27. REVELATIONS

Later on, Goodie Gudgeon made them all--Minerva, the Master, Filch, and Healer Doohan--a hearty lunch of bread and lamb and potato stew with massive dumplings she called 'doughbuoys,' floating on top. Then, satisfied that her darling was on the mend, and the Laird was as satisfied as he was ever going to be, she excused herself to up check on the Mistress. After she left, Filch revealed the beastie's origins. "It's a Pogrebin, any road, if I know my Scamander," he opined. "Native to Russia, they are, though more than one has been sighted in the west. The nasty creatures follow travelers about and put sorrowful thoughts in their heads. After a while, especially if the target is weak-minded, they just sit down and start crying and grousing about how unfair life is. That's when the creature pounces."

"And then what?" asked Minerva.

"It usually clonks 'em on the head, Miss, and pulls out their liver'n'lights, and eats 'em raw." This scary statement was delivered in the same bland voice he used to report on harvest sizes and herd growth. "That big head is camouflage of a sort. If its victim turns around, it just plops down and hides itself under its noggin. Makes it look just like a big rock, it does. They can follow an unwary Muggle for hours. We think it's been with the Mistress a long time—that it might be responsible for…"

"For her condition," Minerva exclaimed Oh, I hope so." She looked around at them all with shining eyes. If Filch was right, then Ma was cured. "But, why did it...the Pobberin...why did it never try to pull out her--you know--her innards?"

"That we don't know," sighed Filch, "The buggers aren't known for their patience. It's half a day at the most, before they attack, or lose interest." They ate stew and buttered oat bread in silence for a while and pondered this aberration.

Minerva had another question. "And why did Ma sometimes have the depression, where other times it left her alone?"

"Ah," said her father, chewing slowly, "Filch and I have a theory as to that. You'll remember she seemed to recover any time she was away from the farm. Like those times when we visited St. Mungo's…"

"…and the trips abroad, to the other Healers… it means she would have been away from the creature..."

"Exactly. And even when she was home, I have the feeling that the craven craythur sometimes got locked out of the house, or trapped in the barn or one of the out-buildings."

"Aye," said Filch. "Or held at bay for a time by some animal or other. There were some old scars on its arms and legs as looked like it had maybe tangled with a dog or a badger."

Minerva remembered the summer when they'd looked after a couple of the twins' Crups when Frannie and Philly went off on holiday to Brighton--one of the happy times. The bigger Crup, Chauncey Croptail the Third, whom they all called Chance, was always growling and doubling back on their walks, rooting around in the heather just as if, she realized now, there was some persistent beastie trailing them all.

They thought about this as they ate their bread and stew. Minerva was feeling ever so much better. Although the Skele-Gro healing process had been an unpleasant experience--sort of like having pitch forks thrust repeatedly up your arms and legs--the discomfort was well worth the peace of mind she had now.

Near the end of the meal, Da gave words to her own feelings. "Fearghas's Beard! I feel that relieved." He pushed his chair back, stretched his massive frame, and shook himself like a great mastiff at the end of a long night of hunting, then patted Minerva's hand on the tablecloth. "Your mother will get better, and we'll need never worry about her condition again." He looked off over her shoulderinto the distance, and his face became fierce, even ugly. "But one thing I will do," he growled. "I'll have that filthy thing splayed up on a hoarding out by the gate as a lesson to any hellhound as thinks it can invade my home and hearth."

But Minerva would not be placated by easy gestures of revenge. "We've got to know the whole of it, Da. Why did it stick just with Ma, and not go on? Why her? It's like a spell was on the beastie--you know, a hex, where you're forced to do things against your nature, like a Jelly-Legs or something."

Healer Doohan, who had listened quietly the whole time, broke her meditative silence. "Such spells do not last so long as this. I'm thinking it was a Geas…"

"A Jeese? What's that?" Minerva was intrigued.

But her father was not. "No one does those any more," he snorted.

"I would not scoff, Jupiter," retorted the Healer. "A Geas is the oldest of magicks, and they yet have their uses." She turned to Minerva, whose eyes had grown as wide as saucers. "It is a primitive spell that requires no wand, but only the heartfelt command of a magible being, that forces a creature to perform a single repetitive task over and over again."

"Aye, like forcing a Crup to chase its tail," muttered Jupiter McGonagall.

"And more useful things, as well. It is said that Geases were among the first spells ever cast. Our forbears used them to force plants to follow the sun, for example, a habit that persists to this day in some Muggle flowers. Then some of the more enterprising of our kind started using them to control weaker beings. They found they could make devoted slaves out of the lower humanoids--command each to do a different task: a troll to fetch water from the cistern, an elf to stir the cauldron, a gnome to fan Master in the heat of summer. It is believed that the house elf's persistent need to serve may have come out of the Geasing of generation after generation of their ancestors."

"How can we tell—if it was a Geas that did it?" asked Minerva.

"I would have to examine the corpse's aura minutely, and do a Legilimentic probe. Even though the little fellow's been dead some time, I may find something."

Minerva finished her stew in two gulps, choking only a little on her glutinous doughbuoy. Her father grunted and had another helping. By the time he finished, she was with child to get started on the probe.

~*~

Filch was instructed to wrap up the 'filthy little corpse' and bring it into the house. They stretched it out on Goodie Gudgeon's immaculate worktable and Brianag Doohan went to work. She studied what was left of its face and put her hands over its pulped crown. Not much there, her frown seemed to say, but she Banished all but four chairs from the table and sat down at its head as she motioned them all to join her.

"I think there's something in there, but it's very weak..." Seeing puzzlement on Minerva's face, she went on. "A Geas is not a true entity or spirit, with a life force of its own, but it can behave like one, much like a flame that can dance and wave about as if it were alive. When the fuel is removed, the flame dies. When the spirit leaves the body, a Geas that was holding it in thrall will take some time to dissipate. If I do a Summoning Spell, I may be able to drive it out. You will all need to hover close and absorb the residuum."

Despite his skepticism, Minerva's father stirred uneasily. "Should we not do this without... hem... you ken... an underage witch in the room?"

"I am sure that it cannot hurt her, Jupiter. It is the merest ghost of a spell, and everyone's perception of its passing will be important in making the final diagnosis. If, as I say, there is a Geas present, it will try to inhabit each of you in turn. But even a Muggle would be capable of resisting its weak magic now." Jupiter nodded reluctantly and they all sat and bowed their heads in concentration.

Brianag Doohan began a chant low in her throat. It sounded like the merest murmur of a single word breathed into the creature's face, over and over. "Veni, veni, veni, veni," she intoned. Then her voice rose in volume, became more urgent, more forceful. Minerva thought she felt something trickling through her, through her mouth and nose, like a poison, searing, then numbing her, like the toxic slime trail of a Streeler. She heard a voice—not the Healer's—-but someone else--whispering, cajoling, commanding. She couldn't make out the words, but she squirmed at their scathing delivery. A moment later Brianag raised her head. "It is over. The spell is dissipated."

Minerva looked at the small corpse on the table. It appeared to be swelling in size. And there was a noxious smell of death she had not noticed before. "What...what's happening?"

"Accelerated decay. That's a sure sign of the presence of a magical entity within. It can keep the process of death at bay for quite a while."

"And now it's gone and he can rot in peace," muttered Jupiter.

"We can go outside if you like."

Minerva nodded. The smell was making her a bit sick. They filed out the back door and sat on the steps in the cold light of the winter sun.

"Did you feel anything? Any of you?"

"I'll start," said Jupiter abruptly. "I felt something creeping over my skin, like worms looking for something to devour. Most unpleasant. But it was over in a trice."

"And I felt much the same," said Filch. "But here's something odd. I smelled something too—like pipe smoke—mmm—Auld Beechmast I think it was." Filch was a connoisseur of fine pipeweed, and knew all the best brands.

"Now you mention it, 'Nachus, I smelt something similar, but I thought it was just you." Jupiter nudged his foreman and winked.

Healer Doohan fixed them both with a jaundiced eye. "It's a good thing you kept your thoughts to yourselves while we were working, or we mightn't have had any results at all."

Minerva was dismayed by her father's lack of support. But she waited patiently for her turn.

The iron-haired Healer cleared her throat. "I myself, as the Medium, felt little. But I sensed that the person who invoked the Geas was a fairly powerful witch or wizard."

Jupiter snorted. "If so, why would they need to use such a measly device?"

"I cannot say. Perhaps Minerva can shed some light…" They all turned to her expectantly.

She hesitated. Da was resisting this, and she thought she knew why. He was angry at himself mostly, at having been fooled all this time by a creature not much bigger than his shinbone. Like herself, he was ashamed that Ma had suffered so long, that he hadn't been able to protect her. And he thought they were wasting their time. But she knew they weren't. Someone had forced that creature to do what it did to Ma, and she had to find out who, and why.

"When the...the Geas came out, it tasted like someone was pouring a bitter potion down my throat." Minerva shivered in the sun. "It was disappointed. Like it didn't complete its task."

"And what, may I ask, was its task?" Da was near to shouting. "It drove your mother crazy, nearly killed her! Wasn't that enough?" He was getting a little crazy himself.

But Minerva would not be deflected by her father's frustration, though she felt muche the same as he did. "I think that was its purpose...to kill her."

"Then why didn't it do it right away, when it was first placed? Why make her suffer?" For that Minerva had no answer

Brianag Doohan imposed herself mildly into the argument. "A Geas has the very special property of being extremely long-lived. And it does not require periodic bolstering as do some other words of command. So I would say that the person who imposed it, expected not to be able to revisit his...or her...handiwork."

"Someone who has too much else to do, who travels a lot maybe. Or someone we know, who wouldn't want suspicion to fall on them. But why would anyone want to...punish...Ma like this?"

"We have to go back in time to whenever it was she first experienced the symptoms."

Jupiter was scowling. He didn't like this conversation. He didn't want to remember ten years of pain. Minerva looked at the Healer, this plain, unadorned woman, with new eyes. She was like a Crup herself, steadfast and loyal-- to Truth it would seem. She listened closely to Brianag Doohan.

"If we go back to the beginning, perhaps we can get clues as to who it might be that actually placed the Geas on the Pogrebin."

"A can tell ye preceesely whan it stairtit."

They looked up. It was Goodie Gudgeon, her arms hugging her chest, the scowl on her face matching her master's. "But first, I want tae knaw whit ye expect us tae dae wi this stinkin bit o flesh ye've left on ma board. Should I be makin it intae haggis, ye think?"

The Master stirred himself. "I'm sorry, Goodie Gudgeon, we forgot about that. 'Nachus, would you put the carcass in the barn until we finish this discussion?"

Filch got up and Goodie Gudgeon took his place on the steps, calling to his back, "An dae a Flit Hex in there. The midgies are unco terrible." She squinted at Healer Doohan. "Just wha is it ye maun knaw aboot the Mistress, Brianag?"

~*~

Goodie Gudgeon told all she knew. Iphigenia Wallace McGonagall had been fine, more than fine until the day her father died. Then she started having nightmares, and bouts of depression. Even the birth of her daughter had helped but little. Goodie recounted all the important events she could remember of Iffie's life, starting from the time the 'young Maister' had first brought his bride-to-be to the Keep, introducing her to staff and family. Yes there had been run-ins with some of his sisters. After all, their highly-eligible bachelor brother had to be protected from the predations of female opportunists. And there were the petty jealousies of his male friends, especially his cousin Duncan Macnair. And the usual calumnies among the neighbors about Iffie's Muggle origins. But no one could find in Goodie's story any incident that could be twisted to explain why anyone would want to conjure a Russian demon out of thin air and set it upon the mistress.

And Da was still not convinced a Geas was the cause. He kept muttering about the person behind it all, someone he was sure was still in the neighborhood, though who would play such a terrible trick, he could not, or would not say.

The next day was the first day of the new school term, and Minerva Flooed out, without having had a chance to talk to her mother, though she was able to kiss the peaceful brow and meditate a moment on the clear, untroubled features. She'd throw herself into her studies, Quidditch practice, all the school activities and hope for the best. And by summer, Ma would be well, and they would be a family again.