Owl Delivery
Ginny slept badly, unsurprisingly, and disturbed Gosse’s sleep during the rest of the night, as she alternatively wrapped her arms around him and fidgeted. But she was up early: She realised that soon the Beauxbatons would be demanding breakfast, and their cherished Dining Chamber was currently a dormitory.
On her way to see Cliny, the head house-elf, she encountered Mr Cotte, the Beauxbatons Arithmancy teacher, and Madame Desprez, the Transfiguration teacher, examining the House of Assembly in its new surroundings.
“It would have been more convenient,” said Cotte, “if there was the same amount of room all the way around.”
“And the door doesn’t line up with the Dining Chamber one,” put in Desprez, trying to keep a straight face.
“Sorry,” said Ginny, unimpressed.
“Congratulations,” Cotte said. “An incredible achievement.”
She felt better then. “I’m not sure I’m going to be forgiven for all the damage,” she said feelingly. The House of Assembly looked considerably worse in the daylight. There were a half-a-dozen cracks on the side she could see, running vertically or diagonally down the walls, and a sprinkling of masonry around the building. “Are you waiting for breakfast?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Perhaps later,” he said. “It seems the whole of Durmstrang was up at six, for swimming in the lake.”
She turned to stare at him. “Seriously?”
“No costumes,” he said. “But they all had a spell to cover their modesty. Except that modesty, it appears, does not include bottoms. I hope my appetite returns soon.”
“Don’t you like bottoms?” Desprez asked, entertained.
“So where are they now?” asked Ginny, ignoring this.
“Having breakfast, I understand,” said Desprez. “So the Dining Chamber should be free for our pupils by the usual time.”
“Wow. I hope Cliny is managing OK,” Ginny said then, worriedly. “I need to find her.”
The head house-elf looked ecstatically cheerful when Ginny tracked her down in the food dispatch room in the cliff behind the Dining Chamber, surrounded by scampering elves.
“Have you had enough sleep?” Ginny asked, doubtfully.
“Plenty, thank you, Headmistress,” said Cliny, busily. “A change is a rest! We are all enjoying the challenge!”
The other house-elves were nodding and smiling manically in agreement.
“Should we push breakfast time back for our own pupils?” Ginny asked, nervously.
“No need, Headmistress!” insisted Cliny. “No need! Would you like your own breakfast now? See, here are the croissants!”
Ginny was almost overcome with the sweet headiness of fresh baking that accompanied an elf bearing a tray loaded with croissants, but she managed to convince Cliny that she could wait, a little while at least.
“And for lunch,” said Cliny, “We plan to start with the visitors at eleven.”
“It would be nice if we could mix them somehow,” Ginny said, thinking out loud.
Ginny had her wish barely a day later. Despite the best efforts of Cliny and her staff, it was impossible to have all of the Durmstrangs out of the Dining Chamber by the time the Beauxbatons wanted to eat, and a few laggard Durmstrangs met a similar-sized handful of hungry Beauxbatons at the entrance, and taunts turned to insults which became hexes. By the time Ginny arrived, there were nearly a dozen strangely reshaped pupils, still squabbling with each other, some two dozen wands being waved threateningly, and two crowds of opposing teams hurrying to join in.
Fortunately, one of her monitors had already cast a wall around the protagonists to keep the new arrivals out, which made it easier for Ginny to divide the warring pupils by the low-magic technique of screaming at the principal offenders. She chose French for this, but the Durmstrangs seemed to understand her meaning as well as the Beauxbatons, and the squabbles broke up.
There had been some interesting spells used in the battle: Some of the Durmstrangs seemed to share Ginny’s preference for the Bat Bogey hex, but several of the visitors were now sporting trees for heads, a spell unknown to Ginny, as was a spell that had locked together the palms of several annoyed Beauxbatons.
“I am sorry!” The voice in Ginny’s ear made her jump, and she turned to see Ida, one of the Durmstrang prefects, standing next to her, looking stricken. “So sorry!” Ida went on. “We did not see this…” Ida wasn’t as tall as Chloe, but was broad-shouldered and handsome.
Ginny shook her head. “It was going to happen,” she said. She was distracted by the sight of Cliny picking her way through the strangely-shaped antagonists.
“Ah,” said Cliny, as she reached Ginny. “We couldn’t understand why no-one was coming into breakfast just now. Were you having a competition?”
“Not exactly,” said Ginny. “I have a question for you, Cliny. Does Beauxbatons hold a Christmas dinner before the end of term?”
Cliny looked dubious. “It is too expensive, we are told,” she said.
“But you could do it?”
“Of course,” said Cliny, nettled.
“Sorry,” said Ginny, placatingly. “I meant, could you do one soon? In fact, two?”
Cliny screwed her face up in puzzlement. “Two? Ah! For both schools, you mean?”
“Well, yes and no. Let’s hold a dinner for the younger four years, but from both schools. Then the same for the older ones. That way they can get to know each other.”
Cliny’s face cleared. “Yes, of course. If you can arrange the budget for that.”
Ginny sighed. “OK. Would tomorrow be too soon?”
“Of course not, Headmistress,” said Cliny, beaming. “It will be our pleasure!”
“It is a good idea, that,” said Ida beside her as Cliny threaded her way back through the still-hexed pupils. “Is it a case of money? I can speak to Mr Sendulla.”
“Let me talk to him,” said Ginny. “I need to see how he’s managing.”
She found Sendulla with the other teachers in a sombre group next to the House of Assembly. When he saw her, he lifted his eyebrows and stepped over to her. She outlined her suggestion for a shared Christmas dinner. He brightened. “Thank you,” he said. “Of course we can pay for our part of that.”
“So is there a problem on your side?” Ginny nosily. “Your staff don’t see happy.”
He shook his head, impatiently. “No,” he said. “Your kindness in lending some of your classrooms removes the pressure from us considerably. And allowing us to share your Dining Chamber, of course. Now we must turn our attention to the fabric of the school.”
“Rebuild Durmstrang, you mean?”
He gave a shrug, betraying his French origins. “The damage there is severe. And there is concern that the Giants will come back. The sea is still frozen, you see, so we are still vulnerable. I am afraid we will have to remain here for a while longer. I hope that is acceptable.”
Ginny tried not to sigh. “Of course,” she said. “And it’s the end of term next week.”
“We have two more weeks of this term,” said Sendulla. “So we will have a week when we won’t collide with your pupils, if it is acceptable to you for our pupils to be here in your holidays. And we start next term two weeks after that.”
“Next term? You’ll need to be here then as well?”
“It is inevitable, I’m afraid. Our House of Assembly is here, you see.”
“But you’re not using it…”
“Because it is dangerous,” said Sendulla, flatly. “Our priority is to repair it. It’s vitally important. We have Herr Brecht here to help,” he added, gesturing.
Brecht was an elderly broad-chested and be-whiskered wizard who scowled at Ginny when introduced. “Brecht is vastly experienced,” Sendulla explained. “We can place our faith in him entirely.” Brecht had already lost interest in Ginny and was scowling once more at the House of Assembly, so perhaps the scowl wasn’t personal.
“Henri, we’re full to bursting,” Ginny said in frustration. “When will you be able to use the House of Assembly?”
“As soon as we can. But not yet,” said Sendulla, firmly. He pointed over her shoulder. “And get rid of him!”
“Get rid of whom?” Ginny asked in puzzlement, and then turned. “Oh. No surprise, I suppose.”
Hector le Blanc was hurrying down the side of the House of Assembly. The Mage journalist was accompanied by a young witch with a camera, who was taking endless photographs of the building. She seemed particularly interested in the fallen Jotun and the cracks, to Ginny’s annoyance, while Hector’s toes were barely touching the ground in his excitement.
He spotted her. “Headmistress!” he called out. “Headmistress! Would you care to make a statement?”
“Yes,” Ginny called back. “Just this: I don’t think you’re very welcome here at the moment!”
Le Blanc pouted theatrically and spread his hands in disbelief. “But you invited me,” he said.
“Invited…? No I didn’t!”
“You promised me something exciting,” returned le Blanc. “And here it is!”
“That’s not true! I said… I said…”
“You said, you owed me a story, as soon as anything happens here,” argued Henri. “And I think this counts as something!”
Ginny sighed. “OK. But let’s move away from the Durmstrangs. They’re not looking very happy.” She shepherded him back towards the Quadrangle archway.
Hector waved her comments away, unworried. “Do you realise how big this story is already? It’s in every Muggle newspaper.”
“What? It can’t be…”
“You forget, I think, how Muggles worry about things in the sky. So, the serious newspapers are asking, are we being attacked by the Russians? Or the Chinese? Or is this a new secret aircraft? And the other newspapers are asking, are aliens about to land? It would have been easier, I think, if the building had been square. But to fly a big circle across Europe?” He gestured excitedly. “A flying saucer! A Muggle newsman’s dream!” He leaned towards her, confidingly. “There is a crowd of reporters at your gate, but your caretaker has only let in me, so far. But when the other reporters learn his secrets, they will be here too!”
“What secrets?” Ginny asked, distracted. They were climbing the stairs up to the Senate Room.
Le Blanc screwed up his face in puzzlement, and piously held up his palm to her. “I have no idea,” he vowed. “Naturally.”
“So… What do you want to know?”
“Well! To begin with, describe Durmstrang School!”
“Hector, I can’t!” That was an automatic reaction, but reason also told her that Sendulla and the others would be furious if she discussed their secrets.
Hector didn’t argue, but looked philosophical. “Then tell me about the earthquake! Surely you can tell me that!”
“Earthquake?” Ginny asked in amazement.
“Quite so,” agreed le Blanc, smoothly. “Fire? No! The attack, I mean. Who attacked the school?”
“Look, I’ll have to ask Sendulla…”
“Who is he? How do you spell his name?”
Ginny sighed. They were in her office now, out of Sendulla’s hearing. “He’s the acting head at Durmstrang. And I probably shouldn’t even be telling you that.”
“And why were the attackers there?”
“Hector…!” she said, warningly.
“Why should Mr Sendulla’s name and position be a secret?” Henri asked. “And where is the headmistress of Durmstrang?”
“She’s… she’s still at Durmstrang,” said Ginny. I’m not cut out for this, she told herself uncomfortably.
He gave her a piercing stare. “But all her pupils are here. Yes?”
“Yes,” she sighed.
“So she is injured. Dead, perhaps!”
“Hector, I’m not saying anything more about Durmstrang, OK?”
“I understand it was your spell that brought the building here. With all the pupils inside. What made you do that?”
“For their safety,” Ginny said, wondering if even that was saying too much.
“Of course. Because the other teachers were… incapacitated? Or because they didn’t wish to? Did you free the pupils from their tyrannical teachers? Are you in trouble, because of this?”
“Hector, I’m always in trouble,” said Ginny, feelingly. “And that’s no secret. But in this case I had no choice.”
“And what is the building?”
“Hector…”
“Surely the name of a building cannot be a secret? If I go to the door, it will probably say. It is a school building, after all. I will go now…” He headed for the door.
Ginny wasn’t enjoying being grilled, but the idea of Hector le Blanc pestering Sendulla again opened her mouth. “You can’t…! Look, it’s called the House of Assembly, OK?”
Hector turned back towards her. “Of course,” he said. “Why did you choose that building?”
“Because the children were inside!” Perhaps I shouldn’t have said that. “Look, Hector, I’ve got work to do, and…”
“So you were rescuing them?”
“Well…”
“Heroic rescuer,” said le Blanc, savouring the words. He sat down in the chair opposite the desk, with the air of a man about to dine. “La Nue saves the day. Were you dressed at the time?”
“Yes, I was! I’d been to a concert!”
His expression brightened. “Ah! With the…” He gestured to his own chest. “The decolletage?”
“No!”
“Will you pose for my photographer?”
“No!”
“In your concert dress?”
“No!”
“Without…?”
“No!”
“I’m on your side, Headmistress…!”
“You’re dropping me in it, Hector!”
He looked amazed. “How can a rescue be confidential?”
“Look, Sendulla…”
“What are you hiding here?”
“Hector, I’m not hiding anything! Not really!”
Le Blanc nodded, rose.
“Where are you going?” Ginny asked him, worriedly.
“To see Mr Sendulla…”
“No! Leave him alone!”
Henri was hurrying from the room. “But I have everything I want here,” he called over his shoulder. “Thank you, Headmistress!”
The feud between Durmstrang and Beauxbatons slowly diminished into mere grumblings. In its place Ginny had to deal with the opposite problem – she would receive complaints from the Durmstrang monitors about Beauxbatons pupils of both sexes being discovered in the night, inside the Dining Chamber.
“Well, stop them getting in, in the first place!” she snapped when Chloe and Ida came to see her for the third morning in a row.
“They’re your pupils,” Ida pointed out.
“And I give them detentions,” Ginny shot back. “But that doesn’t seem to stop them. Can’t you guard the entrance?”
“We do,” said Chloe. She looked grumpy and tired. “Are they Apparating inside, perhaps?”
“No!” snapped Ginny. “They can’t here. You know that. It must be some other spell they’re using.”
But they had no idea which one. And the problem was accelerating in the opposite direction – her monitors were having to extract an increasing number of Durmstrang pupils from the family houses each morning. And they’re only the ones stupid enough to get caught, she worried.
It was a huge relief when the end of the Beauxbatons term came, and the absence of those pupils and staff made everything easier. But she spent another twitchy week while the Durmstrang term came to a close, and they left, and she could leave too.
She spent Christmas with the Holombecs and Undine, of course. She was unexpectedly bleary when she awoke on Christmas morning, with Gosse slumbering beside her. Then she remembered the bottles of innocuous-seeming wine that Beatrix had produced the night before, and that they’d all drunk, and then moved onto drink something else that Ginny couldn’t recall.
Despite her bleariness, she itched to be active. It seemed unkind to rouse Gosse, so she slipped out of bed unsteadily and pulled out the dressing gown that Undine had given her last year, and went to see if anyone else was awake.
She ran into Beatrix first, who gave her a loud and cheery greeting, kissed and hugged her excessively, then dragged her into the dining room, talking incessantly as she organised breakfast.
There had been snow on the ground when she’d arrived, but through the glass walls of the dining room Ginny could see more snow had fallen in the night.
“Brrr!” said Beatrix, stepping up behind her. “What is wrong, hmm? I haven’t seen so much snow since I was a little girl, and my cousin played a prank on us. But that snow was yellow, not like this.”
They both flinched when something large hammered repeatedly on a window. Something with wings, that was thumping against the glass.
It was a large owl. Beatrix flicked her wand at the door to the garden, and it swung open. The bird swept through the gap like a cloud of dark ash, and landed on the table with a thump and a thud. It blinked at them and clicked its beak.
“Were you expecting an owl?” Beatrix asked. She stepped forward to examine the bird. It had the pronounced ears of an Eagle Owl, Ginny realised. It was beautifully marked. It had a little bag attached to its leg, black and bejewelled, the size of a small purse, and Beatrix stepped forward to detach it. The owl lifted its foot obligingly, then spread its wings and floated onto the back of a chair when its burden had been removed.
“For you, it says,” said Beatrix, examining the label.
Intrigued, Ginny stepped forward to look. The spidery writing looked vaguely familiar. The label was tied to keep the bag closed, so she undid the string and opened it. There was something carved and wooden inside, and she reached in her hand to pull it out. Then she found she had to use both hands, because the wooden object was considerably larger than the bag it was in, and it was a struggle to remove it. It was also heavier than the bag containing it.
“Undetectable Extension Charm,” Ginny grunted as she struggled. “Hermione Granger had one of these, and… In fact, this looks very like it…”
Beatrix had to help her free the box from the bag and set it on the table. It was a rectangular carved wooden chest, immensely old, studded with jewels, and surprisingly large – nearly a foot in each direction. It looked vaguely familiar.
There was no note that Ginny could see. She checked, but the jewelled bag was now empty.
“I’ve seen this chest before as well,” said Ginny, in puzzlement. “But I…”
“Well, open it!” urged Beatrix.
“But it might be…”
“You won’t find out unless you open it,” Beatrix pointed out.
Ginny sighed, but her curiosity was nearly as unsafe as Beatrix’s, so she lifted the latch holding the box closed and gingerly pushed the lid open.
She flinched. The inside of the chest was alive with blue-white flames. Mesmerised, she reached inside and pulled out a wooden goblet, the source of the flames. They danced merrily inside the rim of the goblet, lighting up Beatrix’s face as she gazed at it in amazement.
“Isn’t this…?” began Ginny.
“…The Goblet of Fire?” asked Beatrix.