Author's Note: Anyone who is familiar with The Minister's Secret should've known this was coming eventually. ;)

Charodeyka - sorceress, enchantress, charmer (I recently also read the definition of 'hellcat' which seems appropriate whether it's a true translation or not.)

Chapter Six

For several long seconds after the front door of her flat slammed behind George, Hermione just stared at it confused. What just happened? Her best friend had been acting stranger and stranger around her in recent days and she didn't know why. Had she done something to upset him without even realizing it? Unfortunately, that sounded exactly like something she would be capable of.

"Who was that?"

Igor's voice tore her out of her thoughts. Turning around to look at the wizard, she could see he was uncomfortable too. The entire flat felt tense.

"George Weasley. He's my neighbor down the corridor and my best friend."

An amused snort came out Igor's mouth at her explanation. When she continued to stare at him with the same bemused expression, he had the audacity to roll his eyes and actually laugh at her.

"He's your best friend?"

"Yes. Has been for years."

"And does he often just drop by your flat in the middle of the night clearly intoxicated?"

Hermione didn't understand what Igor was implying. Maybe she had too much wine. Over the long hours of the evening telling her guest everything she could remember about the war, she lost count of how many glasses she'd imbibed. That wasn't usually like her. Most nights she had more self-control when it came to alcohol. She supposed after the strangeness of the previous two days she could forgive herself for acting somewhat out of character.

"No, he doesn't usually do that. He was likely just checking on me. He invited me out to celebrate this evening, but I told him I planned on going to bed early. I didn't know how to explain you."

"Well, your little lovesick chum wanted more than to just check on you tonight. How long has he been in love with you?"

She nearly gasped out loud when he asked his ridiculous question. What a preposterous notion! There was simply no way, no, absolutely none that George cared for her as anything other than a dear friend. Certainly he'd never given her any indication over the years that he cared more for her than in a platonic way. No, there was simply no universe in which Igor could be correct about her friendship. He didn't know anything. He'd been dead less than forty-eight hours earlier.

"You've completely misunderstood everything, Karkaroff. George is not in love with me."

His chuckle morphed into full-blown laughter. Hermione felt the overwhelming urge to curse him right in his stomach with something painful. It was less than he deserved. Igor picked up the empty wine bottle and the two glasses to carry them to the kitchen. Against her better judgement, she followed the irritating man.

"I may have been dead for years and it may have been a long time since I was last young and in love, but I do recall what it was like. Trust me when I say that if a man requires a little bit of liquid courage to approach a woman's flat in the middle of the night, it isn't because he wants to just be friends with her."

"I think you're wrong."

Igor set the glasses in the sink and turned the tap on. As he started to wash them, he continued to chuckle softly to himself. It was beginning to get on Hermione's nerves. He didn't know everything just because he claimed so. No one liked a know-it-all either. They were obnoxious and infuriating.

"You said he invited you to go out and celebrate with him earlier?"

"Not that it is any of your business, but yes. He had a success with work and asked me to go out with him to celebrate."

"Alone?"

"Probably not. We usually meet up with…"

But then she recalled the exact words George used when he was seated in front of her desk. She'd been frustrated enough with the reminder that she had the Igor problem to deal with when she returned home that she didn't pay him much mind when he corrected her by saying he'd hoped that it would be just the two of them. Immediately she felt like a giant fool. Did it really take the observation of an uninvolved bystander to see what she hadn't?

"What an enchantress you must be, Miss Granger. A real charodeyka as we say in my home country."

His smug smile and the way the corners of his mouth were curled up just ready to laugh in her face again annoyed Hermione. Picking up the towel she'd used earlier to dry off their dinner plates, she lightly hit him with it. Not offended, Igor only chuckled and snatched the towel out of her hand to dry the first glass off.

"Don't call me Miss Granger. You know I don't like that."

"My most sincere apologies, Charodeyka. I won't ever refer to you by that name again."

She felt her eyes narrow at his use of what she was sure to become her new nickname. Unsure how she felt about getting personal enough with the strange wizard to allow such informality, she ultimately decided that it would be harmless. Maybe if she was lucky they would figure out a solution soon enough that he wouldn't be in her life long enough for it to matter.

"You and I have had too much wine. I don't like you teasing me. It feels unnatural."

Igor only chuckled again. She wasn't sure if that sound was any less annoying than when he wandered around the flat whinging about his lost paradise, but she supposed it was a little easier on her ears.

"Maybe you would prefer rushing down the corridor to smooth things over with Mr. Weasley?"

Despite her best intention to prevent it, Hermione couldn't stop her heavy sigh. Life was getting too complicated with Igor Karkaroff. Even just his mere presence was creating problems she didn't have the energy to solve. As much as she really did want everything to be all right between her and George, she didn't think it would be the best idea to rush after him that night. Not when they had both been drinking and emotions were high. It was best to wait until they were both calm and sober.

"I'm going to bed. I don't think I can stand another minute of this day."

Perhaps she was being the dramatic one, she thought as she crossed her flat to her bedroom. If he agreed, at least the wizard had enough tact to keep his thoughts to himself. It had been a long day after an exceptionally long day the day before. Hermione hoped that once she slipped between the covers in her bed she would be able to enjoy the comfort that unconsciousness could provide.

Unfortunately, her brain had other ideas. Despite being exhausted and desiring nothing more than to be asleep, she couldn't turn off her thoughts. Most of them, she was embarrassed to admit, were about George and whether or not Igor was perceptive enough to figure out what was really true. Had she been so completely self-absorbed and clueless that she didn't understand her best friend cared more for her than just a simple friend?

There had been subtle hints that she'd chosen to ignore over the previous few years. She couldn't think about them without cringing inwardly. What a ridiculous fool she had been. Maybe she already knew how George felt, but she didn't allow herself to really see it. Just being friends was easy. She had never felt nervous in his presence or felt like she had to put on some sort of performance to make him like her. Good, bad, or unpleasant, she'd always just been herself around him.

What must he be thinking of her? She hated that he knew she'd lied to him even if she knew it had been for a very good reason. In George's mind, no doubt, he assumed that she'd lied to him merely because she didn't want to have to let him down easy. She'd never hidden her previous relationships from him before. He'd even become close enough with the halfblood auror that she knew for a fact they still met for pints on occasion at the Leaky Cauldron. Seeing that not only was she not in bed when she claimed she would be, but also seeing her alone with a strange, handsome man despite her not wishing to admit so, must have been a punch to his stomach.

She really did want to go to his flat in the middle of the night, pound on the door, and make him understand that she didn't mean to reject him. Even if that was likely what she would've done regardless of the circumstances. Groaning quietly to herself, she turned over onto her other side in a vain attempt to finally relax. As much as she loved George and cared about him, she never thought about him in that way. Not once. And there had been plenty of moments when the two of them were alone and had had far too much to drink. Nothing ever happened. George was a gentleman and she never even considered looking at him in that way. What a horrible monster she was.

Could she tell George the truth about Igor? Would he believe her? No, no, she knew he would. If there was one aspect of their friendship that she knew she could trust it was that he would believe her even if she told him an outlandish story that also happened to be true. It would be nice to have another ally on her side.

No easy answers came to her. Somehow she was able to eventually fall asleep before the sun came up the next morning. The question of what she would need to do next could be answered later.

Hermione was sure she would never get used to waking up to the smell of actual food being cooked inside her flat. How long had it been since her kitchen was used on a regular basis? Far too long for her to remember. It wasn't that she was a terribly bad cook. On the contrary, she had many culinary dishes that she excelled at creating and had often been complimented on her cooking. She just usually didn't have the time to cook anything more elaborate than a reheated bowl of soup. Besides, what was the point when she was cooking for one? Few activities were more depressing.

Despite eating a delicious dinner the night before, her stomach growled and rumbled and begged for something inside of it when she woke up. Staying in bed no longer seemed like an option. She got up and covered her pajamas with a warm dressing gown. Maybe if she was lucky she could fall back asleep after she investigated the delicious smells coming out of her kitchen. Most weekends she tried to be somewhat productive, but considering the awful headache she could feel forming behind her eyes, she would likely be resting for the remainder of the day. Drinking too much in her twenties had never been a problem. Something about turning thirty changed it all.

Igor moved around her small kitchen as if he owned it. What might have annoyed her under normal circumstances was ignored for the present. Cooking seemed to give him some sort of purpose. If he stayed busy, maybe he could cease all of his infernal whinging.

"I'm pleased you've finally woken up. Are these the only pans you possess? How is anyone expected to prepare a suitable meal with rubbish like this?"

Hermione wondered if anyone else experienced disappointment and dissatisfaction with their lives on the same scale that she did or if she was a special case. Ten seconds inside of her kitchen and she was ready to toss the frustrating man out of her kitchen window to fend for himself. Was it truly only the copious amount of wine she imbibed that made him seem almost pleasant the night before? If so, she was going to need to refill her supply before she did something drastic like murder the man.

"It's too early in the morning to complain, Igor. Stop."

"I beg to differ. It's already half past nine. Late enough to point out an obvious problem with an even more obvious solution."

"If you don't like the pans I own, go buy your own. I'm sure they would look lovely in your new flat. I'll check what's available in the Daily Prophet."

The reminder, whether rude or not, that he was incapable of buying his own possessions or letting his own flat didn't sit well with the wizard. His deep blue eyes narrowed and for once Hermione was glad she didn't understand Russian. No doubt the words he uttered under his breath weren't suitable for polite company. He was annoying enough in one language. Imagining him frustrating her in two was far too much to handle.

She reached for the coffee pot to brew some caffeine. Tea was usually her preferred drink in the morning, but she knew it wouldn't be nearly enough to combat the fierce hangover she was already feeling. Why did she feel the need to drink so much? Usually she only did that when she was enjoying herself and there was a possibility of engaging in some highly inappropriate, yet very fun, adult activities with a handsome wizard. Or if there was enough alcohol, he didn't even have to be that handsome.

"Drink this."

Igor removed the bag of coffee beans out of her hand to replace it with some foul-smelling concoction that nearly made her vomit. Was he trying to kill her? She wouldn't put it past him. Not with his history of violence.

"No, I want coffee."

"This will make you feel better."

"It smells dreadful."

"Then drink it quickly."

Sometimes it was easier to just give in instead of starting another argument. Rolling her eyes to show Igor that she was frustrated with him, Hermione opened her mouth and knocked back the awful contents of the glass is a single, determined swallow. It was worse than she imagined. Convinced she was going to be sick, she rushed to the sink to await the inevitable. A second passed, two, then three. Nothing happened.

She didn't want to give him any credit. Not when he annoyed her so much. Unfortunately, when the very last of the pain in the back of her head disappeared and she no longer felt like she was one foot in the grave, she had to admit that whatever he'd given her was effective. Sensing she was realizing he knew what he was doing, the corner of Igor's mouth threatened to grin. It was unfair that someone as awful as him could be so handsome.

"What was that?"

"Secret Karkaroff hangover potion, I'm afraid. Invented by my great-great-great grandfather. Only those with the last name Karkaroff are allowed to know its ingredients and brewing process."

Unable to keep his satisfaction to himself any longer, Igor smiled. She wanted to curse him in his perfectly straight, white teeth. Considering she certainly never expected to be doomed to have the Karkaroff name, it was to be a secret she never learned. It always annoyed her when someone she knew wouldn't share their potions. Why must secrets be kept?

"It's disgusting."

"Oh, undoubtedly, but it works. After so many years in paradise, I wasn't used to drinking all of that wine. I woke up feeling like I was dead all over again. Of course it was a disappointment to realize I wasn't."

If she had to hear about his damned paradise one more time, she was certain she would go mad. It was tempting to slice his throat open with a spell just to get him to shut up and send him back there.

"There are a couple of terrible side effects if you don't eat soon after drinking it."

"What sort of side effects?"

"Nothing too dire. Loss of hair mostly. My eldest sister forgot to eat once and within a couple of hours she'd lost every strand of hair on her entire body. She complained all winter about how cold she was, but none of us felt sorry for her. She knew what she was doing."

Horrified by the thought of her hair falling out, Hermione reached for a piece of toast sitting out on a plate. Just like she knew it was foolish to recite a mysterious incantation out loud, she knew it was a bad idea to drink a potion without first knowing what it was. What if Igor was determined to kill her in retaliation for bringing him back from the dead against his wishes?

"You said it had a couple of terrible side effects. What was the other?"

Igor cleared his throat and looked away. If it was possible, the wizard looked embarrassed. Tiny flushes of pink appeared in his cheeks.

"Igor, tell me."

"It also… well, this is awkward to mention."

"Igor…"

"It can make a person quite amorous."

Once, years earlier, she'd had the misfortune of listening to an ex-boyfriend who told her it would be fun to drink a lust potion. Claiming that it enhanced the experience, he was eager to have her try it with him. While she could certainly agree that it made the whole night more memorable, she didn't care for the heat in her veins or how she felt almost a compulsion to keep having sex long after she was exhausted and just wanted to go to sleep. If Igor's hangover potion was like that, she didn't want anything to do with it.

"You could've warned me. Maybe I would've preferred to spend the rest of the day in bed feeling like rubbish."

She picked up another piece of toast with her other hand. Igor chuckled before picking up a plate to fill it up with a generous portion of the bacon and eggs he'd been cooking. With his free hand he pulled out the chair she'd sat in the night before and gestured for her to take it again. When she was seated, he set the plate down in front of her.

"Usually my breakfasts are more elaborate, but a simple meal is usually best after a night of drinking."

"Thank you."

He returned to the stove to start cleaning up his mess.

"Aren't you going to eat too? I'd hate for you to… if that potion worked the way you claim… your hair is… well, it's actually quite lovely and I don't think I'd want you wandering around the flat in that condition."

His chuckle nearly made her laugh too. Some of her annoyance dissipated. How was it possible that he could frustrate her to her absolute limit one second and then make her laugh the next? There was something very strange about the man.

"I've already eaten, but thank you for your concern about my… hair."

Wishing she hadn't said anything, Hermione practically shoveled a forkful of eggs into her mouth. If she couldn't speak, she couldn't further embarrass herself, could she? As she worked at combatting the potential side effects of the potion, she watched Igor move around the room. He really was quite bearable when he wasn't complaining or insulting something in her home. If she could figure out a way to keep him from talking too much, maybe she might even be okay with him staying longer.

"Are you going to clear up the misunderstanding with Mr. Weasley?"

She nearly groaned. Even though she spent time the night before tossing and turning and thinking about what she was going to say to George, she'd almost forgotten about his unexpected visit. No closer to knowing what to do, she just continued to eat without answering.

"If he truly is your best friend, I would think that you would want to mend it. I could speak with him if you would rather."

"No! I don't think that will be necessary. I just… I just need to figure out what I'm going to tell him."

"What about the truth?"

Igor looked at her as if she wasn't in control of her mental faculties. To him it must seem like the obvious answer.

"Do you trust this man, Hermione?"

"With my life."

"Then tell him the truth. I suppose word of my existence is bound to eventually get out. It might be best to have allies."

She hated that he made sense. When her plate was clean and she was reassured by Igor that she wouldn't be in any further danger of losing her hair, Hermione made the difficult decision to walk down the corridor. Still in her dressing gown, it wasn't unusual for her to move between the different flats on her floor in such casual dress. Her neighbors often did the same.

At George's front door she worried about what she was going to say. Would he believe her? Before she could talk herself out of it, she quickly knocked loudly on the wooden door. It was only about thirty seconds until a sleepy, evidently hungover George answered.

"I'm sorry to disturb you so early, George, but I believe there was a misunderstanding last night that I wish to clear up."

He didn't say anything, but the way he leaned against his door encouraged her to continue.

"I know what it looked like, but I can assure you, there is nothing happening between me and that awful man. This might be hard to believe. Do you remember that gold ring I showed you the other night?"

George nodded.

"Well, that night I read the inscription on the back out loud even though you told me I shouldn't. And you were right, of course, George. It was a terrible idea. Because when I read the inscription, it turned out to be an incantation for a spell. A resurrection spell. I accidentally brought the former Durmstrang Headmaster Igor Karkaroff back to life."

For several tense seconds George stared at her without speaking.

"If you weren't interested in dating me, Hermione, you just had to tell me. I'm an adult. I can handle the disappointment. You didn't have to create an elaborate, ridiculous story just to make me feel better."

He slammed his front door in her face.