Charlie and Hermione sat upon a bench in Wenceslas Square waiting for Viktor and Magda to arrive. After a time, Hermione shifted positions, crossing one leg and flexing her dangling foot. As a result of their day's full schedule, she'd considered transfiguring her heels into ballet flats while dressing for dinner; however, she had caught Charlie leering at her legs, so she'd stepped into the three-inch heels and winced just a little. Fortunately, they were a new style Madam Malkin had introduced that spring, and one that included a Cushioning Charm which had been introduced during the manufacturing phase. That feature made the shoes ridiculously expensive, but Hermione figured every woman should own a pair of high quality black pumps. They went with everything, especially the off-the-shoulder, indigo dress she was now wearing.

Unlike their usual handclasp, her fingers weren't threaded through Charlie's, instead he'd wrapped her hand in his. Hermione thought it an ideal physical metaphor; it illustrated how he held her heart. And thus content, she sat on the bench and soaked up the atmosphere of Wenceslas square. While it was late in the year for a rush of tourists, Prague was nonetheless crowded enough that people watching was an engaging pastime.

Charlie nudged her with his broad shoulder and angled his head to the left. "That bloke. I know Muggle fashions can be extreme, but .."

Hermione's eyes followed the direction of his nod to see a scantily clad young man garbed in arse-draping jeans and a badly torn t-shirt, one whose gaping holes were held together by safety pins. His spiky black hair glistened with some form of gel and his fingernails were painted black. To complete the picture he trailed a middle-aged couple, who were quite obviously well-to-do Americans, with slumped shoulders and a petulant scowl on his face. Hermione grinned in amusement. "I think that's a rampant case of rebellion."

Raising their hands to his mouth, Charlie dropped a kiss onto the back of hers. "I can't imagine what form yours might have taken if your teenaged years had been anything like normal."

Hermione leaned up for a kiss.

"Herm-own-knee!"

A blush heated her cheeks and Charlie cocked an eyebrow at her, but her decisions were made, so she kissed him swiftly on the lips before leaping from the bench. "Viktor!" She bussed the air three times as she hugged her long-time friend. "I'm glad you were able to meet us. And, Magda, you look stunning."

Magda Krum wore an aquamarine, empire-waisted dress which showed off her shapely legs and enhanced the colour of her wavy titian hair. Her smile was genuine and her English impeccable. "And you as well. It is very good to see you and meet your 'companion'."

Flushing a little at that obvious acknowledgment that Viktor kept little from his wife, Hermione embraced her while he engaged Charlie in a masculine ritual all their own.

"Liked your Patronus, Veasley. Very fierce creatures, dragons."

Charlie replied with an equally studied compliment. "Krum. Your catch against Heidelberg was a brilliant piece of timing. I don't think anyone's used a Plumpton Pass since the eighties."

"Regrettably, I von't have the element of surprise again, but it von the match for us, so it vas success." Viktor shrugged his shoulders and then introduced his wife to Charlie.

Magda smiled. "I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Weasley."

"The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Krum. With the colour of your hair, I'm surprised you're not a cousin or something."

"Magda, please," the petite woman replied, offering her cheek for a standard air kiss. "It wouldn't surprise me at all. I have several distant cousins in England whom I've never met. One is a Muggle accountant, but Mama doesn't speak of him."

Charlie chuckled. "I think we are related. No one is allowed to mention our Muggle accountant in front of Great Auntie Muriel." He bent his cheek to hers, and said, "Well met, cousin."

Hermione was all astonishment. "You might be related? How is this possible?"

Viktor smiled indulgently. "Is a very small vorld, Herm-own-knee."

"One of these days that fact won't be so astounding," she replied and tucked her hand in Charlie's elbow, her glance resting on the second button of Charlie's dark blue shirt - beneath which were hidden their wedding rings. The thought of the rings burrowed deep in her heart, creating a core of warmth of its own within her psyche. She met his eyes for a long moment, and almost blurted out their news, but formed her mouth into different words at the last second. "We thought a Muggle restaurant would be best for anonymity's sake, and the architecture is simply glorious. Shall we go in?"

Of one accord, the four magical folk dodged a tram to cross the busy street and enter the meticulously maintained Grand Hotel Europa.

Once inside, the hotel's old world charm worked its mundane magic on the Krums. Magda was openly appreciative and Viktor studied the curvilinear architecture with great interest. The woodwork was ornate and the lights shone in mellow golden tones, reflecting off the many glass and mirrored surfaces. Unlike many older hotels, this one didn't reek of stale smoke; the management had somehow increased air circulation within the building, and the highly polished wood tinted the air with the aroma of good lemon wax.

"I have heard of this place before," Magda commented as she climbed the stairs to the first floor, "but I'm not terribly familiar with the Muggle world .."

A little early for their reservation, the maitre d' suggested they have a drink in the mezzanine. He would send someone to escort them to their table once it was ready.

"I'll bring drinks if you'd like to find seats," Charlie offered.

"I vill come."

While they'd been outdoors there wasn't quite the same need for discretion, but in this more intimate environment, it was necessary. Magda looked around, surreptitiously checking their distance from others and then asked quietly, "Is there something like gillywater? I grew fond of it during my summers in England."

Charlie said, "I'd suggest something with gin. A dirty martini-"

"Dirty!" Magda exclaimed.

Hermione reassured her quietly. "It's not what you think. Muggles create all sorts of frivolous names for their cocktails. A dirty martini is one of my mum's favourites. It has a bit of bite and a little saltiness from olives. Since gillyweed is tart and salty I think you might like it." Turning to Charlie, she absently laid her hand on his arm. "I'll have a martini, too, but without the olives and made with vodka please."

He captured her fingers, kissing them swiftly before releasing her hand to address Viktor. "Prague is known for its beer, and if you're interested, I sampled a good Pilsner here this afternoon."

They took their leave; two men dressed in casual but elegant evening attire. Charlie and Viktor were an interesting contrast, and yet, there was an indefinable quality about each which resonated in the other. Hermione studied the way her intended moved, his easy confidence translating into a languid grace. Briefly she regretted the dark jacket he wore as it disguised what, in her opinion, was the world's finest arse, showcased for the evening in a pair of well-tailored summer-weight trousers.

"You seem quite taken with him."

Magda's thoughtful comment acted like a dose of Pepperup, Hermione's ears burned and her cheeks turned pink, but she answered honestly, "It's rather a waste of time denying it when you've caught me lusting after him."

"He is charming, and he seems quite taken with you as well."

While they spoke, the women strolled around the circumference of the atrium, locating a small table with three club chairs near a window overlooking Wenceslas Square. They appropriated a fourth chair from the next table before taking their seats. Sinking into the plush leather, Hermione smoothed the skirt of her dress. "To answer you more fully, Magda, yes, I'm taken with him." And then all the suppressed excitement of the past few weeks, of her and Charlie's decisions and their accomplishments of the day welled up until she couldn't keep it from overflowing. "You might actually say I'm taken."

Comprehension lit the redhead's face. "That's wonderful news. I know Viktor has worried about your happiness for a long time, and as I've grown to know you, I, too, share his concern. I hope we have a chance to get to know him better."

Hermione laughed joyously. "I suspect you'll have more opportunity than you know."

Across the moderately large room, Viktor and Charlie stood at a massive bar waiting for their order to be filled. When he heard Hermione's laugh, Charlie's head turned -- as fast as Gizmo scenting his mate - blue eyes unerringly finding brown. His heart thudded hard in his chest and the rings hanging on the chain around his neck seemed to heat.

"The Dark Arts is taught at Durmstrang," Viktor said conversationally. Charlie jerked his attention to the Quidditch star, noticing the dark scowl on his narrow face. The expression made him look like a raptor, and Viktor's accent thickened as he spoke. "There it is not only a defensive course. Igor Karkaroff vas my teacher until he fled at Voldemort's return."

Fortunately, the bartender chose that moment to slide two frosty mugs of Pilsner across the gleaming wood surface of the bar before making the martinis. It gave Charlie a moment to collect his thoughts, recognise the validity of the implicit threat, and then, using the sound of the ice rattling in the stainless steel shaker to mask his comment, he responded, "I wouldn't want you to do anything to incur Hermione's wrath. I understand she's very fond of you."

Viktor's eyes narrowed, enhancing his predatory expression. " I am not fond of Veasels."

"I see."

"If you doubt me, ask your younger brother. He vill certainly remember."

Charlie choked on his sudden laughter. "So you're the one who sent Ron the -"

He was interrupted once more; this time, two martinis were delivered, and his laughter subsided into a hearty chuckle at having a years-long mystery solved. He fished three hundred czk bank notes from his pocket, passing them to the bartender. "Keep the change," he said in English.

It seemed to be a universally understood phrase because the young man grinned his thanks.

Turning toward Viktor, Charlie handed him the dirty martini. Implacable dark eyes returned his stare and the Bulgarian Seeker said in a voice laden with satisfaction, "He deserved it."

With perfect equanimity, Charlie lifted Hermione's drink from the bar and glanced across the room. She was laughing again, her head tipped back and her thick, curly hair loose around her face. Charlie's reply was heartfelt. "He did indeed, and I shall be forever grateful as a result."

As if they'd reached détente, the two men threaded through an increasingly populated room, speaking in the most generic of terms about Bulgaria's chance in the next World Cup. Sports, after all, were another universally understood language.

Neither Hermione nor Charlie customarily indulged in extravagant meals or haute cuisine , yet for this evening, they'd decided to venture into the realm of luxury. The lush décor of the Art Nouveau restaurant was an excellent choice for the expression of their quiet ebullience. Its wood, glass, and highly-stylised design reflected a more relaxed and self-indulgent era, yet was entirely fitting for the evening.

"If you'll permit," Charlie addressed their guests, "I finagled a menu when we made reservations and Hermione and I planned our meal."

Viktor's eyes narrowed, darting between his host and hostess, but then his face smoothed into a non-expressive mask of politeness. If Hermione hadn't been looking at Magda, she would have missed seeing the other woman pinch her husband's arm. It was amusing to see Viktor bossed in such a manner, and her liking for her friend's wife increased enormously.

"That would be marvellous," Magda answered. "I know there are many things which cross the barrier between cultures, and the culinary arts seem to be one of them."

Hermione said, "One of the -" she broke off, having been on the brink of mentioning estate agents, and flashed an apologetic look at Charlie, her eyes fixing on a certain spot of his shirt, imagining she could see the outline of their rings through the finely woven cotton. "Someone we met with this afternoon told us the food here is excellent."

"Herm-own-knee, do you haff something-"

Magda interrupted, "Did Viktor ever tell you how we first met?"

"No. I'd love to hear the story." Hermione might have jumped when Charlie's hand settled in her lap in a reassuring weight, except she'd grown used to his touch over the past intense week. She slanted a look in his direction, smiled, then returned her attention to Magda.

At that moment, their waiter - attuned to the nuances of diners - insinuated himself at the table to take their order, but once he'd departed Magda picked up her tale.

"As you might know, I work for the Czech Ministry in the Department of International -"she flicked her eyes about the room, but the ambient noise covered much of her conversation, "-Magical Co-operation. One of my most enjoyable duties is research."

"I love research," Hermione said, her eyes gleaming with interest. "Did Viktor ever tell you that's how we first became friends? I met him in the Hogwarts library."

Magda laughed and pointed to her husband. "Where do you think I met him?"

"You discover the most marvellous people in libraries," Hermione said and noticed Viktor scowl at Charlie. "While I met Charlie during the World Cup when I stayed with his family, we became friends in a library."

Viktor turned his darkened visage in her direction, but anything he might have said was bitten off by the arrival of their starters, delivered by a crisply efficient and silent wait-staff. For a short time, all substantive conversation ceased as they ate their fois gras served in a baked potato, and garnished with smoked duck breast topped by fruits of the forest sauce.

Simple gustatorial enjoyment mellowed the slightly tense undertones of the diners, and Hermione commented, "I've never really liked duck pate before, but this is . . . mmmm . . . delicious."

"Exquisite," murmured Magda.

Hermione glanced at Charlie; his eyes were riveted to her mouth. She smiled mischievously, dropped her hand beneath the starched white linen tablecloth and squeezed his thigh. He blinked and smirked at her in a way that stimulated her appetite for things other than food.

Viktor cleared his throat. "Herm-own-knee."

"As I was saying earlier," Magda again interrupted her husband, and his slightly irritated " Mila . . ., " was lost in her story. "I met Viktor in a library. The Strahov library here in Prague. While it's most commonly known as a Muggle library, it was founded in the twelfth century - pre-Statute. You should see it, Hermione. I once spent two days straight in one alcove!"

Charlie laughed, and said quietly, "You could get lost, love."

"You'd find me." Hermione replied, adding to Magda, "I'd love to see it."

"Perhaps when you return to Prague we'll make arrangements. It's a remarkable repository of information. Many of the ancient tomes are irreplaceable and one must have Ministry approval, which is rarely given, to enter certain rooms. Imagine my surprise to find another scholar sharing my previously private study chamber." Magda covered Viktor's left hand, even if it still held his fork. The look he gave his wife was entirely unlike those he'd been directing at Charlie.

"I vas searching for accounts of the first Vorld Cup. The International Federation plans some security changes in the next years."

Charlie leaned forward eagerly. "Have you been inducted into the Federation? That's brilliant news, Viktor. You'd be the youngest ever to take a seat. The sport's future suddenly looks much brighter."

His enthusiasm seemed to ease something in Viktor. "It is vun reason ve haff been so busy recently . . . Magda and I," he explained.

"No wonder you used the Plumpton maneuver. I'll bet you have several other historical moves up your sleeve."

Charlie's eyes sparkled with interest and Hermione was reminded of how excited he'd been to attend the World Cup. Comparing him then -- stocky, good-natured, and consumed by the early stages of his career - to now, she saw how he'd leaned into a less bulky, more self-assured man. His good-nature was unchanged, and there was a core of undeniable strength to him. Her heart lurched, and she smiled privately while the others talked about the historical origins of Quidditch, although they referred to it as 'the sport'. She swallowed a spoonful of delicious potato and wild mushroom soup and watched the eager expressions of her dining companions.

When their entrées arrived, Hermione eyed the beautiful plating. Her roast duck was served with a marinated pear and a Czech dumpling. She slipped a piece of sage onto her fork before the bite of the fowl, and then chewed the tender morsel. It was worth the price.

Viktor and Charlie dug into their sauerbraten with gusto; Charlie, in particular, seemed to like the ubiquitous Czech dumplings; and Viktor was surreptitiously spooning his cranberry preserve onto Magda's plate. When he noticed Hermione watching, he flushed. "Is vun of Magda's favourites."

"I like their tartness," the redhead affirmed, slipping the tines of her fork beneath the succulent red berries.

Covering Viktor's embarrassment, Hermione asked, "Where did you say the library was? In a monastery?"

Magda swallowed her bite before replying. "It has been rebuilt several times over the centuries and now there are stunning Baroque touches to the architecture. All those interior domes. There's something so intimate about the setting. Everywhere you look in the main hall there are globes representing mans' historical knowledge of geography. One of the earliest globes, a thirteenth century I think, shows only Europe in any detail, and China is set on the opposite side as an island. It's truly fascinating."

Hermione's eagerness shining from every feature of her face, she asked Charlie, "Do you think we can make time this week?"

He leaned toward her, one hand cupping her cheek. "Very soon you will have a chance to explore the library - and the bookstore - to your heart's content." Then he kissed her.

Neither cared the slightest that they were in public, in an exclusive restaurant, in front of Hermione's friends. Placing one hand against his chest, directly over their wedding rings, her willingness to wait an additional five days wavered.

"Herm-own-ninny!" Viktor exclaimed.

The mangled use of her name -- the way he'd said it when she was a child -- drew Hermione's attention to her surroundings. Across the table, Magda was speaking swiftly, reprovingly, to her husband in Czech.

"Go ahead and tell them," Charlie said. "I know you're dying to."

Hermione heaved a huge sigh of relief and fumbled with the buttons of Charlie's shirt.

Viktor's shocked, "Herm-own-knee! Vat are you doing?" made her laugh, and Charlie stilled her hands. She shifted in her chair, facing her very startled friend and his extremely amused wife. "I - we-have something to tell you. We weren't going to say anything until after we'd talked to our parents -"

"Herm-own-knee!"

Hermione bubbled over with giddy joy. "We're moving here! To Prague. We spent most of the day with estate agents looking at apartments, but none of them were right." She glanced at Charlie mischievously. "None had a bathtub large enough for us to share." She giggled when Charlie's cheeks flushed, making him look tanned all over rather than just somewhat freckly.

"Herm-own-knee!"

"Is that all you can say, Viktor?" Hermione asked playfully.

Viktor swore, " Po dyavolite ! Is not funny! Is shock, you understand?" He looked at Charlie furiously. "I knew there vas something different about this Veasley, but -"

His incipient diatribe was halted in its fermenting stages by Charlie unlooping the chain from around his neck and displaying their wedding rings. "We're getting married Saturday," Charlie announced.

Viktor gaped at the older man, his face draining of colour and then flushing a dark, wine red. Magda instantly flagged one of the waiters and asked for the check. "Congratulations! This is wonderful. It calls for a real celebration. We have an excellent bottle of champagne at home. Let's have dessert there and you can tell us all about it."

With two bossy and opinionated women to manage things, the bill was sorted within minutes.

Hermione knew Viktor was watching her as she showed the rings to Magda. "And we picked them separately. I had no idea what he'd want, but they match. If I believed in Divination, I'd say it was a sign."

Charlie said, "It does my heart good to know Hermione has such a good friend in you, Viktor. We won't know anyone here, and I hope we'll see you and Magda often."

Viktor's shoulders relaxed. "It vill be a pleasure - if you don't insist I visit you at vork."

The men laughed, remembering the first time they'd met, and then Charlie remembered the second time they'd met, at Bill's wedding. "I'm glad you've finally found a 'good-looking girl' who wasn't taken."

Viktor flushed. "It vas a good lesson that: neffer accept a drink from a Veasley tvin. They put something in my glass. I vas lucky to escape without having a duel vith Lovegood or compromising vun of Fleur's cousins."

Charlie nodded sagely. "I won't let George get away with that in future."

"You begin to remind me of Bill. He is a Veasley I like."

Hermione, who had been eavesdropping, asked, "The twins dosed your drink at the wedding?"

"Yes. It vas as if all my - how do you say . . . common sense?"

Magda interjected, "Inhibitions."

" Da! Da. It vas as if my inhibitions vere gone. I vas angry vun minute and-" he glanced at his wife, "-it vas embarrassing."

Hermione said, "So that's why you were so upset with Luna's father."

"I vas offended he vore Grindelwald's sign. Ven I talked to him and understood he vas fey I vouldn't haff been angry. But the potion kept me angry. I didn't like it."

"I wouldn't have either," Charlie agreed. "Trust me, it won't ever happen again." He left a sizable tip on the table and rose to his feet, then he extended his hand to Hermione. "Shall we?" he asked.