Eighteen
Diplomacy
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers, hoping to stave off the impending headache. What a god-awful mess the Wizengamot had made of the laws during the last decade! She pondered why she had been so certain she could solve the problem without a truckload of dynamite. Thinking like a Muggle again, she chided herself half-heartedly. What she really needed was a bushel of paper-chomping worms, or insects, or whatever magical beast could be specially bred to devour bad legislation; surely Hagrid would know. Perhaps she’d send him an owl.
She sullenly closed the heavy cover of the wizarding law book. A bit of fresh air would clear her mind, perhaps a cup of tea in the employee courtyard even. But before she could summon her all-weather cloak, there was a knock at her office door.
“Enter,” she called out absently, her mind still lost in an indeterminate fog.
Amos poked his curly grey head inside and whispered, “You have a visitor to request a special favor. A temporary assignment of sorts.”
Hermione nodded in resignation as she pasted an amicable smile on her lips. Probably another Unspeakable seeking a consultation about the newly created Dementor Containment Area. Really, if they were that unsure of what they were doing, they should have just assigned the Dementor Unit to the Magical Creatures Department in the first place; created an auxiliary division if they wanted to maintain a bit of autonomy. Just think of the shoe leather that would be saved when they didn’t have to unwind their way past the disorienting corridors of the Department of Mysteries and take a lift to another floor.
She was caught short when Percy Weasley walked in and seated himself in the nearest chair, leaning over intently.
“Did Amos brief you?” he asked, getting right to the point.
Merlin, he barely warned me! Hermione thought to herself. Aloud, she clarified, “Just that it was a pre-approved assignment. Something for the Minister?”
“More of a diplomatic issue. Last minute shuffle in personnel and suddenly we have no one to escort the visiting Bulgarian Quidditch team through the War Museum.”
“I’m sure Luna will do just fine…” Hermione began, only to wind down when she caught Percy’s unblinking stare.
“There was a special request made for your presence. Penelope was going to handle it originally since she’s technically part of my staff, but she’s been called away to deal with an emergency on her own turf. Viktor Krum specifically asked for you; said your Yuletide greetings mentioned you were working at the Ministry.”
“I thought Viktor retired from the team,” she replied, recalling how Ron had made fun of the unflattering photos in Which Broomstick.
“The Bulgarians seem to be a bit looser with those designations than we are,” Percy harrumphed. “Last minute injury to their new Seeker and the second string wasn’t ready for an important international match, so Krum steps in to save the day. And as the senior member of the team, he is accorded certain privileges.”
“What exactly would my assignment be?”
“Keep him company for the day, be his own personal tour guide through the museum and any other London sights he might want to visit. Have high tea at the Connaught; the Ministry has an account already set up there. Only restriction is that you finish up in time for him to have cocktails with the Minister at half past five.”
“What about the rest of the Quidditch team?” Hermione demanded, not wanting to be stuck being nursemaid to a bunch of disinterested broom-jockeys.
“We have other personnel from the diplomatic corps to herd them around the sites. You’ll be assigned to Krum exclusively. The War Museum’s been closed to the public until two so you won’t have to worry about dodging any autograph hounds, either.”
Hermione rolled her eyes at the thought of having to deal with Viktor’s fans; Ron had been such a rabid fan until he’d actually come face to face with the man. “I don’t know, Percy….”
“Look, Hermione, I know it’s an imposition. Trust me, I do. But Eleanor’s with Mum today. She won’t mind watching her a bit longer; you know how single-minded she is with infants. And Penny really is caught in a bind: her site just opened to the public a few days ago and she gets word today that Umbridge wants to bring her ‘knitting group’ by for a private tour.”
“Have you suggested burning oil? It proved very successful with the Visigoths.”
“If only Umbridge were that civilized!” Percy scoffed with just a hint of a smile.
It would be nice to see Viktor in person after years of short notes and infrequent updates. He had always been a stalwart friend. “Will there be press there? I’m hardly--”
Percy glanced quickly at his watch; it was just barely past nine. “I’m here to escort you home to change. We’re due to meet them in roughly ninety minutes for elevenses. That should give you ample time.”
Hermione nodded curtly as a quick motion with her wand stowed all her paperwork neatly in a self-locking desk drawer.
Percy’s sharp footsteps rang along the corridor as he assured Hermione that her supervisor had already approved her loan and, no, it was not necessary to alert any of the assistants of her absence. He’d already taken care of those details for her.
“Think of me as your personal assistant until I deliver you into Krum’s capable hands,” Percy placated.
Ron’s just going to love this, she groaned to herself. Just more groundless suspicion for a fire that wouldn’t catch flame with a herd of dragons blowing on it. “Will you make sure to let Ron know?” she pressed, keeping her face as neutral as possible.
“Of course,” Percy allowed. “As part of the Magical Games Department, he’s probably been assigned to greet the team when they arrive at the Ministry for cocktails. An honor guard of sorts before they adjourn to the Minister’s private rooms. Set to coincide with quitting time.”
Once at the bank of lifts, Percy flashed his official insignia to commandeer one for their own private use. In a matter of seconds, they were exiting into the Atrium and headed for the Apparition point just past the main doors.
“It will save a lot of time if you just Apparate us directly to the upstairs of your house,” Percy suggested with a slight blush. “I can’t say I’ve been further than the kitchen myself.”
With an amused grin, Hermione deposited them directly in the hallway outside the master bedroom. As Percy leaned against the banister to regain his footing, she sent a silent charm into the next room to smooth the bedcovers.
“No need to be embarrassed, Percy,” she offered as she walked through the doorway and waited for him to follow. “You’re my brother-in-law, remember?”
“Right.” Percy tried to use briskness to cover his self-consciousness, then gave it up as hopeless. “I’m not exactly used to inviting myself into a woman’s bedchamber, all right.” He sat himself down on the settee at the foot of the bed and cradled his face in his hands. “Just laugh and get it over with. I live for humiliation.”
Hermione couldn’t help it. As much as she tried to maintain a straight face, the laughter just bubbled up. “I’m sorry, Percy, I truly am. But if you could just see yourself!”
“I’d feel like I was part of Fudge’s entourage, I know. Just promise me you won’t call me Weatherby.”
Hermione joined in with Percy’s wry chuckle, then suggested, “Why don’t you find something in my closet you think is suitable? I know the Ministry has female assistants for this kind of thing, but right now you’re all I’ve got “ and I have no idea what would be appropriate.”
When she returned from the bathroom with her hair sleeked back into an elegant French twist, she found that Percy had laid out the royal blue taffeta dress she’d worn to Eleanor’s christening.
“You don’t think it’s too--”
“Elegant?” Percy supplied. “Krum doesn’t want to see you in one of Mrs. Figg’s tweed ensembles. This is perfect. Now where do you keep your Order of Merlin? Boggarts, I should have remembered to ask you while we were still in your office! You don’t have it--”
“Framed on the wall like Remus, you mean? No, Hogwarts is a lot safer than the Ministry when it comes to personal belongings. There’s a small red box in the top dresser drawer.”
Uncertain why Percy was so concerned with the medal, she grabbed the dress and retired into the bathroom to change. She was just slipping her feet into elegant pumps when Percy approached with the velvet box in hand.
“Percy, really, it’s not something I take to wearing in public. I have a vintage brooch that’s just perfect…” She trailed off as she saw the determined look in Percy’s eye.
“It’s part of your official credentials,” Percy explained. “Or at least I’ve charmed it to serve that function for the day. It’s much too late to improvise anything else. Besides, diplomats routinely wear the decorations awarded to them by their governments.”
“Men do,” Hermione acknowledged as she remembered clipping the medallion just under Ron’s black tie for Ginny’s wedding. Harry and Remus had also been wearing theirs; Ginny and Tonks had not. “But even that’s only for formal occasions.” Fondly, she recalled the unstuffy wedding she and Ron had shared in the back meadow at the Burrow. The summer breeze had caused an ocean of wildflowers to undulate amid flowing pastoral gowns. There had been no call for fancy medals to adorn Ron’s crisp linen shirt.
“I guarantee you every other member of the diplomatic corps would be proudly displaying their decorations, if only they had any,” Percy mumbled as he concentrated on the spell that would painlessly attach the Order of Merlin to the shimmering taffeta of Hermione’s bolero jacket. “Krum needs to recognize he’s getting the cream of the crop here.”
With a radiant smile, Hermione tucked her own wand into the hidden pocket along the seam of her full skirt. It was a little awkward with the dropped waistline, but the body-skimming bodice accentuated how quickly she’d regained her figure after nursing Eleanor for the better part of four months.
“Is like Yule Ball all over again,” Viktor whispered in her ear as he drew her away from the boisterous buffet arranged in the refurbished solarium. “Diamonds on roof instead of snow on silver trees, but it sparkle just the same. Like your eyes.”
Hermione giggled nervously as she surveyed the crowded room around them, but no one was paying them the least mind. Following Viktor’s finger, she shaded her eyes at the dazzling display as the sun sliced between the tall townhouses surrounding Grimmauld Place. The morning’s rain had indeed wreathed the glass roof with a generous smattering of moisture to refract the sun’s rays into their own private light show.
“You forget you’re a married man,” she joked.
“Vife number three moved out last week,” he confided lowly.
“I’m sorry, Viktor. I thought you had ironed things out ahead of time.”
“Me, too. But I get it wronski once again.”
Hermione laughed at his use of the nickname she had given him after he butchered her name for the ninety-ninth time. “But you told her the truth…”
“Ya, Vicky,” he replied using the pet name he’d bequeathed to her upon discovering Ron had likened him to a female. A bit too prophetic for his own taste, but perfect for Hermione. “She accepted everything. But she vant too much from me, more than I’m villing to give.”
“You know the solution,” Hermione whispered as she allowed him to draw her into the deserted hallway outside the roped off basement kitchen.
Instantly, a uniformed attendant was at Viktor’s elbow with a tall glass of dark ale and a more dainty cup filled with crushed ice for her. “Taste,” he suggested with an encouraging smile. “I bring bottle from home. Is like mead only made from elderberry blossoms.”
Hermione took a tentative sip of the pale yellow liquid. It was pleasantly sweet and cold as it slid down her throat “ and thankfully, not very high in alcoholic content. “Very nice indeed,” she noted as the glass studiously refilled itself. She leveled her gaze on Viktor who gave her a casual shrug.
“It vas either self-filling charm or they’d be at our elbows all afternoon,” he defended as he took a long pull of the dark beer. “Is good, too. Reminds me of local brew at home. Vat is name?”
“Thestral Ale, it’s called. They have the audacity to market it with the slogan that it will disappear before your very eyes.”
Viktor issued a deep chuckle. “Clever. Cheeky, as they say. See I learn English slang.”
“Cheeky monkey.”
“Vat’s vith monkey? A comparison to my prehistoric ancestors?”
Hermione laughed as she felt herself relaxing in his effortless company. “That would be a Neanderthal. A comparison I have made with many men, I assure you. But the slang expression for something that’s outrageous but engaging at the same time is ‘cheeky monkey.’ Cheeky by itself is more akin to mouthing off at the teacher.”
“Ah, grounds for detention.” Viktor nodded that he understood the distinction. “Many teachers make you stay after class?”
“Never. It’s only in novels that schoolgirls are seduced by their professors. At Hogwarts, it would have been automatic grounds for expulsion for the student and an inglorious sacking for the teacher.”
Viktor cocked an eyebrow to convey ‘only if they’re discovered.’ He was such a romantic at heart, no wonder women fell for him regardless of his protestations, Hermione thought to herself.
“Ya, officials vould have looked down noses at such proceedings at Durmstrang as vell. But being boy’s school…”
“It isn’t anymore,” Hermione corrected him. “Welcome to the twentieth century, I say.” Feeling a bit more courageous, she dared, “But being a boy’s school must have been heaven for you.”
Viktor laughed deeply at a side of him that so few people knew. “More like child in candy store who is diabetic. Touching only vith eyes.”
“I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have been so flippant.”
“Naw,” Viktor allowed happily. “Is no different than me making joke about you keeping nose in book. Does this offend you, Vicky?”
“No, but I don’t live in the shadows between every heartbeat like you do, Viktor. You’re entitled to be happy.”
“Vas happy vith vife number two. She make jokes like you.”
“Then what happened?”
Viktor sighed in resignation. “She fall in love vith fashion designer she claim vas perfect for me. And I not von to stand in vay of true love. She send me lovely designer clothing on regular basis. Viktor is best dressed Quidditch player, no?”
As he stood back for her appraisal, Hermione had no choice but to admire the cut of the black suit and slate grey shirt he wore. The smooth folds of the pleated trousers attested to the training regimen he’d resumed in order to fill in for the injured Seeker.
“Very continental,” she complimented him.
“And the color of twilight sky. Vat do you call it?” he demanded as his eyes drank in the iridescent fabric of her dress.
“Sapphire. Like the gemstone.”
“Of course. I alvays buy diamonds. Go vith everything; first vife train me vell.”
Hermione took a determined breath, “Viktor…”
“No,” he replied. “I know vere you are heading ven you use proper first name. And answer remains no. The vorld is not ready for this truth.”
“But many other sports figures--”
“Is their decision. I support them. But is not answer for me.”
“I have a close friend who’s a werewolf and feels quite the same,” Hermione conceded gracefully. “So please believe me, I do understand.”
“This friend, is Quidditch coach?”
Hermione shook her head as she recalled Ron’s assertions that only in Bulgaria were werewolves treated with at least a scintilla of dignity. “No, he’s more of an intellectual.”
“Yet he has job?”
“Yes.”
“Different customs in England, then.”
“Not so much. He presents himself as being like everyone else, even though it’s a lie.”
“But he finds lie necessary.”
“Only because laws are skewed so that employers are practically required to reject werewolves or submit themselves to constant Ministry overview.”
“These laws are enforced by current administration?”
“Not really, but they still remain on the books. It’s enough to dissuade any employer who doesn’t want his business to be painted with a bullseye, even if it’s more paranoia than anything else. They foster fear of werewolves and that’s enough.”
“How does friend maintain job then? Superlative skill?”
Hermione nodded with a fond smile. “Versatility and an indomitable spirit. Not to mention that his employer is a rather plucky woman who might actually relish lobbing brimstone onto the Ministry’s front porch, if it came to that.”
“Yes, you have surrounded yourself vith heroic friends,” Viktor remarked as he gazed at a group picture taken the night of Voldemort’s defeat.
They were a motley bunch, held together by ragged bandages just as much as their victorious smiles. She redirected his attention to the vintage photo of the Order that contained so many who had died in that first campaign, the Potters and Ron’s uncles among them. “We wanted to recreate a similar pose,” she explained. “Even though it was an incomplete grouping; some were in the Hospital Wing.”
Viktor peered more carefully at the photo. “You look fresh as daisy, no? Ron, too.”
Hermione felt a hint of embarrassment rise to her face as she explained their clothing had been “scandalously disheveled” as the Headmistress had put it before she sent them to their dormitories to change. “Believe me, we were plenty scratched up on our knees and elbows “ you just can’t see it under those robes.”
Mindful of the abbreviated facts contained in the museum display, Hermione recounted her role in the final confrontation omitting any mention of werewolves.
“So you and Ron never faced Voldemort directly?” Viktor pressed.
Hermione shook her head at the irony of it all. “Just the Minister for Magic,” she conceded, swallowing the urge to add that a career politician could be just as underhanded. Such undiplomatic comments did not suit her assignment for the day, she reminded herself.
Of his own accord, Viktor came to a similar conclusion. “Ah, the snake in grass. He should have known that in intellectual duel, he vould not measure up.”
Hermione glanced around nervously, but they were alone on the first floor landing. The faint voices below indicated the others were just beginning with their tour, though.
An unfamiliar exhibit caught her eye and she drew closer to review the photos under a heading that read: The Obstructionists. Photos of Cornelius Fudge and Dolores Umbridge stood side by side. The verbiage about Fudge discussed the climate of fear that had persisted during the last year of his tenure as his denial of Voldemort’s return bordered on the pathological. An ostrich burying its head in the sand, Hermione thought to herself; but Luna’s words were more charitable as they outlined how Fudge’s policies doomed his administration to eventual collapse.
Beneath Dolores Umbridge’s portrait were miniature versions of the infamous Educational Decrees, each prominently featuring Fudge’s florid signature at the bottom. The legend read:
As Senior Undersecretary for then Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, Dolores Umbridge was given the important task of furthering the administration’s agenda. Ms. Umbridge was assigned the duty of calming fears among the student populace at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry with a temporary posting to the faculty. As demonstrated by the long list of Ministry Decrees, Umbridge’s mission to teach the students what to think backfired spectacularly; requiring more and more stringent methods as control slipped like sand through her fingers.
As the sole eyewitness to Voldemort’s harrowing resurrection, Harry Potter became the final obstacle that needed to be overcome. So Ms. Umbridge made it her goal to squelch any support he may have found among the other students. Misinformation was routinely funneled into news reports which sought to paint Potter as a spoiled attention-grabbing adolescent, at best-- and a delusional maniac with a tenuous hold on reality, at worst.
But totalitarian methods are often the impetus for the very insurrection they seek to suppress. As Umbridge helmed the Defense Against the Dark Arts classes that taught it was not necessary to defend against an imaginary foe, students turned to another teacher, one who was ready to teach them to defend their integrity as well as their very lives.
Demanding their due, a small group of students threw their loyalty behind Potter and formed a Defense study group that was intentionally given the ironic name of Dumbledore’s Army. Their attempts to lampoon Fudge’s most paranoid fear that the school’s venerable Headmaster was intent on usurping political control led to unexpected consequences. For when the students were discovered by Umbridge’s pogroms, Aurors were sent to detain Dumbledore for treason…
Hermione’s attention to Luna’s overview was arrested by a sharp tug on her sleeve.
“That voman,” Viktor began with a distasteful scowl towards Umbridge’s portrait. “She vas Toad Queen vat gave you so much grief? Your letters vere full of anger about her vengeful methods for many months.”
Hermione nodded with a grim set to her lips. “She’s still giving us grief. Now that she’s retired from the Ministry, she’s set herself up as an informal export on anything and everything.”
“Vouldn’t be so bad if newspaper didn’t quote her at every opportunity. But she should not give you grief “ she’s pompous buffoon, nothing more.”
“She had amassed a following, Viktor. People who buy into her lies that Harry’s still seeking attention to compensate for the parental love he never knew. She wishes to portray this very museum as nothing more than a gigantic folly fueled by his twisted narcissism.”
“A ready diagnosis vat applies to Toad voman herself. She should look in mirror more often. Even if Reparo Charm needed each time.”
Hermione burst out laughing at Viktor’s wry commentary.
“See,” he offered with amusement dancing in his dark eyes, “that is how ve take Umbridge’s vords. Lies so outrageous are to be met only vith derision.”
Hermione considered that Viktor’s honorable view of the world was perhaps a bit naïve, but accepted it was part of his inherent generosity.
“Did I tell you, Vicky, that Toad Voman vonce visit Durmstrang?”
“Not until this moment,” Hermione attested with rising interest.
“Vell, vithout picture, I not know vas same person.”
“You mean my description wasn’t apt enough?” she teased.
“Should have mentioned unnatural attachment to color pink!”
“Forgive my oversight. How did she manage to visit your school, though? I thought only alumni and students were permitted to know its location.”
Viktor shrugged to indicate it was obvious. “Headmaster allowed to break own rules. He bring visitors in by Portkey. Not necessary to disclose Unplottable location.”
“Was the purpose of her visit a secret as well?”
“She come to lay groundwork for Trivizard Tournament. Accompanied twitchy man who vas in charge of International Cooperation.”
“Barty Crouch, Senior,” Hermione supplied as she recalled Percy had started his Ministry career as Crouch’s assistant. “When was this?”
“I vas deep in training for Vorld Cup, so it must have been previous spring.”
That would make sense, Hermione mused. Percy had not been hired until the summer. “So did the Minister accompany them as well? That would have been Cornelius Fudge.”
“No, she come vith other man; man I assume to be Quidditch coach. I not meet Minister until after First Task complete and he valtz down from reviewing stand.”
It was probably Ludo Bagman then, Hermione surmised. The scandal that had forced his resignation as head of the Magical Games Department had not yet occurred. His swaggering bravado could easily have led Viktor to think of him as a coach, but she never had the chance to ask if it was the same man who had served as one of the tournament judges.
“Now vat man, he is hero,” Viktor announced, appraising the still incomplete exhibit on covert activities.
Hermione could not believe he was referring to Percy, but then she noticed Viktor’s eyes were devouring the words detailing Severus Snape’s dangerous dossier.
“I take Potions classes from him and never knew… All I know he vas related to our Headmaster, Igor Karkaroff.”
This was news to Hermione. “Really? But Snape attended Hogwarts as a lad, not Durmstrang.”
“Very distant relation, but such distinction is not often made in my corner of vorld. Family is family, no matter vat.” He frowned slightly before adding softly, “Things did not turn out so vell for Karkaroff. He try to shake off yoke entirely and there vas no place distant enough for him to hide.”
“I was sorry to hear about that,” Hermione sympathized although she knew very few of the details. “Such an anonymous death is always difficult.”
“Karkaroff alvays have students’ best interests at heart. He vas only von to convince Bulgarian Quidditch team to grant me sabbatical to finish schooling after Vorld Cup.”
“I remember you saying you’d been recruited after what would have been our O.W.L. year.”
“True, and I vas able to keep up vith coursevork for a time through private tutors, much like you did during final year. But ven Bulgaria see it has chance at Vorld Cup, all accommodations cease. They vant to lock me into contract so I vould have to resign to finish schooling.”
“It’s a sad commentary on sports figures that often repeats itself here as well,” Hermione empathized. “So what happened in your case?”
“Vell, my grandmother not happy at all vith Quidditch Association. And no von should vant to see my gran unhappy; she only look frail and harmless.”
With a small snigger, Hermione interjected, “A regular 100 pound Gorgon.”
“Karkaroff say she more like enraged veela vithout beauty and charm,” Viktor confided with a nostalgic grin. “He say he rather face Quidditch Association than her any day.”
“So he smoothed things over for you to return for your final year.”
“Even more, he make sure no vind of coming Trivizard Tournament get past valls of Durmstrang. Quidditch team vould have not liked me to risk their future by becoming contestant.” Magnetically, his eyes scrutinized Snape’s saturnine likeness once more. “But Karkaroff not have nerves of steel like your professor. He realize error of vays and vant to change, stay out of vizarding var entirely.”
Tiptoeing around the very private moments she had witnessed, Hermione expounded, “Snape endured a rather unhappy childhood and the mask he learned to assume served him well. Otherwise, his duplicity would have been rewarded with a prolonged and painful death.”
Viktor shuddered noticeably before changing the subject with determination. “Sean’s new friend, Teddy, he is son of heroes?”
Hermione pointed out the photo of Remus coordinating a training session that had been studiously staged to include all of them. The brightly colored spells and jinxes flashed intermittently amid a whirl of motion. “And his mother is there,” she added as she located a photo of Tonks from the recent dedication ceremony that showcased her Metamorphmagus abilities.
“So turquoise hair is not fault of bad stylist,” Viktor commented with a wry chuckle.
Joining in, Hermione quipped, “Just a misplaced sense of fashion, I’m afraid. You know how children are.”
“But Teddy’s parents do not share same last name. Not married?”
“Very much married, just not cleaving to conventional custom.”
Viktor nodded sagely. “Very vise. Media less likely to interfere vith scarcity of facts. You know Sean’s mother, Penny? She vas at Hogwarts, different year. Can’t remember name before marriage.”
“You’ve always been hopeless with names, Wronski! Her maiden name was Clearwater, Penelope Clearwater. She uses it as her professional name as well.”
“Naturally, she vould vant to minimize irrelevant ties reporters might vant to dredge up. I made suggestion.”
“Good advice. Also capitalizes on those who remember her from school. She was in Ravenclaw House, top of her year.”
“Vere you friends, then? I can’t imagine you not being at head of class, Vicky.”
“Believe it or not, I spent a number of months next to Penelope in hospital during my second year; she would have been a sixth year.”
“So much girl talk?”
“Virtually none.” Hermione laughed at the vagaries of life. “She and I had both been Petrified by an encounter with a basilisk and were awaiting an antidote to be brewed.”
“So close and still strangers!” Viktor doubled over with merriment at the absurd coincidence.
“At school she was Percy’s girlfriend,” Hermione supplied as she pointed out the photo hanging shoulder-to-shoulder with Snape’s. “Percy is my brother-in-law, Ron’s middle brother. Penny’s not really what I would call a stranger, either.”
“Good, so you come join Penny and Sean at Saturday’s Quidditch match.”
“I’m sure Ron will be there. He works for the Magical Games Department, you recall. They command a rather rowdy section of the stands.”
“Not sit vith commoners, Vicky. Come sit in skybox. Penny has privileges and she give extra skybox tickets, see? You have friends you can invite?”
“Well, yes,” Hermione stammered. “But I wouldn’t want to intrude upon Penny…”
“She’s been much too lonely lately and you practically family.”
“How do you figure that, Viktor?” Hermione looked him dead in the eye.
He shrugged nonchalantly. “Penny already invite Percy; Sean invite Teddy. Box belongs to me, too. I invite you and Ron and Harry. Anyone else you know? It’s not much fun to float among clouds vithout friends.”
Hermione considered briefly before supplying, “There’s Harry’s wife, Ginny. She’s a great Quidditch fan. And I’m sure Teddy’s parents and little sister would like to attend.”
“Then is date!” Viktor smiled broadly. “I take men to exclusive Quidditch pub aftervards. If ve vin, fans buy us drinks all night.”
“What if you lose?”
“Ve drown sorrows. See, is vin-vin situation.” At Hermione’s indecision, he soothed, “Vould you feel better if Penny sent owl to you directly?”
Hermione nodded as Viktor insisted she take the stadium passes with her. “It vill be all right. You must learn to trust Viktor. I not wronski about everything.”
“Come, let me show you the room where Sirius kept the renegade hippogriff,” Hermione whispered as she drew him past the velvet rope and up the final staircase. “It’s not really open to the public yet, but the curators are both close friends.”
“They keep hippogriff in townhouse?” Viktor whispered under his breath. “Must have taken true hero to face down cleaning lady.”
“The house elf was a bit senile.”
“Ah, that explain everything,” Viktor scoffed. “Then after, you show me other London landmarks, no? I spend vay too much time vith rest of team as is “ and none of them is my type!”
“Where did you take Krum?” Percy posed without preamble.
Taken aback by his directness, Hermione hesitated. “Sightseeing in London, just like you said. If there was a specific agenda, you should have briefed me.”
Percy shook his head, his lips a firm line too much like McGonagall’s for Hermione’s taste. “Please don’t think I’m accusing you of anything untoward, but the two of you were seen ducking into a Muggle taxicab. I barely managed to keep the photographer sent by Witch Weekly from snapping your picture.” He lowered his voice to a mere whisper. “It would be difficult to justify why you were both looking around so furtively.”
“To make sure we weren’t observed by anyone who would pose a threat to the Statute of Secrecy,” she shot back with more venom than she’d intended. “I managed to transfigure my cloak so I wouldn’t stand out.”
“No, I’m certain you fit right in. What do you call that type of coat? It seems so quintessentially British.”
“Burberry. They make understated styles for both men and women. I didn’t think Viktor’s black leather overcoat looked out of place.”
“Where does he come by Italian couture?” Percy inquired much to Hermione’s surprise. “You work with diplomats, you tend to notice those details.”
“His second wife remarried an Italian designer. Viktor is a walking billboard of sorts.”
“Why a Muggle taxi? You still haven’t told me where you went.”
Hermione sighed in frustration at the unexpected interrogation. “Does it really matter? London is a big city and Viktor wanted to go somewhere he could relax without having to worry about Quidditch fans.”
“Krum has been praising you rather lavishly to the Minister. My report will look suspicious if those details are omitted “ besides you need to submit an expense voucher.”
“When I told Viktor I had grown up in London, he insisted we visit some of the places I enjoyed as a child. Growing up as a Muggle, I wasn’t entirely certain of the proper Apparition points. There’s so much construction and road closures all over the place.”
“So the taxi was a necessary precaution to blend into Muggle society. Not a problem,” he noted with a reassuring smile as he made a small notation in his notepad. ”Did you just happen to have Muggle bank notes on hand?”
“No, but Viktor did. He confessed that melting away into Muggle crowds is something he does on a regular basis when he can’t take the celebrity anymore.”
“You let our diplomatic guest pay his own way?”
“It was only a few pounds, Percy. You can always reimburse him if your conscience bothers you that much; I assure you Viktor’s doesn’t. Besides, it would have been far worse if he had gotten caught in the rain, don’t you think?”
“You could have ducked under an awning or into a shop,” Percy countered stubbornly.
“Not in Hyde Park. That’s where we went first, although we just had the driver do the circuit when the rain started. We tried the British Museum next but the long queues of schoolchildren were rather off putting. It would have taken us an hour to get to the ticket booth. So we settled for someplace which appealed less to the standard British school system, the Tate Museum.”
“That’s the big, airy one with the giant Acromantula sculpture in the courtyard, right?”
“Viktor was convinced it was the work of a Squib,” Hermione chuckled at the memory. “ ‘A distant relative of Hagrid’s, no doubt,’ I replied.”
“Well, certainly not by Ron, at any rate,” Percy conceded with a wry chuckle of his own. “Please tell me Krum didn’t have to shell out more bills for museum admission.”
“My family has a membership,” Hermione explained. “Even allows you to bring guests once or twice a year.” She was so relieved she’d been able to recall the member number after all these years.
“Aren’t you restricted to certain days? For guests, that is.”
“My parents pay for the upgrade that doesn’t impose any such pointless restrictions.”
“Why the Tate? Modern art hardly seems like the kind of thing that would appeal to youngsters.”
“Is this going into your report as well?”
“Not necessarily. I was just curious, is all. I’ve never actually been there myself.”
“You’re wondering if you should take Penny.”
Percy blushed slightly at her acumen. “Let’s just say I want to know what I’m getting into. At my age, coming across as a total rube is not something women generally admire.”
Hermione offered him a gentle smile as she described the tall, vaulted ceilings and cavernous rooms that always made her feel insignificant as she walked in the footsteps of visionary giants. The hushed reverence that had everyone speaking in whispers invoked the atmosphere of a cathedral.
Krum had asked if her parents had explained the paintings to her as a child.
“Not really,” Hermione responded thoughtfully. “They taught me to appreciate even that which I did not understand in the hopes that with maturity, I would come to see.”
“So vat do you see, Vicky? Bright colors very engaging, lots of motion. Reminds me of child-like exuberance.”
“Art is such a personal thing,” she demurred.
“Particularly ven the subject is not clear,” Viktor joked, but she could see by his sharp eyes that he was nonetheless intrigued by the unfamiliar world opening up before him. “Now this, I recognize.”
Hermione caught up to where he had stopped to admire a tall abstract. “You’re familiar with Kandinsky, then?”
“Sure. Ve have Constantine Kandinsky that play on school team; two years younger than me.”
Hermione laughed at his devilry. “Perhaps it’s a relative. Did your school chum have a talent for art? Not that those things always run in families.”
Viktor shrugged playfully. “Art not part of curriculum at Durmstrang, but is possible. He vas certainly no Quidditch player, that for sure. Quaffle slip through hands like coated vith oil.”
“Or wet paint?” Hermione supplied as Viktor broke out in a deep belly laugh.
“Tell me vat you think of this modernistic art,” he urged in her ear. “I keep secret. Obviously, there’s no single right answer.”
“It was only after I went to Hogwarts that it came to me,” Hermione began. “But I knew I could never share it with my parents. These artists strained to picture that which they witnessed all around them. Not just visual sights, but emotions, fears, hopes, sounds, smells. Everything. They would just pour it into their canvases or whatever medium they were using. And somehow, the end result is magic.”
“Magical, you mean.”
Hermione shook her head emphatically. “No, I mean it just that way. Magic. In their hyper-perceptive state, these Muggles somehow felt the currents of magic that they were taught didn’t exist -- not to a rational mind, anyway. Abstract art is a way to portray that which they cannot name in words. Yet in their hearts, they could not deny its presence to a world who would think them mad.”
“Magic? It’s a wonderfully unique explanation,” acknowledged Percy as he brought Hermione’s thoughts to the present. “But I don’t think I can pass it off as mine. You have to have the passion behind it, you see. Penny would never buy it.”
“There are numerous art books providing tried and true explanations from the experts,” Hermione suggested. “No one would question you if you tucked one under your arm for reference. Make it a self-guided tutorial of sorts.”
Percy conceded that might be the best approach in his case. “Back to Krum for a moment. Did you go anyplace else, after the museum? You didn’t join the group at the Connaught.”
“Was that obligatory? Sorry if I mistook my instructions. I took Viktor to a nearby tea shop my parents always favored. The three sisters who run it are ever so pleasant and there’s always something to everyone’s liking. Dainty soups and salads for the ladies and hearty sandwiches and stews for the gents “ and meringue vol au vents that float in the very stratosphere!”
“A Muggle establishment? You didn’t happen to keep a copy of the--”
She pulled a neatly folded receipt from her dainty purse. “It’s all here. Not to worry, I used a Muggle bank card to pay for it so our guest was not inconvenienced. That was not an option with the taxi, you see. The three vodka negronis are Viktor’s; I just had the chamomile tea. We shared the assortment of sweet and savory pastries.”
Nodding his approval, Percy smoothed the receipt before he attached it to his clipboard. “I’ll get a conversion table from Gringotts. You don’t mind if the Ministry repays you in galleons, do you?”
“Not at all,” Hermione allowed. She’d just have to reconvert it into pounds when she repaid her mother, but that’s what she got for living in the wizarding world.
“By the way, Hermione, I can’t thank you enough for helping me out at the last minute like you did. I’ll make sure my report includes some mention of Krum’s eccentricity about mingling with Muggles. No one will give it a second thought; celebrities can have the most peculiar habits.”
Hermione accepted his thanks graciously, never mentioning that his own father, Arthur, could tell the diplomatic corps a thing or two about the hypnotic allure of the Muggle world. Too bad, really, that the man’s slack-jawed wonderment made it practically impossible to suggest a similar outing for him.