the clatter, the conspiratorial whispers and winks, the calls for this-or-that dish or bowl. Giselle didn't hear what Ron said. The desserts were appearing. And Elenore was urging Roger to have some peppermint ice cream.