Chapter 31 - I need your help
The Minister lived in Diagon Alley in what was a bit short of a villa, the only one there; all other habitations were three or four storey buildings with shops underneath. This one, on the other hand, was a beautiful white imposing building with marbles column at the entrance, big windows and an air of great splendour.
At the gate two orcs with a sour look were guarding the entrance. Harry hadn't even taken the invitation's letter out of his pocket that, after a glance, they let him pass.
He crossed quickly the green well-kept garden since, as usual at dusk, some Cornish pixies were zooming back and forth ready for mischief.
The door was open by a house elf dressed smartly. Those who worked for the Minister weren't enslaved but paid for their jobs. Browning had been the first Minister in adopting this line of conduct which assured, with a simple move, Hermione's sworn allegiance.
When he was elected and took possession of the house (the Minister had the privilege to inhabit it only as long as he held the position) he had perpetuated a proper brainwashing on the house elves working there until they were sufficiently convinced freedom wasn't necessary a disgrace, only then he gave them the uniform that set them free.
This very tiny formal house elf welcomed him cordially inside. A statue, with the shape of a centaur in the act of rearing with a bow in his hands ready to dart an arrow, was adorning the entrance where a majestic flight of stair would bring to the upper floor.
It was illuminated by hundreds of gleaming candles all supported by ornated candelabras.
The place was grand, made to impress foreign visitors and Harry, despite envying the location and the garden, thought it was even too grand. One of those places where it's difficult to relax.
Especially because, besides the house pompous style, Ginny had insisted him wearing a formal wizarding robe that made it even more difficult. She had chosen for him also the colour, a bottle green to "enhance your eyes" she had said smiling adjusting the folding while he was trying to conciliate himself with the idea of spending an evening nodding to nonsense and smiling to jerks, in an uncomfortable outfit. He never felt at ease in those formal wear. The absence of trousers made him feel naked, despite the ankle length, and he didn't think that the shape of it suited him even though Ginny asserted the opposite.
A second house elf accompanied him to the parlour where already few wizards were congregated. The Minister, spotting his arrival, beamed and abandoned immediately his conversation with an old bald wizard wearing an eccentric blue robe, to greet him.
Browning concerned himself straight away about Ginny's absence and the broken Fidelius charm, the news had reached even him, and offered the use of his house if it could be of any help at which Harry refused immediately, politely yet firmly. Nothing would ever have induced him in such a step. Rather than that he would have preferred to live happily under the same roof with Ron for the rest of his life.
After this brief exchange of words, the real hassle started. He was brought about the room like some sort of ornament, introduced to everybody until dizzy with names and niceties and stared at so much that, if possible to consume somebody by looking, he would have disappeared five minutes after his entrance.
There were representatives of Bulgaria, France, Germany and many countries besides. The head of the Magical cooperation department was fussing to have everybody at ease and talked business in a non-stop flow while their glasses were refilling by magic as soon as they were empty.
Harry had to fight the temptation to get profit of this dangerous continuous refilling, taking only as much alcohol as necessary to get through the stiffness of the evening but without getting too squiffy.
At one point he was leaving his mind free to wander while a broad man was trying to kill his audience by boredom ranting in a strong guttural accent about some utterly uninteresting new regulations about the use of copper for scales, when Browning brought forward Hermione, introducing her as the diplomat for Rumanian.
In a normal circumstance Harry would have been delighted; she could have been the life saver of the evening. But as things were standing, faithful to Ginny's wishes, he only nodded to her briefly and turned his "attention" again to the bore on two legs, assenting every a few seconds and returning with his mind to the "lonely island" dream.
After an hour or so of this penitence they were taken to the dining hall.
A very long table was in the middle of it, covered by posh silverware, immaculate serviette and decorative flowers every two or three seats.
The minister was sitting at the head of the table, on his left his wife, a very courteous yet silent little witch and on his right there was obviously him and, thinking to do something welcome, he had sited Hermione just beside. A most awkward arrangement.
The dinner started straight away on the worst footing.
As course after course of fancy food would appear on their plates from nowhere, questions and affirmations, one worse than the previous one, started to pour from every side. Lily's death was talked of with the same sensitivity as if the result of a quidditch match was canvassed.
Harry tried to detach as much as possible avoiding participating and answering courtly. He felt like shouting "Hoy! This is my precious little girl you are talking about!" but forbearance was required, and he forced his food in his throat and tried to ignore it.
He noticed on his side Hermione fidgeting. She was greatly irritated sensing Harry's distress, but it was a similar distress to the one she was feeling, being the wife of the man that had caused that death. Not many people were aware of the connection but still a few sentences were pronounced not very flattering on regards of Ron. Despite his affirmation that had been an accident, the present company kept on gaily in their abuse convinced to voice Harry's feelings. But Harry, despite hating Ron, hated as well to hear other people totally unconnected to them to speak ill of him. He wanted to have the exclusive in his dislike and only in his head. It was a rancorous solitary feeling that he didn't want to share.
When, finally, the topic burned out, thanks to the Minister's wife that at one point (seeing Harry and Hermione fixed expression) surfaced from her silence to put a stop to it, other subjects were touched upon, and it was Hermione's moment to be badgered.
Not many women held prestigious position in the magical community and there were many prejudices and sexism in the political environment. Women were in a minority and in an evening as that one, most of them were there only in quality of spouses of somebody important.
Insolent remarks were made and when she participated to some conversations she was treated with contempt.
Harry felt his blood boiling assisting to this behaviour; Hermione had more brain than all those gits put together, and he couldn't bear to see her slighted.
She, however, was unruffled by it and answered either wittily or cuttingly to any impudence, throwing him very often warning glances as not to interfere.
Nevertheless, when dessert time approached, gloom was starting to have the better and Harry felt the complicity that united them on that occasion.
He glimpsed dejection and weariness on his friend's face when for the umpteenth time a sexist joke was brought forward. And in an impulse, wanting to convey his sympathy and closeness, reached out for her hand under the table and squeezed it. She faltered a moment and then, without changing her serious demeanour, squeezed it back.
They held each other hand for some time managing through that contact to ward off the unpleasantness of the evening, giving each other strength to affront the end of it.
Harry came to term with the fact that it was impossible for him to severe contact with her or behave with coldness. She was part of his life like his wife and children, and it was useless to pretend otherwise.
When dinner was over, he stood up eager to be gone as soon as it may be, but before that could be accomplished, he ought to speak with Hermione alone. He had taken a decision. In the bustle of leave taking, he managed to whisper to her to meet him outside.
He waited where planned, a dark corner of the garden under a shed covered with ivy that protected them from prying eyes. And as soon as she was there, he said eager 'I need your help'.