The Bat Returns From Hell
- Chapter 9: A Face In The Crowd
The encrypted VoIP transoceanic call took little more than a minute. "Twenty-love," the initiating caller said.
"Twenty-all," said the other.
"Game, set, and match," the first replied.
"So you've got it, then," the second caller's low gravelly voice inquired. "Excellent. If all goes as planned, we can flip this to your proposed buyer and make more money than we can spend in a lifetime."
"I've got the key to neutralizing the Dragon Lady," the first voice revealed. "Be ready to move when I tell you. It will be sometime this week. Your window of opportunity will be twelve hours - maybe eighteen."
"That'll be enough. Did you see Runway Holding was down another three-quarter point on the Big Board today?" the lower voice asked.
"Yes, your doing?" the higher voice responded.
"What do you think?" low voice answered with a chuckle. "Just trying to maximize profit. Have you given more thought to afterwards?"
"Yes, but I still have to firm that up," higher voice answered.
"It's not my concern," lower voice continued, "but you would do well to choose the new management carefully…. I have to go. I will be ready … and no screw ups, if you value your future."
* * * *
A familiar voice left an unfamiliar message on a little-used answering machine.
"Hermione, this is Nymph. I want you to know that because I'm going to say some things that won't sound like me. I'm sorry how our last call ended, but I hope you've had to think about what it means that you're really a mother - and that Harry's the father."
"I'm telling you. Harry's a changed man. He willingly gave up the entire Black fortune to finish things with Ginny, even though she requested the divorce. He's ended the bounty, so you needn't worry about goblins and other riffraff. Don't get me wrong. He still wants you back, more than ever, I think. But he's accepted that he can't force it. He wouldn't be Harry if he just stopped trying, but he won't try to make you do anything. It's finally through that thick skull of his that forcing you doesn't work."
"Hermione, I'll tell you straight out. I think you should come back - if not to reconcile, then at least to end things properly, so he can move on. You also should see Molly, at least once. You're her mum, and that means something. And, yes, Harry did ask me to call. But he didn't … he can't tell me what to say. All he wanted was to tell you what I really think."
"Oh, and he said something else, too. He said he's ready to redeem every promise he ever made to you. He seemed to think that might mean something. It makes me wonder, too, if there might be more to your leaving than you've even told me."
"I hope to see or hear from you soon. You know my number."
* * * *
A nattily dressed Harry cheerfully paid the taxi driver twice the number of euros on the meter. On the other side Monsieur Delacour exited, also elegantly dressed - but for a haute couture attendee, he was hardly fashionable. Indeed, the older man's attire made Harry wince. It was, there was no way to sugarcoat it, old-fashioned. Entirely ignorant of Muggle trends, Monsieur Delacour dressed in an Edwardian three-piece, pin-striped suit (complete with detachable, starched collar and watch fob), and topped it off with his vintage pre-war marshal's dress kepi.
Still, on the whole, Harry was upbeat, not because anything was happening that night, but because once done, it would be over. He had more important business than shepherding Monsieur Delacour around Muggle Paris, as he had for the past three days - even though the old man enjoyed it more than Harry could have hoped.
Shortly before Gabby's family spat sidetracked him, Harry had gone to Blackie Howe with a new approach to his nine-year mission - horribly and repeatedly bollixed - to find Hermione and bring her back. Force and compulsion had failed.
Now he would beg.
Or as close to it as publicly possible.
Harry knew only two things about Hermione's current circumstances: first, she lived as a Muggle; and second, she was somewhere in or around New York City. Since more people lived in metropolitan New York than in metropolitan London, that did not exactly narrow things down very much.
So he would do what any Muggle with sufficient funds would in that situation.
Advertise.
Blackie rattled off the names of a number of publications, some Harry knew, such as the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal; and some he did not, such as The New York Daily News, the New York Post, Newsday, the Village Voice, and (just to make sure) USA Today.
When some big company had to apologize or explain itself, full page ads were a common means of penance. Harry would do the same.
They had considered other media, but Harry was stretching magical secrecy as it was. In any event, Blackie thought the ads would probably attract the networks' curiosity anyway - and generate free publicity.
Over the past week, Harry spent every free moment, writing, editing, reworking, and just plain fussing over the content of his planned ads. He brought a copy with him to Paris, where he wordsmithed in the middle of the night after turning in. That copy was in his pocket this very moment.
Harry needed less than a day's research to convince himself that the Muggle modeling business Gabby had entered was on the up and up. It did have press watchdogs - several glossy magazines, the most prestigious being something called Runway. After a few calls, Harry knew that Fleur's star struck younger sister was in no danger.
Even though Harry conveyed these sentiments to Gabby, she continued being a perfectionist. She had to live with the consequences, not him. One way she outdid herself was the seats she procured. They were beyond excellent. Harry and Monsieur Delacour were front and center, smack in the middle of the "seen and be seen" section. Just a couple of rows separated them from the movers and shakers section at the very front, which accommodated those actually running this show. Throughout the show, the silhouettes of pretty go-fers passed between Harry and the spotlit runway.
Harry's only bad luck was that the collection Gabby modeled was at the end of the show - although for her that was quite the opposite. The most prestigious collections debuted last.
Harry would have been bored, except his finely honed Auror senses detected, on more than one occasion, someone using magic somewhere in the vicinity. That was odd for a Muggle event, and Harry was a bit on edge. Still, the last episode was some time before, and Harry could convince himself that Gabby must have spilt something on herself or some such.
* * * *
The big night had arrived. Harmony busied herself with everything that made the show ran flawlessly. Runway co-promoted the show - a singular honor for an American publication - along with the primary French haute couture trade association. Hermione met many European fashion VIPs over the past few days. Ms. Beastly's initial reluctance to make introductions quickly vanished as she appreciated Harmony's fluent French (oddly, spoken with a British accent) and gift for making intelligent conversation.
Harmony felt her personal life was looking up too. Christian not only took her out for the promised dinner - to the famous Maxim's - but served as her male escort during the whirlwind of parties, dinners, and open houses supplemental to the big show.
True to his word, Christian acted the perfect gentleman. Not once had he tried to inveigle her to sleep with him. Indeed, she did not even know where he was staying. Only once did he even try to kiss her, and when she told him to desist, he had - in good humor, no less.
The evening of the main event was the pinnacle of her trip in every way. Everything she and everyone else had practiced and rehearsed for weeks would come to fruition. That evening was incomparably nerve-wracking for exactly the same reason. Harmony had a seat in the front row - theoretically the best in the house - at Ms. Beastly's right hand.
She barely used it.
Such front-row seats were not dear just for looking up the skirts of a parade of striking women. They were in demand for their easy access and egress to the backstage area through doors beneath the runway itself. Harmony used that door many times that evening.
Carefully, she stashed her personalized Versace strapless leather purse containing the "football" underneath her chair. She anticipated a most unsettling evening's work
It exceeded her expectations in every way.
Harmony served as Ms. Beastly's right hand girl - which meant doing anything and everything she demanded. But on her first trip backstage, Nigel pulled her aside and informed her that there were "issues" relating to the New York office that he had to leave and deal with. Nigel asked her to assume his customary role as informal major domo, general factotum, and all around show night troubleshooter.
Harmony could not possibly refuse - if Ms. Beastly allowed it. The boss did, albeit with her customary poor grace. Whenever away from her boss' side, Harmony was to keep her cell phone on so she could be summoned.
Nigel had served as the informal backstage manager for these big productions for well over a decade.
A year ago, Harmony could not tell Pierre Cardin from Emanuel Ungaro. Tonight she directed the staging of both collections.
Harmony was backstage amongst the lined up "clackers" waiting for their big moments. Immaculately dressed in a chiffon evening gown and matching stiletto shoes, she bustled down the corridor seeking a Frenchman she knew only as "Alain" to replace a malfunctioning spotlight when….
"Oof…."
Without warning a model from the Adeline André collection lurched heavily sideways and fell right into Harmony. Like an immaculately clad domino, Harmony would have toppled over too, except that….
"Whoa, gotcha there," a familiar voice with unfamiliarly strong arms caught Harmony. "I say, you're more … substantial than I would have thought…."
The unfortunate clacker flopped to the floor.
"Well thank you, Christian," Harmony fake growled at the man who had just saved her a nasty spill. "With another remark like that, you might just wear out that welcome. What are you doing here?"
He flashed the plasticized pass he wore around his neck. From the distinctive color and pattern, she saw he was seconded by the Lacroix combine.
"Christian and Christian … it figures…." Harmony was interrupted by the wails (in French) of the poor young woman who set off the chain reaction.
The heel of her shoe had snapped clean away, and she bemoaned her fate - she was due to take her strut along the runway in less than ten minutes.
Of course, certain people backstage were paid specifically to deal with any and all sorts of wardrobe malfunctions.
Of course, those people are never available when really needed.
Harmony shifted into her "I'm in charge here" mode. "Donnez-les moi. J'essayerai de les réparer pour vous," she instructed the sobbing model. After days on-site as Ms. Beastly's second, all the clackers knew who Harmony was. Meekly, she complied.
Harmony turned to Christian. "Help her up, and get her to the makeup room. We have beauticians standing by for emergencies like this."
Christian gave Harmony a questioning "what are you going to do now?" look as she stood with the offending shoe in one hand and the heel in the other.
"I'm better with my hands than you might think," she hissed at him. "Now, go."
"That's something I'd like to see," he flirted.
"Get moving or you never will," she snapped at him.
Christian moved the stricken young lady away. Harmony ducked around the corner, slipped into a now-empty dressing room, and eased the door shut. `It's an emergency,' she rationalized. Besides, Tonks told her that Harry had repented of his obsessive pursuit of her. She no longer needed to be as careful.
"Reparo," she incanted with a wave of her hand. The sheared off heel jumped into place and adhered itself tightly. To test it, she whacked the heel against the countertop. She found no reason to doubt her abilities.
Still, her thought process unearthed painful memories. Harry! What to do about Harry - and her magical daughter by him that she had never seen … although she saved the little girl's life? Because Tonks' information came at precisely the wrong moment, Hermione had put it off and out of her head for the duration. But the show ended tonight…. She now had to confront the consequences of her past.
Harmony knew what she wanted. But Hermione did not. That was the root of her problem.
Despite everything, she thought she still loved him - romantically, if not logically. Although almost a decade gone, Harry put every man she ever met in his shadow. None came close to him; none made her feel so alive … so involved.
That was why she cherished that one and only time with him … and had done nothing to sully that memory in almost a decade.
But now there was Christian….
Christian!
Harmony threw herself back into her stage manager persona and stalked to the make-up room with the reconstructed shoe.
She found the unfortunate young lady and returned her shoe just in time - rewarded with an adoring look.
"Merci…. Merci beaucoup."
Harmony was ready to resume her troubleshooting when Christian spoke, "Umm … Harmony, before going out there, you'd best take a look in the mirror."
Hesitating, she did. The cause for Christian's comment was immediately obvious. A long red streak marred the right side of her lovely light-colored dress. Harmony now knew how the girl's lipstick and makeup had been spoilt.
"Oh, damn," she blurted and almost ran for the ladies' room. The counter held some pretty powerful makeup removers, but when used on fabric rather than skin all they did was smear.
Harmony hid away in a stall and whispered "Scourgify." It was her second use of magic in half an hour - her first time since going Muggle after fleeing the Institute two steps ahead of Harry's agents.
Again, she rationalized - had Tonks not told her there would be no more agents?
More hectic mayhem followed. Ms. Beastly summoned her three times for small errands. A dog got loose back stage. Stefano Gabbana mislaid his PDA and had to borrow hers. It was one thing after another all evening long.
With everything she was handling, Harmony hardly thought twice as she set about shooing away a group of done-for-the-evening clackers from the closed-circuit television screens. The public relations people used those monitors to scan crowd reaction to the more outré of the designers' concoctions. Harmony considered them worse than useless.
"Quel drôle…." "Look at him, how quaint...."
"All right, all right," Harmony said loudly as she came up behind. "These are for business purposes…." In truth, Harmony thought such spying on the crowd was an invasion of privacy, but it had been done for years. Anybody knowing anything about the shows would know about that. So in that way, the attendees had no expectation of privacy….
They all liked to show themselves off, anyway.
Having cleared away the kibitzing gawkers, Harmony glanced at the monitor before addressing other, more pressing business. The clackers had been giggling over an older man who looked quite out of place - a cross, she thought, between Charles deGaulle and an banker with a stiffly formal suit right out of Mary Poppins.
Now the younger, rather bored looking man in the next seat was something else altogether, she thought, he was….
"Oh shite!" Harmony exclaimed loud enough that several passersby turned and stared. She could only conclude that Nymphadora Tonks - her last, most trusted contact with the magical world - must have betrayed her.
That man was Harry Potter!
- 10 -
C:\Documents and Settings\Owner\My Documents\HP & The Fifth Element.Bat from Hell Ch 6 Endings and Beginnings.doc.doc 12/28/06
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