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Chapter 1 : Holiday
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“Ron? RON? It’s not bloody often I do this so let me in before I blast open the door!”
There was a muffled scraping from inside, before a distinctly distressed voice called out. “Hermione, don’t come in. I’m in a right foul mood.”
Hermione took a deep breath, closing her eyes in an effort to find her Zen. “Ronald. I’m going to count to three; one…two…thr—”
Smothered sounds of a chair scraping the floorboards and footsteps hurrying the length of the room were the only things to be heard before the door was thrown open by a middle aged man with thinning red hair and enraged expression.
Hermione smiled brightly, all anger dissipating. “Tea?”
“Rose is boffing Viktor Krum while on holiday in the Caribbean!”
A loud crash and the tinkle of expensive china rang down the down the corridor as Hermione dropped her tea tray in shock.
Ron exploded, clearly having been simmering for some time. “She’s your bloody daughter! She won’t listen to me! IT’S BLEEDING VIKTOR KRUM, HERMIONE!”
Her eyes widened almost comically and she pushed past Ron into the office, wringing her hands as the shock pumped adrenaline through her veins.
After a few moments passed while Hermione paced, agitated, while Ron simmered surprisingly quietly in the doorway. Finally, she was able to fomulate a short sentence. “How?!”
“I don’t bleeding know! She sent us a letter and just put it out there—bloody git probably didn’t tell her about…well, you know—”
Hermione put a hand up to silence him, her stomach rolling. “Don’t say it!”
Ron had the nerve to grin, even through his anger. “Well, you did date—”
“SHUT IT! Show me the letter.”
Ron handed over the letter, which had been scrunched up in his hand unnoticed, and Hermione snatched it away, flattening it out hastily.
Dear Mum and Dad,
I know I haven’t written in ages but I have an excuse—I’ve been holidaying in the Caribbean! An all expenses paid trip with my new boyfriend; I know you warned me about the rich boys, Mum, but honestly, he’s just perfect. Viktor Krum is his name. He’s Bulgarian. And he’s older than I am too, so I don’t have to deal with all that bollocks boys in their twenties put up.
I met him at Hugo’s Quidditch match last month and we just hit it off! He says he met you both at Hogwarts when his school stayed for the Triwizard Tournament in ’94— surely you remember him, he was the Durmstrang champion. He was a very big star in Bulgarian Quidditch, even played for the National team! Dad, I’m sure you would have at least heard of him; I know how much you love that game.
I just know you two will adore him—his accent is just gorgeous and he’s got this lovely beard. Apparently they’re very popular in Bulgaria.
Five shots of firewhiskey later, Hermione and Ronald could barely remember their own names, let alone their daughters’. Meanwhile on a private beach in the Caribbean…
The sun was shining on the clear bay, the white sand glittering in the bright light and the water sparkling gently as it lapped the shore. Two lone people were lying on a beach towel under a brightly coloured umbrella. The redheaded girl was draped across the bare-chested, bearded man, looking thoroughly debauched and satisfied.
Rose Wealsey sighed contentedly, fingering the thick, dark beard of her lover. “I love your beard.”
Viktor Krum grunted, his accent thick on his next words. “I know—who vouldn’t?”
“It makes you look so…rugged.”
“Vot can I say? It’s all true.”
Rose grinned. “My parents are going to love you.”
Suddenly looking incredibly uncomfortable, Vikor took her hand in his, regarding her seriously. “Rose, there is something I haf to tell you about me and your mother…” Rose smiled encouragingly, but said nothing. Viktor ploughed on. “Vell, ven I vas at Hogvorts for the Trivizards Tornament, Hermy-own-ninny and I…vell, ve—”
Slowly realization dawned on Rose’s face, her eyes growing wide and her jaw falling open.
“No, you didn’t!”
A/N: Written in response to Celeste’s challenge against Beard/Shoe. This is for all the participants in the c-box conversation that fateful afternoon. Thanks for reading!
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