Nineteen
Quidditch Matters
It had rained the night before but Hermione had not expected to find the same thundercloud settled over Ron’s brow at breakfast.
“I’m glad you helped yourself to porridge,” she offered in a conciliatory tone. “I didn’t get to start the sausages before Eleanor demanded her bottle.”
“’sallright,” Ron mumbled through a mouthful of food, not looking up from the Quidditch scores. “I managed to cook them without charring the outsides too badly myself. The pan’s over on the stove.”
“Ron…” she began, then hesitated when she caught the belligerent set to his jaw.
“Is Eleanor ready?” he demanded gruffly, the sound of his chair screeching loudly in the overly quiet kitchen.
“I packed her a small bag last night, but I thought I’d give her some cereal first.”
“Mum will take care of that. You wouldn’t want to deprive her of the privilege.” Ron was still not meeting her eyes as he Summoned the baby satchel and carefully hoisted the dozing pink buddle on his shoulder. Without another word, father and daughter disappeared in whoosh of green Floo Powder.
Hermione sighed as she tied her dressing gown more tightly around her nightclothes before sitting down at the table. Tea poured itself into her mug as she absently spread butter and jam on the crumpets still warm from a heating spell. Ron would tell her soon enough what had gotten him into a snit -- after he partook of a second breakfast at the Burrow.
Savoring a few minutes to herself, she added some sausages to her plate as she smoothed out the Daily Prophet before her. As expected, the opening of the Riddle House Historic Site was still dominating the news. Parallel photos contrasted the renovated portion of the house with the foreboding front stoop. Her eyes scanned the page until she found the article she sought.
In what Preservation Site Curator, Penelope Clearwater, will consider a marketing coup, visitors to the newly inaugurated site emerged white-faced and shaking as they took their leave. What exactly had the public so perturbed, yet clearly intrigued? This reporter was determined to find out first-hand.
Hermione skimmed the next paragraphs until she found the description of the tour’s climatic encounter in the desolate graveyard.
It was eerily quiet, no sound of birdsong from the nearby woodlands dared to penetrate this deeply into the heart of pure evil. In hushed whispers, the assembled guests commented among themselves about the stark sign that had been posted at the rusted gates: a warning to pregnant women and those suffering from heart problems or any anxiety disorders.
Obviously Penny had taken a page from the Muggle amusement parks she had visited in her childhood, Hermione commented to herself with a small smile.
Were we to see a recreation of the fabled Priori Incantatem phenomenon that had caught the former Dark Lord unprepared not once, but twice? Rumor was that it had proven to be an impossible task. Perhaps a re-enactment with high-technology lights then. Muggles were known to employ such methods to recreate magic in their cinematic industry.
But the seconds ticked by like molasses in an hour-glass, our tour guide looking more and more nervously about her as if calculating how to compensate for a technical malfunction. A small icy breeze kicked up its heels as a cloud obscured the feeble February sun right on cue. Laughter, demonic and maniacal, could be distinguished among the preternatural stillness. Very softly, it came from all directions at once. We looked around with a unique mix of wildly unsettling anticipation and hearts pounding in our ears. A pinpoint of red light danced across our faces, then shoulders, then lower to our ribcages where it lingered as if undecided.
In an instant, it was done! One among the crowd had collapsed in a tangled heap among the tall, unkempt grass. In alarm, our tour guide called out as assistance poured forth from the nearby caretaker’s cottage and from the main house atop the hill. With practiced efficiency, the stricken spectator was Enervated and he hobbled unsteadily back towards the gate, leaning heavily upon his rescuer’s shoulder. Would he receive free admittance to another performance or some other form of recompense, I wondered?
Catching our darting eyes, the tour guide began in a tremulous voice, “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what greeted young Harry Potter when he was unceremoniously transported into the Riddle graveyard so many years ago. The excitement from having reached the finish line of the Triwizard Tournament turning to ice in his veins as his dead teammate tumbled to the ground at his feet…”
Score one for Penelope, Hermione thought as she turned the page, seeking out anything about Umbridge’s vexatious visit. Buried near the end of the article’s continuation, she found it.
“Dearie me,” Dolores Umbridge uttered with a small flutter of her eyelids. “Is this what a Muggle fun house is like? Can’t say I much care for the sensation. They’ll be needing to pass out smelling salts at the door before long. Why my friend, Matilda, nearly swooned. Didn’t you, Mattie?”
“I was just surprised,” Matilda Cunningham attested with a dismissive wave of her hand. “It’s not like I have a weak heart or anything.”
With a contemptuous sniff, Ms. Umbridge scoffed, “Why it’s like Euro-Disney without the exorbitant price tag! No wonder the French were offended by the crassness of the whole operation.”
Briefly, Hermione wondered what the French Minister for Magic would have to say when he read Umbridge’s comments. If Penny was lucky, he’d send a whole contingent over to investigate. Perhaps Viktor was right; you couldn’t buy publicity like this.
Turning the page, her breath caught in her throat. There in full color was the lavish spread in the War Museum solarium, the guests flitting to and fro with the bright plumage of birds in a gilded cage. On the far right, Viktor could be seen pulling her into the basement of the townhouse. No wonder Ron had been incensed! Feverishly, she scanned the copy but there was nothing but a short caption identifying that the visiting Bulgarian Quidditch team had been treated to a day of sightseeing by the Magical Games Department before settling down to their grueling practice schedule in preparation for Saturday’s highly anticipated match.
Well, at least Rita Skeeter had moved on to greener pastures after being revealed as an unregistered Animagus. Azkaban might have been preferable to the lawsuits she would have faced from disgruntled victims once the information was made public. In a rare show of good sense, the Wizengamot had agreed to waive the crippling penalties and deport her instead. Rumor was she had fled to America and was hiding among the Muggles. Hermione was convinced the unscrupulous woman could start a whole new career if she sought employment with some right-wing pundit.
After much searching, Hermione found a small snippet announcing that official word from the Bulgarian team’s spokesman indicated that Quidditch heart-throb, Viktor Krum, would soon be casting his eye among the eligible young ladies once again. After just six months of marriage and a much touted two-month long honeymoon, his third wife indicated they would be working out a settlement to go their separate ways.
The sound of shuffling followed by an affronted string of expletives announced that Ron had returned via the Floo. “Brain dead, I am!” he fussed as he tossed the offending andiron into the hearth where it clanged viciously in reply. “Should have just Apparated to the back porch!”
Hermione leapt from her chair in concern as Ron stumbled into the kitchen, coughing up great clouds of emerald smoke. “What happened?”
“Nearly propelled myself to Singapore, is what! Too much extra powder in the hearth from Victoire’s meaty little fist. Collects in the corners innocently until some non-suspecting berk comes along and pow! It’s Guy Fawkes Day all over again!”
Hermione stifled a giggle into her hand as Ron shot her a baleful glare.
“Why don’t you go upstairs and shower?” she suggested. “If I try to Vanish it from you, it’s just going to become airborne again and set us both to sneezing.”
“It would serve you right!” he shot back, pointing his wand at the open newspaper and neatly causing it to burst into flames. “Isn’t that what Muggles do on Guy Fawkes Day? Burn effigies?”
Hermione took a few steps back, suddenly uncertain whether his anger would lead him to train his wand on her next. With mock bravado, she posed, “If you’re intent on dueling this morning, at least be a sport and Summon my wand from upstairs.”
“You left your wand upstairs? That’s what Harry’s mum did when Voldemort knocked down their door. Have you taken total leave of your senses?”
“We’re not exactly at war.”
“No? How long do you think it will be before autograph seekers find us?”
“I’ll render the house Unplottable!”
“Requires a permit from the Ministry! You have a thousand galleons to spare on such a whim?”
“Make Percy pay it then. It’s all his bloody fault! I was just trying to do him--” Her voice caught in her throat as she dropped into the nearest chair, the fight leaving her totally.
“A favor, I know,” Ron returned hollowly. He turned eyes red with misery in her direction. “Is this what you want? Him?”
“What would ever make you think such a thing?”
“I’m sorry, did I burn the bloody rag before you had a chance to see how you were immortalized for the entire world to see? It looks like you’re sneaking off to--”
“TO WHAT, RON? If you’re not too much of a gentleman to think it, then you shouldn’t be afraid to say it to my face!”
“Is it true then?” His voice was that of a small boy lost in the woods by himself.
If only he had the soundtrack to go with the moving picture, he wouldn’t be worried in the least. With a deep sigh, Hermione affirmed, “I’ve never wanted Viktor, not even when he asked me to the Yule Ball all those years ago.”
“Then why did you accept?”
“Because I wanted to go and there was no guarantee you would ever figure out that I wanted to go with you!” She took a moment to calm herself before she continued, “But there’s never been anything romantic between Viktor and me. There’s absolutely no possibility of that. Viktor’s gay, Ron.” She made a mental note to apologize to Viktor next chance she got.
“Look, I know I’m not always in the best of spirits when I get home from shuffling papers at the Ministry.”
What the…? Try a different tack, she reminded herself. “That’s not what I meant exactly. Viktor’s in the closet, see. And he’s not certain he’ll ever be able to face the world if he comes out.”
“Now you’re just not making sense, Hermione. Is this some twisted pun about those couples who used to frequent the broom cupboards at Hogwarts? Because I never…”
She shook her head to clear the cobwebs; perhaps wizards used a different euphemism. “Remember that lame joke Tonks makes about her mother’s closets?” She waited patiently for the confusion to slowly drain from Ron’s face as realization settled in its place.
“Really, Hermione, how long have you lived among wizards now? The preferred expression is that he flies for the other team.”
“Well, considering the man’s a Quidditch player, don’t you think that might have been a tad confusing?”
“What? Do you think I’m such an imbecile I might think he was being traded to the Cairo Cockatrices?”
“There’s no such team. You forget I was there when you and Harry came up with the outrageous team names. Don’t forget the Bolivian Buggers!”
“That’s the Bolivian Boggarts,” he corrected her.
“Is it? You tell me.”
“But I saw you…the two of you… the rose garden…at the Yule Ball…”
She’d always suspected it by the explosion that had capped off the evening’s festivities. But there was no point in irritating Ron any longer. With utmost patience, she explained, “Viktor had convinced himself he was a late bloomer back then. It was years later before he finally reconciled himself to the truth. But it’s hardly something he wants the whole of wizardom to know.”
“Krum’s been married three times already,” Ron countered.
“A mutually beneficial contract, I’m sure. Why do you think he always proposes at the foot of the obelisk in the Place de la Concorde?”
“I read that same article in Which Broomstick. Girls like those overly romantic gestures.”
“Perhaps. But I guarantee you the deeper significance is there as well. He told me so himself. And as that photo that soooo irritated you was taken, I was telling him that he owed it to his own peace of mind to come clean. To seek someone who could really make him happy. To seek out other men. Can I put it in any plainer language?”
“I just can’t bear the thought that you might leave me “ and Eleanor,” Ron mumbled into his navel.
Hermione was uncertain how to respond to the raw agony in her husband’s voice. In the tone that soothed Eleanor to sleep each night, she admitted, “I would be nothing without you. Why would I want to throw happiness away with both hands?”
“It doesn’t make any sense, I know…”
“What’s that you’ve got under your arm?” Hermione inquired as she caught sight of the long blue box clutched at Ron’s side.
Ron shrugged self-consciously. “A birthday present.” He wiped the lid, leaving a long green smear on his trouser leg before he set the box gingerly on the table.
“But your birthday isn’t for another week!”
“It’s from Penny, she wasn’t sure she’d get another opportunity…You can read the note if you want.”
“So Penny’s already at the Burrow?”
“No, she’s still set to meet everyone at Bodmin Moor, right outside the Quidditch grounds. Percy shoved it into my hands as I was leaving. I think he was looking for an excuse to berate me without Mum overhearing.”
Instantly on alert, Hermione prompted, “So what did he say to you?”
“That I was not to take my ungrounded, childish suspicions out on you. That Krum didn’t feel he could relax in the presence of strangers.”
“Did you doubt his words?”
“Not really. I can’t help mucking things up when it comes to you; it was the same at Hogwarts.”
Hermione smiled gently in response to the turmoil still lurking in his eyes. “You managed to get things right in the end,” she attested as she wrapped her arms around his waist.
He drew her tight as he rested his chin on her forehead. “I was so clueless, you know. Couldn’t fathom why my friendship with you felt so different than with Harry. You had things figured out so well, you should have just asked me to be your date.”
“And then what? You saw how well that worked when I tried to invite you to Slughorn’s Christmas party.” She giggled into his shirt only to find her nose itching from the surplus Floo Powder. “Should I have used the Imperius Curse to make you see reason?”
“I’m such a hopeless case, Hermione. I never knew why you stuck by me anyway.”
So that’s why he was so certain she would trade him in for another, she concluded. Not so much jealousy as crushing insecurity. “Because I love you. It’s as simple as that.”
“I’d be lost without you,” he admitted throatily as he pulled her into his lap, nearly upsetting the kitchen chair in the process.
Only her fingers clutching the lip of the table kept them from tumbling onto the floor. There before her straining knuckles, the long box beckoned. She carefully removed the lid to keep out any of the sparkly dust. Inside was a hand-painted tie depicting a winged grey cat hovering over flickering flames. Despite the artist’s whimsical style, she could almost feel the heat of the fire as the cat flapped its wings languidly.
“It’s a player’s tie from the Hellsinki Hellcats,” Ron explained. “Percy mentioned I wore Quidditch ties to work on a regular basis.”
“But this is valuable…Not the sort of thing one could buy.”
“Specially commissioned for the World Cup three years ago. Only the players themselves were issued this design.”
“Then it should by rights belong to Sean,” Hermione demurred as she turned to look imploringly into Ron’s face.
“I thought so, too, but she addressed that in her note.” He pointed out the phrase with his index finger.
Now before you go protesting that this is a family heirloom, please realize that each player was issued two ties. A necessary precaution seeing as silk seems to magnetically attract gravy stains and beer splatters. This one was still sealed in its original packaging so I hope you will put it to good use. Umbriel would be proud to know that it was going to such a long-time fan “ even if you put your misguided faith in the Chudley Canons for so long.
“You should wear it to the match today,” Hermione maintained. “If you can stand to share the same air with Viktor, that is.”
“I think I’ll manage,” Ron breathed as he nuzzled her ear. “But I really should hose all these sparkles off first. Wouldn’t want them to think I was impersonating a Christmas tree.”
“A bit late in the season for that,” Hermione agreed as she traced the pale green outline of Ron’s fingers on her white terry robe. “Race you to the shower!” she dared as she dashed like a spooked rabbit up the stairs.
Ron just shook his head as a goofy grin extended from ear to ear. With a quick flick of his wand, he Disapparated to the floor above, his fingers already fumbling with the buttons on his shirt.
Quidditch had always reminded Hermione of a medieval joust, riders astride broomsticks instead of muscle and sinew. The sharp snapping of the pennants and scarves just like standard banners bearing the competitors’ coat of arms. The fairy tale encampment which had encircled the World Cup festivities was still vivid in her mind so many years later.
Today, she had been accorded royal status as Penelope was guaranteed one of the small private boxes that ringed the stadium. It was not as expansive as the Minister’s box, to be sure, nor was there a bar stocked with all manner of exotic food and drink. But there had been no restrictions on bringing private hampers of their own; no burly guard on the other side of their private gate riffled through their purses and belongings as was the general rule in professional sports arenas. The rowdiness of the crowds was still there below them, but the children were able to savor it without being part of a heady stampede.
Down in the very front, leaning precariously over the safety glass, Sean was avidly explaining the rules to Teddy who was showing himself to be a quick study. Tonks had prudently avoided taking a seat so close to the precipice as Phoebe stationed herself in the aisle and pointed out the various things she wished her mother to explain, too impatient to wait for the answers to arise as part of Sean’s narrative. The Quidditch faithful, Ron, Ginny and Harry, were in their own tight knot, deep in conversation about the merits of each team and probably laying a few minor wagers among themselves, if she knew the Weasleys. Amid all the pre-game chaos, Percy had found a small oasis in the middle row and was laughing merrily at some story Penelope was relating as she kept an eye on Sean.
As the trumpet fanfare announced the beginning of the match, Hermione watched Viktor take to the heights as Seeker for the Bulgarian team. Proudly portraying a traditional red dragon on a field of white and green, the Welsh team was easily distinguished among the red and black of their heavily favored adversaries. It was soothing to view the game as the players did instead of craning her neck and searching the skies with Omnioculars, Hermione decided.
So lost was she in her pleasant daydream that she failed to notice Remus’ approach to the topmost tier until he handed her a tall flute of champagne.
Settling himself comfortably next to her, he commented, “Percy got Fortnum & Mason to prepare the hampers today; a sort of recompense for all the Ministry business he’s sent their way through the years. I doubt even Penny is used to such largesse.”
“He’s doing his best to impress her,” Hermione added with a breathy laugh. “Say, aren’t they a Muggle firm?”
Remus shrugged. “I suppose it doesn’t much matter if they just deliver the goods and leave the Ministry personnel to arrange it.”
“Is that how it’s done?”
“You’ll have to ask Percy. I’ve never much considered it one way or the other. Tell me what has you so lost in thought.”
“Nothing really,” Hermione admitted, not wanting Remus to think her a romantic fool. “Do you think I’m being antisocial?”
“Not necessarily, but I thought you might like a bit of company.”
“What about Tonks?”
“She’s hardly alone. Not with Phoebe’s endless string of questions.” He took a long swallow of champagne before turning to face her. “You seemed so lost in thought and it made me curious, if you want to know the truth of it.”
Hermione’s laugh rang out as she shook her head sheepishly. “I just don’t need to see the whites of their eyes to enjoy the game.”
“I quite agree,” Remus confided. “But you know children…well, you know how they are. Those two are making the most of their bird’s eye view.”
With the critical eye of a new parent, Hermione noted how Remus' choice of seat allowed a wide angle view of the skybox’s interior, permitting him to keep subtle watch on both his children at once.
“There’s a reason I’m so partial to otters,” Hermione remarked with a slight wince.
“Really?” His exaggerated show of curiosity urged her to elaborate.
“They’re basically land animals.”
Remus chuckled in response. “Aquatic, too. Buoyant like little lifeboats in the current.”
“But not a single one floats among the clouds!” The gentle smile in his eyes convinced her to return to the issue she had side-stepped earlier. “I’ve never been an avid sports fanatic, so I had to find a special niche for Quidditch is all.”
“So afraid I won’t understand? My best mates played on the team as well. Glad to see my duties as Gryffindor’s official bench warmer were passed on to a worthy successor.”
Hermione laughed outright as she allowed the chilled bubbles to slide deliciously down her throat. She’d often wondered why Sirius had been the most popular of the Marauders, especially when Remus was so easy to talk to. Laying her reservations aside, she described her unique slant. “Now you’re going to think me a complete girly-girl,” she added at the end.
“Don’t forget that Ivanhoe was penned by a man. But I can see why you’d come to think of Ron as a brave knight on the Quidditch pitch. If nothing else, your subconscious would have catalogued the Arthurian slant to so many of the Weasley names. So we know he’s not Percival…”
“Or Guinevere,” Hermione interjected wryly, causing Remus to nearly choke on his champagne.
“So I suspect Lancelot’s out, then?” Remus barely managed.
Hermione tilted her head in consideration. “Recalling his unique posture when defending the goal posts, I’d say perhaps Don Quixote.”
Remus laughed heartily. “Who’s Sancho Panza, then? You?”
“I don’t know about that, but the cantankerous mule is definitely Lavender Brown!”
Recalling the tales he’d heard about Ron’s misguided attempts to make Hermione jealous, Remus couldn’t help but respond, “That’s illegal in the British Isles. Laws protect innocent farm animals from the prurient desires of farmers, shepherds or whatever.”
His irreverence was contagious as she barely caught herself from snidely suggesting that such a law put Animagi in limbo. Her merriment plummeted with a dull thud as it hit her that this was exactly the untenable situation werewolves faced on a daily basis. Not that Remus was above laughing at himself, not among his close friends, but it was clear by the bags under his eyes that he’d been losing sleep again. He had seemed so rejuvenated over Christmas, too.
Before she had time to reconsider, the words were slipping out of their own accord. “Please forgive me for being intrusive, but has Phoebe been sleepwalking again?”
He smiled wanly. “Hopefully, that will turn out to be an isolated incident.” Showing that he understood her unspoken concerns, he supplied, “Kingsley seems to think we may not have heard the last about that book and its damnable author. Rumbles more than anything at this point. But the permits will have to come across his desk if they intend to do a remote interview from Azkaban. That was the one fact he was able to ascertain from the scheming agent: the author is already doing time for his previous sins.”
“Probably accounts for the lack of restraint in his words. Feels he can’t be incarcerated twice.”
Remus’ look was so piercing she felt an actual chill. “If he murdered someone, then execution is mandated by law. It’s what laws demand be done with animals which cannot be controlled. Need I remind you of poor Buckbeak?”
Hermione squared her chin defiantly. “We saved Buckbeak. Sirius, too.”
“So the three of you were incredibly lucky. I don’t want to depend on luck to get me by, Hermione. It’s worse than being dependent upon the mercy of others.”
At Sean’s insistence, Penny moved down to the front railing as Viktor took a dizzying dive to within a dozen yards of the ground. The Welsh Seeker tried to follow, but broke off uncertainly. The crowd went wild for the signature Wronski Feint, a move which had hospitalized more Quidditch players in the last decade than any other. But true to its name, it was just a bit of grandstanding by the Bulgarians and the crowd grumbled in disappointment that the Golden Snitch was being particularly elusive.
Percy took the opportunity to gaze at his assembled friends. Tonks was cuddling Phoebe on her shoulder as the child’s delicate features relaxed into the heedless slumber of childhood. Harry and Ginny had taken adjoining seats and were avidly discussing the game amid Tonks’ regular interjections. Ron was still at the front, sharing some joke with Sean as Penny looked on in approval. A small smile danced upon her lips as she admired how the deep blue Hellcats tie coordinated with the lighter shade of Ron’s chambray shirt.
A few rows behind him, Remus and Hermione were deep in conversation, their brows furrowed with intensity. Not that it surprised Percy; he’d always known those two favored intellectual pursuits over sports any day. Not that he wasn’t more like them than he’d care to admit. It had been what had attracted him to Penny’s unique combination of fun-loving smiles and serious dedication to her studies. Not wanting to eavesdrop, he studiously turned his back after levitating a half full bottle and watching Remus catch it deftly by the neck.
The players buzzed like incessant bees on the other side of the glass partition as Percy joined Penny at the railing, his heart thumping as he took a long measure of the distance to the ground below.
“Not a born Quidditch player?” Penny whispered, her breath grazing the delicate hairs at the back of his neck.
“We don’t fly quite this high over the meadow adjoining the Burrow,” he admitted with a small shiver. “Keeps us from getting small birds caught in our teeth!”
She giggled appreciatively at his lame attempt at humor. Then in the next instant, her eyes were drawn magnetically to the aerial display before them.
Once again, Krum took to the heights and then plummeted like a falcon intent on its prey. The crowd went wild, but their box was close enough to where the Welsh Seeker hovered to see his annoyed expression. Belatedly, the man caught the flash of gold weaving near the sidelines. Instantly on alert, he zoomed across the pitch diagonally, doing his best to maneuver around the players and dodge an errant Bludger or two. He would have made it had not the Bulgarian Chasers casually passed the Quaffle to one another in his immediate path. It was just enough to make him lose concentration as he slowed to avoid a three-way collision.
In the next instant, Krum hung sideways from his broom as if to scoop up a waiting maiden onto his stead, then swooped to the heights in a looping spiral. It took the spectators a few breathless moments to notice he held the struggling Snitch before him. Surging to their feet in an enthusiastic display, the audience roared its approval as Bulgaria won the match 210 to 120.
“Can we go down to the field to congratulate the players?” Sean urged his mother excitedly.
“Not this time,” she assured him with a smile. “Viktor promised he would join us up here. You know how he hates crowds.”
Percy saw to it that everyone had a full glass to toast the conquering hero when Krum stepped diffidently through the side door into the skybox. With wide grins, the children raised glasses filled with sparkling pumpkin juice.
Viktor graciously accepted the bottle levitated towards him and upended the last few inches in the bottom to rousing cheers. He was caught short, however, when the dark green bottle sparkled with rising bubbles as it refilled itself automatically. “Somevon handy vith charm to regenerate champagne. Does not quality suffer?”
Percy nodded sagely as he accepted the bottle and passed it into waiting hands behind him. “True,” he admitted, “but a necessary skill at Ministry functions. No one seems to notice after the third or fourth glass anyway.”
Krum laughed heartily, adding, “But riot is avoided nonetheless!”
“Why is your hair still wet?” Sean scrunched up his face as Viktor caught him up in a congratulatory hug.
“Not have time to wrestle hair dryer from prima donnas who have dates,” Viktor confided to much laughter. “Besides whirling action from Portkey suck moisture right out of short hair, you see.”
“Is that how you’re traveling?” Penny inquired.
“Can’t just Apparate like normal vizards. Not to Unplottable location,” Viktor stressed.
Teddy wriggled free from his mother’s side and caught Viktor’s sleeve to commandeer his attention. “If I may, I have a question.” At Viktor’s open expression, he continued, “How do you get to a pub that’s in an invisible marsh?”
“Unknowable, actually,” Viktor corrected automatically. “But is basically same thing.”
“It would be to a Muggle,” Hermione observed from her seat. “But I have to say I’m intrigued myself. Too many hangers on to just do a Side-Along.”
As Teddy turned an eager face in Viktor’s direction, Remus felt the need to supply, “I’m afraid my son is one of those children who are curious about the inner workings of everything “ magic included.”
With a generous smile, Viktor expounded, “Ve have special Portkey. See?” He rummaged in his pocket. “No need to be afraid, not activated yet.”
With a skeptical look, Ron gazed over Sean’s shoulder at the discarded bottle cap. “And how precisely are all of us going to touch that at once?”
“Vat, you not learn Enlargement Charm?” Then with a self-deprecating smirk directed at Hermione, Viktor added, “All athletes use it on ego “ or so I’ve been told.”
Amid the boisterous laughter, Harry took the opportunity to shake Viktor’s hand in congratulations for a good game.
“Almost forgot, I von vager today, too,” Viktor volunteered with an unabashed grin, draping colored game ties around Ron’s and Harry’s necks. As Harry examined the rampaging red dragon amid a field of white and green, Viktor supplied, “Courtesy of your old friend, Oliver Vood. His excellent blocking prevented many goals by teammates, but not keep me from catching Snitch.”
“I thought Wood played for Puddlemere United,” Ron spoke up.
“Got tired of second string,” Viktor observed.
“Wales was smart to offer him a better deal,” Ginny acknowledged.
“Oliver was pretty passionate about practices when he captained the Gryffindor team during my first and second years,” Harry supplied.
“Funny, that,” Ron interjected. “I recall adjectives such as ‘demented’ and ‘obsessive’ as you scraped the layers of mud from your practice clothes!”
Amid much laughter, Harry retaliated with, “That’s nothing compared to the things they said about Ginny.”
“Ginny?” Viktor echoed with a raised eyebrow.
“Yeah,” Harry explained. “I resigned my captaincy after my sixth year so I could devote myself to whatever the future might hold. Ginny took over.”
“Such beautiful and scintillating captain must join team celebration then,” Viktor insisted. “You not intimidated by bunch of rowdy broom-jockeys?”
“Considering the variety of gits I grew up with in my own house?” Ginny scoffed. “Hardly.”
“What about me?” Sean implored as he shouldered his way to stand before Viktor. “If it’s an outing for men, I should be included.”
Diplomatically, Percy amended, “Not that he begrudges Ginny, mind you.”
“And Teddy, too!” Sean insisted plaintively.
“Now, boys,” Penny interceded gently. “This is for Quidditch players only.”
“But I want to learn, Mum!” Sean demanded. “You told me Durmstrang sponsors a team for younger players.”
“They do?” Teddy inquired with great interest.
“It’s only for children of alumni,” Penny explained. “There’s still the issue of the secret location they’re unlikely to reveal to me. We went over this before, Sean.”
“I know….” Sean’s voice trailed off dispassionately.
“And as Sean’s godfather, I still maintain I’m perfectly happy to take him myself,” Viktor interceded as Sean’s face lit up with hope.
“We’ll see,” Penny allowed. “But that’s a discussion for a different day. As of today, neither you nor Teddy are bona fide Quidditch players.”
“Besides, Spook, it’s a long-standing rule in pubs: you have to be tall enough to see over the bar,” Remus noted.
“Otherwise, you’re just taking up valuable real estate,” Tonks added with a wry grin.
Harry held up his hand at the appropriate level so Sean could see that his eyebrows still fell a few inches short of the mark.
At the glum expressions, Remus appeased, “I’m not a Quidditch player, either.”
“Nor am I,” Percy attested.
Catching Ron gazing quizzically at the predominantly red tie draped around his neck, Viktor supplied, “Ve change mascot as it remind everyone too much of oppressive Muggle government recently overthrown.”
“It’s a nice Gryffindor red,” Ron replied.
“Is thestral. Just hold up to candlelight, you see,” Viktor breathed.
As Ginny supplied the glow from her wand tip, they could see a vague outline of the dark skeletal body and protuberant pale eyes. “Why is it a secret?” she whispered back.
As Sean and Teddy were still taking turns measuring how long it would be before they could catch the bartender’s eye, Viktor elaborated out of the corner of his mouth, “Thestrals sore subject. Penny vas justifiably upset ven she discover Sean could see them, too, even though he vas only four at time.” In a clear, jovial tone, Viktor announced to the group at large, “Too many people begging off today.”
“It’s best if we take the children home,” Tonks demurred.
“Another time for sure,” Remus seconded as he hoisted the still drowsy Phoebe on his shoulder to relieve his wife.
“Team vill think Viktor has no friends. Truly, it not necessary to be part of official team; backyard Quidditch players still velcome.”
“What about Fred and George?” Hermione pointed out. “They were both Beaters for Gryffindor.”
“If it’s all right with Viktor,” Harry proposed. “I’ll just send them a message.”
“You bring owl in hamper?” Viktor laughed heartily.
“Better even,” Ginny supplied as she checked Harry’s watch and concluded it was near enough to closing time at the shops.
Quickly composing the message Viktor supplied, Harry sent a silvery stag Patronus on its way to Fred while Ginny’s fire lizard was dispatched to George.
Viktor was clearly in awe of their ingenuity. “Patronus can be used like carrier pigeon?”
“Think of this as an upgraded version,” Percy claimed wholeheartedly. “There can be no mistake about who sent the message, either.”
“Something we perfected in wartime,” Remus clarified as he and Tonks said their goodbyes all around.
“Thanks so much for satisfying Teddy’s curiosity,” Tonks offered as she gently ushered Teddy and Remus towards the magical lift leading to the ground floor.
“He would have kept us up all night looking through Harry’s Quidditch books otherwise,” Remus attested as he waved one final time.
“It will be a few minutes before we hear back from the twins,” Ron advised.
“Then you must teach me Patronus, no?” Viktor beseeched the others. “Surely a Quidditch player have mighty eagle or other bird of prey.”
“Already taken, I’m afraid,” Harry supplied as he thought of the Snapes.
“Don’t be so smug,” Penny teased. “I doubt there are enough flying beasts to supply all the Quidditch teams.”
“Perhaps you’ll be something truly exotic like Remus’ giraffe,” Ginny urged.
“I vould be proud to have fire lizard,” Viktor insisted. “Perhaps dragon?”
“Perhaps a flamingo in your case,” Hermione scoffed merrily.
“Or a canary,” Penny opined with a sardonic smirk.
Harry shook his head with mock solemnity. “Nice try, but one of the girls I trained at Hogwarts already claimed that one.”
“She was a dainty thing herself,” Ron improvised, even though he had not been present.
“Now the most important thing is to think of a happy memory,” Hermione began as she attempted to lead Viktor through the process.
Viktor’s first triumph with silvery smoke was interrupted by a wispy chimpanzee that swung its way across the ceiling beams of the skybox. In Fred’s voice, it declared, “What a brilliant invitation! Won’t be more than twenty minutes, at most. Sure hope you remembered to send my better half a separate message. He’s at the Hogsmeade shop still dealing with the aftermath of the St. Valentine’s Day massacre.”
“I don’t remember we were that bad during our Hogsmeade visits,” Hermione objected.
“Like a pack of rabid hyenas,” Ron affirmed as Harry nodded.
Their attention was diverted by the chattering of a long-tailed monkey which coalesced not far from the fading chimpanzee. “Capital idea!” George’s voice intoned “ although, truth be told, it sounded just like Fred to anyone other than Ginny or Ron. “You did warn my headstrong counterpart that without a proper ticket, he won’t be able to see anything other than the ruins of a Roman amphitheatre? I’ll be sure to chide him into being a proper Muggle until the lot of you arrive.”
“See how the similarity in their Patronuses emphasizes that they’re twins,” Hermione remarked.
“Trust me,” Harry confided, “the monkeys are much easier to tell apart than Fred and George.”
“Especially when you consider that a chimpanzee is an ape,” Hermione muttered under her breath.
Much to everyone’s delight, Viktor’s Patronus turned out to be a regal pelican whose very walk echoed the infamous figurine Ron had purchased at the World Cup.
“And I was so certain it would turn out to be an albatross,” Harry joked.
“I think Viktor should be honored with a pelican,” Hermione defended. “It’s like my otter who’s cumbersome on the ground, but streamlined in its own element.”
“That’s true,” Percy expounded. “Pelicans are exceptional hunters who dive from great heights to capture fish underwater.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t accompany the others,” Tonks noted as she cuddled up next to Remus on the sofa. “You and Harry usually stick together.”
Remus looked up from the volume of French poems he was reading. “A rowdy Quidditch pub? Hardly my style, cherub. Couldn’t hear myself over the raucous laughter and clunking of glasses on hard surfaces.”
She allowed her eyes to skim over his face so he wouldn’t see how worried she was about him. Even after all these years of marriage, Remus was still prone to long, brooding silences at times. He often tried to pass it off as nothing more than a philosophical mood, which was true to some extent; but Tonks could distinguish when it was worry and not just a new idea that was eating away at him.
With the small smile she reserved just for him, she teased, “You just didn’t want to have to explain to Teddy why he was being excluded from socializing with the men yet again.”
“Did you?” he shot back. “Spook’s arguments get more imaginative and persuasive every day. I believe he’d fearlessly debate the Angel of Death himself if he thought he’d get his own way!”
“And this is different from his father in what way?”
“You think my parents had to endure much the same, don’t you?” Remus retorted with a sharp laugh.
“My mum certainly says the same about their trouble-making skills. Claims we only make it worse by laughing.”
“Rather hard to look down your nose at them when the laughter’s bubbling up inside,” Remus countered. “That only works for people who have no sense of humor like Snape.”
“Severus has a sense of humor. You, more than anyone, can attest to that.”
“Not when it comes to children.”
“Perhaps not, but I really think it’s just lack of practice. After all, he claims he was never a child himself,” Tonks quipped.
“He said this to you personally?”
“To a group of Hufflepuffs. Only made them laugh harder when they shared it with me.”
“Unlike Snape, I can’t school my thoughts in such a hypocritical manner. I know, for a fact, that Teddy’s ability for mischief is part of the Marauders’ legacy.”
“You’re thinking of all the little ways in which Mr. Filch got under your skin when you were a lad, aren’t you?”
“He still does, cherub. If he’d only laugh along with the students, they’d be less likely to prank him all the time.” Remus summoned a goblet from the sideboard and filled it from the decanter at his elbow. Handing it to her, he added in a soft intimate growl, “As to the other, who could resist a quiet evening at home with his wife? Especially since Viktor insisted Ginny join them when he found out she was a serious Quidditch player.”
“Harry and Ginny are just as likely to repair to their own room “ before the dessert even,” Tonks giggled. She stopped Remus when he lifted his wand to dim the lights in the wall brackets. “The children may be playing quietly in their rooms, but they’re still awake.”
“But you made sure they changed into their pajamas, right?” As Tonks nodded, Remus attested, “Then after all the excitement today they’ll be climbing into their beds before long.”
“They might need me to tuck them in,” Tonks observed.
“Perhaps not since Teddy found out that Sean just turns the lights out himself. He already asked me to show him how to do it magically, although I doubt he’s up to it without a wand.”
“You think Phoebe will just follow his lead.”
“Wouldn’t you, if that’s what it took to demonstrate you were just as able-bodied as your brother?”
Tonks conceded that he might have a point. “Perhaps, I’ll have Dobby check on them in another fifteen minutes just to be sure. In the meanwhile, you keep your hands to yourself, Mr. Lupin. I don’t want to have to explain to either one of them why their father is just as randy as the school boys we often encounter in the halls!”
Remus threw his head back and laughed, easing the lines of worry from around his eyes. With a crooked grin, he playfully nudged her with his hip. “Have you ever had cause to break anything up that was too…er, graphic?”
“You mean anything that would require an extended explanation to Teddy?”
Remus nodded.
“Not really. He just screws up his face in little boy disgust when he sees them snogging. That’s usually enough for them to decide to relocate to a more private spot.”
Remus’ eyebrows shot up in appreciation. “I never thought about having the children run interference. I usually have to remind them that snogging is not a spectator sport. But if they insist, they really should have the decency to sell tickets beforehand.”
Tonks laughed. “I’m certain you can’t say that without smirking!”
“Probably not, but it works anyway.”
“Have you ever…” She hesitated briefly. “…encountered anything that made you feel like you should lecture them about not treating women as sex objects.”
“The sexism speech is your department. I would just suggest that a gentleman should have the foresight to book a room at the Three Broomsticks.”
Tonks gasped, “What if they take your advice during the next Hogsmeade trip?”
“Then it’s out of my jurisdiction and Rosmerta’s at fault,” Remus returned with flawless logic. “She won’t rent a room to them if they’re underaged.”
“But you gave them the idea…”
“Did I? I wager they had the idea in their heads -- or lower,” he amended with a deep chuckle, “long before I walked past.”
“You sound like an expert already. Anyone I would know?”
“I’m just ready if it ever comes to pass. Experience from my own youth, I’m afraid.” At her scandalized look, he clarified, “Second hand. Sirius was always getting himself into such scrapes when all the broom cupboards were occupied.”
“Broom cupboards?” She grimaced. “A lecture about indignity comes to mind!”
“Would have just bounced off Sirius’ back. Then he would have flashed you a blinding smile and said, ‘Since you’re not using your office at the moment, duckie, how’s about subletting the space for a good cause?’”
Tonks gasped as the laughter poured forth. “You’re exaggerating! No one could have been that irreverent before McGonagall’s steely gaze.”
“Sirius wouldn’t have said it to McGonagall. But there were other teachers who intimidated him much less.”
“Why didn’t you suggest to him that he move it to the Three Broomsticks?”
“Oh, we did. Lots of us in the Gryffindor common room made that suggestion on a fairly regular basis. But there was a glitch, see.”
“Not enough galleons?”
“Not just that. We could have probably taken up a collection among the lot of us.” He leaned over and nuzzled her ear affectionately. “He didn’t want Rosmerta to think he was unavailable, or worse, stepping out on her.”
“But surely Rosmerta wouldn’t have… she's old enough to be his…she’s old enough to know better, at least.”
“You’re right; Rosmerta would just smile indulgently as she rolled her eyes towards the rest of us when Sirius wasn’t looking. But Sirius never could resist a challenge “ and young men from Hogwarts have been trying to chat up Rosmerta for years. She admitted as much when she’d say, ‘Sirius Black, I’ve been wooed by wizards with much more charm than the likes of you.’”
“He didn’t take the hint, I take it.”
“Hint? That was his cue, cherub. He’d just counter that he was more vivacious, more handsome, more whatever it took to keep the conversation going.”
“And what did you learn from him?” Tonks posed in her best imitation of the Headmistress.
Not missing a beat, Remus volunteered, “That girls love to be drawn out in conversation. I just chose more esoteric subjects, is all. Played to my strengths.”
Tonks gave him a quick kiss as she got to her feet and tiptoed to the start of the hallway leading to the children’s rooms. She shook her head and whispered, “I can still hear voices. A bit drowsy perhaps, but not willing to capitulate just yet.”
“If I move to the other end of the sofa, I can see their skylights through the front window,” Remus offered. “Lights are still shining.”
She settled herself in the warm spot Remus had just vacated and then laid lengthwise so her head was resting in her husband’s lap. Looking up at him with soft eyes, she suggested, “Why don’t you read some of those poems to me?”
“They’re in French.”
“I still like the sound of your voice caressing me even if I can’t understand the words.”
Remus chuckled intimately. “Unfortunately, Phoebe and Teddy will. It will draw them forth like moths to the flame. Tell me instead what great plans you’ve been devising for Hufflepuff House next year. Minerva was clearly enthused but unwilling to provide any details.”
“And you think I’m easier to persuade?” Tonks smirked.
“Let’s just say I have an inside track and leave it at that,” he returned huskily as he ran his fingertips ever so lightly down the length of her arm. “You’re not going to retire the Hufflepuff Boys are you?”
Tonks barely suppressed a delicious shiver of anticipation as she replied, “Of course not. Pastiche is a long-standing tradition among British boarding schools “ especially with the men. I’m just expanding my horizons a bit. Perhaps a full length production. Minerva is ever so fond of Gilbert and Sullivan.”
“You know nothing about vocals,” Remus pointed out.
“So I’ll solicit volunteers from the faculty, surely someone has a bit of experience outside the shower. It’s an amateur event so anyone with a natural talent will be suitable. I can at least discern that.”
“What about a venue?” he prodded.
“Rehearsals in the Room of Requirement. But for the performance proper, I was thinking something a bit more ambitious. Like in Sunday in the Park with George.”
“That’s Sondheim, not Gilbert and Sullivan,” Remus pointed out.
“I wasn’t referring to the libretto, just the painting which inspired it. The families sitting with their elaborate picnics on the grass. That’s how I imagine the audience to be spread on the sloping lawn. Everyone can invite family and friends.”
“Perhaps a theatrical agent or two?”
“I wouldn’t want to shortchange anyone’s dreams. But not the Times Drama Desk; I don’t want to be hampered by the Statute of Secrecy.” Demonstrating that she had indeed given it a fair amount of thought, Tonks detailed how the outside staging would minimize their need for scenery, elaborate sets or banks of seating. The Forbidden Forest would be their backdrop and they could raise their voices to the stars. A night with a full moon would be out, of course, as the extra shadows would make the lighting that much more difficult to control. “I’m sure Neville will be able to help me out considerably here.”
“Won’t that make the actors rather small? I suppose we could use Omnioculars --”
“Not if I float the stage like an island on the Black Lake; keep it close to the shoreline. I believe they used something similar for the Triwizard Tournament and my idea would be considerably less elaborate,” Tonks supplied. “Minerva’s certain her transfiguration skills are up to the task.”
“And backstage would be where, in a dinghy?”
“Portkeys from the shore. Neville can help with those as well.”
“The Giant Squid will demand his due,” Remus joked.
“Tell him to get some eight by ten glossies made and he can audition with all the rest.”
Warming to the grandiose plan, Remus supplied, “So you’ll be going for a nautical theme then. H.M.S. Pinafore, perhaps?”
“Too talky for beginners. I was thinking of The Pirates of Penzance. Lots of dance numbers for the non-singers like me.”
“Are you going to allow the faculty to audition, or just students?”
“Planning to try out for the Pirate King?” Tonks shot back in a saucy voice.
“Moi? Not even if you staged the bloody thing in the shower!”
“That would cut down on the cost of costumes,” she teased.
Ignoring the color he felt in his cheeks, he deadpanned, “Besides pirates are naturally mysterious and dark. The clothes would hang much better on Severus.”
“Talk about someone I don’t want to see on my casting couch!” she returned as they both broke into gales of laughter. “Besides, he’s not likely to want to participate anyway.”
“As a Head of House, he’s honor bound to at least head up a committee,” Remus observed. “Otherwise the Slytherins will think they’re excluded as well and that won’t sit well with Minerva.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Tonks mused. “What sort of role would he like?”
“Something that allows him to look down on others!”
“Right. How about diction coach? He’ll relish getting to correct them to no end.”
Remus chuckled and nodded his approval of her machinations. “You might want to consider Filius for the modern Major-General, though. Save Severus for when a truly villainous role falls your way.”
Tonks’ eyes twinkled with merriment. “Like the Lord High Executioner in The Mikado?”
Remus smirked in return. “Why stop there? Give him the top spot.”
“But the Mikado isn’t really a villain,” Tonks replied thoughtfully. “More of an amoral character, I’d say.”
“I always rather pictured him as Voldemort with all the pure-bloods scampering around his feet. The Lord High Executioner would be Peter Pettigrew.”
Tonks eyes went wide with shock before she started laughing. “I could never stage that…what would they think….do you really think so?”
“Maybe not in the first year,” Remus attested through the Marauder’s grin. “Political farce requires a deft touch. But just think of the possibilities.” In a sing-song voice he crooned, “Three little mates from school are we: Harry, Ron and Hermione!”
Tonks was wiping tears from her eyes by the time she got her breath back. “They would just kill me!”
“Not as long as you didn’t make them play themselves, I warrant. Besides, what could be more galling to a defeated tyrant than to be remade as a laughing stock? Why the Muggles have been doing it to Adolf Hitler for years! Tell you what, I’ll help you rewrite the lyrics to fit a different epic. What’s the worse that can happen? Minerva nixes it when she reads the script, but everyone will get a good laugh.”
“All right, Mr. Devious Mastermind, who exactly would the wandering minstrel represent?”
Remus thought for a moment before supplying, “Why that would be me. Seeking my own true love. A scene that needs much rehearsal, I might add.” A cursory wave of his wand dimmed the lights so only the low fire provided illumination.
“The lights have gone out?” Tonks posed as she lifted her head to look at him directly.
“They have indeed,” Remus breathed into her ear as he stretched his body next to hers.