September, 2003
The portkey had barely deposited him in the arrival hall when he was bowled over by a brunette missile.
"Harry!"
Normally, he'd be able to catch his second-oldest friend, but portkeys always left him off-balance. He returned Hermione's flying tackle-hug anyway – it had been more than a year since he'd last seen them in person.
"Welcome back, mate," Ron said with a giant grin as he helped his girlfriend and Harry onto their feet. "How was Borneo?"
"Hot and humid," Harry groused, before brightening up. "I did get to burn out an acromantula nest, though, so that was fun!"
"Better you than me," Ron said with a shudder. "Everyone else is at the Cauldron, we'll meet them there."
Harry double-checked that his belongings were still with him, and let the other two lead the way out of the Portkey Office's International Arrivals Hall. Hermione excitedly chattered about her recent promotion to the Being Division of the Ministry's Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.
It's good to be home, Harry thought contentedly as he listened.
"I didn't know girls were allowed at bachelor parties," Harry wondered aloud as he read through the guest list Justin had prepared.
Neville had chosen the former Hufflepuff as his best man – they'd grown close after the war thanks to Hannah – but Justin had chosen to rope Harry in to plan for the bachelor party. In Justin's own words, "Better you learn now before Granger and Weasley tie the knot."
Justin shrugged as he stamped a wedding invitation with a signet ring that bore the Longbottom crest. "It's a muggle tradition that Nev's decided to adapt, so it doesn't really matter. Besides, my brother says whoever the groom is close to should be invited."
Harry took the muggleborn's word for it, double-checking another invitation to ensure it was being addressed to the right person and in the right forms. The two were in Longbottom Hall's sunroom, and the natural light made the otherwise tedious process more bearable.
"I saw quite a few people using Irises when I was transiting in Delhi," Harry said idly, referring to the Rainbow-logoed pager-like devices that had taken the Wizarding World by storm in the last year.
"Padma's been a miracle worker in getting the Indian subsidiary up and running," Justin replied. "Granted, her family owns a quarter of it, so I suppose that's to be expected. You'd know all that if you actually came to the annual general meetings or read the shareholder reports."
"No one reads those, Justin. Well, Hermione actually might have, but she's weird like that," Harry said with a sniff. "And aside from endorsements I haven't been involved in the business at all."
Harry knew he didn't have a head for numbers or negotiations (beyond the 'do it or die' type, anyway), but between fronting a portion of the startup capital, providing House Black's two-way mirrors as a prototype and licensing his name, he'd secured a minority stake in the company. It was a good deal, from Harry's perspective.
"Speaking of Hermione, do you think Iris can poach her from the Ministry?" Justin asked as he placed the stack of invitations he had onto a side table.
"I doubt any amount of galleons will make that happen," Harry said as he passed on an enveloped invitation across the sunroom table for Justin to seal. "She looked really passionate talking about her proposals for House Elf Rights when she and Ron picked me up.."
Justin grunted. "Yeah, that's what Sue said too."
"It's Sue, now, hm?" Harry teased.
"It's a logical contraction of Susan," Justin defended, although Harry could see a flush of red on his cheeks.
"Sure it is," Harry said knowingly. "I'm also sure it's the heat of the sun that's causing you to go red, and not blushing."
"Alright, casanova," Justin said as he wagged his finger at Harry's face. "Not all of us can be Witch Weekly's Most Eligible Bachelor."
Oh, he's definitely smitten, Harry thought in amusement as he watched Justin talk to the last scion of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Bones, letting out a laugh as Susan dragged a blushing Justin off to the dance floor.
Neville's bachelor party had been considerably less rowdy than Harry had expected, although that was probably due to over-the-top American films being his only reference point for stag nights. They'd started with a late lunch hosted by Susan at the Bones estate, which had been rebuilt after the war. This was followed up with an evening at the Autumn Invitationals – one of the two premier competitions on the global duelling circuit. Neville had become a fan of the sport, to the surprise of anyone who remembered him as the shy, taciturn boy. Justin had managed to finagle box seats at the event, which was being held in England this year.
Dinner at Summerisles had been next. It was arguably the most exclusive restaurant in Wizarding Britain, and not something Harry would have ordinarily associated with Neville…except that Summerisles' chocolate gateau was Neville's favorite. Getting a reservation for a party as large as theirs would have ordinarily taken booking a year in advance, but for once, Harry was happy to take advantage of his fame. It was for a good cause, after all.
The bachelor party would finish with a night out at one of wizarding London's new clubs (although it was more of a lounge than the "traditional" muggle nightclub), where Justin had arranged for them to get one of the VIP rooms overlooking the main floor.
Watching his oldest friends dance and be merry put Harry in a good mood. Still, he avoided drinking too heavily, sticking to a single glass of firewhiskey and a few shots of vodka – Harry couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. Of course, in Britain that could very well be anyone from fangirls to the Daily Prophet, so it wasn't indicative of hostile intent. The pleasant buzz of tipsiness helped blunt that feeling enough for him to enjoy his evening.
He grinned as he passed by Luna and a giggling (and very drunk) Hermione using lipstick to draw on a passed out Ron's face. Ron was passed out on the couch nearest to the VIP room's entrance, and Harry couldn't resist suggesting phallic shapes to Luna on his way out to the washroom.
The hallway was noticeably quieter, which wouldn't have made sense without magic. It was open-air, after all, and in theory one could jump onto the dance floor downstairs from where he was standing. Harry could still hear the music, but it was muffled by the sound-muffling charms.
The masked wizards he saw in his peripheral vision making their way up the staircase to the second floor sent a shot of adrenaline through his veins. He purposely made himself stumble to the handrail, pretending to be drunker than he really was, and heading to the corner of the building where the second floor's washrooms were.
Harry surreptitiously applied a listening charm to the corridor leading to the washroom, before stepping inside. He had his wand at the ready, and tucked himself into an alcove as he waited for the people he suspected were following him.
There, he thought as he caught the footsteps of multiple wizards.
"Come on, Potter's alone and drunk," said one of the wizards. "If we take him out first, our great undertaking will be much easier."
Another wizard cast a silencing spell on the corridor, which Harry judged was to muffle the sound of any confrontation in the washrooms.
That settles it, he thought, applying a disillusionment charm and readying himself to strike as they entered.
Three of them entered, with the assumed leader waving his flunkies to check the cubicles. All three were clad in unremarkable robes and similar black masks.
Right, Harry decided. Leader first.
He struck quickly, a stunner to the leader's back, followed up with another to the furthest-away foe. The man yelped and barely shielded in time, but Harry's follow-up stunner knocked him out as well. It bought enough time for the last one standing to jump at Harry with a battle-cry, surprising him.
Wizards tended to be horrible in close-quarters, physical combat. It was simply of little use to the average wizard, and even the Aurors only glossed over it. Harry had picked up a few tricks in grappling and using a knife (pointy end that way), but that was ordinarily enough to give him an advantage in the rare instances that occurred.
This wizard, though, was strong and had surprise on his side. Harry couldn't tell if he was skilled at fighting, but he managed to knock Harry's wand away and put him on the back foot for a few seconds. Harry knew that he only needed to put him enough room to pull out his knife, or apply a wandless stunner. Victory was inevitable – and then the washroom door opened.
Shit, I can't get the last one, Harry thought as he saw the wizard at the door brandishing his wand at Harry's back. He threw himself backwards, flinging a wandless stunner at the wizard he'd been grappling with, but knowing he was out of time to deal with the door wizard.
A silent stunner slammed into the door wizard's back, causing the man to drop bonelessly onto the ground.
"Daphne?" Harry's surprise was easily seen, his wand already summoned to him. His eyes wandered to the long blonde tresses and her sky blue dress (and more importantly, how Daphne filled the sky blue dress), before he mentally slapped himself and focused on the four now-unconscious attackers.
"Every time I spot trouble, you somehow seem to be in the thick of it," Daphne said amusedly as she started summoning the wands of the dropped wizards.
"I swear I wasn't looking for trouble this time," Harry complained as he applied a spate of locking charms onto the washroom door. "I'm at Neville's bachelor party, so trouble's the last thing I want."
"What's a bachelor party supposed to be?" she asked curiously as they moved the stunned wizards into a corner of the washroom.
"It's a muggle thing that grooms do. One last outing before they get married," Harry explained while casting a human-presence revealing spell, which showed no one else but the downed wizards and Daphne nearby. "Why were you here, anyway? I'm glad to see you, don't get me wrong, but nightclubs don't seem like your type of venue."
"I was chaperoning my sister," Daphne explained with a grimace. "Then I saw four masked wizards head upstairs with wands out, got curious, and here I am."
"Four masked wizards walking around didn't set alarm bells off for anyone else?" Harry asked incredulously as he placed one of the stunned wizards into a conjured chair.
"It's really packed down there with a lot of tipsy and drunk people," Daphne conceded. She removed all four captives' masks. "It was also dark. And I think they had a Notice-Me-Not on. Guess I was the only one bored and observant enough to notice that."
Daphne's voice trailed off as she squinted at the last wizard she'd unmasked, the one that had been at the door.
"Recognize him?" Harry asked.
"No, but he looks vaguely familiar," Daphne said. "He looks a bit like Nott, actually."
"Junior Death Eater Nott?" Harry said.
"You know, he'd probably threaten to sue you for libel if you said that to him," Daphne snickered. "He never did take the mark."
"If it quacks like a duck and walks like a duck," Harry said dismissively as he lined up the bound and unconscious attackers, not seeing Daphne stiffen slightly. He cast the reviving spell on the Nott lookalike.
"Alright, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way," Harry greeted the groaning, recently reenervated wizard. "The hard way would be my tipsy arse using shoddy legilimency, so unless you want to be reduced to drooling vegetables you should really speak up."
"Do your worst, Potter," the probable Nott relative sneered.
"It's too bad we don't have any veritaserum," Daphne said from her position near the door.
"Ah, well, I guess the easy way it is," Harry said brightly, as if Daphne had reminded him of something. Harry restored his emergency potions pack from its shrunken state and picked out a vial of veritaserum.
"You brought veritaserum with you to a party?" Daphne asked in disbelief.
"Proper Preparation Prevents Piss Poor Performance," Harry said with a haughty sniff as he slapped the struggling Probable Nott a few times to make him stick his tongue out. He glared at the recalcitrant man. "If you don't open your mouth I'll stab you in the nads and drop in the serum while you're screaming."
The man opened his mouth, as if to retort, but that was enough for Harry to apply the potion. The man's eyes turned glassy, showing that the veritaserum was at work.
"Perfect," Harry clapped. "What's your full name, birthday, and favorite quidditch team?"
"Quidditch team?" Daphne mouthed incredulously.
"Nathaniel Nott, April 15, 1972, and the Tornadoes," Nott said flatly.
"Tutshill, yuck," Harry gagged. "There's no accounting for taste, really. I'd call you a plastic fan but I doubt you know what it means."
"Oh sweet Morgana," Daphne sighed. "Perhaps you should ask him something relevant?"
"Quidditch is relevant," Harry couldn't resist getting the last word. Then, to Nott, "What were you planning to do, who are your three compatriots and who else is involved?"
"Kill Harry Potter and his political allies," Nott said. "The three are mercenaries, I don't know their names. Erasmus Nott planned this."
"That's Theodore's uncle, if I'm not wrong," Daphne said after a brief moment consulting her knowledge of prominent family trees.
"Death Eater?" Harry questioned, although the bulk of his attention was on Nott's mention of political allies. Considering that he hadn't spent more than a few months in Britain over the last half-decade, Harry was sure he'd remember developing political allies.
"Unmarked if he was one, and never caught in the act," Daphne said. "Almost definitely a blood purist and sympathizer, though."
"Specify who these political allies are, in order of importance," Harry demanded to Nott.
"Neville Longbottom, Susan Bones, any noble heirs and prominent leaders that participated in the Hogwarts-based insurgency," Nott said monotonously. He then listed a dozen names, almost all of which Harry recognized as DA members.
"What exactly was your plan here, today?" Harry followed up, with Daphne adding in her own question. "How many of your allies are in this building?"
"We were supposed to observe and gather information only," Nott said. "We took the initiative to attack Harry Potter as a target of opportunity because we believed him to be vulnerable and alone. There are no others on this mission."
"Only four wizards?" Harry feigned an insulted look.
"You almost got taken out by only four wizards," Daphne noted with a mocking tone. "In fact, if it weren't for me…"
"Hush, princess," Harry said with a wave. Then, to Nott. "When are you supposed to report your findings, and to who?"
"Whom," Daphne muttered, but Harry ignored her like he did anyone correcting his grammar.
"We were expected to report to Erasmus Nott by tomorrow, noon," Nott said. Slowly, Harry began plotting a course of action.
"Do your superiors have a way of tracking you or your compatriots?" Harry asked. "Tracking charms, homing items, a dark mark?"
Nott responded in the negative, and Harry stunned him.
"Kreacher," he called out. Daphne looked at him weird for a second, but when the house elf appeared with a pop of displaced air a look of understanding flashed across her face.
"Master calls for Kreacher?" the elderly elf asked.
"Can you take these four to the dungeons at Grimmauld?" Harry asked. "Strip them of all their clothes, remove any items that could be magical, dump those items at the Sedgemoor cottage, gag them, and tie them up while you're at it."
The elf obeyed and popped away with the captives, one at a time one.
"Dungeons?" Daphne asked with a curious look.
"It's really just a basement hidden behind multiple vault doors," Harry conceded. "But 'dungeon' sounds a lot more fun than 'man-cave'."
Daphne rolled her eyes. "I should get back to Astoria – but we should talk in the morning. I'm pretty sure I saw one of your dumb-dumb 'I have a plan' looks on your face earlier."
"Floo me at…" Harry checked his watch, an automatic that worked fine in magic-heavy environs. "Eight? Twelve Grimmauld Place."
Harry spent a few minutes after Daphne left taking down all the privacy and security protections he'd applied. Just as he exited the washroom, he cursed and did a 180.
"Rats, I forgot to pee."
Notes:
Bachelor parties only became a thing in the 20th century (early 1900s). The Irises are basically magic pagers. Automatic watches are, despite what the name might suggest, completely mechanical (no batteries).
I'm not too happy with this one – this was supposed to be longer, but the second half of the chapter felt disjointed from the first and it seemed like the right place to end it. I'll probably come back and look over the dialogue again later.