Unofficial Portkey Archive

Life and Times

Rating: R

Ship: HHr (main emphasis)

The (unlovely) procedure: all rights go to JKR for previous plot and characters, Scholastic, Warner, and whoever else has their hands in HP.

Author Note: Harry's twentieth birthday is ripe with celebration, the forerunner: his love for Quidditch. Viktor's tickets in-hand, our Heroine and Hero leave the doldrums of London and set course for…

***

Chapter Forty-Three - Bulgaria

***

The Quibbler

Rita Skeeter interviewing Death Eaters?

Yes folks, you've read that correctly. Rumors are swarming like wildfire. Rita Skeeter to interview a Death Eater? Death Eaters? "One is more than enough," says Press Secretary Toulsen. In a special Ministry briefing held yesterday evening in the Commons, Toulsen said, "Although Minister Shacklebolt is abroad, he has been notified. He has condemned any Daily Prophet future actions regarding this matter for he sees it as an act of treason against the country." The Daily Prophet and Rita Skeeter have yet to respond. Our panel here at The Quibbler finds this sort of rumor troubling, disappointing to say the least, and probably yet another attempt in a long line of attempts for Prophet attention. We agree with the Minister's condemning of any actions resorting in housing murderers. Though, looking at Skeeter's past judgments, anyone could see her continuing "to step over the boundary," her taste for repeated controversy. Her newest novel, The Truth Behind Him, garnishes a pure light on Tom Riddle. Anyone who prances evil in any other way than evil deems pathologically mad. What is the next boundary to be crossed if Skeeter does in fact interview Death Eaters? Should we be worried about this patterned anti-social behavior?

Going to ask them over for tea, too, Rita? Or will you just skip to the mass killings of Britain's finest?

Meygan Brookes

Writer

Luna Lovegood

Chief Editor

P.1

***

"Wow… You look…"

I hurried downstairs, the bottoms of my pink-and-black trainers padding. The sharp steps produced a knocking for there wasn't backing to them. My arms up, my hands in my hair, I was in the middle of slipping on a black-and-red polka-dotted scrunchie. The ponytail swished when I let go, much like my Bulgarian "Krum" jersey if it hadn't been knotted at my lower back. With skinny black jeans, my severely white legs peeking from permanent rips, I was ready. I'd stopped when Harry spoke, his form in front of the fireplace beyond the sofa which stood between him and me.

Harry just shook his head. "No, you look stunning every day."

I smiled and traipsed on over, skipping.

Two small bags sat at Harry's feet.

I laid my hands on him, his chest, to smooth out a wrinkle on his own "Krum" jersey. Black trousers matching mine, his black boots, the rubber soles of them cemented to the ground, squeaked when he pushed up to step. He took my slim waist, emphasized by the tied knot at my back, and kissed me.

"To say you look stunning just today would be a mistake," He concluded.

I grinned, stood a bit on tip-toe and peck-kissed his lips.

"You ready?"

I nodded. "Very. Did you check the bags to see if we remembered everything?"

"While you were upstairs finishing," He went to drop down, to pick the bags up, but halted midway. "Wait a minute."

"Hm?" I wriggled a brow. "What?"

Harry had his bag opened and searched for something. In his hands a tiny jar appeared. He uncorked the top, the small vial making a popping noise, and ushered me closer. "Here. To set the mood."

I looked up by his movements, his fingers beneath my chin. Gently, he wiped a smear of black underneath one eye, and then went to mark the next. Two similar, parallel lines now held above my cheeks, equally apart. "There."

He kissed me, and we exchanged the vial.

I stood back on those tip-toes and marked him, too.

Two perfect black lines beneath his eyes.

We both made a snort, Harry going over to retrieve a cloth to wipe our hands.

"We ready now?"

"I think so," Harry stated amidst putting the jar away and picking the bags up. "The Floo is set just as Viktor wrote. We should be thousands of kilometres away from London in seconds."

"I can't wait…," I grinned, glancing backward to see Harry on the move at my heels.

We stood together in the opened hearth.

I had the powder at the ready, but before tossing the handful I turned to Harry, smiled once more, and said:

"Happy twentieth birthday, darling."

Harry smiled, his index finger in my enclosed palm.

A flash of brilliant light lit our scene, and suddenly the inside of Number Twelve went still and silent.

***

We went straight from the hotel, checking in and unpacking quickly into our suite, to the Quidditch game of Bulgaria against Lithuania. Oddly, we were running later than we expected, especially noting how we promptly planned and left Number Twelve earlier.

The entire environment outside reminded me of my first official Quidditch game. The energy from the people left the hairs on my arm like static, human affect lively against the Burgas Province overlooking a ridge towards cerulean water and crashing waves. The smell of fired grills wafted by breath as people tended cooking prior to the game, barkers called out their wares, selling everything from sweets, to caps, to foam fingers. For just an exhibition match, it came surprising. Tents overflowed our trek, stretched to the arena pitch. One tent would glitter Bulgarian red-and-black, its neighbour Lithuanian tri-colour green-yellow-red.

Sweltering hot, something like thirty-six degree centigrade…and it was hot. Even though we had smiles on our faces, gazing around at the frivolity, these same faces dripped readily with sweat. Having to wring my forearms of the coolant, Harry vowed to get me the first bottle of water he saw when entering the arena. I joked, however, and pointed at the horizon. A line of darkening clouds loomed mountainside, steadily drawing closer. Why buy water when all we had to do was tilt our heads back?

Like London in some ways, but better in many, we weren't attended by a thousand cameras. Not to say there wasn't a camera flash around, but significantly less. We had to walk a ways, and along our route did sign bits here and there for people, slips of paper, t-shirts became a trend, and someone even wanted their forehead signed. Harry had to drag me away. The people were so nice, and forgiving, asking us how we were as to the usual prying for personal information.

Thankfully, we didn't see a Prophet person in sight. We try not to let things out, and are surprised many times by how information is revealed to the media. Journalists, mostly from this part of the world, were lined up. We did give them time, but really, I think the most annoying part of… I don't like to say we were "heroes". We were only trying to do better, to make better. I mean, Voldemort was hellishly evil, indefinably evil… We were asked the same questions over and over, and it became routine with the answers. I think people wanted to hear the same answers, and the same answers; maybe they ran in doldrums. Every now and then we were taken back by something else, like:

"Chocolate or vanilla?"

And, I'd stumble because it did become routine these answers.

I'd half-expect:

"Is it true you're pregnant?!"

Of course, the answer was: chocolate.

Harry was once asked: boxers or briefs.

And, he couldn't stop laughing that day.

I think he questioned the question by asking, "I didn't think men wore briefs anymore. Do they?"

I stayed in front of Harry. The Quidditch pitch was open, much like at Hogwarts and similarly to the match at the World Cup; though, not as flamboyantly decorated. Steel support beams held the oval-shape together, and on upward we went. A special section for us, a section coordinated by Viktor particularly for us, we didn't see the crowds. Looking through the steel archways one could see the masses funneling in droves to find their seats. I hoped none were claustrophobic for they traveled tight, shoulder-to-shoulder, whereas Harry and I maybe saw a person standing around and an isolated group of two or three. Nothing like on the other side, and I thought that was a shame.

Politicians, businessmen and businesswomen, families and friends or the two teams coincided together at the top. A clear roof over our heads, you could plainly see the cloudiness building and an inevitable downpour in the wings. The air was humid, severely. By the time we were on the last set of stairs, I'd undone the knot of my team shirt and knotted it higher so that air got to me, or at least my torso. This definitely wasn't a day for wearing red-and-black.

Harry stood by me. We went off into a corner of the stairway, for a few groups were going up and going down. I adjusted my apparel, Harry helping to re-tie the knot now at the centre of my back. I held the shirt up to the point and Harry did the knot firm around me as to not allow it to fall. We had a moment where we smiled, his hand, his fingers grazing the newly exposed, slick skin of me. He kissed me and exchanged the water bottle back to my hands for a drink.

"Granger."

How my name was spoken startled us, and came familiar.

Harry had his back turned from the stairs and I couldn't see anything but him.

I thought for a second I'd be seeing Malf-

"Why, hello…Potter," A smirk, a sneer, his cold eyes aligned with ours. How he wore black robes fit him…for I'd seen him in them before. I'd told Harry about Xavier when he came home-of course I did. This was the first time any of us had seen him and his…

A blonde woman was with him. Taller, and also in those black robes. She was paler then me, and that's saying something. Blue icy eyes bore a glance into me, and then into Harry. I don't think she took in one breath, almost as if she attempted to withdraw from breathing on purpose. The side of her red lips twitched ever-so-slight and she never once blinked in our presence.

"Mother, I'd like for you to meet his Holiness. Should we bow, Potter?"

We stood silent.

I don't know if we were transfixed or were quiet from repulsion. Nevertheless, we were still.

My hand, my fingers intertwined with Harry's.

He gave me a little squeeze to know he knew I was there, though his eyes kept on the Hart family.

"Come Mother," Xavier's lips curling at the intensity so thick within the air it rivaled the baking humidity. "And don't look directly into it. You might catch a disease."

The tall blonde broke her listlessness and smiled at the word, "disease."

She bounded away, swishing her robe towards us so abruptly that I felt a wash of cold, stale air, and headed south down the staircase.

Xavier lingered, but only to say, "Do keep that shiner medicated. We wouldn't want you anything less than tops, Potter. Or is that make-up for the big game?"

Silence.

He winked at me.

His eyes fixed back at on Harry, "See you around."

We kept our eyes on him until nothing of his being could be seen through all the steel mesh and wirework.

I drew in a breath and exhaled, something I'd pent-up and had to get out.

I could feel my wand on my thigh, my mind wandering to take note exactly where it lay. Harry's was in his pocket, too, and I was sure his mind felt the same. He turned to me, and at first seemed blank, but fire lit back in his eyes at the sight of me. He kissed me brief, to break the atmosphere, and gave my arm a tug in the direction he went.

"Come on," He urged, my feet in a frenzy following him up. "We don't want to miss this!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Foot-over-foot, I shook my head and laughed at his instant hysteria.

***

"KRUM! KRUM! KRUM!"

Bellows of chanting boomed the innards of the arena.

Loud and proud, the fans of Bulgaria took to their feet and rocked the house.

Harry and I included.

The haughty-taughty establishment around us kept to themselves, standing away from the pitch with their swirly drinks with tiny umbrellas. Their suits weren't tarnished, but our jerseys were. Harry and I stood right at the balcony overlooking the game and as close as close could be. The rain that was so tempted to fall did so, and in a deluge, the rain blasting sideways and into our shelter from what was not enclosed.

"ANNNNNDDDD KRUM SEEMS TO BE GAINING ON THAT SNITCH! YARDS APART FROM ELZBIETA!!" shouted the announcer.

A ten-story high paneled screen displayed the fight for the snitch, Krum dangling from his broomstick with his right arm extended, his gloved hand mimicking the fluttering, fast-paced gold sphere.

Bulgaria was outright manhandling Lithuania with a present score of 110 to 40, and my voice began to all out quit on me by the sheer volume of my screams.

I had my arm out, fist-pumping, my left hand on the rail-wall.

I was bouncing in my spot with Harry right behind me. At one point I bounce and fell on his foot, but Harry chuckled and continued to laugh with my excitement. I was in a fervor, yelling, chanting with the Home team, "Krum! Krum! Krum!"

My jeans were soaked, my trainers squishy, but right then I couldn't have cared less.

I was caught in the moment and everything felt really, really good.

"KRUM, INCHES AWAY! INCHES AWAAAAAYYY!"

"KRUM! KRUM! KRUM!"

I could literally feel the Quidditch arena shaking under my feet.

"AND, KRRRRUUUUM!! HE'S GOT IT! HE'S GOT IT! KRUM'S GOTTEN THE SNITCH!!!"

A wave started at the far end of the field, and grew, the sound hitting this side of an eruption of cheers.

"BULGARIA WINS!!! BULGARIA WINS!!!"

Every person, every dot masked in red-and-black leapt.

Every teammate, Bulgarian and Lithuanian stopped their motions, their brooms gliding by their own from their slowed acceleration, and looked back at the large paneled screen: a shot of Krum, his arm held high in the air with the snitch shaking feverously betwixt his stocky digits.

A close up, and further in the crowds got a glimpse of the golden sheen of the trapped victim in Krum's darkly-gloved fingers.

"KRUM! KRUM! KRUM!"

I shrieked and fell back into Harry.

His arms around me, he squeezed me into a backwards embrace.

I shifted, leaned so I could get to him and kissed him in a squeal.

In his arms, I was his little jumping-bean-I couldn't stop myself.

He smiled, and laughed at me, with me, as I chanted onward with the others, "Krum! Krum! Krum!"

And, you know, I couldn't feel the rain.

***

We tried to find Viktor after the game.

We waited all we could, drenched clothing in an air-conditioned environment and all, but what we got was a maddening statement from one of the team's public relations associates, that:

"If we let you two into the press conference, we'd have to let everyone in. You're not above the other hundred thousand fans in here."

Stuff like this followed us. Okay, we were Harry and Hermione. We did things our own way; not because we were obligated to, but because we felt the need. All we wanted to do was see a good friend. I made a case to the associate, told her we'd been sent special instructions by Viktor to Floo, the arrangements-I had the letter in our suite. This infuriated her more as we found out she didn't know he'd sent us anything.

She ultimately dismissed us, giving Harry the cold shoulder when he chimed in with a, "Don't talk to my fiance that way!" and left us standing there.

I remember just looking at Harry, and Harry looking at me. He took my hand and said, "Don't worry about it. Things happen. The moment we get back we both can send a thank you letter to him. It's not a big deal."

"Your twentieth birthday is a big deal."

He smiled. "Let's go," he said, pulling me along. "Before you catch cold."

I took one last look in the direction the woman ran off in a huff to, and decided Harry was right. I could only do so much.

I wasn't one to storm a meeting.

There's always another day, another time.

***

We apparated back to the hotel.

We'd taken a portkey there, given of course by Viktor, a butterbeer bottle cap of all things, and now that we knew our way all I had to do was wrap myself around Harry and snap, we were inside the lobby.

Colder within, our lift wasn't quite quick enough for my taste. Prone to getting the chills, I continued my wrap-around with Harry willingly conforming. He wasn't going to argue with his beautiful fiance snuggling, be it from the cold or in any other instance. He had his arms around me, too. We were alone in the lift, mirrored on the inside and gilded gold about the edges, our reflection cast our gentle caress. He put his souvenir Bulgarian cap on my head, a trinket amongst others in a bag he held. I grinned and kissed him again while the doors opened.

Our feet were swift, and squishy, excess rainwater droplets marking the maroon carpet. The corridor was quiet, though it was the afternoon. We kept courteous in case folks were still asleep. Standing at the door, I took my wand, placed the tip against the knob and heard confirmation: a click, its unlocking.

After closing the door, coming into our personal space… It was enough for Harry to start. He made a noise, a thump. I swished around, pivoting, the ponytail flicking about as I'd taken the cap off, on my way to the bedroom to change. My eyes lit. Harry dropped the bag on the counter, stepped one foot, and then the next, my own going backward at the same stride as his.

He took off at me and I started to run.

I shrieked when he caught me, and I knew he'd throw me onto the bed with him… But, the bed. We were thoroughly wet, and sticky from our sweat melding with whatever we'd come in contact with at the grounds. Smoke, an example, from the many burning bonfires from Bulgarian tents.

"Wait, wait," I halted him, put my hand to his chest. He had my right leg, my left foot still on the ground and the bed only a foot or two away. He was in the midst of picking me off the floor.

"What?" he asked, my right foot dropping with its twin.

He had my waist.

I nodded yonder, at the door. "There."

"There." He imitated my sweet sound. He didn't give me a chance to glance from the grand bathroom back to him before he'd taken me up, his hands holding my bum.

I laughed, my legs around him, sitting at his hips.

He took the cap from my hand, having to reach behind him as my arms were around his neck, and placed it backward on my head.

I smirked, fell into him, elbows bending in tight embrace and kissed him hard.

I could feel his pace, the jarring action of withdrawing the closed door beneath my arse, and giggled at his wicked haste.

***

A pendulum, the bathwater crashed against one side of the tub and then the other. The bath was built easily for four, in essence a Jacuzzi, jets of rushing pressure beating down on our naked bodies. We'd only managed to run the hot faucet before we were over each other, on each other, soggy trousers and jeans mixed with soggy socks and shoes. My shirt landed in the sink. Harry's was hanging from the tub. My bra was in the corner of the wall beside it. Knickers…somewhere. I couldn't keep count. I didn't care. We were naked.

I straddled him, rocking with the wave my form created. My sight would succumb to blackness. I'd struggle to watch him, to watch how Harry would make a face of drawing pleasure when I'd collide; but, I was a creature of sensation. Slipping down, I couldn't resist closing my eyes. It was a reaction; a reaction to this shock straight to my craving id. She was happy. I was happy, lost in bliss.

Harry's hands were everywhere: above the water, below the water. He made the drier parts of me drip, pun intended. Whenever he'd slide his hands from my arse, to my hips, to my waist he'd do so in nearly a rush, taking in through touch, taking with him handfuls of soapy water. At one point he had my breasts, cupping them, squeezing them. In his face, an easy target, another layer, another jolt of injected pleasure. He sucked, putting his mouth around a nipple and took me in. We switched place, my arms, hands cradling him to my breast, his hands eager to feel under my buttocks.

I made these short breaths, a sigh, a gasp. He began to take control, a part that drove me. He could lift me with little effort, even easier in the water, and did, speeding up or slowing down my ride of his broomstick. Something snapped. My hands at his abdomen, his chest, his throat, in his hair. I gripped tufts of him, tensed and let out a portion of Hermione that no one but Harry could ever hear, and see. I let go. I began shaking, and held onto Harry, churning in an orgasm.

"Fuck!..." I expressed, voice throttled, diluted in the crook of Harry's neck. I had my arms locked around his neck and hoped, somewhere in my mind, that I wasn't choking him-vice-like.

My body had a will of its own and I didn't wish to fight it, floating somewhere above me but still in reality.

Harry shifted and I went to move until he stopped me. He slid further into the water, but not by a lot. Stomach to stomach, chest to chest, I was in my arch and Harry steered. He took advantage of how I wound around him, the new length, the position, and how I didn't sit so directly on him anymore. Enough of a gap to pull out some, and then slam back into me, pull out again and slam. I'd gasp every time to breathe, my nose, mouth, my face against his temple, in his hair, beside his ear.

He had me at my centre, and tried to keep me still, but every smack would push me. Anything that could jump, did. My body would roll with his parts squashing, my mouth, throat, my voice uttering these animalistic moans.

He grunted and picked up speed.

I knew he was about to plummet, like I had, to freefall off that cliff.

I felt his lips, his mouth on my chin, cheek, nose, having difficulty finding my mouth before the second stopped, and he groaned.

He tightened his grasp of me, his arms on my back, around my centre, his hands clutching a side, my arse. He slowed his pace, methodically choosing a steady rhythm to release.

He dropped his head back against the edge of the tub. His eyes were closed and his mouth was opened without a single breath.

I knew after one, and one, and one, and one, the thrusts contained his seed.

I simply went with his flow, caressing his freshly exposed throat, the Adam's apple bobbing in earnest to find breath again.

I smiled, the tip of my nose poking the underside of his chin. His movements gradually ceased, his body relaxing. There was trust, a trust from me and a trust from him, and that's where we stood in our relationship. I smelled of him, the ripe pumpkin pie spice, and closed my eyes whilst the arousing aroma drifted and clung to my skin.

I was satisfied completely, and I knew, by the look on his face when he lifted his head from the edge of the bath, that he was, too.

"Christ…," He took up my face and kissed me rough, making sure our tongues met and greeted gaily. He went to let go, only to take me up again in a hurried snog.

Feeling the after-sex high come, I drunkenly grinned at him, inches apart. "You're quite welcome."

He smirked and gave me several more caresses, each more in length than its predecessor.

I had my hands on his shoulders when we removed.

"You're so incredibly amazing," His eyes lit. "Do you know that?"

"Are you sure you're not just saying that because I just shagged you rotten?" I smiled, which carved itself into a mischievous, little smirk.

He grinned and lifted me up so he sat back on his seat with me in straddle. "I'm saying it because you really are the most brilliant woman on the face of this planet. I swear to God."

He kissed me again, and was left in a ticklish laugh, his hands at my abdomen.

"Happy birthday…," I quietly spoke, to become louder in ending with, "I expect things on mine."

Harry chuckled, "You wicked devil…"

He brought me up by the arch of my back.

I let him do whatever, reveling in our time.

My tits back in his face, I watched as my left nipple, standing at attention, was swallowed.

I rested a hand on the back of Harry's head, my other on his neck and shut my eyes. I let a, "Mmn…," escape.

He withdrew, my tit snapping back into place which garnered a gasp from me.

My right nipple became the lovable victim, his hot mouth devouring the softness, the gentle suckle. He massaged my left, making sure-I knew-he hadn't hurt me. I smiled and allowed his hunger to wane. Kissing the top of his head, I lay my cheek against him, in his dark, warm lion's mane. His hand fell from my left, his mouth gone and my right nipple retracting back firm.

We were back looking at each other those inches away. His hands at my lower reach, he rubbed my arch, observing the way my hands took my own breasts, cupped them, my fingers following the round curvature, their tips, my thumb and middle fingers gently giving my tits a small tug.

Harry was mesmerized.

My hands slipped around to hold me, pushing my breasts together, my nips happily perked and pointed towards my beloved.

I stopped and watched Harry, his eyes on me from below, at my perch, lean in and lick just the tip of each protruded nub, each lick making me sigh.

I gave myself a light squeeze and let go, to take Harry, his face, my arms wrapping around him. The water rippled at my fast action, flattening against him as I had him lay back along the ledge and lining.

"I love you," I said, kissing him.

He brushed thick, wet strands of brunette from my face. "Hold still, love."

I saw him reach for the cloth, dip to soak the cotton, and told me to, "Close your eyes."

Having yet begun to bathe, those lines of ink he'd put underneath my eyes, now smears from rain and sweat, he wiped away.

He wrung the bath cloth before wiping the other tenderly as not to get it anywhere near my eyes.

I grinned, opened them when I felt nothing more, and leaned back in to kiss him.

Out of sight, he lathered the cloth with soap and started bathing my upper back.

***

"Hermione…"

"Mm?"

"Hermione…," he whispered again.

I'd fallen asleep on the sofa in front of the television. He let me by myself, taking up most of the soft, plush cushions and pillows. Everything extra-large, extra-white, it reminded me of our bed at home, only half the size. Harry sat on the floor in front of me with a beverage, his arm around my while he watched television with the volume low. Or, he did, for the next moment, eyes fluttering to wake, rousing focus, he'd stood up and hovered over me.

"Come see this."

"What…?" I bent one knee and pushed out the other, stretching and yawning, still very well comfy on the sofa.

I lifted my arms above and stretched, my black, ribbed, sleeveless top pulling away from my vibrant pink lounge trousers. The string that knotted the waistband tickled my now-exposed tummy, and Harry did more, moving in to caress the navel which appeared.

I lay there as long as he kissed me, my arm slipping down, my hand on the back of his head, my fingers combing his hair.

"All right," he said, taking my hand, the hand from his head. "You've got to come see this."

I growled, again, not really wanting to move. "Come see what, though?"

I moved anyway, rolling to the side. Harry helped me to my feet, his hand still in mine. I followed him, the light padding beneath my blue, Merlin slippers tapping the floor in opposition to the slight suction coming from his bare feet on what resembled stone granite.

He was taking me towards an open balcony, the white doors wide open, its sheer drapery blowing inside by the wind. Two potted plants held on each post, the right and the left, of Greek-columned rails.

I had my fingers in my eyes, wiping the sleep from them, yawning and yearning to go back to sleep.

"Look at this," Harry said it in a way that had his speech stopped, breathless.

I'd wanted to go back, lay down, until…

Our view was of a lake, mountains in the background and the small town where we stayed down below. It was quiet, some car horn here and there but relatively sane compared to London. I could hear wind-chimes hanging outside someone's home. Picturesque, the countryside set the scene: dusk. The sun, like an egg, the yellow on a base of white sparkles glimmering across motionless water. Parts of the sky were this vivid blue, cobalt, navy, to purple, violet, indigo darkening where our part of the world would eventually go in time. Cloudless, the overcast had broken completely but a few wisps, and even those changed to golden orange, mimicking the glowing, main actor.

"My God, Harry…," I was speechless, that breathlessness I heard from Harry.

He was at the rail, his hands on the granite stone.

I did the same beside him, like him, and gazed out over nature's beauty. "…It's beautiful."

"It's remarkable."

I glanced over at him, to my left, and saw him utterly absorbed in the scenario, our universe this gentle, burnt spark from flame, an apricot hue. The light of his eyes twinkled, and I smiled. I slid my hand atop his and held it. He smiled at me and kissed my temple, the top of my head when I closed in around him.

I felt him thumbing at my engagement ring circling my finger, cemented, really, to the digit.

"I know you get tired of me saying this, but I'm sorry to have you trudge through this with me."

"It's not every day where you see a stubborn woman take on the bad when the good outweighs at the end of the day."

He smiled, and kissed my lips this time.

"I sometimes think," His eyes wandered from me, to the setting sun in the distance. "If I were me, without all the `frills'-"

I grinned.

He sighed.

"Quidditch." He nodded, returning to face me. He kissed me again. "Thank you for today. Best. Birthday. Ever."

I caressed his lips in response, and said after, "You know, no one's telling you that you can't pursue a dream. I'm certainly not, and you know I'd support you with every beat of my heart."

He grinned. "Maybe in our next life, but for now, my dream revolves around you. You've given me so much, I-"

"You support my endeavors. Let me."

His grin continued, but faltered some with resuming discussion.

"Xavier," Harry left my hands alone, lonely, meandering towards the columned rails. He put his elbows up, let his arms go together, and stood facing the lake in a slouched position.

I stepped behind him, and then beside him.

Our hips touched, my arms going like his on the rail, my face towards his profile. "What about him?"

"I told Kingsley what had happened with you, with the Death Eaters…"

He stopped, and I thought he paused, but he never continued.

"And…?"

Harry's eyes dropped down to the street below. "Nothing. His whereabouts were somewhere else at the time. Unless he has a twin, in which he does not, the Aurors are flabbergasted to say the least."

"Polyjuice perhaps?"

"Potions came up, but were simply thrown out due to lack of evidence. They trailed friends, family-even so far into the districts regular people dare tread-nothing."

I scrunched my brow, my eyes rolling to no place in particular. "How on earth can such a thing be? Unless they've found magics outside conventions, much like with the Half-Blood Prince…delving into something unknown… I mean, it's not like I ever poured over Dark Arts books in the Restricted section for pleasure."

I started wracking my brain for answers, but consistently hit roadblocks.

Between my eyes began to hurt, and suddenly I had a headache.

"Kingsley has a task team on him, especially for the Hart family. Their moves are watched closely, so closely that he said they had a file full of information of their daily activities, but nothing that could credibly cause them to warrant an arrest and put them on trial."

"If only I had my handheld camera with me," I mused.

Harry half-grinned, his eyes back on a sleepy sun. "Xavier is spotless. He's never done anything any other rambunctious juvenile would do. The worst on his record is when he stole from Flourish and Blotts, an issue of the Witch Parfait magazine."

"I know him, or at least part, and…," I rolled my eyes at the news of him having stolen pornography. "…I'm not surprised the least."

"His mother, Ophelia-"

"Wait, Ophelia?" I huffed. "Doesn't the `Evil' handbook state: to be in their club, ones must have names like, `Ophelia'?"

Harry looked over at me, "His father's name was Thomas."

My eyes went wide and I begun wildly to piece the puzzle. "No…you don't mean…?"

"No, it's not what one would think. Even I struck the obvious chord to Kingsley. They're not the same, Thomas Hart and Tom Riddle are not the same person. It's purely coincidental…but nonetheless chilling."

I shook a chill off my spine thinking about it.

"Ophelia had some misdeeds in life, but nothing to flag her as criminal. Actually, I was told she failed Dark Arts at Hogwarts two consecutive years and had to go on a probation period until she got her act straight. She didn't seek the limelight, but she did have a clique of girls she talked with-all around average is what was given."

"The Ministry can find out specifics from dates that far back?"

Harry chuckled, "Apparently so. I guess Kingsley did a thing or two for the network because he told me things, not everything, but specific enough that made me question that same argument. It's cool, yet frightening at the same time."

"Well, as long as Kingsley's there."

"And he feels confident. He doesn't take shit from no one, and they like it. I'd think they hadn't seen that sort of personality in a while knowing Fudge and the others were more or less doormat-material."

"Ironic when the mainstream media slams him for being a member of the Order. Skeeter doesn't even know what the `Order' was. She simply tosses hate and lies, the slag." I had to calm down. "Just thinking about it makes my blood boil."

Harry smirked. "All Kingsley told me, pleaded with me, is to live my life. He told me he'd, `Take care of everything from here on out'."

Our suite phone shook us, and we both looked inside as it rung.

"That's odd," I stated, following behind Harry after he pushed off the balcony to go back in.

"Hm…," He had the phone which sat away from the living space on a table of its own. A fresh bouquet of iris and primrose sat in a vase aside the receiver.

He picked the telephone up. "Hello?"

Harry had his eyes on me as I stood in front of him, my arms crisscrossed at my centre.

From somewhat of an even line, his lips curled into a warm grin which ultimately spurred my brow's reaction, rising on my forehead as to what cause such a happy smile. "What?" I mouthed.

"What say you for dinner?"

"Huh?" I exclaimed, confused.

His smile widened. "Viktor would like for us to meet him for dinner."

Excitement crept from my befuddlement with a profound smile.

***

Viktor really didn't give any details, only just to meet him in town. That didn't give me a scope of what to wear, nor Harry who spoke to him on the phone. So, as I went through what I brought I chose more formal over more casual, but still held a sensible outdoorsy style. Viktor wasn't for coats and top hats, that I knew. If anything he'd throw a cheeseburger at us…but, just in case, I didn't want to walk into a place with what could be considered lingerie.

I checked myself in the four-plated mirror, several light bulbs lined in rows atop each plate. A tube top shirt held beneath my arms, black, with a sort of metallic sheen as a base for these tiny red roses. Up close one could see the flowery pattern, but from far away it looked as if they were darkly red rows of dots. The top made it just below the belt line where jean shorts secured to my hips, dark blue and washed, the bottom hem sewn upward. My cinnamon brown locks curled over my shoulders, my fingers sifting through them to create a fuller look. I'd brushed dozens of times prior, the hairbrush still at my side on the counter. A golden crucifix hung on a necklace, laying on my chest from the thin-chain about my neck.

Harry came in and stared into the mirror, inspecting his face. A white shirt on, he wore a black vest over the top. Jeaned trousers and boots walking against the floor, I'd done his hair, put moose in it to give him personality. He'd shaven, and I guess that's what he wanted to see, if he'd missed some, for blemishes weren't common for him-a gift I didn't share, especially during the time of the month. I had to get rid of one, and thankfully it wasn't right in the centre of my forehead.

Harry glanced at me. "Are you ready?"

He stepped away from the mirror and slid beside me.

I could see him in profile through the reflection.

He put a hand on my back, a hand on my abdomen and bent to kiss the top of my head. He lowered, put his head on my shoulder and gazed at me in the mirror.

"You smell good."

I leaned my head against his and took up my aviators.

Suddenly, the world became tinted. "I'm ready."

He took me by the hand and we left the suite for the evening.

After apparating, after walking a short distance from where he had us go, there he was: Viktor Krum, same as ever. Oppositely Harry, Viktor still sported the shaved style. Broad shouldered, bear-like, he wore a short-sleeved polo and jeans. He smiled when he saw me, us, walking our way up the pavement uphill.

Arm-in-arm with him was a dark-haired woman. Model-esque, she was frighteningly beautiful. Viktor had been taller than me and she matched his height. Slender, I smiled when she did and it was warm, much like Viktor's. She wore blue jeans and a plaid shirt with the adorable hugging boots.

"Happy birthday, my brother!" Viktor reached out and took Harry's hand. He pulled Harry in and gave Harry a brotherly embrace.

"Hi," I grinned again at the woman with Viktor and slightly waved.

"Hello," she replied and stuck her hand out to me. Her thick Bulgarian accent swelled the air, thicker than Viktor's. "You must be Hermy-ninny?"

"Hermione," I took her hand and shook, glancing at Viktor who laughed.

I rolled my eyes.

"It is Hur-my-o-nee, Zu."

"You have been telling me her name iz Hermy-ninny!" She gave Viktor a punch on the shoulder.

We all shared a laugh, Viktor coming around with his arm, wrapping it around "Zu's" neck and brought her next to him.

"Friends, Harry, Hermione, I'd like you to meet Zuzanna. She iz, how you say, `girlfriend,' `mate'."

"Hello," Harry reached out and Zuzanna shook his hand. "Pleasure to meet you."

"You are quite famous. It's almost inconceivable meeting the Harry Potter!"

"You've got quite the famous one yourself," I nodded to Viktor.

We laughed.

"You both look exquisite!"

"A bit…overdressed…this is not London," expressed Viktor.

I pushed him from my side. "Someone just told us to meet you here without details!"

"I should have said we wanted a greasy pizza."

I looked over at Harry who wore white.

"Will that be okay with you all?" Viktor assured, looking between us. "It's just around the corner. A little family place I've been going to since I was a lad, and somewheres where camera usually don't follow."

"Not a problem the slightest. I'll just be a bit careful, that's all."

"Good!" Viktor proclaimed. "Greasy pizza for all!"

"Yeah!" exclaimed Zuzanna.

"Whoohoo!" I shouted, scaring some nearby crows. They cawed, being disturbed, and hastily flew away.

I withdrew. "Oops…"

Harry chuckled and pulled me to him.

***

"Who in their God-forsaken, bloody mind would create a tournament of which dragons try to kill children. I mean, honestly, what the Hell? Whatever happened to running to a finish line?"

I had this huge slice of pizza in my hands, twice the size of the hand of which was trying to hold it, so I had to double up. I laughed at Harry's statement, with Viktor and Zuzanna too, because it was true. Who on earth would think of such a thing? I was glad Kingsley was trying to…find alternative projects for any other future Triwizard Tournament.

"It's like some crazy bird down in her basement thinks of these things! Idiots…!"

Viktor took a swig from his beer mug. "They should have renamed it, `Ten thousand ways to die'."

"Oo…," I winced, and glanced at Harry.

"Yeah…"

"Ah, yeah… Cedric. I'd forgotten about him." Apologized Viktor. "Poor lad. Just goes to show how absurd the fiasco was. I remember asking headmaster why we had to go, and was said was `it's tradition'."

Harry put on a smile. "So, you said there wouldn't be photographers?"

Harry motioned over to the windowed wall looking out at the street. A fair lot had mingled into a group, their cameras flashing at every little thing we did. I bet they caught the very breath I breathed for some front page; though, I didn't recognise any of the "usual" crowd.

I always carried my aviators for such the outing.

"Ehh…," Viktor sat up straight and gazed over them. "They're local. No bother. I've seen them before. None of that Prophet trash."

"That Rita has tried to smear the modeling company Zuzanna works for on top of bullying my friends," ended Viktor, coming back to his fourth slice of meat pizza.

I had a beer to my lips when I asked, looking above my mug at Zuzanna, "You model?"

"A side-occupation. My real love iz literature."

"She's a librarian," touted Viktor, looking from Zuzanna to us. "She has smarts I lack."

"Aw…," I leaned my head to the side and pouted at Viktor.

"Don't put yourself down like that, mate. Intelligence comes in many forms," noted Harry.

I smiled at Harry, setting my beer down.

We were in a cozy little booth meant for four. Red leather seat cushions with a hanging light above our table. I had my legs crossed, my thigh touching Harry's, my laying against his. We'd been playing a calmer game of footsie, just enough to know we were there. A pizza on stilts, the pan on a pivot, rotated with half meat and half vegetarian. The other three munched on the meat side while I fended the vegetables. Harry dabbled.

"Only for de while, though," Zuzanna looked over at Viktor, and then back at us. "I'm pursuing university in the spring."

"How exciting!" I replied. "I've registered for fall session. What will be the base of your curriculum? What are you majoring in?"

"Eighteenth century lit. Is fascinating."

My eyes lit, and I focused over on Viktor who looked rather smug.

"What will you be, as you say, `majoring' in?"

"Music. Singing, to be specific."

"You sing?" asked a curious Zuzanna.

"She's brilliant," piped in Harry, his arm falling from my shoulders to my waist. "Really astonishing."

"I'm not that good," I pushed on him with my shoulder. "Nothing special."

Harry leaned to his right and glanced at me with an eye roll, "Pfft. Says the one who will blow Oxford's mind."

"Maybe we get you to sing a song sometime?"

All eyes fell on me after Zuzanna spoke.

Viktor began the call, starting low.

"Sing… sing… sing… sing…!"

Their fists began to hit the table.

"Sing… sing… sing… sing…!"

"HOW ABOUT THAT GAME?!" I yelled over their now loud chantings.

All three of them burst into laughter.

***

Zuzanna got a call on her mobile and stepped aside a moment when we got outside.

Harry had to use the loo.

Night had fallen, a billion stars twinkled at me, my head, my eyes on them as I tilted my head back. I stood beside Viktor, after having to shoo stragglers capturing us on camera. In the face of a bear, you will run, and so did they-Viktor laughing it up while they scurried down alleys.

"You rarely see this many stars in the London sky," I sighed, my arms crisscrossing my chest.

"Maybe you and Harry should come visit Bulgaria often. I could show you all some sites out of town that would make your dropping jaw."

I smirked at Viktor at my right.

"If you ever need me, please write, Hermione. Your post will follow whether I'm on the road or home. You're both welcome at my place even when away. I'll give you key, here-"

He started undoing a key from his keychain, the metal jingling together.

"Oh, no, no. Stop," I chuckled, hands up.

"Yeah," Viktor scratched the back of his head. "I would need it to get back tonight. I'll have new ones made, how's that?"

I smiled. "I appreciate the thought, I really do. And, Harry would say the same."

"None of that trash would follow you."

"We'd only bring it with us in time."

Viktor sighed, defeated.

I didn't like to see him slouch.

"She's pretty, you know," I chimed in, nudging him with my arm to coax him out of the mood. "And smart."

"Is it odd that she likes books?"

"No?" I rose a brow.

"Because…," he cleared his throat. "I like her, a lot."

"She's adorable." I grinned.

He grinned. "Thank you, Hermione. You really are my best friend."

My grin widened, and I glanced back up at the stars.

"Sorry for leaving," said Zuzanna coming aside Viktor. She had her hands in her purse, adjusting I'm sure the mobile around.

I saw her hand go directly to Viktor's, and Viktor squeeze it.

I smiled at the loving scene to smell a sweet waft of pumpkin, and then hear Harry beside me.

I took his hand, and Harry, interlacing my fingers, squeezed it.

We stood there in silence, bellies full and happy, just looking up at the shining starlight and waxing moon above our heads. The air couldn't have been fresher, the wind couldn't have been more gentle… It was…nice, for a change.

"When are my friends leaving?"

"In the morning," answered Harry to Viktor's question. "Sometime, maybe the afternoon. We've really nowhere to go but back home, screw around."

I laughed a little from my nose.

"Maybe we all get breakfast in the morning? I know a little place…"

We laughed at Viktor's, "I know a little place".

He knew all the places.

"Sure, mate," replied Harry. "It's a date."

"Nine?"

"Sounds good."

As we said our farewells for the night, and hugs, I went to embrace Viktor and told him, "Thank you for sending those tickets to the game for his birthday. It means so much to me and Harry."

"You're welcome," Viktor acknowledged, giving my back a pat. "You all are really my good friends. I'll be sure to send any others in the post."

"Thank you, Viktor."

"Don't mention it, best friend. I think about you and my brother lots."

***

THE EVENING PROPHET

DEATH EATERS, HYPOCRITES, AND THE LAW

Fans of myself, and readers of the Prophet, today I received a personal letter addressed to myself and our media business in reflection of a rumor with no base, a spin created by the hippies over at The Quibbler to discredit us. Here is its disclosure for future reference of our hypocritical government body:

From the Desk of Timothy Toulsen,

Press Secretary to Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt

Dear Miss Skeeter and The Daily Prophet media,

We are informing you and your business that, starting today, there will be an on-going investigation into the matter of communications with enemies of the nation. Any evidence, small or large, found will be held against you in a court of Law and all employees will be charged, accounted for, and persecuted to the fullest extent of the Law. In that time, your business will be seized by the British Ministry counsel, et al. The British Ministry counsel will see fit consequences of the business after that time with proposals to close and to strip all media licenses.

The Ministry urges you to comply immediately or we will act swiftly. If you can assist with the capture and persecution of any criminal, we would greatly appreciate it. Any defiance against what is written can be held against you and can be considered evidence.

Remember: you are our nation's child first.

Threatening, is it not? Minister Shacklebolt, or "Minister Holiday" as we like to call him around here, is breaking his own Law. The Law that governs the people, the Law that the people use to govern themselves: freedom of voice, to choose for or against a choice. By attempting to silence, to threaten a voice, is an attempt to relinquish our freedom to speak, to communicate, to act. The Prophet understands the world, but we are also journalists. We take pride in our journalism. The Prophet is sold worldwide with sales soaring to new levels. Our readers want to hear our voice, and we want everyone to exercise their right to speak.

For our governmental body, the Ministry to keep us from discussing issues is disgusting and deeply unnerving. We elect our own to keep those Laws in check. Maybe we should seek a new version of the elect? People who understand that free speech is appropriate on all spectrums? The Prophet will, as we always have since our infancy, practice our freedom. If myself, or anyone working at the Prophet produces a telling story we will approach it as we approach everything else, and protect our award-winning journalists. Take note, if I were to interview a Death Eater, I would do it in the means of my own personal freedom and choice. If I am taken to court by such matters then our elected have failed, and we must push removal or our free society is lost. Isn't that what you've pushed for Minister?

Reader: place pressure on our Ministry! Resound your voice as we all should! Write, call, rally-for who else will when we are backed into a corner?

Rita Skeeter

Writer

Chief Editor

Page 1

-->