Usual disclaimers apply
Harry readjusted his bowtie again, trying to get it to sit correctly. Deciding that it was good enough, he twisted, Apparating to the Ossuary. Trusting his parents to be right behind him, he made his way to the front door. A tiny house elf was standing there, wearing a little butler uniform with the bones crest displayed prominently on his right breast.
"May Moxsey take the young sir's jacket?" he asked in a comparatively deep voice for a house elf.
Tapping his wand to make sure it was still secured in his cummerbund, Harry shrugged out of the coat he was wearing and handed it to the diminutive creature. The house elf popped away, taking Harry's coat with him. Rotating his shoulders he let out a sigh of relief and he felt his whole range of motion return, unimpeded. He could hear the strains of a string quartet.
"Please, sir, if I could just see your invitation, just to check its legitimacy," a human servant said, sounding apologetic. His well-fitted tuxedo jacket and wig, as well as the white gloves, marked this man as the Master of Ceremonies. Harry realised that he left it in his suit jacket. Just as he was about to relay that unfortunate fact to the man waiting patiently when the house elf reappeared, holding the invitation,
"You'se be forgetting your invitation young sir" he said, handing over the invitation and bowing before quickly retreating before Harry could say another word.
Harry handed it to the servant, who pressed it with his wand, surprise flitting across his face when it flashed a golden colour.
"If you would be so kind as to wait a moment, I would be most grateful," the Master of Ceremonies said walking into the ballroom.
Harry heard his magically amplified tone say, "Announcing Henry Dursley, ward of James and Lily Potter, Earl and Countess of Gloucestershire. Visiting from New Haven, Connecticut, United States of America"
Harry walked in, his cape billowing dramatically, the crowd watched in rapt attention as a boy no older than sixteen glided into the room confidently. The string quartet, which had been silent during the introduction, picked up a much more rousing tune. He made his way to the back table, impervious to any stares, especially from the young ladies. Claiming a table, he set himself down, watching as people made their way around the room, old friends greeting one another, or new deals being stuck.
Harry spotted Lucius Malfoy walking towards him, his cane making rhythmic clicking noises, each step accompanied by a loud click as his cane was brought down on the highly polished marble floor. His dark grey robes were a stark contrast to his pale skin and seemingly trademarked slicked-back platinum blond hair.
"Mister Dursley, a pleasure."
Yet he offered only a look of derision to Harry, which Harry returned with a blank stare
"My name is Lucius Malfoy, and I simply was wondering what a boy such as yourself," he paused dramatically, "is doing here."
He paused for a moment while he flagged down a passing House elf waiter and grabbed a prosciutto wrapped something or other. He was abruptly cut off when the Master of Ceremonies reappeared and announced, "Announcing Neville Longbottom, Earl of Cornwall and Lady Hannah Abbott!"
Harry watched as Neville walked in dressed in a faux military-style outfit; the navy blue dress uniform setting him apart quite nicely. With his date wearing a much more cheerful pink colour, her pleasant-looking face was beset by ringlets of soft brown hair that fell in ringlets around her face, framing it elegantly, against her companion's more dour expression. He looked grim, like all of this was merely a necessary exercise. Harry noticed that mostly Hannah accepted the well-wishers while Neville said as few words as possible.
"Such a shame to hear about Lady Longbottom," Lucius said, sadly, "she was an institution."
Harry turned to regard his companion more carefully.
"What do you know about the attack on the Longbottoms?" Harry asked, fishing.
"Not much. Merely that it happened Christmas eve and only one of their precious allies even came to their aid, luckily for them the Longbottoms and their mysterious ally were able to prevent more loss of life or property. Why are you so interested in it?" Lucius asked suspiciously.
"No reason, none at all." Harry said conversationally, "I just find it a bit odd, I suppose is the right word, that there was an attack in broad daylight, on a prominent light-sided house, by individuals who looked like they belong in a cult." Harry said distractedly as he grabbed a passing canape and popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly, Swallowing he continued, "Looking at the Daily Prophet, it seemed rather organised, to be a random attack, don't you agree?"
"I haven't had the pleasure of reading the article myself, so I'm in no situation to comment on what may, or may not have been in the article," Lucius replied icily.
Harry was not impressed.
"If I had to guess, I would argue that it was planned as a way to get rid of a fairly prominent house of one of your staunchest opponents."
"You seem well versed on the politics of the Wizengamot, for a young man who has no vested interest in the outcome," Lucius observed.
"Growing up as I did, really forces one to understand the political situations at hand, and well," he shrugged, "Old habits die hard, I suppose."
Lucius looked at Harry.
"And why would you, a mere boy need to understand the political realities of anywhere?"
"Exporting is a rather political business," Harry said simply.
"Oh? And what is it that your family exports?" Lucius asked.
"War," Harry said, before turning to leave.
Just as Lucius was about to follow he was accosted by a fat man who looked like his buttons were going to burst, his walrus moustache bristling as he called out just a touch too loudly, his face red with too much drink, "Lucius! I have a business proposal I absolutely must discuss with you!"
"Of course, Franklin, please, this way," Lucius said directing the drunk man away towards a table from where Harry was located.
Harry thought he saw a flash of irritation cross Malfoy's face, he couldn't help a smirk of victory on his own face. Flagging down a passing house elf he ordered another champagne. Bowing deeply the diminutive house elf popped out to fulfill his request.
"What was that all about?" a middle-aged witch asked, sidling up to harry, her own tartlet balanced precariously in her outstretched hand, a champagne flute held in her other. Harry got a good look at the newcomer; a stern-looking, no-nonsense woman with a tight bun, wearing a monocle, but she also had an easy smile and she looked tired.
"Amelia Bones," she said, "I'd offer you my hand, but as you can see…" she shrugged, both her hands full.
"Henry Dursley," Harry replied, still holding the champagne flute given to him by the house elf. He quickly drained it. "I'm sorry, you'll have to give me more to go on, I haven't a clue as to what you are referring to."
"Your discussion with Malfoy."
"What's it to you?" Harry asked "We merely discussed the attack on Longbottom Manor."
"And what exactly did you say?"
"Why does it matter what I said? I am but a mere child, a child with money to be sure, but a child nonetheless,"
"Do you know who I am?" she asked, all business now.
Harry shook his head.
"No ma'am, I assume, however from your name that you are the host of this little soiree, seeing how we are at 'the Ossuary.' A place with bones, but aside from that?" Harry shrugged his shoulders.
"I am the head of the DMLE, and your 'father' works for me." She used the word father deliberately. "I know there's more going on than what you want others to know, I was the one to investigate the Department of Mysteries."
She glared at him, and he returned it with a flat stare.
"Do you know what I found missing? Not counting the bullet holes and shell casings found all over the department - yes I know what bullets, and by extension, firearms, are. And besides your father may have let some things 'slip' in private conversation."
Harry hesitated, not liking her insinuations, wondering how to proceed he spun his now-empty champagne flute in his fingers. His fingers tightened ever so slightly around the translation amulet he now wore so often that he had totally forgotten it was there.
"Did you know a brand new private military contractor out of Switzerland popped up?" she asked conversationally. "I personally found the timing just a bit suspicious, especially with the attack on the Longbottom home, and the evidence found at that scene, there's a lot happening in the wizarding world all seemingly connected all after the strange magical output at 6 PM in the department of mysteries."
The one thing that set Harry Potter apart from the rest of these guests, was that the sword he wore on his hip, unlike most of the men here, was not merely for decoration. While Harry was much more comfortable at farther ranges, he could absolutely fuck someone up with a sword, even dismounted as he currently was, if the situation called for it.
He felt his hand rest comfortably on the pommel, ready to draw it at a moment's notice. He had chosen to wear a well-fitted white shirt and a cape that only rested on his left shoulder, not only because it looked nice, which it most certainly did, but also because it left his right arm, his fighting arm completely and totally unrestrained.
"Relax," Amelia's carefree tone was back, but her eyes steeled looking at Harry's arm tightly gripping the hilt of the sword, "I'm not accusing you of anything, merely noting odd coincidences. Here's the thing Henry, I actually think we want the same thing."
Harry relaxed ever so slightly, no longer holding his sword in a death grip.
"And what might that be?"
"To see the utter destruction of the one who calls himself, Lord Voldemort," she said, an evil glint in her eye.
Harry looked at her confused.
"If you want something done, namely the death of the Dark Lord, why are you coming to me? You are, by your own admission, no less, the head of the law enforcement branch of a major country, in this case, magical Britain. Why are you coming to me, a private citizen, to take care of something that by all rights, should be your purview? Even assuming I can do a damn thing about it, which I'm not saying I can."
Amelia huffed in frustration.
"Because the government of Magical Britain is adamant that you killed him 15 years ago, and they have a vested interest in him staying dead, mainly the peacetime economic prosperity."
Harry looked thoughtful.
"Assuming I can even do anything. What's in it for me?"
"Aside from the thanks of a grateful nation?" Amelia asked.
Harry let out a large braying snort.
"The thanks of a grateful nation! That's a good joke." he wiped a tear that had begun making its way down his cheek. "I don't think I've laughed this hard since," he paused as if to think of the answer, "I don't actually know the last time I laughed so hard, thank you for that."
She wrinkled slightly at the fact that he had been so quick to turn down her offer without hearing the whole thing but still she pressed onwards.
"Immunity from prosecution for any crimes committed in the pursuit of You-Know-Who in perpetuity from here till the end of time."
"Counter offer," Harry said, still chortling. "You give me, immunity for all crimes beginning in October 31 1996 in perpetuity, and Britain agrees to hire Panzerflex on its retainer for 50% of the cost during peacetime, and the full cost if we are needed in an active duty capacity, otherwise…" Harry left the threat hanging and turned to leave.
"Fine," she ground out, "come to the Ministry at your earliest convenience, and we'll sign the paperwork."
Harry smiled, perhaps coming to this ball wasn't such a waste after all.
He saw her walking towards him, her face impervious. Looking her up and down, he had to silently admire her figure, a strapless ivory-colored dress, that fit her body neatly, was understated as compared to many of the monstrosities that seemed common tonight, especially among the older witches. Her neck was adorned with a fairly simple silver pendant necklace, her hair artfully draped atop her head, held in place with a glittering circlet.
"Miss Greengrass, I must say, you look ravishing tonight," he said bowing low at the waist.
"Thank you, Mr Potter", she said imperiously offering her hand to him.
He took the hand and gently brushed his lips against it.
"It's Dursley at the moment," he muttered, pulling her in so they couldn't be overheard.
Nodding her head, she muttered back, "You don't want people knowing you're even still alive."
She glared at an older gentleman that was leering at her.
"Dance with me," she said as she dragged him out onto the dance floor.
"Why?" Harry asked as he placed his left hand in the small of her back and taking her left hand in his right and began leading her in a dance.
"Because-" she paused for a moment as harry sent her spinning across the dance floor, their ams outstretched, fingers intertwined, "It's easier to talk without others listening in as we move across the dance floor."
Harry initiated a dip, she fell into it gracefully, her hair almost, but not quite touching the floor
"I didn't know you could dance," she said, surprised.
"I attended my own fair share of balls. Everyone usually either tried to marry me off to either their daughters, or nieces, but I did get no small amount of marriage proposals from single elderly widows with money."
"Why didn't you?" Daphne asked.
"Aside from the fact that I'm sixteen?" Harry asked, letting out a single humourless laugh. "No it was rather simple, I didn't love any of them."
His mind's eye showed a picture of a girl, who looked to be about fourteen,button nose, a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Dark, rich brown hair cut into a utilitarian bob, eyes alight with mischief, mouth a permanent smirk, as if the whole world were a joke, and only she heard the punchline. He banished that image with a violent shake of his head.
"Love?" she asked, "I never took you as a man who believed in such things."
"Why? Is it because, I kill people, or is it because I'm 'ruthless'?" Harry spat that word out with derision.
"No of course not," Daphne said quickly trying to diffuse a possible explosion. "It's just you've always seen so, utilitarian. I didn't, don't see you as the type of person who makes any decision based on something so ephemeral as love."
Harry visibly calmed. He was silent for a few moments trying to formulate a response.
"I do what I do, not because I necessarily enjoy it, I do what I do so that those ephemeral things, like love, have a chance to bloom and blossom," Harry said slowly. "For what is a life devoid of love, devoid of those intangible things that life is so meaningless without?"
Daphne didn't have a good answer for that. They remained close, not talking as the music washed over them.
Daphne sat alone in her room later that night, feeling conflicted . she had spent most of the evening with Harry Potter, dancing. At first, she had thought it a simple schoolgirl crush, feelings left over from when he so gallantly rescued her from the Death Eaters, but as time went on, the more she saw of the man that was Harry Potter, not some caricature of a man, a man driven by bloodlust, or driven by fame or greed, she thought she understood him a little better now.
He saw war, he saw money and violence, not as an end as she previously believed, but rather as a means to an end. He was ruthless there was no denying that, but looking back he wasn't needlessly cruel, like she had originally thought.
She tried looking at the manor raid from his perspective. Dropped into a new world where you know no one, and you have what amounts to a giant war machine, and you get gifted an enemy base of operations, and you have no cash to your name.
She was privy to enough financial news to know that the Potter estate wasn't generating near the capital necessary to fund a whole other front to the war, what was he supposed to do? Thinking him a dumb brute at the time, she thought he merely wanted the loot to have it, or to simply be rich, but that wasn't the case at all. Harry knew he that he was walking right into a war, and most of his allies, save perhaps Sirius black couldn't bankroll a new front.
She was extremely impressed with his intelligence as well. All throughout the night they had discussed any and everything that came up, from the current state of the Wizengamot ("pathetic spineless, floundering chuckleheads'') to historical figures ("Salazar actually gets a bad rap, if you look at the historical context, muggle-born witches and wizards were often said to be the spawn of the devil), or even muggle history, ("The American colonists had no choice but to rebel, they were being taxed through the nose to fund Britain's war with France. The problem wasn't necessarily the taxes themselves, it was that they were being told they had to pay the taxes they had no say in. The American colonies had no seats in either the house of lords nor the house of commons``).
Daphne had been impressed with the coherency and just overall study that Harry Potter portrayed. He was a man of extremes advocating for ruthlessness on the battlefield. Calling for absolute violence, for seemingly the slightest impugning of his honour, and yet in the very next breath wax poetic about love or the beauty of a flower. The more she thought about it, the more Daphne Greengrass wanted to unravel the enigma that was Harry Potter.
A/N I realize I massively screwed up Augusta's death in the last chapter, and I try to address it in a future chapter, I'm sorry my intention was for him to be so preoccupied with being impressed by neville he lets one through and I did not do a good job portraying that.
Also writing a realistic relationship is hard, especially not having been in one myself, but I do my best please read and Review. Before I forget thank you to ChiaroscuroGirl for turning my half formed ideas into something readable