(8) The Goblin Fair

Elenore watched the laughing exodus from the Care of Magical Creatures class, her cruel smile unaffected by the bad smell lingering in the air. She was further amused by the antics of Hagrid, gathering up the wayward hummers with a swish of his folded pink umbrella, a scarf over his nose and mouth.

Elenore had planned to start the trouble herself. But providence stepped in and provided Pansy. So much the better. The chaos around Draco's sometime girlfriend had given Roger the cover he needed to sneak up on Gee. How splendidly it had all worked out.

And there was a good twenty minutes remaining in the period. Time to meet with Krimson Johan in the library, as he and Elenore had planned. He had Study Hall, where now they could have a real proper talk about their ambitions.

Giselle reached the porch of the castle out of breath and still numb from shock. Whatever had possessed Roger? What was done to her was just unthinkable in a nice boy like Roger. Was it--? Was it a Slytherin house influence that had finally got to him?

Bea and the others were with her now, gasping their laughs and suggesting that they wait out the rest of the period in their Common Room. Giselle was all for it. A glance back saw Roger coming up the slope, several of his house mates trailing behind him; including Elenore, striding along with a smirk on her half-curtained face.

In the Hufflepuff Common Room Giselle went straight to her favorite armchair. It was next to a mannequin wearing a formal gown that had belonged to Helga Hufflepuff. It usually said things like, "A clean room is a clean mind," or "A minute of toil is worth a month of idleness." But this morning the mannequin rocked on its heels, just a bit, and said, "Easier to trust an enemy to do what is expected of an enemy, than to trust a friend to do what is expected of a friend."

Giselle was annoyed. This made her feel guilty, but nevertheless she got up and went to the short sofa by the fireplace, where she dug around in her bag for her class schedule while the girls gossipped and the boys talked about tall dagger-equipped goblins.

Did she have anymore classes that day with Slytherin? She ran her eyes down the list. No, thank heavens. Three classes with Gryffindor and two with Ravenclaw. She leaned back on the squashy cushion and let her breath out.

As fate would have it, her Transfiguration class was the last one of the day. Could she possibly manage to have a quick word with Auntie during lunch? She couldn't send a butterfly note to the faculty board (airborne messages, that is), since that was frowned upon. True, though, that Dumbledore was away, and Auntie would probably tolerant a note, under the circumstances.

But... was blabbing on Roger the right thing to do? Obviously he was not himself. Even so, something had to be done. She was afraid of him now. Of course... well, yes, she still found him attractive and all that... but if something really serious had caused his misbehavior, then she ought to bring it to Auntie's attention.

Oughtn't I? She drew her fingers through her hair, staring sightlessly at the mannequin. It was looking askance at a loose button on its left sleeve.

"It was Millicent who knocked Pansy's nose guard off," Lori was saying, "I suppose an accident."

"Will there be duels at the Fair?" wondered Roscoe.

"Let's hope," said Cedric, sharpening a quill.

At a table in a corner of the library, protected from eavesdroppers by a sound barrier spell, Elenore pretended to be ticking off the questions to a quiz in her Advanced Charms textbook as Madame Pince slinked by.

"Don't let her see your lips moving," Krimson warned her. He leaned toward her, his arms crossed on the books he had selected just for show. He was an angular boy with spiked blond hair and a long pointed nose. He reminded Elenore of a hound on the scent of someone.

"Answer me, El," he said, insistent. "In just two months I'll be a post graduate. Have you talked to your father about me? Have you told him how much I've helped you in your lessons? Does he know I brewed the lust potion for your little project, and that without my assistance you would not've been able to pull off that orchid and monkshood stunt in the greenhouse? Have you? You know why I ask, surely. I want an apprenticeship in his Stalwart Group. He only accepts Slytherin alumni. There can't be many applicants. And I'm top in my class at Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Yes, yes, yes," Elenore said with a bored air, twiddling her quill. "You'll be getting an invitation from Daddy in the owl post in June, before the graduation ceremony. He told me to tell you. Now, you answer ME," she continued in Krimson's own houndish manner, "are you quite certain that the inducement hex you instilled in the lust potion will continue to have Roger going after Gee McGonagall, come hell or high water? Everything will just fall to pieces if he doesn't. There will be more of what he did to her in first period, yeah?"

Krimson put a finger across his lips, and just in time to shut Elenore's mouth before Madame Pince could retrace her steps, suspicious of them, no doubt. She crept by their table with her beady eyes crawling over their faces.

Krimson watched her pass without appearing to, then he nodded to Elenore.

"It's just beginning," he whispered. "The hex connects him, spiritually you might say, with the curse that Horatio Marvolo put on our Common Room when he was a student here, eighty years ago. And you can tell your father that, too. It should impress him that I discovered the curse all by myself in my fifth year."

Elenore smiled, just a little skeptical about the Marvolo Curse. It was thought to be a tall tale, one of those make-believe stories that crop up in all the house common rooms. But Krimson seemed convinced that the curse was real.

'Time will tell,' Elenore said to herself.

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" shouted Professor Moody, shaking a fist.

Hermione, sitting behind a trembling Giselle, felt a familiar tingle as she watched Moody's magic eye swivel every which way in his appraisal of the class. Her intuition was telling her that he was considering which students needed to up their game if they were to effectively counter the dark art spells. She knew that Moody had picked Ron, and Neville, Felix, and, oh yes, Giselle, for special attention. But, curiously, the bizarre eye seemed to zoom in most intensely on Harry.

Why so? Was it just because of Harry's history, his lightning scar, that piqued Moody's interest? No, she thought. It was something more than that. But she didn't know what, exactly.

"What can you do," Moody was saying in his coarse growl, "if you suspect that your opponent's wand has been empowered to resist the Expelliarmus? Eh? Well I shall tell you. You would use the 'Nottingham Twist.' It was developed by Geoffrey the Giff, who for a season was the court magician for King Richard the Third. The spell involves tieing your opponent's arms behind his back, in a square knot."

A worried murmur rose from the class.

"Don't be alarmed," Moody said. "The Nottingham Twist renders the bones of the arms rubbery for the duration of the effect. There is no pain. Now, on your feet! Stand beside your desks, wands out. Beginning with the student in the front seat of each row, turn and face the student behind you. Every other student will thus turn to face the one behind. Procede."

A nervous Giselle stood and turned to face Hermione, who gave her a smile of encouragement.

"The flourish is a simple hexagram," Moody said, sitting on the edge of his desk. "You ought to be well acquainted with it. The canto, 'Nottingham Convolutus,' is intoned in the Ionian mode, on the third interval. Practice it!"

Giselle had totally forgotten the mode. She listened to Hermione sing it, her voice soaring over the stuttering, warbling efforts of most of the other students. Ron, especially, croaked like a frog, causing Harry to laugh his way through the syllables.

Giselle quickly got the hang of it. She might have been a bit off key, but her ear told her she was close enough. She took a deep breath. Tie Hermione's arms in a square knot! But it was Hermione who was to go first.

When Moody was satisfied that the class was ready, more or less, he said, "Those facing toward the front of the class will be first to cast the spell. CONCENTRATE, and cast at the high point of inspiration."

Hermione was all business now. She whipped her wand through the flourish's pattern while intoning, "Nottingham Convolutus!"

Giselle had closed her eyes. Her arms seemed to flap like downy wings for just a second. Then there was a feeling of tightness, arching her back and bringing her chin up.

"Very good, Miss Granger, a nice snug knot, square as they come," Moody said as he walked past. "No, no, Mr Weasley, a slip knot is entirely unacceptable. Mr Potter can easily free his arms, as he shall now demonstrate."

Giselle saw Harry's face turning a bright red. "Um, I'm afraid I can't, Professor. My arms aren't exactly rubbery."

"Sorry," said Ron. "Does it... hurt?"

"Only a little," Harry said, struggling manfully as Moody examined the other results. "Actually, more than a little."

"Disspell!" Moody barked a few minutes later. All the tied arms swung free; their bones gradually reverting back to their natural solidity.

"Those facing the back of the classroom will now have a chance to get their revenge."

Giselle was never fond of casting defensive spells on her fellow students, and this was no exception. But as she hesitated, and Hermione fidgeted, she saw in her memory the intense eyes of Roger and his hands reaching for her shoulders.

Flourishing her wand swiftly, she cried out, "Nottingham Convolutus!"

"OH!" And Hermione's arms jerked behind her as she staggered back against Seamus, who was just then casting the spell on Lavender Brown.

Lavender's long hair shot straight up, lifting her high off the floor as the auburn tresses tied themselves to a loop of an iron chandelier.

"Oh my God!" said Seamus, jumping up and trying to grab Lavender's kicking feet.

"Desist there, Mr Finnegan," said Moody calmly. "Not an uncommon error." He freed Lavender with a casual flick of his knobby oak wand, bringing her down softly.

Meanwhile Hermione turned around to show Giselle the spell's handiwork.

"A granny knot, it looks like," Hermione said, "but a tight one!"

"Better than mine," Harry said with a shrug.

"You can say that again," Ron quipped, seated on the floor with his legs tied behind his head.