Wheels Within Wheels

by Bfd1235813

Something for those who think Harry and Daphne make more sense.

No claim to anything, it all belongs to JK Rowling, to whom we owe thanks for creating the Potterverse.

This is something for everyone who thinks Harry and Ginny are both lovely people, but that Harry and Daphne make a lot more sense.

Wheels Within Wheels

Part One—Harry and Daphne

Chapter One

It All Started in Godric's Hollow

It was Halloween.

The day was dry, with little wind and no overcast. Walking through Hyde Park in the afternoon sunshine was a very pleasant, rejuvenating way to play hooky from work.

Harry Potter walked through the park, looking left, then straight ahead, then right, and again straight ahead, keeping track of the pedestrians, bicyclists and dogs that were out and about. Every so often he would pause to read the name plate at the base of a tree, or on the edge of a flower bed. The stops gave him an opportunity to turn back and see if anyone was coming toward him from the rear. At one stop, he saw a woman he had noticed before approaching. She was wearing a green cape, carrying a paper cup from a popular coffee chain, and trying to wrangle a Bichon Frise via a rhinestone leash that dangled from her wrist.

The green cape might mean she was a witch. Harry decided to look at the marigolds just a little longer to give him time to assess whether the woman was or was not a threat. He turned his left side toward the woman, so that his wand hand would be obscured by his body, and let his wand slip from his sleeve into his right hand.

As she and the dog got closer, Harry heard the woman say, "Raffles! No pull, Raffles. NO PULL!" He thought the woman couldn't be a witch. If she had been, she would have used a calming spell on Raffles long before, rather than fail so miserably at basic dog training.

Harry kept his head inclined to the flower bed while continuing to assess the pair. He was about to conclude he was watching a muggle out walking her poorly-trained dog when the paper coffee cup twitched. Harry gave the tip of his wand a flick, and thought, "Protego." A shield emerged between the woman in green and Harry. He watched as the paper cup grew in length, while its girth shrank, revealing itself to be a wand. Specifically, it was a wand made from a medium brown wood, possibly walnut, around ten or eleven inches in length. Harry cast a charm towards Raffles: "Revelio!" Nothing happened, so Raffles, it appeared, was just Raffles.

Harry moved quickly to his left just as the woman let go a curse from her wand. Her curse hit his shield and rebounded, and while she also moved to her left, a bit of the rebounding curse appeared to catch her on her right shoulder. The leash came off her left wrist, and Raffles yelped and ran down a branch of the path. The woman glared at Harry.

"You have thirty seconds to start telling me why I shouldn't use Levicorpus to put you into low Earth orbit," said Harry. "Starting now."

"You can't do that with Levicorpus, Potter," sneered the woman. "It isn't that strong."

"True," said Harry. "But I managed 320 feet using an 80 pound bag of cement, once, for practice, so if you want to take your chances..."

"Alright, Potter, alright," she said. "Took a contract. Someone wants to talk to you."

"You're a pro?" Harry asked. That didn't seem right. "Expeliarmus!" The woman's wand flew to his left hand. He looked at it more closely, lowering his own right hand but keeping his wand on the woman. Harry looked around, trying to find Raffles. He saw the Bichon, 100 yards, more or less, down the branch path. He raised his wand to his neck and spoke softly, "Raffles, come!" The little dog responded immediately, turning and trotting back along the path.

"Walnut, ten and seven-eighths inches, I'd say dragon heartstring core, in the possession of a modestly talented witch who thinks she is a magical career criminal, trying to make a bit of a rep by taking odd jobs 'way past her level of competence. You have got to be a Fletcher. I'm guessing you're Ivy. Seen Mundungus lately?"

"He's around, I guess," said the woman, looking at her feet. "Look, I didn't want any trouble, it seemed like a simple proposition, at the time. I just wanted to get close enough for confundo."

Harry saw Raffles run past Ivy Fletcher and approach him. Keeping his eyes, and his wand, on the Fletcher woman, he bent over and took Raffles' leash in hand.

"I can't let this go, I'm afraid, " Harry said. "You assaulted the Head Auror in Hyde Park in broad daylight, muggles all around, and one or both of us could have come out of this in very bad shape. You're going to get some time to consider your options."

With that, he turned his wand tip toward the sky and whispered "Ultra-violet," sending a stream of sparks upward. The sparks wouldn't be seen by anyone not wearing Ministry of Magic issue wide spectrum lenses, but any on-duty aurors in the area would respond immediately. Ten seconds later there were two sharp pops on the other side of a nearby hedge. A pair of aurors emerged through a gap.

"How can we help, Mr. Potter?" asked the one in front.

"Gentlemen, thank you for coming. If you don't already know, this lady is a member of the Fletcher crowd. I believe she is Ms. Ivy Fletcher, who is known to law enforcement, although not for anything particularly fiendish, at least up 'til now. She needs accommodation for a few hours at Ministry expense. The holding cells ought to be sufficient."

"Here, take this," Harry said as he held out Ivy Fletcher's wand. "Priori incantatem will reveal she shot a hex of some sort at me a few minutes ago. Aimed it right into my shield, unfortunately for her, that sent the hex back, and she seems to have suffered a shoulder injury, so please have the Healers check her out. Other than that, she needs her peace and quiet. No one in the cell besides her."

"One other thing…" Harry motioned the two aurors over. "Muffliato!" he said, waving his wand, ensuring they could speak without Fletcher overhearing. "I have someplace to go. It won't be longer than a couple of hours. Take your time with processing. If word gets out we've got her, there will be Fletchers apparating in from all over London and who knows where else. We need to find out whatever she knows, no matter how little it is, so we can start figuring out who would send someone like her after me. An auror is to be within hearing distance until I get back, and make sure anything she does have to say is recorded, one way or another, okay?"

"Yes sir," said the aurors.

"I'll have to leave the dog with you. It's just a dog, I believe. Name's Raffles. Who is around today who is good with animagi?"

"Hobbes, sir. He was assigned to Diagon Alley at roll call. He's probably there now."

"Very good," said Harry. "Have Hobbes check Raffles out. We don't want him assuming his human form in the squad room, or sitting there as a dog soaking up all the gossip. Not until we find out what the hell is going on. Off with you then, and I'll see you shortly."

One auror secured Ivy Fletcher's wand inside his jacket while the other linked arms with her, and with a "Pop-pop" they disapparated. Harry stood for a moment, then looked around. Although he couldn't see anyone, he cast revealing charms until he had covered all the areas that could conceivably conceal a person, and disapparated.

Harry reappeared on the edge of a village in the West Country. Godric's Hollow had been home to innumerable witches and wizards over the centuries. Some illustrious, such as Albus Dumbledore, Ignotus Peverell, and the village namesake Godric Gryffindor, one of the four founders of Hogwarts School. Most had been quite ordinary, lovers of quiet lives in the embrace of friends and family, with, perhaps, a bit of the adventurous side of magic thrown in for flavor.

Godric's Hollow loomed large in Harry Potter's past. Both of his parents had been killed in their house in Godric's Hollow, and Harry nearly so, when the Dark Lord Voldemort attempted to murder Harry, fearing Harry was destined to defeat him. Voldemort believed that he had only to overcome Harry's parents, Lily and James, to clear the way for the murder of little Harry.

Voldemort, it turned out, was mistaken. Lily Potter was more than a match for Voldemort. By the time Voldemort began to grasp the enormity of his mistake, it was too late. Lily used her own unjust death to make Harry invulnerable to Voldemort's curses. Voldemort was broken, nearly killed, and struggled to return. He almost succeeded until Harry defeated him once more, sending him to well-deserved oblivion.

Harry learned the truth about his history, and the death of his parents, in bits and pieces over a period of years. Since reaching adulthood, he always tried to visit Godric's Hollow on Halloween, the anniversary of Voldemort's attack, and the start of his years of fear, and violence. Once, sitting on a bench in the church cemetery, contemplating James and Lily's graves, he went over again how he owed his life to Lily.

On that occasion, Harry believed he had heard his father, James speak inside his own head. He was convinced he had heard James say, clearly, "Shouldn't chew it over TOO much, mate. Mixed feelings are definitely a given, I'd say."

Harry thought about that experience, and others, as he made his way through Godric's Hollow. There was the cottage of Bathilda Bagshot, the eminent magical historian, where he had been ambushed by Voldemort's snake/familiar Nagini, and would have died if not for the quick and efficient use of magic by his good friend and ally, Hermione Granger. The house of his parents, still showing the damage caused by Voldemort's curse, was over there.

He walked past St. Jerome's Church, which, as always, induced its own melancholy, causing a lump to form in his throat. He always recalled his first sighting of the little church, and the Christmas Eve visit to the church cemetery, when he and Hermione listened to carols coming from inside, standing in falling snow before James and Lily's gravestone.

Harry entered the cemetery and walked the short distance to the grave. He had donated a traditional wooden park bench to the church some years before and placed it nearby. He was pleased to see it was weathering well, taking on that subtle outdoor wooden bench patina. He glanced at the dedication plaque, which read simply, "In remembrance. Mum and Dad. Always, Harry", not dwelling on the sentiment lest it overcome his composure. He sat down, waiting for his mind to calm a bit. The Halloween visits weren't easy, but Harry had discovered he felt something, visiting Godric's Hollow on Halloween, that he didn't experience at any other time. He was sure he felt his parents' presence, if he sat long enough, and remained calm enough. He wasn't convinced, in one part of his mind, that anything at all was different. There wasn't a magical explanation for his feeling, as far as he knew. He WAS certain he had heard James on that one occasion, a memory he cherished, and one that he recalled at various times, when he thought he was going to be swallowed by despair. Just thinking of it put a picture of James in his mind, reminding him that whatever was bothering him, it would be unwise to take it too seriously.

Harry sat on the bench, giving the gravestone a thorough looking-over. He was grateful to James and Lily's friends, who had paid for the stone at the time, Harry being just over a year and in no way competent or responsible for handling such affairs. He felt some negativity toward his Aunt Petunia, Lily's sister, who had raised him when he was orphaned, resented him every day, and tried to convince him he was no more than an unlucky child whose careless parents had let themselves get killed in an automobile accident.

That was why he had never visited his parents' gravesite until he was eighteen. Petunia was deeply conflicted, possessed no magical ability, and was accompanied throughout her own formative years by her sister Lily, one of the greatest witches Britain had ever produced. Fearing magic, and her nephew's growing magical power, she denied Harry not only the opportunity to express his grief and sense of loss, once he was old enough to experience those, but the knowledge of his place in the world, and the challenges that he should be preparing to face.

He remembered discovering his parents looked back at him when he looked into the Mirror of Erised. He thought of the times they had appeared to him, summoned from the realm of the dead only in his most dire times, looking into the face of Death, when there could be no other resolution, but to will himself to live, or to die. He thought of his success in the world of British wizardry following Voldemort's defeat, the Order of Merlin, First Class, his steady rise in the Ministry of Magic, until he had become the youngest Head Auror in history, with a strong likelihood he would repeat that when promoted to Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

It wasn't all triumph. Affairs of the heart were not, he had to admit, Harry's forte. He had, in fact, stumbled, failing miserably, at every opportunity.

He thought he was ready to settle into domesticity with Ginny Weasley, only to discover his vision of meeting the challenges of wizarding law enforcement while being happily married did not match Ginny's, who finally informed him she did not fancy seeing her husband going off to work every day not knowing if a wizard with an old grudge would get the better of Harry in some London alley, or if a wizarding domestic dispute call would go haywire, taking the disputants and her husband with it.

Harry had tried comparing Ginny's quidditch career, which came with its own risks, to his responsibilities, but found her unreceptive. Then things went beyond unreceptive. By the time they had exhausted their frustration with each other, it was clear they were long overdue for a break, if not a breakup.

Sitting on the bench, Harry thought about his future. His parents had married not long after leaving Hogwarts. He had come along fairly soon afterwards. If that was the standard, Harry was falling behind, not a sensation with which he was familiar. As the leaves drifted down from the deciduous trees, Harry mused on the annual reminder of the fleeting nature of time.

"As if I need reminding," Harry thought.

Harry, the orphan, found being with families such as the Weasleys close to heavenly. He had missed out on that when he was growing up, and he longed for a stable life with someone to love, who would love him back, who would enfold him in that warm blanket of affection he had seen and envied among his friends.

Bill and Fleur Weasley, Neville and Hannah Longbottom, Ron and Hermione, they had all found that someone who seemed the other half of the whole, with whom they fit so closely you couldn't imagine one without the other.

On a spring evening, some weeks after their parting, Harry and Ginny had sat in the garden at The Burrow, the Weasley family home, and talking, talking, talking, had danced around the core of their issues. Enough time had passed for sitting and talking, as long as each observed careful editing etiquette.

Ginny finally said,

"Harry, I think, we were meant to find each other, and maybe to fall in love. I don't think we were meant to stay that way. I get the feeling you feel something like that as well. We both know there is something we can't get over, and that is just the way it is. Isn't it? You know it, too. Now, you leave, and go talk to Ron, because I'm going to have to cry."

It took a beat or two for Harry to absorb what Ginny was saying, but when he had done, he felt a sensation, starting at the top of his head, rolling down to the soles of his feet, and back again. It felt like a wave, or a convulsion, and when it was over, he knew Ginny was right. It was so obvious, to both of them. Acknowledging that, they could, and did, move on with their lives. That didn't make his current situation any easier, though.

"Okay," he had said then. "I can't disagree. It's so obvious, isn't it? I'll take it as agreed, we will always be this honest with each other?"

Ginny just nodded, and Harry walked back inside to find Ron.

Harry sat on the bench and pondered. Maybe it was possible he wouldn't find anyone. "Maybe that is just the way it's supposed to be," he thought, not aware he was staring at Lily and James' gravestone. In the silence of the St. Jerome graveyard, Harry heard, quite distinctly, a female voice say, "Not likely." Then more silence. Harry looked around, and, seeing no one, he cast subtle revealing spells toward every tree and structure that could conceal a person. Harry was alone.

Respects paid, filial duty performed, Harry rose and walked to the cemetery gate, overcome as he always was with gratitude, and awe, for what his parents were prepared to do for him all those years past. "Shouldn't chew it over TOO much, mate," he told himself. That helped his mood, some.

Harry walked through the village once more, returning to the little hill he often used to disapparate, because it gave him an unobstructed view of the surroundings. Just in case. When he was sure there were no muggles around to see him, he disapparated from Godric's Hollow with a slight "Pop!" back to the Ministry in London. The guard in the Atrium nodded. "Afternoon, Mr. Potter, " to which Harry responded, "Afternoon." Then it was back to work.

Harry found one of the aurors to whom he had entrusted the presumed Ivy Fletcher in the squad room.

"I'm back," he announced. "What can you tell me?"

"Sir," the auror began. "Ms. Dobbs has the prisoner in Room One. The prisoner is indeed Ms. Ivy Fletcher, an associate and relative of Mundungus Fletcher. Her identity was confirmed through an examination of her wand. She doesn't deny it, but keeps repeating she hasn't done anything wrong, at least that we can prove. Priori incantatem revealed she did cast a confundus the last time she used the wand, so the question is, whatever for?"

"Indeed. And she is in with Dobbs, excellent," Harry said.

Ms. Dobbs possessed a truly eerie degree of empathy. She was a natural interrogator. Harry had seen her sit down with street level crooks who had defeated shifts of aurors, and have them telling her their life story inside five minutes. No one had an explanation, including Harry, but he suspected Dobbs managed to somehow align her need for information with her subjects' need to talk to someone about the roots of their behavior. Harry wasn't sure if magic was at the heart of Dobbs' technique or not. He'd decided long ago that, all said and done, it really didn't matter.

"Auror Dobbs," Harry said as he entered the room. "How is our guest?"

"Head Auror," said Ms. Dobbs, standing up. "May I present Ms. Ivy Fletcher, who I understand you have met? Ms. Fletcher and I have been talking girl talk, and she says she once saw you play quidditch on the Gryffindor squad. She said you were quite good. She went away an admirer, if not a fan, and sincerely regrets any inconvenience she may have caused you today."

"Has she told you what her motivation was?"

"Indeed, Head Auror. It was a professional engagement," said Ms. Dobbs. "Go ahead, Ivy, tell Mr. Potter what you told me. You're not selling anyone out."

"And I won't, either," said Ivy. "I'm no grass!"

"Of course not, why, you could never hold your head up among the Fletchers, could you?" agreed Ms. Dobbs. "What was it you charged your employer? Ten galleons?"

"Ten galleons!" huffed Ivy. "Walk up to Mr. Potter here, cast a confundus, walk away, no one gets hurt. It seemed so simple. Don't know who they were or what they wanted you confunded for. It was a little vague, I guess."

"Ms. Fletcher, that is what self-reflection is for," said Dobbs. "We pause in our busy days, maybe have tea with a friend and talk things over. I look forward to it, because I always feel so refreshed afterwards. How are you feeling?"

"Lots better, thanks," said Ivy.

Harry inclined his head toward the door. Ms. Dobbs joined him there and they walked out of the room.

"This is not going to go anywhere," Harry said. "She appears to be losing the memory right now. She might have been confunded herself, given a little suggestion, and sent on her way. Did she have ten galleons on her?"

"No, Mr. Potter, she didn't, and I asked her about that and she couldn't remember what she had done with the money, or if she had gotten it when she took the job, or if she was to get it after. I didn't use veritaserum, but I couldn't feel any misrepresentation or obvious omissions in her story."

Harry thought his problem through. He had hauled in a fringe member of a clan of mostly career criminals, but one who put the petty in petty crime. She hadn't damaged anything except her own reputation for competence, and appeared to his most skilled interrogator to be devoid of any useful information.

"Right. Nothing useful to be gained by holding her. Put recordare totalis on her wand. That way if we bring her in again, we'll see whatever she's been up to."

Ms. Dobbs nodded, "Right away sir."

"What about the dog?"

"Ivy says it's a prop, picked up just before she left to find you. Apparently someone let her take it out for a stroll. Lots of people can't adopt a dog, but are happy to volunteer to take them out to stretch their legs. She planned to walk right back and turn it in. Just speculation on my part, but maybe she got it from a pound nearby?"

Harry hadn't heard of that before, but let it go. "Okay," he said. "Don't forget to write up your results and get it to the desk for the file. They'll be expecting a couple of sheets before you leave for the day. Good job, auror."

Harry walked back to the desk. "Hobbes checked the little guy out? Not an animagus? No sign of were-dog tendencies?"

One of the perks of being Head Auror was that the aurors laughed at your lame jokes. Aurors usually didn't laugh at really good jokes. The concept of a were-Bichon Frise was, apparently, auror-level amusing, judging by the laughter.

"Very droll, sir, very droll indeed. No, sir, Hobbes said it looks like a real dog to him. He hasn't transformed into anything the whole time we've been watching him, have you Raffles? That's a good dog," said the auror, including Raffles in their conversation.

"Okay," said Harry. "Any arrangements for his care and feeding? Apparently, he was to go back after some exercise. Dobbs theorized he came from a pound near where Ivy came up on me, but they wouldn't be open now. We can take him back tomorrow. Muggle or magical dog pound is undetermined at this time."

"Right sir," said the remaining auror. "We got a cage from Supply, should he just spend the night back here?" indicating the area behind the desk.

"Naw," said Harry. "He'd probably get lonely and howl all night. He can come with me." Harry took Raffles' rhinestone leash and left the squad room.

When he got back to his office, Harry nodded to his assistant and offered, "Got a guest. Anything come in that needs extra special attention? Because I'm not going to be here very long."

"Gringott's chairman, or chair goblin or, whatever, sends his greetings and requests the honor of your presence at lunch tomorrow, at eleven a.m., in the boardroom of the bank."

"Ragnak? Ragnak is inviting me to lunch?"

"Sir," said the assistant with a nod that could almost have been a bow. "That is correct, lunch, tomorrow at eleven, Gringott's board room."

Harry had enough experience to know that he hadn't received an invitation. He had received a summons.

The chairman of Gringott's Bank was an immensely powerful personage in the magical world. Gringott's fingers were in every magical enterprise. Wizards deposited their money in Gringott's, changed currencies at Gringott's, and stored family treasure in Gringott's vaults. Gringott's trust department managed wizarding properties for entire wizarding clans, and important contracts were often signed by Gringotts contracting officers, who extracted hefty bonds held by Gringott's to guarantee contract performance.

Harry found Ragnak's invitation on his desk blotter. Reading it, he decided he still had time to respond, since goblins really liked working late. Calling his assistant in, he said he would be going to Gringott's for lunch tomorrow, and asked if he could please get an affirmative note prepared and brought in for signature. While he waited he reread the invitation. Ragnak didn't give anything away, nor did Harry expect he would. Ragnak was a goblin. Taciturnity when dealing with wizards was compulsory, on principle.

Within a few minutes, Harry had signed off on the response, ordered his assistant to dispatch it immediately by owl, and prepared to close up for the day. He looked at Raffles, who looked back with something like awe, combined with sublime happiness in his eyes.

"I hear you guys are chick magnets," Harry said, as he walked Raffles out toward the Atrium.

Once there, he tucked the dog under his arm, stepped into one of the fireplaces, visualized his apartment's living room, and with a "WHOOSH" he was there. He put Raffles, who seemed no worse for wear after his journey, down on the floor, and unclipped his leash. The little dog trotted over to Harry's couch, and promptly lifted his leg.

Chapter Two

Kendra's Recollection of How This All Got Started

"We could talk about this for hours, dear, but I think you would be better off if I just shared something with you." Kendra Greengrass touched her wand to her temple, gesturing toward her daughter, Daphne, with her free hand. "Let me just find it…come on over to the pensieve."

Daphne Greengrass was 28, educated at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, well-traveled, and a qualified witch. She was descended from two of the most prestigious bloodlines in wizarding Britain, the product of centuries of selective breeding. Some families of British witches and wizards obsessed over blood purity, holding that magical ability only truly belonged to a child of wizarding parents. The longest unbroken line of descent from confirmed witches and wizards conveyed the greatest prestige. Duels were fought over slights concerning ancestry, referencing events hundreds of years past.

Daphne had been raised in a pureblood family, in a pureblood environment, and her pureblood status was integral to her identity. She wasn't overtly prejudiced toward witches with less-prestigious pedigrees. She'd had classmates at Hogwarts, called half-bloods, who had only one wizarding parent, and a fair number were from non-wizarding families, or muggles. The polite term for them was muggle-born.

Daphne avoided using the pensieve if possible. As magical devices go, she appreciated its utility. She didn't know of another way of getting such direct access to another individual's thoughts and memories. On the contrary, being able to directly experience an event through the memories of someone who had been there allowed transmission of atmosphere and nuance that direct reporting could not match. It was also efficient. There was no back and forth conversation, interruptions for clarification, or distractions. The genius of the pensieve was that, assuming the memory was accurate, the user was every bit as present at past events as the participants were.

Kendra Greengrass stood before the pensieve in the library of Greengrass Manor and gently flicked one of her memories off the tip of her wand into the basin. "Look, dear," she said to Daphne. "This will answer all of your questions."

Daphne didn't like the pensieve for the same reason it was so useful. She had always been wary of taking up other people's memories into her own head. That she was about to absorb, directly, some of her mother's experiences made her distinctly uncomfortable. Still, she had to know. How had her pureblood parents ever promised her in marriage to a half-blood?

Daphne lowered her face to the pensieve, Kendra standing just behind her, and felt the pensieve pull her gently through some medium, she never knew exactly what, eliminating time and space until she emerged in the breakfast room of Greengrass Manor. She saw a couple, younger versions of her father and mother, in an earnest discussion over bowls of fruit, boiled eggs, toast, and a heap of orange marmalade on the plate in front of her father.

"I just don't see why it has to be James and Lily, Kendra," said a thirty-year younger version of Fabio Greengrass, Daphne's father, as he spread some marmalade on his toast. "We're both from pureblood families, our daughter will be a pureblood, and allying with another pureblood family just makes sense. I don't have anything against James or Lily. I like them both. James didn't exactly distinguish himself academically, but he was decent at quidditch, and he did emerge, one could say, by the time he finished up. Lily, well, Lily arrives at Hogwarts fresh from Muggledom, leaves as Head Girl, widely acknowledged as one of the academic stars of our generation. Don't think I'm prejudiced against Lily. Strategically, though…"

He let the last comment hang in the air. Kendra turned her face toward her husband-her studied, neutral face.

"What?" Fabio asked. "I know that face, Kendra. You have something to say. I want you to say it. This is too important to leave anything out of the discussion. Cards face up, both of us. It is the only way we'll get it right."

"Fabio, I am your wife, and soon-to-be mother of your child. When we talk about the future, I look at what is going on around us, and I see wizardry, or more precisely, pureblood wizardry, dividing right down the middle. People we grew up with, people I thought we knew, are joining up with Voldemort right and left."

"Kendra…" Fabio began.

"Please don't interrupt just now, Fabio. Voldemort is targeting purebloods for recruitment, you can't deny it. The Malfoys, the Blacks, our sort, they're listening to a siren song. Nothing good is going to come of this, it can't. Wizards and witches are a small fraction of the population. Purebloods are a fraction of the wizards. He can't even get all the purebloods to join him. The Weasleys, the Longbottoms, the Prewitts, they all see the folly.

"This is a war, more or less, right now. If the Greengrasses contract a marriage with a pureblood family that has thrown their lot in with Voldemort, do you think we'll be able to avoid getting sucked in? Even if we do, the issue will be decided one way or the other, and we'll be seen as pureblood fanatics, Dark Army types, or at the very least, auxiliaries. Regardless of outcome, that can't be advantageous for international traders. The Continent is not betting anything on Voldemort. My correspondents say the major players will wait for the Dark Army to disrupt all the British trading houses, then hold a fire sale for the viable pieces."

"Merlin's beard, Kendra! When did you become a geo-political deep thinker? The firm pays people money to write reports that aren't as insightful as what you're giving me over breakfast," Fabio chuckled.

WHAP! Kendra's open hand hit the table. "Listen to me, Fabio!" Kendra growled.

Fabio looked up. He was not a man who was accustomed to being braced by his wife before he had finished his first cup of coffee. Before he could get a word out, Kendra started again.

"Fabio, sometimes it slips your mind that I am Kendra Davis Greengrass. Don't protest, I know you better than you think. We have joined two old pureblood family lines, and one of them is thinking it can fly with dragons and not get burned. In a few months, I'm going to have your daughter, and Lily is going to have James Potter's son. If our oldest daughter is promised to James and Lily's son, we're not going to be seen as obvious recruitment targets by the Dark Army. And, Fabio?"

"Kendra?" Fabio Greengrass looked at his wife, and Daphne, seeing him through Kendra's eyes, realized her father was seeing her mother in a way he hadn't seen before that moment.

"Look at me, Fabio. We have to do whatever we can to protect her. We can't guarantee we'll be here a year, or two, from now. There are things you don't know about Lily. We were study partners from second year on. I couldn't have added a point to our house total without Lily. She might be the most skilled witch in Britain right now, and she keeps getting better. We can't do any more for our daughter's future than to ensure Lily Potter will have an interest in keeping her safe."

Kendra Greengrass touched her daughter's shoulder.

"I think that is the gist of it, dear," she said. "We can go back now."

Daphne always experienced a moment of vertigo when she pulled away from the pensieve and rejoined her surroundings, another reason she liked to avoid using it. Daphne Greengrass did not like vertigo. She did not like feeling like she did not control every cell, every function of her body, and every emotion her psyche produced.

"Any clearer for you now?" Kendra asked. "There were good reasons, we wouldn't just commit you to becoming Mrs. Potter on a whim."

"Magic save me, Mother! Please don't do that again. Hearing Mrs. Potter once has damaged me, a second time might prove fatal. I heard your reasoning, and it was sound, I suppose, at the time. What about now? Potter seems to have settled into a life of magical law enforcement. The Potter family holdings had a rough war. Father's sources say they're either idle or destroyed. Me mating up with Potter and the Greengrass businesses mating up with Potter's are, not really analogous, are they?"

"You do have a way with words, Daphne," mused Kendra. "I can see why your father values your assistance so highly. You see the problem just as clearly, I believe. We looked to James and Lily as another layer of protection for you should we get caught in the violence, then we sailed along just fine while James and Lily paid a terrible price for standing up to madness.

"Dumbledore had his reasons for placing Harry in the care of his relatives, but the results were most unfortunate. Harry came to Hogwarts in the same bubble as Lily did. Worse, actually. Severus Snape had told Lily quite a bit, and she'd already discovered some of her abilities on her own. Petunia and that concrete head of a husband, Dursley, thought they could just distract Harry from magic and it would all go away. No one could get through to them that that doesn't work.

"Harry grew up with no idea of who he was, or what position in the wizarding world awaited him. He was the heir of centuries of culture, invention, arts, and he had to pick it up in bits and pieces. He formed his opinions by direct experience. You could put Draco Malfoy in context when you were both eleven because you had eleven years with your father and me, years of conversations, you asking questions, us answering, explaining why a Malfoy held opinions or acted a certain way. Same for Weasleys, too, for that matter. Harry must have been so lost. Lily and James seem to have passed along their best, though. He has done well. Far better than most expected he would do.

"Still, the problem remains. You are under an agreement. So is Harry. You didn't form any ties at Hogwarts, so he is, it seems, barely aware of your existence. This is not a firm foundation for any sort of mutual enterprise."

"Mother, in case it is still unclear, a mutual enterprise with Harry Potter does not interest me," said Daphne.

"I know dear," Kendra replied. "But there are going to be ripples spreading out from this, whatever we do. We promised you to Harry to protect you, and provide for you, in case, we, well, as you saw. In case we were no longer around. By doing that we thought we were putting some measure of protection around the Greengrass family and its various holdings. If the worst happened, there was a chance you and Harry could build something out of whatever was left. The present situation does not make a good fit with the ideas behind the agreement. You don't need Harry, he doesn't need you, the Greengrass business interests have done well since the war, and recovery is more or less complete. The formal arrangement we made with James and Lily doesn't seem to have any relevance."

"Except it does," said Daphne.

"I was just putting some things away in your room," Kendra remembered. "I noticed something in there that says it very much does."

Chapter Three

Don't Take #12 Grimmauld Place Lightly, If You Know What's Good For You

Harry Potter awoke to the sound of a rooster crowing. He swung his legs over the bed. When his feet hit the floor, he said, "Thank you, please go back to sleep." That was his system for making sure he didn't go back to sleep. Feet on the floor, tell the rooster to shut up. Get up, walk to the kitchen, start the coffee maker, walk to the bathroom, shower, shave, brush teeth, back to the kitchen, pour a cup of coffee, walk to the bedroom, get dressed, back to the kitchen, turn off the coffee maker, rinse cup and leave in the drainer, walk to the living room, take the floo to #12 Grimmauld Place, London.

Harry Potter was an Auror with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement of the British Ministry for Magic. He owned a townhouse at #12 Grimmauld Place but chose not to live there full time, because, frankly, the place was too big for one person and it kind of creeped him out. He liked to keep his apartment because it was so manageable. That was where the enchanted rooster statuette resided. He had brought it to #12 once when he slept there and the rooster couldn't crow in the morning. He took it back to his apartment and it worked just fine. No one could find anything wrong with the rooster. He asked his friend Hermione Weasley, nee Granger, what she thought the problem might be. Hermione knew much more than Harry knew about witchcraft, and what she didn't know, she knew where to look it up.

"Spell." Hermione said with some air of finality.

"This is so ironic," Harry said, "but that is the part I'd already figured out. What are the probabilities?"

"Harry," Hermione said, with a good bit of frustration in her voice, "#12 has had the Black family in residence since I don't know when, but at least as far back as the thirteenth century. The Black family loved its mischief. Look at the family tree tapestry and count the portraits that have been burned out. The Noble and Ancient House of Black kicked people out who weren't up to their standards, those being largely based on mischief, by whom, how much, and most importantly, how serious was it?"

"Now," Hermione continued, "if you took a rooster alarm clock to #12 and it didn't function, and then you took it someplace else and it worked fine, I would venture to guess #12 didn't want a rooster alarm clock on the premises, and I would back off and leave it alone before #12 took umbrage and something really unfortunate occurred. Why don't you ask Kreacher for wake-up service next time you sleep over? He gets cranky when he's underutilized."

Harry had reconciled himself to the fact that he would not have the use of his chicken statuette at #12 whenever he stayed over. The Noble and Ancient House of Black, the male bloodline of which was now extinct following the death of Harry's godfather, Sirius Black, had expressed its desire to remain crowing rooster statuette-free.

It was Sirius Black's untimely death at the hand of his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, that caused the handsome townhouse to become Harry's property. Unmarried, childless Sirius had willed his earthly possessions to his godson, Harry. Although the bequest was a bit out of the ordinary, when reviewed by the Ministry for Magic, it was found to be legal and binding. Harry inherited the house, as well as Kreacher, the house elf bonded to #12, the responsibilities of Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Black, a signet ring he feared wearing as he suspected it was thoroughly and irretrievably cursed, and some ancient rights to conduct activities including the sale of cockles, barnacles and scallops at a market on a Black estate in Cornwall.

Harry knew he had put too little time into his personal business. On the other hand, he had a secure job with the Ministry of Magic, wizarding's equivalent of civil service. Unless dismissed for cause he had his job until he retired, after which he would be paid a pension until he died. Of course, an auror could die in the line of duty, in which case his personal business would be moot.

Harry's life to this point had been too chaotic to allow him to do anything but cope. Voldemort had hunted him relentlessly, finally getting what he wanted, a one-on-one shootout with Harry, only to lose in the most spectacular fashion. Harry had gone on to auror training and a career with the DMLE, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. That had its own demands, and Harry found the work compelling. What little free time he had he spent with friends, or practicing forms in a dojo he created in an unused room upstairs at #12. He could spend hours polishing his technique in front of the mirrored wall that he had installed.

After owning the house for almost a decade, Harry was beginning to understand something of its power. He had been working out in the dojo for months when he started building on his auror training, developing forms for battling multiple opponents simultaneously. One day he got into his stance to begin his forms, and found three enchanted mannequins had materialized in the dojo. Harry raised his wand, and the mannequins did the same. He cast a spell at one, blocked the second, and stepped out of the way of a bolt of blue light from the third. The mannequins were the aggressors, then went over to defense. When Harry defeated them two or three times in sequence, they changed tactics, or got faster, always forcing him to exceed his last effort, or suffer a blast from a mannequin's wand.

After the second workout with the mannequins, Harry was hooked. He didn't know exactly how, but the dojo anticipated his needs. When he sensed he needed more work on responding to a single opponent, he faced a single, highly skilled duellist. The opponent was always just a little bit faster, more nimble, more accurate with his wand placement. The dojo even seemed to have a sense of humor, as one time it sent ten beefy mannequins with clubs, chains and steel-toed boots after Harry, in the kind of attack one might expect from a street crew that preferred brawling to wand work.

The next time Harry came to #12, Kreacher met him at the door. "Good afternoon, Master Harry," said Kreacher, "and welcome. Kreacher has just made tea, which is waiting for you in the kitchen."

"Thank you, Kreacher, that is the best news I have had all day. What kind did you make?"

"Master Harry's favorite, of course," said the elf. "From the chest you brought home from India."

Harry didn't ask how Kreacher knew he would stop at #12 after work, or how he knew when to have the tea brewing.

After taking a sip of tea, Harry said, "Perfect as always, Kreacher. My favorite tea in my favorite tea cup."

"Master Harry is very kind for saying so. If Kreacher may, Master Harry, Kreacher wishes to ask if the new arrangements in the dojo are satisfactory?"

"Kreacher, did you arrange for the mannequins?" Harry asked.

"Oh, no, Master Harry, #12 caused those to appear, as it appeared the Head Auror had need of them."

"Well done, then," Harry answered Kreacher. He looked about the kitchen, adding, "Well done indeed."

Chapter Four

A Very Informative Lunch

Harry spent the morning in typical fashion, approving documents sent to him for clearance, reviewing crime reports, attending a planning meeting. He was unable to give any of it his full attention, because he could not stop thinking about his upcoming lunch with the chairman of Gringott's Bank.

The morning dragged by until, finally, it was time to leave. Harry told his assistant he was going, and wasn't sure how long lunch and whatever business Ragnak wished to discuss would take. When Raffles was safely housed in the cage behind the desk in the squad room, Harry took the floo system to the Leaky Cauldron. He saw Hannah Abbott behind the bar and gave her a wave, then went out the back door and the entrance to Diagon Alley. Once inside Gringott's, Harry looked around for a goblin so he could ask for directions to the board room. Before he could act, a goblin in a dark suit appeared at his elbow.

"Ah, Mr. Potter," the goblin began. "May I introduce myself? I am Anvil, Chairman Ragnak's assistant. Allow me to take you to the chairman's office, if you'll just come this way?"

Harry fell in step with Anvil, passing from the lobby with its teller cages through a door that opened into a hallway that appeared to be composed of heavy, closed doors, all with brass plaques indicating whose office each was. The goblin kept up a steady patter of, "How did you come, ah, by floo to the Leaky Cauldron, yes, it's just across the way, and how has the week gone, well? Good, very good." At the end of the hall, Anvil led the way through a door into a suite with its own reception area. Two goblins stood talking in the middle of the room.

"Head Auror," said one, turning to Harry.

"Chairman," said Harry.

"May I present the head of Gringott's trust office, Whetstone? Whetstone, Mr. Potter, Head Auror."

All assured all they were quite pleased to be there, and to meet one another.

Ragnak and Anvil shepherded Harry and Whetstone through a door that opened into a spacious room with a long table and at least twenty chairs. "Thank you Anvil," said Ragnak. "Be sure to come break us up if we run over."

It almost sounded like the goblin was trying to be gracious, Harry mused. When had he seen a goblin anything but serious? He honestly could not remember a single occasion.

Goblin cuisine was very simple, with lots of raw vegetables and chunks of meat, which most humans considered poorly cooked, if cooked at all. Lunch, therefore, did not take very long, and after minimal pleasantries, Ragnak got down to business.

"Mr. Potter," he began, "Gringott's has been handling some responsibilities on your behalf, some properties placed in trust with the bank by your late father, James, before his untimely death. Whetstone is here to answer any questions you may have if I am not able. This is a complex matter, and I will do my best to keep things as simple as possible."

"The Potter holdings came to your father following your grandfather's death. When your father attained his majority, we met with him as we are with you now. Your father was not inclined toward personally managing the Potter business enterprises. He and your mother were involved in the resistance to Voldemort when you were born. You became James Potter's heir and the properties were held in trust for you after his death, as they are today. Whetstone has a document that lists the properties."

Ragnak handed Harry a sheet of parchment. Harry gave the list a quick look. Two things jumped out.

"Mines?"

"Indeed. Goblin-operated and productive," Ragnak said, the pride evident in his voice.

"And a manor?" Harry said. "There is a Potter manor?"

"Yes," Ragnak said. "The Dark Lord Voldemort destroyed the buildings in an attempt to pressure your parents, who had refused to join his movement, but the land is still there, rented out to farmers."

"May I ask why I'm just finding out about this now? It's been a decade since I attained my majority."

"We expected you would," said Ragnak. "Following the chaotic years, and your final encounter with Voldemort, a great deal of rebuilding was needed. Gringott's itself sustained extensive damage," Ragnak paused, holding Harry's eyes with his own. "The details need not be gone over again, do you think?"

Well, Harry knew he, Ron and Hermione had gained access to the vaults, had broken into one owned by Bellatrix Lestrange, stolen an item stored there, freed Gringott's security dragon and used it to escape, nearly destroying the bank building in the process. All of it turned out to have been necessary for the defeat of Voldemort, so Harry thought bygones could be considered bygones, but, it seemed, Ragnak was informing him otherwise. Informing him pretty diplomatically, too, for a goblin.

"Go on," Harry said.

"Once the immediate damage was remediated, Gringott's formulated a recovery plan. Estimates were made, budgets drawn up and approved. Bank security was upgraded to the state of goblin security design art. Liaison issues were handled with the Ministry for Magic and the muggle treasury. Gringott's has kept careful accounts, which are available for your inspection."

He gestured toward Whetstone, who passed over a stack of parchment covered in numbers.

"A summary is here on top, but you're welcome to take the itemized sheets," said Ragnak. He let Harry read for a bit. "Head Auror, the numbers may be a little higher than you're accustomed to seeing in your personal accounts."

"To say the least," Harry thought.

"Let me walk you through the important points. Gringott's had several million galleons in damage. The goblin structural specialists took most of a year just to assess and plan the job ahead. Gringott's accepts that a dangerous artifact was on its premises, and that it had to be destroyed. Under the conditions prevailing at the time, in combination with Gringott's rules of access, it is possible that no other action would have provided a favorable outcome.

"Gringott's acknowledges that the death of the Dark Lord Voldemort, and the dispersal of his forces, was in everyone's best interests, including those of the goblins. In recognition of its responsibilities, following months of internal meetings, discussions with its legal counsel, et cetera, Gringott's made a decision to divide the costs evenly between yourself and the bank."

Harry must have given something away as Ragnak hurried on.

"Your vault was untouched, as we knew you would have expenses until you established yourself in some job or profession. Do you enjoy your work as an auror, Mr. Potter?"

"I do," said Harry. "Is that relevant?"

"It could be,' said Ragnak. "If I may, goblins were despatched to assess the Potter properties held in trust for you. The mines were in good condition underground since Voldemort had contented himself with destroying the surface buildings. Goblin miners do not concern themselves with affairs above ground, so the mines were back in production almost immediately. The operations are fully restored and you are welcome to inspect them at your convenience."

"Gringott's restored the management function at Potter Manor and the rents are paid promptly. The buildings were rubble, and the rubble has been cleared away. If you wish, you may rebuild, or convert the site of the manor to some other use. Gringott's will be happy to make its management consultants available at a favorable rate."

"This is all very interesting, and a real surprise, but why am I here today? Why now, and not five years ago?" asked Harry.

"Inquiries as to your whereabouts came back negative, initially. The trust department took over the property recovery efforts, anticipating your return, and by the time you were again available for consultation, the budgets were locked in, and a decision made to stick to our course, one could say."

"You have been given a great deal of information, and it appears to have been completely unexpected. Let me assure you, Mr. Potter, if, after reviewing Gringott's work, you wish to take issue with a Gringott decision or accounting practice, we are at your disposal. Now, I must show you just one additional document. This," Ragnak accepted a parchment from Whetstone, "shows a summary of the income from your various enterprises. Manor, here, mines here, and some passive investments Gringott's trust department made on your behalf with some occasional surpluses. Projections for out years are shown here."

Harry reached for his glass of water and took a swallow. Then he took several more swallows. Feeling he had gotten control of his voice, he said, "Gringotts' reputation for sound management is well-deserved."

Ragnak and Whetstone seemed pleased to hear that, for goblins.

"I will need to schedule some trips to look at the properties," Harry said. "And I'll want to look at these at some length. I won't pretend I don't mind that these decisions were taken without me. I do grasp that everyone was under extreme duress at the time. If I accept the decisions, and the accounting, have I discharged my debt for the damages?"

"Absolutely. Gringotts doesn't expect a single knut in addition to what is shown on the parchment before you. Should you wish to continue with Gringotts management, we can discuss terms. I think you'll find the bank can do very well for you. Which leads back to my question about your job. You don't have to make any decisions at the moment, of course. I think it is safe to say you will not have financial concerns for the rest of your life, whether you choose to work, or not."

Ragnak had taken the Head Auror by surprise. Harry sat staring ahead. He had thought he was a poor relation, an embarrassment to his family, until he was eleven years old. Then Hagrid had taken him to Gringott's for money for school supplies and uniforms, and he learned his parents had left him a vault with a substantial amount of gold. After the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry had entered auror training, eventually earning a respectable salary. He liked being an auror, and he thought of his vault as a nice backup, managed to live on his pay, and put a little aside each month. The vault, however, was small potatoes in contrast with his holdings. One thing he knew for certain, though-he couldn't make any decisions right away. This was going to require careful study.

Ragnak looked up as the door opened and Anvil looked in, giving Ragnak a nod.

"Thank you, Anvil," Ragnak said. "Just one minute. Mr. Potter, if we can gather these up I'll see that they're bagged and will be ready to take with you when you depart. There is one more matter that Gringott's is obliged to bring to your attention, and it would be better if these aren't here just now."

"That's some indirection," thought Harry. "Worthy of a Ministry man. Wonder what else he's got up his sleeve?"

Harry sat, waiting for the next meeting and wondering what could top the last one, when Ragnak cleared his throat.

As Harry turned, Ragnak said, "Miss Greengrass, this is Mr. Harry Potter."

"I know who he is," said Miss Greengrass. "How could I not? We were in the same year at Hogwarts."

Harry should have been speechless, but some instinct, or bit of auror training, kicked in and he managed a "Yes, of course. How very nice to see you," before reverting. With some effort, he forced the corners of his mouth to turn up in what he hoped looked like a smile, because he had no idea who the beautiful woman was who stood before him. Harry tried not to be too obvious about it, but the perfectly coiffed blond hair, business suit, color coordination including shoes and nail polish, would have made an impression on the least impressionable observer. To top off her coordinated appearance, the woman had eyes, blue, shading toward gray, that reminded Harry of a photo he had seen of a glacier.

"Mr. Potter, this is Miss Daphne Greengrass" Ragnak said. "Please, everyone sit down. Anvil, I think we need some tea, and another pitcher of water, please."

Once everyone was seated, Ragnak began again.

"Miss Greengrass, Mr. Potter, Gringott's Bank fulfills many functions in the magical community, or communities, of Britain. Among those is a kind of stewardship, very ancient in nature. So ancient, in fact, it can't be determined exactly when, or even why, the practice began. I'm speaking, of course, of our custodial function for marriage agreements between the older, more traditional families."

"Such an agreement exists between the Potters and the Greengrasses, concerning yourselves. May I ask if you were aware of that fact? Because in Gringott's experience, such agreements are usually acted upon, or abrogated according to agreed-upon terms, by the time the parties attain your respective ages."

Daphne spoke first. "Of course I'm aware of it. I can't remember NOT being aware of it. As for not acting on it, Mr. Potter might have something to say about that since he has, quite pointedly, not spoken a single word to me since we attained our majorities."

Harry was unable to speak. He was unable to formulate thoughts. Head still spinning from the previous meeting, this news had tipped him completely off balance. Daphne Greengrass had been a vague presence in school, one of the mass of students whose name would appear on a roster, or who would be in with the other Slytherins for a joint section with Gryffindor. Harry thought to himself,

"I WAS a bit distracted dodging a Dark Lord and an army of minions during our school days and did not expect to live to see my seventeenth birthday."

He decided to save that thought, as it might come in handy at some future time.

"I assure you, Miss Greengrass, I would have gladly spoken, had I any inkling such a relationship existed between uh…our families." Harry's mind whirled. He needed more information. He was at a serious disadvantage. What did Daphne want? What did the Greengrass family want? What did the goblins want?

Turning to Ragnak, Harry said, "I am completely in the dark, Mr. Chairman. I'm an orphan, and I had no parents, or grandparents, so I was never informed. This news is a complete surprise, I assure you. Do I need legal representation? Is the agreement in written form? Am I allowed to read it?"

Daphne Greengrass rolled her eyes. Then she clucked her tongue, "Tchk, Mr. Potter."

Then she sighed.

"Mr. Potter. If you're looking for a way out, just say so. The chairman already said agreements can be abrogated. Our parents were friends before we were born. They were living in troubled times, which have settled down quite a bit, thanks in great part to you, and were just trying to hedge our futures a bit. Walk away, and you and I are none the worse for wear."

"May I suggest," asked Ragnak, a rhetorical question, for he was the chairman of Gringott's, and muggle ministers listened when Ragnak spoke, "that Mr. Potter be given a chance to become informed, for which Gringott's will supply a copy of the agreement. Gringott's experts will be happy to assist with any technical questions. Then when all are comfortable, the families can take a decision. If that is sufficient for now, and Mr. Potter most certainly should not be making decisions in his current state of familiarity with the issues, Anvil can make Miss Greengrass comfortable just outside. I need one more word with Mr. Potter, then I am at your service, Miss Greengrass."

Daphne didn't know quite how to interpret Ragnak's behavior. Goblins, especially Gringott's goblins, could barely maintain civility when a witch or wizard visited to take their gold out of their vault. The Chairman of Gringott's was at her service? How interesting.

"Mr. Potter," Ragnak began, "Gringott's has a suggestion, for your convenience, and just as a sensible security precaution, that we ask you give serious consideration. If you could just accompany me next door?"

The goblin touched the wall paneling with a finger. The panel slid into a pocket in the wall and Ragnak led the way into a small room, albeit one finished in high goblin style. There were paintings of bank officers, going back, judging by their clothing, hundreds of years. There was a fireplace taking up most of one side. Harry guessed the two remaining walls also had concealed doors in their paneling.

So, Gringott's board room had a concealed room right next door? Harry filed that bit of information for future reference. He wondered, "How many wizards were aware of that? How many aurors?"

"You are Head Auror, Mr. Potter, and that alone would justify inviting you to avail yourself of this service. However, in addition, you now head both the Black and Potter families, and you have some idea, as of today, of your additional responsibilities. Financial aspects outlined in our earlier meeting make you a possible target for kidnapping as well. Therefore, Gringott's believes it is in our mutual self-interest if you would kindly floo to and from the bank via this fireplace. You are authorized unlimited and indefinite access, any time, day or night, from any fireplace connected to the floo network. You can be accompanied by one, and only one guest, who we would prefer have business at the bank, otherwise a security measure becomes a traffic management problem. The name is Gringott's One. This door opens with a touch, here. On the other side there is a short hallway that you can follow to the lobby, and you can proceed from there to wherever your business at Gringott's takes you. Now, to depart, just give the fireplace your destination."

"Great idea, thank you very much," Harry said. "Did I participate in funding this feature, which I will assume is one of the security upgrades you spoke of?"

Ragnak chuckled, a kind of raspy gurgling, accompanied by a goblin approximation of a smile.

"We look forward to continuing our partnership with you, Mr. Potter."

Harry understood that was all the answer he would get from the Chairman of Gringott's.

Ragnak offered his hand, and Harry took it. "Thank you, Mr. Chairman, for everything. I'll look forward to following up with the trust department."

"Excellent," said Ragnak, "and, if I may, the sooner the better? There are some decisions to be made that can be made only by you."

Harry nodded, dropped some floo powder as he said, "Ministry of Magic," and whooshed back to work.

"Anything I should know about?" Harry asked as he walked through the outer office.

"Nothing sir," said his assistant. "How was the meeting?"

The assistant knew nothing about the kind of business he was doing, only that Harry had been to Gringott's.

"Informative," said Harry, which had the twin virtues of being one hundred percent true and completely opaque.

"If you'll look here, sir," said the assistant, showing Harry his daily schedule, "the minister's meeting with the smaller law enforcement group is back to 4 after being moved to 4:30, Ministry Housekeeping quarterly advisory working group is at 5, the joint shared committee with DMLE and the Department That Remains Anonymous Orally and in Writing is at 6. I will stay until you're back in case you have notes and need them turned into memos. The draft agendas and anticipated participant lists are in the portfolio sitting on your desk blotter."

"Good," said Harry. "and I'll be sending some correspondence out. Do we have an owl handy? If there is an answer back by the time all the meetings finish up please hold it for me."

Harry went into his office, half-closing the door to the reception area. That was his compromise between preferring an open door policy and recognizing that, realistically, his staff couldn't work if they sensed his presence being projected out of his space into theirs. Harry had grown used to attention, starting with his first trip with Hagrid to Diagon Alley, but since his defeat of the Dark Lord at the Second Battle of Hogwarts, he had matured, filled out, and followed an auror's physical fitness regimen for several years. Thus, when he was present, people felt it. He didn't want to negatively affect productivity, so he worked at projecting calm.

Sitting down, Harry opened a drawer and began thinking cards, parchment, and envelopes. He kept a varied stock of such material in an organizer drawer, from informal notes with his monogram, to Ministry parchment with his full name, titles and honorifics. Harry took his time over protocol, because his position required it. For him, though, there was already the additional burden of knowing that anything related to him, signed by him, or of which he was the subject might be saved, squirreled away, even passed on to heirs. Some unreducible fraction of the wizard population seemed to be in perpetual motion, one-upping peers, 'discovering' links to illustrious wizards in one's genealogical ascendants, and seeking to forge connections to contemporary celebrities.

Witches had their own pecking orders, but they were much more informal than wizards' and seemed to value age above other considerations. Harry had met more than one grande dame pushing 200 who appeared to believe, more strongly by the day, that vast age conveyed vast, unquestioned authority before which every knee must bend. Wizards, on the other hand, kept collections of archived organizers, personal and business cards of all types, invitations to balls, weddings, country house weekends, and frou-frou that, sometimes, defied categorization. Thus, he was beginning to be very careful about just what he wrote, sent, and signed.

Harry selected a card, printed on the front in a busy, yet dignified, reasonably legible, goblin-cast typeface:

"Harry Potter

Order of Merlin First Class

Head Auror

Harry opened the card and wrote, "Miss Daphne Greengrass, Greengrass Manor," then he dropped down, as close as he could estimate, three lines, and began, "Dear Miss Greengrass, I hope I did not appear cold or distant today. The meeting was a surprise. The content was a delightful surprise. If possible, I would like to take you to lunch at a time convenient for you. You have known about this longer than I, and have much more knowledge and grasp of context, and I'll find your views most valuable as we decide what to do.

Sincerely,

Harry Potter"

Harry read over his note. No spelling errors, no missing words, a tentative invitation, warm tone, and completely non-committal. Perfect. Harry got up from his desk and handed the note card to his assistant.

"Please send this out by owl to the party in the address line. I'll be taking the portfolio you left and doing the meetings back to back."

The meetings, oddly enough, were interesting. The smaller law enforcement working group participants were nearly all interested in Harry's mystifying encounter with Ivy Fletcher. It made no sense, which made it interesting, because no one, including magical career criminals, goes to that much trouble without a motivation. That was the mystery: no discernible motivation, certainly nothing worth the risk of a Head Auror's reaction to seeing a paper cup morph into a wand. That could be fatal. Discussion went around the table, theories were proposed, dissected, and discarded. No conclusions were drawn, and the way forward was best described as "Keep an eye on it, let's wait and see."

Ministry Housekeeping quarterly working group was one of those that went through phases as members came and went. Some offices nominated underutilized officers who needed to apply themselves to something measurable lest they have nothing for subject matter when it was time for their supervisor to draft their evaluations. Other offices had permanent conflicts with the housekeeping function and delegated their most skilled wheelers and dealers, who attempted to dominate the committee through alliances, flattery, puffed out chests, and any other tactic they could think of, to gain an advantage for their sending office, to secure better trash pickup, hotter water in the bathrooms, lower costs for services, Ministry Housekeeping-provided tissues, and the gamut of every activity or commodity they thought Housekeeping could do better.

The current Ministry Housekeeping quarterly working group agreed on one thing: they should not leave a knut in the small account they were provided for refreshments. Thus Harry looked forward to the quarterly meetings, because the refreshment committee also unanimously agreed, that a 5 o'clock meeting, in order not to be a deadly peril to the membership of the working group, should not be entered into without providing butterbeer and assorted savories for all in attendance.

Harry had no notes from his final meeting, the joint DMLE and Department That Remains Anonymous Orally and in Writing shared committee, because notes could be taken, but were not allowed out of the room. Participants could raise issues, discuss them at length in the committee, disagree with policy, challenge regulations, and rest assured their views would be respected even if the consensus of the meeting went the other way. When the meeting adjourned, any notes made during the meeting were collected in a brown paper bag, put in the fireplace, and incinerated. No one was allowed to leave the room until the highest ranking member present personally checked the ashes and declared the notes to have been destroyed. No one seemed to remember the purpose of the joint shared meeting, or if they did, they didn't let on. Following each meeting, an announcement was sent to each member giving the time and place of the next meeting, and nothing more. Committee members were added, and dropped, via the announcements. As a general rule, if an officer was not invited for two calendar years, it was understood they were no longer a member of the joint committee.

Harry returned to his office a few minutes before seven. The outer office staff had all left, with the exception of his administrative assistant. True to his word, he was all set to turn meeting notes into memoranda, but Harry had no such notes from the afternoon meetings. He did have one open thread from the day, a response to the note sent earlier.

"No meeting notes, so you're done for the day. Thank you for everything."

Then, almost an afterthought, "Oh, anything back from the owl?"

"Oh, yes, Mr. Potter," said his assistant, "and thanks for reminding me, or I would have completely forgotten."

He reached across his desk and grasped the corner of an envelope that lay under a paperweight. It was a big paperweight, a lump of natural copper, double the size of one of Harry's fists. The paperweight was moving a bit, up and down, left, then right, while the envelope buzzed against the desk top.

Pulling the envelope out from under the copper nugget, the assistant held it tightly by the corner while the envelope vibrated, audibly, putting out a bumblebee-like tone.

"Ouch!" said the envelope when it cleared the paperweight, which had to weigh a couple of kilos, at least. "Where is Potter? I insist I be delivered to the Head Auror NOW, or the Minister will be hearing about this!"

"Here you are, sir," said the assistant handing the envelope to Harry. "Completely forgot about it. Good thing you reminded me."

Harry didn't know what kind of communication he was handling, but as soon as he had taken it from his assistant's hand he told him, "Better clear out, I don't know if this thing is dangerous or not. It is my personal business, though, so I don't want you getting in the way if something comes flying off it."

As soon as the assistant was gone, Harry took the envelope to his office, looking at the monogram embossed on the back flap, and the tiny, beautiful script in the upper left corner of the front: Daphne Alexandra Greengrass, Greengrass Manor. He tossed the envelope down on his desk. It immediately unfolded itself and assumed the form of a conventional greeting card, roughly four by six inches, doubled, if fully open. Without waiting for any further action on Harry's part, the card spoke up.

"NO, you can't take me to lunch to talk around this and get me to do your homework. READ THE AGREEMENT. You have a copy. Even with the Head Auror's busy schedule it shouldn't take you more than a couple of days. The Greengrass family will be in touch. LOOK FOR MOTHER'S OWL.

"Note that I have restrained myself from shouting PRAT at the close of the previous sentence, however much I might need to do so right now.

Then the tone of voice changed, and something like chimes sounded in the background:

"Most sincerely,

Daphne Greengrass"

Harry liked the sound of the close. "What was that last part?" he asked, with hope in his voice, but the card did not respond.

Chapter Six

Dreams, Past and Present

When Harry got back to his apartment it was already well past eight p.m. Normally he would have put on a sweatshirt, sweatpants, and house slippers, looked at the Daily Prophet or read something calming. Lately he had been developing a taste for travel books, making mental notes about interesting destinations for future vacations.

Tonight, however, he boiled some water for tea and sat down at his dining table with his copy of Marital Agreement, , in the Matter of Harry James Potter and Daphne Alexandra Greengrass.

Harry thought Daphne Alexandra Greengrass had a nice sound to it. He didn't know why, but he said it out loud. Then he said it out loud a second time. It sounded just as nice, maybe nicer. Coming out of his fugue, Harry gave his head a shake.

"Get a grip," he told himself.

Harry took a moment to appreciate the calligraphy used in the heading. It reminded him of another parchment he'd seen. "Merlin! The Magna Carta," he thought. "Did the goblins do that, too?"

Slowly he worked his way through the Agreement, which would have been quite easy to understand were it not for the arcane legal terms, the Latin seemingly inserted at random, and the gothic calligraphy. Wax seals, grommets and ribbons appeared here and there throughout the text. He read the agreement through twice, and gradually came to grasp the essential points.

He was not formally promised to Daphne Greengrass, nor was she to him. The signers, James Potter and Fabio Greengrass, encouraged, wished, and, truth be told, wheedled their children to become acquainted, engage in mutual support, get to know the other's family, and then, it was implied, Nature would see reason. While they weren't engaged, each head of family had, essentially, a right of first refusal on the other, with a hefty bond for each that would be forfeited to the wronged party if either married before the agreement was abrogated. Gringott's would take a commission from the payment for its trouble. The Agreement could expire, in which case both bonds would be forfeit, or extended for a mutually agreed-upon period, upon deposit of some additional funds.

"That seems fair enough," Harry thought. "We'll sit down and talk over coffee, agree on abrogation, do the needful, pay the fine, air kiss when we part and look for each other once a year at the Ministry New Year's Ball."

With that, he put the stack of papers together in their binder, rinsed his tea cup, and went to bed. As he lay there, waiting to go to sleep, Harry's mind drifted back to his meeting with Ragnak and Whetstone. Then he thought about the stunning Daphne Alexandra Greengrass. Then his mind reverted to the Potter holdings. Mines? Then he thought about Sirius, and the Black properties he had left Harry, which brought him to thoughts of #12 Grimmauld Place. Then he had another thought-Daphne Alexandra Greengrass in #12 Grimmauld Place. That was a nice thought.

Harry had always had problems sleeping, which was not surprising, considering his history. Attacked by the most powerful and dangerous dark wizard in living memory at a little more than one year old, placed with a hostile aunt and uncle who lied to him about nearly every detail of his life, thrust into a boarding school at eleven with no knowledge of his own history (while everyone at school knew all about him, or at least thought they did), dogged by his nemesis Voldemort and his followers for seven years, growing into powers he unknowingly possessed and, finally, publicly, dealing death to his enemy in single combat, Harry had an embarrassingly large stack of memories worthy of propagating sleeplessness.

When he did sleep, Harry dreamed. As long as he could remember, he had dreamt of a forest, and a stag. When he first dreamt of the stag, Harry couldn't say, but it was at the Dursleys' when he still slept in the cupboard under the stairs. For a long time, the stag just wandered around the forest, stopping to drink from a sluggish stream, or sniffing the air, or munching some moss on the forest floor. Harry couldn't place the forest scene. He was sure he hadn't been there before. He thought he might have seen something like it in a book or magazine.

The dreams continued after he started at Hogwarts, with some changes. The stag wandered out of the deep forest, which was always colored in blues and greens, the atmosphere almost twilight, into an area with thinner tree cover, and sunshine that reached the ground. The scents changed, and occasionally the stag saw other animals, although usually as they ran away through the underbrush. Harry didn't recognize one of the animals, beyond thinking it was awfully big for a cat. The big cat didn't run away as soon as it saw the stag.

Harry didn't mind the dreams because often, when he woke in the wee hours, going from sound sleep to fully awake, seemingly in the blink of an eye, he thought he had been dreaming of the forest. By the time he first arrived at Hogwarts, he liked the look and feel of the forest, which he had always preferred to real life with his aunt and uncle. It was someplace familiar as he tried to cope with life at Hogwarts. Besides, the dreams came in handy when he took Divination, and Professor Trelawney assigned everyone the task of keeping a dream diary. Several students, and even Harry from time to time, fabricated dreams to have something to write in their dream diaries. One or two students in each house found they could make a little extra money writing up dreams for others.

In his third year, Harry became aware of changes in his forest dream. Sometimes he was watching the stag go about his business, but at other times, he seemed to be looking through the stag's eyes. When that happened, he acquired the stag's other senses as well. Sounds had more, and sometimes different meanings. He could smell the forest and all its scents, the primeval system of messaging telling of birth, death, decay, growth, wet and dry, heat and cold. The first two or three times the sensations were overwhelming, and Harry woke with a start, questioning for the thousand-and-somethingth time his own sanity. Needless to say, he kept those details to himself. He couldn't think of a single person who could explain how or why a character in a dream could breathe in and identify every single life process that was underway for every plant, animal and bacterium in a forest, but he feared talking about it could get him a free trip to St. Mungo's.

In his fourth year, Harry wrote up an actual dream for Divination, in which, as the stag, he stood on the edge of a ravine, cut through rock by a small stream. The stag wanted to cross to the other side, but the ravine was deep, the sides filled with tumbled blocks of stone, and it was too wide to jump. Then the big cat appeared opposite. It lay down and looked over its paws at the stag, lazily flicking its tail. The stag and the cat looked at one another for a very long time. At last, the cat stood up, turned around and headed into the forest, giving the stag a last look and one flick of its tail, before loping off into the undergrowth.

Unluckily for Harry, he had been called upon to read his most recent dream from his dream diary to a combined Divination class of Slytherins and Gryffindors.

"Class, who can comment on the dream Mr. Potter just read to us?" asked Professor Trelawney.

No one wanted to comment, so Professor Trelawney chose a student.

"Mr. Zabini?"

Blaise Zabini felt duty-bound to uphold the honor of Slytherin House by using the opportunity to make Gryffindor look foolish, or better, weak.

"The stag is crying about The One That Got Away," he stated.

This brought forth additional, appreciative side comments from the Slytherin boys. No one noticed the Slytherin girl sitting at the back of Trelawney's classroom, who laid her arm on the table, bent over, and buried her face in the sleeve of her robe.

Chapter Seven

We Really Do Have To Stop This Or People Will Start To Talk

Harry awoke before his crowing alarm went off. He thought he recalled a dream, one without any details, just a stag walking in fog. He smiled, thinking of the fun Professor Trelawney would have had with that one. For Professor Trelawney, denizen, in her own mind, far more in the Realm of The Beyond than she was in the Mundane (her actual words), the more obscure the imagery, the more informative the dream. The absence of detail was the Beyond communicating a message, that the item that was missing from the dream was the whole point. What was missing? What if everything were missing? Everything but the stag, and the fog? All the better! Trelawney could have spoken for an entire period on the omission of owls, gold, or horseshoe crabs. She could have written a scholarly paper on the absence of trilobites. No cuttlefish in the fog? Well, there you go!

Harry started laughing. Harry's memories of Hogwarts consisted of really high highs, and the lowest of lows. Voldemort tried to kill him his first year, but that was also the year he found Ron, Hermione, and a previously unknown taste for adventure. On one hand, his life was in danger and he experienced terror, but on the other, with the help of real friendship, an experience he had never before known, he faced fear, and physical threat, and defeated both.

Going through his morning routine, Harry thought about the day ahead. He had discovered through experience the truth of the adage, "Work is therapy." Maybe it wasn't true for every single person, but it was for him, and he never hesitated to recommend it. Trouble was, the wizarding criminals of London were not generating a lot of work for the aurors. Thus, Harry did not have much hope that work alone would be sufficient to distract him from the events of the previous day.

As he shaved, Harry started drafting a mental To Do list. He had never visited the Black properties Sirius had willed him. He had contented himself with looking around #12, getting repairs made where needed, gradually developing his dojo, expelling doxies, and trying not to provoke Walburga Black's portrait into a fit of pureblood hatefulness.

Now that he knew something of the extent of his Potter inheritance, Harry knew he had to visit both the Potter and Black properties as soon as possible. He could not delay any longer accepting his responsibilities. The people, and goblins, who worked on his behalf were doing very well by him, according to the accounting data he'd been shown at Gringott's. They deserved to know that ownership recognized their efforts and would do right by them in return. Then there were the 'passive investments' Ragnak spoke of. What in the world did he own? Gringott's idea of a good investment could be at odds with the ethical requirements for public service as an auror. Very much at odds, as a matter of fact.

Then the Agreement. He would be thinking about the Agreement, no matter what else was going on. Picking up his leather satchel with the Agreement inside, he clipped the rhinestone leash on Raffles and stepped into the fireplace, saying "Ministry of Magic" as he dropped the floo powder.

Stumbling out into the Atrium, Harry nearly collided with Hermione Weasley, also just arriving for work.

"Smooth," commented Hermione.

"Thank Merlin It's Friday," laughed Harry.

"Harry, what's with the dog?" asked Hermione.

"Evidence," said Harry. "Seriously," he added, in response to Hermione's raised eyebrow. "He was taken from a suspect, who claimed she had borrowed him to give her some cover while she carried out her nefarious deed. We kept him when we let her go, figuring she wouldn't be in a state of mind to get him back safely. Plus, we wanted to check him over ourselves in case he was an animagus, but that came up negative, so we don't have any further reason to keep him. I took him home overnight so he wouldn't be lonely. Now we've spent a day trying to locate his shelter, without result. And he's spent another night with me. He belongs to someone, I can't see just leaving him at a shelter, but I don't know what to do instead.

Hermione gave him an 'Oh, Harry' look, but didn't say anything.

"Change of subject: I need a lawyer."

"Harry, you're in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. You're surrounded by lawyers."

"Wrong kind of lawyers. I need someone who can advise me on wizarding family law. Actually, it's a subset of wizarding family law."

Hermione pursed her lips.

"Harry, do you have a child, or a concubine, or something else I don't know about?"

"Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. Nothing like that. I'm a principal in a marriage agreement. Apparently, I have been one since before I was born, totally unbeknownst to me. Something my parents did with some friends, it seems. I just found out yesterday, at a meeting at Gringott's. There is a way we can abrogate it, it just costs a percentage of the bonds our families put up. I just want a specialist to look over the text and tell me I haven't missed some trip hazard or other. The goblins, you know. They'll stick to the letter of the agreement, which can be costly, if a witch or wizard doesn't explore all the possible ramifications."

"Give me an hour," said Hermione. "Who's the lucky girl?"

"Daphne Greengrass. Do you know her?"

Hermione stopped walking.

"Know her? We were in class with her. She had blond hair, usually sat next to Tracey Davis, who I think was her cousin. Tracey made noise, Daphne was quiet. Whenever you had a double class with Slytherin, she would have been in there. She was really nice, when you could get her to talk. She never once called me a mudblood, highly unusual for a Slytherin. Remember when you picked up the quill in the corridor, and asked me to stop the girl who dropped it? That was Daphne Greengrass."

"I DO remember her! I didn't even know her name, so that's why you had to help me out," Harry said with a laugh. "I didn't recognize her when I met her yesterday. In fact, I drew a complete blank, had to think fast, ad lib a little greeting. She has changed. What year did I pick up her quill?"

"Third year, late in the term," said Hermione. "Kind of an active year. Probably just got lost in the scrum. Plus, we have all grown up and changed a bit over the years."

"It would have, wouldn't it?" mused Harry. "That was around the time the Dementors almost sucked out my soul while we were subverting the course of justice by misusing a time turner while stealing a condemned hippogriff to use in springing an escaped convict. In my defense, I was not a sworn officer of the law when I did those acts which I acknowledge today were unlawful, and which I attribute to a surfeit of youthful exuberance."

"So, of course it is reasonable that it would slip your mind," Hermione assured him, "that you had a casual encounter with your fiancee in the corridor at school, after which you ignored her for fourteen years while engaging in a volatile affair with your quidditch teammate while your fiancee turned into a gorgeous professional woman of whom you were blissfully unaware. Yeah, you'll want to get out of that one, no matter what it costs. I'll get you some names, if you'll give me an hour. Good luck, Harry," she said with a laugh, "Be sure to keep us informed."

"She's not my fiancee!" Harry called after her. Then, without looking, he took a step in the direction of his office and collided with Daphne Greengrass.

"Why Mr. Potter," said Daphne, "may I ask what you are doing walking my dog on a rhinestone leash through the atrium of the Ministry of Magic?"

The first thought to emerge in Harry's reeling mind was, "Did my fiancee just confess to conspiring to attack the Head Auror in broad daylight in Hyde Park?"

His second thought was, "Thank Merlin It's Friday."

His third thought was, "She's NOT my fiancee!"

"Miss Greengrass, how nice to see you, and how fortuitous. We need to talk," said Harry. "If you will accompany me."

"Mr. Potter," said Daphne, "If I may retrieve my dog from you, I am here to attend to a minor administrative matter, to wit, renewal of a professional license. I have no time for a personal discussion with you. Besides, you are on Ministry time and I'm sure supervisory levels would like to see you settling in to another day of your legendary productivity. Did you get my response to your message?"

"I did. And such a lovely card, Miss Greengrass, it struck just the right note. I awoke this morning anticipating the Greengrass family getting in touch, whenever that might be. But this isn't about us, in that sense. It is about us, in a law enforcement sense, and I must insist you accompany me to an office for a chat. Just a little clarification."

"Am I under arrest, Mr. Potter? Because when the Head Auror insists a citizen in the midst of going peaceably about her business shall accompany said Head Auror to an office for a chat, I hear—please forgive me-words, like arrest, interrogation, and rights."

"Well, Miss Greengrass, as I understand the ethical and legal restraints, given the news I received just yesterday afternoon, concerning our personal relationship, I can't arrest…"

"Alright, Potter, magic save me, just shut up," she growled. "I'll go with you to your sit-down, just shut up out here in the atrium, will you? Reporters hang out here, and if something gets into the Prophet with your name, my name, and the phrase 'personal relationship' anywhere in the text, there will be ramifications. That will damage me. And that you, at the very least, will not like at all."

Harry didn't answer right away. Instead, he looked Daphne Greengrass in the eye. "She's taller than me," he thought. "Maybe not, maybe she's wearing heels. I wonder what that perfume is? It smells great on her. Our individual body chemistries affect how scents smell when body heat activates them, that's why cologne and perfumes smell different on different individuals. Why am I thinking about this? I might have to buy her a make up gift sometime. Flowers might be better. Can't go wrong with flowers. Does she like chocolate? She does smell good. I don't think I've ever smelled anyone who smelled as good as she does."

"Ahem," Harry began. "That probably would be a wise course of action…"

"Then may I suggest, Potter, that you stop talking and get us out of here, NOW," she hissed.

"Again, with the wisdom, right this way, ah, ah, uhhh, and just down this corridor…"

"Stop with the ah-uh. I know you know how to talk, unless chasing crooks has dumbed you down. Now you've forced me to insult you on Ministry premises. If you coerce uncivil discourse from me I will take note. This is all your fault, Potter, and the Wizengamot will agree with me."

They were soon at the entrance to a small, main floor auror office. It did not have standard interrogation rooms, as the main office did, but it did have a comfortable hold room for supporting VIP visits and meetings. Harry escorted Daphne in and got her seated, then handed her Raffles' leash.

"Can I offer you coffee, tea, water, or pumpkin juice?" Harry asked. "I have to step out and ask another officer to join us, so I can ask the folks outside…"

"Nothing for me, Head Auror, if we could just move ahead. I have a full calendar today."

Harry closed the door to the hold room and crossed the outer office.

"I need Dobbs up here right away. Ask her to bring the dog's water bowl with her, it should be behind the desk. Then I'll need a pitcher of water inside."

When Harry went back inside the hold room, he noticed Raffles' leash was no longer a string of rhinestones, but a tasteful, round-braid, dark blue leather. He resolved to get the discussion to a higher level, and keep it there.

"Gosh, this is fortuitous, I've been dog sitting the last two nights, didn't want the little guy hanging out with the overnight shift down here. That's when life gets really interesting for aurors. Is his name really Raffles? Because that is what we were told, and it looks like it suits him. He does seem to be glad to see you. Is he magical, or muggle? As dogs go, that is."

Daphne Greengrass put her arm on the back of the sofa, bent it at the elbow, and reached for a strand of hair that needed pushing behind her ear, all the while keeping her eyes on Harry's.

Harry found himself taking inventory: Navy suit, white blouse with the collar worn out and folded back over the jacket collar and lapels ("Always liked that look, but why am I thinking about this now? Dark blue nail polish. Blue! Navy Blue! She can get away with it though, can't she?), Navy and white shoes, with heels, but not really high heels. Why am I thinking about this? And why do those eyes of hers freeze me like this?

"Sir?" asked Dobbs, looking around the edge of the door.

"Come on in, auror, have a seat," said Harry. "Miss Greengrass, may I present Auror Dobbs? Auror, this is Miss Daphne Greengrass. Miss Greengrass related to me that our friend Raffles is hers. It seems our subject from Wednesday was walking Miss Greengrass' dog at the time of our encounter."

Harry redirected his attention to Daphne. "Was the lady walking the dog with your permission?"

"Yes, indeed, Head Auror, if the lady was Ivy Fletcher. She is my dog walker, and has an unfortunate proclivity for customizing Raffles' leash with rhinstones. She came to me as a patient, I try to keep her gainfully employed in the legitimate economy. That would be the legitimate magical economy. I don't know how or why she got on your sneak-o-scope, and I don't want to learn under these circumstances because I'm skating along the edge of an ethical abyss, just by having this conversation. If you're done with me, I'd like to take Raffles and begin my day, or I'll be at the office all night. And, of course, thank you for getting Raffles back to me"

Harry looked at Dobbs, who gave a barely noticeable nod while keeping her eyes on Daphne.

"Good," said Harry. "This has been very helpful, and on behalf of the auror office, I'd like to thank you for your support."

Harry stood and opened the door. "This has been delightful. If we work together again I can only hope things go half as well. This way to the atrium. Ms. Dobbs, I'll catch you back here just as soon as Miss Greengrass is safely on her way."

"Head Auror, it appears you do know how to treat a girl right, after all" said Daphne, lightly laying her fingers on Harry's arm. "Are you turning this on just for me, or is this standard auror social graces training?"

Harry looked at her and grinned, but didn't say anything.

Dobbs continued watching them until they disappeared around the corner. "Well, I'll be darned. The Head Auror is SO toast," Dobbs thought.

Chapter Eight

One Invitation, and One Mysterious Visitor

Harry got back to the auror squad room and asked the duty auror to send a message up to his office advising his assistant that he would be there soon. Then he nodded to Ms. Dobbs and led the way back to the hold room.

"Well?" he asked.

"She's telling the truth, nothing to indicate she had anything at all to do with Ivy's attack on you, or knowledge of it, unless I've lost all my empathic abilities. I don't think she could lie to you and make it convincing."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry.

"When you asked her those questions so politely, she started warming up. When you thanked her for the help and walked her down the corridor, she started to purr."

"You mean she was reacting positively to the polite treatment?" Harry asked, puzzled. He recalled being aware of the pressure of Daphne's fingertips on his arm.

"NO," laughed Dobbs. "I mean inside her head, she was, literally, purring. Like a cat? I wasn't close enough to be able to tell if she was conscious of it, or if it was coming from someplace really deep. Did you meet anyone when you turned the corner?"

"Yes, Hermione Weasley, she was on her way someplace. I tried to introduce them but they remembered each other from Hogwarts. Made me feel like a bit of a doofus, really. Why?"

"Because Miss Greengrass stopped purring, just when I lost sight of you two. She really wanted to growl and spit, I could feel her wanting to do it, and I could feel her holding it in. Took a lot of effort on her part."

Harry stood there, staring at Dobbs. Finally, she broke the silence.

"Will there be anything else, Mr. Potter?"

"Uh, no," Harry said with a shake of his head. "A short note for the Fletcher file, please. Send the whole file up with it, I still need to draft my memo on the incident. That confundus is still unexplained, which I don't like, but we don't have a motive. I don't believe the ten galleon story, either. Attacking me ought to be worth a hundred, minimum. Ten galleons hurts my pride."

Finally getting to his office to start his work day, Harry greeted his assistant and the rest of the outer bullpen. After assuring himself there were no immediate demands to attend to, he asked his assistant for some tea, and went inside. He threw the satchel on the chair beside his desk and sat down. He didn't have any meetings until later, said his calendar, so he pulled the Agreement file out of the satchel and opened it up.

"Tea's here, sir," called his assistant from the doorway. "Would you like it on the desk?"

"Yes, please. If possible, I'd appreciate twenty minutes with no interruptions while I do some reading. Unless it is Hermione Weasley. Or the Minister."

"As you wish, sir."

Harry took a deep breath. He knew he needed some wise counsel. Trouble was, he mainly relied on Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom for that commodity, and they weren't available.

Harry turned his attention to the Agreement once again, hoping that sleeping on yesterday's experiences, and reading-in, would prepare him to spot any pitfalls in the Agreement. He saw nothing to change his earlier assessment. Essentially, he and Daphne were in some kind of almost-engagement, according to an Agreement, that wasn't quite a contract, and that could be broken by either party, although at some cost. Alternatively, at any point, they could become formally engaged, which would start a 365-day countdown. They must then marry before the engagement year expired, and get the bond money back, minus Gringott's management fee.

Harry knew he needed to talk to a lawyer, but he was still waiting for Hermione to get him some specialists' names. Then there was the money.

Harry's assistant appeared in the doorway. "May I…" he asked. Adding, "Owl." by way of explanation.

"Sure," said Harry. "I need diversion."

His assistant brought an envelope and placed it on Harry's desk. Harry just had time to take note of the cool gray envelope, with Greengrass Manor printed in script in the upper left hand corner, and a "Mr. Harry Potter-Head Auror-Ministry of Magic, London" in calligraphy in the center, when the envelope unfolded itself.

"Dear Mr. Potter," said a female voice. "Mr. Greengrass and I wish to request the honor of your presence tomorrow at Greengrass Manor, for lunch, 12-4 pm, followed by some outdoor diversions, weather permitting. Dress casual. RSVP-Regrets only

Then in a personal note:

"SO looking forward to seeing you, Harry,

Kendra Greengrass"

Harry thought the Greengrass family was true to its word, they had indeed gotten in touch, and soon.

Harry picked up his wand and cast his patronus.

"I am very pleased to accept your gracious invitation to lunch on Saturday. Owl follows."

Despatching the patronus, Harry went back into his stationery drawer. He took his time over his selection. He fully expected the luncheon to end with Fabio Greengrass taking him aside for a frank talk, ending with a pitch to Harry to go along with an abrogation of the agreement, by mutual consent, minimizing the fees due the goblins and freeing the Greengrass family to seek another suitable partner for Daphne. Beyond that, he expected to welcome Fabio's suggestion. Nevertheless, his contact with the Greengrass family would have consequences. The wizarding community was small, inbred and gossipy. It was very likely Harry's interaction with Daphne in the Ministry atrium was already on the circuit, embellished, and devoid of context. Therefore, Harry had to be aware of propriety at every step.

Harry selected an ivory card with an embossed monogram. Opening it, he dipped a quill in ink, and in his best handwriting wrote,

"Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass,

Thank you for your gracious invitation, which I hereby accept. I am looking forward to meeting you both tomorrow. Until then, I remain,

Respectfully,

Harry Potter"

Harry chose a matching envelope from the drawer, addressed it to Mr. and Mrs. Fabio Greengrass, Greengrass Manor, and took it to his assistant.

"Can we get an owl to deliver this?"

"Yes, sir, right away," his assistant replied. "You asked Auror Dobbs to bring this file up, she said," said the assistant, handing Harry a folder.

"Thanks," Harry said, accepting the file.

"And Ms. Hermione Weasley sent this."

Harry accepted an envelope with "As requested" instead of an address, and "H.G.W." in the upper left corner.

"I know what this is," said Harry. "I guess I'll have to add another paper airplane thank-you memo to her vast collection."

Harry took the file and envelope to his desk and sat down.

"File first," he thought. Harry wanted to read everything the aurors had recorded concerning the incident in the park. Nothing about the series of events made any sense to him. The lowest-ranking criminal in the London magical criminal ranks attacked the Head Auror, due to an underworld contract, put out by party or parties unknown, while working as a dog-walker for a classmate who just happened to be the secret fiancee of the Head Auror.

"She's NOT my fiancee!" Harry thought.

Then the secret fiancee turned up at Gringott's, scheduled for a follow-on meeting to Ragnak's, where Harry learned of their alleged close personal relationship. Then she turned up again at the atrium, just as Harry and the dog were passing through on the way to the aurors' office. Then there was Dobbs' odd comment. Harry looked through Dobbs' statement but there was no sign of her observation that Daphne had started to purr.

Dobbs had a sense of discretion. That was good to know.

Harry wrote up a short description of the incident in the park, heavily self-editing to keep the subjective material and his speculations out of the official record. Was there a thread in there, that tied everything together? Was there a thread tying Ivy Fletcher to his fiancee?

Whatever there was, or might be, Harry decided, he wouldn't find it today. He'd have to invite Ron and Hermione over and tell them the whole thing, and see what they came up with together. That was the path to a logical solution. Harry had no idea why that was, because it defied logic, but when the three of them worked on a problem, a resolution always appeared.

"Don't chew it over too much," Harry reminded himself, as he opened Hermione's envelope. Inside was a folded piece of note-size parchment, with H.G.W. printed at the top in an intricate script. Harry reflected on his own stationery and decided he was falling behind Hermione.

"Here are some wizard lawyers who practice wizarding family law," Hermione's note said. "I did a little research and found out the field supports a substantial number of them. Who knew? Marriage agreements, of which there are various types, usually mean work for at least two lawyers, one for each family. These are well-regarded. "

Then three names.

Hermione went on: "Thought you might find this clipping of interest."

The note was signed, with a single H.

The clipping was from the Daily Prophet, but Harry didn't see a date. There was a photo, of Daphne in academic cap and gown, clutching what could have been a diploma, with her parents to her left and another young woman on her right. The caption read, "Mr. and Mrs. Fabio Greengrass and Ms. Astoria Greengrass recently attended graduation ceremonies of their daughter, and sister, Daphne, held at a muggle university in London, where Ms. Greengrass was awarded muggle degrees in medicine and philosophy."

The rest of the day was a welcome distraction. Aurors brought in suspects, or confirmed miscreants, reports flowed up to the Head Auror, investigations were updated, there was a retirement reception for a senior auror who was moving to an island in the Caribbean to take up a position at a regional magical law enforcement academy. In fact, Harry didn't think about the case file, or Hermione's much-too-interesting note and clipping, until he got back from the reception.

As he cleared his desk in preparation for leaving for the day, another distraction arrived via his assistant, who looked in and asked, "Do you have time to see a Mr. Zabini, or should I schedule him for some time next week?"

Harry looked up.

"Zabini? Blaise Zabini?"

"Yes," said his assistant. "He said that he knows you and needs a few minutes for some unspecified business."

"No point putting it off, send him in, and go ahead and start your weekend. I'll close up. See you on Monday."

"Thank you, sir, here is Mr. Zabini," the assistant said, opening the door.

"Head Auror," said Blaise, flashing a dazzling smile. "Delighted."

"Blaise," said Harry, extending his hand. "It has been awhile. To what do I owe the honor? Oh, before we start, water, tea, something stronger?"

"I wouldn't object to a glass of water," said Blaise. "I have just the tiniest bit of business to touch on. Something stronger will have to wait for another opportunity."

"What have you been doing since Hogwarts?" asked Harry as he fetched the water. "Not long after the battle, you just disappeared. Not the only one, of course, and I'm not getting judgmental, no offense meant."

"None taken. By fifth year I was starting to think I might want to try life in the muggle world. The horizons are so much wider, of course. I ended up doing just that. Still, I recognized the value of knowing as much magic as I could absorb, so, sixth and seventh year, I really tried, academically. Seventh year, the quality of instruction fell off in some classes."

Harry burst out laughing. Once started, he couldn't stop. All of what should have been his seventh year flashed through his mind at once. Nagini's attack, getting caught by Snatchers, seeing Peter Pettigrew killed by the artificial hand Voldemort had given him, breaking into, and out of, Gringott's, living rough through a British winter, and the terror of hunting, finding and destroying horcruxes, not to mention that final, bloody battle. Yes, the quality of instruction had fallen off, but it had been replaced, with some serious vocational training.

"Blaise, that is the best description of seventh year I have ever heard, from anyone. You've made my day. So, what did you do afterwards?"

"After the fight started, no one stayed to watch us in the dungeons, so I came back upstairs. I had my wand, but of course everyone inside the castle assumed I was with the other side, so I put it away and made my way to Madam Pomfrey and offered my services. I started transporting casualties to her, she'd treat them, and I'd go out and look for more, get them to her, do it again. Had to move a couple of dead out of her aid station. People we'd been in class with. What a shock for a kid. I wasn't quite eighteen yet."

Blaise looked at the wall above Harry's head, but his eyes said he was looking through the wall at events long past.

"I was one of the ones who stuck around, after you killed Voldemort, and helped with the cleanup. We had the major rubble gone in a few days and started on the structure. It went pretty fast. Magic, of course. I could use my wand again, which was nice. The castle did some of the repairs itself. The typical witch or wizard doesn't see that very often, so I appreciated the opportunity. There were a few off the wall personal comments, anti-Slytherin, you know, but I could see the commenters were just speaking from habit, same as some of the reflexive detritus I'd been hearing for years in the Slytherin common room.

"Slughorn was there, pitching in, and he was throwing out orders and keeping all the Slytherins pulling together and focusing on mutual support. Watching that old man operate changed my life. We kept working and it wasn't long and the other houses were back in their customary role, trying to catch up to Slytherin. Like old times, without the bitterness. Amazing what having a common goal does for people. I think I even won McGonagall over, eventually, but don't tell her I said that unless she says it first."

"After a few weeks, things were pretty well in hand and I executed the plan I'd had since sometime during sixth year. I was of age, in good health, no problems in my past, drugs, arrests, that sort of thing, and I joined the army."

"The army?" asked Harry, the surprise in his voice obvious. "You mean the British Army? The Muggle British Army? Blaise…"

He was literally at a loss for words. No wizard joined the muggle army. Not that it was unheard of. There were, in fact, several cases during both World Wars, but they were very controversial. The general belief among wizards was that wizards should not take part in muggle public affairs, in accordance with the International Convention. Discovery of wizards among soldiers, it was believed, would cause grave danger to wizardry worldwide. Therefore, while they would often duel one another over the most trivial matters, wizards were, for the most part, strictly neutral pacifists when it came to fights in the muggle world.

"I know, how crazy is that? But I had to get away from my mum, so I signed up, put my wand in a safe place, and became Private Blaise Zabini. I marched, I fired all kinds of muggle weapons, I did physical training until I dropped, slept on the ground with nothing between me and the stars but my sleeping bag, talked on these little muggle wireless sets, and basically had a fine time soldiering. I took it seriously, tried really hard in all the classes. Trying to follow Slughorn's example.

"I guess the study habits from those last couple of years at Hogwarts paid off. Eventually, I was promoted, then promoted again, then I was identified as officer material, finished at the top of that class, was commissioned, and so on. Then I got hurt. I'm fine, now, but I can't meet the physical standards for the infantry anymore. Even went to St. Mungo's when I was on convalescent leave to give them a go, but nothing to be done. Going to have a tricky leg on one side forever."

"What are you doing now?" Harry asked. "Maybe you can pass the physical exam for an auror?"

"Oh, thanks, but no, I'm not here for that," Blaise said with a chuckle. "The army was very generous, let me convert from infantry to intelligence and continue as a reserve officer. That's my part-time job. In my full-time job, I'm a consultant."

Harry was starting to get the idea. He kept his eyes on Blaise, and tried not to blink when he asked,

"I see. Is the Minister familiar with your consulting firm, by any chance?"

Blaise gave the slightest of nods, while he held Harry's gaze.

"And the business you wanted to discuss, do I need to use this on the room?" Harry asked, indicating his wand.

"If you don't mind, it would be for the best."

Harry stood up from his chair. He flicked the wand toward the door, and a series of clicks sounded. He continued, flicking the wand at all four walls, the floor, and ceiling. He finished, standing in the center of the room, moving his arm, fully extended, in a series of arcs, up, down, and sideways, while Blaise watched.

"Not a word. I am seriously impressed," said Blaise. "Okay, business. As Head Auror I expect you must have been briefed on some of this, but bear with me. Muggles and wizards coexist, blissfully ignorant of one another, because wizards and muggles have experienced difficulties in the past. Nevertheless, some intersections of muggle and wizard societies are inevitable, and liaison channels exist to facilitate that. The squib community plays a role in this because a wide range of magical consciousness appears in squibs, even though magical abilities do not manifest, making them ideally suited for some in-between-ish jobs. Your neighbor Mrs. Figg, for one, could see the dementors who chased you and your cousin."

Harry sat up with a start. "How did you…"

"Harry," Blaise said, with a dismissive wave, "you're the subject of study in some quarters. Not A subject, THE subject. And I can't say any more, so don't start with 20 questions.

"The point is, the liaison desks, in the security services, Special Branch, the odd endowed chair or two at certain universities, are sensing a little impending action. This is very unusual. The standard is, muggle OR wizarding services hear something, go to work, when they have something solid, they brief it up the chain, instructions are given, and orders flow down. Only if there is cause for concern on the other side are the liaison offices involved. If you took all the liaison positions in all the muggle and wizard services in Britain and added them up you'd be well short of one hundred. The offices are small by design, mortar between bricks, the equal sign in an equation. Nothing happens on the equal sign. It's there to keep the balance. The action is to the right and left, with the pluses and minuses and exponents, while the equal sign makes sure both sides move along as harmoniously as possible.

"That's the reason for this call. No one knows what is going on, but whatever it is, it has a foot in both worlds. That makes it potentially disruptive, highly disruptive. That is what has the policy level in the muggle and wizarding governing institutions concerned. Voldemort affected the wizards primarily, although if you hadn't stopped him he'd have executed some of his larger ideas. This is different.

"Keep your eyes open, Harry. The aurors are out on the street, looking and listening. They've got their sources. You see the reports. Just keep this in mind when you're reading. You'll recognize it if you see it. I can't tell you more, because I don't know any more.

"Now, I'll get out of here. I'll get in touch next week sometime. Enjoy your date."

"I don't have a date tonight," Harry said as he rose and walked Blaise toward the door.

Blaise turned around at the door, and stuck out his hand, which Harry took. "I meant tomorrow, at your fiancee's," said Blaise, as he exited.

Harry stood there, watching the door close. He hadn't said anything to Blaise about tomorrow.

Chapter Nine

Neville Tries To Help Harry Navigate, But Lily Potter Got There First

Harry liked his Saturdays and Sundays, although Head Aurors often had at least a few hours of work that had to get done over the weekend. Thus, he seldom went out on Friday night, unless there was a work-connected event to attend. He liked getting up early on a free Saturday or Sunday and filling the day with all the things he liked doing but seldom had time for. He liked working out at his Grimmauld Place dojo with no time limits. He could put on a track suit and sunglasses and run in Hyde Park, in complete anonymity.

He was a huge Chelsea fan, a fact that none of his magical friends knew, and liked to catch a match at Stamford Bridge, and sing Blue Is the Color at the top of his lungs with everyone else.

One Saturday afternoon, he was reading the Daily Prophet in a quiet corner in the Leaky Cauldron when Eric Clapton walked in.

"Hannah, is Clapton a wizard?" he whispered to Hannah Abbott, as she brought him another butterbeer.

"Oh, Harry," Hannah said with a laugh, as she returned to the bar.

He never knew what that meant. Slowhand did seem quite comfortable hanging out in a wizard pub, though.

Thus, on Friday nights, when it looked like he would have a Saturday to himself, Harry tended to go home to his apartment, do a little reading, drink a cup of camomile tea, and go to bed early. Then it was up with the sun and a whole day of London diversions to pick and choose from.

That was the plan, but on this particular Friday, going to bed early didn't do Harry a lot of good, for he drifted off, awakening next morning still sleepy.

Harry dreamt again of the stag. In this dream, he was observing the stag, not looking through the stag's eyes. The stag was moving around the forest. There wasn't a lot of context, just a stag, an unseen observer, and aimless movement.

Something in Harry's dreaming mind rose just to the surface of consciousness. Without words, Harry understood he was watching variations of the same scene, over and over. The stag moved through the forest, at times the deep, blue-green part, other times the sunny, less dense areas. Then the stag would see the lynx. At first the lynx was nothing but a pair of eyes and a nose peeking through undergrowth. The stag would notice it and move, just walking away in another direction. The scene would change and the stag would be moving through another section of the forest, and the lynx would appear there. Gradually, the lynx showed itself. It began to emerge from cover, to watch the stag watching back. The lynx would back up to a tree trunk or rock or shrubby plant, and twitch its tail. The stag would expand its nostrils and breathe in. Occasionally the stag would bend at the neck and rub its antlers on a sapling, down near the ground. Once, the stag raised its head, snorted through its nose, and urinated.

When Harry woke up, sunshine was backlighting his bedroom curtains. His first thought was he hadn't slept at all. Then the dream, or dreams, came back to him.

"Oh, now, that was weird," he thought. "Professor Trelawney would hyperventilate over that one."

Harry didn't want to sit around waiting for it to become time to leave for Greengrass Manor. He chose some clothes from his closet and put them out. While he was puttering about he thought through his day, as he imagined it, trying to prepare mentally for whatever lay ahead.

Harry figured Fabio Greengrass would be looking him over, as would Kendra. The Greengrasses probably wouldn't be seeking to throw him overboard at this point. Neither would they be risking Daphne's marriageability by pushing for a formal engagement with a high probability of publicly going haywire. Worst case, Harry was wrong about one of those. Best case, he could have a nice lunch with nice people in a nice manor house, and he'd add to his store of knowledge of the purebloods. He still thought the Greengrasses would, somehow, reveal they preferred to gently ease the auror out of the picture, to free Daphne up for a more lucrative, socially-advantageous alliance.

Harry's mother was muggle-born, but her skills as a witch were so impressive, few held her origins against her. His dad was a pureblood, although the Potters weren't known to make a big deal about it. The problem was, when Harry's parents were murdered, he was sent to be raised by muggle relatives who kept from him the truth about who he and his parents were in the magical world. His introduction to magic commenced when he started at Hogwarts at the age of eleven. He felt like he had been playing catch-up ever since.

Harry had gaps in his knowledge. Aware of the pureblood ideology, the belief that there was a natural class system among people with magical ability, Harry didn't understand the basis for the beliefs. There were obviously pureblood wizards who couldn't magically boil water for tea, while just as true that there were muggle-born witches and wizards, like his friend Hermione Weasley, who had once-in-a-generation magical ability. Harry had no memory of his mother doing magic, but he had been told she held the same position among her contemporaries.

Harry's experience with pureblood ideology was distorted, since the people who were most convinced of the natural superiority of pureblood wizards tended to also be the most prejudiced against people like Harry, who were half-bloods in pureblood lingo. Some purebloods were like Harry's father, not really interested in a person's ancestry so much as they were in individual character. A pureblood who was open, friendly, and ready to help another was fine, as was a half-blood or muggle-born, while by the same standard, any one of those who wanted to be a snob, or aggressive, or self-centered, was not what they were looking for in a friend.

Like all prejudiced people, the ideological purebloods tended to associate with people who shared their views. They did not reach out beyond their pureblood circle so their beliefs were seldom challenged. Thus, they never reflected on the validity of the foundations of their guiding principles, handing them down, generation to generation, while the world changed around them. The pureblood families who were most vulnerable to the seductions of Voldemort's program of pure blood supremacy and the suppression of muggles, were blind to its contradictions, its detachment from reality, because they had successfully built and maintained a psychological fortress. In the end, when Voldemort's death deprived the movement of its only reason for cohesion, it collapsed into a pile of pieces, individuals and small family groups, without a common philosophy or leadership.

Harry had worked that much out, based on direct observation, and friendships with some pureblood contemporaries, mainly fellow Gryffindors such as Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom. He was on speaking terms with his rival from Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy, but Draco wasn't a very good source on the topic of pureblood ideology. By the time Harry defeated Voldemort at the final Battle of Hogwarts, Draco's pureblood-centered worldview was already crumbling. He appeared to Harry to be conflicted, pulled in different directions simultaneously, unable to cut ties with his family, who were much more radical and committed than he was, but desperately seeking acceptance by people like Harry, Ron, Neville, and Hermione, who worked together and supported one another based on mutual respect and genuine affection. Harry didn't think Draco had worked out the contradictions even now, although he could be fun to be around, if he was in the right mood, and didn't call Hermione a mudblood anymore.

Harry hoped his lunch at Greengrass Manor would add to his store of knowledge of the traditional purebloods. Fabio Greengrass hadn't been an open supporter of Voldemort, but he also hadn't been part of the anti-Voldemort coalition, centered around Hogwarts, to which Harry belonged. Fabio and Kendra, Harry thought, might reveal a facet of pureblood life he could add to the mosaic.

Harry hadn't had time to read in on the Greengrasses since his initial encounter with Daphne. Showered and dressed, the next agenda item was breakfast. Harry took a pinch of floo powder and dropped it in his fireplace, saying, "The Leaky Cauldron." When the "WHOOSH" subsided, he called out, "Hannah, it's Harry, is the kitchen open?"

"You bet!" came the reply. "Are you coming to eat?"

"On the way," said Harry. He aimed to make up for some of his ignorance via a strategic breakfast.

Stumbling out of the fireplace that took up most of one wall in the pub, Harry saw Neville Longbottom, wearing a white apron, an oven mitt on his left hand and his wand in his right, coming out of the kitchen with plates holding a variety of breakfast items.

"Harry!" Neville greeted him. "Breakfast?"

"Can I get two eggs, scrambled, some bacon, toast and marmalade? Oh, and coffee. Lots of coffee."

"Coming right up. Sit anywhere you like," said Neville, heading back to the kitchen.

"Harry, did I hear an order for coffee from you?" asked Hannah Abbott, arriving at Harry's table. "How did you get away? You're always working Saturdays, so I'm assuming magical crime is suddenly a dying industry."

"There wasn't anything I had to do this morning. I'm hoping I don't get called in. Have to go in tomorrow though. If stuff happens on Sunday, supervision wants a brief Monday morning. The Minister will have Percy Weasley camped in the outer office, waiting for my arrival."

"That never happened!" said Hannah, laughing. "Did it?"

"Once in awhile," Harry nodded. "Not a lot, but it's not unknown. If there is a real incident, something that might splash on the muggle side of town, that could cause Kingsley to have to call on the muggle prime minister, then he'll want to hear about it from me directly, but that stuff of lesser news value can get me Percy, and, no matter how much detail we have, Percy won't quit asking for clarifications about this or that until he hits "I don't know the answer to that at the moment, but we're working on finding out" and then he does this thing where he says, "Good man, Harry, simply first-rate, now, I think I have everything the Minister will need at this stage, but I do wish the aurors had been able to flesh out that one bit, which we probably agree may prove to be the most important point of all, so if your people could just..."

Hannah was by now laughing out loud.

"He didn't!"

"Oh, he has," said Harry. "More than once."

Hannah laughed louder.

"The PRAT!" she said.

"Nah, Percy's not a bad guy," said Harry, "he's just the perfect instrument for a specific function. You can see why Kingsley relies on him. Kingsley can maintain the famous cool, majestic temperament, in the face of utter chaos, as long as he can send Percy out to the operational offices and convey the concern, not to say near-panic, on the executive floor. Percy does that really well. Not that we can say that to him, ever, he'd be crushed. I give him a lot of the credit for the quality of Kingsley's leadership, not that Percy would appreciate the way I'm putting it."

Neville arrived with Harry's breakfast.

"Oh, that looks good!" Harry said. "Thanks a lot. Is there any chance you can sit down for a couple of minutes?"

Neville looked at Hannah.

"Ah, go ahead," said Hannah. "The elves and I can handle things for a little while. I owe you for all the produce you brought in."

"Paid in full," said Neville, "for letting me work in the kitchen today."

Neville turned to Harry.

"Anything on your mind?"

"One little thing," Harry answered.

"When you say little thing…" Neville let the sentence trail off.

"Nothing like, those other, ah, little things," Harry said. "Not asking you to kill an enchanted snake or anything serious.

"Short version, I'm a party to an engagement agreement, of sorts, which semi-promises Daphne Greengrass to me, and vice versa, whereas and wherefore, et cetera, ad infinitum. I read it over a couple of times and it looks like it would cost some money for bond forfeiture if we terminate it, but that's it. I still have to have a lawyer who specializes in this stuff advise me, but that is next week. One way or the other, since it exists, I have to do business with the Greengrasses. I was hoping, since you know more about the pureblood traditions than I do, you could let me know of any taboos attached to this stuff. Like, don't accept food under their roof unless you are prepared to marry the daughter within a fortnight, or never give up your birthday because they'll use the knowledge to conjure up something you won't like."

Neville sat there looking at Harry for quite a while. Harry was starting to think he'd said something grossly offensive, but Neville finally spoke up.

"You're telling me you figure in an engagement agreement along with Daphne Greengrass? The Slytherin Daphne Greengrass from our year?"

"That's the one. I didn't even remember her. She was in Slytherin, and she wasn't trying to kill me or get me expelled, so I guess that was just too low of a profile. Hermione reminded me of one thing, but I didn't even speak, at the time."

"Any idea what she has been up to?" Neville asked.

Harry fished around in his shirt pocket before pulling out the clipping from the Prophet that Hermione had sent. He handed the clipping to Neville.

"I think I understand," said Neville. "You are engaged to Fabio and Kendra Greengrass' eldest daughter, the dazzling Daphne, who, in addition to her accomplishments at Hogwarts has earned two muggle doctorates before she turned thirty. She's a Healer at St. Mungo's, by the way. I see her sometimes when I go visit mum and dad. In view of the foregoing, you are assuming that she is too good for you and her parents will be happy to pay many galleons to throw you overboard lest you defile the finest flower of British magical society."

"Something like that," said Harry. "I'm invited to their place for lunch. I just met her again this week. We don't know each other at all. I figure it'll be gracious, we'll all agree on a couple of innocuous topics, they'll subtly suggest an auror is not up to the task of being their son-in-law, and send me away to lick my wounds for a week, then invite me to Gringott's to abrogate the Agreement and forfeit my share of the bond money.

Neville pondered Harry's words.

"First," he said. "You were too busy to notice Daphne at school. That is not her fault. Second, you didn't know about the Agreement because your parents weren't there to tell you about it, and you didn't have a magical grandmother like I did, who could break these things to you bit by bit, so you weren't overwhelmed by them, and third, just because you don't know anything about her, you are still Harry Potter, and you might be surprised to find out she knows a lot, a whole lot, about you. Don't assume she doesn't. If anything, assume she knows your brand of toothpaste. If you had had a normal magical upbringing, you would have both known about the arrangements your parents made for you from the beginning."

"As for etiquette, show up on their doorstep one or two minutes before the invitation states. No hostess gift today, we'll get you something to accompany your lovely thank you note, which you'll send 48 hours later, Monday, in this case.

"Stay away from business over lunch. Fabio has businesses, but today isn't the time to focus on them. Some of the old traditionalists think it is vulgar to discuss business during social events because it gives the appearance that you are interested in them for mercenary reasons. Of course, some of them lack anything other than business to be interested in, but they don't want to hear that from you. Fabio may not be the world's greatest businessman. There isn't any scent of trouble coming off his enterprises, but he isn't visibly investing in new acquisitions, making deals for joint ventures, that sort of thing. Maybe he's just feeling the years.

"Of course, Fabio will be doing a little intelligence gathering himself. His information on the Potters is not current, so he may try to get a sense for how well you've come through the bad years. He won't violate the "No business when we're socializing" rule, but he might allow you to do it. He'll respect you more if you keep yours to yourself. "

Harry picked at his eggs. "Mum and Dad thought they were doing me a favor."

"Oh, I think that goes without saying. My theory is both your parents, and Fabio and Kendra, thought they were making arrangements for children they might not be around to raise, thinking the survivors, if any, could manage the raising of you two. Then you reconstitute the families, as it were, in the aftermath. One thing is certain though."

"And that is?" Harry asked.

"Your mum was one brilliant witch. This has got witch scent ALL over it. Voldemort is dead because your mum was a better witch than he was a wizard. He never could see that. Couldn't even begin to grasp it."

"Well, she's dead too," said Harry, the familiar, terrible, aching sadness rising in his throat.

"Yes," said Neville. "She is, and it was a tragedy for British wizarding that she died so young. She created the weapon that turned the tide, though, didn't she? She made you and equipped you. And then she cut a deal…" Neville looked around to see where Hannah had gotten to… "She cut a deal with Kendra Greengrass so you could jump the queue for the smartest, most beautiful witch available in Britain.

"Your mum was a thinking-three-steps ahead, upper case WITCH. I heard, when she was Head Girl at Hogwarts, she basically ran the place. She's running the place now isn't she? You're just her instrument.

"Want some more? I have plenty back there. I won't even charge you."

Chapter Ten

Lunch At Greengrass Manor—Harry and Daphne Declare They Kind of Like Each Other

Harry left the Leaky Cauldron, taking the floo back to his apartment. Neville had given him an earful, and Harry was wondering if he would have been wise to take notes. Harry thought about Neville's comments concerning Lily Potter. There was something mysterious about Harry's current situation. How was it Harry became aware of his near-engagement with Daphne just when his personal financial situation was becoming so overwhelming?

The Black and Potter properties were impinging on his consciousness for the first time since Sirius' death. Harry had been freed from worry about greater responsibilities, because impending catastrophe completely occupied his attention. He'd grown so used to dealing with immediate danger that he had never developed the ability to think in ten or twenty-year terms.

First he had had the distractions of his year on the run with Ron and Hermione to deal with, then the destruction of the Battle of Hogwarts, deaths of friends and comrades. As soon as decency permitted, the Ministry, and wizarding Britain generally, began demanding his attention. Awards, recognition, remembrance days, all crowded in. He had had to take some time away from Britain, just to get his head clear, before he could make a plan to go forward. Harry had assumed he had to make his own way in the world, so he entered auror training with Neville and Ron. He and Gringott's goblins had had a touchy, arms-length relationship for the first couple of years. He hadn't even visited his vault, because he assumed the goblins would be waiting to present him with a bill for the dragon he had hijacked.

Second, Harry completed auror training and entered on duty. He worked with more experienced aurors and was assigned greater responsibilities. He didn't have the distractions he'd had previously, but he had plenty of residual demons, so he threw himself into work. He did lots of it, which brought recognition and promotions, yet more distractions.

This went on for years. Harry thought he was on track, responsibly, toward wherever his life was going. He had his social life based on friendships and alliances going back to Hogwarts, and when the past became intrusive, he increased his dosage of work.

Now he had his attention directed elsewhere, to enterprises large enough that just finding and employing competent managers, and making the big decisions, would be his full-time occupation. He had a feeling his organized life, from which he derived so much satisfaction, upon which he had worked so hard, was about to be upended, once again.

He was thinking about how it all intersected when he reached his apparation point.

Harry appeared just outside the Greengrass Manor wards at three minutes before 12 noon. He walked up to the gate that allowed passage through a high, thick hedge. The gate opened, with a squeaky hinge-like voice that said,

"Mr. Potter, WELCOME to Greengrass Manor! The stone path leads di-RECT-ly to the front door, where one of the Greengrass elves will take you in hand. We are SO glad you could join the Greengrass family for lunch today! En-JOY your visit!"

"Thank you," said Harry. "I've got to find out what makes you work."

"Oh, I have a feeling you just may do that," squeaked the gate as it closed.

Sure enough, the stone path led to the front door, which Harry reached at 90 seconds before noon. He was reaching for a fat, brass, cat-head knocker when the door swung inward, and a house elf said, "Welcome, Mr. Potter. Will you come with me please?"

"Certainly," Harry said, and fell in step with the elf.

"Master and Mistress say don't mind Miss Daphne's dog because Raffles hasn't bitten anyone for a long time," reassured the elf.

The two of them walked through a foyer floored with flagstone pavers, took the left one of a pair of doors on the far side, and continued down a long hallway. Harry had been in enough manor houses to have a mental catalog of manor house features, including portraits, some with animated subjects, some without, suits of armor, credenzas, bookcases, and ornate candelabras. The Greengrass family was no different, except they seemed to have better control of their acquisition compulsion. Harry thought the hall décor quite tasteful, only later considering it might be that way because it was closer to what he liked than most of the halls he had passed through.

The elf led the way to a pair of double doors that stood open, a spacious, sunny reception room on the other side. Harry saw four people, a man and three women, standing in the center of the room. The man broke away from the group and walked to the doorway, his right hand extended to Harry.

"Mr. Potter, welcome to Greengrass Manor! I'm Fabio Greengrass, may I introduce my wife, Kendra? And I think you know our daughters, Daphne and Astoria?"

Harry recognized Daphne. Astoria looked much the same as her sister, but instead of being blonde, she had a great pile of chestnut hair atop her head. His Hogwarts recollection of Astoria was even more vague than Daphne's.

"I'm honored to be invited to your home, Lord Greengrass," said Harry, "and Lady Greengrass. Miss Greengrass, and Miss Greengrass, very nice to see you both again."

"Mr. Potter," said Kendra, stepping forward to offer Harry her hand. "We appreciate the honorifics and your respect for tradition, but if you call us lord and lady, well, we'll have to do the same for you, and all that will get in the way of both lunch and conversation."

Harry chuckled as he reached out for Kendra's hand, holding the tips of her fingers between his right thumb and forefinger, raising it to his lips while holding Kendra's eyes with his own. He'd expected a quick, no-contact pass through the immediate vicinity of the area of his lips, only to find Kendra's hand, or more accurately, the knuckle of her right thumb, floated directly to them, giving them just the slightest brush. Harry was sure Kendra's eyes bobbled a little as she looked into his. Did she have trouble with depth perception?

"Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass it is then," said Harry. "I feel I have been embraced, and I will endeavor to be worthy of such gracious hospitality."

Daphne looked toward her sister, and she and Astoria rolled their eyes in unison. Kendra caught their exchange.

"Now, girls, allow me to experience some of the Gryffindor gallantry, it is, after all, legendary," Kendra said, smiling.

Harry looked between faces. "Dang," he thought, "did she just wink at me?"

"Well, let's get lunch underway, shall we?" asked Fabio. "Daphne, bring Mr. Potter, if you please?"

Daphne gave Harry a look. Harry smiled. He didn't know exactly what the look meant, but it was definitely a look, no doubt about it. He thought he heard a barely-audible snicker coming from Astoria's direction, as Daphne laid her hand lightly on his forearm.

Team Greengrass managed to convey Harry to a glass-topped table in a sunny corner of the sunny room, overlooking a stone patio and a long, sloping garden that ambled down to a stone fountain. Beyond the fountain was a level, closely-clipped lawn of considerable size. It gave the impression of being a playing field of some sort. Harry wondered what the Greengrass family played on the field.

"Such good luck with the weather today," said Kendra. "Greengrass Manor will look its best for you."

Harry spotted his place card, and noticed that it was next to one that said "Kendra." He pulled out Kendra's chair and pushed it forward as she sat down, then pulled out his own.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter," said Kendra. "Now we can chat."

"Mother, do you have to over lunch?" asked Daphne. "Perhaps Mr. Potter would like to start with a breadstick before you begin his interrogation."

Harry laughed. "It's quite alright. Believe me, I've had since I was eleven to get used to it. Is there anything in particular I can start with, to kick things off?"

"What's it like living, working, and running around London all the time?" asked Astoria. "What?" Three Greengrass faces turned her way. Harry was thrilled, though, because it was something he could talk about, without the conversation becoming "So, what was it like dueling Voldemort?" right from the start.

"It's fun," Harry said, "more fun than I anticipated. The work is serious and we have to take it seriously. There is a lot of it. There are genuinely bad wizards, I'm sorry to say. We have to mitigate the damage they do. Offsetting that, aurors don't spend all their time on crooks. We get involved in things like security for the Quidditch World Cup. When events like the muggle Olympics come to London, there are some very complex operations, handling the magical security side while staying in compliance with the secrecy standards. The magical security plan alone for those events takes a couple of years to pull together. Then we have to execute the plans, and when the event is over there is another one coming up and we start planning for that."

"I have to work out a lot, so that takes time. I see people I know at the Leaky Cauldron and Fortescue's. I like Hyde Park. I have a godson who lost his parents and I help his grandmother out with him. Once in a great while, some time off coincides with a Chelsea match, and I've been known to wear my blue."

"Chelsea?" asked Astoria.

"A muggle football club," said Daphne.

"Football?"

"Like quidditch, but the players stay on the ground, and they don't handle the quaffle with their hands. They kick it. With their feet. It's mind numbing. Imagine sitting and staring at dirt. Only, this dirt has people running around on it, chasing a quaffle, and when they catch up to the quaffle, they kick it. Tell me, Mr. Potter, do you equip yourself with a bunch of celery before going to the stadium?" asked Daphne.

Harry noticed that Daphne smiled sweetly when she asked about the celery. So, she had a sense of humor. He hadn't been sure about that.

"What about yourself and Mrs. Greengrass, sir?" asked Harry. "Any particular places you like in London? Or Paris, or I guess, Glasgow?"

"I like football, too," said Fabio, "but quidditch wins out for me. I recall watching you play for Gryffindor some years back. Great match, even if you did beat Slytherin that day."

Things continued in that fashion through soup, the kabobs that were the main dish, and the arrival of some small salads. Then Kendra asked Harry a question.

"Do you ever visit Godric's Hollow?"

"I was just there, on Halloween."

"Forgive me if I'm intruding," said Kendra. "We saw James and Lily there, before you were born. Lily and I were study partners from second year on. I've probably spent more time with Lily Evans than any other human being, except for my husband."

She looked across the table at Fabio, and smiled.

"You're not intruding," said Harry. "Quite the contrary. I don't have any actual memories of them. I've seen others' in a pensieve. People like Sirius, and you, who can tell me about them from firsthand experience, are rare. I appreciate, very much, the fact that you shared that with me. It was something I didn't know, couldn't know. Simple things children know about their parents are all missing for me, being orphaned at such an early age. Anything you had to tell me would, almost certainly, be new. I'd love to sit down sometime and have a dedicated conversation. You would be doing me a great kindness."

Astoria Greengrass pushed back her chair.

"Mother, may I be excused?" she looked at Harry, shrugged and said, "Duty," apparently by way of explanation.

"Of course, dear," said Kendra, turning her head, presenting her cheek for Astoria's kiss. "Enjoy yourself."

Harry thought he heard Astoria make the tiniest snorting sound at that.

"Father," said Astoria, and she gave Fabio a hug before leaving the sunny room.

Kendra looked over at Daphne and said, "Why don't you take Mr. Potter out for a look around the gardens, dear, and meet us at the gazebo in about twenty minutes? I'll have the elves serve dessert and coffee out there. It's such a beautiful day, it would be a shame to waste it, sitting indoors."

"As you wish, Mother," said Daphne. She gave Harry a look across the table, asking, "Shall we, Mr. Potter?"

"Lovely lunch, Mrs. Greengrass," said Harry, getting up from his chair. "We'll see you outside. Mr. Greengrass," Harry nodded toward Fabio.

Daphne stepped in front of Harry, opened the door to the patio, stepped through, and waited for him just outside.

"Thank-you, Miss Greengrass," said Harry.

"Not at all, Mr. Potter," said Daphne.

They crossed the patio to a set of stone steps leading down to a graveled path with flowered borders. Harry noted that a number of varieties had finished with their blossoms, but the geraniums were fully engaged, their blood-red petals and emerald leaves so intense, the colors seemed to surge out from deep inside.

"I've always liked the scent of geraniums," said Harry, before drawing in a deep breath through his nostrils. "It's so crisp."

"Mother thought you might. She mentioned it last week, as a matter of fact."

Harry pondered what Daphne had said. "Mother thought you might." What did that mean?

They had continued on down the path a bit, in silence, when Daphne reached up and gripped Harry's upper arm, hard. Harry took in a short, sharp breath, then turned his head toward Daphne. The pressure on his arm grew tighter. Daphne slowed, then turned her head toward the house. Harry saw her eyes moving slowly over the house and the part of the garden they had just passed. Satisfied that they were alone, apparently, Daphne turned her head back toward Harry, locking her eyes on his. Again, Harry felt her grip on his arm tighten. Merlin, the woman had python hands!

"Head Auror Potter," she nearly growled. "I'm going to ask you a question, and you will answer truthfully. Do you have any dishonorable plans or intentions toward my family? Are you using our parents' agreement to harm or disadvantage us in any way?"

Harry stood there looking at Daphne.

"Dr. Greengrass, I assure you I don't. I came to lunch at your parents' invitation, partly for the lunch and the chance to visit this lovely manor, but, really, I, ummm, wanted to see you again." The last part tapered off into a mumble.

"What?" asked Daphne, perhaps a little too loudly.

Harry licked his lips before focusing on Daphne's eyes. "I wanted to see you. I wanted to see YOU, again, Dr. Greengrass. And if this isn't the time to ask, you can tell me, but, what have I done to give cause for your asking such a question? Because if I have done something, you are obliged to tell me, so I don't do it again."

Daphne held Harry's eyes a little longer, then the tension went out of her face. She turned back toward the path, steering Harry with her.

"Something about you…affects Mother. She's kind of private, self-contained, always in control. She's always been like that, for as long as I remember. She's affectionate with Astoria and me, to a point. Makes us feel loved, we never doubted it, but she projects it outward, and she never, ever seems to be affected by emotion coming toward her. Our code name for her when we were little was Madame Ice."

Harry didn't know what that had to do with him, and said so.

"Oh, you wouldn't have noticed because you don't have a baseline like Astoria and I do. The woman is hot today. She's never hot. It started when you took her hand when we were all doing introductions. She has been pumping out pheromones all through lunch. She must feel like a wilted lettuce leaf. She's using her twenty minutes to change clothes, I'd bet a hundred galleons on it."

"Oh, and you can drop the doctor, please," Daphne added.

"Fine. Then I don't want to hear Head Auror again. Nor do I want to be Mr. Potter when I'm strolling in a manor house garden, on a clear autumn Saturday, with a beautiful woman, but I'll defer to you on when we make that change. And I'll see that hundred galleons."

Daphne laughed out loud. "Okay, Harry Potter, you're on! Now, how long have we been out here?"

"Maybe five or ten minutes, at the most."

"Good," said Daphne. "We don't have to hurry. The gazebo's just there."

"Daphne, I have a question I need to ask before your parents come back. What is your thinking about all this? To be frank, I expect we will have dessert, then Mrs. Greengrass will take you aside, to the kitchen, or some likely place, and your father will put his hand on my shoulder and steer me into his study, where he'll sit me down and gently give me guidance on why he and I should just pay the goblins and abrogate the Agreement. Then we'll 'see what the girls are up to' (quote signs with fingers), and we'll all say our good-byes and thank-you so much. Then we'll be standing in the foyer."

Daphne stopped once again, and turned toward Harry. She locked her eyes on his, as she had before. Time took a pause, and all the sounds in the world became silent while Harry was under Daphne's gaze.

"And?" she asked quietly.

"And," said Harry. "I came here thinking that was inevitable, maybe I was reconciled to it, but I don't want to do that. That's not at all what I want to do."

Daphne took the time to give him a little smile, before she said, "Thank-you, Harry, that is very kind of you."

They walked along the graveled path, slowly, in step, right…left…right…left, for a few more yards, before Harry spoke up.

"You haven't said whether you also expect that is what is going to happen."

They'd taken a few more steps when Daphne sighed. She seemed to be picking her words, then said,

"Life lesson, Harry: You can't expect a woman to show you all her cards as soon as they're dealt. What would be the point of playing the hand, if she did that? In truth, before you arrived, I believed Father was thinking that way. Now, though, he seems to like you, too. It's hard to tell. Let me ponder this. There may be a solution."

Harry cleared his throat. "Hmm-hmm, ahhh…Daphne?"

"Harry?" Daphne said with just a hint of giggle.

"Would you be pleased if we had an opportunity for a longer talk, just us, and some lunch, or dinner?"

"Oh, after waiting a couple of decades for you to become aware of the fact of my existence, would I welcome the opportunity for a longer talk? And a private one, at that. Oh, I might have to think that over before answering! You know, that brave, self-deprecating stuff has its time and place, I suppose, but this might be the time to tap your inner Slytherin (she gave him a poke in his sternum) and be a good bit more direct about what you want. I'll be looking for your owl, Harry."

Then, the hint of that growl, in, "Please do not disappoint me."

Harry almost said, "I'll do my best," but he caught himself.

Daphne navigated them to the gazebo just before Fabio and Kendra arrived, followed by house elves with a tray of some kind of wedges on small, delicate plates, some bowls of mixed berries, a tray with a container, presumably the coffee, sugar bowl and creamer, cups and saucers, and a pitcher of water and glasses. The last elf had a table cloth and some folded cloth napkins.

The elves were very efficient. Within a minute or two the table was set, the plates with the wedges (which turned out to be cheesecake) at each place with silverware, and the coffee ready for pouring.

"Thank-you, that will be all," Kendra said, dismissing the elves. "Who wants coffee? Mr. Potter?"

Harry looked at Kendra, and said, "Yes, please." Then he noted that the white blouse and black skirt she had been wearing at lunch had become a green polo over perfectly-tailored blue jeans. He chanced a quick look at Daphne.

Daphne looked back, and mouthed, "One hundred galleons," then pointed her finger at Harry, and back to herself. Chagrined at losing, Harry nonetheless thought the sight of Daphne pantomiming him paying up was genuinely funny, choked off the belly laugh he felt coming, and made himself cough.

"Everything okay, Mr. Potter?" asked Daphne.

"Must be the geraniums," said Harry from behind his napkin. "Do I see cheesecake?"

"Please have a seat and we'll start," said Fabio. "I do like cheesecake, and the elves have perfected it, if I may offer my opinion."

"Oh, we've been wondering," said Kendra, face straight.

"Indeed, Father, I didn't know that before today. Now we'll know what to ask the elves to make for your birthday," said Daphne.

Harry thought it all sounded like well-practiced dialog, with Fabio's proclivities providing fodder for Daphne and Kendra's indirect, deadpan ribbing. It sounded like George and Fred Weasley having a go at Percy, or pretty much anyone else who entered their field of vision. In the midst of the fun, Harry felt, as he often did in similar situations, the sharp stab of grief. He had missed out on all of those silly moments of family life, when people who genuinely like each other banter over cheesecake, or homemade sweaters, riffing on inside jokes and funny episodes of shared history.

Harry had been raised outside the magical community, except for his time at Hogwarts. Now he lived inside the magical community, where so much that happened did so because of intra- and extra-familial dynamics, blood ties, traditions, and business relationships with hidden dimensions. Harry had been given a start on understanding the sociological and psychological dynamics of the wizarding world through interactions with classmates, primarily the Weasleys and Neville Longbottom, but Harry missed out on so much by not having a family. He was feeling like it was time to do something about that, when Daphne's voice brought him out of his fugue.

"Father, something has been dropped in my lap, and I don't know what to do. I was hoping you could give me some advice."

"What kind of advice?" Fabio asked. He spooned a few more berries onto his plate.

"The St. Mungo's Ball is next Saturday, and there is a table for eight that is still unsold. There is a kind of informal assignment of responsibility for selling tickets and my department has been strongly encouraged to step up. You know how important the ball is to the annual fundraising. I'd really like to do something, but the individual seats are a thousand galleons."

"I guess we could go, don't you think, Kendra? We haven't been lately," Fabio said. "The ball is important, of course. What would we do without St. Mungo's, after all?

While Fabio was speaking, Daphne was doing a series of facial muscle movements while looking directly at Harry. What did she want?

"Oh," Harry thought, "My cue."

"Can I help?" Harry asked.

"Of course," said Daphne. "Can I put you down for a ticket?"

"If you would join me, you can put me down for two," said Harry. That got Kendra's attention.

"I believe we should definitely go, Fabio," said Kendra, who inclined her head, and gave Harry a tiny smile.

"That's four, I have a couple I'd like to take, and I don't think they're already down, so let me have two more. That makes six, so, two left," said Harry.

"Fabio," said Kendra.

"Kendra?" he answered.

"Let's treat Astoria," said Kendra. Turning to Daphne, she said, "Two more, Astoria and guest. That does it."

"Brilliant!" said Daphne. "Thank-you, Father!"

"Oh, yes, of course," said Fabio, looking a bit bedazzled, and unsure just what he had done.

"Everyone, I'm so sorry, but I'm out of time," said Harry, making a show of checking his watch. "I hope you will let me return your hospitality when we can all linger a bit more."

"Mr. Potter, that would be wonderful," said Kendra.

"I'd look forward to that," said Daphne, getting up. "If you're still enjoying your cheesecake, Father, I'm capable of getting Mr. Potter to the gate."

"Oh, well, if you'd like, your mother and I can enjoy this weather a bit longer. No telling how much more of it we'll get."

"Thank-you dear, that's very kind of you. And Mr. Potter, we will be seeing you at the St. Mungo's Ball, it appears," Kendra said holding out her hand as she stood up.

Harry took her fingertips, and gave them a squeeze, leaving out the kiss this time.

"It can't get here soon enough," said Harry, with a smile. "Mr. Greengrass, until the ball."

Daphne slipped her hand under Harry's arm and conveyed him up the path to the patio. An elf appeared at the door into the room where they had eaten lunch.

"Did you have a jacket? I don't remember," said Daphne.

"Nope, I came just as I am."

"Harry, you owe me one hundred galleons, I believe," said Daphne.

"I'm not carrying that much on me," said Harry. "I fear muggers see me as an easy mark."

"You're lying," laughed Daphne. "Big, muscular, aurors, who battle crooks on the street on a daily basis, live in fear of you. Rightfully so. You'll have to up your game if you plan to deceive me, Harry Potter, and when I catch you at it, which I will, my wrath will be legend."

"By the way, you were perfect back there. I have judged that you have potential."

"High praise," said Harry. "Is there actually an unsold table we just booked, or will the committee be learning about it on Monday?"

Daphne acted like she didn't hear him.

"You're now in a box," said Daphne. "You're all alone in there. No one else has made the grade, until now."

"A fact I will treasure, and keep to myself," said Harry. "Best to Raffles."

"He'll be informed," said Daphne.

They stood still before the gate, looking into each other's eyes.

"There is still some daylight," Harry breathed. "so, I will observe the proprieties, this once."

"So gallant, so…Gryffindor," Daphne said, her voice a whisper. "Darn it."

The gate swung open, saying, in its squeaky hinge voice, "Speaking for the entire Greengrass family, may I say, you were an out-STAND-ing guest, Mr. Potter, despite Miss Daphne's obvious and unseemly disappointment, and we look forward eagerly to your next visit. Buh-bye, and have a safe trip!"

Chapter Eleven

Harry Handles Hoodlums—Any Questions?

Harry turned toward the opening gate and was just stepping through when he froze. Without turning around, he said, "Wands, Daphne. Slowly."

"What?"

"There are some people out there, just outside the wards. Not people who ought to be there. Draw your wand without too much fuss and go back inside, straight to the gazebo, and get your parents in, too."

"Harry, my wand is inside."

"Take mine."

"No! You will be defenseless. Come back inside with me."

"Out of time, Daphne," Harry said. He flipped his holly wand around and laid the long, tapering section against his forearm. Raising his hand to his lips he spoke softly where it gripped his wand, "Take Miss Daphne to the gazebo so she can see that Lord and Lady Greengrass get to safety. Do NOT leave her, for any reason. We'll meet later."

Harry, concentrating on looking out toward the wards, straining to pinpoint the source of the danger, reached back toward Daphne and let go of his wand, which floated to Daphne and began bumping insistently against her hand.

"Do it Daphne. Don't think, do. Now," said Harry, stepping off out the gate, looking straight ahead to the boundary marked by the Greengrass Manor wards.

"Close, and stay closed," Harry told the gate.

Daphne opened her hand and the holly wand slipped into her palm. Her hand gripped the wand, and she was pulled, with some urgency, down the walkway back to the manor, where the door swung open at her approach.

Harry walked across the field toward the people who he assessed shouldn't be there. At the top of a little ridge, just beyond a long, upright chunk of granite that Harry surmised marked the extent of the manor's wards, Harry stopped and looked around. Harry kept his arms extended, his hands down by his thighs, palms turned out.

"I want you to leave this place, and go about your business. Elsewhere. Right now, I have no reason to hurt you. You are under no obligation to give me one."

Slowly, one, then a second, then a third person emerged from a brushy patch just downhill from Harry, wands raised, all pointed at Harry.

"You're coming with us, Potter," said one of the intruders. "You don't have a choice. Come on over here and we'll make this quick."

"Perhaps you misunderstood me," said Harry. "I am not going anywhere, you are going to leave. One way or the other. Do not give me a reason to become your enemy."

"Shut up Potter. We've got the drop on you and it's three to one," snarled the wizard. His wand twitched as Harry sidestepped to his left.

Harry moved with dispatch and economy, coordinating every muscle and bone. He drew his left hand back and threw it forward, palm toward his attacker, just as the man cast a petrificus jinx. The bolt of light from the wand was frozen in a column of compressed air that Harry pushed forward with his palm. The air glowed red, before the jinx rebounded in a shower of sparks, sending the caster to the ground. Harry threw himself to his right, dropping and rolling, then, coming up from a squat, he leapt skyward, curses flying past as the other two wizards cast at the moving target. When he came down, Harry landed left foot first, then brought his right down, hard, shouting as he transferred all the energy from his drop to the ground. Grass and dirt heaved upward from the place his right foot struck, forming a wave that moved like a tsunami toward the three wizards. All three were flipped into the air by the wave, spinning head over heels, two of them losing their wands from the violent tumbling of their bodies.

Harry was on the first wizard as soon as he touched the ground, kicking him in front of his right ear, putting him down, and out of commission. He moved to the second wizard, who was struggling to get up. The second wizard raised his head, exposing his throat, at a very inopportune moment for him, as Harry flattened his right hand, and jabbed his first and second fingers hard into the wizard's larynx, leaving him gagging, and unable to rise.

"Accio!" Harry grabbed the two loose wands that came flying to him. The third wizard regained his footing, faced Harry, and put up his fists. Harry stood still, his weight on the balls of his feet, waiting to see what the wizard had in mind. Many wizards are defeated as soon as they lose their wands, but it appeared this one had some ideas about putting up a physical fight. Harry held the wands in his right hand, holding the wizard's eyes with his own. The wizard flinched, just before throwing a jab at Harry's head with his left fist. Harry slipped to his right, and in one continuous motion, blocked the wizard's punch with his left forearm, then threw his left arm over and around the wizard's, while spinning left, extending his right leg and laying his right hand on his opponent's back. The wizard fell to the ground, hitting face first, and made no move to get up.

"Crucio!"

Harry heard the unforgiveable curse and thought he was surely about to be dead. He had left the first wizard alone without disarming him. Then it registered that he had heard a female voice. Harry spun around to see Daphne sprinting across the grass, between where he stood, and the talking gate.

He started to shout, "Daphne, NO!" when he looked up and saw the wizard bobbing up and down, screaming in agony, as Daphne tossed him about with Harry's holly wand.

"Bring him down, please, Daphne," Harry said. "I need to get them to interrogation in condition to talk. Please, Daphne."

But Daphne didn't seem to hear him. Now that he was closer, Harry could see her face more clearly. Daphne's hair was standing out from her head, her nostrils were flared, and her eyes were wrong, all wrong. Daphne had blue-gray eyes, but this Daphne's eyes looked amber, and on fire. Her face was the opposite. Daphne's beautiful and expressive face had become cold, impassive, marble-like, and Harry knew she was a millimeter away from killing his arrestee before his eyes.

Harry walked slowly to where Daphne stood. He reached out his hand, and held his arm parallel to hers.

"Daphne? It's Harry," he said. She didn't respond.

Harry let his arm drift over and laid his open hand on Daphne's arm, near the wrist. He applied a little downward pressure.

At first, she let him bring her hand down a bit, then stiffened, and made a sound, something non-verbal that came from deep in her throat. Harry closed his hand around hers and squeezed.

"It's me, Daphne, let's bring him down, together, now, shall we? It's over. It's all over. That's it."

And together, they lowered the wizard to the ground.

Harry slipped his holly wand out of Daphne's hand. He put his arm around her waist and walked her gently to a piece of granite that formed a natural bench, letting her sit down, just as Fabio and Kendra trotted up, wands out.

"What has happened here, Mr. Potter?" Kendra demanded, her eyes drilling through Harry, or so he felt.

"Just stay with her, I have to take care of some prisoners. I don't want her anywhere near us until they're gone."

Harry turned to leave.

"Mr. Potter you come back here, now, and tell me what you have done to my daughter!" Kendra nearly screamed at him, but Harry ignored her.

He gave the prisoners a quick field assessment, couldn't see any immediate threats to life, and cast brachiabindo on each one as a precaution, then he sent the ultra-violet sparks into the air, just to see if there were any aurors about. He had nearly given up and reverted to Plan B, when two things happened. He acknowledged to himself that he had no Plan B, and Blaise Zabini appeared from behind the brushy area.

"Needing some prisoner transport, then, Harry?" asked Blaise. "Plan B, at your service."

Blaise was clad in a twill uniform, very clean and well-pressed, but with a well-worn look to it, as if it had been washed again and again, mended when needed, and treated with respect. He wore a wide leather belt at his waist, with a narrower one over his shoulder. He wore a saber in a scabbard, and highly-polished boots that went up to his knees. To complete the look, he was riding a magnificent thoroughbred bay gelding outfitted in full cavalry tack.

"Blaise," Harry nodded back. "Fancy meeting you here. Care to enlighten me about the uniform? And what are you doing on a horse? Weren't you in the infantry? Oh, and are these colleagues of yours, because their folly in coming here looking for a fight gives me cause to question their competence."

"All really, really good questions, Harry. Can't answer right this minute. Time's of the essence, you see, so this will have to be short. In consultation with the Minister, some collection of information will take, temporarily, just the teensiest possible precedence, infinitesimal, really, over criminal proceedings. Our efforts will not, we believe, prejudice either the course of justice or the defendants' right to a fair trial, and with a little luck the aurors will be able to take over at opening of business on Monday."

"I'm tempted to exert primogeniture here, Blaise, since these badly-raised, poorly trained…persons, attacked me without provocation, at a private home where I was a guest, thus disturbing the peace of the realm, and causing needless emotional distress to a very decent family I care about deeply. Plus, they can't do magic. They're a complete embarrassment to the fields of criminality and wizardry. They do not comprehend how lucky they are to be alive."

"Primogeniture! I know someone who will find that hilarious, when I tell her. Incredible woman, Harry, truly legendary, hope to introduce you to her someday. Got to go. They'll be in the auror's squadroom Monday first thing, Merlin permitting."

"That's a comfort, that is," said Harry, "and I'm taking you at your word, Blaise. Do not abuse my trust. And now I have the rest of the weekend to figure out how to write a report that will stand up, since you have meddled with my case."

Blaise conjured a cargo net, with big steel rings at the corners, and used levicorpus to put the immobilized wizards on the net. He turned in the saddle, gave Harry a smile, and touched his wand to his cap bill in salute.

"By your leave, Head Auror, your stag can find me if you want to get in touch. We'll have lunch soon and catch up. My treat. Oh, there will be a piece of paper on your desk when you get back, just needs a signature."

Then he used his wand to draw the rings together and raise the net off the ground. Blaise rode his magnificent warhorse around the edge of the brush, saber swinging, tack jingling and leather creaking, a net full of criminals floating alongside. As he rode away, Blaise started singing. "Her mother never told her, the things a young girl should know, about the ways of Army men…"

Harry walked back to the group, all three Greengrasses now sitting on the stone, Fabio and Kendra's arms wrapped around Daphne, talking quietly.

"Everyone okay?" Harry asked.

"Mr. Potter, how do you explain this?" Kendra stood up. "Is this how you repay our hospitality?"

"Mother," said Daphne, her voice shaky, Kendra paying her no attention.

"Well?" said Kendra, wand pointing at Harry, just short of shouting. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"MOTHER," Daphne interrupted. "Harry gave me his wand."

"What do you mean? Why did he give you his wand?" Kendra demanded.

"When I walked Harry to the gate, I left my wand inside. Harry sensed those people were there and that they meant to harm us. He put his wand in my hand, and ordered it to take me back to you, and make sure we were all safe. I couldn't let it go. The wand made my hand hold onto it, and it pulled me back inside, through the house, and out to you, in the gazebo. Harry's wand kept pushing and pulling me until I got you both inside. Meanwhile Harry went out there and faced those three, and he defeated them, without his wand. All to keep us safe."

"Well, to be fair, I do think it likes you," Harry said, smiling at the wand he now held between his thumb and forefinger, giving it a little twiddle. "How about that? Don't go forgetting who you work for, buster," he said to the wand.

Fabio and Kendra stood there, staring at him.

Harry looked up at them. "What?" he asked.

"Will you take me inside, Harry?" Daphne asked. "I think I'd like to sit down with a glass of pumpkin juice."

"Of course, Daphne, you get whatever you want. That's what I'm here for," Harry said. He leaned down and offered his arm. When Daphne linked hers with his, he lifted gently and they rose together, and Harry walked Daphne back down to the talking gate. After a few yards, Daphne got some spring back in her step, and she leaned her head over so it just touched Harry's.

"Kendra?" said Fabio. "Should we go?"

"Oh, sit here with me a bit longer," said Kendra, who had developed a sudden case of sniffles. She scooted over to make room for Fabio, and patted the block of granite.

"Not many people get to see this. You do know what we're looking at, don't you, Fabio? This is the last time we're going to see our little Daphne. Lily's baby boy grew up and won her from us."

"Did he ever! No wand," said Fabio, disbelief audible in his voice. He watched for a time, sitting beside Kendra. "It's nice they look so good together."

"Don't they, though?" Kendra said as she dabbed at her eyes. Then she slid her hand under Fabio's arm and down until it reached his own, and she laid hers across his. She let her head lean against his shoulder, while together they watched Daphne and Harry until the doors of Greengrass Manor swung open to admit them.

Chapter Twelve

The Lynx Joins the After-Party

"Which elf does pumpkin juice?" Harry asked.

"Trix has a genius for pumpkins," said Daphne.

"Okay, Trix!" Harry called out. When the elf appeared Harry said, "Miss Daphne would like to have a glass of your very best pumpkin juice, and I would like to join her. Can you do that? And bring it to…" Harry looked at Daphne.

"The library, please," she said.

They arrived at a set of double doors and Daphne indicated, "In here."

Harry waved his wand at the doors, which swung open. There was little light coming in through the windows, so Harry used his wand to light a number of lamps.

"Would you like a fire in the fireplace, to cheer things up?" Harry asked. "I'm not cold, but there's something about a fire."

"That would be nice," said Daphne, as Harry eased her down on a huge leather couch.

Trix appeared with two glasses of pumpkin juice.

"Miss Daphne looks sad," said the elf. "Is Miss Daphne not well?"

"No, I'm fine, Trix," Daphne said. "How is the pumpkin juice?"

"The garden elves say the pumpkins are at their peak," said Trix. "Trix thinks the garden elves like to brag. Trix thinks these are the best pumpkins for a long, long time. Trix thinks sometimes, the garden elves know what they are talking about."

Harry laughed at the roundabout means Trix used to confirm she was particularly proud of her pumpkin juice this afternoon. Daphne took her glass from the tray, and Harry took his. He raised his glass to Daphne.

"You did well," he said. "I'm glad I had you watching my back. Thank you."

Daphne took a sip of her pumpkin juice. She looked at Harry over the rim of her glass, then she looked at the fire.

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

"I'm very upset."

"Because you cast the cruciatus? That's understandable. Not using the unforgiveables is hammered into us. Of course, in situations like yours, ethical considerations go out the window. You didn't do anything wrong."

"That isn't it, Harry," said Daphne. "I defended an unarmed man from being cursed from behind. It's allowed. What is upsetting is, if not for you stopping me, I would have killed him. He was subdued and no longer a threat, and I could feel the magic in that wand of yours, up and down my arm, and I could see him going head first right into the ground, and I wanted to do it so badly. I'm a healer, and I genuinely wanted to murder him. I nearly slugged you when you showed up, so I could get on with it. You stopped me from making a big, big mistake."

Harry wanted to say something to help, but words wouldn't come. He had a thought, though, something that wouldn't require talking.

"Trix!" Harry called out.

"Mr. Harry Potter sir," said the little elf. "Does Miss Daphne need more pumpkin juice?"

"No, Trix. Do you know where Raffles is?"

"In his bed in Miss Daphne's room, Mr. Harry Potter, sir."

"Can you ask Raffles if he can join Miss Daphne in the library?"

"Of course," said the elf, and disapparated.

Moments later, the elf walked through the library door, struggling to hold Raffles in her arms. She crossed to the couch where Daphne sat, and handed Raffles over. The Bichon licked and licked Daphne's face, until she laughed out loud.

"Raffles, okay, you can stop now!" Daphne said between bouts of laughter. "Oh, Raffles, you are just the best, you know that?"

"Can I do anything more for you, Daphne?" Harry asked.

"Do you want to go?" Daphne asked, stiffening. "If you want to go, go, you don't owe me anything."

Harry considered her from his chair.

"On the contrary, I owe you everything. I just don't want to be underfoot. You might want Kendra or Astoria nearby while you're feeling jittery. Or you could have Tracey come over. You know, family. I'm an orphan. I 'm not sure if I fit the situation."

Daphne stared at him for some indefinite time, but, Harry thought, it was definitely a long time. Then her face changed, as she seemed to come to a decision, and she got up and left the library. Harry heard the sound of feet ascending stairs. Daphne hadn't been gone long when she walked in the library carrying a notebook that Harry recognized. He and his classmates had kept their dream diaries in those notebooks.

"I don't know why I kept this, of all things. But I did. Let's see. Okay, this is from fourth year:

"In my dream, I am in a forest. The first thing I see is a den. It is under a tree. I look in the den. There is a cat there, asleep. When I look at it the cat wakes up. It stretches and gets up, then it leaves the den. The cat is big. It has pointy ears and a short tail. The cat walks around the forest, in the sunlight and in the shade. All the animals in the forest fear the cat, and run away, so the cat is lonely. Then the cat smells a new smell. It thinks it means there is a new animal in the forest. The cat sits down to wait by a tree. Then I'm not watching the cat anymore, but it is like I am looking out of the cat's eyes. When I look out of the cat's eyes, I see there is a ditch in front of me. There is a big deer on the other side of the ditch. It isn't afraid of the cat. The deer wants to jump across the ditch but it is too far. The deer looks at me, and I look at the deer. I wish the deer could jump across. Finally, I give up and walk away into the forest. Then I'm not the cat any more, but I am watching the cat, and the cat goes back in its den under the tree and curls up. That was the end of my dream."

Harry sat still, looking at Daphne. He took a sip of pumpkin juice, and swallowed.

"You're the lynx I dream about," Harry said. "You're the lynx across the ravine."

"You're the stag, who I want to jump across, and make friends with. Now you have, and you're not to go on thinking you're an orphan. Not anymore."

"Blaise made fun of my dream when Trelawney called on me in that class."

"Blaise made me cry when he did that because it was my dream, too. I wrote this in the morning, and you read from your dream diary that afternoon. I couldn't tell anyone, not even Tracey," Daphne half-laughed, half-sniffed. "I couldn't very well tell the Slytherins that, at night, the Gryffindor Seeker and I meet in secret and dream dreams together, could I? I felt so lonely, Harry. Then, when I listened to you reading that day..." Daphne's voice trailed off. She stretched out her arm and motioned for Harry to come closer. She pulled him close and laid her head alongside his.

Harry knelt before her like that, for a bit, trying to organize his thoughts. He looked out the window. It was nearly dark. He made a decision.

"What's your patronus?" Harry asked.

"What? I can get a pretty bright light but it doesn't take a form. Why do you ask?"

"Bring your wand," Harry said, getting up and crossing to the double doors. He walked through the house following the same route they had used earlier in the day, crossing through the room where they'd eaten lunch, then out to the patio, where Harry waited to let Daphne get alongside.

Harry cast lumos and they walked down the steps from the patio to the long, sloping path, down to the clipped lawn that made Harry think of a playing field.

"I wondered why this was here, and now I know," Harry began. Daphne looked at him. What did he mean by that?

"The key is," Harry said, "to think of something that really makes you happy when you cast the patronus. Other than that, the only thing to watch out for is the pronunciation. Once you get the corporeal form, it's important to practice, every day, if possible. You get more proficient and your patronus gets stronger. Okay, this is a good place. Think of something that makes you happy, feel it, mean it, focus on that, then extend your arm, raise the tip of the wand, and cast."

Daphne said, "Ex-pec-toh Pa-TROH-num!" and a bright light emerged, as a beam, from the wand tip.

"Ohhhh…" Daphne said.

"What's wrong? That is very good," said Harry. "Really, you are almost there. Try different memories. Experiment. What makes you happy? Lots of things, I bet. You never know what will do the trick, so don't be afraid to change after a couple of tries. The patronus either appears or it doesn't. If one memory doesn't work, change memories. Focus. You're going to do it next time."

Daphne nodded, raised her arm, and said, "Ex-pec-toh Pa-TROH-num!"

Light beam, no patronus.

Daphne tried again, and got a light beam, but no patronus. After several more tries, she was clearly getting frustrated. Somehow, she just wasn't getting the breakthrough needed to get the light to coalesce into a form.

"You're doing great," Harry reassured her. "You're so close, you're just not focused. Let's try this."

Harry moved alongside Daphne and let his left arm lay gently across her back.

"It's all focus. One happy thought, one thing that makes you happy, feel the happiness and push everything else out. Okay, now wand position, just one happy thought…"

He flexed his left arm and pulled her close, turning his face toward her, so when she turned her face to him, there was no space between them. He put his lips to hers, and left them there, thinking 'be patient, be patient' while he tasted Daphne's lips for the first time. When he began to get dizzy, he decided that was probably enough, and moved his lips to her ear and whispered,

"Now, expecto…

"Ex-pec-toh…" Daphne said along with him.

"Pa-TROH-num!" they said in unison. A fully-realized lynx patronus leapt from the tip of Daphne's wand, followed by a shower of golden sparks, knocking her back into Harry's arm.

"WHOOOOOOOH!" Daphne shouted when she saw the lynx. Then she started to laugh, a raucous, deep-throated laugh, interspersed with more whoops, and "Oh, YES!" while the lynx jumped, sprinted the length of the playing field, turned around and sprinted back, jumping and growling, lying on its back and rolling, over and over.

"Good one, Daphne," Harry said. "Good one. You're the lynx, alright, I knew it, and now you've let it out. Merlin, you are definitely the lynx! Are you happy to get out? Does it feel good to stretch those legs?"

After a minute or two, the lynx began to slow down, and fade a little bit.

"Should we give her a playmate?" Harry asked. He raised his wand and cast, and his patronus burst out of the wand and coalesced into a stag. "Go!" said Harry, and the stag ran toward the lynx. The lynx brightened as soon as the stag approached. It turned and ran away from the stag, then waited at the end of the field. The lynx jumped on the stag's back at one point and rode the length of the green, until the stag planted its feet and the lynx had to jump over the stag's antlers, before landing lightly on its feet.

"Done?" Harry asked. The stag turned and trotted back to Daphne and Harry, fading as it got closer. Harry held his wand tip out toward the stag and watched it disappear. Daphne mimicked Harry, and her lynx did the same.

"Feel better?" Harry asked.

"Oh, Harry," Daphne giggled, "I…"

"Think you can do it again?" Harry asked.

"I think I ought to try," said Daphne.

"Okay, you're on your own," said Harry, stepping back. "Arm extended, wand tip up, focus on something that makes you happy, and…"

"Expecto Patronum!" said Daphne. The light burst from her wand, the lynx coalesced once again from the light, and trotted over to Harry, who knelt down to lynx height and scratched the cat behind its ears. The lynx started purring, then it gave Harry's face a few licks.

"Okay, thanks. Are you a good lynx?" Harry laughed as the lynx turned to rub up against him. The lynx started to fade, and when Daphne held out her wand in its general direction, it disappeared.

"And that is that," said Harry, standing up. "That is the big breakthrough. Now, to build on that, cast in full daylight. It's useful to be able to send a patronus someplace with a message. That's all just practice. The hard part is done. I'll help if you want me to."

Daphne looked at Harry. "If I want you to? Harry Potter, I am devoid of a response to that statement."

"One more time. Let's give them something to do. It's good for them."

Harry cast the stag, then Daphne again cast the lynx.

Harry addressed them both. "I want you two to check the perimeter of the property. You can follow the wards. When you are done, rejoin us in the house. Anyone you find out there gets this message: "You are trespassing. Your presence has been noted, and will result in a response. You are advised to depart immediately." That's it—GO!"

Daphne started to laugh again as they stood watching the patronuses bounding off. They walked back to the patio holding hands, until Raffles met them at the steps, where he had been barking with great enthusiasm at the patronuses.

Harry saw Kendra just inside the glass doors.

"Were those patronuses I saw? I know the stag, and you are…?" Kendra asked.

"Mother, Harry just showed me how to cast a corporeal patronus! It was the first one I ever cast! Mine is a lynx! A lynx! Ooh, Mother, I SO feel like a WITCH right now!"

"She has always been a witch, don't you think, Mr. Potter?"

Harry laughed. "Looks to me like she is a witch to the core," he said. "Now the real fun starts. The next thing is getting the patronus to carry messages, don't you think? It's not just handy. It can be a lifesaver."

"Merlin forbid she needs it," said Kendra.

"I agree," said Harry. "But having it is a confidence builder, even if you never have to use it. Now that the lynx has shown up, it probably won't take very long to do a few customizations. Now," Harry asked, turning to Daphne, "were we headed to the library? Mrs. Greengrass, Daphne said she would sit in the library with me, if I wanted, and sip pumpkin juice. Do we have your consent to her plan? And would you care to chaperone us?"

"Tonight, Mr. Potter, in this house, your wishes are commands."

They were on their way back to the library when they heard the gate squeak. Harry still had his wand in his hand. He looked at Kendra and Daphne.

"Let me get that door," he said, quietly, motioning them toward the library. Fabio Greengrass poked his head out of another room along the hallway. Harry gripped the holly wand, opened the door and looked out, half expecting to be fighting immediately, to see Astoria Greengrass coming up the walk.

Astoria called out, "Harry Potter, are you still here? Can't get Daphne past foreplay, or what?"

She burst through the door, threw her cloak in the direction of a hall tree, and stopped short, for there, obviously having heard her taunting of Harry, stood Kendra and Daphne. Kendra managed to raise her eyebrows and purse her lips in a reasonable approximation of disapproval, but Daphne dissolved into laughter. Once started, she couldn't stop. Kendra couldn't maintain her composure with Daphne carrying on, and she started laughing too, eventually wrapping her arm around Daphne's waist as they managed, somehow, to keep each other upright.

"What? What did I miss?" asked a mystified Fabio, who hadn't caught Astoria's question.

"It was a metaphor. It doesn't directly translate," said Harry. "but Mrs. Greengrass may be able to summarize."

Harry's explanation sent Kendra into another laughing fit. Fabio gave up, shook his head, and went back inside the room whence he had come.

Eventually, everyone did return to the library, where Fabio joined them, and Daphne told Astoria about what had gone on since she had left following lunch. Pumpkin juice flowed in quantity. Astoria wanted to go over every detail, repeatedly. The patronuses jumped in through a window and dissolved, taking Kendra, Fabio and Astoria by surprise. Harry explained he had sent them to do a sweep of the perimeter as a precaution since he couldn't be sure there weren't still security concerns stemming from the incident with the three wizards. Fabio and Astoria had never seen Daphne's patronus before, and Kendra had seen it only in the distance. The Greengrasses all started calling Daphne's lynx The Major Magical Breakthrough, with Astoria adding World-Renowned, Astonishing, Totally Unexpected, and some others, before she was done.

"Can you show me what you showed Daphne?" asked Astoria at one point. "I've always wanted to cast a corporeal patronus and I never could."

Harry looked at Daphne, who looked back, the amber eyes aflame once again, this time directed at him. He felt sweat breaking out under his shirt.

"Now that Daphne knows how to do it, I think she should work with you," said Harry. "There is nothing like teaching to help a practitioner hone her own craft."

When he dared to look, the beautiful blue-gray eyes were back, along with the angelic smile.

"Close one," he thought. Eventually, Harry judged things were settled enough, and Daphne had enough people around her, that she would be okay, after a good night's sleep. He caught Fabio's eye, and nodded toward the library door.

"I have a pretty full day ahead tomorrow," Harry said to Fabio, after they had stepped out, "so I need to get back home. You can all get things calmed down better here if I'm not keeping them stirred up. I don't think there are going to be more problems. The patronuses did a sweep, and mine has a lot of experience. I want to send a couple of people around tomorrow to search the area where we had the trouble, just in case something is lying about up there. If you could show them where the trouble was, that will help a lot. Try to keep everyone away until we clear it.

"If you want, I can arrange for some aurors to be assigned here, or to come by regularly for the next few days. They'll try not to intrude, but you will be aware of them. That is up to you."

"Thank you for everything, Mr. Potter," Fabio began. "I'm glad to be associated with the Potter family again. Your mother and Kendra made this happen years and years ago. Just as I was getting to know your parents well, we lost them. Now we have a little bit of both of them back. Not to think too far down the road, but, ah, I hope this keeps up."

Harry took that as Fabio saying he was fine with the idea that Harry and Daphne were seeing one another.

"Mr. Greengrass, I came for lunch. Who knew?" Harry said. "I do hope it continues, as long as Daphne can tolerate me. Now I'll go in and say good-bye. Make sure she gets some sleep. She's the Healer, she knows all this, but when it comes to themselves, they ignore their own advice."

Harry re-entered the library, crossed to the sofa, and knelt down in front of Daphne. Taking her hand, he said, "Tomorrow is a full day for me, so I need to go now. When I know something, you'll know, okay? Now, please go get some rest."

Daphne reached out, put her hand behind Harry's head, and pulled him to her. Harry liked the gesture until he realized he had his face buried between Daphne's beautiful breasts, right in front of her mother, father and sister, so he began a slow extraction, meeting resistance with each centimeter. It seemed like an eternity until they separated, an eternity that was far too short.

Harry rose, and Daphne started to get up from the sofa.

"No," said Harry. "Not this time. Everyone, we'll do it again soon, without the drama."

Fabio walked with Harry, opening the front door and extending his hand. Harry shook it, and walked down the steps to the just-opening squeaky gate.

"Excellent finale, Head Auror, a day none will forget. The Greengrass family…"

"Shut it," said Harry. "And stay shut this time, at least until the sun comes up."

Chapter Thirteen

Brigadier, We're Having a Little Problem With Time

Harry walked through the gate in the dark, up the hill, and outside the wards. After casting revealing charms, he was satisfied it was safe to disapparate. Harry visualized his apartment and turned. With a 'pop' he disappeared from the ridge overlooking Greengrass Manor.

With a 'pop' Harry apparated into a water-filled hole in the ground, looked up, and was blinded by a brilliant light directly above him. In the instant before he lost his sight, Harry saw a splintered log, barbed wire, and a bayonet, fixed to the barrel of a rifle. The rifle was pointed at his sternum. The bayonet rested on his shirt.

"Whoa, I surrender!" Harry shouted.

"Don't stick him yet, lieutenant said we're supposed to take all the prisoners back to the command post!"

Harry knew he was hearing English, but he couldn't place the accents. As his eyesight started to come back, he saw that he was in a war zone, somewhere. The uniforms his captors wore looked familiar, but not current.

"He's out of uniform. Must be a spy. I say we stick 'em," said the first voice.

"Naw, got to take him back. We'll turn him in. Maybe there's a ree-ward."

Apparently, that resolved the disagreement. Harry still couldn't place the accent. The first soldier made a 'Get-up' gesture with his bayonet, and Harry stood up in the crater. He started moving toward the lip nearest the two soldiers when he felt his shoe stick in the mud, and start to come off. He started to reach down to pull the shoe out of the mud when he heard two clicks. He thought he knew what those were. He had attended lectures in auror training that went into all kinds of arcane subjects, including muggle weaponry. Muggle firearms, he recalled, sometimes had devices called 'the safety' that in theory rendered them incapable of being fired, if 'the safety' was in the right position. Harry was pretty sure the two soldiers, who he had decided were Americans, had released the safeties on their weapons, and meant to shoot him right then and there.

"Shoe?" he managed to croak out.

"Leave it," said the first soldier. "You ain't goin' that fur."

Harry hadn't heard American English spoken before, but he had heard English, Scots, Irish, and Australians, so by process of elimination he settled on Americans. They could have been Canadians, but he hadn't heard Canadian English spoken, although he had been told Canadians are always sticking 'Eh' into their sentences, and these two weren't doing so, therefore, in the absence of additional info, he'd proceed on the assumption that these were Americans.

Harry got to the lip of the crater and stumbled into a foot path where he was joined by the two Americans and marched off to the command post. He wondered how far he would have to walk with one shoe.

While he walked, Harry tried to assess, from the limited information available, just what he had stumbled into. The American helmets were old fashioned, soup plate models. The visible features of the uniforms were a blouse, worn outside the trousers, which were gathered below the knee in a bandage-like wrap. Unless he had apparated into a movie set somewhere, Harry had missed his exit and landed in the First World War, also known as The Great War. That's useful. If Harry remembered his Muggle Studies from Hogwarts, the first Americans got to France in late 1917, going into combat in 1918. The war ended in November 1918, so he had to be in muggle France, probably sometime in 1918.

A terrain feature emerged out of the darkness. It looked like a little hill, as burnt and blasted as the rest of the land nearby, but when they got closer, Harry saw there was a large canvas drawn over the top. He guessed they had arrived at the command post.

The sentry outside the canvas door said, quietly, "Halt."

Harry stopped. The two Americans stopped and let their rifle butts rest on the ground.

"State your business," said the sentry.

"Corporal Smith and Private Jones returning from patrol, bringing a prisoner found about 40 to 50 yards outside the company perimeter, speaks English, dressed as a civilian. We're bringing him back to the CP as ordered."

"Advance and be recognized," said the sentry. Something poked Harry in the back, and he moved forward.

"Close enough" said the sentry. Harry and the two Americans stopped once again.

"Sergeant, Corporal Smith and Private Jones are outside, with a prisoner," called the sentry. A canvas flap was pulled back and a voice said, "Corporal Smith, Private Jones, bring your prisoner in, please."

The sentry waved Harry on inside, followed by the two Americans. By the light of a kerosene lantern Harry just made out some vaguely humanoid shapes.

"Captain," said an American wearing sergeant's stripes, "these are Corporal Smith and Private Jones."

"Yes, I know, Sergeant," said another of the shapes. "Good going men, really a great, great job. Next time we get some slots we'll get you a few days in Biarritz, I'll see to it."

Corporal Smith and Private Jones murmured respectful yes-sirs and thank-you-sirs.

"Now, Major Zabini, if you'll sign here…and there we go, you can take our prisoner here off for interrogation, thanks to the excellent work of Corporal Smith and Private Jones. Thank you, men. Excellent job, and Sergeant, if you would please?"

"Detail, dis-MISSED."

Once Corporal Smith and Private Jones were beyond the canvas flap, a hand reached out of the gloom clutching a wand and a voice said, "Lumos!"

"Harry, here we are again!" said Blaise Zabini.

"Blaise," said Harry. "What year is this?"

"Harry, it's 1918, and this is Captain Robert Goldstein, United States Army. Captain Goldstein's absolutely first-rate Sergeant Brown, and you know Kingsley, of course."

Harry looked over at the humanoid shape coming out of the gloom in the corner and nearly fell over at the sight of Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister for Magic.

"Harry, we've got to get you cleaned up," said Kingsley, drawing his wand. Harry felt the magic on his skin as the dirt was dislodged, and his clothing freshened up.

"You're missing a shoe, Harry," said Kingsley. "You never were a dapper dresser, exactly, but I don't think I've seen that before."

"It's stuck in the mud in the bottom of that hole where Smith and Jones found me. One second, I'm disapparating from Greengrass Manor, the next, I'm in a hole, with two Americans whose English I can't understand, debating 'stickin' me, there is this big bright light right overhead, blinding me…"

"Star shell. Well, don't worry, we'll get you fixed up," said Kingsley. "But right now we've got to get you briefed on what this is all about. We had an idea where you were going to appear, which you've probably figured out already, and Captain Goldstein here, kindly sent two of his best men out to await your arrival. They came back alive, and everything. Not an insignificant accomplishment with those snipers in the other trenches. Enough, though, the captain needs to fill you in on some things from his perspective, so, Captain Goldstein?"

"Harry Potter, an honor," began Goldstein. "Some of what I'm going to tell you may be hard to accept, hard to understand, or both. We have encountered a little problem with time. You are undoubtedly aware of the work of Professor Albert Einstein. Superficial understanding of Einstein's theories becomes quite common later in the century, but very few people in 1918 know who he is. Mathematicians, physicists, astronomers, and chemists are reading his papers, and grasping the ramifications. Unfortunately, there are some wizards who have done the work necessary to understand a bit of what Professor Einstein is saying, and someone seems to be running with it.

"We've had a few incidents of unexplained interruptions of the time stream. Nothing that couldn't be patched and put right by the people with the right skills. That can occur from natural causes. Magic and muggle physics have certain points of intersection, did you know that?"

"I suspected it," said Harry, "but no one ever confirmed it, until now."

"They're very obscure," said Goldstein. "Processes that happen down at the most fundamental level, totally invisible, undetectable unless stumbled across. Professor Einstein encountered some phenomena that couldn't be explained using physics as generally understood, so, you might say, he did the math. Then he had to draw some new conclusions.

"The thing is, there is a tiny corps of specialists who have been tending to the time stream since the riverine civilizations were new developments. Like anything else, the stream has maintenance needs, analogous to the pruning of plants, or performing corrosion protection for metal. Wizards have always had a role in it. It's kind of a liaison job."

"You may be aware, in America, wizards and what we call 'no-maj' and you call muggles, don't interact much. The time stream maintenance liaison function is an exception. Little things happening on very subtle levels, left uncorrected, a million years later, you've got planets colliding. We think this is different. Someone out there is experimenting, intentionally cross-connecting time streams, but we don't know why. There have been breaches that can't be attributed to natural phenomena. We have to conclude they were intentional. It causes all kinds of disruption. You have figured in two incidents. We want to find out why."

"Knock me over with a feather," Harry thought. Time travel was one of the major taboos of wizarding. The temptation to revisit the past was too great, and the ramifications of modifying time so profound, that time travel was permitted only under the most stringent controls. But if someone had started disconnecting time streams and reconnecting them in new configurations, the only possible outcomes would be disastrous.

"Taken to its logical extreme," Harry said, "wouldn't that usher in Chaos? Cause and effect would cease to exist."

"Didn't I tell you Harry would get it, Robert?" said Kingsley. "He got there in, what, two minutes? It took us weeks!"

Harry looked at Blaise, who was smiling and giving him a thumbs-up.

"So, what's next?" Harry asked. "Where is the problem, anyway? Which century?"

Kingsley spoke up.

"Next is getting you out of those clothes and into a uniform so you can move around without being our prisoner. Blaise? Second question, we're not sure, there are clues but no conclusions. The problem is in the twentieth century, 1918, but the symptoms are appearing in ours."

"How does Captain Goldstein fit in?"

"Oh, the Captain is a wizard, with some muggle teaching responsibilities in the New York area. Best keep that vague. He's our liaison on the American side."

Blaise appeared with a uniform. "Here you go, sir," said Blaise. "While we're both kitted out, here in the war zone, you can call me Major, or Major Zabini. Observe the niceties, stay low profile."

"Who am I, then," asked Harry?

"You're Head Auror, Harry," said Kingsley. "Your equivalent military grade is Brigadier."

"So, all set?" Blaise checked Harry over for any obvious uniform flaws. "Our transport is this way."

Harry extended his hand to Captain Goldstein. "There was a Goldstein in my year at Hogwarts," he said.

"Anthony. If you see him, Uncle Robert sends regards," said the captain.

Harry followed Blaise and Kingsley outside, where Blaise took the lead down a path to an open touring car. A driver wearing a mud-spattered uniform with sergeant's stripes on the sleeves leapt from the car and opened the rear door.

"Take the rear on the right, Harry. Blaise will sit up front and give us some protection. We need to talk on the way," said Kingsley.

"Mr. Minister, where are we going exactly?"

"I'll be general, not minister while we're in the theatre of operations. And where we're going, that's hard to say. Alright Sergeant, up to the knob."

"Yes, General!" snapped the sergeant, who hopped into the driver's seat, set some controls, hopped back down, ran to the front, and hand-cranked the engine, one, two, three turns, when the engine caught, then ran back, hopped up into his seat, closed the door, put the car in gear, and drove away.

"General," said Harry. "What is this machine?"

"It's a Model T Ford, Harry. Marvelous creation. The Americans invented it. Goes anywhere, mud, fields, couldn't operate here without them. They're a lineal ancestor of Arthur Weasley's Anglia, can you believe it?"

"But General, can't we use magic here? Why don't we just apparate to wherever we're going?"

"It is felt that showing ourselves going about routine tasks, like getting driven by the sergeant here, helps with cover, doesn't draw attention like mysteriously moving about with no one actually seeing us would do. Think of Hermione when she used the time-turner to get to her classes. You and Ron Weasley came close to figuring that out, so, same thing here. We're going up to that knob over there, and we'll move the whole lot by apparation."

"We can do that?" Harry asked, incredulous.

"Desperate times, desperate measures."

Harry lowered his voice. "And the sergeant, he is witting in all this?"

"Oh, yes," said Kingsley. "Have a little patience, Brigadier Potter, this is about to get even more interesting, very soon."

The sergeant drove on a rutted track away from the trench line, between mud fields where lay the remains of mules, horses, equipment, and men. Field medics, working in the dark, collected the bodies of the men, put them on stretchers, and carried them back to collection points, where ambulances waited to take them to the rear. The medics struggled in mud nearly up to their knees, but they handled their burdens without complaint, and carried the loaded stretchers with an air that Harry thought showed genuine tenderness.

"This was fought over yesterday," Kingsley said. "The attack came from that way, more or less east, got to here, and the reserves came from the west and stopped it. Then the men in the trenches, who had wisely made themselves inconspicuous when the other side overran them, popped up and the enemy was trapped. It was a slaughter. Such is the strategic and tactical genius of the commanders on both sides. It is utter, fully diagnosable, madness, Harry. I had read about it, some, years ago. Nothing prepares you for this."

"Whose sector is this?" Harry asked.

"British," Kingsley replied.

"And those uniforms, like the one on that fellow they're carrying off?"

"German."

"They're being awfully nice to him, for an enemy."

"Here's an interesting thing, Harry. The men doing the actual fighting will shoot, stab, bayonet, run out of ammunition and pick up a rock and bash the other guy's head in, but once he's done for, and their blood cools down, they pick him up and lay him out like he's a brother. Humans, wizards and muggles alike, could learn something from that, but it seems like it doesn't come out except in circumstances like what you're looking at.

"Well, looks like we're here. Got a grip on the car, everyone? Hands together then, don't let go."

Harry had never disapparated under such circumstances. Kingsley twisted in his seat and the familiar churning of Harry's stomach started, and he nearly did lose his grasp of the Model T, but the four of them managed to bring it along with them. Harry looked around. The Model T was in the middle of a farmstead somewhere. He saw a stone barn, a two-story house, some animal pens, and what looked like outbuildings, although it was hard to tell in the darkness. He wondered what it looked like in daylight.

Harry could hear rumbles in the distance, and occasionally caught the sound of some rifle or machine gun fire. Nothing seemed to be happening nearby, though, and the farm certainly hadn't been fought over.

"Come on inside, Brigadier, we'll get you fed, and up to speed," said Blaise.

Kingsley and the sergeant joined them, and all entered the farm house. There were plenty of lights burning, a wood stove filled with pots and pans occupied one wall, and Harry smelled fresh bread.

"Where are we?" he asked. After the hell of the trench line, this really did seem like Heaven.

"Little secret," said Kingsley. "We're not that far from the shooting, but this place doesn't get any visitors who aren't magical, so, naturally, wands being what they are, people put them to use. Fixed the place up, you might say. Now, our business is in here," Kingsley indicated a doorway, leading everyone through to what must have been the farmhouse' living room, equipped with a large table in the middle, maps, and a collection of instruments that Harry didn't recognize, but that reminded him of the ones he had seen in Dumbledore's office.

Harry was surprised to see the sergeant join the group in the living room. He was wondering what the driver was going to do in the conference that was obviously about to start, when Kingsley said,

"Introductions are in order. Harry, I want you to meet Mr. James Potter, Harry, James, James, this is Harry."

Harry just stood there gaping as Sergeant James Potter removed his helmet and stuck out his hand.

"Glad to meet you Harry!" he said.

"What is this?" Harry said, with more than a little anger in his voice.

The man before him did look like James in the old photos. He wore glasses, and had a head of black hair that wanted to do anything except stay combed. But James was dead. As far as he knew, James had never time traveled to 1918, either. At least, it wasn't part of the James Potter narrative that Harry had picked up at Hogwarts. Someone had to be playing a very nasty trick on Harry.

"Time for explanations," said Kingsley.

"To say the least," Harry choked out.

"The simple version," said James, "is that I truly am James Potter of Godric's Hollow, husband of Lily Evans, father of Harry. But, and a big but, I concede, I am not your father. I'm not James from this timeline. This timeline's James is indeed dead, may he rest in peace."

"We have a problem with time, Harry. Streams are getting confused. Think of it this way: Put too much strain on a rope, and the rope parts at its weakest point. Splice the rope together, and you can do certain things but it isn't the same. Diameter, length, strength; all are different. Splice one piece of the parted rope with a different rope, more differences. If you have to knot them together, more differences. Change one little thing in a time stream and everything that one little thing touched after that point, and everything that all those things touched, gets modified, differences emerge, BIG differences. There are formulas for all of that but the math gets really complicated, so take my word for it. Time streams are getting broken and spliced back together. We are one incident away from disaster."

Harry didn't know what to call his father-from-another-time-stream so he settled on Sergeant Potter.

"Sergeant Potter, what does this have to do with me?" Harry asked.

James looked at Kingsley, nodding slightly.

"Harry," Kingsley began, "James is here in this time stream on assignment. He is part of the time repair team where he comes from. We needed some help because this was totally outside our experience. James was loaned to us to help us get up and running. He'll be going back soon."

"Again, why me?"

Kingsley sighed. "The phenomenon is not random. In James' time stream, Professor Einstein is a few years younger, hence he published his papers an equivalent number of years earlier, and the time stream breaches began earlier as well. They have just about contained the problem over there. In James' stream, the experimenter didn't really want to do anything drastic. It was more like model railroading. You know how hobbyists build the elaborate train systems and then turn on the power and watch the trains run around?

"In James' stream, the experimenter did that, but he messed with the train schedules. The real trains, and the real schedules. Loads of inconvenienced passengers, freight deliveries disrupted. Luckily, his actions didn't really change the course of history."

"Like the same thing happening to muggle airlines. Just some pissed-off passengers, give them a voucher for a free flight and all is well."

"But in YOUR stream," said James, "there have been two very concerning splicing episodes, very concerning indeed. Things that can interrupt the stream, and bring those cascading mutations we talked about."

"And those are incidents in MY life?" asked Harry.

Kingsley looked at Blaise, who looked at James, who looked at Kingsley.

"Not just you, Harry," said Kingsley. "The experimenter seems to be taking an interest in Daphne as well. It is the two of you who have attracted their attention."

Harry slumped in his chair, laid his glasses on the table in front of him, and put his palms over his eyes. The day had been long and arduous—emotional rollercoaster didn't begin to describe what he, Daphne and the Greengrasses had been through. He felt the old nightmares coming back.

"Who's doing this?" Harry demanded of James. "Who did the experimenting in your time stream? Tell me where to find them in this one and I'll put an end to it."

For Blaise and Kingsley, who knew Harry's history well, there was no mistaking the lethality implicit in his voice. If he got the chance, Harry would kill, preemptively, to eliminate a possible threat.

"Harry," said Kingsley, with a great gentleness, "It's not possible to solve this in the way you are thinking. Time streams have to be allowed to follow their courses. The incidents we're concerned with are Ivy Fletcher and the mysterious, attempted confundus in Hyde Park, and the three wizards you handled at Fabio and Kendra's a few hours ago.

"They told us you showed up without a wand and you thrashed them anyway. Is that true?"

"Yes, General," said Harry.

Kingsley looked at Blaise, who pursed his lips.

"Not unprecedented, but rare. Very rare," mused Kingsley. "Well done, then."

"Thank you, General. What are my orders?" Harry asked.

"We're still collecting information. We've made progress. James saves us a lot of time. Essentially, we need to collect enough to see from the incomplete mosaic where we should look for our experimenter."

James spoke up. "The time repair teams haven't found more than one person doing this kind of experimentation in any one time stream. We don't have a reason to think that varies, so we proceed as if we are looking for one individual, unless that is shown to be wrong. You are critical to finding a solution in this time stream. We expect you will be seeing the effects the experimenter brings about. Daphne may be an ancillary, as in the connection, through the dog Raffles, between Ivy Fletcher, Daphne, and you. She could also be part of the next episode, as she was at Greengrass Manor. We're counting on you being alert to events with those common factors."

"I'm going to the St. Mungo's Ball with Daphne on Saturday. Is that normal life, or the result of intervention by the experimenter?" asked Harry.

James was taking notes.

"That can't be known until triangulated with other information," said Kingsley. "Either way, you're free to go and have a good time. Now, you'll be going back to regular time through a portal that will be opening. Major Zabini and I expect to return later, and I think he wanted to take you to lunch this week, right Blaise?"

"Yes, General, we're working on the reservation right now."

"Harry, Sergeant Potter will drive you to the apparation point. You'll see a portal open as usual, just walk through and you'll find yourself in the atrium of the ministry. You can go wherever you want from there. Watches automatically reset, so check the time, and I recommend you give yourself a minute or two to let yourself catch up to temporal reality. Clear?"

"Not at all, General. I'll get used to it, I suppose," said Harry.

"Actually, that is a very healthy attitude," said James. "Don't chew it over too much, that's what I say."

Harry looked for some indication of irony, but if there was one, he missed it.

Blaise walked Harry and James outside to the Model T. "Don't forget to sign the paper, please, Harry," Blaise said. "It's very important, for the files, you know."

"What am I signing," Harry asked, just a little bit suspicious, considering recent events.

" 'Fraid that's classified, Brigadier," said Blaise, closing Harry's door.

James Potter started the engine with the crank, jogged to the driver's door and hopped in. They got underway as soon as he closed the door.

"How long have we got?" Harry asked.

"Three to four minutes," replied James.

"Can I ask you about your time stream?"

"Let me guess, you want to know what you, Daphne, and some more contemporaries are up to," James said.

"Pretty much," Harry said.

"Okay, bear in mind, this is information about a parallel time stream. Time streams don't mirror, they're more like traveling companions, they sit together on the train, get to the destination and one splits off to the museum while the other has lunch, that sort of thing.

"Not reading anything into this, you understand, in my stream you are not Head Auror. You settled down with Ginny Weasley after Hogwarts, before Ginny underwent a personal crisis while playing for the Harpies. Ginny and Millicent Bulstrode are now in a stable, long-term relationship, Millicent teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, and Ginny retired from quidditch, keeps house for Millicent and herself, plans and cooks for the most extraordinary dinner parties at their place in London. Their salons are covered by Witch Weekly.

"My Harry didn't take well to getting dumped at first, drew out a bunch of money and gave himself a thoroughgoing tour of every red-wine-and-acoustic-guitar joint on the Mediterranean, came back, and now lives with Romilda Vane near Shell Cottage. Romilda keeps chickens and markets organic eggs, teaches some form of magical meditation, and practices nudism. The woman walks around naked, indoors and out, all day long. If Lily and I want to visit, we have to send a patronus ahead to make sure she's decent. It's embarrassing.

"Seamus and Dean are Seamus and Dean. In every known time stream, Seamus and Dean are always Seamus and Dean. In one, they're a magical music duo act, in another they created and sell a line of magical kitchenware, they're magical travel agents, magical general contractors, magical art gallery owners, magical custom designers and tailors, you name it. Nobody knows why, although several competent temporal researchers are investigating. Daphne is a Healer in my stream, no attachments besides her parents and Astoria. Hermione is Head Unspeakable. Ollivander didn't have any children to pass along his business and knowledge, and Ron has become his apprentice. Ron's found his passion, and Ollivander predicts Ron will surpass him someday soon. Ron and Hermione keep everyone guessing, on/off, on/off.

"And here we are, right on time. The door to that stone barn is a portal. Walk through it anytime in the next two minutes and you're headed for your ministry, just shortly after you joined us here. Missing time is limited to the maximum required for the originally planned travel, otherwise, time accounts get out of balance, and that causes real problems. If you want to go anywhere but your place, I'd suggest you change clothes first. Right now, you're a regular army brigadier, 1918 style."

Head spinning, Harry asked, "Just to clarify, Ginny and Millicent Bulstrode are together? Together-together?"

"Yep. Near-inseparable. Mad for each other, as far as anyone can tell. But that might, or might not, have anything to do with what goes on in your stream."

"Okay, thanks for the info, thanks for the lift, and safe travels."

"Same to you, Harry. I wish your dad had lived to see you now. He'd be very proud of you. Right through that door, better get going."

Harry turned and headed for the barn. When he got to the door, he looked back, and the Model T and Sergeant James Potter were gone.

Chapter Fourteen

Harry Is Diagnosed With a Case Of Witches In His Head

Harry walked through the door and stumbled out of a floo into the atrium of the Ministry of Magic, as if he were arriving for work on the most normal of days. He remembered Kingsley's advice about giving himself a minute or two before proceeding. He checked his watch. It was still not quite ten p.m. He looked around the atrium, and didn't see anything out of place, no new items, nothing that had been there that wasn't there now.

Harry considered going to his office to look at the paper Blaise wanted signed, but decided it wouldn't go anywhere over the weekend, so it could wait until Monday. Harry visualized his apartment and stepped back into the floo. Moments later he stumbled into his living room.

Brushing a little soot and ash from his uniform tunic, he walked around the corner to his bedroom, catching sight of himself in his brigadier's uniform in the mirror at the end of the short hall. It occurred to him that Kingsley could have cleaned him up, made him presentable, conjured a shoe, and sent him back, without need of a uniform, with correct rank insignia, no less.

Harry thought, "I'm going back to France, aren't I? Why else would they have given me my own uniform?"

Harry got out of his uniform and laid it carefully on a chair in his bedroom. He didn't have a house elf at his apartment most of the time, but Winky came by once a week, and generally had very little to do. Harry thought it would thrill Winky to have something good and dirty to clean.

Harry showered and brushed his teeth. He kept running the day through his mind. Up with the chickens, breakfast with Neville, lunch at Greengrass Manor, followed by craziness. No, not craziness. It was Chaos.

Somehow or other, Chaos was back. Harry thought through the implications of that. So far, only tendrils had emerged in this time stream. What would happen if those grew more robust? Chance was always present, would Chaos be any worse?

Harry thought he knew who could help him sort things out, but wondered if he could talk to Ron and Hermione without breaching security. He decided he needed to know more about how the issues were being handled at the highest level, or he wouldn't be able to see any acceptable way forward. Something he had learned a few hours before occurred to him. What could he tell Daphne? If this were a Harry AND Daphne issue, Harry needed to be able to give her at least some information. What were the boundaries? Harry strongly suspected the Ministry for Magic was scrambling to answer some of those questions just as they were occurring to him.

Between his conscious mind trying to wake him up, to ponder time paradoxes, and his subconscious, trying to dream about a stag and a lynx every time he drifted off to sleep, Harry did not awaken Sunday morning with a vast abundance of excess energy.

In fact, the first words to occur to him Sunday morning were, "Oh, crap!" Everything from Saturday came flooding back, recollections of events vying for his attention. Dominating everything, though, was one phenomenon: Time. What was going on? What did it mean, someone was experimenting with time?

Harry knew he would be spending the bulk of Sunday at his desk in the Ministry. Whatever happened, the aurors would be in the middle of the action. What would the Minister of Magic be expecting of the aurors? What would he be expecting from Harry?

Minimizing his get-to-work routine, Harry took the floo network to the Ministry. Not encountering anyone but the guards and duty aurors, Harry arrived at his office not knowing what to expect. As Blaise had said, there was a document awaiting his signature in the middle of his desk blotter. It wasn't a document, though, it was a blank sheet of paper, with a signature block at the bottom that said, "Harry Potter—Head Auror" then "date" followed by a line, presumably where Harry was supposed to sign. Well, Blaise had said the contents were classified, hadn't he?

Figuring a blank sheet of paper could be signed on Monday, if need be, just as well as on Sunday, Harry put the paper to the side, and took all the accumulated paper from the in-box and placed it in the middle of the desk. During the week, his assistant did some organizing before the paper hit his desk. Documents needing only signature would be together, memoranda he needed to read would be together, and paper requiring some other action would be in a third group.

On the weekend, however, the assistant was not in the office. Aurors brought routine reports, action memos, case files, and anything more they wanted to get off their desks, all weekend long. Normally, Harry liked the weekend fruit salad of incoming paper, because it gave him a snapshot of everything going on in his organization. This Sunday, he found it tedious. He couldn't focus on the time problem for the pile of routine paper he needed to read, annotate, sign, or pass to a colleague or subordinate for action. When he was trying to focus on the pile, the time problem intruded.

Despite the struggle, Harry was surprised when he looked up and noticed it was nearly noon. Harry had skipped breakfast, subsisting on coffee and some crackers he found in his desk drawer. The ministry snack bar would not be open on Sunday. He could just go home and eat there, but he didn't feel like going home, where the walls would close in, and unwelcome thoughts intrude. In the midst of considering his options, Harry heard a noise in the bullpen. Getting up from his desk, Harry left his office to see what was going on. A voice was coming from the fireplace.

"Harry! Harry! Are you in your office? Are you there?"

"Ron?" asked Harry.

"Yep! What are you doing for lunch?"

"I was just thinking about that. What are you doing?"

"Hermione is at her parents' so I'm free. How about I meet you in the atrium and we go to the Leaky Cauldron?"

"Give me five minutes to clean up and I'll be there," said Harry.

Five and one-half minutes later, Harry met Ron in the atrium.

"Floo?" asked Ron.

"Why don't we walk?" asked Harry. "I need to think."

"Fine with me," said Ron. "I'll try not to intrude."

Harry laughed. "Intrude all you want. Your ramblings might trigger some new, improved thinking."

Britannia Romanus was a newer restaurant on the edge of Diagon Alley. It had become very popular among the younger wizarding set, who liked to eat and drink in the outdoor section. The restaurant had both a fine, unobstructed view of Diagon Alley from some outdoor tables, and more private places tucked behind the classical columns that enhanced the Roman Britain theme.

Harry and Ron had walked from the Ministry, talking about quidditch, Hermione's parents, and the rare opportunity the Cannons had to finish one place above bottom of the league. Harry had been keeping part of his mind on the conversation, and a small part of it wandering about the periphery of their course, using a downsized version of legilimens to give him an early warning if mayhem loomed, when, approaching Britannia Romanus, that small piece of consciousness said to the rest of his brain, "Pay attention now, this is interesting!"

Harry picked up two females in conversation. One said, "You're sure?"

The other said, "Oh, yes!"

"And he…?"

"Well, I'm over it, I can't speak…"

The next thing Harry knew was his head was ringing, from the inside out, from two shouts of "GET OUT!"

Harry stumbled, nearly falling, and Ron caught him under the arm. They continued more slowly and turned left around a column, where a table stood, with a pot of tea, two cups, and a plate of assorted fruit and cheese, between Daphne Greengrass and Ginny Weasley.

"Fancy meeting…" Ron began, but thought better.

Harry was holding his head, trying to let the ringing to die down. "Ladies…" he gasped.

"Harry Potter, how dare you intrude on a private conversation?" demanded Daphne. "What are you doing here? Am I under surveillance? Are you now monitoring my most personal thoughts?"

"No," Harry protested, "not at all, I swear, I was just walking along with Ron, it was just a security precaution."

"Fine. If you say so. But listen up, Mr. Potter, and listen well. Poking about me is one thing, but if I EVER catch you inside Ginevra Weasley's head again, without my EXPLICIT permission, YOU will be making the generous gift of a TESTICLE to the Hogwarts Potion Master's supply cabinet. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Potter?"

Ron didn't like the way Daphne's wand was jabbing about for emphasis. He looked from Daphne to Ginny, who winked, smiled, and shrugged. "Oh, well, he's made his bed…" she seemed to be saying. Ron decided the best he could do was extract his friend from the situation, fast. He tugged on Harry's arm.

"You've still got one left?" he asked, some disbelief in his voice, glancing back at Daphne and Ginny. "How many did you have to start out with?"

The witches let Ron put a decent distance between them and Harry before Ron heard the waves of laughter, which followed them down the Alley for a bit. In a couple of minutes, Ron and Harry stood before the Leaky Cauldron.

"C'mon, Harry, you've got witches in your head. You need a hearty lunch, and some butterbeer. Maybe a firewhisky."

Ron pulled Harry through the door. They looked around for a table and spotted one near the alley entrance. Ron got Harry seated and looked around to see who was working. Hannah Abbott was behind the bar. Ron waved, and Hannah gave a nod. Ron sat down and looked at Harry.

"How're you doing?" he asked.

"Better, now that we're away from them, and you found me a chair. I thought my head would explode. I thought my brains were being forced out my eardrums. I thought…"

"Mate, ease up," said Ron. "No graphic metaphors. I'm going to be trying to eat something in a few minutes. Besides, I know what you're talking about. It's not like I haven't been through it myself, lots of times."

"What are YOU talking about?" Harry asked. "I was just walking along, talking to you, just being alert like you do on the street. I wasn't even aware I was inside their thoughts, it was just, I don't know, letting the antennae do their thing, then they were inside ME, shouting at me. I didn't do anything wrong. Did I?"

Ron laughed.

"You're talking about witches, Harry. You don't have to do anything wrong. They just put you on notice from time to time. It's something they feel a need to do. I've lived with it my whole life. Mum, ugh, you've seen her in action. She'll hex you within an inch of your life in order to keep you from doing something stupid that would end it right there, for your own good. Merlin! Ginny, need I say more? The look on your face says I don't.

"Fleur, oh, Fleur. All she had to do was walk in the Great Hall, and I still would have been hers, forever, but from a distance, though, like her in France, me in Ottery St. Catchpole, but then she meets Bill, they fall in love, and now I see her every holiday. She doesn't have to talk to me, it's not required, but she does anyway, 'Oh, Ronald, do take some more of these lovely pomme de terres, Victoire and I dug them ourselves from Molly's beautiful garden…' and I just take some more potatoes, to be polite, and then I have to face Hermione when we get home.

'You and Fleur seemed quite involved with her pommes de terres, Ronald, so tell me, what is it about Fleur's pommes de terres that makes them superior to my pommes de terres?' Is there something I can do to improve my pommes de terres, so they will please my husband, as much as Fleur's…SO…OB-vi-ous-ly DO?'

"All the time, she's waving the wand, opening drawers, slamming them closed, flicking imaginary dust off the lamp, sparks shooting off the end. Oh, I know all about witches Harry. To minimize damage, try to do what they say, and if that's impossible, always be thinking about how to confess you didn't, but in reality, you did. On a higher level."

"Pommes de terres seems to have assumed a symbolic meaning beyond mere potatoes," Harry said. "You and Hermione could explore that further, as a couple. Look at it as a personal growth opportunity."

Neville Longbottom arrived at their table. "Before you ask, yes, I'm on duty, no time to chat. Maybe after the lunch crowd clears out. Right now, though, we have the house salad, large or small, fresh-baked Mad Monk bread, mixed fruit plate, a stew with meat, a vegetable soup, half a grilled chicken with choice of potato, and flan for dessert."

"Two butterbeers and two orders of the stew with meat. Does it come with the bread? If not, add a loaf of bread," said Ron.

"Sounds hearty enough," said Neville. "Harry looks a little peaked. Change in the weather?"

"Nah, Harry's got witches in his head," Ron answered.

"Gak!" Neville choked. "Sympathies, Harry, sincerest. Merlin have mercy. Should I add a couple of firewhiskies?"

"I think for after," said Ron. "We have to see how it goes."

Neville left for the kitchen, and Ron leaned over toward Harry.

"So, what were they talking about? Did you get anything good?"

Harry had just about recovered. He knew this because he thought Ron asking him to relate what he had picked up during his recent near-death experience was funny.

"Necessary background:" Harry said. "Ginny advised we were done, for good, months ago. I had to agree with her. She always was the more intuitive one. Out of the blue, last week, I learned Fabio and Kendra Greengrass were friends with my mom and dad, and the four of them entered into an agreement that sort of pre-engaged Daphne, and me, before we were born. Daphne knew, I didn't, and the goblins have been sitting on it. I went over to Greengrass Manor for lunch, yesterday, and ended up with a date for St. Mungo's Ball this Saturday. Are you and Hermione going, by the way? I have extra tickets."

"Already down, I'm afraid," said Ron.

"Okay, anyway, a bunch of other stuff happened, too much detail for one lunch, but the short version is Daphne and I…the thing is, I think we've ended up an item. At least, this morning I was hoping we're an item. I wasn't sure what Daphne thought about that until just a few minutes ago. Inside my head, it certainly felt like she considered us an item."

"Which explains her sudden territoriality. Sounds rational enough," said Ron.

"That was the gist of the conversation, the little fragment I actually got. Daphne was trying to gauge if Ginny has any lingering feelings. She doesn't, of course. One thing about Ginny, she's decisive."

Ron sipped some butterbeer. "The words you just spoke, translated, say 'In less than one week, Harry Potter and Daphne Greengrass were introduced, had one date, of sorts, under her parents' roof, and are all but engaged to be wed.' Did I leave anything out?"

"Like I said, I wasn't sure how Daphne felt about that last part, until our little encounter just now, but, yes, that is the essence," Harry replied.

Ron stared at Harry. "Did your mom, by chance, have any input into that agreement?" he asked.

"Funny you should ask that," Harry said. "Fabio Greengrass said Kendra and my mom put it together, before we were born. I got the impression Kendra had dragged Fabio into it, initially, but he said nice things about my parents, and missing them ever since they were killed. He even said he's okay with Daphne and me."

Neville showed up with two bowls of stew, and a loaf of bread on a board. "The portions are generous, but you're entitled to another ladleful each if you want some more," Neville said.

"Is that an actual rule?" Ron asked.

"Could be," Neville answered. "It just occurred to me. Have to wait and see. Could be a real traffic builder. Don't cut your thumb slicing the bread."

Neville headed back to the kitchen and Ron started slicing bread. "So you're going to the Ball on Saturday? Did you start becoming interested in the society circuit when you were exposed to the Greengrass lifestyle, or has this been a secret passion all along?"

Harry nearly choked at "…exposed to the Greengrass lifestyle…" but managed to maintain some dignity. "It was Daphne. She had a problem with an unsold table, and it seemed the right thing to do to help out." Harry left out his suspicion that the table was a confection Daphne had improvised on the spot, to give Harry an opening to escort her to a high visibility event. Even if he knew for a fact she had done, constructing a coherent explanation would have been beyond him.

Stew cool, bread cut, Ron and Harry dropped the conversation and went to work on lunch. Comments were few and related to food.

"Salt and pepper?"

"Um. Big difference."

"I'd put some shredded cheese on top."

"Um-hum. Romano."

"Cheddar."

"Who bakes their bread?"

"Don't know. Always thought there was an elf baker in the back. No idea why."

"Did you ever see who does it?"

"Nope."

"We should send our compliments to the baker."

"Suit yourself."

"Getting your extra ladle?"

"Considering it. But what about the flan?"

In the midst of the conversation, just as the hearty stew was curing Harry of his headful of witches, a light appeared in the center of the table, between him and Ron. It expanded until it formed into a miniature lynx, no more than three or four inches tall at the shoulder. The lynx sat on its haunches, looking at Harry. Daphne's voice emanated from somewhere in the vicinity of the patronus.

"Hullo, Ron. Hullo, Harry. Take your time, but when you're finished, Harry, could you come by Flourish and Blotts and collect me? I'll be in that big green leather chair in the corner by the window. Best to Hermione, Ron."

The patronus stood and turned, looked back at Harry, twitched its tail once, and winked out with a little "Pop."

Ron looked at Harry. Harry looked back.

"Is that…a…witch…I see just there?" Ron asked, gesturing with his spoon, somewhere in the air, a few inches above Harry's head.

"Depends. Is she really beautiful?" Harry asked.

"She looks smart," said Ron. "Like she'd be capable of thinking circles around a Senior Ministry Official."

"Dangerous combination," said Harry. "Could be a cure for my dull and boring lifestyle."

Chapter Fifteen

Harry Introduces Daphne to Madame Black

"Check your watch, Harry," said Ron, dabbing his lips with his napkin. "You've got ten minutes."

"She specifically said, 'take your time,'" Harry semi-protested.

"That's how you know you've got ten minutes," Ron told him. "If she doesn't say that, it means you're already late."

Harry looked reflexively at his wrist. He was just about done with his stew, and the butterbeer had one more swallow, at most. Harry reached in his pocket and pulled out a handful of sickles.

"I'll get lunch," Harry said. "You've earned it today. I really needed some wise counsel, and you came through."

"Glad to be of service," Ron said. "I'll just tell Neville you're letting me have your extra ladle of stew, then?"

"If you can convince him, you can have it. Best to Hermione. Oh! Daphne already said that, didn't she? See you Saturday, if not before."

Harry walked back through Diagon Alley, window shopping. He was passing Cranville Quincey's Magical Junkshop when something caught his eye. Checking his watch, he decided he just had time to make a purchase, if he was quick about it.

Entering the store, Harry waved to one of Quincey's staff. "What is that little chest in the window?" he asked.

"You have good taste, Mr. Potter," said the clerk. "That is a goblin-made item, probably between 200 and 400 years old. We have priced it at 200 galleons."

"Oh, I had a limit of 50 galleons," Harry said.

"I'm sure we could come down a little," said the clerk. "One hundred fifty galleons would be a very fair price. Shall I wrap it?"

"I could go to 100 galleons, but I'd need to give you something on deposit to hold it until Monday. If that is adequate…"

"Mr. Potter, the very best we could do is 130 galleons, and of course, if you could give us ten percent today, we can hold it for any reasonable period," said the clerk.

"One hundred thirty galleons it is," said Harry. "And I have ten galleons in my possession at the moment. I'm a bit short of time. Here is the deposit. I'll see you tomorrow and settle up."

"Excellent, Mr. Potter. A wise choice. This will be behind the counter, waiting for you. Allow us at least fifteen minutes to show you the features the goblins added when the box was made."

Harry dashed back out to Diagon Alley and turned toward Flourish and Blott's. He glanced at his watch to see where he stood with Ron's ten-minute deadline. If he remembered correctly, he had two minutes. Entering Flourish and Blott's with thirty seconds to spare, Harry looked for the green chair in the corner by the window. Sure enough, there sat Daphne, the latest issue of Witch Weekly open on her lap. Harry noticed her sneak a quick look at her wristwatch.

Her smile was blinding.

"Harry," she said, standing and presenting her cheek for his kiss.

"Daphne, that patronus…"

"I practiced," she said, still smiling, sounding just the least bit pleased with herself. "Do you like it? I think it enjoys being useful."

"Do you need to get someplace?"

"Nope. I'm done for the day. I thought we might take advantage of this opportunity to talk about the weekend. Who knows what the week will be like?"

Harry noted she'd said, 'the weekend' and not 'Saturday night.'

"Smart," said Harry. "There's a great place for that nearby."

Less than a minute later, Harry and Daphne stepped out of the fireplace in his apartment's living room.

"Chez mois," Harry said, sweeping his arm in front of them.

"Oh, Harry, this is really nice," said Daphne. "Comfy chairs, nice views out the windows, is this your kitchen?"

"Sure, take inventory," Harry laughed.

"I guess that was obvious, wasn't it?" asked Daphne.

"Just a bit," Harry said. "I don't mind. There hasn't been anyone to care about it for quite a while."

Daphne crossed the room to where Harry stood. Wrapping her arms around him, she said, "Was I a spoiled little snot back there at Britannia? I didn't mean to be, you just took me by surprise. Then I could tell you were in both of our thoughts, and I got a little bit jealous."

"Daphne, you're making up for a lot with this extended hug. I'm dizzy from pleasure. Should we sit down?" Harry said.

When they'd taken seats on opposite ends of the couch, Harry looked at Daphne, Daphne looked back, and they started to laugh.

"Oh, Harry," Daphne said between giggles.

"I swear I had no idea, until last week at Gringott's," Harry began.

"In retrospect, though, you gave me ten years to get an education and establish a practice," said Daphne.

"Speaking of which, I get the muggle MD for a Healer, but what's with the philosophy?"

"You've seen the thing from the Prophet, well, the Prophet thing was misleading," Daphne said. "The PhD is in psychology. I completed a program to become what muggles call a psychiatrist. I treat wizarding folks who have psychological issues. There is a lot of room in many wizards' lives for the manifestation of severe mental illness."

Harry laughed out loud. Daphne looked confused. "Is there something funny about that?" she asked.

"No, it's just, I have some experience with wizards manifesting severe mental illness, that's all," Harry said.

It was Daphne's turn to laugh. "I guess you do, at that," she said. "If I do my job properly, perhaps I can save you some trouble in the future. Seriously, though, I'm not going to resent you for ignoring me for ten years, because it gave me the room to do all that school. I love what I do. I feel good about it. It wouldn't have happened if we'd been a couple."

"That's very gracious of you," said Harry. "Will you give me the chance to make up for it?"

"Nothing to make up for," said Daphne, with a wave. "After what you did yesterday, all debts are canceled. We're free to start fresh. Now, how are we going to organize Saturday? Did you get another couple for our table?"

"Not yet," Harry said. "Ron and Hermione are all set. I was going to invite Neville and Hannah, but the Cauldron was really slammed. Let's see…"

Harry crossed to the fireplace and threw in a pinch of floo powder.

"Leaky Cauldron. Hannah? Neville? It's Harry," he said.

Neville's voice came out of the fireplace, "Harry, what's up? Is your head feeling better?"

"Yes, it is, thanks to Dr. Greengrass' professional skills, and a hearty bowl of stew," Harry said. "Neville, we have need of a couple of congenial people to share our table at the St. Mungo's Ball on Saturday. Are you and Hannah interested?"

"Wait one," Neville said.

"Harry Potter, this is short notice," said Hannah's voice. "Saturday night! I run a pub! Still, St. Mungo's Ball, you can appreciate my dilemma."

"I take it since you're of two minds that eventually you will formulate a plan to attend, so we'll consider it done," Harry said. "We'll send the tickets."

"I should make you detail an auror to handle the bar," Hannah said.

"Trust me, Hannah, you don't want an auror back there. You'd be hosting Auror Appreciation Night."

"What's next?" Harry said, turning back to Daphne.

"Getting there," said Daphne. "Where do we meet, what time, how do we go?"

"Do we go alone, or with your family?" Harry asked.

"Mother and Father will go directly from home. I'll have to be in London for rounds Saturday morning. I think Astoria will go with her date from his home. It's Draco, by the way. Lucius and Father have been doing a ritual dance of sorts, but Draco is a needy lap dog where Astoria is concerned, and Mother expects they'll be shaking hands on it soon."

"What about Astoria? What does she think?" Harry asked.

"Astoria's fine. All she wants is someone stable to start a family with. Draco, for all his quirks, doesn't seem to have a need to stray. The portents are positive, at present. Don't tell Astoria and Draco, but Mother runs everything by her runes, and the runes are pretty much saying it's a match."

"So it is just the two of us," Harry said. "We can go from anywhere. I've been thinking about something else. What would you think of throwing an after-party, for people our age? Take off the robes, sit down with a firewhisky, bask in the afterglow."

"Great idea, but wouldn't this be a little snug? So where?" Daphne asked.

"Hard to tell you about it, easier if I can show you, if you feel like going out again," Harry said. "There are a couple of folks you need to meet anyway."

Leaving his building, Harry led Daphne to a handy apparation point, visualized #12 Grimmauld Place, and disapparated. They materialized on the steps outside the front door, which opened for them. A voice said, "Welcome, Master Harry, and guest. Will you come in and take some coffee, or tea?"

"Thank you, Kreacher," said Harry, leading Daphne inside. "Daphne, I have the honor to present Kreacher, who is responsible for the care of #12 Grimmauld Place. Kreacher, this is Miss Daphne Alexandra Greengrass, who is the daughter of Lord Fabio and Lady Kendra Greengrass. Miss Daphne will be coming to #12 from time to time. Make sure she is made to feel at home and has whatever she needs in the way of food or beverages, whenever she is here."

"Kreacher is at your service, Miss Daphne. Kreacher recalls Lord and Lady Greengrass calling at Grimmauld Place many years ago. Please come in and sit down."

"Kreacher likes to keep busy, Daphne. When I was still at Hogwarts, I didn't make enough of a mess here, so a position was arranged for Kreacher in the kitchens there, and he is the most extraordinary chef, whether cooking for one, or one hundred."

"Master is too kind, Kreacher lives to serve the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black," Kreacher said.

"House of Black?" Daphne asked, somewhat confused.

"Master Harry is Lord Black," said Kreacher, "and he is doing much to restore the House of Black to its former glory."

"Kreacher, I'm just trying to live up to your expectations, I assure you," Harry said with a laugh. "I thought it might be nice if Miss Daphne were to be introduced to Madame Walburga, if this is a good time. Do you foresee any difficulties with that?"

"No, Master Harry. My mistress has expressed a desire to meet Miss Daphne, whenever she should come to call."

"I don't recall mentioning Miss Daphne to Madame Walburga, Kreacher. How is she aware Miss Daphne might be calling?" Harry asked.

"Kreacher can only say, the portraits can be well-informed, at times. Kreacher does not pry into the portraits' business."

They had arrived at Walburga Black's portrait, which was silent, its drape pulled down. Kreacher brought a wooden stool and placed it in front of the portrait, climbed up, and slowly drew the drape aside, speaking in a low voice the whole time.

"Kreacher is here, Mistress, there are others who have asked to see you, Master Harry and his guest Miss Daphne Alexandra Greengrass, you spoke of her once, Kreacher recalls, Miss Daphne asks your leave to pay her respects."

Kreacher broke off his introductions just as he finished tucking the drape under Walburga's frame. Harry braced himself for what he knew was coming. There was a pause, as if Walburga's portrait were filling its portrait lungs, then:

"Vile half-blood, serial defiler of pureblood virgins, coming to torment me once more!" Walburga screeched.

"To be fair, Madame, I haven't had the opportunity to defile anyone for a long time. But that isn't what I'm here for. Madame Black, may I present my friend Miss Daphne Alexandra Greengrass, daughter of Lord Fabio and Lady Kendra Greengrass, of Greengrass Manor? Daphne, this is the portrait of the late mistress of this most noble house, an authoritative source on Black family history, and an eyewitness to countless notable magical events over much of the last century."

"I am most honored, Madame Black, to be received in your home. You are a legend among my Slytherin sisters," said Daphne, lowering her eyes as she dropped into a perfect, deep curtsy before Walburga's portrait.

"POTTER!" Walburga shouted, louder than before. "What wizardry have you performed on this noble witch, to bend her to your will? This witch has manners, she shows respect toward her elders. She observes the most sacred traditions of our ancestors! What business would she have with you?"

"Actually, Madame" said Daphne, keeping her eyes just slightly lowered, "our mothers made arrangements for Harry and me, when we were in the womb. They were faithful to the ways of the old witches. The bonds were well-cast and have brought us together. And, Harry has turned out to be a perfect gentleman. He made it a high priority to bring me to meet you."

"I hope Miss Daphne will be here often, Madame," Harry said, finding Daphne's hand, and giving it a squeeze, "so I would like you two to be comfortable with one another. Kreacher, if you could join me in the kitchen?"

He gave Daphne a wink. "We'll be right through there," he whispered, pointing at the door across the hall that led to the kitchen.

"Are they gone?" Walburga asked, in a low, but normal voice.

"They are," said Daphne.

"He won't give us long, so I'll keep this short, this time. Are you going to marry him?" asked Walburga.

"The Agreement encourages it, but we aren't yet contracted, or engaged," answered Daphne. "How…"

"Another time," Walburga snapped. "Let's proceed, then, on the assumption that he expects to spend a lot of time with you in this house, or he wouldn't have bothered to formally introduce you. Right now, he only comes here four or five times a week, to use that exercise room he developed upstairs, for an hour or two, then he leaves."

"You will need a space to work. I'd suggest the small study off the hall. Make sure he shows it to you. There's a fireplace, if you need to floo directly in or out, or put some heat under a cauldron. The light is good, and you can activate some serious wards for privacy. Just so there is no misunderstanding, Daphne, when I say serious wards, I mean they will be lethal, for anyone who tries to get at you for the wrong reasons. Understand? Don't take them lightly. We'll see you are informed how they work. This house has some surprises in store for you. Learn to use the tools it gives you, and give them a chance to help you. Now I need Kreacher, but not Potter. Call him, he'll come."

"Kreacher, come here, please!" said Daphne.

"Kreacher is here, Miss Daphne," Kreacher said, appearing at once.

"Kreacher," said Walburga, "Miss Daphne will be admitted to #12 Grimmauld Place whether she is with Harry Potter or not. She needs to learn how Grimmauld Place works. Grimmauld Place needs to cooperate with her, and support her. Treat her exactly as you would me."

"Yes, Mistress, Kreacher will carry out your wishes as always," said Kreacher.

"Right, then, please get back to Potter and get us one more minute."

"Kreacher will do so, Mistress," said Kreacher, before disapparating.

"One last thing—I'm glad you're here. Now, questions?" asked Walburga.

"Who is the old gentleman in that portrait?" Daphne asked, pointing.

"Phineas Nigellas Black, late headmaster of Hogwarts, why?"

"I remember Kreacher. In my sixth year at Hogwarts, he hung a portrait of the late headmaster in the hall opposite the Slytherin girls' dormitory. It seemed an odd place for an elderly gentleman's portrait. Is there a portrait of you around the house, that would be appropriate for that spot? How would you like to be among Slytherin girls once more?"

"Well, Phineas Nigellas ought not be someplace that would overexcite him, for his own good," cackled Walburga. "There is a portrait of me, the year I got married, in the small study. Kreacher will know the one, and I don't think it would scare the young witches, seeing it first thing in the morning."

"It was an honor meeting you. I hope we can spend more time together soon," Daphne said.

"Likewise, dear," said Walburga. "It pains me to say it aloud, but Potter is the future of the Blacks. If the two of you can't put us right, no one can. I'm depending on you to do your best for us. Regards to lovely Kendra."

"Let me see what can be done," said Daphne. "I'll treasure your advice."

"Want a tour?" Harry said, as he entered the hall. "Thank you for receiving us, Madame Black."

"How DARE you lay hands on this flower of pureblood witchery?" Walburga spat after them.

"How'd it go, pureblood flower?" Harry asked, leading Daphne off.

"As well as could be expected," said Daphne. "What an interesting woman."

"Yes, my godfather's mother. He was a mismatch for the Black family. He sort of…adopted himself, to the Potters. My father and Sirius were, I'm told, inseparable, and chronic miscreants."

"And yet here you are, a magical copper," said Daphne.

"I've often wondered if they're spinning, wherever they are," mused Harry. "Well, this," he said, opening a door, "is a little office of sorts. Nice little desk, plenty of windows. Very convenient to the kitchen. I like this little room but I don't know what to do with it. I have a feeling it belongs to the lady of the house, sitting at the desk, writing her invitations and thank-you's and sending and receiving owls. That's a portrait of the young, breathtakingly gorgeous Walburga, according to the plaque. She couldn't have been more than a couple of years out of Hogwarts."

"All the room needs is some plants, airing out, and a little furniture polish" Daphne said, "and a lady certainly could sit herself down here and do all her ladylike tasks, couldn't she? Can I take it?"

"If you want it, it's yours. Does this mean you're going to be a regular here?" Harry asked, trying to keep excessive eagerness out of his voice.

"Do you want me coming and going? It would be nice to have a quiet place to work available, when I'm in London. I love St. Mungo's, I mean, as an institution, but the setting isn't the best for concentration."

"Yes, of course, it would help me with one of the problems I have with the house. It is just too big for one person. Besides, I know the property is highly magical. Fully understood, it could hold its own with Hogwarts, I'm convinced. Any help with that will be most appreciated. Let's go upstairs, there is something up there I need to show you."

"Started using a room I'd cleaned out for a dojo," Harry said as they climbed. "I was practicing some traditional martial arts forms, looking for ways to adapt them for wandwork in dueling situations. One day, I had some opponents."

Harry opened the door and led Daphne inside.

"We bow when we enter the dojo."

They walked to the center of the room.

Harry said, "Wands."

Two mannequins materialized, one in front of Harry, one in front of Daphne.

"Raise your wand, prepare to block, then cast," Harry said.

The two automatons attacked, not too quickly or accurately, Harry and Daphne parried and counterattacked.

"Again," said Harry.

This time, the attacks were quicker, and more accurately placed. Harry and Daphne parried, but the extra effort affected their aim and their counterattacks went wide.

"One more," Harry said. The mannequins cast, Harry and Daphne parried as before, and moved smoothly into position to cast a return. Both hit the mannequins.

"Good one!" Harry said.

"Wow, that's fun!"

"That's enough for a demonstration. We'll come back again and have a proper work out when we have more time," said Harry. "Now we bow to our worthy opponents."

All four, two humans, and two automatons, bowed from the waist. The mannequins rose and stopped moving, and Harry led Daphne to the door.

"This floor is all bedrooms and baths, except for the dojo. I'm not sure, but the house might be equipped with an expansion charm. I've never seen it run out of accommodations, although I've also never taken inventory."

Harry walked down the hall opening doors.

"Harry, what are you doing here?" Daphne asked. "I don't understand what you are doing with this house, or Kreacher, or the Blacks. Why are you Lord Black and not Potter?"

"Actually, I am Lord Potter. No one has made a fuss about the title for generations, I've learned, but there is one. I'm Lord Black because my godfather, Sirius, was the last male of the Black family line. He never got the chance to marry and have children, so he made me heir to his worldly estate. Then his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, nee Black, killed him, and I succeeded to the title. The Magical Heraldry Office at the Ministry sent me a nice letter on the most beautiful parchment, telling me I can style myself Harry Potter, Lord Potter, Lord Black, Lord Potter-Black, or Lord Potter AND Black, as I wish. They gave me some options, you could say.

"Here's the master bedroom. Suite, really. It goes all the way across the front on this level. See the park across the street? There is a smaller room just there, and there's the bath in between. It's really quite the barn. I've never gotten close to figuring out how to make it function and I don't know what to do about the interiors."

"I might have some ideas," Daphne speculated.

"Tell Kreacher. He's highly accomplished. I just wanted a place to work out, did my forms a few times, and the first mannequin showed up. The house seems to want to help.

"Anyway, what would you like to start with?"

"I'd remove everything on the walls, paint it a light gray above the chair rail and a slightly darker gray below, re-hang that landscape over there, get rid of that oil lamp hanging from the ceiling and put in a chandelier with candles and lots of prisms to make the light dance."

"Kreacher," Harry said.

"Kreacher is here, Master," Kreacher announced.

"Kreacher, Miss Daphne has some ideas about a little maintenance for the house, that I would like you to help her with. She'll tell you what she has in mind."

"Kreacher," said Daphne, "I would like to see this bedroom with some new paint, cool gray, with a little darker shade below the chair rail and a lighter one above, if possible, and a new light source in place of the oil lamp, I'm thinking a crystal chandelier with candles. I think that landscape should stay, but the other things on the walls can be stored. Can we try those things and see how the room looks?

"Of course, Miss Daphne," said Kreacher, and snapped his fingers. "The room will appreciate Miss Daphne's interest and attention."

The room brightened up immediately as the former maroon walls updated themselves to the two-gray arrangement. One landscape painting remained, while all the other pictures and bric-a-brac from the walls disappeared. Two deer, a stag and a doe, wandered into the landscape and stood looking into the room, seemingly curious about what was going on. The oil lamp that hung from the ceiling, all oily soot and tarnished brass, transformed into a huge chandelier, with dozens of candles and hundreds of crystals.

"Kreacher, that chandelier is so beautiful, but I think it may be a little larger than the master bedroom can handle. What do you think?" Daphne asked.

"Kreacher wishes only to please Miss Daphne, of course," Kreacher allowed, "if a smaller chandelier is needed…"

Kreacher snapped his fingers again, and the chandelier shrank by about one-third.

Daphne waved her wand, lighting the candles. Then she waved it again, closing the window drapes. The room settled down. The prisms cast rainbows on the gray walls and ceiling. The drapes and bedclothes, however, some crimson and gold items Harry had liberated from Sirius' old room, did not match the room's new look. Daphne pondered the problem.

"I have an idea, Kreacher. Could we try taking those curtains off the four-poster?" Daphne asked.

Kreacher snapped his fingers.

"Now, the coverlet doesn't look quite right to me," she said, and Kreacher removed it with a snap.

"Sheets next I think. And the pillows need to be replaced, two nice fluffy ones on each side," Daphne continued.

Kreacher removed the sheets with a snap.

"Might as well replace the mattress, who knows what kind of nonsense that one has seen?" said Daphne.

"I'm standing right here," reminded Harry.

Kreacher snapped his fingers and a new mattress appeared on the bed.

"Now," said Daphne, "I think a pair of nice green sheets with a silver pinstripe around the edge for some contrast. Um-hmm, a couple of shades darker, yes, very nice. Matching pillow cases? Oh, yes. Maybe a canopy instead of the full drapes on the frame? Green and silver? I'd like to see what you can do with Potter and Black, Kreacher. Can you do those, in script, repeating, in a border along the edge of the canopy, Potter, Black, Potter, Black? Oh, yes, all the way around the canopy. You're doing such great work. Now, a coverlet for the bed. I think something with a little substance to it, for winter nights, a lofty quilted duvet, perhaps. It should be in green silk, the nubbly kind, perhaps with a little silver near the edges. Oh, that is nice. Let's try making that silver band somewhat wider, maybe twice as wide? Yes, we are getting there. Now, to finish up, I think that coverlet needs a silver serpent, right in the middle, very subtle, just two or three silver threads, what do you think, Kreacher?"

"Kreacher can do that, of course, Miss Daphne. Would Miss Daphne prefer it resemble the serpent seen on the Slytherin crest? Kreacher is familiar with that one."

"Kreacher, that would be delightful, I think that would be just right," said Daphne, and Kreacher made it so.

"Now, I think, window curtains made of the same material as the canopy," Daphne finished, and Kreacher snapped his fingers once again.

"The light coming through that window overlooking the park is perfect for reading, so a chair, with arms, in green." A snap of Kreacher's fingers. "And a small table, with enough room on the top for a book, a glass, and a pitcher." One more snap.

Daphne turned to face Harry, who, staring at the transformed bedroom, appeared to be incapable of speech. She put the tip of her index finger on his lips and gave him a smile.

"You can thank me later. What else should we see on our tour?" she asked.

Chapter Sixteen

Making a Few Little Necessary Improvements at Grimmauld Place

"Uh-there's a salon, downstairs," Harry said leading the way.

A central hall began just inside the front door. The first door off the hall opened to the left, giving entry to a large sitting, or living room.

"Oh, my," said Daphne, looking around at the furniture. It was all at least one hundred years old, and not just dated. It was ugly. Daphne turned to Harry.

"Harry, this room is your space for large gatherings, at least when you and your guests aren't in the dining room. This is the public face of the couple who live here. Think about how everyone will arrive, how they'll be greeted at the door, outdoor clothing whisked away, proceeding on to greet their host and hostess, move into the space, greet the other guests, get a drink, eventually needing the powder room.

"Picture people arriving and getting their first impression of your home, your taste, your outlook on life. Picture people in this room, standing, sitting, having a conversation.

"Think about you and your hostess…"

"That would be you," Harry interjected.

"Distraction," Daphne said, pursing her lips. "Focus."

"How do you want the space to help you give your guests a memorable time? Think about you and your hostess and a small gathering, ten others. How do you want the guests to arrive? Floo? Apparation into the foyer? Up the steps to the front door?"

"I think the steps would be best," Harry said, after a pause to think. "Apparation and the floo could open a way through any security protections."

"Okay, how do they get to the bottom of the steps?" Daphne asked.

"Assuming it is an all-wizard gathering, they can apparate just outside the wards, onto the sidewalk in front. If they're walking in through Muggle London they can manage their own charms until they get here."

"Good so far," said Daphne. "Now, they're up the steps and on your threshold, staff opens the door to admit them. Who welcomes them to #12?"

"Kreacher, I believe. He is very experienced, knows all the protocol, from those years with Walburga. I think old-timers who remember the Blacks would expect to see him, too," Harry said.

"Right. Until we hear otherwise from Kreacher, he is our butler. At this point, guests are inside, wraps whisked away, they greet you and hostess…"

"That's you…" Harry reminded her.

"They greet you and, well, me then, and into the salon, where, what? They find their own way about, pour their own drinks, take one from a buffet table? Do you want a bar? Music? Servers?"

"This is complicated," Harry said. "I've never thought of any of these things. Who knew?"

"I knew, Harry, because Mother took me in hand from the time I was little. I was six or so, and we sat down and planned a little Christmas reception for some couples Father did business with. By the time I started at Hogwarts, I could do the planning, write it up, calculate the bottles of firewhisky, butterbeers, and the amount of food to order, and give it all to Mother to execute. She was compelled to fidget with it around the edges, of course. I get that you didn't have the advantages I did. If you want to start with a little after-party following the ball, that would be a nice, manageable function, to get some practice. See?"

"To be fair, when I was thirteen, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia did have Aunt Marge and her dog over one time, and I did some serving."

"Great!" said Daphne. "See? You do have some experiences to draw upon. How did it go? Did you take good care of Aunt Marge? Did she have a good time?"

"I think so," said Harry, "up until she started feeling her brandy, then she began trashing Mum and Dad, and I inflated her and made her float away, by accident, of course."

Daphne looked at Harry, not sure if he was telling the truth or enjoying a private laugh at her expense.

"No. You didn't."

"Oh, but I DID," Harry said, a look of pride and satisfaction on his face. "I had to get my trunk and get out of the Dursleys' house that very night, and everything. Took the Knight Bus for the first time, and I batched at the Leaky Cauldron for two weeks, until Hogwarts started up. I was in heaven."

Unable to hold it in any longer, he started to chuckle, and Daphne, seeing he was telling the truth, started in as well, chuckles turning to belly laughs all around.

When order was restored, Daphne asked, "Leaving out inflatable aunts, how big do you want the party to be? Nice, manageable size, remember, get the kinks out, a practice run for bigger events."

She counted on her fingers, "Astoria and Draco, Neville and Hannah, you and me, that's our table. Who else?"

"Ron and Hermione will be there," Harry said.

"Eight. Tracey might be going, I'll have to check. That's one or two more. That's nine or ten, depending on whether Tracey is alone or with someone," Daphne said. "Anyone else?"

"I've never done anything this big, so maybe we should stop there," Harry said.

"Okay. Do you want to offer people the option to spend the night? Some, or all?"

"We've got the space," Harry said. "We can offer."

"We can," said Daphne, "but we'll have to walk through all the spare bedrooms and baths and get them ready, today. We're back to work tomorrow, and you don't want to leave that kind of thing until Saturday, that's when you take care of all the things that couldn't be done before."

"Okay. We'll poll the people we talked about. Get confirmations, stock the larder, and so on. It's late and we know everyone, so let's do this informally. I'll get Astoria and Tracey, you do the Weasleys and Neville and Hannah."

Daphne drew her wand, took a breath and cast her patronus. The lynx bounded from her wand tip and sat on its haunches before her.

"I want you to go to Astoria, and Tracey Davis, with a message: "Harry and I would like to invite you to a small gathering after the St. Mungo's ball, if you are available. Location in London, address will follow if you confirm. We can accommodate you overnight, so please advise if you want to stay. Best, Daphne. Okay? Go!"

Daphne's lynx jumped through the front window and disappeared.

"Are you sure you haven't been doing this for the last ten years?" Harry asked. "Because that lynx…"

"Harry Potter, if you are suggesting I pretended to be unable to cast a patronus, as a subterfuge to get you to, what, give me a hint about technique? I really think that is unworthy of you," Daphne said, adding a little sniff at the end, for extra emphasis.

"Duly noted," Harry said. "Lesson learned."

"Thank-you, Harry, you're so accommodating," Daphne said, dispensing a hug.

"Now, you do yours."

"I liked your message, so what if I cast mine, and you do the message?" Harry asked.

"Can we do that? It's your patronus, will it take a message from me?"

"Don't know, but we can try," said Harry. "Expecto patronum"

Harry's stag leapt from his wand and stood, waiting.

"I want you to find either Ron or Hermione Weasley, and Hannah Abbott or Neville Longbottom, and deliver Daphne's message. Daphne?"

Daphne repeated what she'd given the lynx. When she finished, Harry said, "Go!" and the stag jumped through the same window the lynx had used.

Daphne and Kreacher spent an hour on the salon, while Harry mainly looked on and kept his mouth shut. Daphne seemed to have an encyclopedic knowledge of furniture and unerring color sense. She quickly put the room's basic colors right, replaced dated furnishings, and picked out three pieces to keep.

The lynx came back with confirmation for a drop-by from Astoria and Draco, declining to stay over. Tracey sent thanks and regrets as she was leaving for someplace sunny direct from the ball.

The stag reported that Neville and Hannah accepted for the party and the stay over, Ron and Hermione the party only.

Daphne walked Harry through the room, showing him how she envisioned arrivals, mixing, libations, placement of a buffet table.

"The dining room doesn't need much, beyond some dusting and polishing," she said. "We don't need it for Saturday, anyway. And, I've used up all my time, so we'll have to figure out how to get a bedroom for Neville and Hannah sorted before Saturday."

"Now," Daphne said. "I'll need to head to the manor. I don't schedule anything after morning rounds on Wednesdays. Do you get leave, or are you aurors on duty all day, every day?"

"Oh," Harry said, "I was just thinking about dinner, and…"

"And? And I can go to work tomorrow in the clothes I'm wearing now? And, I'm already here, so I might as well move in? Harry, there will be time to take care of all of that, believe me. Just not right this minute. Things are going well, so let's take it step by step, otherwise, all the special times will get lost."

Daphne stepped close and kissed Harry on the lips.

"So practical," Harry said. "Witches always think of the practicalities, and I have so little knowledge of them."

"Witches, or practicalities? What about Wednesday, can you come to Greengrass Manor for lunch, maybe take the afternoon off?" Daphne asked.

"Unless something comes up to pre-empt it, sure, I can take some leave," Harry said.

"Great," said Daphne. "Now, Kreacher?"

"Kreacher is here, Miss Daphne. Do you wish to make more improvements?"

"No, Kreacher, this is something else. Do you still go to Hogwarts when you aren't busy here?"

"Yes, Miss Daphne. The Hogwarts elves make Kreacher welcome."

"I recall the portrait of Headmaster Phineas Nigellas that you hung near the Slytherin dormitory, and I have discussed the matter with Madame Black. She has graciously agreed to make a gift of her small portrait from the study for that spot. I would like the late headmaster to return to #12 Grimmauld Place. We will discuss the proper placement of the late headmaster's portrait among Madame Black, Master Harry and myself, after the headmaster returns.

Can you take care of the switching of the two, on your next visit? Oh, and Kreacher, the late, distinguished headmaster does not need to know of this plan in advance, as we don't want to inadvertently cause him undue distress."

"Kreacher will do as you wish, Miss Daphne, of course."

"Wonderful, Kreacher, you have done extraordinary work today, and so much of it," Daphne said. "It has been a real pleasure."

"Miss Daphne is too kind," Kreacher muttered, and turned toward the kitchen.

Chapter Seventeen

Harry Meant To Tell Daphne About The Time Problem, Really, He Did

"Now, Harry, can I use the floo? There aren't any jinxes lurking for the unwary, are there?" Daphne asked.

"If you must," Harry sighed. "Have you got everything?"

"Oh, I left Witch Weekly at your flat," Daphne said.

"Let's go, and you can leave from there," Harry said, taking Daphne's hand. He took a pinch of floo powder from a container. They stepped into the fireplace, Harry dropped the floo powder and said, "Harry's flat." Following the WHOOSH, they stepped out of the fireplace into the apartment.

"Harry Potter, this IS a surprise," said Blaise Zabini, drawing a pistol and pointing it at Harry.

"Blaise, what are you doing in my apartment? And what's with the gun?" Harry asked.

"Whose apartment?" Blaise responded. "I think you'd better start off by telling me what you are doing, entering MY apartment, through a fireplace, hand in hand with my wife!"

"Blaise, I'm not your wife. You're hallucinating. And would you please stop pointing that gun at people?" Daphne said.

Harry had, by this time, taken in a good deal of information. Blaise was wearing a uniform, but not the 1918-era military issue he'd been wearing when Harry last saw him. This one looked very much like a current police uniform. There were differences, but the checkered band around the cap, rank insignia, and the color scheme were accurate.

Harry looked around the flat, or, at least, the part he could see from where he stood. The photos were wrong. The vase on the book case was wrong. The books looked mixed.

"What's going on?" asked a little girl, who had just come out of the bedroom hallway.

"Don't know, Lily, just standing here talking to your mum and this gentleman she's brought home," said Blaise.

The little girl, who looked to be eight or nine, more or less, looked between Blaise, Harry and Daphne.

"That's not Mum," she said. "She looks like Mum, but she isn't."

"Of course that's your Mum, Lily. I'm her husband, and she sure looks like your Mum to me," said Blaise.

"Listen to her, Blaise, I'm not your wife," said Daphne.

"Blaise," said Harry. "The gun. Someone's going to get hurt. Something is seriously out of adjustment here, so please put down the gun and we'll talk this through."

"SHUT UP!" Blaise shouted. "Lily, go to your room, please, now."

"Potter, sit down right where you are and put your hands on top of your head. Daphne, take Lily back to her room," ordered Blaise.

"Come on, Mum," Lily said, looking directly into Daphne's eyes, and taking her hand. Daphne looked at Harry, giving him a slight cock of her head. Harry sat with his hands on his head, and flicked his eyes toward the hallway in return.

Lily took Daphne into her room and closed the door.

"Who are you, and who is that man sitting in front of the fireplace?" Lily asked.

"My name is Daphne Greengrass, and the man is Harry Potter," Daphne said, "and we used the floo network to get to Harry's flat, and we came out here. Do you know where we are?"

"You're in our flat, in London," Lily said. "I have a theory, that you're a witch."

"Oh, well, who is it you're referring to when you say 'our flat'?" Daphne asked.

"Me, Lily Zabini, my dad, Blaise Zabini, and my mum Daphne Greengrass Zabini, of course," Lily said.

"Where is your mum, anyway?" Daphne asked. "Because, you know, if your mum was here, we could convince your dad that I'm not her, and we could get started sorting this out. I have a feeling that not wasting time is going to be important, although I can't say why at the moment."

"Mum went out to get some curry take-away from the place across the street, just before Dad and I came home. She's on her way back now. Dad just picked me up from playing with Scorpius at Auntie Astoria's. Dad would have thought Mum was in their room, until he saw you by the fireplace," Lily said. "Are you a witch?"

"Before we get to that, I'd like to ask you something, Lily. What do you know about witches? Have you ever met any?"

"Umh-hmm. They won't admit it, of course, but I see them all the time. I'm pretty sure I'm a witch. Dad doesn't know Mum went for take-away, does he? But I do. I can see her in the elevator, walking down the corridor, punching in the code, oops, nope, she just points and opens the door without the code. I suspect she's a witch," said Lily.

Daphne heard the flat door open.

"What is going on here?" demanded a female voice. "I step out for five minutes to get this family something for dinner…"

"That's Mum," Lily said, "Not hard to tell the difference, unless you're Dad."

"Maybe we should go back," said Daphne. "We can get started figuring out whatever it is that is going on."

"My guess is a hole in the space-time continuum, but Dad will say it is witchery, and he'll want to haul you in. I don't know what he'll do with Harry Potter. Is Harry Potter a master criminal wherever you come from? He's wanted here."

"Harry Potter, a criminal? No, where we come from, he is a very high-ranking police officer," Daphne said. "He has figured prominently in solving some of the most famous crimes of the century. Can I ask you a question? Why will Blaise want to haul me in for witchery? Are witches criminals here?"

"Strictly speaking, no," said Lily. "BUT, witchery is regulated, and if a witch uses her skills to do certain things, they haul her in. Are you ready to go?"

"Oh, let's," said Daphne. "At the very least we're going to have something interesting to talk about, and it could turn into a full-blown adventure."

Lily again took Daphne's hand and conducted them both down the hallway to the living room.

"Mum," said Lily, as she led Daphne into the room, "there's someone here you need to meet."

Daphne Zabini turned toward Lily and Daphne. No one said anything for quite awhile, as the two Daphnes sized one another up. The silence was broken by the sound of Blaise holstering his weapon. Daphne, Daphne, Lily and Harry looked at him.

"Whatever is going on here, I'm not going to figure it out with this," Blaise said. "BUT, I want some answers, beginning with, who are you people?"

Harry looked at Daphne. "I'll go first," he said, "I've got a little background."

"Nice of you to tell me, Harry, nothing thrills a girl like finding out she's bought a pig in a poke."

"WHO ARE YOU?" Blaise demanded.

"I'm Harry Potter, Head Auror with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Ministry of Magic. It appears we have become the unwitting victims of a temporal trickster. Someone in our time stream, operating in our year 1918, has been utilizing some poorly-understood techniques to sever time streams and re-connect the pieces. It appears to be experimentation. Remediation requires someone skilled in time stream repair."

"You're in law enforcement?" Blaise asked, showing some distress. "Harry Potter is in, what kind of law enforcement did you say?"

"Magical Law Enforcement," said Harry. "The aurors enforce the laws relating to improper use of magic. Dark Magic gets the most attention, but the aurors spend a limited amount of time on it. They arrest the witches and wizards who commit old-fashioned crimes like murder, theft, and robbery, using magic, or who otherwise might use magic to evade conventional law enforcement. I'm the Head Auror. Who enforces magical law here?"

"Clarification needed," said Blaise, "you said witches and wizards. What are wizards?"

"Wizards is the masculine, witches feminine," said Harry.

"You have witches, who are men, is that what I heard?" asked Blaise.

Daphne Greengrass looked at Daphne Zabini, who kept her eyes on her husband, but slowly, almost imperceptibly, shook her head.

"Well, we'd have to, wouldn't we?" Harry asked. "It really wouldn't be fair, otherwise, men and women being the way we are. Anyway, how do you enforce magical law?"

"We don't have magical law, I'm afraid, Potter. No need of it. There are witches, and witchcraft is regulated. Wizards, were there any, wouldn't admit it. They'd be considered mistakes, something Nature didn't get right. Anyway, the geneticists say it's chromosomal, two X chromosomes with the witch gene, you've got a witch, meaning a Y chromosome is disqualifying."

"Aren't we supposed to blow up, or something?" Daphne Greengrass asked Daphne Zabini. "End the Universe as we know it? Haven't we brought about an irreconcilable temporal anomaly?"

"Apparently not, since we're all still here. The question is, how do we get you back where you belong?" Daphne Zabini said.

"Any idea what James Potter is doing in this stream?" Harry asked. "He might be helpful."

The others turned to look at him.

"Why is that?" asked Blaise, sounding a bit suspicious.

"Who?" asked Daphne Zabini.

"Harry, what do you know that I don't know?" demanded Daphne Greengrass.

"There is a Professor James Potter at Cambridge University," Lily said. "The famous physicist? Does anyone read around here? Honestly!"

"Bingo," said Harry.

"Not so fast, Potter," said Blaise.

"When we get back, Harry Potter…" said Daphne Greengrass.

Harry looked in his Daphne's eyes.

"I think I'd better brief Blaise, to the extent I can," Harry said, "and establish some law enforcement liaison, even if it is on an ad hoc basis. I'll need to do it without anyone lacking proper clearances hanging about, so perhaps, you ladies could withdraw, and see if lynx with Cambridge could be useful in repairing a damaged time stream?"

Daphne Greengrass smiled. "Oh, I like that idea. Anything to get away from an overdose of man talk. Ugh. We'll just be down in that room at the far end of the hallway, then."

Daphne Zabini looked at Daphne Greengrass, obviously somewhat put out with the latter's assumption of authority, but she didn't protest. She held her hand out to Lily. "C'mon, Lily."

As soon as the three of them left the living room, Harry turned to Blaise.

"They'll be busy with getting-to-know-you stuff for a few minutes, so here's the dump. As I said, someone is monkeying with our time stream, cutting and splicing. Daphne and I are objects of the perpetrator's attention, for reasons still unknown. This is the third incident we have figured in. Time repair teams with experience in the field have been able to make repairs without, as far as is known, permanent damage to any stream, but, of course, when it comes to time, damage isn't obvious right away. You know all this in my time stream. Does any of that tie in with anything your law enforcement agencies are seeing?"

Blaise looked at Harry, not speaking right away.

"Luckily for you, it does. Just barely. Our briefings didn't say anything about you running around with Daphne, though. You've still got some explaining to do."

Down at the end of the hall, Daphne Greengrass drew her wand when Daphne Zabini closed the bedroom door.

"Muffliato!" she said, with a wave of her wand. "Okay, now we can talk. Introductions: I am Daphne Alexandra Greengrass, MD, PhD. My parents are Fabio and Kendra, my sister is Astoria, and I'm a Healer at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies, specializing in mental illnesses that affect witches and wizards. Harry Potter, where we come from, is a very senior law enforcement officer. How about you and Blaise?"

"I'm Daphne Greengrass Zabini, this is my daughter Lily. My parents are also Fabio and Kendra, and I have a sister, Astoria. I am a qualified nurse, but I worked in infectious diseases. I haven't worked since Lily was born. Blaise is an inspector, with the Met."

"Are you both witches?" Lily asked, apparently unable to contain herself any longer.

"I am," said Daphne Greengrass.

"Oh, me too," said Daphne Zabini. "You might as well know, Lily, I'd have had to tell you sometime. Dad's mum was a witch, so you probably will be as well."

"I'm pretty sure I already am," said Lily.

"Fine, but let's not tell Dad just yet, hmmm?" Daphne Zabini said. "He's permanently a bit put out with your gran, just for being one."

"I want to hear all about how things work here, but I have to do something right away," Daphne Greengrass said, raising her wand. "Expecto patronum!"

The lynx coalesced from the light cast from Daphne's wand tip, and sat down on its haunches, looking eager to get to work.

"I want you to go to Cambridge, find Professor James Potter, and give him this message: Professor, this is Daphne Greengrass, letting you know that Harry Potter and I have been redirected from our time stream to this one. We're with the Greengrass-Zabini family at their flat in London, and in need of time stream repair. Any help or advice you can give will be much appreciated. Thanks!"

Without waiting for a command, the lynx jumped out the window and disappeared.

"Damn! You are one kick-ass witch!" said Lily.

"LILY!" said Daphne Zabini. "Language? You didn't hear me, or your dad, speaking like that."

Turning to Daphne Greengrass, Daphne Zabini started to apologize.

"I'm so sorry, Lily doesn't always edit…"

Daphne Greengrass waved her hand. "No apologies, please. But you do have to listen to your mum, Lily. She has had lots more time to learn than you, and you'll be on your way to wisdom if you let her guide you. Okay?"

Lily nodded.

"Now," said Daphne Greengrass, "why don't you tell me how witches function in this stream, while we wait for Professor Potter to get back to us?"

"It's not illegal to be a witch," Daphne Zabini began, "but it's difficult. Using magic for little things like bypassing locks or cleaning up after meals is fine, but potions draw attention. Divination is frowned upon, but a witch can practice as long as she keeps it to herself. There are some uncannily prescient female fund managers in the City, and I wouldn't be a bit surprised to learn they cast runes. Collaboration, or teaching a young witch divination, can put you in jail.

"We don't have wizards. The official line is the geneticists have determined magical ability is sex-linked, you need two X chromosomes, but that's a crock. It's magic, isn't it? And yet, I've never met, or heard of, a wizard. It's a very sensitive topic. I had to do a lot of bacteriology and cytology, for my nursing qualifications, and, of course, I kept my eyes open for relevant journal articles, and there aren't any. That's either a huge blind spot or research is being restricted.

"There aren't any formal schools for witches, as far as I know, but witches organize girls' camps in the summer. The men don't seem to mind the girls learning how to sleep under canvas and cook over a fire. If some magical ability manifests, the witches bring the girl into a network so she gets used to the idea that she is a witch, not a freak. If she progresses, or shows an affinity for a field, she'll get mentoring by experts, so she can control what she's doing. A lot of problems arise from the informal structure. If the witches miss a girl, one whose parents won't let her go to camp, or try to suppress her magic, it can lead to tragic results. Strong magic has to manifest."

"Now, as for you, young prospective witch, from this moment forward, you must learn to control your tongue. Loose comments get witches thrown in jail, or worse," Daphne Zabini said to Lily. "If you want to be a witch, the first thing you will do is make a commitment. The protection of witches will be your highest priority. Otherwise, you endanger the whole sisterhood. Understand?"

Lily, looking contrite, nodded vigorously.

In the living room, Harry was still jawboning Blaise.

"Blaise," Harry was saying, "I'm not running around with your wife, no matter what it looks like. In our stream, none of us is married. My mother, Lily Evans Potter, and Daphne's mother, promised us, to each other, you could say. It all happened before we were born. Daphne and I were just doing Sunday together when the time streams got confused. In our stream, you and I had lost touch for years, then you showed up at my office last week to brief me on this phenomenon. There's more but that is the essence."

Blaise looked skeptical. It made as much sense as anything. Harry Potter walking out of a fireplace holding hands with Daphne was a shock, but less of one than seeing two Daphne's standing in his living room. That didn't make any sense either. In Potter's favor, Blaise had gotten a briefing, very hush-hush, on possible issues with temporal anomalies, just the week before. He had wondered at the time how a municipal police officer would figure in something that sounded more like the purview of one of the secret services or some obscure office at a national laboratory.

Harry and Blaise both flinched when the telephone rang. Blaise picked it up and put the receiver to his ear.

"Hello," he said. Harry could hear some garbled sounds, but not enough to pick up the conversation.

"Yes, sir, I recognize your voice. Yes, this phone has a speaker function. Just a moment, sir," Blaise said.

"Hello?" said a voice coming from the speaker. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes, sir," said Blaise. "Mr. Potter?"

"Hello, this is Harry Potter," Harry said.

"Excellent," said a familiar voice on the phone. "I'm the Commissioner of Police for London, Mr. Potter. My name is Kingsley Shacklebolt. I have Professor James Potter on as well, and I'm going to let him have the floor, so both of you please stick around. Professor?"

"James Potter here, Inspector Zabini, and Mr. Potter. I do research and teach physics at Cambridge. My field is particle physics. We look into the properties of sub-atomic particles at our lab here. We've encountered some phenomena in this time stream that seem to be leaking from a parallel stream. Up to now, these have been on an extremely small scale, but two people, intact! I must say, this is quite the red-letter day for physics and physicists.

"We're very lucky in that we have had a time repair specialist assigned to us. This is classified at the highest level, Inspector, so we'll count on your discretion.

"Mr. Potter, you and Miss Greengrass will have a portal opening, back to your London, shortly. Stay near the fireplace in the Zabinis' flat. You should see some shimmering in the bricks. When that happens, just walk through together, and that will be that.

"Now, the Commissioner has something to add. Get ready for the portal. Nice to meet you both."

"Chief Inspector Zabini? I'd just like to say well done on your handling of this extremely sensitive situation. You might want to write up some notes and I'll arrange for you to come by my office and give me a debrief in person on Monday," said Shacklebolt.

"Thank you, Commissioner," said Blaise. "I'm afraid it's just Inspector, though."

"That can be arranged, if you want me to take it back," chuckled Shacklebolt. "My office will let your supervisor know when to send you over. Best of luck, Mr. Potter. Keep your nose clean over there."

They heard the 'click' of Shacklebolt's phone hanging up.

Harry turned to see the two Daphnes and Lily in the doorway.

"I don't know who you are, or what kind of clout you have where you come from, Potter, but it appears you just got me promoted, by the commissioner himself, no less. Do me a favor, though, and try not to pop out of that fireplace again, please?"

"Not if I can help it, Blaise," Harry said, "and now, Daphne," Harry held out his hand, "we need to be ready for some shimmering bricks."

"Bye Lily, bye, me from this timestream," Daphne said, taking Harry's hand. "Thanks for a wonderful adventure!"

The brick surround looked a little darker, then lighter, then it started to lose that solid brick look.

"Ready?" Harry asked.

"Ready," Daphne confirmed. They stepped into the fireplace and walked forward into Harry's London flat.

Harry did a quick scan of the living room. That looked like his couch, armchair, bookcase, and the books in the bookcase looked right. Harry spotted Witch Weekly on the arm of the sofa. He looked at Daphne.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"I think you'd better make a pot of tea, and tell me what is going on," Daphne said. "I didn't sign up for time travel. Not that it wasn't a fun, new experience, but I'm not sure I want to repeat it every time we try to use the floo network together."

"Right," said Harry, heading for the kitchen. "Be right back."

Harry put tea into his teapot, filled a kettle with water, drew his wand and cast a heat charm. He filled the teapot with hot water, put it on a tray, along with two cups and saucers, and took the whole thing to the living room.

"I have sugar and milk, probably out of lemons," he told Daphne.

"No need," Daphne said. "Let's talk."

"Okay, it all started out on Halloween, when Ivy Fletcher muffed her chance to confund me in Hyde Park. You were not directly involved in that incident. You were closer to the second one, at the manor, on Saturday, and directly participated at the end when you put the cruciatus on the guy who wanted to blindside me.

"After Blaise took those three away, we all went back to the house, and a couple of hours later, I left again. When I disapparated from just outside the wards, I went to the western front, in France, in 1918. Kingsley and Blaise were there, and I found out about the temporal anomalies, and the theory that someone is doing some intentional cutting and splicing.

"I also learned that the people working on the problem theorize that you and I are somehow of interest to whomever is experimenting with time. Oh, it's not time travel as we think of it, either. It's an intentional interruption of two streams and re-connecting the disparate ends. Then the experts have to do time repair to get the streams matched back up again. So far, there hasn't been any permanent damage, but that could change the next time this happens.

"Another thing, I met James Potter in France. He's involved in repair. He helped the proper people in our stream get a repair function set up. He's not my dad, of course, he's James Potter from his stream. That's how I knew to ask for James Potter, back there. It looks like James Potter has something to do with repairing the anomalies, something to remember if this happens to you, and I'm not there."

Daphne poured herself a cup of tea, then she looked at Harry.

"Please," Harry said, and she poured a second cup.

Daphne picked up her cup and took a sip.

"So, were you going to bother to tell me, or wait for me to find out by myself?" Daphne asked.

"Of course I was going to tell you," Harry said. "It was just an accident that we ran into one another today, then we got involved with Grimmauld Place, and it just never seemed to be the thing to do, until we walked out of the other fireplace and into Blaise. The thing is, I'd been told the subject is very secret, and time repair is responding. For all I knew, it could have been all over, problem solved. We just found out that isn't the case."

Daphne sat, pondering.

"It's possible it's a shared hallucination. We did share dreams. Even with magic, I don't know how to explain that, and I searched the literature. Do we have any evidence from any of your episodes that they actually occurred?" Daphne asked.

"Maybe," Harry said. "Go to the bedroom and bring back whatever is lying across the chair opposite the bed."

Daphne looked puzzled, but got up and walked down the hall. A minute later, she came back carrying a twill tunic, and matching trousers, both looking soiled but quite serviceable.

"There's our answer," Harry said. "I was half hoping it wouldn't be there. At least that would mean I was crazy, and not an unwilling participant in someone's time experiments."

Daphne sat down again on the couch and took another sip of tea.

"We need to think this through," she said. "We need to coordinate. I don't know what we can do tonight, but going through tomorrow, and the next day, and the next, not knowing if we can apparate or use the floo without jumping to another time stream, that's just not viable. What if James Potter isn't in the next stream one of us jumps to? What if time repair isn't available in the next place? There must be an infinite number of things that could go wrong, and a limited number of ways they can go right. This has to be fixed, Harry. I have to know everything you know, as soon as you know it, and I'll reciprocate. That's if anything happens to me, without you along."

"You know what else we have to discuss, don't you? Harry said. "You're a very smart witch."

Daphne nodded, face flushed. She turned her head to the side and sniffed.

"Tissues?" she asked, and Harry held out a box from the bookcase.

"I want to try going home, and going to work as usual until Wednesday," Daphne said. "Let's keep our lunch plans, but besides that, we won't see each other. If either of us gets diverted between now and then, assuming we get back, we'll send a patronus to the other, immediately. You find out to whom we report these incidents. You'll have to tell Kingsley everything you've already told me. He will probably be annoyed you've violated security, but I'll be happy to tell him he's all wet.

"I'm going to go. You stay, I don't want to have us together in the floo again, in case that was the trigger. I'll let you know I've arrived. The lynx has proven reliable, and you said giving them something to do is good for them."

"Your lynx did a great job back there," Harry said. "I probably should have mentioned that earlier."

Daphne stood, reaching out her hand to Harry. When he took it, she pulled him to her, wrapped her arms around him, and gave him a kiss. For the first time she pushed right past his closed lips, taking what seemed to Harry an eternity or two, before pulling away. She looked into his eyes and ran her fingers through the hair at the back of Harry's head.

"If that stag had jumped the ditch back at Hogwarts, we'd have a ten-year-old by now," she whispered, then, "Oh, Harry, you're presenting with a physical response to stimulus! How sweet."

Daphne walked into the fireplace, gave Harry a smile, dropped some floo powder, and said, "Greengrass Manor." Then she was gone.

Chapter Eighteen

We're Official, and We're Serious

Harry Potter took the tray with the teapot and cups back to the kitchen. He picked up his cup and stood sipping tea trying to organize his thoughts about what had just happened. He resolved to do a better job keeping Daphne informed about things that had any potential to harm either of them, Astoria, Draco, Fabio or Kendra.

Harry tended to focus on what was in front of him, because he lurched from crisis to crisis. He didn't look for them, because it seemed they had no problem finding him. Harry enjoyed being a working-level auror, pitting his skills against the imagination and cunning of the magical criminal class. Nothing in his experience or training had prepared him for this, however, the possibility that he, Daphne, or quite literally, the world as he knew it, could be wiped out in a misguided experiment. How does one plan for that? What could he do to minimize risks? More broadly, what was his role in identifying and remediating the problem? Was he a victim, along with Daphne, or a supervisory level law enforcement officer who was expected to find the perpetrator and bring them to justice?

He decided he needed to request a meeting with his Director as early as possible Monday, along with the Minister, so he could give his report once. Harry resolved to get to the office at least an hour early so he could draft an initial, rough report. It wouldn't be complete without Daphne's input, but there might be useful information to be found in one person's perspectives.

Monday morning, Harry sent a message to his Director as soon as he arrived at the office, briefly outlining the previous day's events and requesting a meeting, to include the Minister, to give them both a full accounting.

That accomplished, Harry worked the remainder of Monday and Tuesday without further untoward events, relatively speaking. At least, as far as he knew, his days had not been diverted due to time stream innovations.

Harry did manage to fit in a visit to Gringott's to remove some gold from his vault, some to cover his gambling debt to Daphne, another four thousand for four seats at the St. Mungo's fundraising gala, and a bit more for odds and ends, including the goblin-made chest from Cranville Quincey's.

Harry arranged to leave the office Wednesday at noon. After cleaning up his office, he told his assistant he was leaving, and where he could be reached, then left for the atrium, taking the chest with him.

Harry considered taking the floo to Greengrass Manor, but thought that might be presumptuous, at this early juncture. He didn't know which fireplace he'd arrive at, which could be embarrassing. Added to that, he hadn't been invited to use the floo to the manor, and there could be charms, hexes or a jinx awaiting the intruder. Instead, he went to the Ministry's apparation point, and was soon on the hill just outside the manor's wards. Harry presented himself to the talking gate, which opened to admit him to the grounds with an effusive greeting.

"WEL-come to Greengrass Manor, Head Auror! Miss Daphne is expecting you, and reported that she will be in the library, tending a cheery fire, to welcome you on this fine autumn day!"

"Thanks, talking gate, I can see you're still at the top of your game," Harry said.

Harry took the graveled path to the front door, which opened to admit him.

"Hi, Trix," Harry greeted the house elf who opened the door for him.

"Master Harry, welcome to Greengrass Manor," said the elf. "Miss Daphne is in the library."

Harry knew the way, and let himself in. Daphne was sitting on the couch with her feet pulled up beside her. She wore a long tweed skirt, mostly green with a silver thread for contrast, a long sleeved, button down white shirt, and a dark green sleeveless sweater. Her long hair hung down her back in a single plait. Harry stopped as he crossed the threshold, just taking in how beautiful Daphne looked, sitting on the couch in front of the fire.

"Harry!" Daphne said, obviously delighted see him. "Come in, don't just stand there! Can Trix bring you some coffee, or tea?"

"I'm good for now, thank you," Harry said, crossing to the table at the end of the couch. "Got something for you. How have you been?"

Harry put the chest down on the table.

"Oh, it's been uneventful," said Daphne, turning her head as Harry bent to kiss her cheek. "Quite dull, really, compared to whiling away a Sunday afternoon with Harry Potter. As far as I know, I have been in our own native time environment for at least forty-eight hours. How boring is that? Now, what is this intriguing prezzie you've brought?"

"It's a goblin-made chest, for you to keep things in. Cranville Quincey's thinks it is around 300 years old. It's keyed to my touch, but I know how to change it so it recognizes you. To open, you just rest your palm flat on the lid and leave it there. I'll demonstrate…"

Harry put his palm down and waited a few seconds, listening for the sound of a lock working. When he heard the click, he lifted his hand, and the lid slowly rose.

"That's it," Harry said. "Now you can access your stuff."

Harry spun the chest around, so Daphne could see the contents, which turned out to be 10 rows of 10 shiny new gold galleons.

Daphne started laughing.

"Harry! That might be the best present ever!" she said, throwing her arms around his neck and rubbing her cheek on his. "I'm going to have such fun figuring out what to spend this on."

Then Daphne had a second thought. "Maybe I won't spend a single galleon. Maybe I'll save it all, so I can open the chest and look at it every day and remember the thrill of winning a hundred galleons from you. Oh, what a delicious problem to have!"

"Have at it," Harry said. "Let's make it yours."

He closed the lid and touched it with the tip of his wand.

"Now put your hand on top."

Harry touched the back of Daphne's hand with his wand, then the chest, as he said, "Imperio!"

"Got your wand? Keep your hand on the lid and touch it with your wand. Mutatio."

"That should be it. Try taking your hand away, then put it back and make sure it opens for you."

Daphne put her palm down on the lid and held it. They both heard the lock click. She took her hand away and the lid rose by itself, revealing the stacks of galleons.

"How do they stay stacked like that?" Daphne asked.

"It has a neatness charm built in. It's expandable, too. When I saw it in the window at Cranville and Quigley's, it wasn't quite as big as it is now. The interior expanded to allow the galleons to fit in. I've no idea how far you could take that. Maybe if you just kept putting stuff in, eventually you'd have a house. The goblins are deep. It would be just like them to make something like that and keep it to themselves.

"You can touch it with your wand and make whatever is inside invisible, for a few minutes. Just say 'et invisibilia.' It doesn't remove anything, but if anyone managed to get in, it would just look like an empty box.

"So, are we even?"

"Absolutely," Daphne said. "I may even owe you at this point. A magical chest wasn't part of the bet.

"Now, are you going to take your tie off, or do I have to put my hands on you?"

"You're giving me an incentive to keep it on," Harry said, reaching up and starting to untie the knot at his throat. "Better?" he asked, stuffing the tie in the pocket of his jacket.

"Much," said Daphne. "Are you going to sit down? Why don't you get those crook-chasing shoes off your feet? You won't be pounding your beat anymore today."

Harry complied with instructions, leaned against the back of the sofa and sighed. Daphne pushed an ottoman in front of him, and Harry lifted his feet so she could get it underneath. Closing his eyes, Harry realized how tired he was. He felt the stress and confusion of the past week lift, as if he were being relieved of a physical burden.

"Daphne?"

"Harry?"

"I'm not seeing anyone else."

"I know, Harry. I asked around."

"Did you? Really?"

"Of course. Did you think Ginny and I were just talking about the two of you? Besides being your former, I don't know, girlfriend or partner or whatever makes you comfortable, she's very well-informed on all things Potter. There are three or four people right in London you'd have to bribe very generously to completely cover your tracks, in the event you wanted to keep any wanderings quiet. I might have talked to all of them. Might not have as well. I did my due diligence, that's all you need to know."

Harry thought about that for a bit.

"I'm flattered," he said, opening his eyes and looking down the sofa at Daphne. "That you took the trouble."

"Harry, you're worth the trouble," Daphne said, in a matter-of-fact tone. "I'm surprised I need to say it."

Harry was silent for a bit more.

"Daphne, have you really known about our parents' agreement since you were little?" Harry asked. "I wish I'd known about it. Would have saved me a lot of time, and uncertainty."

"It didn't come out all at once. I probably grasped the real ramifications only around sixth or seventh year, but before that I had a sketchy idea. To tell the truth, when I was little, and talked to Mother about it, she made it sound more like you and I should be having play dates, but unfortunately, circumstances just didn't permit."

Harry didn't say anything, then he started to chuckle. Daphne started, too, and suddenly they were both laughing out loud.

"Play dates?" Harry said, and they started up again.

"I'm sorry," he managed to choke out, "but in the context of Dark Magic and wizard wars…oh, just one simple play date. I'd love it, the highlight of my year."

"Wouldn't everyone?" Daphne asked.

"I was always looking for an opportunity to get to know you, starting at our sorting, but you had Ron and Hermione. I couldn't throw myself at anyone, either.

"It was not easy being in Slytherin and keeping my feelings to myself. No one but Harry Potter induced romantic feelings inside me. I couldn't be a disposable pleasure object for the likes of Goyle. I had no interest in promiscuity. There were some unkind comments around the common room, but Tracey and I stuck together, and I focused on academics. When Astoria arrived at Hogwarts we looked out for her and her friends. We made a few friends from outside Slytherin.

"I know what the boys were writing in the bathroom, Harry," Daphne said. "Did it hurt to know someone could write that kind of thing, or talk that way about me? Yes, and some young Slytherin witches were only too happy to enlighten me. That's all past, now. We can talk. Some of them have actually consulted me on medical matters."

Harry was lost in thought for at least a full minute.

"I remember some of that," he said. "Merlin. I never made the connection. Oh, I'm so sorry, Daphne. No one should have to endure that kind of treatment."

"Oh, well," Daphne said. "My eventual play dates with Harry Potter turned out to be worth waiting for, after all. On the upside, I wasn't the Heir Of Slytherin."

"Well put," Harry said. They both sat there for a bit, thinking their own thoughts.

"Well, to finish what I started to say," Harry said, "I'm not seeing anyone, and Saturday night, when Fabio and I were shaking hands and saying our good-byes, your father told me he hoped you and I would keep seeing one another. Which is fine with me, if you're agreeable."

Daphne clapped a hand over her eyes.

"Oh, Harry," she sighed, "I swear, I think you're diagnosable, if terminal indirection is a malady."

They leaned back into the couch and watched the fire in silence for several minutes, Daphne letting her hand lie atop his. Then she said,

"I've got something to show you. C'mon."

Daphne led the way out to the hall, and up the stairs to the second floor.

"Saturday," she said, "while you had me out back practicing patronuses, Mother had the elves make up a room for you, in case you ended up staying over. This is it," Daphne said, opening a door.

Harry looked around the room, which was spacious, and well-furnished. He noticed a large bed, dresser, and shelves with towels, washcloths and a selection of men's toiletries, a razor, toothbrush, and a new tube of toothpaste. Harry, noticing it was his favorite brand, remembered Neville's comment. A terry bathrobe in crimson and gold hung on a valet stand.

"Nice," he said.

"Here's the bath, which you have to share," said Daphne, walking through to the far side, putting her hand on the knob.

"…with me."

Daphne opened the door and led the way into the adjoining room, Harry following. The first thing he noticed was a large framed photo of himself, on Daphne's bedside table. He was on his Firebolt, Gryffindor quidditch robe rippling behind. He looked like he would fly right out of the frame.

"That came from…?" Harry asked.

"Colin Creevey, fifth year," Daphne said. "He was thrilled. It was his first paid free-lance job, he said. Of course, I had to swear him to silence, upon pain of obliviation. I brought it straight home, lest the whole school learn my secret, and it has been right there since.

"But, my point is, Harry, as you can see, Mother could have put you in any guest room in Greengrass Manor, I didn't ask her to put you here, she just naturally assumed I would need accommodation for you, after Saturday's convincing demonstration of manly virtue.

"How could I say no, if you chose to claim your reward? You saved the damsel, possibly her whole family. Only you turned out to be too much of a gentleman to press your advantage.

"So, in answer to your needlessly oblique questions, yes, I do want to keep seeing you, and no, there isn't anyone else, and no, no one at Greengrass Manor has any objection.

"Fabio and Kendra are holding up their end of the deal, Harry. The only thing required of you, is to want me. I trust that is clear enough?"

"Crystal. Couldn't be clearer," Harry said, finding breathing difficult. "We're official. We're serious."

Daphne looked into Harry's eyes. "Yes. Seems we are. I'm ready, with all that implies."

She didn't need to clarify she was accepting the considerable load of baggage that trailed Harry Potter.

"Then I am too," Harry managed to say.

"Good. You can let me know if you need me to beat you over the head with anything else," Daphne said. "If that's settled, lunch should be ready. Hungry?"

"Famished, but don't we kiss now? And what are we having?" Harry asked.

"No, I'll be annoyed with your naivete for several more minutes. Arugula salad and mineral water," Daphne said, turning toward the door. "You need to bring some clothes over, Harry. I'm overdue for a roomie. I want to smell Harry Potter when I get out of the shower, I want to see physical evidence that's Harry Potter's room. Secondarily, you might need to change sometime."

Back out in the hallway, Harry stopped and drew his wand, then he pulled his tie from his jacket pocket. Addressing his wand, Harry said, "Let's hang this guy up someplace in my room."

He pointed the tip of the wand at the tie, which flew back to the door. The wand twitched as the tie turned the corner, then stopped.

"That's that," Harry said. "Wonder where it ended up?"

"Not what I had in mind, but it's a start," Daphne said, just a bit drily. "Is that wand your valet?"

Harry laughed. "It has to get its exercise somehow. It doesn't deal with much official business with me sitting behind a desk. We had our adventures. You got a taste Saturday evening. It had to get strong, fast. See that hairline crack?" Harry handed his wand to Daphne.

"Voldemort's big snake attacked Hermione, and me, and she cast a curse at it, which rebounded, nearly breaking this wand in two. Ollivander's professional opinion was he didn't think it could be repaired. I took the Elder Wand away from Voldemort, and figured it couldn't hurt to try, so I asked it to fix my wand. All it took was a simple reparo, and the Elder Wand, and my holly wand was back, strong as ever. We've got some history between us. I think we're both still learning."

Daphne stared at him, handed the wand back, shook her head a couple of times, turned and said, "Lunch."

Chapter Nineteen

Lunch, Plus a Fascinating Political Science Seminar

Daphne led the way to the sunny room where they'd had lunch on Saturday. Harry looked at the table. There was a big green salad in a bowl in the center, and Trix was just arriving with a tray of cucumber-tomato sandwiches. Sure enough, there were big bottles of mineral water next to the salad bowl.

Harry noticed the table was only set for two.

"Where is everyone?" he asked.

"Will you be lonely without more company?" Daphne responded. "Mother and Father went to France, and Astoria is out with some girlfriends looking at stationery samples or silver patterns, or some kind of engagement-y stuff. If you want me to I'll send the lynx after Tracey. I'm sure she'd just love to come over and observe us acting like we were grownups."

"Point taken. I'll stay in harness," Harry said. "Salad?"

As lunch went on, Daphne seemed to be working through a mental checklist of things related to the St. Mungo's Ball.

"What are you going to wear?" she asked.

"Madame Malkin is working on a new dress robe, ready for pickup tomorrow. I hope you like it," Harry said. "I know the ball is formal, but how formal? Will anyone be wearing medals? I've never been to the St. Mungo's Ball, for some reason."

"Most people don't, but Most People don't hold the Order of Merlin, either. I've seen a few. Either way, you won't be the only one. What do you plan to call yourself? All the staff gets announced as we arrive. That means you will be announced, as my escort," Daphne said.

"Hmm," Harry said, working some arugula around. "Would Head Auror do?"

"The thing is, Harry, the St. Mungo's Ball is kind of old-time social. It is the first big 'do of the Christmas season. Lots of grande dames dripping strands of pearls and looking through lorgnettes, sitting there observing who is with whom, who's up-and-coming, who's due for promotion, blah-blah-blah. We'll be noticed.

"Have you given any thought to your titles? I know you aren't all that involved. Neither is Father. It's just tradition, but it does matter to the people who put stock in it, so why not use that to your advantage? Everyone who knows you knows there is a lot more to you than a title, but you are the head of two families, with responsibilities to both. It could be advantageous for the members if you're seen as serious about your position."

"Well, from the options the Magical Heraldry Office provided, I like Lord Potter-Black the best. The Blacks were formidable once. They could be again, if they reconciled with each other. Plus, I'm the only one who can keep Sirius' memory alive," Harry said. "Maybe it wouldn't hurt if Draco reported back to Narcissa that I've started using the title, planting the Black family flag again."

"What do you think?" Harry asked.

"I think it's well thought-out, logical, and you know it is in conformance with the rules because you consulted with Magical Heraldry. What about Head Auror, and your Order of Merlin?" Daphne asked.

"It's Harry Potter, Head Auror, Order of Merlin. I'm told one does not bandy about classes at such times, that the Order is the important thing, and members of the Order should not display pettiness. Reverse snob appeal. I think one would insert Lord Potter-Black between Potter and Head Auror, but I can check with Magical Heraldry. What about you? How will they introduce you?

"I'm Healer Daphne Greengrass. Nothing else, no Doctor, no muggle degrees. I can tell you because you need to know, but I'm going in Healer and coming out Chief of Service, Healer Daphne Greengrass. My promotion will be announced during the awards segment. No leaks in advance of the ball, Potter. I'm serious."

Harry's jaw dropped. "Chief of Service? What does that mean?"

"It means I'll be the head of all the professionals who work with the people suffering from magic-related mental conditions, I'll represent St. Mungo's as an expert witness before the Wizengamot, and I'll advise the Minister for Magic on legislation and regulations relating to the magical mental health dimensions of government health policy."

"Congratulations!" Harry said. "That's a big job."

"Sounds big," Daphne said, "but we only have so many witches and wizards, and a fraction of those have magical psychological issues. But it's still a vote of confidence.

"Now, do you want to wear your medal?"

"I'm leaning toward leaving the medal, and wearing the little rosette. Understated, gets the point across. What do you think of that?" Harry asked.

"Brilliant," said Daphne. "How do you want to arrive? If you haven't been before, I'd suggest we apparate together to the roof and come down the lift. Less traffic. The hospital dining room becomes the ballroom for the evening, with a little applied magic. Arrivals queue up in the atrium, outside the entrance to the dining room, work their way inside to the receiving line, and are announced by a herald from the ministry. The receiving line is the Minister, hospital director, and the chief of staff and spouses.

"Before dinner, we mingle, buy tickets for the drawings, let people see us together. Have you thought about that, Harry? Our lives change forever Saturday night."

Harry stopped eating. He hadn't thought of it that way, as a matter of fact.

"I hadn't, to be honest. Flesh that thought out a little bit for me, please. You mean more than we'll be a couple, formally, I take it?"

"I'm a Healer, not the socio-political-magical arbiter, but, yes, political calculations will shift for some of the attendees, once they get a look at our table. You'll be seen as allying yourself, and the Potters, and the Blacks, with Fabio Greengrass, and, through Astoria, the Malfoys. Everyone who pays attention already knows about the Potter-Longbottom-Abbott-Bones-Weasley-Granger combine, or conspiracy, according to one's tastes. You get the Davises, by accident. You know about Tracey and me, but Mother was a Davis before she was a Greengrass. You've even got a French branch with the Delacours. See?"

"The Delacours? Because of Bill and Fleur? That's a tad stretchy, isn't it?" Harry asked, disbelieving.

"No, Harry, because when Fleur was forced to leave Gabrielle behind during the tournament, you risked everything to rescue her. You didn't know the Ministry wasn't going to allow the abductees to come to harm, so you put your life on the line for Gabrielle. Some of us, when you didn't come to the surface, started to think you might have traded your life for Gabrielle's. After Bill, you're Fleur's hero. You're just plain hero to Gabrielle."

"You know more about these things than I do, but is a 'harrumph' permitted? I didn't do anything to put a coalition together," Harry said.

"Suit yourself, Harry," said Daphne. "Just remember, it isn't necessarily what you put together, it's what others perceive you put together. Have you ever been affected by another wizard's misperception of you, your powers, the danger you present to current conditions, or future plans?"

Harry put his fork down, and sat upright in his chair. Daphne had hit a nerve. He had certainly been affected by such a misperception. His whole life, since that Halloween night in Godric's Hollow, had been diverted due to a misperception held by a murderous, flawed, brilliant, ambitious wizard.

Harry didn't know how long he sat there, working over Daphne's comments. Eventually, he returned to the present.

"You're so much better at this than I am," Harry said. "I can foresee a future for you, advisor to your politically inept partner."

"Harry Potter, I have my own job. You're going to get better at it. You're a fast learner. You've been a hot topic from the day you arrived at Hogwarts, you're just going up another step.

"Rita Skeeter hooked you up, in the national wizarding press, with Hermione. In fourth year, no less! You should be used to it by now. You've always been a person of interest, now you're adding more reasons to be interesting," Daphne said. "Sorry, didn't mean to make a speech."

"That wasn't a speech. That was a revelation. I had literally never considered this an alliance, until you explained it. The way you put it, the political stuff does make sense. Not that I've been pursuing politics seriously," Harry said.

Daphne put down her sandwich, saying, "Because Kingsley's been holding the umbrella for you. Kingsley is a hero, highly respected for honesty, probity, and fair dealing, and he was an ally of Dumbledore's. He's untouchable. You work for Kingsley, you have his confidence, you're untouchable.

"Kingsley won't be around forever, Harry. There will be a successor. You'll have to be ready, or at least conscious, that he or she could be weak, unsure, easily influenced, a compromise candidate, someone like Cornelius Fudge. Someone who appears to be highly competent, if a bit of a cipher, in good times, but who hides in realities of his own construction when real danger emerges. And, it never hurts to remind ourselves, real danger always emerges.

"Our cohort start turning 30 soon, and we'll be assuming greater responsibilities. We're the next wave of influential wizards and witches, and we'll have a lot to say in picking the next minister. Your network, the people you just see as your friends from school, counts on you to look out for their collective interests, and you do have collective interests. They might not agree with you on every detail, but they are your supporters, whether you've noticed that, or not.

"The next Minister might want a loyalist as Head Auror, or Headmaster of Hogwarts, or Director of St. Mungo's. Look at the damage Fudge did, out of his paranoia. Think about it. You can't escape politics Harry. This little magical world is politics."

Chapter Twenty

A Magical Gift of The Most Exquisite Beauty

"And on that note," Daphne said, dropping her napkin next to her plate, and pushing her chair back.

"No cheesecake?" Harry asked.

"Maybe later," Daphne said, "with coffee. First a little stretching."

"After that heavy lunch," Harry responded.

"It's a marathon, not a sprint," Daphne said. "If you don't want to pay attention to your health, stick to quidditch players, don't get involved with a Healer."

"Now, I'm going to show you something very few people know about. Before he had to get so involved with business, Father had a keen interest in magical architecture," Daphne said, taking Harry's hand, "which he found an outlet for here at Greengrass Manor.

'He loved planning, drawing, writing up bills of materials, and he let me work alongside. He'd take out whole sections of things because I wanted to see something else there. He's a good magical architect. He excels, though, in magical landscape architecture. His buildings were beautiful, if a bit derivative. His magical landscape designs are otherworldly."

Daphne had taken Harry down the path, past the gazebo, to the clipped lawn that Harry thought was a family playing field.

"You wondered what this was here for," she said. "Care to make a guess?"

"The traditional Merlin's Birthday Greengrass Family Quidditch Match?" Harry offered.

"Potter. That's not even trying. Observe."

Daphne drew her wand.

"Revelio," she said with a wave.

The clipped green disappeared and was replaced by a lake. The lake was very wide, though it was just possible to see the far shore. Palm trees grew to astonishing heights, overhanging wide, sandy beaches. The water was cobalt blue, with just enough wave action to put little whitecaps all over the surface, where they were joined by reflected images of the puffy cumulus clouds that tracked slowly across the sky. Before them, a pier stuck out into the lake, ending about thirty feet beyond the shore, and finished with a cabana of bamboo and palm thatch. Waterfowl flew over the lake, and some ducks were paddling past the cabana, ducklings following.

Daphne started down the pier.

"Come see the cabana. It's my major contribution to the design. The rest is all Fabio." Daphne said, taking the lead.

Harry followed along, trying to take in details, but found it difficult. Hardest was imagining the green that had been here seconds before, transformed into a tropical dreamscape. When they reached the cabana, Harry saw that it was three-sided, with the side facing the lake open, except for sheer curtains hung from a rod. Daphne opened them with a wave of her wand. Ties sprang out from the corner posts and tied the curtains back.

Inside the cabana, two rattan sling chairs sat on a polished floor of twelve inch mahogany planks, each with a rattan side table. Benches fabricated from untrimmed planks ran along each wall. A hammock hung doubled from a corner column, ready to be stretched to a hook across the way. A bamboo bar stood ready for stocking. Above the benches were rows of wooden pegs, some with wooden hangars hung on them.

"Best place on the planet to settle down with a good book," Daphne said. "Swim?"

"It's November," Harry noted.

"Not in the magical Greengrass lake," Daphne advised.

Daphne took off her sweater and hung it up. This continued for a bit, until she had nothing left to remove. Harry was not sensitive to Daphne's growing frustration, immersed as he was in an unfamiliar, heady sensation, brought on by seeing, for the first time, Daphne Greengrass, just the way Nature made her.

"Potter. Are you still with us, or have you wandered off through time and forgotten to take your body?"

"Oh," Harry said, starting with pulling off his jacket, as a sort-of answer. When he was ready, Daphne turned toward the water.

"I always jump in, feet first. The water is deep enough for diving, I just don't care to. We'll swim out a bit so you can turn and look back at the manor. I'd advise leaving your glasses, but that is up to you. If you want to swim in them, climb down the ladder or the water will relieve you of them when you hit."

Then she stepped off the dock.

Harry decided to climb down so he'd have his glasses. That meant he had to swim with his head out of the water, but at least he'd be able to see the view of the manor Daphne described. When they reached the middle, Daphne turned toward the manor, took a deep breath, and rolled over and floated on her back. Harry did the same.

Harry couldn't tell if the manor was being magically enhanced somehow, but it did strike him as the most beautiful family home he had ever seen. Looking up from the lake, the main house appeared to float in air above the gardens covering the slope that fell away from the patio. The gazebo where Harry had had coffee and cheesecake with the Greengrasses also appeared from his angle to be floating, and Harry noticed for the first time that the design of the gazebo echoed that of the main house, so the two could have been parent and child, or older and younger siblings. The effect of such harmony and complementarity, combined with the floating effect Fabio had achieved appeared to have just naturally occurred, but Harry knew it couldn't have happened by accident.

"Glad I brought my glasses. I've never seen anything like this before," Harry said. "And you have to be right here to see it?"

"Yep. Father worked it all out in drawings ahead of time. He grew up in the house. It's really old. The hill isn't natural. Someone piled that soil up, so long ago, it's not possible to date it. After he finished school, Father started thinking about the gardens, the gazebo, where to lay out the beds, how to make it work together. I remember him outside working with the elves, day after day, for years. That was before he had to take the businesses in hand.

"He thought about the green, and the lake, and how the house and gardens would look from here, while he was doing all the other things. We'd come out here and stand on the flat ground staring up at the gardens and the house, and he'd make sketches. Then he'd ask me to look at them and tell him what I wanted added. Lots of unicorns and fairies and gauzy follies came and went. Then we'd move ten yards this way and that way and make adjustments.

"He already had a lake in mind, but he didn't have a plan. One day he asked me what a lake should look like, if there were one here. I sat down for a couple of hours and drew this, little kid style, not to scale, hardly a plan. He acted like I had brought him a full set of drawings for Olympus, or Valhalla. How he executed it is his secret. Magical landscape architecture, or some variation, is all anyone has ever been able to get out of him."

"Astoria and Tracey and I would swim out here and look up the hill, and talk about Fabio, the semi-divine mythical wizard genius. We might have been close to right."

Harry had been floating on his back, completely absorbed by the vision before him.

"I think you were. I certainly wouldn't disagree. My compliments to you both," Harry said. "I've never seen anything as beautiful as this, at least not anything made by humans."

"There is one more thing I need to show you," Daphne said, as she rolled over and struck out for shore.

Harry followed, swimming with strong strokes, but his breast stroke was inherently slower than Daphne's freestyle. She reached the shore and walked up on the beach. Waiting for Harry, Daphne pulled off the band that held her plait together, and shook out her hair. She stood looking out at Harry, who was still swimming in. The sight of Daphne all alone in the sunshine at the foot of the hill, sandy feet apart, hands on her hips, hair free, patiently waiting for him, stopped Harry still. When he stopped swimming, he started sinking, until water entered his nose and brought him back to reality.

Choking and spitting, Harry started to swim again, with choppy, uncoordinated strokes. All of his momentum and rhythm gone, he managed, somehow, to thrash himself in close enough to put his feet down on the sandy bottom of the lake.

"All right there, Head Auror?" Daphne asked, reaching out a hand to get Harry upright.

"Been worse," Harry said. "Been better, too."

"Accio wands!" Daphne said, and caught the two wands that came flying out of the cabana. "Here, you might as well take yours. I'm going to use mine."

"Now, you get to see something very, very secret," said Daphne. "Tracey and I found a book in the library and started working on ours in fourth year. Very obscure book, in a very obscure section, around back behind Madame Pince's desk. All the books 'of interest' to witches. No generic magic, Harry. That whole section was all by and for the sisters.

"Pince's desk, like everything at Hogwarts, is exactly where it is for a reason. Boys have no reason to wander in there so, of course, it was where the accomplished sixth and seventh years could take young, serious witches for our introduction to witchy playtime. Our friends, our magic. We worked together on lots of fun witch projects, with no house rivalries, no exams competition, no domination, no dragon slaying, no taking over the world. What do you suppose Granger did?" Daphne asked.

"Chaired the rune witch study group?" Harry speculated.

"Full marks," said Daphne. "Ever since second year, Granger has been the unquestioned, authoritative rune-witch, the Kendra Davis, of our generation. Tracey and I liked making things.

"This is mine," she said, with a wave of her wand.

Harry saw a portal appear ahead of them. The closer they got, the more familiar the land inside seemed. He could see woods with some serious trees, and some undergrowth, sunlight dappling the forest floor where the leaf cover was thick. At its thickest the forest was all blues and greens, while some distance away, Harry could see a sunny hillside meadow with a stone wall at the crest. Harry knew he'd seen the woods before, but he couldn't quite place them.

"I was feeling despair before last week, Harry. I'd given up hope you would ever chase me through our woods," said Daphne.

Wearing sandy feet, and a wand, Daphne stepped through the portal.

Harry stopped walking and looked at her. Once across the threshold of the portal, Daphne disappeared, replaced by a lynx. Harry froze. He wanted to move, but his muscles wouldn't respond. He felt pressure building behind his eyes, pushing against his eardrums from the inside out. Heart pounding, his respirations made bellows sounds as his lungs tried to expand past his chest's limits.

"Harry!" he heard. "It's all yours, but first you have to want it!"

The lynx turned, flicked its tail, and bounded away. Harry roared through the portal, and the stag gave chase. The lynx led, over downed trees, through brambles that tore scratches in the stag's face, nose, and eyes. The stag wasn't affected where its thick coat covered its skin, but the vines that ran across the forest floor grabbed its fine legs and tripped it again and again, until it tired and nearly stopped its pursuit.

The lynx changed direction, running through a less-dense area, occasionally looking back to see if the stag was keeping up. She found a game path, then broke into the open and sprinted toward the meadow. The stag, free of the obstacles, burst after her, snorting through its nose with each stride, ropy saliva trailing from the corners of its mouth, mixing with the blood on its coat. Halfway up the hill, the lynx turned around and faced the stag. The stag, stopped, lowered its head, put its antlers forward, and, pounding and punishing the turf with its fore-hooves, sent great chunks of sod and dirt flying backwards.

The lynx stood, balancing on her hind legs, and swatted the stag on the nose, switching from side to side. The stag lowered its antlers further, snorted and charged ahead. His antlers were closing on the lynx' unprotected belly, when the lynx danced aside, letting the stag charge past. The lynx executed a perfect jump forward as the stag's shoulder passed, landing on the stag's back and digging in with her claws. The stag snorted and sprinted away, the lynx standing up on his back, claws working deeper and deeper into muscle.

When the stag started to tire, the lynx freed her forepaws and batted the stag's ears, hard. The stag protested and the lynx unsheathed her claws and slapped left and right, left and right, until her paws were bloody and the stag's ears shredded. The stag responded, speeding up again, eventually reaching the stone wall, which it cleared with at least a yard to spare.

Beyond lay the ravine, which he had never jumped on his own, much less carrying another on his back. He must have held back, because the lynx showed no mercy, punishing the stag with her claws, growling encouragement into his ear. The stag leapt into the air, knowing in his heart and soul it was all or none, he would jump clean or both would lie broken together on the rocks below. When they landed on the other side, the lynx changed her position to lay flat against the stag's neck. She pushed the stag's head with her muzzle, steering him to a large tree with a hollow beneath its boll. There, she opened her mouth and laid her teeth against the back of the stag's neck, where neck met head, and bit down. The stag froze, and the lynx jumped to the ground. She slapped the stag's nose, and the stag danced back, raising its head. The lynx growled once, and jumped for the stag's throat, clamping down.

The stag stood, not resisting, neither trying to fight, nor run away. Seeing the end, he stood patiently, waiting for what he knew would come soon. The lynx kept her mouth clamped on his throat, paws on his neck, and, throwing her weight to one side, brought the bloodied, exhausted beast to the ground. His lungs emptied in one shuddering gasp, breath returning, barely, as a shallow pant. She detached herself from his throat and stood over him, looking down into the upward-looking eye. The eye showed no fear, no needs, no regrets. The stag lay still before the lynx' den, ready to love her decision, whatever that was. The lynx lay down beside the stag's head. She laid one paw on his jaw. She purred loudly, stuck out her tongue, and began cleaning the stag's wounds.

Harry had been dozing. He woke up and felt around for his glasses. Putting them on, he found he was lying on his back, on a blanket, in the sunshine, left arm around Daphne, whose head lay upon his chest, and whose finger was twirling ringlets in his chest hair. The top of her head was within range, so it seemed the gentlemanly thing to do, to kiss it.

"Mmm…" she said.

"What…" Harry started.

"Magic," Daphne explained, as if to a two-year-old. "But if you talk too much, the magic goes away. Wouldn't that be sad?"

"The saddest. Be careful. Never tell me too much, I couldn't bear it if it went away."

Things were quiet for several minutes, when Harry broke the silence.

"Legal?"

"Certainly, here on this blanket, outside the aurors' jurisdiction," she said.

"That ravine…" Harry looked into Daphne's eyes.

"Two souls, one fate, and you saved us both," Daphne said, "as I always knew you would."

"Two souls, one fate," Harry reflected. "Good."

They were quiet again. Harry rolled toward Daphne. He looked down and saw they were on a green blanket. He could see enough of the graphic in the middle to tell it was Salazar Slytherin's serpent, the same as the one she'd had Kreacher add to the green silk duvet in the master bedroom at #12 Grimmauld Place.

Daphne saw what Harry was looking at.

"Well, I started building it, from our dreams, in fourth year. That's the beauty of it, the mystery is I don't know what you or I dreamt, it's just ours. I had this Slytherin blanket so I stashed it here. Just a contingency. In case we ever wanted to spread it out on a sunny hillside, and…" Daphney thought over her next words…"and enjoy the lovely weather. Took me awhile."

"Well…we did get here, eventually. Don't mind the snake," Harry said, "nothing could spoil this. I don't think more beautiful magic is even possible. Except for one thing."

Daphne flinched, threw a leg over Harry and pushed herself up onto her knees, pinning his shoulders. She leaned on her arms, hard, driving him down with her weight.

"What one thing?" she growled, looking into his eyes. The amber flames were back, more intense than ever.

"Daphne Alexandra Greengrass. The only thing that could top this. It's a miracle I get to live in the same world as you…" Harry's voice trailed off.

Apparently, that was an acceptable response, because Daphne giggled and lifted her hands from his shoulders. Able to breathe normally again, Harry asked,

"Are we visible from the house?"

"No, Harry, you're being silly. The lake is magical landscape architecture, only visible to the people inside the boundaries, roughly ten feet back from where the sand ends and the vegetation begins. Where we are is inside those boundaries, in a bower. It's old magic, beyond old, really. The old witches made them, allegedly, to trap unwary kings and knights and rich merchants, to befuddle them, then bend them to their witchy will. Morgan le Fay is kind of the archetype, most likely modeled on someone even older.

"Once you get out of the legendary period, witches made them as a place to take a lover, or, to be very formal, a groom. 'Course, you're only a groom once per bride, so I suspect they brought their grooms back again and again, or it would be a terrible waste.

"Bowers require love to stay alive. Think of it as a garden. Love is the tool you use to keep it healthy. That is your job, by the way, if you're up to it."

Harry was lost in thought for some time.

He reached up and pulled Daphne's head down, and gave her a long, wet kiss.

"Feel free to correct me if I don't pay enough attention to the gardening," he said, "because I intend to garden with such skill I'll be mistaken for a Hufflepuff. Now, are you feeling cool? I believe I want to check the size of our bath tub. It looked big enough."

"Harry!"

"Any reason not to?" Harry asked.

The best Daphne could do for an answer was something inarticulate, but she got up, and when Harry got off of it, she picked up the Slytherin blanket and folded it neatly. When she was done, she tucked it under her arm and turned toward the portal.

They hadn't taken more than three or four steps when Daphne waved her wand in a semi-circle and the portal appeared, with the pier and cabana visible beyond.

Harry reached for her hand, pulling her to a stop. "I don't have words," he said, looking around.

"There might be more surprises, if you can be patient," Daphne said.

They got dressed in the cabana and walked to the furthest boundary of the garden. Daphne turned and waved her wand, and the lake, the pier, the cabana, the beaches and the palm trees popped out of existence, replaced by the clipped lawn.

Later, upstairs, Harry lay back in the tub, letting the hot water soak the chill away. Daphne raised one foot out of the water and put it on his chest.

"I knew it would be big enough," Harry said.

"I suppose aurors get habituated to sizing people up, height, weight, hair color, approximate age," Daphne said. "That would naturally lead to skill in estimating the size of container needed for a specific individual. Or individuals."

Harry didn't know quite what to think of that theory, so he occupied himself with an analysis of what was so incredibly fascinating about looking down to see Daphne's foot on his chest. He was just glad they'd confirmed the tub was big enough.

"Harry, how did you get that scar on your right arm?" Daphne asked.

"This one? Basilisk fang. Went right through the meaty part, when I stuck a sword up into the roof of the basilisk's mouth, and the fang stayed in my arm when I pulled the sword out. I used the fang to put an end to Tom Riddle's diary. Then I should have died, but Dumbledore's phoenix held his head over the wound and cried tears on it. You know phoenix tears can heal a number of things, just don't plan for one being around when you need it. I was very lucky.

"This is Voldemort's failed killing curse," he said, pushing his hair back, "someone told me it's the most famous scar in Britain. What a distinction. Dolores Umbridge gave me these, to remind me to be honest," Harry said, showing Daphne the back of his right hand. "She really just wanted to coerce us all into following Fudge's party line on Voldemort."

"This one is where the traitor Peter Pettigrew cut me for my blood, which he used to rebuild Voldemort's body, and the other stuff, the odds and ends, I'd have to think about each one."

Daphne leaned forward and put her cheek next to Harry's.

"My big, beautiful, magical stag, with all his battle scars," she mused. "Oh, I'm looking forward to taking much better care of you."

Harry was starting to feel the direction of Daphne's intent to take care of him, when the door to her bedroom burst open.

"Daph!" shouted Astoria, "Look at Seamus and Dean's…Oh, my sweet Uncle Merlin," Astoria semi-screamed. "Daphne, you're in the bathtub, with Harry Potter, and neither of you have any…"

"Oh, Astoria dear, you're back from shopping!" Daphne cooed, over her shoulder. "We were wondering how long you'd be, but we didn't think you'd be able to get everything done so soon, did we Mr. Potter?"

"No, indeed, Healer Greengrass, the Honorable Miss Astoria must be a very, very efficient shopper, no doubt she's following the example of her big sister," Harry said, desperately trying not to laugh.

Astoria seemed unable to move, and stood frozen in the doorway, shopping bags hanging from hands, wrists, and one elbow, looking from Daphne, to Harry, and back.

"Ahem?" Daphne cleared her throat, fixing her eyes on Astoria.

"Oh, well, I'll just be in my room. Packages. Pumpkin juice," Astoria stammered, turning back for one, last, wild-eyed look before dashing out of the doorway.

"I'll know if you send any owls before I catch up with you, Astoria, so exercise some discretion for once!" Daphne shouted after her. Laughter and the sound of lots of splashing followed Astoria until she arrived at her room. When they heard the door slam, Harry and Daphne said, "Oh, well," in unison, starting the laughter all over again.

"Didn't even get my hair washed," said Daphne, toweling off. "I'll go make sure she isn't in shock, you get dried off and dressed, and come on down. It's time for coffee and cheesecake anyway."

Daphne grabbed her bathrobe, pulling it on as she dashed out.

One by one, Harry and the Greengrass sisters convened in the sunny room. Astoria didn't appear to be in shock, Harry noticed, as he reclined on a chaise, looking out past the patio and gardens, watching the November shadows grow and grow.

"Daphne, I've come all the way down here to hug and kiss your boyfriend, and I don't want any backtalk," Astoria announced when she walked in.

"That's fine, Sweetie, just try not to damage him before he's had dessert," Daphne answered, as she and Trix put together a tray of cheesecake and coffee.

True to her word, Astoria knelt next to the chaise and crooked her arm around Harry's neck. Pulling his head to her, she kissed his cheek, then she rubbed her nose up and down next to his ear.

"Thank you for everything, Harry," she said, almost whispering. "Daphne is so smart and so good at what she does, I was afraid she would never find anyone who could keep up with her. She couldn't be with just anybody, and there is only one of you, and of course she'd never share. She looked so happy just now, up there with you. Now she'll finally have an outlet for all that love inside her. Even Draco says nice things about the two of you."

"Draco and I have been okay, the last ten years, as far as it goes," Harry said, "so now's as good a time as any to ask. Do you have any qualms about, whatever it's called, intra-familial relations, among the four of us?"

"Harry Potter, he credits you with saving him, me, and wizardry in general," Astoria said. "He doesn't know I know, but when you gave him back his wand, after you 'borrowed' it to do Voldemort, you got all the Malfoys. When he thinks no one is looking he'll draw it and sit there looking at it, like it's a sacred object. You owned Narcissa outright already, for saving his life. Lucius completely avoids the subject of Harry Potter because he can't speak ill of you. So convoluted, isn't it? Don't worry about the Malfoys, Harry. Draco loves me, I love Daphne, Daphne loves you; the Malfoys will play nice."

Daphne arrived with the cheesecake and coffee on a tray.

"Move!" she advised, and Harry swung his feet off the chaise, giving Daphne a place for the tray. The Greengrass sisters pulled chairs over, and all three picked up their coffees and looked out, down across the gardens to the green.

"Ah, Magic!" Harry said.