Bricoleur: A person who creates using whatever materials are available

"I wrote to Madam Pince yesterday about a book that I need. Evey will deliver it today. I could have had it sent by owl, but I need her help with some other stuff as well. Is that alright?" Hermione presented him with a bowl of what she called "overnight oats", decoratively topped with blueberries, bananas slices, and coconut flakes. Was he selfish to be happy that his girlfriend was with him, having breakfast in a pink cotton robe (and nothing underneath), instead of being in Hogwarts? Maybe. Nothing to do about it, though.

"Of course. When she arrives, just call Tsvete, and she'll let her in. I don't have time to change the wards now, I am afraid." Hermione nodded, scanning the Daily Prophet while stirring her oats. "The news looks so mundane, it is as if the country is not in a State of Emergency. Actually, since it was declared, I don't recall reading a single article on the State of Emergency. I would have thought there would be tons of journalists criticizing - or at least analysing the situation. There is…nothing. Some journalists they are."

"I have read plenty of articles in different newspapers. This one for example published a very heavy criticism of Shacklebolt's decisions in the past weeks." Viktor shuffled through the newspapers that were delivered that morning, looking for the "Frankfurter Allgemeine Blatt". "Here, this one."

Shit.

Viktor stared at the first page with the headline "Identitäre Terrorgruppe Übernimmt die Verantwortung für die Cardiff Terrorattacke!"

Shit.

"Вот ето пиздетс."

"What's it Viktor? I recognize that last word, it is not a nice one, is it?" Viktor shook his head and read on. An unsigned letter delivered to the newspaper headquarters at half past three in the morning stated that a "political group dedicated to preserving the identity of magical people" had claimed responsibility for the attack. "... as a response to the systematic efforts of the Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt and his cabinet to rob the British witches and wizards of their identity, impose muggle ways and traditions, corrupt the new generation, and systematically discriminate against good, honest witches and wizards who are deeply bound to their traditions and heritage". They had also listed their demands: muggle technology to be removed from the public sector, exchange between the wizarding and muggle world to be forbidden, muggle studies to be removed from school curricula, all media reporting about advances in the muggle society to be banned. Kingsley Shacklebolt, the traitor, to step down from his minister post. Dissolution of the cabinet. If the demands are not met within the next three months, consequences will be suffered. He read the last sentence: "The British wizarding public is expected to encourage the minister to comply, or live as muggles, as they deserve."

"Viktor?"

"Can you give me the Prophet?" Viktor snatched the paper without waiting for her response. He hastily scanned the pages. Nothing. There was another statement of the minister urging people to "caution, vigilance and solidarity", but no mention of the letter.

"What!" Hermione shrieked. "What the fuck is this?" She held the German newspaper in her trembling hands.

"I thought you don't speak German."

"I used a rough translation charm, since my boyfriend wouldn't respond to me. So it is them, the Identitarians. I knew it!"

"Hermione, wait." Viktor removed the crumpled newspaper from her hands.

"Those bastards. And you were saying they are peaceful. Look at what they have done!"

Viktor took both her hands in one of his and held her chin with the other. "You are jumping to conclusions. This is just one letter. There is no evidence, no information on how they performed the attack. Anyone could have written that letter."

"What about those demands?"

"I don't know, I have to see the letter. The real question is, why isn't this in the British news?" And why has nobody told me, Viktor managed to bite down. He needed to talk to Harry.

"And the other newspapers?" She pointed at the pile. Viktor spread the Bulgarian, Swedish and Russian newspapers out on the table. All had variations of the same title. Viktor made a move to leave his chair, but Hermione grabbed his sleeve. "Finish your breakfast."

"I need to get to work."

"You are still early. Finish your breakfast, Viktor. Work will still be there if you arrive ten minutes later." Viktor was a little annoyed at her persistence, but caved quickly after receiving a featherlight kiss on his knuckles. "You are right." He spooned the rest of his delicious oats.

"I always am."

"Don't get ahead of yourself, little witch." Viktor leaned to kiss the lightly freckled bridge of her nose. "Did you decide if you are going to the Feast? I will need to travel to England these days, I can register you as a plus one for the International Floo. It will save you a trip by Portkey."

"I think I should," she sounded anything but sure.

"Did you hear anything from the Headmaster?"

"No, he is probably waiting for me to regret my decision, kneel to him and beg him to take me back, so that he can pretend that my presence or absence in Hogwarts means nothing to him until he, very generously, forgives my misjudgement and grants me a second chance." That certainly was a possibility.

"We will go together."

"Viktor, no."

"Yes. And you still have your part of the bargain to fulfil. You help me, I help you." Viktor finished his breakfast and made his way to the Floo before Hermione could object. "I'll call you during the lunch break."

"Fine…" He heard her let out a puff as he disappeared into the Floo. Funny little witch.

Viktor wasted no time when he reached his office. He felt bitterly cheated and needed answers.

"So, Harry," he almost hissed into his phone, his feet on his desk. "Is there anything you'd like to share with me?"

"Look, mate, this really isn't my fault. Well, it kind of is my fault, but I'm drowning, OK? I forgot to file in the extension for the ITF support request. Which I have now, by the way, you should receive it any minute. I also extended your access to the International Floos at the Ministry." Fucking bureaucracy.

"This is why you didn't call me when the letter came in?"

"The letter arrived at the Prophet office as they were printing today's paper. They contacted the Auror office, Proudfoot was on night duty, and somehow managed to get Kings. I only learned about the whole ordeal earlier this morning. I wanted to call you, but then I realized that you are not officially on the case. Yet. Now you are. Sorry about that, again." Well, Harry did sound quite miserable indeed, but Viktor was not about to give in so easily.

"You could still have called me."

"Yes, yes, I could, but I also couldn't. You see… damn it." Harry's voice reduced to a whisper. "Shit's hit the fan here, mate. Kingsley put a ban on all external communication regarding the attack. Media is not allowed to report about it, we are not allowed to talk about it. The only reason I got permission to extend the ITF support was that I managed to convince him that the terrorists are operating internationally and we'll get into trouble if we don't involve you. He was pretty damn adamant about "keeping the whole thing contained."

"He is censoring the press? It is in every wizarding newspaper on Earth, people will learn sooner or later."

"No idea, there will probably be a milder version in the Prophet evening paper. Kings is cooped up with his advisors. But hey," he sounded more chipper. "It's not all bad news. See, I have a partner for you," he said, smugness oozing from his voice.

"Who is it?"

Harry cleared his throat. "The best of the best. The Saviour of the Wizarding World. The Chosen One."

"You?"

"Harry Potter, the man himself, at your service." Viktor felt a damn sight better.

"So, how do we do this? You can move into my office, if you want." Harry's proposition made sense, but Viktor quite liked his own office.

"I need to come to England the next days to talk to some people."

"Cassius Warrington?"

"And Draco Malfoy."

"Malfoy?"

"I'll explain later. I will make appointments today and let you know when I'm coming. We can then meet up and discuss the rest."

"Sure thing. I do still need to wrap up some stuff here, but I can already get started on some leads, if you have any."

"Did you get a gun?"

"I did, somehow...not via the Ministry, though. Don't ask. I got into a huge row with Theo when I brought it home. He'll come around, eventually. Everyone's on edge." So it wasn't only Hermione. Viktor was glad that her reaction hadn't been quite so volatile.

"I will need some background on this news magazine where Cassius Warrington is writing."

"The Bulwark? No problem, I think I even already looked into that a while ago… I'll need to find the file. I'll keep you posted. Anything else?"

"Yes, the obvious. I need the letter."

"Uh, yeah… I don't have it. Kingsley's got it, and I don't think he will let go of it any time soon."

"OK, no problem." Lucky for him, every other newspaper also had a copy.

"Can you also look into what Draco Malfoy has been doing since the war?"

"Of course I can! What else? A foot rub and a G&T?"

"What if I said yes?"

"I'd tell you to go fuck yourself. At any rate, as I said, I'll need to wrap up some other stuff before I get started with these. You do Blankley?"

"Do?" Viktor almost snorted. "Do what?"

"Whatever you want, as long as I don't have to deal with the tosser. I would start with questioning. Cheers!"

Wow, this was a relief. Viktor had Harry on his side. Easy-going, meticulous, good, solid ally. Yes. Viktor snuggled into his warm, fuzzy blanket of optimism and planned the rest of his day.

Unshrunk, the box with the Cardiff attack case files was sizeable, considerably larger than the Warrington file. At the bottom of the box lay twenty-four vials full of victim memories. Viktor checked the Pensieve booking plan and made a reservation for the afternoon. He had been a little disappointed that not more people had consented to their memories being extracted, but it was, after all, about the most private thing that a person could have. Before he went on the hunt with Scabior, he had only caught a few fleeting glimpses of the suspect before he Disapparated. He hoped that someone among these twenty-four people had paid some attention to the suspect before the incident. He looked at his watch, it was shortly after nine. He still had plenty of time to sleuth around before he got busy with the victim memories. Just as he placed his gun into the holster and was about to grab his jacket, his phone rang.

"Миличка?"

"Hello Viktor. I just got a letter from Severus."

"Oh."

"The Feast has been cancelled by a ministry decree. All pupils are being sent home. Too risky, apparently."

"Even in Hogwarts?"

"Well, Hogwarts is not impenetrable, as we have already experienced first hand. I can understand the decision, but I can't imagine how disappointed the seventh years must be. I feel terrible for not being there for them." Viktor could feel her pain even through the phone. "I am sure that once this is over, there will be a Feast. You can be present then."

"I guess… there is another thing." He heard her draw a deep breath. "Severus wrote that Lucius Malfoy is leaving the school."

"He is?" This was surprising.

"Yes. According to the letter, that Malfoy deeply regrets that the dispute between us may have caused my resignation, and he does not wish to be responsible for depriving the school of such an asset. He will also endow a chair of History of Magic to the school, so Severus can hire a new professor next year."

"Well, that sounds good, no? Maybe it will be Theo, like you hoped last time."

"I don't care, I am not going back. Malfoy will use this to play the victim again. Like he has done everything in his power to do good, but was bullied into resigning by the evil Professor Granger. I won't be a part of his perverted little game. If he leaves the school, he should do it because it is the right thing to do, not so that I come back." OK, now she was being difficult.

"I can hear what you are thinking, Viktor. You think I am being difficult."

Viktor bit back a deep sigh. "What I think, sweetheart, doesn't matter. What Malfoy thinks or does, also, don't matter. What matters is what you think is right for your career."

"I know, I know... I am just not ready… anyway, I don't want to keep you for long. I just wanted to let you know that I would still like to go to England. My parents will be waiting for me."

"Of course, I will register you as a guest for the International Floo. I don't know when I will go, yet. Probably some time this week."

"It's OK, it's not urgent. Take care of yourself, Viktor."

"You too."

"Viktor…"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. I am so lucky to have you."

"So am I." He hung up, smiling. This as quite an act of self-sacrifice from the elder Malfoy. Or, he had wanted to leave anyway, and somehow managed to turn this situation to his advantage? He shrugged and made his way to the Apparition point. He would worry about this later.

The publishing house of Sofia Echo was bustling with activity per usual. Viktor quickly made his way through the open-plan offices, not heeding the curious eyes upon him, and knocked the door of the only office that had a door.

"How may I help you?" The secretary of the editor-in-chief looked at him over her half-moon glasses. "Oh, Mr Krum! Krumov, I should say, of course. You are here to see Mr Dimov, I assume. Please wait a second, he is in the production office downstairs." Viktor waited as the secretary made a call, and was shown into the editor's office shortly afterwards. The office was small but neat, just how Viktor liked it. The desk was tidy, and the walls were adorned with framed clippings of particularly successful news articles. A few of these even had rather smart-looking pictures of his mother. He also recognized a younger picture of his, triumphantly waving the snitch that he had caught at the Millennium World Cup final. Eight years ago, he recalled fondly, and what a game it had been.

"Viktor Krumov. It has been too long." Viktor stood up to greet Ivan Dimov, editor-in-chief of the major wizarding newspaper in Bulgaria. He was in his mid-fifties, and although he was the editor-in-chief, he also was a ruthless journalist who did not shy away from field work. Just a few months ago, he had unearthed a major case of corruption in the Ukrainian Ministry of Magic, causing a massive uproar and quite a few heads to roll.

"Mr Dimov, it indeed has been."

"Not that long ago, though. Definitely not so long that I have forgotten that we were already on first name terms." Viktor smiled. "Of course, Ivan. I am here about the letter that you received this morning. I will need to see it."

"The letter. I assume you mean the first one. Or the second one?"

"Which one is the second one?" Ivan summoned a folder, but did not hand it over. "I wasn't aware that you are investigating this case."

Viktor normally refrained from answering obscure questions, but in this case, being a little less taciturn would go a long way. "I am officially assigned to this case, as of this morning." He held out his hand. He had to endure a few moments of Ivan's scrutinizing gaze before receiving the folder. The press was a valuable ally, and at the moment they had the upper hand. He was quite aware that if he was going to play this game with Ivan, he was going to have to give as much as he took.

Inside the folder were two envelopes. One was adorned with the address of the newspaper in a handwriting that was overly flourished, bordering on unreadable, and sealed with red wax. Viktor immediately recognized the official seal of the British Identitarian Movement. The other was a plain white envelope with the name of the newspaper in Cyrillic alphabet, but no address. Both envelopes had already been opened at the top with a letter opener.

"The letter from England was delivered by owl half an hour ago. We are already preparing it for tomorrow's paper."

"And this one?" Viktor put on a pair of nitrile gloves before inspecting the envelope. It looked like a standard piece of stationary that could be purchased in any non-wizarding store.

"It was delivered through the mail slot in the front door, somewhere between ten last night and three this morning, I suppose. The production team starts their shift at three, and I left shortly before ten."

"Who opened the envelope?"

"Teodora, one of our interns. She gave it to her supervisor, who then passed it to the chief of production, Ramona Petkova. It was she who called me." So much for the gloves, thought Viktor.

"You didn't inform any authorities." Viktor finally took the letter out of the envelope. After seeing the Cyrillic writing on it, he had half expected it to be in Bulgarian rather than English, which wasn't the case. The letter was concise, grim, and spiky. The translation of the German newspaper had been quite accurate, though, except that there was no proof that the letter was from the Identitarian Movement. To Viktor's amusement, it was clearly typed and copied using non-wizarding methods. He just loved it when his opponents contradicted themselves.

"I don't see why I should have. I figured British newspapers must have received the same. They are rather slow to report about it, though. Maybe I was wrong with my assumptions." Viktor folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope. He then tucked it into his pocket while keeping eye contact with Ivan, leaving no doubt that he did not require Ivan's permission to do so. The journalist's face remained impassive, bar maybe a little gleam of curiosity in his grey eyes.

"Minister Shacklebolt keeps a close eye on the media, I've been informed. They will report about it sooner or later. You have no monitoring system for your front door? No wards, cameras?"

"This is a newspaper office, Viktor. People throw anonymous letters through our door all the time. We need this promise of anonymity in order to receive information. We do have rather heavy locks, though." Viktor took the second envelope and prepared himself for the pompous, bombastic language of Parzival Blankley. For his sixty-something years, the man faked a convincing one hundred and five. The letter was written in the same loopy, flourished handwriting that adorned the envelope. If anything, it was even more illegible due to Blankley's obsession with writing as tiny as possible and unfamiliarity with paragraphs. Even in writing, the man was a pain in the ass. Viktor stared at the letter for a moment, as if watching an endless procession of ants. As far as he could make out, the letter started with a rather long soliloquy about the aims and agenda of the Identitarian Movement: Wizards and Witches, despite what the current government has shamefully misguided our esteemed public to believe, are not mere spell-casting muggles. Our wizarding culture and tradition, steeped in the blood, sweat and tears of our forefathers… continued by a rather long rant about the assimilation of the wizarding people due to the Shacklebolt cabinet's systematic exercise of tyrannical power over hapless witches and wizards who are oblivious to what has befallen them like toads in a slowly heating cauldron who do not feel the heat until it is too late. Viktor was guessing that the actual purpose of the letter was to deny the involvement of the Identitarian Movement, but so far, it was a piss poor attempt. Ah, there. The Identitarian Movement is a political movement with a solid supporter base, a consortium of like-minded witches and wizards who have only ever defended their cause via peaceful means and tools that were allocated to them by the time-honoured wizarding democracy. The mere idea that our movement has been in any way involved with the misanthropic psychopaths, those unscrupulous, depraved monsters with no shred of wizard decency who are behind the terror attacks, is preposterous...

By the time Viktor reached the end of the letter, he was sure that his pupils were bleeding. He rubbed his eyes and looked up at Ivan.

"We will probably have to shorten it a bit," he said, chuckling. "What do you think? Someone trying to frame them?"

Viktor had hardly expected a signed, seal letter from Blankley confirming that the Identitarian Movement was indeed behind the attack, it was obvious that he would deny any involvement. Framing was indeed a possibility, but Viktor wasn't so sure of that, either. The other letter had demanded that Minister Shacklebolt step down from his position -but then, what? Who was their alternative? Did they want an early election? The elections were still eight months away. It was a bit of time, but not that long. They must have been sure that their candidate would not win the elections by democratic means only.

"Do you have the latest poll results for the upcoming British elections?" Viktor had not had the time to inspect the poll results that were published on the day before. Ivan called his secretary and asked for the Monday paper. "Third page". Shacklebolt 38.5%, Blankley 12.5%, Malfoy… 4.5%. The rest was still undecided. Some democracy this is, thought Viktor. If the undecided fraction did not vote, the election would have to be repeated, just (he remembered that at least 60% had to vote for the election to be valid in Britain, he would need to double-check). Even if a few more people voted, Shacklebolt would not have the majority to form a cabinet all by himself, and would have to form a coalition with one of the candidates. Viktor wondered who Shacklebolt hated more.

"A lot can change in eight months," Ivan almost read his mind. "If the minister gets the country out of this crisis quickly and efficiently, his votes could increase dramatically. Time is working against him, though."

That was Viktor's cue. "I will need to get back to work," He would normally play a little subtler, but he had no time, patience, or desire to insult the intelligence of the best journalist in Bulgaria. "If you find out something, anything, or receive any more information, I need to be the first one to know." He handed Ivan his calling card over the desk. Ivan regarded the card for a second, put it in his shirt pocket, and rose to show Viktor out. "Of course. Provided that you do the same."

"I can not pass confidential information on the case to you." Viktor reached for the door handle, but Ivan grabbed it beforehand.

"Maybe not yet, but once the case is solved, I assume this will be the story of the year. And," He looked Viktor directly in the eyes. He was a whole head shorter than Viktor, but his self-assured demeanour made up for the missing centimetres in abundance. "I need to be the first one to publish it." He opened the door and offered Viktor a hand to shake. "Gentlemen's agreement."

"An agreement it is."

Back at the ITF Headquarters, Viktor grabbed an espresso and a sandwich from the coffee corner at the entrance floor before heading to his office, having missed the lunch break with his colleagues. At least he could get some busy work done and perhaps even go home earlier. He settled at his desk with his sandwich and coffee, while looking through the pile of letters and files. There was a box with the missing person cases and murders that he had requested, a note from the secretary with his appointments with Malfoy and Warrington, and a short missive: "The evidence box with the registration number 23160ITFDE has been opened by ITF consultant Hermione J. Granger at 10:23".

Viktor was rather surprised. He checked his watch, and then his phone, and the missive again. It had been more than an hour and a half since Hermione opened the box, but she hadn't called him. Perhaps she was still working on it? Overcome by curiosity, Viktor decided to give her a call, which was unanswered. He waited ten, fifteen minutes for her to call back, eating his sandwich and going through the case files to occupy his mind. When she didn't call back, he sent her a Patronus. Another ten minutes, no answer. Grunting, he made his way to the Floo. How many times had he told her to keep her phone with her?

The witch was going to be the death of him.

Identitäre Terrorgruppe Übernimmt die Verantwortung für die Cardiff Terrorattacke: Identitarian terrorist group claims responsibility for the Cardiff terror attack

Вот ето пиздетс: That's fucked up