London
November 5, 2006
"I'm sorry, I must have misheard you Hannah, please repeat that." Daphne sat in her temporary office in the Parliament Meeting House while Hannah Abbott stood before her shuffling side to side.
"Daphne," Hannah started again after taking a deep breath, "they're calling it the Harry Potter Remembrance Act – HPRA."
Daphne wished she had spent more time decorating her office – as it was, the spartan space had no baubles she could dramatically throw to express her displeasure with the proposed Act. So instead, she walked up to Hannah, grabbed what she assumed was the draft legislation in her hands, and threw it against a wall.
"Did that help?" Hannah asked with an amused smile. She had been working for Daphne since Harry's campaign, and had now taken over Daphne's former role of chief advisor.
"Not really," Daphne huffed. She used her wand to pick up and reorder the papers, knowing that as much it would anger her, she was obligated to read through the bill. The isolationists and separatists had decided to test their recent unexpected burst of popularity by finally putting forward a preliminary plan and timeline to split the WEA in two.
That was bad enough, but they had the audacity to connect Harry's name to it, and that was unforgivable.
"Sweetie?" Daphne heard a voice at the threshold, and her heart dropped as she saw her father knocking on the door. "Oh, hello Ms. Abbott." He nodded politely.
"Hi, Mr. Greengrass," Hannah squeaked before heading out, giving a brief nod to Daphne, who squinted her eyes at the woman's comically obvious retreat.
"Father," Daphne said, gesturing towards the chair at her desk reserved for guests. "How can I help you?"
"I just heard about the HPRA," he said neutrally, sitting down and gracefully crossing one leg over the other.
"Yes, I just learned about it myself. A travesty," Daphne responded easily, trying to figure out what exactly her father was up to.
He blinked at her once, a false smile planted on his otherwise passive face. He stood up and closed the door before returning to his seat, his face betraying his discomfort for only a moment. Daphne could feel her neck warming and attempted to calm her breathing.
"Have you read it yet?" he asked.
"Not yet."
"Well, perhaps it's worth a read before you dismiss it outright." He smiled at her, his tone patronizing.
For a moment, Daphne felt like she had when she and Harry were fifteen and her father caught them in his library, sneaking sips of scotch. She remembered the second Anton had walked in: Harry's face had paled and his hair, magically incapable of sitting straight, seemed to stand up on end. He had stuttered a series of apologies and eventually just ran out of the room.
She shook herself out of the past. "I have every intention of reading the bill. But I can't imagine supporting any bill that calls for the division of the WEA."
"Daphne, darling, don't be dramatic," he reprimanded, shaking his head as he continued, "There's no desire to split up the WEA, only the people within it. They would still maintain the Corps, but magical and non-magical would work separately. The non-magical community would be protected by their anti-magic technology, and the wizarding community would regain the freedom to perform spells at will." He smiled as if the answer was obvious.
"Alright father, let me entertain the proposal for a moment. Does this bill explain how land will be divided? What of the magical community who have prospered in the non-magical world? Can they remain? And what of the opposite? There's been a sharp increase in marriages between the magical and non-magical communities in the past five years. Would we force mixed families to choose one world or the other, and their children would know nothing of the other half of their heritage? Our worlds have been inextricably linked – no amount of hope or legislation is going to unlink it," she finished, her tone calm and her hands clasped on the desk in front of her.
Her father's face fell, on a dime turning from doting father to shrewd businessman. "Do not speak in hyperbole; our people are linked, but not inextricably so. Those who wish will have the ability to live as you describe. Magicals can live in the non-magical world without a wand while non-magicals will be permitted to live in the magical world, so long as they have proof of marriage to a magical."
"Do you want this?" Daphne asked, eyes narrowed.
"I'm a businessman, Daphne. I don't personally want anything – but to be successful, I must be willing to lean into the winds of change. And make no mistake, there is a change underway; there's no stopping it."
His words frightened her – perhaps the certainty in them – but she had one last card to play. "Tell me, father. Is that why you sent Astoria away to marry a Death Eater?" she asked, eyebrows raised.
Her father laughed, unfazed. "Yes. I wondered when you would bring that up." He cracked his neck to the side. "You were to marry Harry Potter, and Astoria a Death Eater. I was hedging, setting our family up for continued influence no matter whose politics won out in the end."
Daphne's face fell for a moment, anger coloring her cheeks until she got a hold of herself. "So we were simply business transactions." She had expected him to be surprised she knew of the true nature of Astoria's engagement. After all, Astoria had sworn her to secrecy. Just what, precisely, did Anton know, and what was he up to?
He scoffed, "Of course not, Daphne."
"I still don't understand how you could send Astoria away."
"Harry had a lot of theories about the birth rate. Many within the magical community have their own," he explained. "The problem started when the Muggle and magical worlds collided; perhaps the separation will end it. The Dark Lord himself has done extensive work and is confident that he will have the problem resolved by the end of the year, if we effectively separate the magical and non-magical worlds."
"But didn't you just contradict yourself?" Daphne pointed out, "If the merging of the magical and non-magical caused the problem, shouldn't the Death Eaters be immune?"
Her father shook his head. "If only the world were so simple."
Daphne grabbed her forehead, willing herself to remain calm. "Father, I appreciate your candor, but I find we are at an impasse. I agree that the birth rate problem is not simple, but I do not believe such problems can be solved through separation or isolation."
Anton stood, straightening his suit and stepping around to hug Daphne, his face once again soft and indulgent. "Well, I appreciate you hearing me out."
"Of course, Father." She gave him a brief hug and saw him out, beckoning Hannah once her father was out of sight.
"Sorry," Hannah squeaked, apologizing for her earlier abrupt exit. "Your father kinda weirds me out."
"You're not alone," Daphne smirked. "Have we learned anything new?"
"Yes, apparently the coalition putting forward the HPRA has secured a substantial block of non-magical representatives," Hannah confirmed.
"You're not serious? It's only been a few hours!"
"I don't know anything for certain, but I'm guessing they've been working on this for a while, possibly just more aggressively since Representative Potter's death..." Hannah trailed off.
"Has anyone spoken against it?"
"A number of representatives, most notably Viktor Krum and Frederick Davies." Hannah smiled. Daphne felt some relief – two powerful allies.
"I'm assuming Fudge is siding with the separatists in this instance; he's quite the snake. Any word on Marchbanks?" Daphne looked hopeful.
Hannah shook her head. "She hasn't formally committed either way. While she is a moderate, she also lived most of her life in the magical world; we can't assume she'ill vote our way."
Daphne nodded her head in agreement. "Well, I guess I better read this thing."
Daphne returned to her home late that night, utterly exhausted and hoping for a glass of red wine and a good book, when she almost tripped over a stuffed envelope sitting right outside her door.
After placing her bags on the coffee table, she opened the envelope and nearly collapsed on the sofa, dropping the photos and accompanying letter as though they were on fire.
She grabbed her phone and sent a quick text: 'Need to talk to you – come over – don't tell anyone – come round back.' A response of 'on my way' left her pacing, thoughts of relaxation and an early night's sleep far from her mind.
She managed to pace her way into the kitchen, opening a new bottle of Merlot and bringing the bottle and glass into the living room to wait. Two glasses in, she heard a rapid knock on her patio door.
"Is everything OK?" Ron Weasley entered, out of breath and red from exertion.
Daphne simply beckoned him into the living room, feeling light headed from drinking on an empty stomach. Without preamble, she handed him the envelope.
"What the fuck?" he asked, reading the note and looking at the attached photos.
"We photograph well together, don't we?" Daphne remarked.
"Daphne? We're not doing anything wrong in these pictures," Ron pointed out.
Daphne looked at them again – a few were from the café, showing them leaning towards each other, in one of them Ron was smiling brilliantly while Daphne laughed, really laughed. Then there were some from Halloween – showing Ron and Daphne drinking their butterbeers, leaning into one another in what looked to be an intimate gesture but was really two people attempting conversation in a crowded club!
"I know we're not, Ron," Daphne told him calmly, refilling her wine glass once again and directing Ron to get his own glass from the kitchen.
"You can't agree to their demands!"
"I know that," she agreed. "Have you heard about the HPRA?"
"The new law they're trying to pass?" He looked at her, confused, while filling his glass. "Don't the separatists try this every few years, and it always fails miserably? Oh." He looked at the note again.
"Yup," she confirmed, "it's going to be a close vote. My own father tried to lobby me to support it this morning."
"So, you're not going to vote for it? Even with these?" Ron questioned, gesturing at the photos.
"I can't vote for it," she told him. "It goes against everything Harry believed in; hell, it goes against everything I believe in." She paused, looking at the pictures and smiling, before returning her attention to Ron. "They're taking...whatever we are, and turning it dark and ugly. They're going to take my name and drag it through the mud – imply we were having an affair. And you'll be forced in the mud with me."
"I've been in the mud; it's not so bad." His smile faded slightly. "I'm sorry this happened – I'm sure I'm not exactly the kind of person you want to be publicly associated with."
Daphne blanched, taken aback. "What does that mean?"
"Oh, you know, among the elite, they still call my family blood traitors," Ron uttered coldly.
"You must know that's not how I feel." Daphne looked almost hurt.
He shrugged. "I've found people can feel two ways at once. I'm honestly not bothered by it."
His statement didn't sit right with her, the idea of feeling two different ways. Though, as she considered people like her father, who had just earlier today shown her precisely how he seemed to feel both in favor of and opposed to the WEA, she couldn't find it in her to blame Ron for his wariness.
"But you should be." Daphne took his wine from him and placed it on the table next to hers. She grabbed his hands. "I'm not my father or my last name. I've seen the world for what it is – the good and the bad, and I have no desire for such games.
"You're a good man, Ron Weasley. I would be honored to have my name plastered in the media next to yours." She paused, looking at their hands, still entwined. "When I saw that picture – the one where I laughed at the café – I thought for a moment it must be a fake, because I had never looked like that before, so light and carefree. But it was real.
"I'm not ashamed to be seen with you. What I'm ashamed of is the implication these photos give – the idea that there's something nefarious happening. You don't deserve that," she finished, smiling at him before dropping her hands and eyes to her lap, feeling quite exposed.
"Hey," he said, lifting her chin gently with his thumb and forefinger. "I don't believe anything in this life goes the way it should. We live in a world that can be cruel, so we do our best to make the most of it. This is just a small thing, alright? Don't worry about me, and don't worry about us," he reassured her with a smile.
She leaned in to him, pausing about an inch from his lips to give him a chance to back away. When he didn't, she kissed him. It was soft, a promise of something more, but also something innocent. They separated, foreheads still touching and breaths labored. "I had to do it at least once," she said with a soft smile.
"I'm glad you did," he breathed, his hand cupping her cheek and his eyes shining. "I'm sorry, but I have to go; I'm bartending tonight. Thank you, Daphne, and call me if you need anything."
She nodded and walked him to the back door, feeling a little bit stronger than she had before.
"Did you get all that?" Fox looked at Robards expectantly.
"She was blackmailed?" Robards said, rubbing his eyes and attempting not to yawn. He had been about to head to bed when his partner had called unexpectedly.
They had planted a magical bug at Daphne's apartment when they went to visit her after Harry Potter's wake. They felt a little guilty, but they were technically following Potter's wishes. For the most part, the information they had received from it was innocuous – until that night. Fox had happened to be in his office when he heard the conversation between Daphne and Ron Weasley.
"Yes. I'm going to see if the tap was able to pick up the blackmailer." He typed the commands into his computer. One of the great advances in non-magical police work was the ability to add magic to enhance their technology. In this instance, the bug allowed them to both see and hear throughout the house. Though there were some limitations, they were optimistic.
"Alright, so while we wait for the facial rendering, let's talk this through," Robards started. "We know that Michel Pierre's group was paid by someone named Heather T. Steade. We know nothing of Steade – only that she has a scant-used office with a few books, the only one of note being the Pureblood Manifesto.
"We know that Daphne Greengrass is being blackmailed by either Separatists or Isolationists – or a combination thereof – to vote in favorof the HPRA." He paused. "It has to be connected."
"You think Harry Potter's attempted murder was a plot by the separatists?" Fox summarized.
Robards looked thoughtful. "I hadn't considered it, because non-magical fundamentalists and magicals typically don't work together. Initially, I didn't think the separatists had any motive. However, the Isolationists and Separatists sure have capitalized on this, so it's a real possibility."
"OK, we're getting the rendering now," Fox confirmed. Both frowned as the image showed a young boy placing the envelope on Daphne's doormat. "Well that was anticlimactic."
"Can you run facial recognition?"
"Running it now," Fox answered, typing on his keyboard. While he waited for the program to complete its analysis, his computer beeped. "New interoffice email," Fox noted. "Oh!"
"What is it?"
"Huh." Fox looked at his screen, appearing quite confused. "I just received a hit on my search for Heather T. Steade."
"And?" Robards asked.
"Heather T. Steade is registered as the sole owner of a publication company called 'Magical Manifestos.' And guess what the one book is that they publish?" Fox looked up, eyes alight.
"The Pureblood Manifesto," Robards mumbled, all thoughts of sleep far from his mind. "So are we thinking this could be Death Eaters?"
Fox shrugged. "That's more your territory than mine. Do we know anything about the relationship between the publisher and the Death Eaters? Perhaps it was simply a business relationship, and we're jumping to conclusions too quickly."
Robards started writing on the board. "There must be some connection, simply since the publishing company hasn't exactly been prolific. Oh shit." He stopped, staring dumbfounded at the board.
HEATHER T. STEADE
DEATH EATERS
"It's a fucking anagram," Robards chuckled.
Fox shook his head and commented, "Can't be – not enough letters."
"No – look." Robards added the word 'THE' before Death Eaters.
"Seriously?" Fox looked at the board, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Alright. So, a person who does not actually exist, and whose name is an anagram of 'The Death Eaters,' pays a French fundamentalist terrorist to kill Harry Potter. Then, once presumed dead, his death is capitalized upon to push through a law that otherwise would never have seen the light of day. But to what end?" Robards shook his head.
"Let's update Officer Weasley tomorrow and see if this sparks something with Potter." Fox yawned. "Oh! Just got a name for the kid who dropped off the envelope; we can pay him a visit in the morning. I assume he's just the messenger, but perhaps he can set us on the right path."
A/N: WEA 101 is pinned to my Tumblr at canttouchthis87 for anyone needing a refresher to how the governent works/glossary of key terms.
Thank you to my beta, ElizColl, for her tireless work on this. Thank you also to Astrangefan and Art3misiA for reviewing/keeping me from going crazy.