Author's Note: I must apologize for what I'm about to do to you. There is a cliff hanger among theses scenes, and it might be some time before I get the next chapter out on this story. I do know what's going to happen in the next chapter, and what scenes are in it, so hopefully it won't be too long.

I'd like to thank Walkabout Tiger, Joey Zoot, Jonas, Mark Schmidt, and Brad Coleman for their assistance with various issues with this chapter.

Chapter Sixteen: Swing

Parvati Patil sat down after Harry Potter pulled out the chair for her. It was the first time that he'd actually taken someone out on a date, and was the last Gryffindor boy of his year to do so. Ron had dated Susan twice. Both Dean and Seamus had dated Ginny, and promptly been declared disgusting by Ginny. Neville however seemed to be going steady with Hannah, to the point that he was having lunch with her at the Leaky Cauldron almost every day, and if rumors were right, she'd slept over at his manor.

This particular date was somewhat of an apology date, as he'd been given chapter and verse about how bad he'd treated Parvati from both Hermione and Ginny. They were determined that Harry learn how to treat a girl right. Even his Aunt Petunia had given a few tips after Hermione's last visit to Privet Drive. How Hermione had found out about his heart boxers, he didn't know, but he wished she didn't know.

Figuring out what type of place to take Parvati to had not been easy. Anything that had beef for a main course was out, though Hermione had said that she'd once seen Parvati sneak a hamburger on to her plate at a cookout that both of them had been invited to at Dean's place. It couldn't be too expensive either, and had to be in easy range of transportation that both of them had access to.

Harry was sure that most would have taken Parvati out to something that was closer to her heritage, but Harry knew better. Instead he'd chosen this small family place known as the Uccelli Roman, that relied entirely on word of mouth, not even having a street sign. He took his own seat opposite Parvati, and was handed the menu. There was a bit of silence between them, before he spoke up. "I believe I know what I want," Harry said, not folding up his menu, however.

"As do I," Parvati said, folding up her menu. Harry followed suit attracting the attention of the waiter.

"Would signore and signori wish to order, or perhaps have some aperitivo?"

"Some asiago and bread sticks would not be amiss, but I think we're ready to order," Harry said. "Parvati?"

"I'd like the penne all'arrabbiata with the chicken," Parvati said, handing over her menu. "Unfortunately we both are not much for wines, so perhaps the house lemonade?"

"Very good signora," the waiter said. "And you, segnore?"

"I'd like the fettuccini in brodo, with the turkey strips," Harry replied. "And likewise, the lemonade. It comes highly recommended from by my aunt. Aunt Petunia is still trying to figure out how you do it."

"Ah. Signora Petunia. Do pass along the establishments best wishes for her forthcoming blessing, and hopes that she and your Uncle Vernon can patronize us again soon."

"Bet on it," Harry smiled. "She keeps craving the gnocchi ricci. And this seems to be the only place even close to Surrey that makes it. In fact, can you provide me with a take-away box for her?"

"Most certainly," the waiter said. "I shall return in un attimo with your aperitivo and lemonade."

"So, Parvati I think we're off on a better foot this time," Harry said.

"We'll see if we're on a better foot when we dance," Parvati replied, reserving judgement. "But this is promising. Tell me, Harry, was I really a bad date to the ball?"

"You were a good date," Harry replied as the lemonade was delivered. "Ron and I, were the worst dates ever to the Yule Ball. We had no idea what we were doing..."

"Frankly, Mother, I don't think you can be trusted," Draco said to his mother shortly after she'd flued to Hethersgill Hall after his honeymoon with Pansy had ended. He'd had the particular flue set up as a one time in only destination, and it was now closed. His mother had been released to him, pending her trial for collaborating with a terrorist organization.

Draco didn't believe that his mother was a full participant in the Death Eaters. It always seemed to him that his mother was forced along, and didn't want it. He still recalled the epic argument after his second year. He was pretty sure that she wasn't part of the plot to send one of the Dark Lord's school books in the hands of the Weaslette, at least, but that didn't mean he was sure her hands were clean elsewhere.

Draco had kept himself well informed about the investigation of the Dark Lord and his actions. He'd only known that the Dark Lord had come to Malfoy Manor the morning before he and Pansy had departed it for the last time, when he had brought the facts to Royals. As a result Malfoy Manor was being taken apart brick by brick, and Draco intended to never set foot in it again. He may have grown up there, but his Father and the Dark Lord had tainted it forevermore.

With something of a rasp, Narcissa replied to her son, "you should. I did everything for you. Only you had a lot more courage than I ever did."

"You got that right," Draco replied to his mother. "Did you ever stand up to your husband? Or did you just wait until you got home to complain like I did as a child?" He did not wish to acknowledge that Lucius Malfoy was his father. He may have been the man who gave half of what Draco was genetically, but after sitting there during Lucius's trail, hearing about every wrong his father had committed as a result of the special royal vertiserum, he didn't want to be a Malfoy anymore.

With the filing of his marriage to Pansy, he had taken steps to be one no longer. Officially he was Draco, the Baron Amesbury. He would sign no other name. His entitlement had become his family name. Pansy much preferred the choice too. He'd seen her practicing writing Pansy Amesbury in her very precise smooth hand.

"No," Narcissa admitted. "As the saying goes, I doth protest too much. I never took action. You did."

"Yes," Draco said. "I didn't want to raise my baby under the Dark Lord. It's amazing how much knowing that I'm going be a father made me think, and move from thinking to action. I know what Lucius Malfoy did, and I have made sure that he never has the opportunity to repeat his evil. There is no more Malfoy Family. There is only the Baron and Baroness Amesbury. The question is, what are you now? Do you intend to continue as the last Malfoy by name, or is it time for you to stand up for once in your life and be something else?

"Have some courage for once in your life, Mother."

"I don't know if I have it, Draco," Narcissa admitted to her son. "I've always done what was expected of me. That's why I married your father. My father expected it of me, so I did it. My mother told me to lay back and think of Britain, so I did it, and had you. I was the perfect pureblood wife to your father, most of the time. I barely ever did anything against him. The one time I did, after your second year, I paid for it."

Narcissa broke down in tears, suddenly sobbing uncontrollably. "You have to believe me Draco. I couldn't do anything. I couldn't stop him. Oh, it hurt so much. So bad, oh so bad. I'll never be able to ... oh I didn't want to loose her."

Draco couldn't stop himself, no matter how serious he wanted this conversation to be, with his mother crying, sobbing, breaking down, he had to bring her into his arms and hug her. As he took his mother in his arms, he realized that he was actually as tall as his mother. He wondered when that had happened, as his mother began to sob against his shoulder. He supported her, and guided her over to the window seat.

Together they sat, his mother crying into Draco's Wizengamont robes, another thing that he'd made different than what Lucius Malfoy had done. Lucius's non judicial Wizengamont robes had been still the same black, with only a little bit of deep almost black green, and silver piping. Draco didn't wear true robes. What he wore was more a uniform, one he'd discussed with Harry and Neville before the three of them had chosen their formal Wizagamont robes. Each of them had looked at the traditional banners, shields, and more recent flags for their ceremonial counties that they represented, or in the case of Neville would represent.

Draco's robes were white and green, matching the colors of Wiltshire. His shirt was watered silk, with gold buttons and embroidery. With the way his mother was crying, he was sure that the silk was getting watered throughly again. Finally, his mother pulled away, still sniffling, she leaned against the alcove wall. He'd never seen his mother cry like that before. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to his mother.

"Thank you Draco," his mother said after she blew her nose. There was just a moment of silence before she asked, "What is going to happen to me?"

"Well, you've got a trial for collusion with a terrorist organization," Draco said. "You'll be staying here in the gate house until then. I've arranged for a house elf to serve you, but I'd really like it if you have the evening meal with Pansy and I tomorrow night. Other than that, everything is up to you."

Parvati was quite surprised that Harry Potter helped her out of the black cab. She could hear the band from inside the hall he'd brought them.

Parvati could hear the trumpets blared. The saxaphoines played, the bass and drums beat. She knew the tune. She knew the music. She was in the mood for it too.

"Swing?" Parvati asked. Potter nodded. "Potter, you have no idea what you've just signed up for."

"I'm hoping for a dance," Potter said with a smile, as he took her arm and led her into the dance hall.

This was very promising. She could only hope Potter had learned to dance the swing ... well perhaps she could wish for Glen Gray and the Casa Loma Orchestra to be the band too, but he was long dead. So that wasn't possible, so she'd settle for a half-way decent dance.

Albus Dumbledore was expected at Buckingham Palace to see the Queen in roughly an hour. As Madam Pomfrey had been on him about not getting enough exercise, he had decided to walk from the Ministry of Magic's Palace of Westminster's exit to Buckingham. It was a bit less than a mile's walk, and he could usually do it in less than twenty minutes.

The weather was surprisingly good as Albus walked long the edge of Saint James Park, dressed in a tweed suit that would not be out of place in the House of Lords. It was not an outfit he preferred, but he knew enough about muggle attire, even with recent fashion, that he knew he couldn't get away with say his bright purple robes with phoenixes. So he went with the somewhat old fashioned tweed suit, and added a black cane with a ivory lion's head to complete the image of an old man out for an cool summer evening's walk.

Albus nodded at a woman shepherding two obviously tired children out of Saint James Park, probably having spent most of the evening on the playground. Albus had met several of his students in the park back in the days that he'd been hand delivering select students acceptance letters. The thought occurred to him that perhaps they should do more of that, now that Hogwarts was finally going to get back up to full staff, just as Voldemort had come back to no doubt try to decimate the Wizarding population of Britain again.

He turned on to the spur off Birdcage Walk and headed towards the Victoria Memorial. He was a bit early, and could spare just a bit to look at the fountains and drop his cares for just a few minutes. As he stared into the waters, he felt a tingle from behind. He drew the Elder Wand from his sleeve, and said, "You would think that such a public place would be safe, statutes aside, but you have always been more about terror than protectionism, Tom."

"And you have always been talk," Voldemort said. "The greater good ... and you thought my anagram name was a bad thing to come out of the back of your Transfiguration class. Time to talk is over, and so are you. Avada Kedavra!"

Albus turned and dodged. The Killing Curse shot by him, impacting the merman's head in the relief above the fountain that he'd been looking at. There would be no apparition around the memorial, no quick move from here to there. They were under the Buckingham Palace outer wards, and apparition was not possible unless you were keyed in. As far as Albus knew, only four people were keyed into the wards, and he was not one of them.

So this would be a battle of skill. It would be Dumbledore's transfiguration mastery against Riddle's curses and power. The relative fitness mattered only slightly. Riddle was newly revived, his body powered by the magical ritual that had returned him to physical form. Exercise was not something he did. Dumbledore was old, and had been told he needed to exercise more, but he was in better shape than he appeared. It gave him a slight edge, but not enough to make a difference.

Where Dumbledore had his edge was in the environment which gave him plenty to work with. The four bronze lions sprang free from their posts. Manufacture, Agriculture, Peace, and Progress they were known as, but today they were Britain's lions, stouthearted and strong. Their bronze eyes glowed as they stalked towards Riddle.

Riddle fired curse after curse, only to find the quartet of lions in his way. He switched to blasting curses, but they seemed to hit be absorbed by the lions. Dumbledore brought Winged Victory into the fray, descending from it.

"You know, Tom, this was a particularly bad place for you to plan an ambush of me, especially alone," Albus said, as he directed the statues around him. Riddle had to roll out of the way of Winged Victory. "This is after all a memorial to one of the two Royal Wizards to rule the British Isles in the last two centuries, dedicated and enchanted by the other. And I knew old King George. I have studied his grimora."

"Your study will get you no where without power," Riddle said. "And you are weak and old." With a sudden blast, Riddle sent the lions tumbling head over heels. "Your time is over."

Harry Potter knew that on this dance floor he was not the lead. Oh, he may have been leading Parvati, but the lead in the dance was someone else. He was taking his cues from those around him. He had to admit that this swing dancing was a lot more fun than the ballroom dancing that he'd done at the Yule Ball, as he flipped Parvati over his shoulder. If it wasn't for those around him, he wouldn't have tried.

Parvati smiled back at him as she caught his hand again, and they faced each other again. He twirled her around, and then he turned around. Drawing her under his legs, she popped back up, twisted around and planted a kiss on his lips before resuming the dance. They were both breathing hard as they danced. This was no sedate romantic dance, that Harry was sure as he took Parvati in his arms, and somehow managed to twirl her around his back before dipping her in front of him from the other side. He returned the kiss.

Oh this swing dancing and big band music was so much better than the Yule Ball.