Such an honour it was, and Gamp would not have it perceived in any other way. Lyra had fussed with the house elves and the Gamp family home in Godric's Hollow was in a sparkling state, and even Lyra's black cat had been forced into a bath beforehand. You could check your inspection in the back of a fork at the dinner table should you want to - Mortimer had done that slyly only five minutes before on fearing he'd dripped wine on his chin.

By eight-thirty, dinner was very much underway with the main course served by the elves. Care and attention had been made beforehand to establish the Minister's very personal preferences for what to eat - one area assistants could be most helpful with, not to mention the likes of Holmes and Somerville were observant of their senior's digestion to such a degree it was alarming.

As Zephyr's wine glass quietly refilled itself as they ate, Mortimer changed the subject from the upcoming Quidditch World Cup to the impending final task of the Tetrawizard Tournament.

"I'm very surprised it hasn't already been reported in the Prophet," Mortimer explained, "Flash strutting about so very excited. I realise one is privy to certain additional information of the tournament for operational purposes, but the man might as well have it off a banner from the back of his broom."

His wife, Lyra smiled politely from opposite the Minister at their dining table, which could have seated ten. Family inheritance and the comfortable wage that the Ministry paid to senior staff allowed them to keep their home with six bedrooms rather well furnished and looked after. The space was rather quiet that night, no young children about their house as they could not afford for one of Lyra's students causing havoc. His darling wife taught the children of magical families who were too young to go to Hogwarts, those who did not want to teach their own children as they worked, or who wanted their children to learn with others away from Muggles. Mortimer would leave for work each morning while a steady stream of parents side-long apparated to the back door or flooed into the fireplace of what had at one time been a second sitting room but was now a small classroom.

Lyra might be sat at the table, enjoying dinner with the Minister too, but she knew that should the conversation stray into professional territory, her husband might ask to remove or muddy a few of those memories for safety after the Minister had left for the night. He was always so very careful, and asked her express permission, and for the short time she would be party to important information, it was either a thrill, or a relief to forget later if they were dire circumstances.

"Still, I am heartened that it has gone so well. A credit to the Ministry, and yourself of course, Minister." He gave her a nod and raised his wine glass in acknowledgement of her hard work.

"The Goblet will be out of a job for another four years until the next, wherever that will take us. Perhaps America?"

Persepolis Zephyr had not grown up humble by any means, but her rise to the highest post in the land had brought her into circles and experiences totally new to her which she adjusted without stumble or slightest hesitation.  She flowed into the wealthy formal dinner of old wizarding blood with familiarity and aloofness.  She was everything a Minister ought to be - gracious, accommodating, and totally at ease.

"To America!" she said raising her glass as well.  "May it be their problem next time." 

"In seriousness though, your compliments are taken to heart, Mr. Gamp.  The success of the Tournament has been so important to me, personally, that seeing it near it's culmination without death, dismemberment, or other doom had been a relief and a source of pride for all involved to be sure."

The Tournament had been far from just a school-going day at field.  It was a historical and weighty tradition that had drawn the eyes of the world once again to Hogwarts.  But it had also drawn other eyes as well, a gaze from well below waist level.

"Lyra, the artichokes are an utter joy," she said as an aside to Mrs. Gamp.  The Minister enjoyed another heart of artichoke  dressed in lemon and white wine.

"It might be a boon to press Salem to host next.  The further we can get the Goblet of Fire from Gringotts, the better.  Their persistence couldn't very well cross the Atlantic, could they? The Americans don't, apparently, have the overflowing patience for the goblins as we do..."

More sarcastic a phrase than most knew the careful and warm Minister to utter, but it was those at the highest levels of the Ministry of Magic who would come to know her best in this post.

"Honestly, I'd rather see it vanish all together than give them the satisfaction.  The way they parade their demands, Gamp.  You should hear them."

"And this wine, Lyra.  A symphony of persimmon."

He would toast to that - to send them all off to America, with the space and the money. The Americans would go all out on a tournament, to Mortimer's understanding they liked everything thrice the size it was in Britain, but they did have enough space to do that.

"Near, yes." Mortimer agreed, the fourth and perhaps most difficult task ahead of them, and also the one which was hijacked with Diggory's death at the hand of the Dark Lord. The papers were full of speculation and analysis, and the Diggory family were understandably staying away from it all.

"Lyra, the artichokes are an utter joy,"

"Why thank you Minister, do help yourself to as many as you would like." Lyra uttered politely, gesturing elegantly to the dish which Zephyr was lifting one from. Mortimer smiled ever so slightly at this observation, glad that Somerville had tipped him off.

"… the further we can get the Goblet of Fire from Gringotts, the better…." He nodded at her words and raised his eyebrows, his wrinkly brow furrowing in well worn lines. Even Lyra smiled in understanding beside him, that expression warming his heart as much as the wine did.

"Honestly, I'd rather see it vanish altogether than give them the satisfaction. The way they parade their demands, Gamp…"

Disappear altogether? Mortimer's jaws finished the piece of potato he had been eating, and his eyes had focused into middle distance, mind hooked onto her words as Lyra glanced his way to see that her words about the wine were not an interruption.

Unfortunately as she was contemplating an elf to go and fetch another bottle for the Minister to take with her, Mortimer caught up with the present topic, and stepped it back.

"People and things do have a habit of disappearing in my Department."

Beside him, his wife had turned to regard him properly, and pressed her lips together, putting down her wine glass which she had lifted to illustrate the response on wine.
"And out of it." She added quietly, "Merlin help Madam Snark."

Mortimer was gazing levelly across the table at the Minister, and there was a pause.
"But yes, my dear Lyra does have exquisite taste in wine." He reached out and squeezed her arm gently with one of his large hands.

The topic of the Goblet had bent an eyebrows for Persepolis as much as she wanted to enjoy a night of relative frivolity (as much as a formal dinner with an acquaintance from work could provide).  It was such a headache all the fuss the Goblins were making over the object.  Threatening to bring down the whole world out of spite.

At least in Gamp she had an ear. 

"I'll never understand the sympathy for Gringotts," she said lightly but no tinge of apology.  "Their tactics are positively barbaric.  I don't think they understand who they're dealing with."

But that was exactly her intent. At public, Persepolis was never vengeful or bellicose in the slightest. Indeed, her entire visage was about community, fellowship, cooperation, and tradition - direct contrast to the war-time Ministers preceeding her.  Annwyl. Shacklebolt.  Poor Scrimgeour.  There was a sort of power in being thought well of, of being underestimated.  A dazzling smile was a powerful thing.

She chuckled at a thought that crossed her mind, her laugh a jingling lilt.  She paused, wondering if she should share it.  She covered her mouth to be polite, but giggled again.  Had she inferred correctly from Mortimer Gamp's carefully laid lament?

"Oh, Mr. Gamp, it'd be such a pity if it suddenly disappeared once its job was finished.  I've have a mind to ensure it does.  Isn't that just outlandish?"

She laughed again, and drank coyly from her glass.

"My goodness, fancy such a thing happening, Minister." Mortimer agreed, his humour somewhat tongue in cheek about this matter, "I mean, what would the ghastly little creatures do about it." He shook his head and Lyra smiled behind a hand politely.

"I'd like to see the look on their faces though." He admitted, dabbing at the corner of his mouth with a napkin and hoping with all his might that he had nothing between this teeth. He was gleefully imagining the goblins turning up to claim the goblet only to be presented by his staff shrugging their shoulders. What a story for the Prophet, even they would be scandalised. Perhaps lock the goblet in time…?

"Though one might wonder if their demands will subside after the tournament and they stop seeing it appear in the newspaper on an almost weekly rotation. If not, I really will have to lose a few things in the archives to keep their spindly fingers off them for the good of the nation." He straightened his shoulders and returned to eating.

"Well if it did go missing, I would certainly want to assuage their concern by launching a full investigation so that the Goblet could be recovered and our peaceful negotiations could continue," said Persepolis with a furrowed brow, so great was her anxiety.

The discussion was becoming less and less hypothetical as Gamp and Zephyr's facetious musings began to coalesce into a plan of action.  It was dirty work and so would naturally be done in the closest of circles with the utmost of secrecy with liberal assistance from her pet Obliviators.

"I wonder who might be so bold as to do the deed.  Frankly, they'd only be burdened with the secret for a short time.  Mr. Zamperia[1]. could certainly see to that.  I'd hate to go behind McGonagal's back or attempt to sully the security of Hogwarts, so a missing-in-transit caper might be best."

"And we shall need a hiding place in the interim."  She laughed, "no safer place than Gringotts or Hogwarts, but those are right out, aren't they! I'd never really thought to consider where would come in third..."[2]

Oh, it felt good to be talking of a solution to this horrible mess, speaking on ways to stick it to the green, wrinkled little ankle-biting blighters.

1.	Mihai Zamperia, Persepolis's newfound companion and favored senior Obliviator
2.	Oooh, maybe Durmstrang?

"… a missing-in-transit caper might be best." Mortimer nodded attentively at this suggestion, not wishing to interrupt his senior.

… I'd never really thought to consider where would come in third…"

"We never hoped we'd need to!" Mortimer agreed, and tilted his head ever so slightly to his left in thought. "You did suggest Salem, Madam, earlier, but there is also Durmstrang who are a rather more known quantity."

Beside him, Lyra sipped her wine and reached forward to place her glass down.
"It is such a shame you cannot keep it safe in the Ministry."

"Indeed my love, but you cannot trust people who keep secrets." He gave her a gentle smile and squeezed her arm.

"One might suggest the Fidelius, but I would need to consult further on whether this has been adequately tested against Goblins with an object rather than a building. Forgive me Minister, for not recalling off hand."

"How do you perceive Eisenberg, if the Goblet were to be temporarily taken there?"

Even though she had suggested it earlier, Zephyr wrinkled her nose at Salem.  Americans could be so...unpredictable. Who knew if they were staid enough to last when them having the Goblet was the result of a conspiracy.  They might find the whole thing offensive to their sensibilities.  They never really understood the problems Britain suffered at the hand of goblins.

But Durmstrang.  Durmstrang was, if anything, on a narrow path and unlikely to deviate.  If Eisenberg was amenable, she pictured him hunching over the Goblet like a dragon over its hidden hoard.

"The trouble would be getting it back," she said with a small smile.  They were proving in the Tournament their ambitions to return to international favor.  There'd hardly been any cheating or subterfuge and she had to credit Auberon Eisenberg.

The entree done for and only libations left before them, the Minister suddenly perked up.  "Did I recall mention of a gnoche?"

Auberon would be persuaded. It would have to come out of hiding for any future tournament of course, and if he could not be persuaded, then the goblins could be tipped off at the very worst if it came to it.

At the query of gnoche, Lyra brightened considerably - able to discuss a topic that she could more readibly contribute to over politics and plans to hide artefacts.

She would remember little to nothing the following day, but that was all part of life for them both.


End