A/N: Chap 31 Review Responses are available in my forums. IMPORTANT NOTE: There is, in the the course of this chapter, a character who uses a word considered at least in America to be one of the most hateful and disgusting racial epithets in existence. To my knowledge, I have never used this word before in my writing, and certainly don't make plans to do so again. However, for better or for worse, I needed a way to demonstrate the true character of a particular school, and it was the most effective way to do so. I did not mean to offend anyone with, nor justify, the word or its usage.
Chapter Thirty-Two: The International Confederation of Wizards
Harry's breath caught in his throat when he saw Hermione coming down the stairs from the girls' dorm with Katie Bell and Angelina on the night of the ball. The girls all had their choice of four colours of the same cut, since each school was going to have a certain uniformity with their ball gowns. The Gryffindors almost all chose red, which was not surprising given that elemental magical leanings also often coloured personal aesthetic tastes as well.
Harry knew Hermione's colour choice ahead of time because when his dress robes arrived, he had a red sash with the Hogwarts Crest on it to go with the white tie and cummerbund. All three girls were gorgeous, of course. Angelina's black skin glowed under the red of her dress, while Katie's dark hair was off-set prettily by the colour. But Hermione simply glowed, as if the dress actually brought out her magic.
"You look beautiful," he said, fighting not to stammer. Then, seeing the other two girls smirking at him, he quickly added, "All of you."
Belinda Hopkins came down a few minutes later, also wearing red. The gowns were exquisitely-fashioned acromantula silk that hung down to their ankles, with décolleté necklines and a stole of gold cloth. Though the cut was the same, each dress had individual trimmings of either lace, pearls, sequins, ruffles or ruching. Hermione's dress was trimmed with pearls that shone brightly in the firelight, with the colour of her dress casting a pink glow on them. The most distracting part of the dress, of course, was the very, very low-cut neckline. Harry didn't even know Hermione had cleavage until that moment.
She had her stole positioned artfully to conceal herself as much as possible. With the dresses, the girls wore opera-length white gloves. Attached to the chest of her low-cut dress was the Hogwarts pin. "When we dance," she said in a deathly serious tone, "you are to not lift my arms above my head. If I slip out of this dress, I swear to Morgana and Merlin both I will hex your bits off, expulsion or not."
Angelina laughed. "Relax, Granger, those sticking charms will keep your pink bits safe, trust me."
Given that Angelina virtually flowed out of hers, her assertion carried a certain weight. "Well, girls?" Fred asked as he came down. Opposite, Georgina came down as well. "Everyone looks absolutely lovely, even my horrid sister," said Fred. Are we ready to go?"
Lee Jordan was the last to join them, and taking Georgina's arm in his, they led the way out of Gryffindor Tower toward the Headmaster's office. They were met en route by the other members of their team. Stephanie Barlow and her fellow Ravenclaws wore stunning silver and blue dresses with sparkling silver circlets in their stylized, curled hair, while the two Slytherins wore green. Cedric and his Hufflepuff companion wore gold and earthen tones.
When they arrived, they were met in the Headmaster's office by Dumbledore and by three others. All four of them wore extravagant robes. Dumbledore was covered from neck to toe in a multi-layered robe of purple and lavender silk and satin, and over it all wore a long, conical hat bursting at the top in an intricate floral shape. Around his chest he wore a golden starburst with a sliver of wood in amber in the centre.
Beside him stood a shorter man with loose skin and small eyes set over a wide nose. His robes were black and red, and he wore a green sash across his chest with the Ministry of Magic shield on it. Next to him stood a witch of an indeterminate age—meaning she could have been anywhere from fifty to one hundred years of age. She wore a silk ball gown easily twice as extravagant as anything the girls wore, with the trim sparkling with lace and diamonds.
The second woman, though, wore the same robes as Dumbledore, but without any of the elegance. She was wide bodied—one of the few truly fat witches or wizards Harry had ever seen, with a broad face that held what should have been a pleasant smile, except it did not reach her eyes. Nor did she have Dumbledore's starburst. Rather, she wore a sash like the man with the Ministry of Magic seal on it.
"Greetings all," Dumbledore said expansively. "Students, I have the honour of introducing you to the Honourable Cornelius Fudge, our Minister of Magic, and his lovely first wife Gertrude Fudge. Also joining us is the Esteemed Dame Dolores Umbridge, by contact and proxy Dame of the Fudge Coven. Minister, ladies, may I introduce the Hogwarts Dragons."
"Charmed!" Fudge said in an overloud voice. He clapped his hands together in emphasis. "What a comely looking group of witches and wizards you are. Ahh, there's my boy! Harry Potter, a pleasure to meet you my boy!"
Harry smiled sickly at being singled out by the Minister. "An honour, sir," he said, giving the bow Neville taught him. "And who is your companion tonight?" Fudge said.
"Hermione Granger, Minister," Hermione said with a picture-perfect curtsy.
"Lovely!" Fudge said.
"Hem Hem. 'Granger'?" Umbridge said. Her voice sounded like nails on a chalk-board muffled in syrup. "I'm not familiar with that surname, child. What coven is your family affiliated with?"
Harry felt Hermione's arm tense in his. "Dame Dolores, my family is not affiliated with a coven at this time."
Harry tried not to stare. It was the absolute perfect answer because it did not actually answer the question Umbridge was really asking.
"I see," she said, with that smile that never reached her eyes. "Children, I am sure that the Supreme Mugwump has expressed to you what a great honour it is to attend this function. The vast majority of witches and wizards never even see the headquarters of the International Confederation of Wizards much less get invited to attend a function there. While you are there, you will not just represent Hogwarts, but the whole of the Minister of Magic of the United Kingdom. I trust you shall be on your best behaviour. A special International Floo has been established that will take us directly to Geneva. I shall go first, followed by the children, then the Fudges, and finally by the Supreme Mugwump. We shall return via the same method later this evening."
The fireplace billowed out without any powder, and instead of burning green burned a deep blue. Collecting her purple robes, the Dame ducked her head and dove into the fire.
Cedric was the first of the team to go as captain, followed by his companion. As the team lined up to go, Harry hissed, "Professor Dumbledore!"
Dumbledore turned to look at him with an odd sparkle in his powerful eyes. "Never fear, Mr Potter," he said softly. "You shall go with me by Apparition."
Harry sighed in relief, while Hermione nodded as if figuring something out. "I remember now, the Floo makes you sick. But Professor, can you actually Apparate all the way to Geneva?"
"Very few can, which is why I do not make an issue of it in front of others," he said gently. "However, side-along Apparating two students would tax even me, and so I will ask you to go with the others, Miss Granger."
"Yes, Professor."
Hermione was the last to go, leaving the Fudges looking curiously at Harry and Dumbledore. The Headmaster smiled and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, almost shocking him from the man's overwhelming magic. "As I'm sure you're aware, Cornelius, Aethers have difficulty with normal Floos. I daresay an international Floo would render Mr Potter unconscious. I shall take him by an alternate method."
"Good thinking, Headmaster!" Fudge said brightly. "Good thinking indeed. Well, my dear, are you ready?"
"Of course, darling," Mrs Fudge said in a low, lazy drawl that screamed of forced indifference. The two disappeared in a billow of blue fire.
"Before we go, Mr Potter, a word," Dumbledore said. "May I ask what caused you to ask Ms Granger to accompany you?"
"Angelina told me it was a political event, and I needed someone to help me," Harry said. "Hermione has been helping me study, so I figured she'd be good to come."
"I see," Dumbledore said carefully. "Be aware, Mr Potter, that she will be exposed to others this evening like Madame Umbridge. Make certain that neither of you loses your temper."
"I will, Professor."
"Very good. Now, take my arm, and we shall go."
The sensation was not like the practice side-along apparition in Wizarding Studies. The squeezing and twisting sensation was the same, but it lasted much, much longer—a seeming eternity.
And suddenly it ended with a clap of displaced air, and Harry found himself in an elegantly panelled antechamber right in front of a cavernous fireplace still flickering with blue flame. The Hogwarts team was assembled in one corner, while in another, were a group of players in silver and black robes that looked rather grim. The players themselves also looked grim-faced as they gathered around a tall, gaunt wizard with iron-grey Hair.
"Headmaster Dumbledore," the old wizard. "Apparition?"
"It is appropriate at times, Headmaster Peaslee. I look forward to hosting Miskatonic come February."
"We look forward to touring the school," the old wizard said. "I haven't stepped foot in her halls in two centuries."
"She'll be glad to welcome you back, my old friend," Dumbledore said.
Other schools arrived, first of whom was Durmstrang. Harry sought out Krum, who nodded to him with a wry smile before joining his team in their spot against the far wall. Next came the Escola Superior, glad in bright yellows like flowers. Their headmistress directed them into a corner with a sharp voice. After that came the school from Florence, the Medici Scuola di Magia. Following the Florentines were the Australians, and finally came Beauxbatons.
Harry noticed that Fleur Delacour was noticeably absent, as was the headmistress. Instead they were led by a different witch in the same purple robes as Umbridge and Dumbledore. She curtsied to Dumbledore, who bowed back, neither saying a word.
When all seven teams in the league were gathered, the twelve-foot high oak doors swung open, revealing an astounding ballroom beyond, stretching at least two Quidditch pitches in length. Hanging from buttressed ceilings above were chandeliers the size of busses, throwing brilliant white light across the charmed mosaics in the floor, which caused coloured reflections to follow anyone walking in a fairy-tale world of forests and castles.
At the top of the ceiling, stars twinkled, charmed to reflect a clear, cloudless night sky. As large as the floor was, however, it was still filled with hundreds of immaculately dressed witches and wizards. To Harry, the sheer amount of magic in the room made him feel slightly drunk. Hermione clutched his arm tightly and hissed, "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I think so," he whispered back. "Just please don't let me do anything stupid."
"You're asking a lot."
He turned to her and grin. "Don't I know it."
At the foot of the doors stood the major-domo, resplendent in seventeenth century pantaloons and a formal red coat and wig. "The Esteemed Dame Clémence Durand of France and the Beauxbatons Abraxans!"
The woman leading the French delegation stepped elegantly past the threshold of the antechamber and posed for the two lines of photographers before moving on. The team and their companions followed, gathering in two lines—starters and reservists—for photographs before joining the Dame chosen to lead them that day.
"Headmaster Nathaniel Wingate Peaslee of the Miskatonic University of Magic, Eastern Confederation of the Americas!" the major-domo announced.
The old wizard Dumbledore spoke to earlier posed as well, though only for a fraction of the time. Behind him, the Miskatonic students gathered in a poor simulation of the Beauxbatons students. From what Harry knew, they had lost every game so far.
A moment later he frowned and looked at Hermione. "I thought Miskatonic was in America."
"It is," she whispered. "American magical society split during their civil war."
The announcements continued—Durmstrang, Salem, Brazil, Florence and the Australians, whose school was called the Kangaroo Island Academy of Magic. Finally, when all the other schools were called, the Major-domo said, "His Honour, the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards; Chief Warlock of the British Wizengamot, Order of Merlin First Class and founder of the Dumbledore Coven, Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. And the Dragons of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
Dumbledore stepped before the photographers, smiling gently while they took pictures, before moving on. Harry fell in with Hermione and the others as they assembled for their team photo, and then sighed with relief when it was over.
Before they could break up, Cedric said, "Everyone to me, please."
They gathered around their captain quickly just inside the door. "Team, listen, we need to stay together," he said intently. "There are twenty eight of us, so we need to pick a partner couple to stay with until meal time. Harry, Hermione, I think it best if you stay with me and Sarah."
Harry fought an urge to kiss the older student. "Sounds good to me."
Cedric's companion, a Seventh Year Hufflepuff with curling golden locks, smiled indifferently at the younger couple. With that game plan, the guppies made their way into the sea of sharks.
~~Firebird~~
~~Firebird~~
Harry always knew Hermione was smart, but within ten minutes of mingling with Cedric and Sarah, he began to stare at her in simple, sublime awe. "How can you possibly know all this?" he finally asked.
"I studied," she said crisply, while curtseying and smiling at a couple in the purple robes that indicated either an Elder or a Dame of the Confederation. "That's what you brought me along for, wasn't it?"
Yep, he thought, she is still mad.
Mad or not, she whispered names to him every time they were approached by an ancient wizard or witch, at least those in the purple robes. She did not know everyone, but for that they had Cedric, who flawlessly introduced himself and his companions and ferreted out names and countries with the ease of an old pro. Harry's respect for the other boy increased; as with the Quidditch team, it wasn't that he always knew the answers or was the best player. He just had a way of making people feel comfortable around him, and of making them comfortable with themselves while around him. It didn't matter if he was talking to players from Australia or Salem; or a two-century-old witch from Bulgaria.
Eventually they were called to their seating, and the seating was very carefully orchestrated. There were nineteen signatory nations in the International Confederation of Wizards, though some of those signatories had magical ministries that spanned several Muggle nations. The Elder and Dame from the magical ministry of Norseland, for instance, represented Denmark, Norway and Sweden, while Greater Germany and the Magical Ministry of Czechoslovakia (which survived the dissolution of its Muggle counterpart) dominated Central and Eastern Europe.
The surprise for Harry, given his lack of study, was the fact that instead of the United States of America, there was the Eastern Confederation of the Americas. The Western Confederation was not a signatory member of the ICW and so was not present in any capacity.
"There's really not much I could find on the WCA," Hermione said when he asked. "I understand the war was vicious, but none of the history books would speculate why. I do know that technically the two sides are still at war—the last major battle was actually in 1981, just a few months before…well, you know."
"Yeah."
Tables burgeoning with food appeared throughout the ballroom, with seats assigned by name. Each of the team tables were set with fifty-six seats, designed for two school teams to sit facing each other. For a moment, Harry feared he was going to be seated across from the ever-hungry girls of Salem, but instead they were seated across from the students of the Miskatonic University of Magic.
The Miskatonic students were oddly uniformed not just in their dress, but also in their appearance. For one thing, they were all white, either of Anglo or Northern European descent. Many had rather low cheekbones and jutting chins. There were also an astonishing number of boys on the team, judging by the pins indicating players from their companions. In fact, all the starters were boys, as were four of the seven reservists.
As platitudes and toasts were made, Harry studied his fellow players and was studied in turn. When at last they were allowed to eat, Hermione said, "I've not been able to find much material about Miskatonic University in the Hogwarts Library. However, it would seem that you have a high male enrolment, if your team is any indication."
The player across from them, a boy in his late teens, stared at her for a long moment before he said, "Miskatonic doesn't feel the need to share information with outsiders. But yes, we have more men than women, since most women choose to go to Salem's."
"Why is that?" Hermione asked.
"You'd have to ask Salem's," the boy said abruptly. He then turned to Harry and said, "Best keep your Mudblood on a short leash tonight, boy. Them kind is better seen and not heard."
Harry waited for Hermione to explode. Instead, she nodded and said, "Thank you. That does explain nicely why all the girls go to Salem. Harry, try the veal, it is quite delicious."
The American wizard stared daggers at her all night, but she very casually ignored him, limiting her conversation to Harry on one side, and Cedric on the other. Harry ate lightly, settling on a soup, a delicious sourdough bread and a cut of veal, since he knew they would be dancing later that evening.
After the meal, Headmaster Dumbledore actually gave a short speech espousing the virtues of international cooperation, and the dangers that conflict brought with it. After him, Dame Evdokiya Parvanov gave a speech in her native Bulgarian that was magically translated into each listener's language, though in truth she said very little despite the many words she used. Finally, though, the time of speeches came to an end and the tables and food disappeared. Ladies left the hall to freshen up before the dance, Hermione included. The dancers were almost ready to start and Harry was getting worried when a flushed Hermione finally appeared, flanked by Angelina, Katie, Georgina and Stephanie Harlow.
"What happened?" Harry asked.
"Miskatonic happened," Angelina said. "Stupid Yankee hicks actually called me a nigger. Can you believe that? As if that matters in magic!"
"Not to mention they tried to actually attack Hermione right outside the ladies room," Katie snarled.
"What happened then?" Cedric asked as he joined the incensed discussion.
"Beauxbatons," Hermione said, sounding a trite smug. "Evidently they played Miskatonic earlier this year and the Americans said some things the Beauxbatons players didn't appreciate, and didn't forget."
"Well, that goes a long way toward erasing the Delacour fiasco," Harry said. "Did they do anything?"
"There might have been some transfiguration involved," Hermione said. "Come on, the dance is starting."
They went through the steps of the highly formulated dance, concentrating too much on getting the steps right to really enjoy themselves. The waltz, though, was easy enough that Harry was able to relax a little. He saw Hermione was still flushed, and her magic still boiled with anger. Though he did not dare touch her on her chest (not with the neckline as low as it was) he nonetheless sent his magic through his hands where they touched her waist.
Her flush turned into a blush as she looked at him, startled. He kept his Occlumency barriers firmly in place but smiled at her gently. "Have I told you yet how brilliant you've been?"
"No," she said in a slightly suspicious tone, as if waiting for something bad to follow.
"You really have been brilliant," he continued. "And not just for helping me with names and faces. The way you handled Umbridge, or the inbred Yanks, was just brilliant. I really couldn't have asked for a better companion tonight. Thank you for coming."
"Well," Hermione said, "it's been an experience at least." Then, with a wry smile, she said, "Thank you for asking me, Harry. When a girl gets asked to a ball, she likes to think it's because the boy likes her. I suppose I had a set of unrealistic expectations going into this, and that's why I got angry."
Harry's gentle smile turned self-deprecating. "Not so unrealistic. You're the most beautiful girl here. It's my honour to dance with you."
Her lips parted in a silent "O" as she looked at him, flushing down to her chest. "You really mean that, don't you?"
He nodded.
She laid her head on his shoulder as they spun about the floor. "Harry, I read about palm readings and visions. I read that seers should never do readings on family and loved ones because of how intense the visions could be. When you had those visions, did you see… were we…?" She lifted her head up again and stared at him. "Were we together?"
"Yes," he blurted before looking down. He meant to just break contact with her eyes, and instead found himself looking at the creamy white swell of her breasts pushed up by her gown. Deciding her eyes were safer, he looked back up and added, "But it may not be the way you were thinking."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm not sure," he admitted. "It was a violent vision. I just…it's like I was trying to tell you. There's violence in our future. I couldn't tell where the threat came from, only that it was there."
Hermione nodded, accepting his word. "Somehow, I think if you're with me, it'll be okay."
Harry shrugged as the music came to an end. "I'm not even sure of that. But I know this…you won't be my first bond."
She stared intently at him again. "What do you mean?"
"I mean just that. I don't know how or why, only that you won't be my first bond. I'm sorry."
She stuttered a little, and then separated. "Well, what can I expect, being only a lowly Mudblood and all." She turned and saw the other Gryffindor players gathering near the far end of the hall. "Well, it looks like it's time to go. Come on then, we don't want to keep the others waiting."
Harry followed behind, trying to figure out what he'd done this time.
When they arrived with the others, it was to see Dame Dolores flushed and incensed as she talked in a quiet but intense tone to Angelina and Katie. When Harry and Hermione appeared, her eyes narrowed as she turned on Hermione. "And you! What do you think you were doing, you filthy little Mudblood, picking a fight with students from another school like that?"
Hermione froze, caught completely off guard by the large woman's sheer vitriol. Taking a cue from Cedric, Harry said, "I'm sorry, Dame Dolores, but we're not sure what you're referring to."
"That…that…witch attacked a group of Miskatonic Students right outside the hall!"
"Dame Dolores, I understood that to actually be an altercation between Miskatonic and Beauxbatons," Harry said, fighting to emulate Cedric's mollifying tone. "Hermione, Katie and Angelina were caught in the middle, but from what I understood, the Beauxbatons students were upset by comments the Miskatonic students made during their match. We had nothing to do with it other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"As I told you, Dame Dolores," Dumbledore said in a cool tone. "And please remember, Madame that discipline for students on a school function is the sole discretion of the Headmaster, and at the ICW, the sole discretion of the Supreme Mugwump. If you have issue with actions taken by my students, please direct those concerns to me."
"Those students sullied the name of Hogwarts!" Umbridge said.
"Madam, your volume and lack of carriage does the same for Britain," Dumbledore said sharply. His magic lashed out, invisible to all but Harry, who watched as Umbridge stiffen in actual, visible fear before the feeling.
"Now, I believe it has been a long enough evening," the headmaster continued in a gentler tone. "Students, if you come with me, I believe we can put this evening to rest. Come along, come along."
Umbridge was still sputtering when they left Geneva and returned home to Hogwarts.
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Author's Note: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading. They did their very best with Brit-checking chis chapter. If there are any major faux-pas, they are entirely of my own doing.