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Chapter Eight

If Harry knew, when he joined the Wizengamot that he'd have to don black-tie periodically to wine and dine and schmooze the rich witches and wizards into donating money for charity and good causes, he might have taken longer to decide. Especially considering every single person he'd talked to so far had asked him if they'd get a plaque on the walls of St. Mungo's announcing or commemorating their very generous donation.

He's hoped that he would get a reprieve from the vapid guests at the dinner table, but unfortunately, he was sat at the head table that also seated the Minister of Magic, the Head Healer and the lucky select few healers that had been invited to attend in order to talk-up St. Mungo's. All this meant that he couldn't really zone out, no matter how bored he was.

During a break in the conversation, he took an opportunity to glance around the room, taking note of the glare he was on the receiving end of from Fudge two tables over; the appraising yet disturbing stares from Enola Zabini from the other side of the ballroom and at the far end of the room he could just make out Hermione holding court at her own table, her head thrown back in laughter at whatever joke or story was being told. In fact, the only person he could not see, was Daphne.

In fact, he hadn't actually seen Daphne since their missed 'almost' moment nearly two weeks ago. It was the longest he'd gone without seeing or talking to her and he missed her, something that surprised him. He was so lost in thought that he didn't realise the woman he was thinking about sidle up to him as he stood on the edge of the make-shift dance floor.

"Sickle for your thoughts, Potter?" Daphne asked, holding out a tumbler of firewhiskey for him with a smile.

Looking over at his friend, Harry couldn't stop his jaw from dropping at the vision before him.

With her golden hair elegantly swept over one shoulder, her lustrous red silk gown, with it's plunging v-neckline showing off her long elegant neck, the fabric hugging her every curve before pooling at her feet, Harry had never seen such a beautiful woman. "You don't want to know my thoughts," Harry told her with a charming grin as he took in the exquisite beauty in front of him. "I will say that you look absolutely beautiful," he told her, taking her free hand in his and kissing the back of it, making her blush, only adding to her beauty.

"Very charming, Mr Potter," Daphne said with a shy smile, both embarrassed and flattered by his obvious attention. "I hope you've been using that charm on these delightful witches in order to secure donations."

"Of course, I've been nothing but delightful to all these thoughtful, completely selfless, self-serving philanthropic people," he told her with a grin that she returned, knowing exactly what he meant about the witches and wizards that made up the galas guest list.

"They're all terrible, aren't they" she said with a shake of her head. "So, did you manage to find a date for tonight that isn't an official member of your fan club?" she asked taking a sip of her elf-wine.

"Nope, no date," he told her with a shake of his head. "There is something I wanted to ask you."

"Go on."

"Why has Fudge been glaring at me all evening and why can't Zabini keep her eyes off me?"

Rolling her eyes, Daphne pointedly and rather exaggeratedly looked him up and down, taking note of his exquisitely tailored suit that fit him like a glove before answering him. "Zabini is staring at you because you're the best looking, most eligible wizard here," she pointed out with a smirk, knowing her admission would fluster him slightly. "As for Fudge, he's not glaring because your handsome. Although I would hazard a guess to say that he is jealous of you."

"I'm sorry, I'd not realised you were drunk. What on Earth are you talking about, jealous?"

"I'm not drunk, thank you, I'm being completely serious. He's jealous of you."

"What do you mean he's jealous?"

"It's not really something we should discuss when we could be overheard," she told him as she placed her glass on a passing floating tray. Looking around them, Harry placed his own glass down before grabbing Daphne's hand. "Well, in that case," he muttered as he pulled her onto the dance floor, twirling her around and into him, his other hand coming to rest on her naked back. "No one listening to us now," he told her softly when she looked up at him in surprise at suddenly finding herself in the arms of the man that had been occupying her thoughts recently.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Daphne looked up into Harry's curious and mesmerising eyes, trying her darndest not to get completely lost in them. "To put it simply, he's jealous that you've usurped him," she told him.

"I'm afraid that you're going to have to explain that one to me," Harry told her, his confused look making her giggle lightly.

"Seriously. There's this hierarchy within the Wizengamot that they all follow. Obviously, the Minister is at the top, no one disputes that. But Fudge is seen as the second most influential person. That is, until you came along," she told him with a pointed look, making him groan slightly as he realised what she was referring to.

"This is one of those 'Harry Potter' things, isn't it?" he asked with a sigh, much to her amusement.

"You've got it in one. Everything you've done and sacrificed for our world is very well recognised, especially in the Wizengamot. That puts you pretty high up in the hierarchy I'm afraid" she explained, offering him a small smile, knowing that he wanted his career to be based on more than just his name.

"That's brilliant," he said in exasperation.

"It's like anything, you can either take control of the situation or let the situation control you. You've done so well not to be defied by your name so far in the Wizengamot, don't let this define you now," she told him, squeezing the hand she held gently in comfort.

Cassius loved attending these types of events, even when Daphne was being obstinate and miserable company, he enjoyed the attention he got as one of the most handsome wizards around.

This particular event was a real boost to his already oversized ego. Not only did he have the most gorgeous witch there on his arm, he also had all the high-society ladies fawning over his boyish good looks, whispering every indecent thing they wanted to do to him in his ear as they draped themselves all over him.

And he loved all if it.

"Enjoying yourself, Cassius?" Rowan asked as he joined his future son-in-law at the bar, distracting the younger wizard from his flirty conversation with a witch that was not his daughter.

"It's a smashing gala, isn't it?" Cassius answered with a grin that was starting to get on the wrong side of tipsy.

"Hmm," Rowan replied with a disapproving frown. "Where abouts is Daphne, I thought she'd be with you," he asked, looking out over the ballroom trying to find her.

"Oh, you know her, she's probably off somewhere talking clothes and hair with the other little witches," Cassius said to his future father-in-law, revealing just how little he knew and thought of about his future wife. "I'll find her later and give her a quick spin about the dance floor before the night is done."

As Rowan continued to look around the room for any sign of his eldest daughter, he was pleasantly surprised to see her in the arms of non-other than Harry Potter as they moved gracefully around the dance floor. He was even more surprised to find that he'd never seen Daphne looking as happy as she did in that moment as Potter twirled, swirled and dipped her around the dancefloor.

Perhaps sensing the older mans distraction, Cassius followed his line of sight, his happy smile quickly fading when he spotted Daphne, laughing and smiling in the arms of Potter. He'd thought he'd made his position perfectly clear on her association with Potter when he caught them in his office, but clearly, he wasn't clear enough.

Throwing back the rest of his firewhiskey, he slammed his glass down on the bar before storming towards the dancing couple, much to Rowan's embarrassment.

When he finally reached Daphne and Harry, he grabbed her arm in a bruising grip and without a word to Potter, dragged her out the ballroom and away from the man making her smile in a way he hadn't seen in two years.