Unbothered by the stares, Harry sat in the seat reserved for him, the crests for the Houses of Potter and Black etched lovingly into the leather.

Glancing quickly to the seats meant for guests, he spotted Elia in conversation with his aunt, stifling the grin that wanted to come on his face.

To be a fly on that bench, he thought in amusement.

Doubtless they would get along; Narcissa had proven to have a sharp tongue and dry wit, something he had noticed in Elia as well. That they had been raised to navigate the political intrigue that came with their birth would probably help them bond, though she could not tell his aunt she was in reality a foreign princess from another dimension.

Knowing Narcissa, she might take her at her word. Stranger things have happened when he was involved.

"Oy ye, oy ye. Calling to session this meeting of the Council of Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot of Magical Britain, on this day, the fourth of February in the year two thousand four. Are all members present?" the Chief Warlock asked. They had nominated one of Dumbledore's contemporaries, an Alfred Golding, and the balding old man was near as infuriating as Dumbledore had been. Thankfully, this one did not twinkle his eyes at you, nor was he as adept at legilimancy as his predecessor.

"All members are present, Chief Warlock," called Percy Weasley. He had managed to keep hold of his spot in the Ministry, though Percy worked instead as the Court Scribe for Wizengamot sessions – a better position for his prodigious memory.

"Lord MacDougal, if you will," Chief Golding offered, sitting as the aging Scotsman made his way to the floor.

"MacDougal's certainly doing what he can to push his bill," a voice muttered close to him, and Harry leaned closer to better hear Ernie MacMillan.

"He's got Marchbanks and Ogden in the bag," Harry murmured in response, watching the man go on with his impassioned plea for restructuring.

"Hmm, and Runcorn as well," Ernie responded, hand covering his lips.

Harry raised a brow at that; Albert Runcorn had managed to avoid conviction as a Snatcher, despite having used his position in the Ministry to arrest hundreds of halfbloods and their muggleborn spouses. That he would so openly side with MacDougal did not bode well for them.

"The money gets restructured to flow mainly in the Auror office," Ernie told him. Harry had read the draft budget cover-to-cover – had even enlisted Elia's help to comb through it for any loopholes.

"The Justices," Harry noted, seeing Ernie grimace in agreement.

That Runcorn managed to avoid Azkaban was shameful; that the Ministry allowed him to continue in his role as a prosecutor in the DMLE was a scandal that had not been rectified.

"Nott's position is looking more appealing," Harry muttered in disdain, Ernie nodding in agreement.

"This Lady Martell is a friend of yours?" he asked as his brown eyes focused on the two women.

"Something like that," Harry responded, grateful Ernie would not pry into personal matters.

"Ten galleons says their tongues will wag for a month," Ernie offered with a light grin, and Harry nodded his agreement of the bet.

"…Money well spent, I say. We have managed to catch many of the criminals that had run rampant through the country under the reign of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," MacDougal droned, tipping his head at Harry, who steadfastly ignored the stares as he glanced at the two ladies. They were paying rapt attention to the old Scot, and the eyes of the reporters allowed into the sessions danced between Harry and Elia.

"MacDougal's grandson died in the war, didn't he?" Harry asked Ernie, unable to recall the man's reasoning for the bill. They had all lost people in the war, so it was most like to be that.

"His great-nephew," Ernie corrected. "Robert MacDougal III, he was supposed to marry Lord MacDougal's granddaughter Isobel and tie the claims together."

Grimacing, Harry watched the older lord continue his spiel.

On any other day, the restructuring might have appealed to him. But Runcorn was a factor, a beneficiary of MacDougal's bill, as well as the vast increase in money for the Aurors when it was frankly unnecessary.

Ten years ago they could have used this money, he thought bitterly. Amelia Bones would have made good use of it, of that he was certain. But the current Head of the DMLE was a rumoured Death Eater sympathizer – perhaps even more if the whispers were to be believed – and the stance of the Ministry to focus on stabilizing peace after the war left a bitter taste in his mouth.

MacDougal had finally completed his long-winded speech, and Harry politely applauded alongside the others as the Chief Warlock called for opening arguments.

"Lord MacDougal," Lady Bulstrode began, "how is the Ministry prepared to recoup the funds that were appropriated for the rebuilding of Diagon Alley?"

Calls of agreement came as Lord Spinks shouted, "Diagon still reeks of war! They've not done a good job of it what with all the money we poured into that project. Thousands each!"

"Diagon has been repaired to the best of our abilities," Lord Brown interjected to jeers from his opposition.

"Pah! No need to think on what you deem acceptable," Lady Fawley huffed, and Harry had to bite back his exasperated laughter at the glares both sent each other.

Fourty-three years, and you would expect them to forgive each other, but magicals had long lives and even longer memories.

"Think she might spike his wine," he murmured to Ernie, seeing his brown eyes crinkle in amusement.

"That would certainly liven things up," Ernie laughed lightly, before schooling his features as he raised his wand.

"Heir MacMillan," Chief Golding called.

"Chief Warlock," Ernie said smoothly as he leaned forward in acknowledgement.

The puffed-up pureblood from his schooldays was gone, replaced with a confident heir; Ernie had lived through the war and come out of it more sure of himself and of where he stood in regards to the world. Harry had not expected a friendship to build between the two of them, but he was glad for his steadfastness as they both braved the Wizengamot together with Neville in the early years.

"Lord MacDougal, if you could clarify the section regarding the Office of International Cooperation. Are we to believe that there is no intention to increase the budget for that department?"

Harry watched as Nott leaned forward in his seat, eyes fastened on MacDougal, who pinned Ernie with a cold stare.

"The Department of International Magical Cooperation will receive their necessary funds, Heir MacMillan," MacDougal responded curtly. "Our current state is indeed to strengthen Magical Britain from within before we form alliances abroad."

"And just how do you expect to do so when our trade contracts could suffer for lack of Ministerial involvement?" Draco drawled, grey eyes impassive. "We stand to lose millions of galleons should they be allowed to flounder."

"Our current trade agreements should suffice," Lord MacDougal answered.

"Our current agreements were written under the previous administration," Harry added lightly. "Surely they need to be rewritten considering our changing needs?"

He looked instead at Kingsley, green eyes sweeping over his face before he returned his gaze to Lord MacDougal. From his periphery, Harry could see Nott lean back in his seat.

"We are currently faced with a backlog of trials, Lord Potter-Black. Our first priority should be to complete these in full accordance with the law."

Questions arose from the left, and Harry watched as the sitting Lords and Ladies argued back and forth over the bill. More money was promised to the DoMLE, a paltry amount to International Magical Cooperation, and more funds for Magical Maintenance and unspecified departments.

And in the midst of it all, the Department of Mysteries is given no mention, he thought grimly.

"I don't like this," Ernie muttered, watching as Lord Zeller withheld a curse as he argued with Lord Matthias Davies. Every lord and lady had had their say, each meticulously combing through the wording of the proposed budget in an attempt to gain approval or push for clarification on just where the Ministry wanted to use their money.

"Nor do I," Harry replied lowly. "It won't pass, not when Ogden so clearly benefits from it while others have to scramble to make returns. Look at them."

They sat for several hours as they bickered over the possibility of trade losses and the unasked question of the DoM, only a small break between to allow them to grab refreshments and relieve themselves. To his misfortune, Harry had to mingle with the other lords and ladies as the guests spoke amongst themselves.

"Lord Potter-Black," a strong voice said, causing a slight smile to come to his face.

"Lady Marchbanks," Harry responded, brushing a light kiss over the hand she extended, a wide grin on his face. "It is ever a pleasure to see you."

"You Potters have always excelled at flattery," the woman retorted, and Harry smiled in genuine fondness at the old woman. Half his height with iron-grey hair and steel blue eyes, Griselda Marchbanks had outlived all of her contemporaries and insisted she was merely waiting until one of her great-nephews grew the spine to take on the court.

"I see you've brought a lady with you," she continued, gimlet eyes watching to catch any hints on his expression.

"A family friend," Harry replied.

She huffed, hand tightening slightly on her cane as she watched Elia mingle with the other guests.

"Family friend," she harrumphed quietly, "not like I've not heard that before. Do keep your head, dear. Though I suppose if she manages to rouse you from your home that is something to be lauded."

He refrained from rolling his eyes; Old Griselda had been a friend of his grandmother Euphemia, the two having grown up together and shared a dorm at Hogwarts, and she had been the first to tell him exactly how Fleamont had managed to win over her friend while Harry had written his NEWTs.

Thankfully, she didn't comment on his blatant lie – the woman knew enough about Magical Britain to know who was allied with who – and merely tipped her head at the watching crowd.

"Well, good enough I suppose," she told him, raising her voice with a devious glint in her eyes. "I expect to see both you and Lady Elia Saturday next for dinner. It's Emry's birthday and we'll be hosting a small gathering."

"We wouldn't miss it for the world," Harry told her, cringing slightly at having to deal with what the woman considered a small gathering.

Lady Griselda merely smiled, a hint of smug satisfaction in the curl of her lips at the whispers as Harry escorted her to her seat.

"You planned for that," he accused, voice low to keep from being heard.

"My dear, when you've lived as long as I have you take enjoyment where you can," she laughed.