“Will you tell me?”
“No.”
“I’m your husband!”
“Guess, Ron. I know.”, Hermione snorted, the looks of the other people in the lift on them.
“So why don’t you tell me what you want from Fletcher?”
“Because it is none of your business.”
“Business as in not related to my jobs or – ”
“Weren’t you here to make sure Harry goes to Knockturn Alley?”
“That’s overrated.”
“Overrated? The owner of that plant shop has been killed in the fire, if you remember!”
“I still don’t get it why they put the Auror Office on it.”, Ron snorted. “I mean, that was a fire! I bet he carried some dangerous sort of flaming plant there.”
“There is no such thing as a dangerous flaming plant.” Hermione huffed. “But if you think so, why don’t you slip that into your report? Harry will be visiting Neville tomorrow and try to persuade McGonagall to continue. Maybe he can ask Neville and then tell you that there is in fact no naturally burning plant, if you don’t believe me. This was murder, I am sure of it.”
“Tz. I know it’s a grim place but there hasn’t been any death in fifteen years there. No not natural one.”
“Well, that calls for another, doesn’t it?”, she snapped and they left the now nearly empty lift together. “After all, Harry’s still receiving certain folders as though they were simply raining from the sky.”
“What’s that got to do with – ”
“If you excuse me, I need to go this way.”, she pointed to the right.
“Yeah. I know where your office is.”, Ron frowned.
“And I’ll be at Luna’s tomorrow.”
“Er – why?”
“Because I feel like it.”, she said coldly. “And if they let me, I will stay over the weekend.”
“Whow! That’s a bit too last-minute, don’t you think? But you will come with us to the World Cup final next Friday, yes?”
“She will be fine with it, and the latter remains to be seen. Coming to think of it, I might even. One of us does need to make sure our kids don’t fall out of the VIP box. So, have a nice weekend, Ronald.”
“Yeah. You too.”, he stared after her as she strutted into the corridor.
Still feeling his look, she disappeared in the office, walking around for some minutes, ignoring the stares of her colleagues from their cubicles. Sure that he would be gone, she peered outside into the deserted corridor, stepped out and hurried back to the lifts, going further up.
“Department of International Magical Co-Operation.”, the voice in the lift said and Hermione rushed directly towards the Head’s office.
Adjusting her clothes and bag, she raised her hand and knocked, for a short moment blowing out a snort. Almost all doors to Ministry offices were of dark wood, but she had caught herself knocking four times, again. There was a muffled voice calling her in.
“Good Morning, Mr Fletcher.”, she sang.
“Now what a surprise! Mrs Weasley, is that right?”, he looked over his small reading specs and got up, stretching out his knobbly hand to greet her.
“Yes, that is right.”
“Oh please take a seat. Would you like a tea?”
“No, thank you.”, they sat down at his desk and Hermione dropped her bag quite lively.
“Well? What brings you here? How may help you?”
“I wondered, whether it would be possible to get in touch with the Ukrainian Minister for Magic.”, her opponent blinked with confusion.
“Why would that be necessary?”
“I’d like to find out if there has been any magical activity at the Ukrainian coast of the Sea of Azov.”
“The – ? Why is that of interest for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?”
“I believe that several powerful Concealment Charms have been put on a house there, somewhere along the coast.”
“That is a very long area of coast, as far as I am concerned.”
“Certainly.”, she said stiffly, and if she had to show him the scar on her ankle one of the rocks by that coast had given her years ago, just to emphasise that she was aware.
“Your evidence?”
“I am sorry, but that is top secret.”
“Top secret? And you believe I would help you in this case?”
“I thought, maybe you could. I didn’t want to entrust the Minister himself with it.”
“That will be a very difficult task. Of which period are we talking here?”
“Pardon?”
“Is it supposed to have been concealed some days ago? Or some weeks?”
“Oh! Actually, within the last sixteen to thirty-two years.”, she replied, not able to hide a little smirk.
“Sixteen or even – thirty-two years?”, he blinked again. “By Albus Dumbledore’s beard! That is quite a time, Mrs Weasley!”
“How long do you think will it take to find out?”
“Assumed, I could get in touch with the Ministry of Ukraine by today already, it would take weeks of research, if not months! Especially given the situation down there that has still not eased, as you surely must know!”
“That isn’t good.”, Hermione moaned, gritting her teeth with concern. “I would need the information by well, I would have needed it ages ago already, actually. Coming to think of it, tomorrow would be good, yes.”
“To- tomorrow?”, he brushed a hand through his thinning grey curls. “Is – is it in connection with any suspected crimes?”
“No.”
“No? Then I am afraid, I cannot help you.”, Fletcher sighed. “Forgive me, but this is simply naïve. Though maybe, if you could tell me – ”
“Alright, alright.”, she curled her lips and shortly looked away. “It actually may be in connection with suspected crimes, yes. It has to do with – er – Igor Karkaroff?”
“Oh! Now I can understand, why we talk about such a time. But Karkaroff was a former Death Eater. Surely, you should appeal to your friend Mr Potter in this case.”
“That is impossible.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I fear, he is prepossessed.”
“Now is he?”, her face remained stern. “Well, but searching for information about Karkaroff’s acts via an open division, is very dangerous, Mrs Weasley.”
“I am aware of this.”
“And you need the information by tomorrow?”
“Yes.”, she said staid. “As I said, I would have needed it years ago and I am sick of running back and forth. I need answers.”
“I am sorry to disappoint you, but this is truly impossible.”
“No chance?”
“No chance.”, Hermione nodded disappointed. “Well, unless you join Mr Potter next week. There is a Portkey reserved for him and his family and rumour has it, the Ukrainian Minister will attend the final of the four hundred twenty-seventh Quidditch World Cup as well.”
“Is that so?”, her hope was rewoken with a spark.
“Mere rumours however. People saying that the World Cup is safer than his own country at the moment. They might be right in that matter though. Alas, unless there is anything else I could actually do for you, I wish you a fine day, Mrs Weasley, and a hopefully relaxing weekend.”, he said when both had raised and Hermione had picked up her bag.
“To you as well, Mr Fletcher.”, they shook hands and she left his office.
“Good luck.”, she could barely hear him sigh before the door closed.
Squinting, she leaned against the wall outside. It was really as he had said. Naïve. Utmost naïve. Something in addition told her that even if she had come to him with that question ten years ago, she would still be standing where she stood, disappointed and without any fruitful result. Her further steps now laid with that mere chance that Neyizhkasha would indeed attend match. She very much disliked the idea, but at least now she had real motivation to do so herself. Moreover since she was mother of two children who had never been abroad before. She had to be there, and if only for them. Also she couldn’t continue like she had. This way she would never find what she was looking for. She needed official clarification, or quit her job. Yes, she was dedicated, but not insane.
~~#~~
Again, she caught herself knocking four times. Now however, on a door that had received quite the interesting attention. The paint on it reminded her of something that may have once stood in Van Gogh’s studio and there was all sorts of junk nailed onto it, from meanwhile rusty crown corks to plastic flowers that had seen just as many good days as the real flowers on the windy hill and a string with typewriter keys, their lever-wires bent to rings to slide them on. Shaped from beaded threads and also nailed to the door right below the sign of whose it was, was some sort of runic sigil. It made her falter, but she had the feeling that this had been exactly what Luna had put it on for. As a sort of test, to see if people would still want to enter once they had seen it. Thinking thoroughly, she was surprised the woman hadn’t already opened the door before she had knocked. But she also had a feeling that the only reason why no sound came from the inside was that in fact that nobody was at home.
Disappointed once more, she turned to leave the area so she could Disapparate to another place and was already on the second-top-most of the stairs; of which she had skipped the lowest in her eagerness earlier; when a very soft creaking stopped her in place. Curious, she turned back at the door, which was now open. However confusing her, nobody stood in it. To make sure, she leaned a little to the right to peek further past the door, but there was – there was someone. The sight indeed gave her a fright. But more because she hadn’t expected him to be there. Naturally crooked from his age, the leathery wrinkled lips distorted to an awful grimace of disbelief, he squinted up at her.
“Kreacher!”, Hermione gasped. “What – what are you doing here!”
“I’m standing in Mistress Luna’s door.”, that response probably confused her even more than the fact that he was there.
“Mistress.”
“She is too old for a Miss and too young for a Madam. What else shall Kreacher call her then? A Sir?”, pouting with indignation, she stared down on him.
“Having spent a little too much time with Harry, yes?”, Kreacher looked confused now, but for some reason as though he only played it well.
“What does Master Harry have to do with Luna Lovegood’s age?”
“Never mind. Why are you here? Where’s Luna?”
“Not here.”
“Where is she?”
“Not, here.”, Kreacher growled, with a very ferocious step back.
“And why are you?”
“Making sure her boys don’t turn the house upside-down. They are having a nap. So you’d be advised not to screech again, Miss.”
“Me you do call a Miss? Although I’m older than Luna?”, he said nothing to it. “And Rolf?”
“Not here.”
“Fantastic. When will they come back?”
“When they do,”, somehow he annoyed her, but she could also not blame him, as nobody would know when Luna would return home from any place anyway.
“And why are you – babysitting?”
“They aren’t babies anymore.”, Kreacher said shortly, not dropping his gnarling fierce tone.
“Of course not. But why?”
“Because Mistress Luna asked kindly. And she pays well for the trouble. Kreacher won’t say no to that, now that Hogwarts is closed for summer hols.”
“You know what’s curious, Kreacher?”, she too could feign pondering.
“Yeeesss?”, he replied annoyed.
“You’re answering my questions. Just like that. And you didn’t even call me a Mudblood yet.”
“If the Miss would like to be called a Mudblood, Kreacher can certainly do so.”
“No! Of course not!”
“Then why – ”
“I’m just – never mind. It was Harry, wasn’t it.”
“Harry, Harry, Harry.”, he groaned. “Why is it always Master Harry’s fault if others behave the way they do. If the Miss cannot deal with not being called names, she may just as well leave this property. Standing in for the rights of Elves but not trusting us to have brains of our own. But yes, it was him who told me to answer to your questions, as long as they are within certain limits.”
“Fantastic. Then answer me one question.”
“Already did that.”, Kreacher mumbled, but loud enough for her to have caught it.
“Yes, yes. Has Harry ever slipped to you that he might know of someone’s survival?”
“And whose?”
“Severus’?”, the Elf’s annoyance instantly dropped, but his general grimace stayed the same.
“Funny, Miss. Very funny.”, he gnarled.
“Has he or has he not?”, Hermione demanded.
“The boys will wake up any minute. Kreacher has to prepare lunch.”
With a step back, he simply closed the door – and locked it. Thunderstruck, she just gazed at where he had gone from her sight.
“Well, great!”, she sang to the door. “Not that – what?”
There had been a sound from below. Startled, she looked at the envelope that had been pushed through beneath the door. Even more curious, her name was written on it, unmistakably by Luna. When she picked it up and pulled the odd smelling colourful letter paper from it, it bore more of Luna’s handwriting. Silent, she read.
Hello, Hermione.
As you read these lines, you missed us by a few hours and Kreacher passed this letter on to you. Sadly I can give you just as many answers as he could. But I’m glad you waste your time here, rather than where you’d be blasted away. Oh and don’t blame Harry. He hasn’t ordered Kreacher not to talk about Severus. You see, Kreacher liked him very much and just isn’t willing to talk about him. You should respect that as much as he meanwhile respects you, without Harry having told him to do so.
Looking forward to seeing you in Argentina next weekend
Luna
As she took the remaining stairs down, she read the last line, her left foot dangling in suspense.
P.S.: Congratulations on not stepping on the lowest stair. Most people aren’t as fortunate and get bitten.
“Really.”
Hermione huffed and jumped over it, not without a look back, indeed finding very realistic fangs painted on top of it. Though there was more.
P.P.S.: It would be kind if you’d also do as you you’re told in other regards. That stair doesn’t bite. Not you, anyway. Yet.
~~#~~
The temperature was very Scottish, she had to confess. Despite the dryness and the sun already being over the horizon, it was extremely chilly and the stiff sandy breeze made her wrap herself in her travelling cloak. Even her mouth she had to cover from a gust that brushed over the plateau. Surprised that none of the tents had yet been blown off what looked like a steep cliff in the distance, she was already bothered by a Latino woman with flashing pink curls who looked confused at the empty folder Hermione threw at the heap of Portkeys by her side.
“Right into the zone? So you’re VIP?”, was her fierce accent-heavy greet over her thick neon orange glasses shimmering in the early morning sun. “You’ve come alone?”
“I missed my Portkey,”, Hermione snapped, “Thanks to someone having hidden my alarm clock.”
“That Portkey is unauthori-”
“Of course it is unauthorised! How could I have had time to – ”
“Identification?”
“There!”, she nearly slammed her DMLE badge into the woman’s sharp nose. “Hermione Jean Weasley. Department of Magical Law Enforcement in the British Ministry of Magic.”, in vicinity, some sleepy heads were stuck out of a number of tents; a very small young East Asian appearing man that could have been Filius Flitwick in his youth peeked around one, a toothbrush scrubbing the teeth in his open mouth without the help of his hands.
“Weasley – Weasley – had that name earlier – ah yes. I got you here.”, with her finger to the long roll of parchment only, she checkmarked it. “Thank you. Your tent is near Stair One. You will hardly be able to miss it. The big VIP tent can even be seen from here. You can go there first for some refreshment or go there and turn straight left, fifteen tents down the row.”
“Thank you!”, Hermione puffed and stuck her badge into the chest pocket of her blouse, just in case she would need to show it again.
“De nada. You still need the folder or can we use it as an Emergency Portkey?”
“Use it for whatever you may.”
Already three tents down the broad corridor, she knew she must have woken at least a dozen more people. While eight in the morning may have even been too late for going to work instead, she had completely forgotten about the three hours of time difference. Feeling a little sorry, she quietly made her way towards the cliff, regretting that she had never liked the one mean of transportation this event was all about. Also she still hadn’t managed to figure out how to turn herself to smoke-like fog so she could just take off. Either she was approaching it wrongly or she was somehow too – she didn’t want to call herself stupid, but apparently she was or otherwise she would have figured it out by now, she knew.
Therefore she was doomed to walk all the way, getting hit by the one or other gust that slipped through between the peaceful tents. Telling from the flags she passed and the styles of the tents, she was clearly walking through the Japanese quarter. The smell of tea laid in the air. Between many of the tents chains of dangling lampions hung and she could have sworn to have spotted a real blooming cherry tree behind one of the higher tents. The entrance to one was flanked by a good twenty Bonsai, including a small terraced fountain of wood that was calmly gurgling.
Another tent was disturbingly pink and in a soft bed, a total of five cats laid rolled in before it. Hermione feared she may have just walked past a long lost sister of Dolores Umbridge. Shocking her indeed upon the quiet mewl of one of the cats, the head that peeked out was resembling the late Umbridge’s face way too much, apart from the eyes’ shape and colour and the black hair. But despite the high bun, which was oddly enough adorned by a pink bow, there was a curl in front of her forehead. Dropping her a forced grin and hectic bow, Hermione couldn’t help but walk on faster, fearing she would receive a stunner in the back any second.
Luckily the rest of the people around; apart from a group that blocked half of the corridor further down by doing yoga; were practically asleep. She had heard that Japan had scored third place two days prior, so most might still be suffering from the celebrations’ aftermath, she considered. Eventually she reached a gleaming thread of magic on the ground. It was of a soft green and stuck out well against the sand. At first she stopped at it, her eyes following along at either side, but she decided to give it a try. After all, she had been registered as arrived and crossing over to the VIP area shouldn’t be a problem.
As she wasn’t hurtled back out after a few feet, she walked on more lively. Even here the tents sat quiet and almost still. It was as though the line also blocked out most of the weather influence. The gusts were mere wafts of a breeze and the air was considerably warmer; actually pleasant. No tea smells filled the air however. In fact she smelled nothing. Not even the smell of billowing sand, which she meanwhile knew to be a thing since she had spent the occasional weekend at Shell Cottage and the dunes indeed had a smell to them when the wind brushed through.
Steadily she marched towards the white and light blue striped large tent that was about the size of the Weasley wedding venue. Even among the VIPs privacy was held high, she thought, as its obvious entrances were all closed and no sound could be heard from inside. Perhaps due to nobody being in it, but she highly doubted it. So she decided giving it a go and walked through the second entrance down the left instead of going further. Once in, she was the killer of all conversations. She had barely caught the hushed chats from each group that had made themselves at home in various nooks that were gatherings of very colourful cushions, sofas or old woven chairs. The roof-like ceiling was draped with flags, one of each nation that participated in the tournament. This time the smells that hit her were that of fresh bakery and yerba mate from a corner counter to her right.
“Good morning!”
Hermione grinned smitten, hoping it didn’t cause even more harm to the conversations than she already had and she felt a little like she had when she had had to impersonate Isabel Mullbridge just to let Bellatrix Lestrange and those other Death Eaters into Hogwarts to do the inevitable. Or rather when she had walked into Gringotts as the latter. When she scanned the faces that gazed back at her, she recognised most of them from having seen their photo in the Prophet at some point in her life. Former Quidditch players that had made themselves a name offside the pitch as well, people with high positions in the Ministries of the same nations that were granted a banner above and even some Ministers, male and female. But she knew that at another time of the day, the tent would be much fuller.
Surprising her, there were faces whom she knew didn’t belong to any government of participating nations. She spotted the Icelandic Elf Delegate, who looked extremely wealthy and healthy compared to the Elves that had been living to serve in British and Irish households. Someone she was certain she wanted to have a word with. Then there was Finland’s Head Auror Inka Koistinen who was said to have made major lives-saving impact in the late Winter War when she had just started her Auror training. Now her cold-stricken face with several scars was the only proof of the countless missions she must have been on. Not surprising at all however, the woman sat next to another who wouldn’t take her eyes off Hermione when most others already returned to their conversations. Legs crossed on the long thickly stuffed sofa that could have been borrowed from Luna, she nodded her to their nook to Hermione’s left.
With a real smile at last, she walked on, watching a number of thick cushions form a pile to Ginny’s left once another red haired woman shifted aside with her wonky chair. Until she arrived there, sure the cushion tower was safe to sit on, she didn’t see the stranger’s face. Very stiff, arms and legs crossed, she pouted into space. Even the very East Asian looking bun she wore her long lesser panda red curls in, appeared to have tightened.
“Everyone, this is Hermione. My sister-in-law – and heart, even though she tries her best to disagree with me whenever she can.”
“Charming.”, Hermione sulked instantly, resembling the ginger to her left, only that she didn’t cross any of her limbs yet.
“Hermione, the one to my right is – ”
“Madam Koistinen, I know.”
“I see, my reputation is further ahead of me than it should be.”, she said with stunningly very good British English, almost no accent drifting through.
“Oh, no, I merely heard Harry talk about you once, long ago, when he was still living with us. He described your appearance quite well, I must say.”
“Has he. You have remarkable memory, if that is the case. From what I learned about his home so far, he hasn’t lived at that possibly famous place called The Burrow since the millennium year?”
“Yes.”, Hermione gargled, struck against her own expectation. “Of course you would – know such detail – about another country’s Head Auror.”, she swallowed.
“No worries.”, Koistinen said impish. “Your friend here hasn’t revealed any sensitive information on your sexual life.”, and what Hermione had swallowed, almost came back; Ginny’s grin when she continued the counter-clockwise introductions wasn’t helpful.
“Then we have Ephraim Harpaz who works for the – I hope I don’t butcher that now – ”
“Simply call it the Wizarding Bank of Israel.”, the man calmed her with a gentle smile and a gesture of both hands. “I am honoured to meet you, dear lady. Stories about you also travel ahead of you. But I can claim they have only been positive so far.”
“The honour is all mine!”, Hermione sang smirking, sure she may have heard Bill mention his name before.
“Alright. You know Gwen,”, Ginny’s boss-on-the-pitch Gwenog Jones gave her a slack wave that was as leisure as her leaning posture on another sofa, “Next is – ”
“Minister Neyizhkasha!”, Hermione gasped, ashamed of herself that she hadn’t even noticed her main target to be sitting there. “What – what a pleasure to meet you!”
“If you say so,”, he chuckled lively.
“Oh yes, indeed!”, the still unintroduced ginger gave her a nondescript frown.
“You know him. Good.”, continued Ginny. “Then we only have Arsenia Gonzales from the American National Team, and last but not least – er – Bel.”
“Bel.”, Hermione faltered, eyes drifting up and down on the woman’s red robe that looked East Asian as well, while being focused herself by a pair of stunning blue eyes on a pale, faintly freckled strangely Russian looking face. “Bel and further?”
“Just call me Bel.”, the woman said curtly and Hermione could have sworn to have heard an Italian accent however before the woman scrunched her freckly nose again.
“She’s – uh – a family member.”, Ginny meant.
“Oh! Really!”, Hermione’s look switched back and forth between the two.
“Yeah. But she didn’t grow up in England.”
“Interesting. I see, you support Japan?”
“Diamine! No!”, Bel moaned, downright disgusted.
“Sorry. It’s just – your attire made me – ”
“I am an adult and I can dress the way I like to.”
That line was like a bucket of icy water into her face. Unsure what to make of it, she looked into Bel’s impaling eyes, but in truth it was Severus’ eyes that looked back at her, in his dungeon office, the scarf she and Luna had knitted around his neck, holding her close. His eyes that had been perplexed about her having turned the line into a justification for having dressed like a slut, pulling off a show. The ice water had though not been the line itself. It was more the fact that her brain kept being confronted with things that reminded her of Severus. It was as though he had not been wiped from the wold, her world, but blasted into pieces and spread everywhere so she would constantly stumble over those fragments. It was as though his spirit had laid itself everywhere and again there was Dumbledore’s warning. The warning that she may indeed be hunting a ghost. One that was less than transparent but also more than that. That Severus himself was gone and she should stop trying to find him alive but accept that she had been granted to have spent time with him.
“Or so I ’oped, until now. And it is Chinese.”, she had barely caught Bel’s addition.
“Of – of course y-you can.”, Hermione stuttered, hoping she had loud enough. “So? What were – what were you all talking about?”
“Gin’s snogging skills.”
She was the only who hadn’t dropped at least a smirk, if not a snicker on Gwenog’s remark. Even the Ukrainian Minister had found it amusing. It had come too fast for Hermione however to instantly comprehend what had been said. Dumbfounded, lips open but teeth pressed together, her eyes flicked around.
“Oh c’mon, really.”, Gwen chuckled. “Had a sleepy start in the morning, eh?”
“Well, not everyone is already awake at – what’s it? Five thirty local time?”
“Twenty-two.”, sighed Bel.
“What?”, Hermione gasped.
“I said – well, it is twenty-three now.”
“Luna? Is that you?”, she bent down a little, looking up and down on the woman, curious whether she would be finding any indication that it was indeed Luna.
“No? I am – myself? Why – ”
“It’s just – I don’t know many people who could tell the exact time.”
“Then you might not know many that can read a clock.”, Bel made a brief but exaggerated nod over to Harpaz – a golden pocket watch was dangling from a chain that hung out of his indigo vest’s chest pocket.
“Oh goodness. I’m so blind today.”, she sighed at the shiny object, shaking her head. “Alright. What were you really talking about?”
“This and that,”, said Neyizhkasha. “Nothing really special. Sharing opinions on different matters.”
“What matters?”
“Tea?”
She nearly jumped onto Bel’s lap when the little clay pot appeared by her side, a similar mug floating beneath, and from the waft of yerba mate her face had received, she knew that it had been the pot itself that had talked.
“Uhm – yes, please!”, she whimpered and the pot tilted, pouring the delicious smelling liquid into the mug, waiting for her to take it in hands before it flew off again.
“Are you okay?”
“What?”, Hermione startled once more.
“I asked if you’re okay.”, said Ginny very concerned.
“Yes? Why?”, really not knowing why, she almost took her first sip too quickly.
“Dunno; you’re a bit jumpy today?”
“Really.”
“Yeah. And apparently you snapped at the reception witch.”
“Wait.”, Hermione’s brows narrowed, making her feel the mug’s steam even more intense. “Did you hear me? All the way?”
“No. Harry said he’d heard you make sure she knows exactly who you are and whom you work for.”
“Harry said that.”, she looked around. “But I haven’t seen him there?”
“Because he wasn’t exactly there?”, Ginny frowned. “But he told me he’d heard it.”, the others appeared more confused than Hermione, which troubled her a little.
“Doing the best ’e can to not make people think ’e isn’t a little show-off, is ’e?”, grumbled Bel.
“Er – no?”, Ginevra’s frown grew. “Actually, if Hermione hadn’t acted the way she has or hadn’t asked, there wouldn’t have been any need for me to say? So – no?”
“Am I understanding this correctly?”, asked Harpaz. “Your husband – did somehow tell you about her arrival without having been there, nor here?”
“He was strolling between the tents with our younger son and they heard her, yes. It took him a bit to get past the VIP border’s enchantments even though he’s allowed to pass it physically, but yeah.”
“Is he getting that good already.”, Hermione said after having swallowed another sip of mate. “Oh what do I ask. How could anything stop him from even outmastering Dumbledore. Now that not only he, but the entire world thinks he’s immortal.”
“What makes you think he thinks he’s immortal? He’s very aware of his own mortality, in case you missed why he’s careful about what he eats, to name just one example,”
“Some years ago he sounded different. But never mind. Soon James will soon turn eleven anyway.”
“Bloody hell, you’re still going on about that?”, Ginny groaned after some seconds of thinking.
“Why not? Apparently he can look into the future and predict when the sky spits birds.”
“What? Nuh.”, her friend chuckled but pulled her legs a little closer. “If you’re talking about that – bloody pigeon – no. He had a few backups there.”
“A few backups.”, Hermione gave her the frown back that she had dropped.
“It was mainly a test of Inama’s loyalty, if you really want to know, but let’s – uh – let’s not talk about that. He merely likes to have his fun on the cost of others’ sanity. But you’ve known that for years. I’m surprised he can still surprise you.”
“I’m surprised you can shrug the stuff off he’s throwing at people he considers his friends!”
“Be lucky you’re not an enemy of his.”, noted Koistinen.
“I can hardly imagine! He’s – creepy! To say the least!”, Hermione moaned, biting back the urge to say that Harry was clearly spending too much time dealing with people like Jeanne. “Even you have to confess that, Ginny.”, that one though shrugged.
“Not much worse than Fred and George were and their means were more limited than his.”
“Yes?”
“I don’t think these people are here to listen to stories of the horror shows my brothers used to pull off when they got into puberty.”
“I woudn’t mind a little storytime,”
“It’s barely five-thirty, Bel. So shut up. If you want those stories, come back at night.”
“Many societies consider six in the morning to be the actual beginning of a regular working day. So technically, it is still night.”
“I said shut it.”
“Sì, sì.”, she pouted, but instantly startled by another gasp of Hermione. “Uh?”
“Sorry – I – really?”
“Really what.”, wondered Bel downright static.
“Bel? As in?”
“As in what.”, the woman jerked her neck back with a dark chuckle, her yellowish teeth just barely visible past her ajar lips.
“Not – Abelarda.”, no response. “Holy Horklump!”
“Those things aren’t ’oly,”, meant Bel, but most others suppressed a snicker.
“Family member?”, Hermione hissed at Ginny, who only gave her a bored stare. “Family – well, brilliant! You lot have all gone mad now, have you?”
“Well, rather like you, I do consider my closer friends my family as well.”
“Closer friends.”, Hermione now aspirated. “Who would – ”
“Be careful there, yes? Just because you’ve turned away from those ears, doesn’t mean they can’t still hear you.”
“Abelarda?”, pondered Koistinen. “Why does that name ring a bell?”
“Because you’d have quite failed your job if it didn’t?”, hissed Hermione again, leaning towards her now, panic in her voice that she tried to keep low so she wouldn’t attract the attention of the other groups in the tent.
“And if you don’t shut up right now,”, gnarled the one in question, “I will gladly doom my own fate and that of your tea by making you do so.”
“Did you just – ”, straightening again, Hermione murmured at Abelarda, “Threat to slit my throat in front of everyone?”
“I actually meant that I would splash that tea into your face, but – ”
“Oh.”
“And you are calling ’Arry macabro. Perdinci. Aiuta me.”, Abelarda groaned. “Because of you, I’m even starting to become religious.”
“If you were honest with yourself, you’d see that my assumption was quite justified. And what the heck are you doing here anyway? Completely unmasked even?”
“This is the Quidditch World Cup.”
“Figures.”
“Can’t three friends attend a good game? Besides, not many people know what we look like.”
“You’re – fishing!”, Hermione hissed scandalised.
“If you say so, of course it must be true,”, they eyed each other for a few seconds, but Hermione decided to drop it.
“Well, never mind, then. Minister Neyizhkasha – I was wondering – does your Ministry have a department that could uncover a property that is under special concealment?”, not only the man she addressed straightened.
“Why would you ask that?”, he however asked back in a calm, weighing manner she had seen on Kingsley whenever he was confronted with a sensitive topic.
“Just out of curiosity. The British Ministry does have, but from what I have learned so far, the people in charge are limited to our own demarcation lines.”
“Well, so are my people. A standard that has been implemented globally to prevent infiltration of possibly rivalling countries. An old law. But this is what the individual divisions for international magical cooperation are here for.”
“And I did talk to the Head of our Ministry’s DIMCO. But he said he couldn’t help me. That is why I am asking you directly, seeing as I was by whatever fortune given the chance to meet you.”
“Forgive me,”, the more he spoke, the more thronging his accent became, “But this sounds like you had no other intention than meeting me in person to bother me with your question. If that is the case, I’d advise you to get to the point, Mrs Weasley. What kind of property are we talking about.”
“A house.”, Hermione said sober. “A private house, concealed by the person living in it, possibly without being registered to your government.”
“Where in Ukraine.”
“Crimea.”
The laugh that left Neyizhkasha was so high and loud she felt heads turn at them from all inside the tent. Bright but also cold and disappointed. Lively, yet without a spark of joy. When he lowered his head again, his grin was as forced as the laugh had been.
“The person you talked to about it – what is their name?”
“Mr Fletcher.”, Hermione grunted.
“Well, Fletcher is a wise man then. Not as naïve as you, lady. You are aware of what is going on down there, are you?”, she too remained cold. “I have ordered the retreat of all forces and personnel from that peninsula months ago. I have advised evacuation. It is a war zone, but it isn’t ours anymore. In fact, it never really was. Some tried to be fools, thinking they could make the place a playground for their own hunger of power, but most of those have fallen or learned to know better meanwhile. This is the Muggles’ war, not ours. We have surrendered all sovereignty on Crimea until further notice. Everyone is free to Disapparate to safer places in the country. Nobody will be questioned for creation of unauthorised Portkeys. If you think there is a house down there you need to find, you are looking for a suicidal idiot.”
“No.”, said Abelarda grim, having suddenly lost the high pitch in her voice. “She’s looking for a ghost.”
“Or that.”
“Do you know something.”, Hermione asked her as fierce, but Abelarda just raised and marched towards the closest exit of the tent. “Bel – goodness sake – ”
“Did you really think you’d get an answer to that in here?”, Ginny chuckled disbelieving, but Hermione was already hurrying after, the tea in the half full mug swashing dangerously and she found Abelarda standing outside, to her right, arms crossed again and distorting her lips as she glared at the still tents.
“What do you know.”, Hermione didn’t lose her tone when she looked up at the tall woman who wore high heels in addition, her hair and clothes shimmering mystically in the early morning light, which made her freckles stick out even more from the fair skin. “Where is he.”
“Not there.”
“Where then.”, with a very deep breath, Abelarda looked down on her.
“Stand still.”
“Yes?”
“Just stand still.”, Abelarda said calm and took the mug out of Hermione’s hand. “More still.”, so Hermione did, crossing her own arms now, even holding her breath with anticipation. “And now,”, her anticipation became disgust when the woman carefully placed the mug on top of her bushy hair like an egg in a nest, “We shall see if you can bring up much more devotion than you ’ad regarding your ghost ’unt.”
“Very funny.”, nonetheless, she did her best to balance the tea.
“It is indeed. So funny, Jeanne and ’Arry ’ad a bet going as to when you would stop looking.”
“They hat what?”, she felt the tea sway a little, but with Abelarda’s following words, Hermione’s anticipation was back.
“But I shall burst their bubble and make this a little easier for you.”
“Yes? Where is he?”
“The man you are looking for,”, Abelarda remained cold, “Died many years ago.”
“Well,”
“’E ’is dead. That man doesn’t exist anymore.”
With her arms, also the mug fell, but Abelarda caught it before even a single drop could jump over the brim. Hermione felt awkward. The words had blasted a hole into her heart, but it was momentarily too numb to bleed. Maybe it was her brain that told her soul that she should have known better.
“You ’ave been ’unting a phantom, ’Ermione. An illusion. The man you loved, died before your eyes and it is about time you start realising that. Let ’im go. ’E deserves so much better than your semi-desperate attempt to cling to an idea of what could ’ave never been.”
Taking another deep breath, she pressed the mug back into Hermione’s hands, turned on the spot and marched off. When Hermione finally took her eyes off the light blue panel of the tent, she could see the red figure strut past a black one, about fifteen tents down the row. For a moment Hermione’s heart leapt when the black cloak and wavy hair billowed as the person followed Abelarda, but the man briefly turned his head back, green eyes behind round glasses meeting hers. The moment wasn’t enough for her to read Harry’s expression however. Her attention had been drawn to a long cut on his right cheek that had looked only a few hours old.
As they walked away, Abelarda held out her right arm. With an eerie screech, a falcon landed on it, balancing out the bumping from her walking with no effort, despite only having one leg. Another figure joined them from the left, covered in a crimson velvet hooded cloak. Together they turned right and vanished from Hermione’s sight. Only the one dressed in black she should be seeing again that day, and in years to come.
~~#~~