The most real thing
AN: The idea for this story came from E. M. Forster's "a room with a view". I merely made changes and adaptations for the Harry Potter universe. Anything you recognise is not mine. All rights belong to Forster and JKR.
Chapter I: Rooms and views
Hermione opened the window on the first floor of Bertolini. It was a muggle pensione in Florence. It was well known to wizarding community. Witches and wizards like to stay there while they tour Florence. She wore a deep beige travel overall. A snowy white lace chemisette caressed her throat. A matching hat was pinned to the French pleat of her bushy brown hair. The hat had a snowy white ribbon printed in a fine deep beige pattern.
'This is not at all what we led to expect,' said Madam Irma Pince, Hermione's aunt.
'I thought we were going to see the Arno,' Hermione furrowed her brow a little. Two rows of brown terraces were under the window.
'The signora clearly wrote: "south rooms with a view, close together." But instead she's given us north rooms without view and a long way apart.' Madam Pince sighed, resigned surveying the room with little interest.
'I suppose we could always conjure up a view but it would defeat the object of this trip. We might've been at home,' replied Hermione.
'We must hurry and change, dear, or we'll miss our dinner on top of everything else.' Madam Pince turned towards the door, 'She had no business to do it! No business at all.'
------------
'Any nook does for me, but it seems hard that you haven't a view,' Madam Pince walked down the stairs with Hermione descending after her.
'No. You must have a view too.'
They both said 'Buona sera' to the hotel maid. She was going upstairs with an armful of white bed linen.
------------
'What a recommendation for a place!' They heard an old woman's voice as they entered the dinning room. Some of the guests were watching them.
Miss Hermione Granger was a girl going-on to be a young woman. She had a very pretty, pale, and distinct face. She wore a youthful evening dress. An ivory-white, puffed, silk bodice gathered at the waist. It had a detailed embroidered open neckline. Her dull blue skirt was slim- vase-shaped and flaring at the hem, opening with a little train.
'Indeed, Madam Pomfrey, it is a recommendation,' a clear female voice said, 'between the squalor of London and the squalor of Plato there is a great difference.'
The signora showed Hermione and Madam Pince to the dinning table where the conversation was. The owner of the clear voice, a fashionable woman in her mid-forty, raised her eyes keenly to the new comers. Hermione looked at the British wizarding people sitting around her table. There are white bottles of water and red bottles of wine that ran between them. The portraits of the Queen and the Prince of Wales hung behind them, heavily framed. The notice of the British church (Rev. Gilderoy Lockhart, M. A. Oxon.) was the only other decoration of the wall. Two elderly women sat across Hermione further up the table. One of them was Madam Poppy Pomfrey -
'It is only by going off the main tourist route you get to know the country. See the little towns: Gubbio, Settingiano, Galluzzo,' savoured the clear voiced, clever woman in a slow and dramatic tone, 'San Gimignano, Monteriggioni.'
- A tall young man, jet-black haired with striking cheekbones and a steady green-eyed gaze, sat opposite Hermione. He caught her eyes, his eyes intense and searching. He rotated his plate 180-degree in two or three deliberate movements, and tilted it up to her. A big question mark made up of the colourful foods. Hermione stared. -
'It is the mixture of the simple with the ancient classical.' the clever woman announced, 'that I find irresistible and inspirational.' The young man peered at the speaker, and then returned moodily to his plate.
-Madam Pince murmured to Hermione, 'I shall tell the signora give you the next south room view available, Hermione.'
'Why not to you, Irma?' Hermione countered.
'No, no. I insist,' Irma's voice rising a little.
'This meat has definitely been boiled for the stock!' hissed Madam Pince, laying down her fork. 'It has lost all its flavour,' she waved her serviette to a droning wasp -
'Monteriggioni is not only quaint, but there one meets the Italians unspoiled' imparted the clever woman between the chewing of her food, 'in all its simplicity and charm.'
'Wasn't Monteriggioni where we saw the cornflowers, Minerva?' Madam Pomfrey asked her friend next to her, Madam McGonagall. She was a tight-lipped, respectable elderly lady.
'An entire carpet of them, Oh, it was delightful!' exhaled Madam Pomfrey to the whole table, 'I find the cornflowers the most delightful of flowers. Don't you, Miss Skeeter?'
'I prefer something bolder: the reckless rose, the tempestuous tulip.' The clever woman - by name of Rita Skeeter- sat up straight and tilted her head to one side.
- 'Your mother would never forgive me if I took the view.' squeaked Madam Pince.
'Mother would want you to have it,' challenged Hermione.
'On no account. The view of the Arno is yours!'
'I don't know why we're arguing. We don't have it. We have no view,' said Hermione forcefully in a hushed voice.
Their voices grew animated, and--if the sad truth be told--a little peevish. Some of their neighbours exchanged glances. Mr Black, next to the young man, suddenly interjected aloud over the table, 'I have a view, I have a view, and so does Harry.' Mr Black grinned.
Madam Pince was startled. In her opinion, at a holiday hotel people should look them over for a day or two before speaking. People often should not find out if 'they are the right sort' till they have gone. Mr Black was about forty, tall and lean, with a head of short black hair. He had a pale, shaven face and a pair of grey fathomless eyes. There was something childish in those eyes, what exactly it was Madam Pince did not stop to consider. Her glance passed on to his clothes. The casualness of these did not appeal to her.
'Ah,' said Madam Pince, repressing Hermione, who was about to speak.
'My godson, Harry Potter here.' Mr Black indicated to them the young man. Harry trained his glance at Hermione and Madam Pince but didn't speak.
'You can have our rooms, and we'll have yours. We can change. Why shouldn't you have them?' decided the older man.
Shocked at this, Madam Pince, opened her mouth as little as possible, and said stiffly 'Thank you very much indeed; but we could not impose on your kindness.'
'Why?' shot Mr Black incredulously, with both fists on the table.
'You see, we wouldn't…' placated Hermione, smiling. Her aunt again repressed her with a whisper, 'Hush, Hermione.'
'Women like looking at a view; men don't,' persisted Mr Black and turned to his godson, 'Oh, Harry, persuade them.'
'It's obvious they should have the rooms,' said the godson casually, looking at his plate with raised eyebrows. 'There's nothing else to say.' He did not look at the women as he spoke. His voice was perplexed and sorrowful. Hermione, too, was perplexed. She saw that they were in for 'quite a scene'. She had an odd feeling. Whenever these godfather and son spoke the topic widened and deepened. It dealt, not with rooms and views, but with--well, with something quite different. What it was she had not realized before.
'Signora?' offered a waitress with a plate of steak, to Madam Pince.
'No, no thank you.'
Now the godfather attacked Madam Pince almost violently, 'Why shouldn't you change? We could clear out in half an hour, fifteen minutes. Its ridiculous, these niceties go against common sense, every kind of sense." Harry's brilliant green eyes glanced at the women sideways.
"I don't care what I see outside. My vision is within. Here is where the birds soar. Here is where the rivers roar.' Mr Black jabbed his thumb to his heart. Harry nodded slightly with a faint smile, head level but eyes fixed on his plate. Hermione smiled understandingly and started on her pudding. Miss Skeeter folded her arms and watched them with mischief.
Madam Pince was skilled in the subtlety of conversation. But she was powerless in the presence of brutality. It was impossible to snub any one so bold. Her face reddened with displeasure. She looked about helplessly. Madam McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey, with shawls hanging over the backs of their chairs, looked back. They clearly sympathised.
'Come, Hermione,' Madam Pince swept up and left for the drawing room. Hermione excused herself to those eccentric people opposite. She smiled a shy smile. She followed her aunt.
-'Let them have the view if they want it. Why shouldn't they if they want it?' exasperated Mr Black watching the women leaving, 'Harry, go after them.' Eyes following Hermione, Harry seemed to be smiling across something, but didn't move.
------------
'What an impossible person!' exclaimed Madam Pince, shooting a haughty glare to the direction of the dining room.
'He meant to be kind.' Hermione turned her head to Irma. They both sat down on a tightly stuffed long sofa.
'Oh, please leave it to me. I know how to deal with these people.'
'Irma, you dealt rudely. You dealt wrongly.' Hermione faced Irma fully.
Madam Pince sighed, 'This pensione is a failure. Tomorrow we will make a change.'
Hardly had she announced this Hermione saw a wizard by the window far behind Irma. He was stout but attractive, reading a newspaper
'It's Mr Lupin,' said Hermione. She had not yet calmed down. At once she started towards him and Madam Pince followed.
'Irma, we can't change now.' said the girl, half way to where Mr Lupin was. Hermione was in a state of spiritual starvation, and would have been glad to see the waiter if her aunt had permitted it. They stood in front of Mr Lupin.
'Mr Lupin?' started Irma.
'-Don't you remember us?' added Hermione.
'Madam Pince and Miss Granger? We met at Tunbridge Wells.'
'- a very cold Easter?' prompted Hermione.
Mr Lupin was obvious on his holiday. He now remembered them quite as clearly as they remembered him. He came forward warmly, 'How do you do?', shaking hands with them.
'I heard you will be our neighbour.' Hermione asked.
'Yes, I'll move into the Den at Summer Street next June.'
Just then, Madam Pomfrey and McGonagall entered the drawing room, 'We did feel sorry for you in the dinning room,' offered Madam Pomfrey.
'Mr Black was so tactless.' added Madam McGonagall.
'But he meant to be kind,' claimed Hermione. She explained to Mr Lupin, 'Mr Black and his godson offered us their room with views for ours have no view.'
'It was most indelicate.' Minerva said sternly.
'But things that are indelicate, can sometimes be beautiful,' Madam Pomfrey smiled a trifle dreamily.
'Yes-!' delighted Hermione.
'I am,' Madam Pince concluded, 'the chaperon of my young niece, Hermione, and it would be a serious thing if I put her under an obligation to people of whom we know nothing.'
'I don't think much harm would have come of accepting' said Mr Lupin lightly.
Hermione was pleased. 'There, Irma!' she said defiantly.
'So you think I ought to have accepted? You think that I have been narrow-minded?' persisted Madam Pince.
'I never suggested that.' asserted Mr Lupin, 'I would be happy to act as intermediary with Mr Black. I don't think he'll take advantage of your acceptance, or expect any gratitude. He has rooms he does not value, and thinks you would value them.'
'Irma, please!' pleaded Hermione with her hopeful smile.
'My own wishes, dear Miss Hermione, are not important compared with yours. I am only here through your kindness. If you want me to turn these gentlemen out of their rooms, I will do it.' she replied. Hermione's smile disappeared.
'Would you, then, Mr Lupin, kindly tell Mr…' asked Irma.
'-Black.' helped Mr Lupin.
'-Black, we accept his offer.' she said grudgingly.
------------
Hermione was reading a Guidebook to Northern Italy, she planed to memorise the most important dates of Florentine History. She was determined to enjoy herself tomorrow like a muggle. There was a rebellious spirit in her. She felt, or wanted to feel that the acceptance might have been less delicate and more beautiful.
Half an hour later, Madam Pince and Hermione entered the larger one of their new rooms. Harry was just leaving with his suitcase.
'I would like to thank your godfather personally for his kindness to us,' said Madam Pince.
The young man gazed down at them. 'You can't,' he said softly, 'he is in his bath.' Hermione broke into a smile at his words.
He then proceeded towards the door. He left an embarrassed Madam Pince in his wake. Hermione turned to watch him leaving. He also turned his head to them while walking out. Madam Pince was speechless about the bath. All her barbed civilities came forth, wrong end first. Young Mr. Potter scored an unintended triumph to the secret delight of Hermione.
'I would have given the larger room to you,' said Madam Pince, 'but I happen to know that it was the young man's. In my small way, I am a woman of the world, and I know where things can lead to.'
Hermione was puzzled. Again she had the sense of some larger and unsuspected issues.
'What ever does he mean?' Madam Pince looked at a picture frame. It was back to front on the wall. A huge hand-drawn question mark was on the back.
Just then, after a brief knocking, Harry came marching in to turn the frame to its front with a flick of his wand. When he passed them back toward the door Hermione smiled at him. Madam Pince fluttered after him to close the door. Hermione was reduced into doubling with silent laughter.
Madam Pince only sighed, and enveloped her in a protecting embrace as she wished her goodnight. It gave Hermione the feeling of a fog. She reached her own room. She opened the window and breathed the clean night air. She thanked Mr Black who had enabled her to see the lights dancing in the Arno. She saw the cypresses of San Miniato. The foothills of the Apennines were black against the rising moon.
------------
Madam Pince, in her room, fastened the window-shutters and locked the door with most advanced charms she knew. She then made a tour of the apartment. Where did the cupboards lead? Were there any trapdoor or secret entrances? She completed her inspection of the room. She sighed heavily according to her habit, and went to bed.