London
November 2, 2006
'You've got this. Don't worry. – Pans'
Daphne stared at the text, holding on to her phone tightly in an effort to keep from fidgeting. She watched the clock, the second hand moving agonizingly slow, its monotonous "tic – tic – tic" playing in her ears. She tried to ignore the occasional barks of laughter coming from the adjoining room, where Elijah Parkinson was currently making a case for his appointment to Harry's seat.
She tried to stop her imagination from running rampant: 'Oh, Mr. Parkinson, you're just like us, please join us!' She shook herself, forcing a more positive mantra to the front of her mind: You are smart, you have been the brains behind Harry's policy agenda, and you can effectively represent the intentions of the people who voted Harry into office.
"Ms. Greengrass?" Her thoughts were interrupted by Percy Weasley, looking down at her with his typical patronizing gaze. She got up and watched as Parkinson shook hands with the delegation leaders – all smiles and 'oh, just give them my name at the club' as he made his way out, giving her a subtle snarl before whistling towards the elevator. Daphne took a deep breath to steady herself before following the redhead into the room.
She had dressed methodically for this, wearing a conservative black suit with a green tie – harking back to another time when witches were expected to wear such things. There were three English delegation leaders in this session: two were magical and just one non-magical. All three represented more moderate factions, so none would necessarily side with her, but the two magicals were older; and if there was one thing she learned from her father, it was that the older generation was prone to bouts of nostalgia.
"Thank you very much for coming in, Ms. Greengrass," Senior Representative Marchbanks nodded. "On behalf of the WEA Parliament, we are very sorry for your loss."
"Thank you all for agreeing to receive me." Daphne gave a small curtsy before sitting down. "While losing Harry was devastating for me personally, I believe it was an even greater loss to this body," she finished with a tight smile.
"Yes, a tragedy," Representative Cornelius Fudge drawled, his eyes pausing boorishly on her chest before making eye contact. "We understand you wish to be considered for Harry Potter's open position. Can you please tell us why?"
"Of course." She smiled, alternating her gaze between the three representatives. "Harry Potter was more than simply an effective member of this body: he was an icon to both the magical and non-magical communities. He believed, above all else, in the WEA – that it was the best chance we had to move forward. I believe whoever takes Harry's seat needs to follow his vision and share his goals.
"I have been by Harry's side every moment since his election, drafting policy and helping him to effect real change. I do not imagine for one second that I can replace Harry; he had something that comes once in a generation. But I can ensure the intentions of the people who voted for Harry are truly represented. Since Harry's death, there has been hate echoed throughout the city: a condemnation of all non-magicals for the actions of a few fundamentalists. Harry's political opponents have managed to use his death to try to drive a wedge between the magicals and non-magicals. These people are attempting to make the world forget what Harry truly believed in, and he would be utterly horrified to see his death used in this way."
She paused, watching the three members' reactions. Marchbanks appeared thoughtful, her eyes misty, while Fudge took notes and looked distinctly bored. The non-magical, Frederick Davies, gave her a small smile and an encouraging nod. "I promise that if selected to fill Harry's seat until the next election, I will dutifully serve the Alliance, to the best of my abilities," she finished, leaning back slightly in her seat.
"Thank you, Ms. Greengrass," Davies spoke.
"Ms. Greengrass," Fudge drawled without missing a beat, earning an almost imperceptible eye roll from Marchbanks, "we appreciate that you were engaged to the late Mr. Potter. But other than being close with him, what makes you qualified to be a representative to the WEA?"
Daphne blinked once, then again, before counting to three and taking a deep breath. She could feel the anger rising in her neck and willed herself to remain calm – after all, it would not do to look emotional. "Thank you for asking, Representative Fudge." She smiled sweetly at him. "I'm happy to share my credentials. I have a Masters Certification in public policy from the London Institute. Following graduation, I was an intern with Representative Ramm-"
"The non-magical Representative Ramm?" Davies interrupted.
Daphne nodded. "Yes. I was an intern for a year before I joined Harry's campaign as a political advisor. Once Harry was elected, I was appointed his chief policy advisor and have since been integral to defining Harry's policy agenda and supporting the overall legislative platform of the Progressive faction."
"Yes, Ms. Greengrass. We understand. But how does that make you qualified?" Fudge questioned her again, a glint in his eye.
He's trying to rile you up, Daphne reminded herself. She took another breath and gave him an almost airy smile as she responded. "Mr. Fudge, please do not mistake my relationship with Mr. Potter for some kind of weakness. I don't stand here today as a grieving fiancée. I'm here because it's my civic duty. I was by Harry's side every step of his campaign and throughout his time in Parliament.
"But when he went home, I remained in the office – editing legislation, gathering votes, researching and responding to queries from the populace. Don't forget, Harry was elected at the age of 24 with no credentials. I understand this is an appointment and not an election, so the circumstances are different but please – do not underestimate me."
Fudge's eyes flashed in anger before he gave her a false smile and cleared his throat. "Very well, Ms. Greengrass, thank you for your time."
The committee narrowly voted her into the vacant position, with Marchbanks and Davies in support and Fudge opposed.
Daphne sat on a bench outside the Parliament building, her suit jacket dangling over her briefcase, tie loosened, and previously stock straight blonde hair now stuffed in an elastic on top of her head. She closed her eyes, the bitter cold November day like a balm. She had been successful but still – she felt torn between apprehension about tomorrow and elation over her victory today.
"Daphne?" A voice called out and she turned, smiling at the sight of Ron Weasley.
"Ron." Daphne stood up to give him a hand shake while simultaneously Ron leaned in to give her a hug, leading to an awkward sort of half hug. "What brings you here?"
As if answering her question, she watched him wave goodbye to Viktor Krum who, noticing Daphne, sent a polite nod her way before heading in the opposite direction. "Just met with Krum to talk broomsticks."
"Did it go well?" Daphne asked, sitting back down and attempting to tame her disheveled appearance.
He shrugged. "It doesn't seem like Parliament has time for broomstick regulation at the moment." He sat down next to her, looking up to the sky and giving the rain clouds a good stare. "So, I understand congratulations are in order?"
"Either congratulations or 'are you mad?!' " she quipped.
"Who called you mad?"
"Oh, just myself. I'm fully aware of the horrors of politics yet, nonetheless, I've decided to subject myself to the madness," Daphne explained.
Ron opened his mouth to respond when the first drops of rain fell. He stared back again at the sky, as if willing the rain to stop, but the rain just came down harder. "Would you want to grab a cup of coffee with me?"
"OK," she responded without really thinking, standing up and transfiguring a lipstick from her bag into an umbrella. A peal of thunder brought with it a downpour, and the pair found themselves practically jogging down the street, comically out of breath as they entered the small café, drenched. A device at the door triggered a charm that dried their clothes, and the pair took a seat.
Daphne wrung water out of her hair and shivered slightly, a soft laugh in the back of her throat. "I can't remember the last time I ran in the rain."
"That's probably for the best; typically spending time in a downpour leads to pneumonia." Ron smirked, running a hand through his damp hair. "So, how have you been?"
"Oh, since you got me drunk two days ago?" she questioned.
"I seem to recall distinctly advising you to slow down." He smiled.
"Potato, potahto." She smirked briefly before her lips turned downward. "It seems you appear on my most trying days."
"Trying?"
"Mm-hmm. I had to justify my appointment before the delegation today." Daphne raised her eyebrows.
Ron grabbed the parchment on the end of the table and marked down his coffee order before handing it to Daphne. Once she had put in her order, the ink disappeared, and the parchment rolled up and stood next to the napkins at the center. "It was bad?" he guessed.
"Not bad necessarily," Daphne considered, grabbing one of the creamers and flipping it absentmindedly in her right hand. "One member of the council more or less implied that being Harry's fiancée was not reason enough to appoint me to Parliament, completely ignoring the fact that I was functionally his second in command," she ranted.
"Let me guess – old wizard, formerly on the Wizengamot?" He gave her a boyish smile.
"Perhaps," she confirmed, taking one of the coffees and adding her creamer, luxuriating in the warm drink.
"Well, you must have said something right." He looked at her, his finger magically swirling his drink. "Are you happy?"
"Sorry?"
"I mean, you got the appointment, are you happy?" he pushed.
"I don't know," she responded honestly, head tilted to the side. "I would not have been happy if Elijah Parkinson had been appointed, so there's that. And if I'm honest with myself, as much as I abhor politics, I do enjoy the rest of it: actually legislating and working with others to find compromise. Harry was always good at speech making and had passion, but for me it was about the work."
"Huh," he nodded thoughtfully, "I never thought about it like that."
"Let me guess – you could never enjoy an office job? You find happiness in the feeling of being free, knowing that you could up and leave tomorrow and backpack across the continent if you so chose?" Daphne suggested.
"That is – quite spot on." Ron looked impressed.
"About once every few months, Harry would go on a kick like that," Daphne explained. "He would talk about quitting whatever he was doing at the time and just taking a sabbatical. He would get this look in his eye, like he yearned for an adventure. I guess I see that look in you."
"Why didn't he?" Ron asked quietly.
"Oh..." Daphne smiled lightly. "All sorts of reasons. Duty of course, but I think at the end of the day, you both are – or were – quite different. I think for him, he needed to know he was doing everything in his power to affect the world – often to his own detriment. He was a bit of a zealot in a way."
Ron frowned. "You really cared for him."
"Yes," Daphne confirmed, looking down at her drink. She wondered if he had suspected something brewing between Harry and Ginny as well. "He was my best friend. We didn't feel more than that for each other, if I'm being honest; our relationship was strictly for show.
"But he also had a bit of a hero complex that drove me up a wall." She took a sip of her coffee and looked Ron in the eye. "So, how are you? I feel like we're always talking about my problems."
"I'm boring. Just bartending and putting together football games." He shrugged.
"Really? That's it? That's all you've got?" Daphne leaned in now, skeptical.
"I have six siblings; we have to spread out the drama." He managed to raise a single eyebrow.
She laughed. "Well, can you at least tell me why you freaked out when you saw Pansy?"
Ron shifted, looking uncomfortable for the first time. "Er..."
"Oh, come on! Now you absolutely have to tell me," she begged.
Ron sighed and leaned in, their faces barely six inches apart. "If I tell you, you have to swear never to tell a soul. If you repeat what I say, I will hunt you down."
She gave the sign of zipping her mouth and throwing out the key.
Satisfied, he continued, "So, I have a brother, Charlie. He works for a non-profit, helping to ensure the continued rights of magical creatures. Well," he paused, his face turning red as he worked himself up to continue, "it seems that both Charlie and Elijah Parkinson were at a fundraiser and they both got drunk and fell into bed together..." Ron let her fill in the rest.
"Now, that would've been funny enough," Ron continued, "given Parkinson's staunch conservatism; but apparently, during the act, Pansy walked in, camera in hand and started taking pictures." Ron backed away a few inches, shrugging his shoulders with a knowing smirk.
Daphne literally spat out her coffee. "No!"
"Yes."
"She told me she had blackmail on her father, but I had no idea!" Daphne was giggling, her hand covering her face. "I know it's not that funny but, oh my!"
"No, it's hilarious! Charlie thought so as well. Apparently, he called and asked Pansy for copies," Ron chuckled.
"He didn't!" Daphne was in near hysterics, imagining Pansy having a conversation about such photos. "Pansy will never cease to amaze me."
They both looked down and noticed their empty drinks. Daphne realized she was far more relaxed than she had been just an hour earlier. "Thank you," she told him. At his confused glance she continued, "I feel – well, much better now. I'm not sure what it is, but whenever we speak, I can't help but tell you everything on my mind."
"Well, if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here." He smiled, and she felt her neck go warm.
"Oh," she said, eyes wide, "that reminds me, um—" she pulled out her phone "—perhaps we should exchange numbers? Rather than count on chance to keep pushing us together?" She cringed as soon as the words tumbled from her mouth.
But Ron's grin just grew. "I'd like that."
Robards and Fox arrived at a nondescript office building. After countless inquiries, they had finally identified who transferred funds to the French Fundamentalists claiming responsibility for Potter's attacks.
"Are we sure this is the right location?" Robards asked, standing outside a plain door that would most likely lead to an empty office.
"Yes. Records show a Heather T. Steade pays the rent each month on this place – 800 Alliance big ones." Fox shrugged, knocking on the door. "Ms. Steade, we are investigators from the Justice Department; we would appreciate you answering a few questions for us," he called out from the hallway.
"Hmm," Robards commented, putting his ear to the door dramatically. "I feel like I hear someone crying out for help." The lie slipped from his lips easily.
"Oh, yes," Fox agreed, and he stepped back as Robards magically opened the door. "Well, good news is, it's not empty."
They entered a small and un-noteworthy office that had clearly been vacant for some time. A desk sat in front of the window, a small layer of dust covering its empty surface. Two chairs sat in front, while a nearly empty bookshelf stood to one side.
Fox automatically put on a pair of gloves and walked around. "Well, this is – interesting," he commented, frowning at one of the few books on the bookshelf.
"What is it?" Robards came up and grimaced. "She has the Pureblood Manifesto?"
"It's quite popular," Fox pointed out.
"Sure, and I expect most people with large libraries to have a copy. But when it's one of your only books..." Robards trailed off.
"It is odd." Fox, who had been young at the time of the Event and ignorant of the magical world, was not particularly concerned.
"OK, what do we know about Steade?" Robards asked before ducking down to search the floor, in case a loose paper or business card had fallen.
"Not much. Beyond her bank account, which shows that she made a payment to the French Fundamentalists responsible for the bombs and paid the rent for this office space, I haven't been able to find any records on her - from either before or after the Event." He shrugged.
"How unusual is it to have no record trail in the non-magical world?" Robards asked.
Fox considered. "It's fairly rare. Before the Event, typically documentation was required to do anything. While our records weren't perfect when the UK joined the WEA, I would still have expected to find something if she were a non-magical."
"So your conclusion is she's likely a witch?" Robards surmised.
"No." Fox shook his head. "I think there are too many alternative possibilities. She could be an American; Steade feels like an American name to me. I've also heard of some non-magicals who broke into government facilities during the dark years to remove or change their records."
"So, what you're telling me is we're back to square one," Robards confirmed.
Fox nodded. "There are still a few more databases I have queries into but, yes, this does feel like a dead end."
"Potter won't be pleased," Robards mumbled under his breath.
A/N: Thank you to ElizColl, Astrangefan and Art3misia for their alphabet assistance. I've posted a WEA 101 on my tumblr at canttouchthis87 if you need a quick refresher on the government/politics.
As always, I appreciate and adore all comments/reviews/emotions/theories.