Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J.K.R.
AN: This story is part of the Halloween Collection of the Haphne discord server. You can find the other stories here.
community/HarryDaphne-Collection/133850/99/0/1/0/0/0/0/
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We're pretty open to other shippers, so you are welcomed, no matter which pairing you prefer.
This story is from a multiple pov. I will change the pov by chapter, so this means sometimes very short chapters. Don't tell me you've not been warned. ;) I'll try to post a couple of chapters at a time if they are too short.
Many thanks to Federer Rex for beta-ing this chapter.
At dinnertime, Harry was back at the Green-Eyed Cat.
This time of the day, the pub and restaurant presented themselves differently. Bright golden light poured from the windows into the now dark front yard, and next to the pile of pumpkins that decorated the entrance candles burned in tall lanterns. Their flickering light sent shadows across the grinning faces cut into the pumpkins. To any Muggle with a vivid imagination the carved faces might seem alive.
Or Greengrass had cast an Animation Charm on them.
Harry chuckled to himself. He wouldn't put it past her. It was amazing with what you could get away among Muggles. They always found a seemingly logical explanation for the weirdest things happening around them.
He pushed open the entrance door, still a grin on his face. The grin deepened when he entered. A cloud of warm air, merry laughter, and mouth-watering smells of roasts enveloped him as soon as he stepped into the flag-stoned hallway between the pub and the restaurant. A hitherto unnoticed load seemed to drop from his shoulders, and he looked for someone to ask for a free table.
The door to the pub was open, a small fire crackled in the fireplace, and almost every seat in the room seemed to be taken. The noise of the many customers enjoying their drinks and company was deafening. To his right, the door to the restaurant was closed, although muffled voices could be heard through it.
While Harry still stood in the middle of the hallway and contemplated whether to enter the pub or go straight to the restaurant, the door to the restaurant opened and a young man in waiter's garb came out.
"May I help you, sir?" he asked when he noticed Harry, a professional smile on his face, although his eyes widened as if he recognised him.
There was something familiar about the shape of his face and the blonde hair and blue eyes. Another relative of the Greengrass sisters? Possibly.
Harry pushed those thoughts in the back of his mind and nodded.
"Yes, I'd like a table for one for dinner."
"Did you book a table?"
Harry shook his head. "I came on a whim, I'm afraid."
"Oh, that's unfortunate. As a rule, we are always full for Sunday roast. I will see what I can do for you, sir." He turned, stepped to an old-fashioned book rack at one wall, and consulted a ledger that lay there. At last, he nodded to himself and turned back to Harry.
"As I was afraid, we are full at the moment, but there should be an opening in the restaurant in about half an hour if you don't mind waiting that long. Of course, you can also take a seat in the taproom and have your dinner there."
"I will wait in the tap room until the table is free," Harry said. He had come in the hopes of another talk to Greengrass. It was more likely she'd visit the restaurant when the dinner craze had calmed down and have a chat with the guests to gauge their reaction than her coming into the taproom.
"Very well." The waiter closed the ledger. "I'll get you as soon as your table is ready, sir."
"Thank you." Harry nodded at the waiter and turned towards the taproom. At the threshold, he stopped to get an overview of the crowded room.
All booths were taken, and a crowd had gathered In front of the bar, all glasses in their hands and talking to their neighbours. In the hindmost corner of the bar, however, there was an empty seat.
Harry pushed his way through the animatedly talking customers and reached the seat before anyone else could claim it. With a relieved sigh, he slid on the high bar stool. He still didn't like crowds. He'd got better with handling them because of his fame as the Saviour-of-the-Magical-World—or whatever nonsense they called him these days—and his work as an Auror, but given a choice, he'd retreat into a corner and watch the spectacle from there rather than being a part of it.
Ginny, of course, had always wanted to be right in the middle of things—
His stomach gave a slight jolt, and he shifted in his seat. What was it about this village that made him think of his marriage for the second time this day? He hardly ever did anymore, he didn't want to be dragged down by unhappy memories. No more of this! He gave himself a mental slap over the head and turned his attention to the crew working the bar.
There were three of them, two men and a woman. The woman looked familiar, although she had changed the kitchen garb for the white blouse, black trousers, and black vest and apron of a barmaid. Her hair, free of the scarf she had worn in the morning, was several shades darker than that of her sister and cut into a chin-long bob.
As if she felt her eyes on herself, Astoria Malfoy turned her head and stiffened. The next moment, professionalism won over. She raised her chin, forced a smile on her face, and came over to him.
"Good evening, Harry. I'm surprised to see you again this soon. I doubt you ever visited our house before today."
No respectful 'Head Auror' tonight. Well, it would have caused puzzled looks from the many Muggles around them—if they listened to their talk, which he doubted. He wasn't famous in the Muggle world, so they left him blessedly alone.
"Good evening, Astoria. I had a look at the menu this morning and admit I was looking forward to dinner all day long. Although I didn't think of booking a table, so the maître d' asked me to wait until he's got a free table for me." He bent forward and lowered his voice. "I've also decided to continue my predecessor's rule to pay your house a visit before Halloween and make sure things don't get out of hand. I've been told that some of your special guests tend to get a bit—frisky—around this time of the year."
Her eyes widened and flitted towards the Muggles around them.
"Don't worry, I've cast a Privacy Charm around us."
Her eyes became even wider. "Silently and wandlessly?"
Harry nodded at that.
A wistful sigh escaped Astoria's mouth. "I wish I could still do that. Although I was never that good when I still had my magic."
Harry lowered his gaze. What was he supposed to reply? A small laugh from Astoria made him look up again.
"I'm glad you decided to continue that tradition. Their behaviour tends to get out of hand, and that's not good for business."
She'd shaken off her bout of sadness like a dog shook raindrops out of its fur. Once again he had to admire her resilience.
"What can I get you, Harry? We've got pale ale, stout, lager, and a seasonal mild ale from a local crafts brewery."
He pursed his lips in consideration of her question, then shook his head. "No beer yet, maybe with my dinner. I'm waiting for a free table. I'd rather have a whiskey right now."
"As you please." She handed him the drink menu and turned to serve another customer while Harry studied the list of available drinks.
The menu was short, but varied. He decided against the Laphroaig that beckoned at him. It had a very distinct, smokey taste that would linger and overwhelm his palates before dinner.
"I'll have the Oban," he said to Astoria when she turned back to him.
"Good choice as an aperitif," she said with a nod. "Light, but not bland. Be right back."
A few moments later, Harry indulged in his first sip of whisky. He let the beverage roll along his tongue, enjoying the burning that soon gave way to a sweet, fruity taste of peach and vanilla, with a smoky aftertaste. For the first time that day, he relaxed. His Sunday had been anything but peaceful, first with the new clues the arrest of Mundungus Fletcher had brought up, then Narcissa's demand to investigate Malfoy's disappearance and the interrogation of Astoria, and in the afternoon a visit to Andromeda's house for some quality time with Teddy.
He smiled to himself as he raised his glass for a second sip. Teddy had turned eight last April and was quite the handful. As all young wizards and witches not yet of Hogwarts age, he couldn't wait to get his hands on a broom. Despite Andromeda's reservations, Harry had bought him a toy broom as soon as he could walk and replaced it with a bigger model on each following birthday. At the tender age of eight, Teddy was a better flyer than many Hogwarts second years, and they had spent the afternoon practising some basic Quidditch moves.
Harry stifled a yawn. Sadly, he wasn't eight anymore and lacked the seemingly endless energy of small children. His long night at the club with Ron yesterday and his early hour in the office today were taking their toll. The whisky made him comfortably warm, and the fire in his back added to his drowsiness.
Luckily for him, the young waiter stuck his head through the door not long after he had finished his last sip of whisky and said something to Astoria.
She came over to Harry. "Your table is ready. Do you want another one?" She motioned towards his empty glass and picked it up.
Harry shook his head and slid from the bar stool. "I'd better not, or I'll fall asleep over my soup. I'll order something that goes with my dinner at the restaurant."
Astoria laughed. "Enjoy your dinner."
He followed the young waiter into the restaurant. The dinner crowd had lessened, but not by much. While a few tables were empty, many customers still lingered over a cup of coffee or a glass of wine.
The waiter led him to a small table close to the fireplace that overlooked the room and handed him the menu. It offered a selection of beef, lamb, pork and turkey, together with a vegetarian nut roast, and all the trimmings. He took his time deciding between roast potatoes and mashed potatoes with his beef and picking a red wine to go with his dinner.
His order was carried out almost immediately. At the sight of the steaming plate in front of him, Harry's mouth watered. He took the first bite of beef and closed his eyes in appreciation of the delicate aroma. This was heaven! His stomach gave a growl of agreement, and all of a sudden he realised how hungry he was. He didn't have much of a breakfast, thanks to the night with Ron, and had skipped lunch because of his investigations in Malfoy's disappearance.
He cleaned his plate as fast as good manners permitted and leaned back in his chair with a contented sigh.
At the table next to him, an elderly couple chuckled.
"Is this your first visit to the Green-Eyed-Cat?" the woman asked.
Harry nodded at that. "Yes, but it won't be my last."
"You won't regret it,'' the man said with a wink at Harry. "The food here surely is one of a kind. They have a new chef, a female. She has already won quite a number of awards, British as well as French. I heard she spent a couple of years at a restaurant in Lyon that had a star in the Michelin."
"That's impressive," Harry said. While they all gave the impression to be above Muggles, many of the old Purebloods at the club were gourmets and knew where to find the best food. As a result, discussions about excellent Muggle restaurants all over Europe were the norm in the sacred halls of Baddock's, and many members referenced to the Guide de Michelin as a true believer might reference to the bible.
"It won't take long and this establishment will have an entry, too," Harry said. He'd learned a lot about good cooking ever since he lived in the club and felt entitled to utter an opinion.
"Here's to that," the elderly gentleman said and raised his glass.
Harry followed suit.
The door to the restaurant opened, and Greengrass came in. At the sight of the young chef, many guests put down their glasses or cutlery and applauded. Harry also put down his glass and clapped his hands.
A faint blush crept in Greengrass' face, and she thanked the room with a radiant smile.
Harry's stomach gave a light flutter, and he caught his breath. Why had he never noticed how beautiful Greengrass was when they were still at Hogwarts? Back then, he'd thought her plain and unremarkable, with her short-cropped hair and calm demeanour. She'd paled in comparison to the girls who knew how to draw attention to themselves, like Susan Bones, the Patil twins, and poor Lavender. Not to mention Ginny, the most attractive of them all. Her vivacity and striking looks had mesmerised him.
He snorted to himself. And where did that get them? It had taken both of them much too long to realise that their goals and temperaments were basically incompatible. A marriage out of hormonal overdrive wasn't a good idea. Next time—if there was one for him—he'd look for someone who's look on life was closer to his.
Greengrass made her round in the dining room, the sweet smile still on her face. She stopped at each table and exchanged a few words with the customers. At the table next to him, she lingered longer than with the other guests. From the lively conversation between Greengrass and the elderly couple, Harry gathered that they were not only frequent customers, but also friends of Greengrass' grandmother, the landlady of the establishment.
At last, it was his turn.
The smile stayed on Greengrass' face when she approached his table, although it now seemed a bit forced, and her eyes became guarded.
"Did you enjoy your dinner, Mr Potter?"
"It was excellent. You are a wonderful chef, Ms Greengrass."
"Thank you for your kind words." Her cheeks coloured again.
Her modesty was cute.
"It's the truth." A sudden idea popped up in him, a way to lower her guards and get some more questions answered. "Would you like to have a glass of wine with me, Ms Greengrass?" He ignored the small sniggering voice inside himself that told him he'd not only invited her to his table out of professional interest about what she might have to say on Malfoy's disappearance.
She stiffened and her eyes widened. The next moment, a professional smile won over surprise. "I'd love to, but there are a few matters in the kitchen I need to attend to first. In half an hour, maybe, if you don't mind waiting?"
"I'll be here."
Greengrass nodded at him with a smile and left the room.
The waiter appeared again to take the empty plate away. "Was everything to your satisfaction, Mr Potter?"
Had Astoria told him his name or was the young man of wizarding descent? A Squib, maybe, who lived at the fringes of the wizarding world?
Harry gave the waiter a surreptitious side glance. The familiarity of his features still bothered him, although they had not much in common with the Greengrass sisters.
"Excellent," he said. "Please, give my compliments to the kitchen. The chef is extraordinary."
If the waiter had noticed his silent scrutiny, he didn't let on. "Miss Daphne will be delighted to hear that," he said. He took the empty plate in one hand and brushed a few crumbs from the table cloth with the serviette he held in his other hand.
"Would you like a dessert or a coffee?"
"Both sound good," Harry said.
"I'll bring you the menu, sir."
He returned only moments later and put the menu in front of Harry.
His eyes fell on the 'treacle tart with custard and cinnamon cream'. When was the last time he'd had treacle tart? It never was on the menu of the club's restaurant, the resident chef prided himself on his French cuisine and wouldn't dream of serving something that mundane to his spoiled customers. Molly would make it for him each time he and Ginny visited for Sunday lunch. That had ended with their divorce; he'd hardly visited the Burrow since then, out of fear to run into Ginny and tear up old wounds.
He shut the menu and smiled at the waiter. "I'll have the treacle tart."
His dessert and coffee appeared minutes later, and once again Harry was overwhelmed by Greengrass' cooking. He wouldn't dare saying it out loud, but this was the best treacle tart he'd ever had, way better than Molly's. He drew out the pleasure as long as possible, relishing every bite, but inevitably came to the last. He put his spoon down with great regret and sipped his coffee.
When had been the last time he'd felt this comfortable?
The restaurant had emptied over him enjoying his dessert. Except him, there was a young couple at a table at one of the windows, but they were about to leave, too.
Minutes later, the door closed behind the couple, and Harry was alone in the restaurant, waiting for Greengrass to join him. He played with the stem of his wine glass, looking at the dying flames in the fireplace, and contented for once having to think of nothing at all. Moments like these were scarce in his busy life, and he'd learned to make the most of them.
An apparition floated out of the fireplace, followed by another, and yet another.
Harry jumped and almost toppled over his wine glas. Thanks to fast reflexes, he prevented it from falling over. Just a drop of the red liquid spilled on the tablecloth.
His heart raced. What was that? He looked up.
About a dozen ghosts had assembled in the middle of the restaurant. One of them who was dressed like a working-class man out of a Charles-Dickens-novel beckoned a finger, and two tables and chairs slid together like on silent rollers for a table big enough to hold the whole party.
Each ghost floated through the back of the chairs into a seat. The one out of the Charles-Dickens-novel took the seat of the chairman. As soon as the ghosts had settled into their places, silvery gobblets and tankards appeared in front of them.
The chairman had a small bell next to his tankard. At a flick of his finger, it rose into the air and gave an eery tinker.
"I call the annual meeting of the Ghosts of Ghosford Society to order," the chairman said. "Our only point of order is: what do we do this year to scare the shit out of the Muggles who will visit for Halloween?"
His question caused laughter from the ghosts around him.
"I'll do my usual prank," an old woman said. Her hair that looked like dark, gleaming silver fell in two thick braids to the sides of her head, and she wore a patched dress of a rough material with a flowered scarf around her shoulders that had lots of fringes and tiny silver bells that tinkled with each move she made. "I'll sit on the middle of the bridge over the river and wail. Whenever a Muggle approaches, I'll ask them if they've seen my baby. They'll realise that something is different about me and back away, and then I'll reach out and cling to their coats and wail some more. When they are really uncomfortable, I'll let them know that I dropped my baby into the river. They'll run then, it works every time." She cackled with laughter, and the other ghosts joined her.
"We'll go to our usual haunt in the meadow at the road to Ashford and have a sword fight there," a young man in a rich brocade vest over a ruffled shirt said. His companion nodded to that. "Yes, we've practised all year long. It's very dramatic when we stab each other simultaneously into the heart at the end."
The silvery round around the table laughed at that.
"I'll take my post at the bar in the tap room of the pub," the chairman said. "Whenever a Muggle sits down next to me, I'll ask them if they buy me a drink and let them feel the cold air around me. If that doesn't send them running, my name is not Dick Higgins."
That was his cue. Harry cleared his throat and rose.
"As amusing as your plans are, please, keep yourself in check. I don't want to send the Obliviators into this beautiful village for a second time this week. The Muggles might become suspicious."
Dick Higgins turned in his seat and gave him a derisive once-over.
"Who do you think you are, young whippersnapper?"
Harry pushed his chair back and walked around the table towards the ghost who obviously ruled the roost.
"The name is Potter, Harry James Potter, and I am the present Head Auror."
His words jerked Dick Higgins upright. His eyes widened, and he stemmed his massive figure out of the chair as fast as he could.
"The Man-Who-Conquered-Death! What an honour! Please, take a seat in our midst and join our merry round!" He offered his chair to Harry.
Harry suppressed a grin. That name was new and more accurate than the ones the wizarding public had given him. Maybe the ghosts knew more about his encounter than they let on? He sat down to the whispers of the other ghosts, who bumped each other and looked at him with expectant eyes.
Dick Higgins walked down the length of the table and sat down opposite of Harry.
"Please, tell us what you want from us, Head Auror. We'll do our best to oblige you. We don't want to cause the man who brought freedom and peace back to our world any trouble."
The other ghosts nodded and murmured their consent to that.
"Thank you, I really appreciate that. Well, I don't have problems with your tradition of teasing the Muggles, as long as it doesn't get out of hand. No obvious violation of the Statute of Secrecy, and I don't want any Mugglke to end in the ER with a heart attack, either."
The ghosts laughed at that and promised to behave. For the next ten minutes, Harry laid down the ground rules for the ghosts of Ghosford for Halloween night. They nodded to everything and promised to behave.
Harry looked in the silvery faces that surrounded him. While they all looked honest enough, he still had reservations. Maybe he should come back on Halloween and have an eye on them. The prospect of another helping of that delicious treacle tart didn't make it seem like a sacrifice if he spent his free evening here.
The talk turned from Halloween to the history of the small village, and especially to the history that connected the ghosts to the pub.
"We stayed her the night we got into a fight over some girl and decided to duell it out," one of the young men said.
"The landlady of the time was very friendly, she always gave me something to eat and clothes and sometimes even money when I came to the village," the old woman said. "God bless her soul."
Dick Higgins emptied his tankard and set it down on the table with an audible thud. "As you can imagine, I spent every Knut I earned in that taproom. Still spend each minute there, or under the trees in front of the house. I've known the Abbotts for the last two centuries. Although this part of the Abbotts died out. Old Madam Abbott had only one daughter. Aye, what a beauty and a fine woman she was! She married a Greengrass, from the Squib line that owns the cattle farm at the entrance of the village, and the butchery."
He shook his head in dismay. "Didn't do her any good when that soul-crippled abomination rose to power. They came after her and her Squib husband. She and her mother put up an heroic fight and drove the Death Eaters away, but she got hit with a mysterious curse. She died shortly after she gave birth to the younger daughter. They say the younger girl carries the same curse. I say, that would explain her sickly looks. What a pity, she and her sister are wonderful girls."
"You know the family well, it seems."
"That I do. I like to have an eye on them, they are still girls, after all, and pretty girls tend to get into trouble with the wrong kind of man, if you know what I mean."
Harry hurried to tell him that he understood, while he wondered what Greengrass would have to say about their conversation. As straightforward and bossy as she was, it was hard to imagine she would let any man take advantage of her.
"Just take yesterday," Dick Higgins continued his tale. "Astoria and her son turned up unexpectedly. Not for the first time. They usually do when she and her husband fight. As a rule, he leaves her alone for a couple of days, then sends a letter and demands she come home. He never shows his ugly face here, if he can help it. This house is not good enough for the great lord! Wonder what gave him the idea to lurk around here yesterday." He gave a derisive snort into his standard and refreshed himself with another drink.
The hairs at the nape of Harry's neck rose. The ghost had seen Malfoy!
"Lurk around? What did he do?"
"He hid outside of the garden, behind the hydrangea bush. He thought nobody could see him from the house, but I had a good view of him from my lookout at the old oak. I was just about to warn Miss Daphne, when she and Sipsey levitated the old iron stove out and he made his presence known to Miss Daphne."
t.b.c.
