Wheels Within Wheels—Part Two
Kendra and Lily
Chapter Seven
The Day of the Ball
Saturday morning arrived, much too soon, announced by the enchanted crowing rooster statuette. Daphne got up first.
"Harry, I have a few things I want to leave here. Do you have a least-used drawer I can have?" Daphne asked.
"Second from the top."
After putting all of Harry's items from the second drawer on top of the dresser, Daphne opened her satchel and started putting things away. To Harry it appeared she was throwing things in at random, but there must have been some system at work because when he walked past, everything was folded, grouped like with like, and sectioned by type of clothing.
"I'll need it for one minute, then you can have the bath while I make us tea," Harry said.
Harry got the tea and hot water together in the pot, then pulled a jar of pumpkin juice from the refrigerator and placed it on the counter. He looked in the fridge, and then in the cupboard, but aside from a package of digestive crackers, could not produce anything to eat. He took two cups and saucers from the shelf, placing them next to the teapot.
When it sounded like Daphne was done showering, Harry grabbed some clean clothes and knocked on the bathroom door.
For the next two minutes, they did a little minuet in the flat's minimal bathroom, until Daphne left.
"There's really nothing to have for breakfast," said Harry when he rejoined her in the kitchen. "Can I invite you to my cafeteria?"
"Or, you can come to St. Mungo's," Daphne said, "when and if you get ready."
"I poured yours, so it ought to be cooled to perfection," she said, nodding at the second cup.
"Mmmm…just right," Harry said.
"You haven't tried it yet," Daphne reminded him.
"If you say it's perfect, it's perfect," Harry said, in his most sincere tones.
Harry decided he could skip shaving, which made him almost ready to get into his work clothes. On Saturday, those were white shirt, charcoal suit with his tie in his pocket (just in case), and black shoes.
An owl landed on the sill, Daily Prophet in its beak.
"Your competition is here," Daphne said as she opened the window for the owl.
Harry opened a drawer and fished out the required knuts, paid the owl, and took the newspaper. He scanned the front page for items he'd need to investigate when he got to the office. There were no major crimes in the headlines, so he passed the paper to Daphne.
"Competition?" Harry asked, remembering Daphne's statement.
"For biggest magical fabricator. The only difference is, most of your fabrications are sweet, or funny, and the best ones are both."
"I won't be able to focus at work if you're going to be so nice to me," said Harry.
"Compartmentalize, Harry," Daphne advised. "We've each got a few hours of work, and then a countdown to seven p.m. Ready to leave? Whose cafeteria do you want to patronize?"
"I'll go to St. Mungo's with you," said Harry. "Got everything?"
Daphne stuffed the Daily Prophet into her bag. They stepped into the fireplace holding hands. Daphne dropped some floo powder and said "St. Mungo's."
With a WHOOSH they were gone, stepping into the atrium at St. Mungo's moments later.
"This way," Daphne said. She conducted Harry through a labyrinth of corridors and stairwells, emerging without warning in a commodious space equipped with a variety of tables and chairs, bars and stools. Harry saw a cafeteria line staffed by kitchen elves in white jackets and toques.
"Recommendations?" Harry asked. "Pro or con? The sausages aren't oily, are they?"
Daphne looked at him, and advised, "It may not be a miracle you're still alive, but there could be some magic involved. Eat whatever you want if you're determined to look like Horace Slughorn before you're forty, but, since you asked, the mixed fresh fruit and a couple of spoons of that cottage cheese will be a revelation. The cottage cheese is fresh, and it comes from a little farm somewhere to the west. Interesting story behind it."
Harry saw things Daphne's way, and put a plate of cottage cheese and mixed fruit together. Daphne touched her wand to a contrivance that reminded Harry of a manual adding machine he had seen one time in a muggle shop. The machine actuated at Daphne's wand's touch, making mechanical sounds and pulling a paper tape from a roll. Harry grasped that she had paid for them both and let Daphne lead the way to an empty table.
"Leave your plate, it will come to us once we're seated," she said.
Harry pulled out a chair for Daphne, then sat down across from her. A tiny kitchen elf appeared, two plates suspended above her extended index fingers. Harry and Daphne picked their plates out of the air and set them down. The elf snapped her fingers and two sets of silverware appeared, neatly wrapped in linen napkins.
"What would you like to drink, Healer Daphne?" the little elf asked.
"Coffee? Tea? Pumpkin juice?" Daphne asked, looking at Harry.
"Pumpkin juice sounds good," Harry said.
"Two pumpkin juices, please, Faye," Daphne said.
The elf snapped her fingers and two glasses of pumpkin juice materialized in her hands. Setting them down on the table before Harry and Daphne, the elf asked if there was anything else.
"No, Faye. Thank you very much, I think we'll be fine," Daphne answered.
"You're welcome, Healer Daphne," said the elf, departing back to the serving line.
"What a sweetie," Harry said.
"She is, and nearly as much of an institution as St. Mungo's. Literally, generations of healers, et cetera, et cetera. She remembers everyone, no matter how long they've been away."
Daphne had spread the Daily Prophet out while she was talking. Harry noticed that the left hand page had the lighter news items—some society notes, a wizarding family back from a vacation trip, and the popular blind items column. He didn't pay a lot of attention to the latter, finding no stimulation in trying to guess which young swell took a glam date to a club opening, or who was seen having dinner with whom in an out of the way place where they were unlikely to be recognized, or why they would go to so much trouble in the first place.
"And so it begins," Daphne said, folding the paper, then folding it again and handing it to Harry.
"Two highly-marriageable parties were spotted dining and relaxing at a private magical venue last night. Despite their conflict-prone house affiliations and widely-divergent professions, the two leaned over the table and conversed throughout the evening in hushed tones. One well-known for his fiery personality, the other for an icy imperiousness, the pair seem ill-suited, unless an alliance is in the offing to vault the strange bedfellows up several more rungs on their respective ladders," Harry read aloud.
"Is that us?" asked Harry.
"Do you think?" Daphne responded. "I suppose we're going to have to get used to it. You're news, just tying your shoe."
"Or attending a Harpies match," Harry said, tossing the paper back on the table. "I can't read this stuff. Sitting in the stands is salacious in these gossip columns."
"Sitting in the stands wasn't the salacious part, as you well know, but I take your point, Harry. Notice how the reporter managed to work in an ice reference? Must be a Slytherin! We're not supposed to like each other because of conflicting house loyalties, we're fire and ice, therefore, it must be a calculated political alliance to advance our careers," Daphne said. "Oh, well, no use getting all exercised about it. You'd think we could go out one time before they caught on, but obviously there was someone there who feeds the reporter this kind of stuff. Right now there are at least fifty people who have figured this out. By this evening there will be five hundred. Not much we can do about it."
"At least the mixed fruit and fresh cottage cheese is good," Harry said. "That stuff in the Prophet isn't going to hurt us, and if someone figures out I was lucky enough to get a date with you, and get you to talk to me throughout the evening, in hushed tones no less, it simply saves me from informing them about it myself. I expect I do look funny shouting from rooftops."
Daphne started to laugh as Harry got to his feet.
"Are you all set for around two at Grimmauld Place?" he asked, as Daphne got up.
"Dropped my things yesterday with Kreacher. He's excited about our little function tonight. He's trying to contain himself, but you can tell," she said.
"Then I'll be at the ministry, if you need me. Probably skip lunch so I can get to #12. Where do I go to apparate?"
"Lift to the roof, I'll take you up. It's still how we're coming back tonight, unless you object."
As Daphne showed Harry the way to the apparation point on the roof of St. Mungo's, she greeted a steady stream of colleagues they met in the corridors. Harry didn't know if it was his imagination, or if some of them, by their facial expressions, were giving away the fact that they had already deciphered the blind item.
The lift stopped and the doors opened onto a small bare lobby. The only way out was through a pair of double doors.
"Out the doors and straight ahead. There are charms in place to mitigate crosswinds, but be aware there can still be a little gust so you aren't taken by surprise. The apparation point is well-marked. See you at #12."
Daphne leaned over and kissed Harry's cheek, and got back in the lift.
"See you soon," Harry said with a wave.
Harry walked across the roof to the apparation point, which was well-marked as Daphne had said. He visualized the Ministry of Magic atrium, turned slightly, and with a little 'pop' apparated to the ministry. He quickly left the designated apparation area, because, even on a Saturday, there were sufficient numbers of employees arriving to result in collisions.
The Head Auror's outer office was empty when Harry arrived. He looked on his desk for any messages or new documents awaiting signature. Not seeing anything requiring immediate attention, Harry left for the auror's squad room. There, he expected to look through the overnight log, read any complete reports awaiting filing, and chat up the aurors on duty. With experience, Harry had developed a keen ear for hearing what aurors left unsaid, as well as what they said. He found conversations in the squad room to be a fine source of intelligence for what the aurors had on their minds, which often included early warning of changes in how magical criminality was evolving on the street.
Harry was very concerned about the stalled time stream investigation. While nothing had happened that involved either Daphne or him for several days, he was sure the experimenter was not sitting still, hoarding his knowledge. He resolved to be especially alert for any sign of additional time stream disruptions, until the issue was finally put to rest.
Daphne took the lift down to the mental maladies floor. She presented her wand to the door to her ward, and entered when the door unlocked with a definite 'clack' and swung out under its own power. Sunshine was coming in the east-facing windows as Daphne walked toward the nursing station. Greeting the nurse on duty, Daphne pulled two patient charts from a rack and looked at the top parchments in each one.
"Mr. Longbottom?" she said to the nurse.
"Slept all night, Healer, no nightmares, unless he had silent ones."
"And Mrs. Longbottom?"
"A little crying. She didn't vocalize any complaints. I held her hand for awhile and the crying stopped. I charted it. Would you say it's another sign of the return of some emotion? She was still sleeping when I checked on her about twenty minutes ago."
"I'll go look in on her," Daphne said. "I want to start rounds as soon as our patients finish breakfast."
At the ministry, Harry left his upstairs office and went down to the aurors' squad room. He found the senior auror present sitting in a small office just around the corner from the long duty officer's desk.
"Am I interrupting?" Harry asked.
Looking up, the auror stood up behind his desk.
"Not at all, Head Auror," said the man. "Welcome. Can you stay for some coffee or tea?"
"I'd appreciate anything," Harry said. "Just wanted to check with you and see how things are going. Anything unusual overnight, or expected today? Tonight is the St. Mungo's Ball, which I plan to attend. I can't stay very late. If anything requires my action, I'm going to count on you to prioritize it for me."
"Of course, sir. Let me fetch that coffee," the auror said, exiting the little office.
Harry didn't have a lot of places to let his eyes rest, so it didn't take any time for them to alight on a folded-over Daily Prophet on the desk. Harry had never had any problem reading upside down, so he saw immediately the paper had been folded to show the blind item about his and Daphne's dinner at the Magic Club. Assisting him in finding the column was a big red circle that someone had helpfully drawn, in company with a red arrow.
The senior auror returned, and saw right away that Harry was staring down at the Prophet.
"Sorry, sir," he said, handing Harry a cup of coffee. "Someone brought this in, and I should have trashed it right away."
"Oh, what difference does it make?" Harry asked. "It says two people went on a date, which is true, then it attributes a motivation, because the readers won't get excited without one. Have all the aurors figured it out by now?"
"The ones who are awake, sir, not that it is any of their business."
"It is their business, in a way," Harry said. "Should you feel it appropriate, in the course of a future conversation, please go ahead and tell them, from me, I'm happy being Head Auror and have no plans to depart. If that changes, the first thing I'll do is inform everyone, and the second will be to devote full attention to bringing on a new Head Auror who will look out for the office, and whom the aurors can respect."
"Yes, sir, and thank-you," said the auror.
"Now, business," Harry said. "What's been happening overnight? I checked the desk upstairs and didn't see anything pressing. Is there something wrong with London's magical criminals? Did they all get sick at the same time?"
"The aurors have noticed the same thing, sir. Just one of those slumps. We'd better enjoy it while we can. There was a little of your normal mayhem. A couple of young gents got to dueling over a quidditch argument. They're over at St. Mungo's now, getting patched up. Two Hogwarts students decided they needed a night on the town, nicked a couple of thestrals from the school herd, and flew down to Diagon Alley. Miss Abbott kept them busy with butterbeers until the lads arrived. The thestrals are back in Scotland and the young wizards are with their parents, pending school disciplinary proceedings."
"I'm tempted to laugh. I mean, as crimes go, come on. For a Friday night, that's some pretty thin gruel," Harry said.
"Shall we count our blessings?" said the auror.
At St. Mungo's, Daphne was checking on Alice Longbottom. She sat on the edge of Alice' bed and picked up her hand.
"How are you this morning, Alice?"
"Daphne," said Alice.
"That's right," Daphne said. "You're doing so much better, and you're going to be having breakfast soon. I think you're going to like today."
"What day is it?" Alice asked.
"It's Saturday, Alice. What do you think of that?" Daphne said.
"Porridge?" Alice responded.
"I believe I did see porridge. Can you get up and get yourself ready for breakfast this morning?" Daphne asked.
"Oh, yes!" said Alice, showing genuine enthusiasm.
"Now, I want to go check on Frank, and make sure he is ready for breakfast, too. You're doing so well, Alice. Everyone is so proud of you."
At the ministry, Harry returned to his office, sat down at his desk, and pulled his inbox closer. The document mix tended toward 'Info memo, document for signature, make a decision and choose option A, option B, or option C, info memo…' Harry settled into a rhythm and had the parchment disposed of in under two hours. He remembered his commitment to the minister to carry the baton at the ball, and retrieved it from his safe.
Daphne saw all of her patients, updated their charts, and made sure she spoke to each staff member present. At 10:45, she returned to the roof and apparated to Greengrass Manor.
Harry stopped by the squad room to check in with the duty officer and give the desk his contact information. At 10:50, he arrived at the atrium, and took the floo system back to his flat.
Harry hadn't kept an owl of his own since he had lost Hedwig during his flight from the Dursleys' to the Burrow, just before the start of what should have been his seventh year at Hogwarts. Nevertheless, he was practiced at using the system of common owls that facilitated communications in the magical community. Harry opened the casement window that overlooked the street. He found a piece of note parchment and sat down at the small desk that occupied one corner of the flat's living room.
"Done at the ministry, now at flat. No lunch plan. See you at 2. Harry" he wrote, then, folding the note over once, wrote, "Daphne—Greengrass Manor" before returning to the window.
He held the note in one hand, and his wand, pointed skyward, in the other. In less than a minute, a beautiful barred owl glided to a landing on the sill, folded its wings, and hopped inside. Harry tied the note to its leg, put the required knuts in the little bag on the opposite leg, and stepped back to let the owl depart.
Harry's dress robe still hung on the hanger in his bedroom. The rest of his formal attire was in the closet, so he pulled everything out and laid it on his bed, along with the Head Auror's baton. Harry took inventory: robe; trousers; formal shirt; cumberbund; shoes; baton. Cufflinks! Harry had nearly forgotten cufflinks for the formal shirt. He opened his drawer and removed a small box with many dividers inside, found two cufflinks with golden lions rampant on discs of garnet, and fitted them into the cuffs of his shirt.
Harry stepped back again and went through his inventory. All there. He picked up his shoes and gave them a look. He'd put them away after a thorough cleaning and polishing, courtesy of Twinkie, after the last time he'd worn them, so he wasn't surprised to see they looked perfect.
Gloves! Wizards usually didn't have to make extensive preparations for inclement weather, thanks to well-known drying charms, warming charms, and apparation, which relieved them from extensive periods of exposure, unless they elected them. However, wizards had worn tight silk or kid gloves for centuries, some affecting them whenever they were out of doors, others donning gloves only when in formal wear. Harry had one pair, in gray silk, with a button-and-loop closure at the wrist. With a little looking, he found both gloves under some handkerchiefs in the third drawer from the top of the dresser. Handkerchief! Harry thought, picking a white linen number and pre-placing it in the pocket of his trousers.
Something still nagged at Harry, but he couldn't think what it was. He looked at his formal outfit again and again, and everything looked fine. Clean, pressed, polished. Something triggered something, and Harry thought, "Polished. Polish my medal. Medal! Rosette!" Harry opened his odds and ends box, which still sat atop the dresser, found a little velvet-covered box, and removed a modest rosette that resembled a sunburst with a large script 'M' in the center. He pinned the rosette on the robe, roughly where he judged it would fall over his heart.
Convinced his formal suite was as complete as he was likely to get it, Harry packed everything into a large duffel and departed the flat. The door at #12 Grimmauld Place opened as Harry arrived on the top step.
"Welcome, Master Harry," Kreacher said as he stepped aside to let Harry enter.
Harry couldn't help giving Kreacher a thorough looking-over. The old elf's hairy ears had been shorn, so closely that only a tiny stubble remained, and that so short one had to be looking for it to see it. Kreacher normally went about draped in an old and faded towel that had been retired from active service years ago, but Harry was pleased to see he was in a terry tunic that appeared to have been sewn by a skilled tailor. The tunic ended well below Kreacher's knees, imparting a classical air to the elf's overall appearance. He could have almost been a valued family retainer in the days of Roman Britain.
"Are we ready for our guests tonight, Kreacher?" Harry asked. "I'm very much looking forward to hosting a purely social event at #12 Grimmauld Place."
"Yes, Master Harry. Please look thoroughly and let Kreacher make any adjustments you think necessary. Kreacher will take your bag. Will you be using the master bedroom to dress?"
"That will be fine, Kreacher," Harry said, handing over his bag. "Just hang the clothes up on hangers so they don't wrinkle, if you would."
When Daphne finished early and apparated to Greengrass Manor, she found Kendra reading in the library.
"Daphne, I didn't think I'd see you until this evening," Kendra said, looking up from the Daily Prophet.
"I got everything done that I needed to do, so I decided to check in. I'm due at Grimmauld Place around two. I saw Frank and Alice Longbottom this morning. They're doing well."
"Did you say anything about tonight?" Kendra asked.
"No, I considered it and decided it might be easier on them to wait until this evening and let Neville and Hannah take the lead," Daphne said. "They are coming around, both showing a little emotion peeking through the numbness, so they are going to be very vulnerable. I think seeing some old friends will feel good to them. I hope it does. What it must have been like to be inside their minds these last years…"
"Is Augusta coming?"
"Haven't heard one way or the other. What are you reading?"
"Oh, this?" Kendra asked. "Why, it's just the social page in the Prophet."
"Anything of interest?"
"Well, dear, since you ask, I was wondering if you had any idea who the two highly-marriageable…" Kendra started.
"Oh, the fire and ice couple from incompatible houses? Harry and I were just talking about that, at the cafeteria at work. Scamps. We grew up, you'd think whoever writes that drivel would, too."
Kendra looked over the top of her newspaper at Daphne. When their eyes met, Daphne started to chuckle.
"That's it, dear, have a good laugh. You and Harry are interesting enough, people want to read about you. Neither of you would rate mention if you weren't. Where did you go that got you in the paper?"
"It's a club for magicals. Blaise Zabini and Oliver Wood were the organizers. The food was good and it has great views of London. Harry belongs."
"Well, Daphne," Kendra began, "Take it from someone who has been there, just be on your best behavior and you won't give them anything to write about. Being fire and ice and from two different houses will have a very short shelf life. On the other hand, if it looks like the two of you are being frosty with each other, or having some kind of veiled spat in public, expect to see it right here." Kendra tapped the column with her fingertip.
"Reporters can smell that, no matter how good you think your acting is. If one of them isn't around, one of the people who feeds them gossip is."
Daphne was surprised by Kendra's comment.
"You're someone who's been there? Mother, when…"
"Oh, you bet," Kendra said with a groan. "Your grandmother Davis was mortified. According to her, no one from the Davis family had ever brought down my kind of calumny on the rest of them."
"Mother, I can't imagine…what did you do?"
"We were seen having breakfast at the Leaky Cauldron, me in a kind of short, clubby dress, and your father in a most handsome tuxedo. We'd attended an engagement party that went past midnight, then he took me dancing for a couple of hours, then some strolling and couple-talk down a few quiet streets, and then it was almost six a.m. So, what do you do when you're a young witch and wizard in London and it's six a.m. and you don't want to go home?"
"Logic would dictate, you get breakfast at the Leaky Cauldron?" Daphne proposed.
"And the follow-on is someone surmised that we'd gone to a party, then straight back upstairs to our Leaky Cauldron den of vice and iniquity, where your father had his way with me, and then, your father was gentleman enough to buy me a Breakfast of Shame," Kendra summarized. "The Prophet got to Mother before I did.
"When I got home, Mother was sitting at her breakfast table, tea cup in one hand, the Daily Prophet in the other, one of those awful cigarettes she smoked stuck in that enchanted holder, clenched in her teeth. She made a huge production of putting her tea cup on the saucer, taking her cigarette holder in hand, and using it as a pointer, poking at this very page of the Prophet, and she said, 'Never, ever, has a Davis witch allowed herself to be portrayed as a floozy in the press.' And there I stood, in my cute little clubby dress, carrying my clubby shoes in my hand. I was shocked and hurt at first, but that was over right away, and I looked at her and started laughing. Floozy?"
By this time, the mental picture of her grandmother chastising her mother was too much, and Daphne laughed out loud.
"Wattles?" Daphne asked.
"If she had shaken them any harder they could have flown off and lived independently, as I recall," Kendra reported.
By now, Daphne was wiping tears from the corners of her eyes.
"Oh, Mother," she said. "I just can't picture you as a wild woman. I wonder how Grandmother could? Even with you standing in front of her, carrying your shoes?"
"Different perspectives, age versus youth. It was a good lesson for me, though, and I always thought of that moment after you and Astoria came along, because I never wanted to become the mother who reads a blind item in the Daily Prophet and jumps to a conclusion," Kendra said. "Of course, you've only given me this one chance, so far. How am I doing?"
"You're doing great, as always," Daphne said.
"Thanks. Don't worry about it, is my point. If a couple having dinner and conversation is the most risqué thing to report, the other ninety-nine percent of their lives must really be above reproach," said Kendra.
"Mother, I did have a question, something that came up last night," Daphne said. "Harry and I were talking about Astoria and Draco and engagement announcements and parties, and I mentioned all the magical venues will be booked until after the New Year parties are over, and Harry suggested he and I host one for them at Grimmauld Place. If everyone, including Madame Walburga, thinks it a good idea.
"Everything would have to click, of course. Draco and Astoria would have to be for it, and you and Father, Lucius and Narcissa. The number of invitees would have to fit the house, which I think would work if we didn't go over one hundred."
"We'll have to ask Astoria. She needs to see it to get some understanding of what it is. It certainly would be unique this season, wouldn't it?" Kendra said. "I expect Narcissa would be strongly in favor. If I'm right, Draco and Lucius will comply with her wishes.
"Do you know what piqued Harry's interest in hosting an engagement party?"
"Harry became very close to Sirius after Sirius got out of Azkaban. Just as they were getting to spend some time together, Sirius was killed. Harry is keenly interested in doing whatever he can for the remaining Blacks, I think as a kind of memorial to Sirius," Daphne said. "Walburga also chimed in. Apparently, she advised Harry to do whatever it takes to keep the two of us together. Which makes me think hosting her grand-nephew and his fiancée at a family celebration might be something she'd like us to do."
"Daphne, that's a wonderful idea, and you're doing it for all the right reasons," Kendra said. "Whether Astoria wants to go that way or not, she'll love the fact that you and Harry are thinking of her and Draco and want to put yourselves out for them."
"She'll get a chance to see #12 tonight. Maybe I should make introductions with Walburga," Daphne continued.
"Of course," Kendra said. "Madame Walburga won't be shy about expressing her feelings."
"Right then, Astoria meets Madame and we pitch her and Draco on an engagement party. I wonder if wizards have as much fun as witches? What could they possibly do to match this?" Daphne asked.
"Now, is there anything I can do for you? Trix and I are going to have to decamp for Grimmauld Place. Then we'll see you in the atrium at St. Mungo's. I'm going to be there a little early. Harry has been informed," Daphne said. "We'll get him almost ready to walk out the door, then he can be Trix' apprentice for as long as it takes to make me Maximum Daphne."
"Well-thought-out, dear," Kendra said, with a wink. "Just remember there will be susceptible wizards in a confined space. You don't want to set off any fireworks."
"Trix," Daphne called out.
"Here, Miss Daphne," said the little elf.
"Ready to go?"
"Of course, Miss Daphne, Trix has been ready all week."
"Mother," Daphne said, kissing Kendra's cheek. She walked to the fireplace, dropped a pinch of floo powder and said, "Grimmauld Place," and with a WHOOSH was gone.
Harry heard a whooshing sound coming from Daphne's study. He was about to knock on the door when it opened. Daphne saw him on the threshold and put her arm around Harry's neck. She pulled his head to her, none too gently, and kissed him hard on the lips, pulling off with a definite SMACK. Looking into his startled eyes she said,
"Thank you for the study, Potter. It just struck me, I've got my own, private, King's Cross Station. Not bad for an innocent little country witch."
Harry looked back at Daphne, and brushed a little soot off her cheek.
"Uhh…Use it lots," he said, after he'd caught his breath. "If you let me know you're coming, I'll be right here to greet you."
"Oh, shall we make this a precedent, then?" Daphne asked, with a bit of a leer. "I'd like that, but first, we need to find Trix. Did you hear a little 'pop?'"
"Trix is here," said a voice from the salon. Trix stepped into the hall, a small bag in hand.
"Kreacher, can I see you in the hall?" called Daphne.
"Kreacher is here, Miss Daphne," said Kreacher, apparating with a 'pop.'
"Trix, may I present Kreacher? Kreacher, this is Trix. Trix, Kreacher is the house elf of #12 Grimmauld Place. He has been very helpful to Master Harry and to me. He actually fought at Master Harry's side at the Battle of Hogwarts. I'm sure you will be on the best of terms. Kreacher, Trix will be here from time to time to help me with certain things. Trix has done my hair since I was a little girl, something I'm sure you would not like to take on. I hope that we can count on you to make Trix feel welcome when she is at Grimmauld Place," Daphne said, introducing the elves.
There was a chorus of "Yes, yes, of course," and "So honored," and some "Pleased to meet you's" and a final "Welcome to #12 Grimmauld Place, Trix," from Kreacher, accompanying a slight inclination of his head.
Harry remembered his rocky early encounters with Kreacher, when the elf was filled with negative feelings towards Harry and literally everyone Harry knew. He was still marveling at Daphne's effortless mastery of the situation when she spoke up.
"Harry? Can we go upstairs?"
"Of course," Harry replied, following her to the stairs.
"Let's take inventory," Daphne said. "We've still got time for late adjustments, if something is missing."
"Right. Very organized," Harry said.
Daphne led the way into the master suite, where both she and Harry had had Kreacher place their formal clothing.
"Right, then, Harry, what have you got?" Daphne asked.
"Robe. Dress trousers. Dress shirt. Cumberbund. Black tie. Socks and underwear. Dress shoes. Gloves. Baton," Harry said, ticking off his mental list.
"Baton? What kind of baton are we talking about?" asked Daphne, more than a bit puzzled.
Harry picked up his baton from where it lay on top of a dresser. He held it out to Daphne.
"This kind," Harry said. "As Head Auror, I am entitled to carry a baton. They only come out for this kind of thing. Kingsley gave me his, on condition I carry it tonight, along with his wish that I have someone I want to present it to, when the time comes."
"Very impressive, Harry. Does anyone besides the Head Auror get to carry one?" Daphne asked.
"You know, I'm not sure," Harry said. "Maybe a former Head Auror could. I hadn't given batons a thought, until Kingsley brought me in his office a couple of days ago and gave me this one. Anyway, I'm kind of looking forward to carrying it tonight. He explicitly asked me to carry it to represent the ministry, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and the Auror's Office. So, that's what I'm going to do."
"Stand over there," Daphne said, pointing.
Harry took a couple of steps in the direction Daphne indicated.
"Okay, turn right," directed Daphne.
"Now left. Let me see your profile."
Harry stood as he was told.
"Harry, don't be offended, but I'm going to make a suggestion," Daphne said. "Your baton is very impressive, but when you let it dangle like that, it looks funny. Try keeping it in your grasp, or tuck it under your arm. Then you'll look like a muggle field marshal."
"Great, that's always been one of my career goals," Harry said. "What have you got to look over?"
"Girly things of no interest to you. Gown. Grandmother Davis' second-best pearls. Shoes. Gloves. Cape," said Daphne. "Did I leave anything out? No, doesn't look like it.
"Now, I'm going to take over the bathroom for an hour or so. Then Trix and I will get out of your way. I'd like for us to converge, fully dressed, no later than six. If you can't wait until the ball to eat, I'd suggest you fortify yourself now."
"That's simple enough," Harry said. "I did just think of something. I asked Madame Walburga if she'd like to move to your study, now that the young Walburga has taken up residence with the Slytherins. I told her you two could decide together. Hope that's okay."
"Of course it is, Harry. You're Lord Black. You make your wishes known, we give you what you ask for. Unless, of course, I have to let you know otherwise. For your own good. Now, if you would please scoot?" Daphne said, with a smile.
Harry departed for his dojo via the small room off the master. He had begun keeping his workout clothing there, as it made a convenient place to change. He entered the dojo and bowed.
"I have forty-five minutes to exercise, so let's keep the pace up," he said. Two mannequins materialized, casting simultaneously, almost as soon as they appeared.
Later, Harry knocked on the master bedroom door. His workout and cool-down had taken up an hour, and Daphne's time in the bath was, in theory, up.
"Come in," Daphne said.
Harry entered to find Daphne and Trix in the small room off the bedroom. Daphne was in a bathrobe, sitting before a large wall mirror, on a wooden stool, with Trix standing on a somewhat taller stool, gently brushing Daphne's hair. Harry had not seen the stools or the mirror before, so he guessed either Daphne, or Trix, had conjured them for hairdressing purposes. Some athletic gear of Harry's had been put on a shelf, neatly folded.
"Oh," said Harry, looking about.
"Yes?" Daphne responded, using the mirror to look back over her shoulder.
"Thanks for putting those in some order," Harry said, nodding toward his athletic gear. "I like the room. It smells so…fresh and clean."
"That's me, Harry," Daphne said. "But Trix did use a freshening charm on those sweaty rags, pending a thorough laundering."
"The room looks nice, anyway," Harry said. "I've never known exactly what it was for, so, it kind of became my locker room."
"Really?" Daphne asked. "You really don't know what it's for? Next to the master bedroom with this commodious bathroom right here?"
"Nope," Harry said.
"Well, we can use if for whatever purpose it suits, locker room, hair salon, and so on, but this is the baby's room, if the house is lucky enough to have one. Mother and Father are right there, the bath is handy for cleanups, baby is happy," Daphne explained.
Harry stood there looking at her.
"Trix, could I have a minute with Miss Daphne?" Harry said.
The little elf snapped her fingers and disapparated. Harry stood next to Daphne, and gently brought her head to his chest.
"I hadn't really thought of that," he said. "You're putting ideas in my head. Wouldn't that be something?"
Daphne moved her head slightly back.
"You're not thinking of getting started right now, are you?" she asked.
"Oh, Merlin, I'm all sweaty, aren't I?" Harry asked with a slightly embarrassed laugh, and stepped back some more.
"Sweaty is good, Harry," said Daphne, "very good, normally. My only suggestion is we work together on the timing."
"Right. This will have to do for now," Harry said, bending, then kissing Daphne on the lips. Daphne stood up, keeping contact, and grasped Harry's sweatshirt, pulling him closer.
"Yes. Yes, it will do, quite nicely," said Daphne, after they pulled apart. "Now, you go get presentable enough for me to take to my place of work, and Trix will get busy on my hair following this delightful interruption."
By five-thirty, Harry was standing in front of a mirror tying a bow tie, and Trix was finishing putting Daphne's hair into its final form. By five-fifty, Harry was sitting in the first floor salon, thinking over his formal wear inventory while he waited for Daphne to come downstairs. Gloves in one of Madame Malkin's inside pockets, cufflinks in cuffs, wand in the special wand pocket…
Harry heard the stair creak and got up to look around the corner. He reminded himself to keep breathing as he watched Daphne come down. She was dressed in an emerald green gown, matching shoes, and a black silk cape with an emerald lining. She carried a pair of long gloves, and a little clutch, in her left hand, and managed her gown's skirt with her right. Harry saw Grandmother Davis' second-best pearls were three strands, with a hint of smoke in their coloration and a matching pair of pearl pendant earrings.
"Healer Daphne," Harry said, offering his hand.
"Head Auror," said Daphne, taking it.
"You are stunning."
"Oh, Harry, you noticed!" Daphne said. "I'm so glad, because I went to all the trouble just for you. Do you mind if we take our leave of Madame Walburga? She's kind of old-fashioned and my guess is she would appreciate the gesture."
"Why not?" Harry said, pulling his gloves from his inside pocket. "Kreacher!"
"Kreacher is here, Master Harry," said the elf.
"Kreacher, we'll be leaving shortly, and protocol requires we take our leave of Madame Black, if you could remove the drape from her portrait."
"Of course, Master Harry," said Kreacher, bringing his stool into the hall.
"Madame Black," Harry said, touching his forehead with his baton, in salute.
"Madame Black," Daphne said, curtsying. "I am taking this gentleman to St. Mungo's Ball this evening, to inaugurate Wizarding London's holiday season. We will be coming back with some friends for some conversation and refreshments. Thank you for all your help and assistance."
Walburga looked down her nose, sizing them up.
"Oh, dear," she said. "Kendra's daughter taking up with Harry Potter. Well, if it has come to this, Potter, even I have to admit you appear to have grown into proper adult form. I hope you enjoy being Lord Black. Is there anything I can do for your lordship?"
"Yes, there is something. It may be hard, but Teddy Lupin is my godson. Andromeda is his grandmother. I would like to see the tapestry repaired. If an occasion arises for the Black family to gather here in the house, I want to be able to invite Andromeda and Teddy and assure them they are welcome."
"POTTER!" screamed Walburga. "What are you thinking? Andromeda turned her back on her family when she married Ted Tonks. She deserved to be blasted from our tapestry."
"Madame, I am on my way to represent the you and the Black family at the St. Mungo's Ball. Although I didn't seek it, I accept the responsibility of looking out for our common interests. That includes representing the whole family, every single surviving member. With Daphne's help, I will do my best to bring credit to our house. What's in the past needs to stay there. Narcissa and Andromeda deserve to be reconciled at this point in their lives. You asked what you can do. All I ask is that you please give my thoughts your full consideration.
"Now, Healer Daphne and I have to depart. By your leave, Madame," Harry said, saluting the portrait with his baton.
"M'lud," said Walburga, with a sigh.
