Flowing dresses. Billowing frocks. Silky and stylish shirts and robes. Colours, from black to violet and yellow. An assault on the eyes, so pungent you could taste it. And the perfumes, plugging the nose and killing olfaction. A masked ball, without the masks. At least without the overt ones. Both him and Hermione were wearing theirs tonight. Proud and friendly, always attending. So many nameless nobodies and has-been socialites extending their grubby hands and prying words from the newly elected stars.

He made an excuse and they went in the direction of Augusta Longbottom, standing with her a sight for sore eyes, Andromeda Tonks. Even among men and women with power abound, she still managed to eclipse most of them, former Black, even though she made a point to berate anyone daring to still use that name for her. She wore a simple green dress and red lip stick. Augusta on the other hand, chose for the traditional look, frills on a tightly woven dress covering everything from the bottom of her legs to her neck.

"Mrs. Longbottom," he said, "Andromeda. I really am glad to finally see you."

Augusta smiled in satisfaction. "Ah! Did you finally get rid of those bottom-feeders? You look quite fetching – both of you. New collection from Madam Malkins, I see. It suits you. Good to see something daring once in a while."

"Thank you, Mrs. Longbottom," Hermione said with a mock curtsey. "Andromeda."

They shook Augusta's hand and gave Andromeda a hug.

"Since you'll be joining us," Augusta said, "I'll give you a bit of the lay of the land. Not everyone is attending today, but enough that you should do some introductions – or re-introductions as it may be."

"Over there, Lords Prewett and Rowle," she said, pointing to two victorian-looking fellows chatting in a group of half a dozen. "They're most likely just here to keep an eye on things, how you decide to mingle. Feel free to talk to them, but I doubt they're expecting anything. They do love to stall, especially when it comes to pro-muggle legislation.

"Over there, Lord Greengrass, next to his wife. And Ornelia, his sister – that's the lady in the light-coloured dress. She's chatting with Lord Burke and two other officials. I think Matthews and Clarke."

"Who are the girls?" Harry asked.

"Ah. Daphne, and her younger sister Astoria. I believe she did a few years of private study, coming back to Hogwarts for her OWLs and NEWTs. Both in Slytherin. And her sister only attended her first year – people say she has health problems, I wouldn't know and it's not proper to ask. It is rare for them to come out in public. We'll be working with Greengrass extensively, he does head the largest voting block in the Wizengamot."

Augusta continued her explanation, but Harry's eyes were lingering on the younger Greengrass sister. There was something amiss with how his eyes perceived her, something black on the red halo of her insides, foul and malignant. It did look like a disease. Both girls looked shy, occasionally talking to each other away from the so-called adults. And Daphne, he had seen her but much more recently in a memory – a memory where Lord Alpharius Greengrass played a starring role.

Though she did look different in the light of the Ministry Ball. Or rather, she was different, polyjuice couldn't replicate mannerisms and general demeanour.

"Over there. Mary-Jay Slughorn and Horace – well, you know Horace too well, don't you? They're talking to your sister, Andromeda."

Andromeda laughed dryly. "She always could play the frail girl well enough. But I suppose she's not playing, not since she grovelled at Greengrass' feet to help her son. I see he's not here. Greengrass must have advised against it."

"I suppose that's correct, Andromeda," Augusta sighed. "I think there was a real possibility of Draco Malfoy taking up a Lord's seat if you hadn't made a run. We're all quite grateful that you did."

"It's our pleasure," Harry said, smirking at Hermione. "And the Minister is coming later I heard."

"He has to make his speech, of course."

True enough, Minister Shacklebolt arrived at the ballroom a few minutes later, sharply dressed, making a beeline for them.

"Harry! Hermione!" He placed a ministerial hand on both their shoulders, an honest, sparkling grin on his face. "I just wanted to congratulate you both, officially and without pomp, before I lose the chance to do so. Truly, it is a great time to be in my shoes. Both of you getting here… And on your own too, no favours, not a spot on your campaign. You make us all proud."

"Oh, thank you King," Hermione said. "It is a relief for it to finally be over. Well, I guess something new entirely is starting, we're very glad to be here too."

"Well enjoy it," he said with an extra strong grip on Harry's shoulder. "It is a cause for celebration, after all."

He greeted Andromeda and Augusta too, and made his way to the front of the room, to the dais to make his speech. On the way there a glass of elven wine was pressed into his hands, and the elves – now paid employees of the Ministry – started to serve wine to everyone in the room. The various groups huddled around, all bright and properly smiling.

Harry watched Hermione suppress a yawn, her eyes watering from the effort. And truly he couldn't blame her. As much fun as it was to plot the demise of the Wizengamot scrooges, it really couldn't compare to their birthday party fun. And they would have to wait a while for their political efforts to materialize.

"– to bring unity and forward thinking to our community. A long road of recovery is still ahead of us –"

"Hey," he whispered, "noticed anything so far?"

"You mean how you stared at Daphne?" she whispered back. "I noticed, yes."

"I was looking at her sister actually." He chuckled at her scandalized look. "Will you stop assuming I'm a pervert? I mean I saw and confirmed what Augusta was saying. The girl has some ailment, probably magical."

"Really? Between the two of them they are quite the family drama."

"No kidding. That's purebloods for you."

"– that every year the Ministry grows more stable and strong. Now more than ever we can expect –"

"Narcissa is looking perky," Harry continued, "in a permanently mourning kind of way."

"I bet she would be smiling if Malfoy junior took your place."

"Poor woman, under Lucius' thumb for so many years."

"And now under Greengrass."

"And later, who knows," Harry whispered with a smile.

Hermione laughed. "Can we bully her just a little bit?"

"Just don't be obvious about it. Slughorn is sharper than he appears."

"– so with pleasure, I thereby announce Lord Harry Potter taking up the seat of House Black, as well as Solonus Matthews, Hermione Granger and Alice Wombley as Officials to the Wizengamot. By Law and Magic, let the ball commence!"

As if by magic (it was), a string quartet of enchanted instruments started playing by themselves, and people went milling about. Oysters, foie gras, and so many other appetizers were carted and carried around by the elves who wore a toned down type of tuxedo – a black and white amalgam of rags, somehow never fitting a uniform.

They followed to the western part of the ballroom, Horace Slughorn's voice coming into earshot louder and louder.

"– that she's going to be starting out in October, straight from the selection. I do blame myself for not noticing, but then when – Ah! Harry Potter, there you are, my man. Or should I say Lord Potter now? And Ms. Granger, pleasure as always."

He shook their hands as vigorously as his academic constitution allowed.

"And this is my sister, Mary-Joanne. Lady Slughorn, I hear they call her in some circles –"

"Thank you Horace!" Mary-Joanne interrupted. "Let me do my own introductions before you do more harm. Lady Slughorn, but call me Mary outside the court, you'll be hearing enough of that talk soon enough."

"Pleasure," Harry said. "And Lady Malfoy, how are you?"

Her voice had the quality of an underwater whisper, seductive but distant. "I'm well, Lord Potter. Congratulations on your inauguration."

"Thank you."

She shifted her gaze, a questing smile on her face, and her hand hovered at her side, unsure what to say to the woman once a girl tortured in her former home. Hermione didn't even flinch and extended a hand to shake – Narcissa's hand shooting to meet it quickly.

"Mrs. –"

"Miss," Hermione corrected.

"Miss Granger," she continued with an awkward smile.

"I don't see Mrs. Potter," Slughorn noted, "will she be joining us?"

"Not tonight I'm afraid, professor," he answered, letting through a note of disappointment.

"A shame, a shame. I do hope she's all right."

"I'm sure she is."

"Harry!" Hermione said with a smile. "I think I will catch up with Mrs. Malfoy for a bit. Maybe you could go and say hello to Lord Greengrass."

"Sounds good," Harry said enthusiastically. "Mary, professor, I'm sure we will talk more later. Enjoy yourselves."

He watched Hermione and Narcissa peel off to a quieter place. Her new confidence was encouraging. Alpharius Greengrass spotted him from a mile away, speaking to his wife and gathering the attention of his daughters. He was tall, and for his age, handsome. The exactly appropriate scumbag face of the new political elite. If he were more exuberant, he could style himself Lockhart.

For the first time since Hermione's birthday party he felt like he wasn't the most morally reprehensible person in the room. The man smiled as he got there, holding his wife close – Cassandra was her name. She had offensively good looking auburn hair and a pale complexion.

"Lord Greengrass, pleasure meeting you again," he said.

"The pleasure is all mine, Lord Potter. And you've yet to meet my wife, Cassandra."

She shook his hand lightly with a friendly but empty smile.

"And my daughters of course. Daphne, Astoria, you know Harry, don't you? Come say hello."

Astoria looked to her sister, who held out her hand. It was jarring, the difference in maturity between her and anyone else her age he knew. He wasn't even sure she had an occupation, at least their investigation didn't reveal anything. He shook her hand with a warm smile.

"We never really talked at Hogwarts, did we?"

"No, um – Lord –"

"Please say Harry," he chuckled, "I'm not ready for anyone my age to call me lord yet."

"Harry, no, we didn't talk much."

Astoria now too held out her hand, and the malignancy was so much more apparent. She looked paler, her eyes more heavy-lidded than her sister. And she was shorter, by quite a bit. She looked perfectly fragile – and yet, there was something in her eyes that Harry had seen in few others.

"It's nice to meet you," she said brightly. "I only did my first year, but I went back for my OWLs."

"Yeah, nice to meet you too. I went and got my NEWTs two years ago, they don't really tell you you can do that at school I guess."

The sisters shared a smile while Alpharius clearly tried to get his attention.

"It's quite the shame we're not working together directly," he said. "I was almost certain if the time came for you to get into politics, you would join us on the progressive side."

"We're just trying to fit in," Harry said, "and we've known Augusta for a long time now. She'll be there to teach us what we need to know."

He considered this with a hum. "Wise choice perhaps. Yes, politics isn't an easy subject, not for a first-timer anyway."

"No, it isn't. And we will be working together at some point I imagine."

They talked. Lord Greengrass rambled on quite proudly about the equal hire bill he had passed while Harry was in a coma. A self-absorbed wizard like many, and behind that mask, a visage ugly and deformed by his twisted perversions. But nothing like them, no great white waiting to smell blood. He was surprisingly uninteresting, vapid even, so much so that the conversation became a chore.

Hermione saved him from his crucible. Briefly introducing herself before snatching him away with some flimsy excuse of meeting more people.

"Have much fun?" she asked.

With a grin, he spun her around to the slow tune of strings. "We can dance while we talk, can't we?"

"I am not thanking Ginny for getting you dancing lessons," she answered.

"Well. Lord Greengrass is about as dull as dishwater. He almost talked my ear off about his last bill."

She one-two stepped closer to him, leaving nary an inch between them. "He's not hiding anything, aside from what we know?"

"I have been wrong before."

"But not often," she remarked. "I guess this isn't going to be as easy as waltzing in and tearing everything down. You're sure you weren't too distracted?"

"I was," he chuckled, "but only because Greengrass was so boring. They're really sheltered, the sisters. Astoria seems like a real ray of sunshine, if a bit shy."

"I think Greengrass is trying to set her up with Draco Malfoy."

"Sheesh! You would have to be naively optimistic to date that piss stain at this point. How did that even come up?"

"Oh, I was good, very conciliatory," she said with a serious frown. "We talked of love and – Oh! – our so deepest troubles. She also did a really heart-breaking mea culpa. I almost cried."

Harry snorted. "Just keep your head around her. I don't buy the sad, helpless wife act, not that Lucius will ever see the light of day again."

"I bet she's putting all her eggs in her son's basket. Hence, pushing him and Astoria together. The Malfoy name might have a future if they get together."

"I think you might be right."

"Well, don't sound so surprised!" she sniggered.

He smiled, wishing he could just take her right there on the dance floor, or just kiss her. She looked radiant, wearing her white dress, blue watercolour patterns dripping down it, covering those beautiful sure-footed legs.

"Harry, please! We're in public. It's just with your eyes, but you are undressing me."

Harry laughed, and watched her do much the same for a moment. Until he spotted something, like an ice cube floating in a glass of wine, out of place and begging his attention. A man, dressed more muggle than wizard was standing to the side. He had shoulder-length black hair and a white handkerchief in his pocket. And then he looked towards Harry, a small smirk on his lips: an invitation.

"That man over there in the grey suit," he whispered, spinning to face her in his direction, "do you know him?"

She looked past him for a bit and squeezed his hand. "No, is something going on?"

"I'm not sure, I think he wants me to talk to him. He's…"

"What?"

"I don't know."

"Okay," she nodded, running her hand to the nape of his neck. "I'll go say hi to Matthews in the meantime, his cousin got one of the seats." She bent closer, her lips against his ear. "I'll keep an eye on you."

He disentangled, reluctant, but already frustrated that they couldn't act normally, and steadily walked over to the strange wizard. The man didn't look at him again, but again there was this cold about him. Standing but a mere feet away, the man smiled again and drank from his wine.

"Mr. Potter – I mean, Lord Potter – Lord Potter-Black, maybe?" He raised his head, and the cold he had felt faded under a blanket of amicability. "Vanquisher perhaps, that is what they used in some of the books written after the war."

"Those books are mostly fiction," Harry answered. "And you are?"

"Malachai," he said, extending a hand. "A pleasure."

Harry shook his hand, nothing seeming amiss like it had just seconds ago. Black eyes glinted happily at him. "Do we know each other?" Harry asked.

Malachai laughed. "No, we don't. But you met an old friend of mine – ancient really, I hadn't talked to him in years before I learned he died." He looked down to Harry's chest. "Who I'm talking about is the one who left you that scar. We went to Durmstrang together."

"Oril. You went to school with him?"

He nodded. "We were quite close until we graduated. He wanted to travel, and I took over the family business from my great-uncle. He was very bright, Oril, but a loner."

"And you're telling me this because…"

"Maybe I hold a grudge and am here to seek vengeance," he said in a joking voice, and laughed it off. "Nothing like that, I assure you. I just wanted to see the man who brought him down, see what kind of person they were. As you say, Mr. Potter, books only get you so far. Nothing like looking someone in the eye to get a measure of them."

"You went to Durmstrang, but you don't have much of an accent."

"Having many friends from different places will do that. I speak Russian, Estonian and German as well."

"Impressive," Harry said, reassessing the man. "You also didn't give me a last name."

"It's Gregorovitch, Malachai Gregorovitch."

"The wand-maker. You took over his trade, then?"

"I had an affinity for it," he said lifting his wand out of his pocket with care. "Oak, 123/4 inches, suitably bendy, a core of thestral hair. You meet so many interesting people selling wands, that's what drew me to it." He paused and looked intently at Harry. "I soon learned the world was a big place with many different ideas, and in the light of Oril's recent demise, I guess it is also a world in which one can't survive alone, no matter how talented."

"Something I know very well," said Harry.

"Yes," Malachai said with a wave of his finger. "That is why Oril is dead, and you are alive. He was alone, and you weren't. I hope you don't think I'm being dismissive of your talents, of course!"

Harry waved the comment away. "Well, it is nice meeting you, but –"

Malachai held up a hand and took out a piece of parchment. "Of course, I wouldn't want to hold your attention for too long. The address to my shop, in the Tallinn Magical Market. If you do come by, bring your friend, Granger. I will make sure to have tea available."

He nodded and thanked him, still unsure what to think. But if Harry had felt that pull, it was a possibility Gregorovitch had too. They weren't alone, was his salient thought, and there were more allies or enemies to be made. Hermione was chatting with Andromeda, and Harry was reminded of Teddy, now staying with Molly Weasley. The boy was practically part of the family – whichever family that might be. One that Hermione, and he by association, had been temporarily banished from.

"Hey Harry," Hermione laughed. "Matthews was too busy with the appetizers. He told me to shove off and have fun." She looked at him as if asking what had happened.

"Andromeda," he said, "does the name Malachai Gregorovitch mean anything to you?"

She narrowed her eyes and looked up thoughtfully, opening them and nodding as memory came back to her. "Yes. Oh – he – he published an article on wand make-up and spell preference, if I remember. It made the international papers, him still being at school at the time, Durmstrang."

"Right. Your bloody memory," he smirked. "Apparently he took over wand crafting from his great-uncle."

"Makes sense. They're a large family, the Gregorovitch, though not as large as before. A number of them joined Grindewald."

"Really?" Hermione asked with a pointed look to Harry.

"A lot of them disappeared at the end. Dead, hiding, taking up new names, nobody knows. It's a small note in the history books."

Hermione seemed befuddled that she didn't know something that was written in a book.

"I talked to him," Harry said, turning back. But he was gone already. "Just now, he must have left."

"Talk about anything interesting?" Hermione asked.

"More interesting than this stuffy lot, present company excluded."

The ball, though nice and grand, would have been better without the necessity for hiding. His conversation with his strange new friend was the most interesting one he had all night, and he somewhat regretted leaving him with so few words said. What Gregorovitch had said carried the promise of something freeing and elusive. Something detached and different from the Ministry and its claustrophobic rules and laws. But they had enough trouble as it was. They weren't ready for another plate to spin.

They talked with Shacklebolt and Harry offered Andromeda a dance, partly to escape more political drivel. It was around nine when Greengrass left the party. Harry watched them go and caught the youngest daughter wave his way, and he waved back. Somehow he didn't think he would see them again very soon; two sheltered little birds, stuck in a cage. But eventually they would be freed, even if that would be just collateral.

Maybe it was the elven wine talking but he suggested to go out for a drink somewhere quiet, just the two of them. They apparated somewhere near Soho and found a less frequented pub, ordering two pints. It was almost empty and they enjoyed just being away from it all. They drank more than they should, Harry ordering a tray of tequila shots in a burst of misguided inspiration.

"We havn't even celebrated propr – porper – prorperly, with all the – dumb old people," Hermione said wisely.

"Wr celebratin' right now, inwe?"

Harry reached out for a strand of her hair, running it between his fingers. It always felt like smoke, and her eyes, like fire, especially the way she was looking at him now.

"But – like – wemadit we'ra part of the Wizengamor now. Shouldn't there be some – like confetti, or fireworks? Something."

"You want confetti?" he asked confusedly.

"Maybe. I don't know. No. I don't thing so."

She took another shot, making a funny face as she downed it. He followed her lead.

"Whyz there so many girls?" she asked, certain Harry would understand.

"Cuz there's boys an' you need girls for them."

"No – ugh! – Honestly, Harry! I mean like with how Ginny, an' then the Greengass girls. You only talk to girls."

"Thas not true! I talk to boys all the time – I mean men, why are you sayin' boyz, tha's silly."

"You're silly."

"No you are."

"No you."

Hermione stared at the remaining shots. "But why?"

"There's Alfred!" he offered. "And Neville. And Jeffrey – but hez ded now. An' Robars he does'n like me. The other bloke, who I talked to." He narrowed his eyes. "Dennis! I know Dennis."

"Thas true," she nodded. "I'm ditzy."

"Dizzy."

"Yeah, that."

He chuckled. "How'd we get home?"

"Les get some air. We'll be fine," she said, lurching against the wall as she stood up.

They walked in the direction of the river, onto the promenade holding onto each other for stability. At 2 AM it was pretty much deserted, which was probably good as they hadn't changed out of their extravagant clothes. The fresh air did help, and the moonlight glinting off the water had a soothing quality to it. They stopped and he became aware of their breathing, content with the sounds of each other over the rustling breeze combing through the plane trees.

He kissed her, slowly letting his fingers drift to the hem of her dress up to her cleavage. It was a good night after all.

"Let's go home," he said.

They walked to an alleyway nearby, the sound of Hermione's heels dominating the empty streets, out of the moonlight and into the darkness between the row houses.

There came a sound behind them. Rubber grabbing onto the pavement, three people by the sound of it.

"Nicely dressed, you lot," he said quietly. "Looks like you might be worth the trouble, aye? Let's see it, wallets, jewelry, come on! Haven't got all night!"

Harry squinted with a hand on his wand. The details were hard to make out in complete darkness, but it was three men, dressed in muggle clothes, their hearts beating heavily in their chests. One of them was holding something. Reflexively, Harry swished his wand and no more sound came out of them. He breathed out a sigh and walked forward.

"You froze them?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah. Bloody hell! The git had a gun!" Harry took it from the immobile muggle's hand. "You almost never see those in our day-to-day."

"That's rude."

"Very," Harry said, checking the pistol. It was a five-shooter with a small barrel. "Huh, never owned one," he said, pocketing it.

"What do we do with them?" she asked, stepping beside him.

"I dunno," he shrugged, "but these are nice clothes. And it's white, a real bother to clean."

She laughed. "You're worried about getting your clothes dirty?"

"Hey! They were expensive!"

"I have an idea," she said, stepping back. "Ducklifors!"

The tallest of the three was turned into a duck with a green head. It started waddling away, the freezing spell undone.

"Hey, get back here!" Harry said lunging for it and capturing it in his arms. It looked confused.

"Quack!"

Hermione tried hard to hold in her laughter as she raised her wand again. "Piscifors!"

"There," she said proudly sanding over the mid-sized carp. "That one won't go anywhere."

"Wait," Harry said, shifting the duck under his left arm and clutching his wand. "Let me try. Ducklifors!"

He groaned as he saw the feathery human amalgam head attached to the duck body, pointlessly trying to drag along its deformed anatomy. "To be fair, it's mostly duck. And we never use offensive transfiguration! It's too easy to counter."

"Of course, Harry," she said, patting his arm. "I'll give you some lessons if you want to."

Grumbling, he stepped over to the person-duck. "Can you undo it?"

"Madam Pomfrey or Professor McGonagall could, I think. But no, this is a real mess, to be honest. I'd probably do more harm than good."

"Here, hold this," he said, passing along the duck.

"Quack!"

Harry grabbed the abomination by the head. There was some beak in there, making the human mouth drool on the floor.

"That's disgusting," he said. "I guess we'll just take it back home."

"And the rest?" she said, picking up the fish by its tail.

Harry nodded to the river. "They'll be happy there, and they won't be able to rob anyone any more."

"You're such a softie," she said with a smile.

"I just don't want to get my clothes dirty," he said, pulling out a handkerchief and draping it over the head.

They went over to the river again, and released the fish and duck. They seemed happy to be in the water.

"We should get out more often," he said. "This is kind of fun."

"When are you going to separate with Ginny?"

"I'm meeting her at Diagon Alley tomorrow. We'll make a bit of a scene, and the Prophet will do the rest. We won't have to hide for much longer, Hermione."

"Well, not completely," she said, nodding to the mostly-duck, part-person grunting on the grass.