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Drinking with friends on a balmy summer's evening and deep into a balmy summer's night is truly one of the best experiences one can have during one's life. At least this is so if one's friends are rich fun and wealthy interesting, with a store of fascinating and or expensive amusing experiences to relate. And one had better have a great deal of wine and snacks on hand.
Luckily for Hermione Granger, all of these factors are in play one night when she, her husband, her husband's best and most famous friend and his wife, and their mutual friends, the Weasley twins, end up having a bit of a party in the office of the Headmaster of the infamous Durmstrang Institute. The children have gone home for the long holidays, and it's the turn of the relieved adults to let their hair down and play.
While he's having his glass filled with champagne by the headmaster himself, Fred flashes galleon signs at his brother, his eyes big and round. "You know, George, after our tour, I'm sensing a great deal of potential here for expanding Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. The dour folks of Durmstrang deserve access to our wares."
George, now having his own glass filled, fixes Yuri with a stare from under his ginger eyebrows, and has his stare returned tenfold. The fact they share the same name seems to have conveyed an extra affinity. "So long as we can secure sole mandate, Fred…"
"Of course we can. How many other prank manufacturers and class clowns are going to be let in on the secret of this place's super duper secret location? Prepare to become extra rich, Georgie."
Viktor Krum, leaning back boyishly in his chair by the massive leaded window overlooking the massive lake over which the school reigns, swirls his own champagne before taking a large gulp and saying something in his charmingly thick accent. "I like being rich."
His hard-won wife and true love, Alina, flicks his neck with her fingers, setting the pair off giggling and canoodling.
Hermione, lounging on a marble bench with one of the many leather bound tomes plucked from the marble shelves bordering the room, snorts and turns a page. Yes, everyone in the room is very rich and successful and talented. And last but definitely not least - very good looking - with a fondness for country living. Thank God. And to think, she might have married Ron, and been stuck in a two up, two down semi-detached house in great grey London for the rest of her life. To think, she might have been Minister(ess) for Magic, with no free time or life whatsoever, and certainly not nearly so many babies.
"Speaking of rich, it's rich that you lot flouted international wizarding conventions and arrived on our fair shores in a great big bloody boat. How many muggle submarines did you whack on the way?" say the twins, after liberally slicking their throats with wildly expensive alcohol.
"What conventions?" Yuri asks, placing the bottle down and taking a seat besides his wife, who immediately locks an ankle round one of his.
Sharing a stunned look for a moment, the twins break out in guffaws, like that of a pair of hyena, the nasty high pitched sound infecting the rest of the party, who add their own peculiar laughs to the mix, soft chirps from Hermione, growling barks from Yuri, jarring screeches from Viktor, and a deep purr from Alina. From there the red heads proceed to discuss their memories of the moment they first saw the ship which has so entangled itself in their and their friends destinies.
"The prow came up first."
"No, it was the bloody crow's nest."
"I was there, George. I'm telling you, it was the prow."
"I was also there, Fred, right beside you, in case you've forgotten. And it was the crow's nest. Someone with a spare pensieve lying about, let me borrow it and I'll show you."
"How about you call up the ship this moment." Alina says, her hand massaging Viktor's, which lies on her knee, her eyes on Yuri. Of course, all three know the solution to the twin's debate, but where is the fun in that?
The Uzhasnyy, which means 'The Horror', spends a great deal of time at the bottom of Lake Ladoga, where it's undead captain has a grand old time whiling away the undead days in peace with his beloved ship, and while he's not the biggest fan of having his leisure time interrupted for the mad whims of wild young men, he also has nothing bad to say about Durmstrang's headmasters. Has nothing to say at all, since recently taking a vow to only bestow his conversation upon the headmaster if called to do so, until the Spanish Empire resurrects itself.
"Easier said than done, Fernandez." Is what Yuri replied, callously, sending the ghost into a gloomy spiral of sword slashing at imaginary enemies.
Anyway, the merrymakers, now quite tipsy, their fabulous hair beginning to grow fashionably disheveled, along with their sumptuous satin, silk, and velvet clothes, trip down to the lake in a flurry of million galleon furs as the sun gets ready to make its reappearance for another day of mischief and mayhem, champagne coupes and bottles in hand or else floating through the heady air beside them. Someone falls on the way, and everyone laughs, friendships binding ever tighter together.
"How do you make it, you know, whoossh? What'ss the spell?" slurs Fred, well on his way to legless, his spider hands accidentally describing in the blue air the shape of an hourglass rather the fountain he was going for.
"That's a secret." Answers Viktor, for Yuri, who stares at the placid film of grey water which will soon transfigure itself to silver and then pink and gold.
"You know it though."
"No. Not even me. Only the headmaster can call it."
"So what happened when Karkaroff ran his arse away and you needed to store the thing when you got home?" asks George.
To that question, which has the girls glare sharply at the backs of both Weasleys, Viktor simply gestures at Yuri again, then shrugs. "Karkaroffs always have contingency plans."
The spell is silently cast, so the twins cannot get an earful, and must tolerate there still being some things that are hidden from them. They're soon distracted anyway, both nervous lest their memories be proven false.
A whirlpool begins in the water near the shore, a massive central one, and two smaller editions to either side, water dragging the water down down down into the deep. The group get comfortable on what grass they can find at the shore and throw back champagne as a wet roaring begins, all six sitting shoulder to shoulder against the cold dawn breeze.
"Oh boy, it's coming, baby! The prow!"
"No, the crow's nest."
"The stern is higher than the prow anyway, so if you were correct, Fred, that would emerge first."
The roar of violently rushing water reaches its zenith, and the tip of an ancient mast surfaces from the central whirlpool (amidst jeering cheers), followed by the crow's nest, empty of any living thing.
"Aaah, maaan!"
"Hahaha! TOLD you, Freddy!"
Backslaps and tussling abounds as the gigantic gold galleon forms a navy blue silhouette for a moment, water pouring off its decks, its Imperial sails unfurling by themselves, before it pulls a pastel pink cloak over itself, stolen from the rising sun.
