Merit and Inheritance

by Bfd1235813

Harry had his fill of conflict so he developed a little business and used his spare time for a bit of do-gooding. Daphne got her mastery and became a healer. They had shared a moment or two but Harry made a mess of it, to his great regret. Why did Daphne seek out Harry when she needed another perspective? Was there an ember in those ashes?

28. Chapter 28

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Twenty-eight

The Seduction of Walburga Black

Angus MacDougal was very handy and an accomplished wizard. He kept busy when left alone at Grimmauld Place by carrying out a thorough house inspection and passing his findings on to Harry. Kreacher showed a little annoyance once or twice, because he perceived Angus to be a busybody who was calling attention to Kreacher's professional shortcomings.

Harry had private talks with both Kreacher and Angus, who made extra efforts to compliment Kreacher on nearly everything more complicated than breathing. Harry strongly urged Kreacher to see Angus as a valued resource for his expertise in buildings and maintenance, since fixing little things when they appear pays big dividends when they don't turn into major structural issues later.

Angus worked his way down to the dungeon at the beginning of his second week in London. He had the grace and good sense to wait until he could get Harry to take him down because he assumed Kreacher would be very sensitive about having such an accumulation of debris in #12.

The plan was to take everything up to the main floor, then out to the garden for sorting. Kreacher's gardening elf colleagues were recruited to assist with trash disposal, in return for a promise of a full day of work in the Potter Manor gardens for each load of trash hauled.

The sorting began as a chore and ended up a treasure hunt. A fine portrait of Walburga, and two young boys, presumably Sirius and Regulus, turned up with a badly damaged frame. No other flaw could be found.

"Odd," said Harry.

"Why didn't they have it reframed?" asked Angus.

They were still in the very dim light in the dungeon and might have been missing something.

"Let's get it up into some better light," Harry said.

"Oh, this feels good!" said Angus, climbing the stairs.

"You're free to levitate or do something else if it would be easier," said Harry. "Don't stand on ceremony."

"Oh, be real, lad," said Angus. "Up and down hill on foot is the best means of travel for any variety of human. I'm having fun. I'll let you know when the props are giving out."

The figures in the portrait started stirring as soon as the portrait reached the kitchen.

"The salon, I think," said Harry. "The light is good this time of day."

They leaned the frame against a chair, taking care not to let the canvas bear any weight.

"Hello," Harry said, addressing the three figures in the portrait. "What a lovely portrait. I recognize you as Walburga Black, and are these young scions your sons?"

Walburga sniffed, looking around in all directions.

"Have we been sold?" she asked, clearly uninterested in answering Harry's question. "This looks like some twee muggle gallery. That fireplace is alright. We had one in our home that looked like it. I hope you sell us to a witch or a wizard, at least. I cannot abide muggles."

"You aren't going to be sold, Madam," said Harry. "We've just brought you upstairs from…the, um…secure storage. We need you here with the family."

"What family?" Walburga asked. "Who are you? What's the address here?"

"You're at #12 Grimmauld Place, London," Harry said, "My name is Harry Potter. I know there have been some changes that might disorient you, so may I suggest you move to your portrait in the front hall and commune with yourself over there? Madam Walburga will be thrilled to see you again, I'm sure."

"Harry Potter? Any relation to that muggle-loving James Potter?"

Sirius started to get jumpy.

"You're Harry?" he asked.

"I am," Harry said. "You and Regulus have portraits in the dining room if you'd like to go over there and catch up. This has been downstairs. Angus and I just brought it up. I don't know how long it's been down there."

"POTTER!" exclaimed Walburga. "What are you doing in #12 Grimmauld Place? I wouldn't let your father cross my threshold and I'm not inclined to allow you to, either."

Harry looked at Angus, who was studying something on the wall that didn't include Harry.

"Madam Walburga," said Harry, "You really are going to have to spend a little time with a portrait who is up to date. So much has changed since you went into seclusion, I'm afraid it's bound to be disorienting."

"Just tell me what you're doing here, Potter!" demanded Walburga.

"Very well, Madam, I am Harry Potter, and I am Lord Black."

"Ahhhhh—iiieeeeeee!" howled Walburga. "How-How?…NO! NEVER! Wand! Wand! Someone give me a wand!"

Angus looked at Harry, shaking his head. His cheeks puffed and he blew his breath out through pursed lips. The old wizard appeared to be steeling himself for something.

"Walburga, be QUIET," said Angus, suddenly the voice of authority. "Please. Now."

"Who are YOU?" demanded Walburga. She might have been a painting but she was snorting and popping like a real thoroughbred. Sirius and Regulus were nearly bouncing up and down. The looks on their faces said they were having the best time ever, watching their mother get more and more wound up.

"Walburga, look at me," said Angus. "It's Angus. MacDougal. I'm alive and I'm right here at #12 Grimmauld Place, in London, with young Harry. Take a good look."

"Angus?" said Walburga, suddenly subdued. Her voice could have been that of a schoolgirl.

"Angus? Oh, Angus, what has happened to you?" pleaded Walburga. "Is this because…"

"Not because anything, Walburga," said Angus. "I've gotten old, that's all. It's been at least forty of fifty years since someone put you away. This is all going to be very confusing for you. No one came to see you in all this time, I gather."

Angus looked at the other portrait of Walburga under its crepe, but the drape was opaque and he couldn't tell if the figure was awake.

"There is so much for you to take in, we have to be careful, Walburga," said Angus, no longer the crusty octogenarian from the other side of Hadrian's Wall. He sounded more like a very considerate friend. He could have been a boyfriend. "None of us are as resilient as we used to be. You don't want to give yourself an overload and go dormant. Young Harry and his bride will need your oversight and guidance, won't they?"

"Oh, Angus, gentle as ever," said Walburga. "You know you were always my favorite suitor, don't you?"

"So you said, Walburga," Angus agreed, "So you said. I believed you, and I still do. Not a single day goes by…And you and I will have to sit down, alone, and have a long, private talk while I'm here. Just not right now, we really do have to be careful with you. Now, Harry, if there is an easel around, we might put Walburga and her lads right here and let them observe the comings and goings and get used to how things look again."

"That's an excellent idea, Angus," said Harry. "Kreacher!"

Within minutes Harry had the Blacks on their easel with a good view of the salon. Sirius and Regulus had shuttled back and forth between the salon and their portraits in the dining room. Sirius and Regulus from the dining room soon lodged their first formal complaint about themselves, causing Harry to have a talk with everyone about the Golden Rule.

"We are young, and so annoying," Dining Room Regulus said.

"So?" said Harry. "How do we learn?"

"Put them away, can't you?" Dining Room Sirius pleaded.

"I'm not sure what the metaphysics of complying with your request would be, Sirius," said Harry. "We're in unknown territory here. Now that you're reconnected, I have to consider the effect on the two of you for anything I might do with or to them. Don't you think? I do have a plan, in the early stages, and I think it will keep everyone out of everyone's hair, if you can just give me a day or two, until I think it over and talk to one or two people. Did you ever learn patience?"

"No," they both said.

"Then we'll all learn together," Harry noted.

That put things to rest, at least temporarily.

"Should we do a bit more, then, Angus?" Harry said, leaving for the stairs without waiting for an answer.

"You know Walburga?" asked Harry when they'd gotten around the corner and headed downstairs.

"Aye," said Angus. "She was a few years ahead of me, but I thought she was the most beautiful witch at Hogwarts. Still do, if you want to know. Of course, she'd have been laughed out of school if she'd taken up with me there, but the year after she finished, Fate threw us together, in an agreeable environment. Summer love! Then her family got her engaged to her cousin and I was out. I went to Hogwarts through my sixth year and that's when I enlisted. It was just after the muggles' second war. We did some colonial garrisons and peacekeeping here and there. I enjoyed soldiering. I liked the travel and it was an agreeable occupation for a Scot. It gave me something to think about besides brooding on my Walburga troubles. Then the muggle Defence Ministry demobilized us in some economy measure or other and just like that I was a reservist, so back I went to a wizard's life in Scotland. Thank Merlin for my baby sister."

"I didn't mean to pry," said Harry. "I apologize if I was excessively forward. Still, what a story."

"The irony hasn't escaped me," Angus drawled.

Harry moved some detritus and pulled out a prize.

"Hmm…silver teapot," said Harry. "Better be careful. Revelio."

Harry passed his wand over the ornate teapot and was mildly gratified when nothing happened. Kreacher had rejoined them and was looking on.

"Anything?" Harry asked, offering the teapot to the elf. "Cursed? Jinxed? Remember this piece at all?"

"It is very old, Master," said Kreacher. "Perhaps with some polishing it would be useable. Kreacher does not sense any magic occupying the teapot. Kreacher does not remember seeing it before."

"Take it up, then, why don't you?" said Harry. "I think we've done enough for one day. Angus, what about some lunch?"

Harry was thinking of the Leaky Cauldron, but Angus waved him off.

"My treat," said Angus. "Let me wash up."

Harry suspended judgment while he, too washed up, then met Angus in the foyer.

"Let's floo, Harry," said Angus. They stepped into the fireplace. Angus dropped his floo powder. "Burns," he said.

Harry didn't have time to reflect on the nature of a floo address called 'Burns' before they stepped out of a fireplace in a walnut-paneled salon/dining room. The décor was sparse except for an abundance of portraits. The ancient, overstuffed leather easy chairs looked ready and eager to cradle a wizard for a week, if he had the time. There were a few large portraits of men and women in embroidered robes and conical hats, some holding a wand or a flask, others a book, dividers or a sheet of parchment. Harry formed a tentative working assumption that they were witches and wizards. By extension, Angus must have taken him to a magical club. He wondered if they were still in London.

"You might not know the Sassenach learned how to organize a decent club from the clubmen of Edinburgh," said Angus. "This one is for our sort, wizards and witches, of course. We need a place of respite when we're down here in all the miasma."

Angus gestured toward the largest portrait.

"Our namesake was magical, did you know that?"

"Not to my knowledge," Harry replied. "His poetry is magical, even if I need a translator to understand it. Guess that's logical. You're a member here?"

"The clubs are independent, but we're all correspondents," said Angus. "Is this alright? Ready to sit down?"

"Absolutely," said Harry. He looked around and saw the lounge was separated from the dining tables by the most ephemeral screen, constructed mostly of eccentric, turned dowels. The thing seemed to shimmer, and Harry wondered if it was enchanted or if the turner had simply been skilled enough to bring the effect out of ordinary wood.

"I take it you haven't been here before?" Angus asked.

"Haven't heard of it before," said Harry. "This is really something."

A staffer wearing black trousers, a white shirt, white apron and a black tie, all topped off with a standard black robe, hovered nearby with a pair of menu cards.

"Near the window? Something more private?" asked the waiter.

"Right here is fine with me," said Angus. "Harry?"

"Certainly," said Harry.

They sat down and Harry was pleased to discover a nearby window looked out on a well-tended garden. Harry and Angus ordered and leaned back in their chairs.

"Well, Angus, I had no idea," Harry said. "This has been here all along, right under my nose."

"We learn something every day, if we aren't careful," Angus observed. "I'm so grateful you invited me down to London, Harry. I might have begun to brood on Mother and mortality and all of that if you'd left me alone up there."

"We all need to get broken out of our molds now and then," said Harry. "I'm going to impose on you for a little help with Walburga."

"Happy to do it," said Angus, "Now, about the Blacks…"

Harry had to give Angus an extended briefing on his history with the Blacks, Sirius, Sirius' will, and Harry's descent from Dorea. Angus, in turn, delivered a detailed account of his long infatuation with Walburga and what he had learned of her family through their association.

"Some of them found it hard to swallow, as you would expect, but they all seem to acknowledge me now," Harry said. "I'm still figuring out the house, with Kreacher's help. We just dug those two small portraits out a short while ago. Sirius and Regulus give out the information freely but they died so young they really didn't have a chance to master much of the family magic. They barely touched on the theoretical parts. They know their jinxes, though."

Angus, for his part, was a wealth of information on Walburga, how lovely she'd been when she was younger, then her gradual change to something of a harridan as the result of all the expectations of her parents, who were just passing down the prejudices and bad information they had been spoon-fed by their own parents, and on and on.

"The first time I saw her was at my Sorting Ceremony and I was hooked," Angus said. "How ridiculous is that? At eleven! I guess she was fourteen or fifteen, it's been so long I can't remember if she was three or four years older than me. I just admired her from across the Great Hall at mealtimes, of course. Then, the summer after she finished, she spent several weeks with one of her cousins up my way, and we had a little time together. It started out with a walk. When you walk, you talk. I confessed I had noticed her, and she did the same. What a shock that was."

Angus' voice dropped in volume, but if anything it picked up in intensity.

"It was a revelation. To me, Walburga Black was a goddess, motion picture star and Morgan le Fay, all in one package. Oh, that's my old self speaking, I suppose. She was honest. We had to keep our heads because talks were already underway to marry her to another Black, a second cousin, so she would have to be a loyal wife with no outside interests distracting her from her duty."

Angus stopped to take a long pull on his water tumbler.

"I finished my sixth year, looked around Scotland and didn't see a lot there that would distract me from the Walburga fixation, and enlisted in my regiment. That was probably the smartest thing I've ever done. It got me completely away from Britain and let Walburga settle into the life of a magical London matron. I even got in a bit of field work. Our duties weren't onerous so when I got a little leave I'd go out and scout around for a wizard. Managed to meet at least one every place I went with the Army. I maintain correspondence with several wizards in East Africa to this day. Never completely forgot Walburga, though."

Angus took a piece of bread from the basket.

"I can tell. She never forgot you, either," Harry observed. "Judging by her reaction when you introduced yourself. She completely transformed."

"So she lost her two boys?" asked Angus.

"Yes," said Harry. "Regulus pledged his loyalty to Voldemort, then changed his mind. He died trying to undo something he'd had a hand in. Sirius died in the Department of Mysteries. Some of us were in a little dustup with some Death Eaters and Bellatrix got around his guard. Bitch."

Lunch had arrived and Harry picked up his silverware.

"Walburga was gone by then, of course. Sirius was in Azkaban when she died."

"Shame," said Angus. "Shame. Well, what were you thinking of doing with her? I could see you didn't want to get out ahead of yourself."

"Oh," Harry said. "I've got this country place. It's Potter Manor, came down in the family as those do. The portraits are all Potters and the other ancestral types. I've got one Black, my great-grandmother Dorea. She's great but she was in bad odor with her own generation of Blacks for marrying into the Potters, so she is really more Potter than Black by now. I was thinking if I took this Walburga to the manor I'd have her there to consult with. In case I get caught in a siege or something."

"You couldn't do better," said Angus. "Even in school she was powerful. From the bits and pieces I heard over the years she kept working on her magic. Her portrait probably knows more ways to make an enemy's life miserable than the combination of all the witches living today."

"See?" said Harry. "Just what I need out there. It never hurts to get a second opinion. I'll just be careful where I put her so she isn't lathered up at her neighbors all the time."

The talk went on through lunch, changing directions several times. Angus liked fly fishing for trout and salmon. He forswore using magic to increase his catch. Harry had a stream that was supposed to have trout. Angus quoted some Burns. Harry asked for some more, if Angus could remember any. That got him a squinted eye and excerpts from several poems. Harry confessed a love of Shakespeare, with a special affinity for Macbeth. Angus loved Macbeth as well, with the caveat that the Scotland depicted in the play generally had no bearing on the reality of Scotland. Harry said that stood to reason, the play being a play and not history.

"Ah, but it is history, in its own way," said Angus. "The witch on the left? My several times great-grandmother. Morag's too. Ask her."

He sounded completely sincere.

It was nearly two in the afternoon when they stepped out of the fireplace at #12 Grimmauld Place. Harry looked at the portrait and saw the three Blacks were sleeping. Feeling disappointed in himself for being inconsiderate, he waved a hand at the windows, closing some heavy curtains and plunging the salon into near-darkness. Harry was a bit rueful to admit he had forgotten to take such a simple, Golden Rule action before leaving.

Angus noted that he needed a short nap after lunch to be his best later in the day and went looking for Kreacher. When he found him, he queried the elf on the whereabouts of the hampers of food and beverages they'd brought down from Livia's. Equipped with a glass holding just a finger of amber liquid for swirling purposes, Angus found a comfortable chair in the rear drawing room and sat down with the Daily Prophet.

Harry left Angus to his post-lunch ritual, located Kreacher himself, and advised he'd be at Potter Manor if anyone needed him.

Potter Manor was structurally sound. What it needed more than anything was to be lived in. Little maintenance needs were coalescing and threatening to become projects. The portraits were spending too much time under their drapes, bored, although not bored to death, exactly, since the subjects were already dead, in a metabolic sense.

Harry knew the manor craved residents from his reading of the Potter grimoires. There were no chapters demanding that Lord Potter marry and start a family posthaste, but the implication was there. He was the head of a family, one that had nearly gone extinct, and the family magic wasn't at all shy.

The question was, as it is so many times: "What to do about it?"

Daphne was fine with getting back together. Harry felt, and told Daphne, that he thought of their history as getting started, briefly, then taking something like a gap year to reassess, then getting back together to continue with renewed vigor. Daphne thought that funny. She didn't use the same words as Harry but she said much the same thing.

Daphne was also fine with continuing as they were. They saw one another several times a week. Harry would do domestic things for Daphne, while Daphne prepared a meal for the two of them. They studied family magic together, alternating between the Greengrass and Potter grimoires. It was nice and comfortable. They had each domesticated themselves, or cooperatively domesticated one another, over the past months. Harry didn't feel like pushing Daphne. She thought they were moving forward at a reasonable pace, so he resolved to let her determine their speed. The last thing either of them wanted was to go through another breakup.

That left Harry caught in the middle, between his determination to let Daphne have her head, take all the time they both needed, and start life together on a firm foundation, and the competing desire, almost a compulsion, to make Daphne Lady Potter and emplace her on the throne of his family seat. Then, he felt, they could begin the process of immersing themselves in their ultimate project of melding the Greengrass with the Potter, forging the stronger Damascus blade from the harder and softer steels, loving and being loved in the warmth of their new family.

Of course, Daphne was still fine, at the time of their last, tip-toeing conversation on the topic, with continuing as they were.

Harry walked through the old house, making a list of things to do. Once he completed his circuit, he had a mental list, which he converted to a proper list on parchment that he attached to the wall in the breakfast room, using a handy adhesive charm he'd learned from Hermione. She swore it was non-marking and would not damage any wall surface.

"Right, then," Harry thought. "First things first. Kreacher!"

Harry treated Kreacher to a good two hours of cleaning and minor maintenance. They pre-staged the entire collection of Potter Manor silver in preparation for really extending Kreacher's house elf magic with a mass polishing. Harry checked the completed items off his list.

"That's enough for today, Kreacher," said Harry when he judged they'd done enough. Kreacher tried to conceal his disappointment.

"Give me a chance to talk to Daphne and the others. If I don't have commitments we'll come again tomorrow."

Kreacher brightened up, a lot.

Angus was finished napping when the pair returned to #12 Grimmauld Place.

"An owl brought you something," said Angus, gesturing toward the mantle.

"Oh, it's from Daphne," said Harry as he picked up a small note card. "Feel like going out tonight? With Morag, Pansy and Daphne?"

Angus thought that sounded like a fine idea. Harry responded by owl.

Daphne arrived a bit after five p.m. Morag and Pansy weren't far behind. Harry introduced the witches to the recently-rediscovered Walburga, Sirius and Regulus. Walburga probed a bit and discovered two of the witches had been in Slytherin House. She looked at Harry, her expression frosty, but less frosty than before. Were her fundamental assumptions being challenged by facts?

Going out for something to eat started to get complicated when no one could make a decision on where to go.

"Fine," said Harry at last. "I'll take full responsibility. We are all dressed appropriately for the Dragon, so we're having Asian Fusion tonight."

The Dragon was a fine choice. Angus appreciated noodles and stir-fries and steamed vegetables but those kinds of restaurants were scarce in his part of Scotland. The witches seemed to know someone in every party that came through the door, resulting in a steady stream of visitors to their table. Harry and Angus escaped notice and were free to keep their attention on their plates.

"Excellent decision, Harry," Angus said as they walked toward their apparition point. "Thank-you for dinner."

"Same to you, Angus," said Harry. "Thank-you for lunch."

Morag must have surmised Angus' treat meant they'd gone to the Burns Club because she gave them both a very skeptical look. Apparently, a London club for magical Scots embodied more complications than Morag wanted at lunchtime. Morag and Pansy left for Pansy's flat while Angus and Daphne came back to #12 with Harry. Kreacher hurried through the welcoming formalities to give Harry some actual news.

"Madam Walburga asked for a word with you, Lord Harry, whenever you should return."

Harry looked at his elf, trying to read him. Walburga's portrait in the front hall was behind its crepe. If it awoke behind the drape it could scream and shout but it usually didn't do so. Harry looked into the salon and saw Walburga was wide awake in the portrait on the easel. The boys didn't look happy. Harry wondered what he was facing.

"Madam Walburga, you wanted to speak to me?" Harry asked as he entered. He looked over his shoulder. Daphne and Angus were close enough to listen in. Harry couldn't think of anything he wanted to hide from either of them.

"Potter, put us back, wherever you dug us out from."

Walburga didn't ask, she ordered.

"Madam," said Harry, "We're all cousins. Distant, perhaps. You're family. Sirius even grew up to be my godfather. Did you guys go chat up the portraits over the dining table like I suggested?"

Sirius and Regulus tried to keep the mirth in check but they got huge grins and began some vigorous nodding.

"I'm nauseous, Potter," said Walburga. "This is too much. My other portrait tried to feed me little bits and it was still overwhelming. You're going to take me back and cover me up. I don't think I like this magical world."

Angus moved forward and stood next to Harry.

"May I?" he asked.

"Sure," said Harry. "I didn't anticipate this."

Harry winked at the portrait Regulus.

"Walburga, what happened to us?" Angus began. "Why didn't we work out? The sweetest weeks in all my long life were the ones I spent with you. I would give everything I own to be able to go back and climb the tor with you just one more time."

"Angus, I had to do my duty," said Walburga, suppressing a little sniffle. "We always knew that. You said you understood. I never forgot you. I just had to be a wife to my husband. Live in this house. Entertain his guests. Bear his children. When you're born to preside over a noble house you put your personal needs aside, for the good of your family."

"How was your husband, as a husband?" asked Angus. "One hears…things."

"He was a chief," Walburga snorted. "It isn't for any of us to judge."

"Boys? Good times?"

Neither said anything. Both looked down.

"Angus MacDougal you will not sow discontent within my family!" shouted Walburga.

Harry looked at Daphne, who was keeping her face as still as marble.

"Exactly," said Angus. "Harry, Lord Black, has need of you, did you know that? You are called upon to do your duty, to your new chief, and to the Blacks. Harry and I had lunch today. We took our time and covered lots of ground. Why don't you tell her, Harry? Walburga, you really need to listen to him."

"Sure," Harry said. "Madam, you're well-represented here, as are Sirius and Regulus. I need some help with the country house my dad left me. Daphne is working on the family magic with me, and the distinguished forebears are up on the walls everywhere you look, but no Blacks. Well, there is supposed to be a portrait of Sirius in one of the bedrooms but I don't know what he brings to the party. Anyway, I'd really treasure your contribution, if you'd consider it. Kreacher and I spent a few hours out there today. Feel free to ask him about it, if you'd like."

Harry glanced at Kreacher, who was swelled up like a soap bubble about to burst.

"Really?" asked Walburga. "You want me to give you a hand at Potter Manor?"

"Do you know it?" Harry asked. "Lovely old pile in Devon, views galore. Gardens. Kreacher has been a big help with his contacts among the gardening elves. We'll probably end up entertaining out there but Daphne has a demanding career and I'll have to pitch in to make it all work. There is only so much I can get from books."

Harry sneaked a look toward Daphne, who was struggling to maintain the marble goddess image.

"Visited once, when Fleamont and Euphemia were alive," she said. Harry guessed she was thinking it over and took a chance.

"Want to see it? Boys, why don't you go visit your portraits over there in the dining room while Mr. MacDougal and I escort your mother to Devon? We won't take long."

Sirius and Regulus fled, almost before Harry finished speaking.

"Daphne, you're from Slytherin so you're culturally attuned to Madam, can I get you, and you, too, Kreacher, to join us?" asked Harry.

Within minutes the party was reconvened in the Potter Manor salon. Kreacher snapped his fingers and the tripod appeared, set up and ready to hold a portrait. Harry gave Walburga a couple of minutes to breathe in the Potter Manor air. Even with the distinguished Potters under their drapes the salon was thick with magic. The oil lamps and the fire in the fireplace created a proper setting for an interview with his lordship. Harry looked at Daphne, who stood with eyes closed, arms at her sides, her right hand holding her wand. Now and then her right hand gave a twitch and the wand tip wobbled as if Daphne were casting. Harry judged the Potter magic was sufficiently engaged, so he gave it its head.

Harry thought of something Angus had said when they'd just brought the portrait upstairs.

"Daphne," he said, very softly, "Please walk with me."

Harry held out his hand, Daphne laid hers in his and smiled.

"My lord," she whispered.

"Did you get the gist, when Angus and Walburga were talking back in London?" Harry asked. They'd arrived in the breakfast room. Harry lit two lamps and wanded the drapes off of his parents.

"It's dark out," said James.

"What time is it, Harry?" asked Lily. "Oh, Daphne!"

"Mr. Potter, Mrs. Potter," said Daphne. She gave them the same nod, with the glance up through the eyelashes that always threw Harry.

Harry cast a muffliato.

"Not that late," said Harry. "Ten?"

Daphne nodded.

"We found a portrait of Walburga with Sirius and Regulus at #12 Grimmauld Place. It was down in the dungeon under a ton of trash, but still in great shape. Well, except for the frame. It looks like someone tried to blast something, or someone, nearby and took a chunk out. If it can't be repaired we can take it to a framing shop. Walburga is fifty years behind times, or forty, anyway. She asked to be put away. This world is too much for her. Luckily, an old boyfriend was staying with me and they're having a catching-up talk in the salon. I'd like to convince her to join us here. We've got Potters and Peverells and even Grandmother Dorea but Walburga would do so much for us. Her two portraits could go back and forth between here and Grimmauld Place anytime. That could be a real asset. A livesaver, in an emergency."

"Good thinking, Harry," said James.

"I'll say," said Lily. "You're thinking like a wizard, Harry."

Daphne couldn't hold it in any longer.

"He is, isn't he?" she said. The cool healer was gone, replaced by a slightly gushy, giddy girlfriend. "We've been reading family grimoires. He's amazing, such an aptitude."

"Grimoires?" said James, making no attempt to conceal his surprise. "So you two are…engaged?"

"Not just yet," said Harry. He looked at Daphne for a little help, which was not forthcoming. "We've a bit on our plates, which we're working through. It will all get resolved. Too many things going on, Daphne's practice, et cetera, et cetera. However, we do have an agreement to talk about some things, soon. And, as long as I've got Daphne here, I'd like to be a bit bold and ask if she is comfortable with us acknowledging we are each other's intended?"

"I can live with that," said Daphne. "Until it's formalized, then, you'll be referred to as such. 'This is Harry Potter, my intended.'"

"Finally," said Harry, sighing. "Boyfriend was becoming stale. It's almost juvenile."

Angus found his way out to the breakfast room, so Harry took off the muffliato.

"She's coming around," said Angus.

"Angus MacDougal, my parents, James and Lily Potter," said Harry, giving the portraits a wave.

"Such an honor to meet Harry's parents," said Angus. They couldn't shake so Angus dispensed bows to each of them.

"Likewise, Mr. MacDougal," said James. "How did you happen to meet Harry and Daphne?"

"Oh, do we have time?" asked Angus.

"Short version, Angus has a healer sister who is a Hogwarts classmate," said Harry. "Daphne is trying to recruit her to come be a London healer. We met through Morag."

Compliments flew every which way. James blinked at Harry's summary. Harry figured, correctly, that James was looking at Harry and Daphne and trying to put a classmate in the slot of a sister of Angus.

"Ready?" asked Harry.

"I think you might be able to close the deal," Angus said.

Harry looked at Daphne, who looked eager to get going on the next step of Harry's project.

The three of them walked back to the salon.

"Where do you propose to put us?" Walburga demanded, dispensing with preliminaries.

"I was thinking the dining room," said Harry. "I don't think there is anyone in there who would give you heartburn. The small portraits are in the dining room at Grimmauld Place and I like seeing them, don't you, Daphne?"

"Oh, absolutely," Daphne said. "Young Sirius and Regulus are delightful dinner companions. Such manners! The best of the old nobility's grace and charm."

Daphne, the pureblood Slytherin probably had Walburga Black in the palm of her hand right there, but everyone continued negotiating, for appearances' sake.

"Mmm…" said Walburga. "Muggles. I have a low tolerance."

Harry thought Walburga's tolerance for muggles was far below 'low' so he decided to proceed with caution.

"True muggles, meaning no magic, not even a squib? Those ought to be very rare. What do you think, Daphne?" asked Harry.

"Oh, I can't think of any, on short notice, perhaps if…No, can't think of anyone," Daphne finished.

"Good," said Walburga. "For the life of me I can't understand some of the young witches and wizards. Fascinated by muggle culture. Name one muggle contribution to civilization that a wizard could truly appreciate."

Harry took Walburga's rhetorical question at face value, not thinking before he spoke.

"The White Album," he said.