Chapter four
Grimilda had us preparing for the next meeting with the Bulgarian Ministry right away. There was no time to lose, she said early Monday morning, as she handed us our materials. There were backgrounds to check, customs to research, and plenty of fact-checking to make sure we avoid the mistakes of past Tournaments.
Neither of us spoke about Friday night. I didn’t dare bring up what I had overheard in the Atrium, and he didn’t ask why I had been there in the first place. We worked in silence, only speaking occasionally to share our findings or correct someone’s translations.
I gave up working through lunch, since it wasn’t making me any more productive, and decided to head to the cafeteria. As I got up to leave, I turned to Malfoy.
“I’m going to the café,” I said. He didn’t respond. “Do you want anything?”
Malfoy scoffed. “I’d rather eat dirt than eat anything from downstairs,” he said.
“Alright then. Suit yourself.” I turned and left the office, reminding myself along the way to never offer him anything ever again.
The week passed by slowly. At home, my mother was pleased to see me so dedicated to my work. She was busy herself with the preparations to make Hogwarts occupy the new international students, and we barely saw each other at work anymore. We woke up at different times, took separate lifts, and since I began going to the café for lunch, I never saw her.
The proposal began to take shape and I felt the same surge of pride as I saw it near completion. We spent long hours working out the more complicated ordeal of balancing Bulgarian pride and British customs. At some point, Malfoy and I began to speak to one another more and more, our shared annoyance at Bulgarian laws and regulations bringing us together as a common enemy only can.
“They really hate the British Ministry, huh?” I said off-handedly as I crossed out another line of our proposal Grimilda had turned down. She was more versed in Bulgarian-British conflict.
“Who doesn’t?” Malfoy responded. He had spent the last few days revising the French proposal with the amendments that were agreed upon during that meeting. There were plenty.
We lapsed back into silence as we continued working.
“Who do you think is going to enter?” I asked suddenly. I thought about this often but had never posed the question to Malfoy.
“The Bulgarians? No idea.”
“Not the Bulgarians,” I said. “From Hogwarts. I’m sure you know of someone who would enter,” I said, hoping to draw him out.
Malfoy went silent and when I looked up, he seemed to be thinking over this question.
“The only person I think is stupid enough to enter is Nott, but his parents would obliterate him if he did,” he said finally.
“You’re not going to enter?”
“Me? No. I have enough sense to know when and where my talents are best served.”
“Huh.” I looked back down to my desk, but when I looked up a moment later, Malfoy was staring at me.
“What?” I asked, feeling self-conscious. His gaze was too harsh, his eyes too piercing.
“Why did you say it like that?” He asked, his eyes slightly narrowed.
“Say what?”
“You said huh after I told you I wouldn’t enter the tournament.”
“Yeah, and?”
“And? Is that not a good enough answer for you?”
I looked around the room, thinking maybe I’d find some clue as to why he was suddenly quizzing me like this.
“What are you going on about? I was just responding to what you said! I thought you would be the type of person to enter the tournament, that’s all.”
“Well, I’m not.”
“Well, okay, that’s fine.”
“Is it?”
“Why do you care what I think?”
“I don’t.”
“Good!”
We both looked back down at our work, but I couldn’t focus on what was in front of me. I couldn’t make sense of what just happened either.
After lunch, we made our final changes to the proposal, Malfoy created fifteen copies, and we went home with the relief that our work was done.
The next morning, we had little to do before the meeting in the afternoon. We set up the conference room like before, arranging the proposals around the table with each seat purposefully chosen for one reason or another. For some reason, as I set down another copy, I felt the urge to flip through it. Malfoy was busy making sure there was enough Gilly water and Firewhiskey stocked while I turned to a random page in the middle of the book.
“Huh,” I said as I read closer. Malfoy didn’t turn around.
“Um, Malfoy,” I said tentatively, as I bent down and read the page again, making sure I was right before I said something.
“What?” He asked, still not turning around.
“Grimilda told us the Bulgarian students would not be taking Hogwarts final exams, correct?”
“Yes,” he replied as though it took him so much effort to speak to me.
“Okay, so then read this and tell me what it says.”
Malfoy took his time walking over to me, his face clearly saying that he had better things to do then indulge in my requests.
He stood beside me, the chair between us, and leaned forward. He had one hand on the table while the other traced along the lines of the proposal. I stifled the urge to gag as my senses were overwhelmed by the scent of his cologne. In any other sense, I enjoyed sandalwood, but now it was vomit inducing.
I waited for him to reach the line that had made me stop.
“To comply with Hogwarts student requirements, all international students (Durmstrang students included) shall complete the same end-of-term exams, not including those who are participating in the Tournament games.” Malfoy read. He read it again, to himself, then again, silently, and looked up at me.
“Their Headmaster clearly said that Hogwarts exams are frightfully inferior to their own and would not stoop so low as to take them.” I said, the conversation ringing clearly in my head. We had a meeting with the Department of Magical Education just last week to finalize the education requirements for the Bulgarian students.
Malfoy made a noise in the back of his throat to agree. He looked back down at the paper.
“Durmstrang included,” I repeated with emphasis.
“Yes, I can read,” he said with a tinge of annoyance.
“That’s not what I’m—” I sighed and stepped back from the table; his cologne was clouding my senses.
“We have to fix this,” he said as he straightened up and backed away from the table as well.
“Obviously.”
“Simple. We change the wording on all the copies.” Malfoy took out his wand and tapped the page to now read “Durmstrang excluded.” He looked up at me again with a smug smile.
“Genuis idea, Malfoy. Except that we already gave Grimilda and Walter their copies, along with the copy for the Bulgarian Minister of Education.”
Malfoy’s mouth opened then closed. It was a rare sight, seeing him so speechless. It didn’t last long.
“Again, simple. We will merely change their copies once they arrive, slip the new ones in their hands and they won’t notice a thing.”
I had about a hundred reasons why this wouldn’t be as easy as he claimed, when Walter knocked on the door.
“Everything all set?” He asked.
“Perfect!” I said as Malfoy muttered, “Excellent.”
“Great. The dignitaries have begun to arrive. They’ll have lunch and hopefully the meeting will go smoother than the last.” Walter trailed off, thinking back to the much-heated debate that had ensued with the French Ministry employees.
He took one last look around the room and then back to us. “You’re sure everything is okay in here?”
“Peachy! We were just finishing up,” I said with a big smile. Malfoy remained emotionless, which I guess was as good of a reaction as anyone could get.
Still skeptical, but unsure of what exactly made him this way, eventually left the room.
“What are we going to do?” I asked, turning to Malfoy.
“You were the one in charge of that section,” he said.
“That’s not helping.”
Malfoy shrugged and continued changing the rest of the proposals to the correct wording. I paced the room, thinking of how I was going to get the three copies back from Walter, Grimilda, and the Bulgarian.
“Where are they having lunch, do you know?”
“I believe the Pegasus Room. Third floor.”
I headed to the door, determined to get into the luncheon, find the copies, and change them myself.
“Where do you think you’re headed?” Malfoy asked from behind.
“To change the copies, what do you think?” I responded without turning back. I heard him sigh and probably, most definitely, roll his eyes, before I heard his footsteps follow mine.
“You don’t need to come. It’s my problem, you said it yourself,” I said as I walked out the door.
“I’m not letting you ruin this for both of us. You’ve never seen a Bulgarian wizard angry; I presume.”
We headed for the Pegasus Room, a banquet hall on the third floor that was outfitted with Bulgarian flags, colors, and décor to welcome the Bulgarian Ministry. I could smell the room before we found it, as there were tables upon tables heaped with traditional Bulgarian dishes.
Grimilda saw us enter and welcomed us over, glad to see us taking part in the luncheon.
“Mr. Petkov, this is Heather Winters and Draco Malfoy, two of our wonderful interns here at the Ministry,” Grimilda said as introduction.
Petkov had deep set, dark eyes that were ringed in shadow. He wore flowing black robes in the Bulgarian style and had rings on every finger. He nodded his head solemnly and looked us both over inquisitively. His name rang a bell in my head, and I realized he was the Minister of Education.
“Pleasure to meet you,” he said to us both. He looked Malfoy over once more. “Malfoy, you say?” He asked.
“Yes sir,” Malfoy responded. His back was held straight, and he shook the wizard’s hand with confidence.
“I see you are taking in your father’s footsteps, hm?”
“That would be some big footsteps to follow,” Malfoy said with the ease of someone used to talking to foreign dignitaries. Some sort of smile flickered across Petkov’s face, while Malfoy remained expressionless.
“These two have been working very hard to make sure all of our interests are met,” Grimilda said with a smile.
“I look forward to seeing what you have to offer. We have been awaiting the return of this tournament for very long and do not intend to let it disappear for another century,” Petkov said, his deep voice hinting at more than just hope.
“We, too, hope to see this tournament a success.” Grimilda turned to us and smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. “Why don’t you two go grab something to eat? The Kebapche is delicious!”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” I said and inched away from the group. Malfoy bowed his head to Petkov then followed me towards the tables.
“She didn’t have the proposal on her. I doubt they have looked through them yet,” Malfoy said as we walked.
“That was a weird conversation,” I said.
“Hm? Oh, Petkov and my father famously don’t get along. It was anything but a compliment for him to infer me following in his footsteps.”
“What a strange way to insult a man.”
Malfoy shrugged.
We lingered by the tables of food, neither of us particularly interested in eating, since we had more pressing matters to deal with.
“What if they’re still in her office?” I asked.
“That’s a distinct possibility.”
“I’ll go check. You stay here and make sure they don’t whip them out suddenly.”
“I’ll make sure nothing is whipped out,” Malfoy responded with a smirk. I rolled my eyes at him then headed back out of the banquet hall and to the fifth floor once again.
The office was mainly empty, as a lot of the department was downstairs enjoying the free lunch. Walter’s office was open and when I peeked inside, I saw his copy of the proposal on top of his desk. I quickly turned to the page with the typo, flicked my wand, and changed it to the correct wording. Now, for Grimilda’s office.
Hers was closed of course, and locked, just my luck.
I made sure no one was around then whispered Alohomora, aiming my wand at the lock. It clicked open.
Grimilda’s office was a wreck. But lying on top of her desk (and the mountain of other papers) was her copy of her proposal. I fixed the error, placed it back where I found it, and searched for the last copy that needed to be changed. If she had left hers in her office, I would only assume she left the Petkov’s in here, too?
I couldn’t find it anywhere and the more I searched, the more anxious I became, and the more I began to sweat. I cast a drying charm on my armpits three times before I gave up.
Back in the banquet hall, Malfoy was speaking to another Bulgarian Ministry employee, just as tall, just as dark, just as intimidating. I tried to catch his eye, but he looked everywhere but at me.
“Heather,” my mother said, approaching me from out of nowhere. “I didn’t know you would be here.” She said, then noticed my red face and sticky forehead. “Are you okay, hon?” She tried to touch my forehead, but I flinched away from her hand.
“I’m fine mom, what are you doing here?”
“You’re all red, are you sure you’re feeling alright?”
“The food is spicy, that’s all.” I avoided looking at her and looked around the room instead, thinking of where Petkov would have left his copy of the proposal.
“Well, I hope you’re feeling better before the meeting. I overheard some of them already bashing our ideas. I don’t understand why these people can’t just be satisfied with the games being held in the first place.”
I rolled my eyes, not wanting to get into this conversation with her right now.
“Heather, you do not look good,” she said again, her eyes studying me closer now.
“I’m fine, mom—” I began when I caught sight of Malfoy walking my way. He had a look on his face that read we need to talk.
“I’m fine, I promise. Now, I need to head over there,” I said and walked away before she could respond.
“Did you find them?” Malfoy asked as I stepped beside him.
“I found Grimilda’s and Walter’s, but Petkov’s wasn’t there. He must have it on him.”
“Great.” Malfoy looked around the room as he tried to work out a solution. But before we could discuss our next move, the group began to move to the doors. The lunch was over, and the meeting was to begin soon.
We had no choice but to follow the group back to the fifth floor and shuffle into the conference room with the rest of the attendees. My mother brushed past me, giving me one more worried look, but I ignored her attempts to take my temperature in front of the British and Bulgarian Ministries.
Grimilda entered with Petkov behind her and Walter bringing up the rear. They all three had their proposals in hand, Grimilda was pointing to something in hers and Petkov was opening his to turn to the same page. I looked at Malfoy desperately, unsure of what to do now. If they weren’t turning to the page with my mistake, they soon would, and there would be chaos.
Malfoy seemed unperturbed, which only made my heart rate increase even higher.
To top it all off, he began to walk away from me and cross the room. I watched Grimilda hold out the chair for Petkov, who was preoccupied with flipping through his proposal to notice. I chewed on my bottom lip and flipped through the catalog of spells I had memorized. Would any of them help me now? I wasn’t savvy enough to be able to cast any without detection in a room full of wizards, anyways. Plus, sending a Stunner to a Bulgarian diplomat was not the best move.
Malfoy was now making his way down the table offering water and various other drinks to the attendees. He had a tray in one arm, looking like one finely dressed waiter, and moved at a leisurely pace. Just as he reached Petkov, everything that followed happened so perfectly, you would think it was rehearsed.
Grimilda stepped away from Petkov’s chair, realizing that he wasn’t going to sit down anytime soon, just as Walter tried to squeeze by them to his own seat. Malfoy lowered the tray of drinks to Petkov, who had just begun to fling his proposal onto the table in front of him. In one moment, all of these factors combined, and chaos ensued. The proposal hit the edge of the tray, which crashed to the ground, spilling drinks everywhere, causing Petkov to jump back, Grimilda to be bumped, and Walter pushed into the glass wall behind him.
The scene was glorious, and terrifying, as Petkov’s face contorted with anger. Half of the room stood to watch the ruckus, some leapt forward to help Petkov, while Malfoy began the act of apologizing and trying to clean the mess. Malfoy gave me a pointed look, then went back to apologizing to the Bulgarian.
I dove under the table, found the proposal where it had landed, flipped to the page, and corrected the typo.
When I reemerged, the mess had been cleared, Petkov was standing once more, and Malfoy was moving back to the other end of the table for his seat. I placed the proposal on the table and muttered an apology.
It took five more minutes for everyone to settle down once more before the meeting was able to begin.
And then everything went smoothly. Well, as smooth as it could without the egregious typo. The Bulgarians still found plenty of reasons to argue and disagree with what we had thought was a fair and just compromise between the two schools. After many hours, and many corrections, notes, and scribbles on the proposals, the meeting concluded.
As we filed out of the room, I overheard Petkov speaking in Bulgarian to one of his colleagues. They sounded angry, which was the general tone of the entire meeting. But then I overheard Petkov say Malfoy.
“Following in his father’s footsteps, indeed,” Petkov said, switching back to English for only a moment.
He caught my eye as I walked past, his dark glare causing me to look away as quickly as I could.
Once back in our office, I turned to Malfoy, who was beginning to pack his things to leave for the day.
“That was brilliant,” I began. “Ridiculous, and risky, but brilliant.”
“It worked, and that’s all that matters,” he said as though I wasn’t just complimenting him.
“Petkov looked like he could have killed you for getting pumpkin juice on his shoes.”
“And I’m sure he would have loved to try.”
I fell silent, debating on what to say next.
“Thank you,” I decided to say.
Malfoy looked up at me, then back down to the papers he was gathering. “For what?”
“You did all of that, spilling a drink on Aleksander Petkov, for me. Thank you.”
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Now you’re being the ridiculous one. We would have both been implicated if that proposal wasn't fixed. I only did that to save myself.”
I nodded along as he spoke, although I didn’t believe what he was saying.
“Sure, Malfoy, whatever you say.”
He glared at me once more before putting his bag on his shoulder and heading for the door.
“The interns are having a kind of party tonight,” I said before I could stop myself. Malfoy hesitated in the doorway, his back to me. “I’m going to check it out, if you want to come.”
He took a moment to respond, and I prepared myself for the inevitable no.
“Maybe if I can get out of dinner with my parents, I’ll see if it’s worth my time,” he said, his back still to me.
I caught myself smiling and quickly wiped it off my face before he could see. “Cool. They’re going to the Queen’s Head. It’s a muggle bar, but there’s apparently a wizard’s entrance in the back.”
Malfoy didn’t make any nod or motion to signal he had heard and left without another word.