(Chap. 15 from the HBP was partially quoted in this chapter about the party.)

Chap. 43: Hogwarts, the party, Daphne and Astoria, Trelawney, Ron, and Snape, and leaving for Barbados.

Harry flooed into the headmaster's office on the afternoon of Thursday, the 22nd, and found Dumbledore sitting at his desk not looking well at all.

"Headmaster," Harry said with a nod before he cast a soot-cleaning charm over his black traveling coat.

"Ah, young Harry," Dumbledore said as he sat back in his chair, "here to escort your lovely wife to Horace's little get-together, I take it?"

"Yes," Harry said with a sigh as he took off his overcoat, which he draped over his arm, and sat down in one of the chairs across the desk from the sickly headmaster. "I did promise him that I would, and I do thank you for allowing Daphne, Astoria, and Tracey to leave with me tonight. We'll be staying at Greenhill Manor, and taking a portkey tomorrow morning to the Caribbean."

"You seem tired, Harry," Dumbledore commented.

"I am, Albus," Harry replied, "since the War Committee is taking up a lot of my time. I'm looking forward to a bit of R & R, to be honest."

"R & R?"

"Rest and relaxation," Harry explained with a chortle. "However, something tells me that being with four witches will drive Cyrus and I around the bend before our week is over."

Dumbledore had to laugh out at this, as he had never really had that problem. Minerva was the closest thing to causing him anguish from time to time, and that was it.

"How are you fitting in with the Wizengamot, if I may ask?"

"It's a job," Harry deadpanned, "and politics is much harder than it looks, but, it's a must."

"A young Spartacus, then?"

This surprised Harry since he knew the true history of Spartacus, and not the imaginary slave tale full of conjecture that was shipped today, especially from Hollywood, which became prominent in Germany in the twenties, and was used by them as a hero via a certain political group. No, Spartacus was a mercenary and thief, so Harry raised his right eyebrow up at this.

"No, not him," Harry replied, "since I lean neither to the left nor right. I'm independent in thought for a reason."

Ah, Dumbledore thought, the Greengrasses had gotten to the lad, then.

Before Dumbledore could say anything else, Harry looked at his watch and stood.

"I'm sorry, Headmaster, but I must meet my wife and sister-in-law in the entrance hall. If I don't, she'll have my hide, and I'll never hear the end of it."

"Understood, young Harry, understood," Dumbledore said. "Perhaps, we'll be able to meet again after Christmas?"

"If I can find the time, Headmaster," Harry said with a nod as he made his way to the door. "Good evening, Headmaster."

"Good evening, Harry."

Harry was waiting by the stairs leading down to the cellar and dungeons in the entrance hall at half-past six. That was when he heard, and then saw, the two sisters making their way up the stairs dressed in evening gowns.

Daphne was wearing a dark green gown featuring a floral lace pattern and a sheer design on the sleeves and upper bodice. On her neck, she wore the goblin silver emerald and diamond choker that Harry had given her, and Astoria was wearing a similar gown in a black design, which was made with sheer lace sleeves that she paired with platform pumps to stand taller. Around her neck was a fine pearl necklace as well.

When the two witches made it to the top of the stairs, both were sporting wide smiles.

"Darling," Daphne asked, "how do we look?" Astoria even made a twirl for Harry to inspect her form.

"You both look just as striking as always," Harry replied with a smile. "I am very proud to escort two lovely witches, such as yourselves, to Horace's Christmas bash, and if you would do me the honor?" Here, Harry held out both of his elbows, where Daphne latched onto his right arm, and Astoria onto his left. "I think we'll make it just before seven."

"Not fashionably late?" Daphne asked.

"No, not for this," Harry replied, "though I did think about it; even wearing an ascot."

Here, Daphne looked over at her sister. "Sister, dear, meet my husband, the rake."

"Any relation to Giacomo Casanova by any chance?" Astoria asked while playing along.

"What?" Harry replied while acting surprised and appalled at the same time.

"No, I don't think so," Daphne said as she swatted her husband's shoulder, "but he definitely picked up his, well, debaucheeness, if that is even a word, from somewhere."

"Is he really that good?" Astoria questioned with a sniff.

"Oh, dear sister," Daphne replied in a husky whisper as if she was revealing a huge secret, "you have no idea."

Astoria cackled out in a loud laugh at that.

"Harry," Astoria asked, "you will definitely have to find me the right sort of bloke, and do some matchmaking for me, you know?"

Harry couldn't help but chortle out loud at the two sisters' antics as they were now making their way down the hall to the potion master's quarters.

Whether it had been built that way, or because he had used magical trickery to make it so, Slughorn's office was much larger than the usual teacher's study. The ceiling and walls had been draped with emerald, crimson, and gold hangings so that it looked as though they were all inside a vast tent. The room was crowded and stuffy and bathed in the red light cast by an ornate golden lamp dangling from the center of the ceiling in which real fairies were fluttering, with each a brilliant speck of light. Loud singing accompanied by what sounded like mandolins issued from a distant corner; a haze of pipe smoke hung over several elderly warlocks deep in conversation, and a number of house elves were negotiating their way squeakily through the forest of knees, obscured by the heavy silver platters of food they were bearing, so that they looked like little roving tables.

"Harry, m'boy!" boomed Slughorn, almost as soon as Harry, Daphne, and Astoria had squeezed in through the door. "Come in, come in, so many people I'd like you to meet!"

Slughorn was wearing a tasseled burgundy velvet and gold-embroidered smoking cap to match his smoking jacket. Gripping Harry's jacket sleeve so tightly he might have been hoping to disapparate with him, Slughorn led him purposefully into the party, where Harry seized Daphne's hand and dragged her along with him as Astoria quickly scarpered.

"Harry, I'd like you to meet Eldred Worple, an old student of mine, author of Blood Brothers: My Life Amongst the Vampires – and, of course, his friend, Sanguini."

Worple, who was a small, bespectacled man, grabbed Harry's hand and shook it enthusiastically; the vampire Sanguini, who was tall and emaciated with dark shadows under his eyes, merely nodded, though he did eye, Daphne. He looked rather bored as a gaggle of girls was standing close to him, who were looking curious and excited.

"Harry Potter, I am simply delighted!" said Worple, peering shortsightedly up into Harry's face. "I was saying to Professor Slughorn only the other day, where is the biography of Harry Potter for which we have all been waiting?"

"Er," said Harry, "were you, now?"

"Just as modest as Horace described!" said Worple with a smile full of teeth. "But seriously –" and here, his manner changed where it became suddenly businesslike, "I would be delighted to write it myself – people are craving to know more about you, dear boy, craving! If you were prepared to grant me a few interviews, say in four or five-hour sessions, why, we could have the book finished within months, and all with very little effort on your part, I assure you. Why, just ask ol' Sanguini here if it isn't quite – Sanguini, stay here!" added Worple, suddenly stern, for the vampire had been edging towards the nearby group of girls with a rather hungry look in his eyes. "Here, have a pasty," said Worple, seizing one from a passing elf and stuffing it into Sanguini's hand before turning his attention back to Harry.

"Why, my dear boy, the gold you could make, you have no idea –." (Partly from Chap. 15, HBP)

"I'm sure he would, Eldred," Came a gruff voice from behind Harry; his savior. "However, much of what you would want to know is now classified as state secrets, thus, your book would be rather lacking in detail," Rufus Scrimgeour said as he held out his hand.

"M - M - Minister," Worple stuttered as he shook the minister's hand. "I had no idea that Horace had invited you."

"Oh, he didn't, Eldred," Rufus said as he patted Harry on the back after saying hello to Daphne, "I'm a gate-crasher tonight, you see. I came with the Aurors to check on their security measures."

"Aurors, you say?" Eldred asked as he started peering around the room.

"A few in plain clothes here and there," Rufus said. "If you don't mind, Mr. Sanguini, Harry and I would love a word with you later. Ministry business, you see."

If the vampire could have become any more paler, he would have then.

"Yes, Minister, just ask," Sanguini said with a hesitant nod.

"Right, Harry," Rufus said, "there are a few wizards and witches here that I wish for you to meet."

So the politics began, as the Potters were led around the room by the Minister for Magic, and Horace couldn't do much about it but smile with a cringe as the young witch and wizard were led to the area with the haze of pipe smoke that hung over several elderly warlocks deep in conversation. Bertie Higgs was one of the men, Harry found.

"Is that the minister - with Harry?" Hermione muttered.

"Yes, that's Scrimgeour and Da's boss," Ron said, who had been invited by Hermione. "Be back in just a mo'; I have to refill my plate."

Just as Ron started refilling his plate, and had his back to Hermione, she let out a loud "EEEEP!" as Cormac McLaggen walked by, who had just pinched her on the bum. However, before she could dig her wand out to curse the philanderer, he had disappeared into the crowd.

"Why, I never!" Hermione exclaimed.

"You know, Hermione," Astoria said from behind her, "you could just tell Cormac that you're friends with Daphne and I, and he'll leave you alone."

Hermione felt like she was on the verge of apoplexy.

"What's got your knickers in a twist?" Ron asked through a mouthful of the spicy meatball hors d'oeuvres after making his way back.

"Nothing, Ron," Hermione huffed.

Astoria smirked and walked off.

"Harry Potter!" said Professor Trelawney in deep, vibrant tones, noticing him for the first time.

"Oh, hello, Professor. Didn't see you there," said Harry unenthusiastically.

"My dear boy!" Trelawney said in a very carrying whisper. "The rumors! The stories! The Chosen One! Of course, I have known for a very long time... the omens were never good, Harry... but why did you not return to Divination? For you, of all people, the subject is of the utmost importance!"

"Ah, Sybill, we all think our subject's most important!" Said a loud voice, and Slughorn appeared at Professor Trelawney's other side, his face very red, his red velvet smoker's hat a little askew, and with a glass of mead in one hand and an enormous mince pie in the other. "But I don't think I've ever known such a natural at politics!" said Slughorn, regarding Harry with a fond, if bloodshot, eye. "Instinctive, you know – like his great-grandfather!"

And to Harry's horror, Slughorn threw out an arm and seemed to scoop Snape out of thin air toward them.

"Stop skulking and come and join us, Severus!" Slughorn hiccuped happily. "I was just talking about Harry's exceptional skills! Some credit must go to you, of course, since you taught him for five years!"

Trapped, with Slughorn's arm around his shoulders, Snape looked down his hooked nose at Harry, his black eyes narrowed. (Partly from Chap. 15, HBP)

"Potter," Snape said, "a quick word, if you please?"

"Of course, Professor," Harry replied. "I'll only be a moment, Horace."

"Yes, yes," Horace said, as he waved Harry on to follow Snape.

Snape walked over to the drinks and hors d'oeuvres table, where he turned on his heel and looked down at Harry.

"I have everything, Potter," Snape said, "and it seems that your friends have come up with a very, let's say, quick solution to our mutual problem."

Just as Harry nodded, Ron spoke up, "Harry?"

"Oh, hello, mate," Harry said with a nod as Ron started refilling his plate.

"Ah, the whore's ovaries," Severus commented as he looked at Ron's plate, "and you like the dragon balls, Weasley. Ticht, ticht."

Ron, now looking a bit green, gave Harry a terrified stare. "Whore's ovaries?"

"A rather colorful turn of phrase for hors d'oeuvres, Ron," Harry said with a chortle, "but the Professor is correct about the dragon balls."

Ron dropped his plate onto the table with a clank and made to rush toward the balcony doors at the end of the room while covering his mouth with his hand. He only made it a step, though, before he bent over and honked, and on Severus' polished boots.

"Well done, Weasley, well done! You're to see me in detention on the first evening back, and at eight, sharp!"

With a scowl and after cleaning up the sick with a wave of his wand, Snape stalked off with a scowl.

Harry pitied his old friend, he really did, but the young man was going to have to learn to spot when someone, or in this case, two men, were pulling his chain, and not taking everything so bloody seriously.

When Harry noticed Hermione stalking over, he fled to find Daphne.

It was almost two o'clock the next afternoon when Harry, Daphne, Astoria, Tracey, Cyrus, and Helen were given their portkey to Barbados. Harry was still dragging from the night before, and Daphne and Astoria weren't much better.

"Still tired, Harry?" Cyrus asked.

"Yes, somewhat," Harry replied and then yawned. "Worse, it will only be nine in the morning when we arrive, so it will be a very long day. Plus, Rufs and I spoke to Sanguini about the Vampires on the continent. You know, about their possibility of joining You-Know-Who. He said that he would relay Rufus and my words to the heads of their covens.

"Yes, the time difference - one never really thinks of it unless they're traveling like we are," Cyrus commented. "When we arrive at Wytchway, Harry, you, Daphne, and Astoria could take a break"

"Also, you can tell me about how that meeting went, then."

"We might chance a rest," Harry said as they were walking to the area for the departing portkeys, "but I would not doubt that Ambassador Brathwaite will have something planned. He's hoping to snag our business for the island where we might open an export warehouse."

"If he does," Cyrus said, "I'll handle him while the rest of you can relax. Besides, I could see exporting their several brands of rum now that our new law has broken things open."

"Thank you, Cyrus," Harry replied as they walked into the area just as the last portkey left, "that would be much appreciated since we'll be with the Brathwaites on Christmas day on top of it."

Here, Harry, while holding onto the old Welly boot with one hand, took a quick glance at his watch.

"In about thirty seconds," Harry remarked, and sure enough, when it made it to two o'clock sharp, the portkey triggered, and the group disappeared in a flash.

As the portkey opened at their Barbados Ambassador's Office, Harry had to quickly grab Tracey under her arms before she fell. He didn't know that she had problems with portkeys like he used to have.

"My knight in shining armor," Tracey said as she pushed her glasses up her nose with a smile.

"You'll get used to it, Tracey," Daphne said, "since Harry did."

"I used to be awful with them," Harry remarked just as someone entered the room.

"My Lords! It's so good to see you and your family," Brathwaite jovially said. "Come, and allow Hunte to make you a drink while we talk."

"Thank you, Ambassador," Cyrus said as he shook the man's hand.

Once Harry was greeted, along with Helen, Daphne, Astoria, and Tracey, they followed the elderly and rotund ambassador into the sitting room for arriving dignitaries, which was the same room that Harry and Daphne had waited in before.

"Please, everyone, have a seat," Brathwaite said, as he sat in a large wingback chair by the window.

Once Harry sat, he noticed that it was still morning, as did the others.

"Hunte," Brathwaite said, "bring everyone a spot of tea if that's to their liking, or something stronger if they want it."

"A good Bajan rum punch would suit my wife and I just fine," Harry stated as he looked at his wife who nodded. Everyone else, though, took tea.

"I love a good rum punch, if it's made correctly," Daphne told her mother. "It was Ambassador Brathwaite that turned me onto them when Harry and I arrived for our honeymoon, so I took his advise and asked a bartender at the hotel to teach me how to mix them."

"Yes," Brathwaite said with a chortle, "I do remember that. Lady Potter wanted to finish it before their cab arrived, and I don't blame her. Hunte is an old hand at mixing them."

"They do go down easy, but carry a punch," Harry commented.

"Well, dear," Daphne replied with a smirk, "could that be why they call them punch?"

"The word is from Sanskrit; pañca," Helen explained, "meaning 'five kinds of' because their drink had five ingredients."

"Quite right, Lady Greengrass," Hunte said as he served everyone their drinks. "I was stationed in India for a while before being moved here. Best decision I ever made."

Of course, this finally led to the ambassador asking about Greengrass Imports and Exports where Cyrus took over, while Harry nursed his rum punch, and closed his eyes, but he didn't doze off, though he came close.

A/N: Sorry about the delay, but between my knee paining me and having to get some work out (I manufacture electronics calibration equipment), I've been too busy to finish this chapter.