Chapter Eight
Neville Tries To Help Harry Navigate, But Lily Potter Got There First
Harry liked his Saturdays and Sundays, although Head Aurors often had at least a few hours of work that had to get done over the weekend. Thus, he seldom went out on Friday night, unless there was a work-connected event to attend. He liked getting up early on a free Saturday or Sunday and filling the day with all the things he liked doing but seldom had time for. He liked working out at his Grimmauld Place dojo with no time limits. He could put on a track suit and sunglasses and run in Hyde Park, in complete anonymity.
He was a huge Chelsea fan, a fact that none of his magical friends knew, and liked to catch a match at Stamford Bridge, and sing Blue Is the Color at the top of his lungs with everyone else.
One Saturday afternoon, he was reading the Daily Prophet in a quiet corner in the Leaky Cauldron when Eric Clapton walked in.
"Hannah, is Clapton a wizard?" he whispered to Hannah Abbott, as she brought him another butterbeer.
"Oh, Harry," Hannah said with a laugh, as she returned to the bar.
He never knew what that meant. Slowhand did seem quite comfortable hanging out in a wizard pub, though.
Thus, on Friday nights, when it looked like he would have a Saturday to himself, Harry tended to go home to his apartment, do a little reading, drink a cup of camomile tea, and go to bed early. Then it was up with the sun and a whole day of London diversions to pick and choose from.
That was the plan, but on this particular Friday, going to bed early didn't do Harry a lot of good, for he drifted off, awakening next morning still sleepy.
Harry dreamt again of the stag. In this dream, he was observing the stag, not looking through the stag's eyes. The stag was moving around the forest. There wasn't a lot of context, just a stag, an unseen observer, and aimless movement.
Something in Harry's dreaming mind rose just to the surface of consciousness. Without words, Harry understood he was watching variations of the same scene, over and over. The stag moved through the forest, at times the deep, blue-green part, other times the sunny, less dense areas. Then the stag would see the lynx. At first the lynx was nothing but a pair of eyes and a nose peeking through undergrowth. The stag would notice it and move, just walking away in another direction. The scene would change and the stag would be moving through another section of the forest, and the lynx would appear there. Gradually, the lynx showed itself. It began to emerge from cover, to watch the stag watching back. The lynx would back up to a tree trunk or rock or shrubby plant, and twitch its tail. The stag would expand its nostrils and breathe in. Occasionally the stag would bend at the neck and rub its antlers on a sapling, down near the ground. Once, the stag raised its head, snorted through its nose, and urinated.
When Harry woke up, sunshine was backlighting his bedroom curtains. His first thought was he hadn't slept at all. Then the dream, or dreams, came back to him.
"Oh, now, that was weird," he thought. "Professor Trelawney would hyperventilate over that one."
Harry didn't want to sit around waiting for it to become time to leave for Greengrass Manor. He chose some clothes from his closet and put them out. While he was puttering about he thought through his day, as he imagined it, trying to prepare mentally for whatever lay ahead.
Harry figured Fabio Greengrass would be looking him over, as would Kendra. The Greengrasses probably wouldn't be seeking to throw him overboard at this point. Neither would they be risking Daphne's marriageability by pushing for a formal engagement with a high probability of publicly going haywire. Worst case, Harry was wrong about one of those. Best case, he could have a nice lunch with nice people in a nice manor house, and he'd add to his store of knowledge of the purebloods. He still thought the Greengrasses would, somehow, reveal they preferred to gently ease the auror out of the picture, to free Daphne up for a more lucrative, socially-advantageous alliance.
Harry's mother was muggle-born, but her skills as a witch were so impressive, few held her origins against her. His dad was a pureblood, although the Potters weren't known to make a big deal about it. The problem was, when Harry's parents were murdered, he was sent to be raised by muggle relatives who kept from him the truth about who he and his parents were in the magical world. His introduction to magic commenced when he started at Hogwarts at the age of eleven. He felt like he had been playing catch-up ever since.
Harry had gaps in his knowledge. Aware of the pureblood ideology, the belief that there was a natural class system among people with magical ability, Harry didn't understand the basis for the beliefs. There were obviously pureblood wizards who couldn't magically boil water for tea, while just as true that there were muggle-born witches and wizards, like his friend Hermione Weasley, who had once-in-a-generation magical ability. Harry had no memory of his mother doing magic, but he had been told she held the same position among her contemporaries.
Harry's experience with pureblood ideology was distorted, since the people who were most convinced of the natural superiority of pureblood wizards tended to also be the most prejudiced against people like Harry, who were half-bloods in pureblood lingo. Some purebloods were like Harry's father, not really interested in a person's ancestry so much as they were in individual character. A pureblood who was open, friendly, and ready to help another was fine, as was a half-blood or muggle-born, while by the same standard, any one of those who wanted to be a snob, or aggressive, or self-centered, was not what they were looking for in a friend.
Like all prejudiced people, the ideological purebloods tended to associate with people who shared their views. They did not reach out beyond their pureblood circle so their beliefs were seldom challenged. Thus, they never reflected on the validity of the foundations of their guiding principles, handing them down, generation to generation, while the world changed around them. The pureblood families who were most vulnerable to the seductions of Voldemort's program of pure blood supremacy and the suppression of muggles, were blind to its contradictions, its detachment from reality, because they had successfully built and maintained a psychological fortress. In the end, when Voldemort's death deprived the movement of its only reason for cohesion, it collapsed into a pile of pieces, individuals and small family groups, without a common philosophy or leadership.
Harry had worked that much out, based on direct observation, and friendships with some pureblood contemporaries, mainly fellow Gryffindors such as Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom. He was on speaking terms with his rival from Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy, but Draco wasn't a very good source on the topic of pureblood ideology. By the time Harry defeated Voldemort at the final Battle of Hogwarts, Draco's pureblood-centered worldview was already crumbling. He appeared to Harry to be conflicted, pulled in different directions simultaneously, unable to cut ties with his family, who were much more radical and committed than he was, but desperately seeking acceptance by people like Harry, Ron, Neville, and Hermione, who worked together and supported one another based on mutual respect and genuine affection. Harry didn't think Draco had worked out the contradictions even now, although he could be fun to be around, if he was in the right mood, and didn't call Hermione a mudblood anymore.
Harry hoped his lunch at Greengrass Manor would add to his store of knowledge of the traditional purebloods. Fabio Greengrass hadn't been an open supporter of Voldemort, but he also hadn't been part of the anti-Voldemort coalition, centered around Hogwarts, to which Harry belonged. Fabio and Kendra, Harry thought, might reveal a facet of pureblood life he could add to the mosaic.
Harry hadn't had time to read in on the Greengrasses since his initial encounter with Daphne. Showered and dressed, the next agenda item was breakfast. Harry took a pinch of floo powder and dropped it in his fireplace, saying, "The Leaky Cauldron." When the "WHOOSH" subsided, he called out, "Hannah, it's Harry, is the kitchen open?"
"You bet!" came the reply. "Are you coming to eat?"
"On the way," said Harry. He aimed to make up for some of his ignorance via a strategic breakfast.
Stumbling out of the fireplace that took up most of one wall in the pub, Harry saw Neville Longbottom, wearing a white apron, an oven mitt on his left hand and his wand in his right, coming out of the kitchen with plates holding a variety of breakfast items.
"Harry!" Neville greeted him. "Breakfast?"
"Can I get two eggs, scrambled, some bacon, toast and marmalade? Oh, and coffee. Lots of coffee."
"Coming right up. Sit anywhere you like," said Neville, heading back to the kitchen.
"Harry, did I hear an order for coffee from you?" asked Hannah Abbott, arriving at Harry's table. "How did you get away? You're always working Saturdays, so I'm assuming magical crime is suddenly a dying industry."
"There wasn't anything I had to do this morning. I'm hoping I don't get called in. Have to go in tomorrow though. If stuff happens on Sunday, supervision wants a brief Monday morning. The Minister will have Percy Weasley camped in the outer office, waiting for my arrival."
"That never happened!" said Hannah, laughing. "Did it?"
"Once in awhile," Harry nodded. "Not a lot, but it's not unknown. If there is a real incident, something that might splash on the muggle side of town, that could cause Kingsley to have to call on the muggle prime minister, then he'll want to hear about it from me directly, but that stuff of lesser news value can get me Percy, and, no matter how much detail we have, Percy won't quit asking for clarifications about this or that until he hits "I don't know the answer to that at the moment, but we're working on finding out" and then he does this thing where he says, "Good man, Harry, simply first-rate, now, I think I have everything the Minister will need at this stage, but I do wish the aurors had been able to flesh out that one bit, which we probably agree may prove to be the most important point of all, so if your people could just..."
Hannah was by now laughing out loud.
"He didn't!"
"Oh, he has," said Harry. "More than once."
Hannah laughed louder.
"The PRAT!" she said.
"Nah, Percy's not a bad guy," said Harry, "he's just the perfect instrument for a specific function. You can see why Kingsley relies on him. Kingsley can maintain the famous cool, majestic temperament, in the face of utter chaos, as long as he can send Percy out to the operational offices and convey the concern, not to say near-panic, on the executive floor. Percy does that really well. Not that we can say that to him, ever, he'd be crushed. I give him a lot of the credit for the quality of Kingsley's leadership, not that Percy would appreciate the way I'm putting it."
Neville arrived with Harry's breakfast.
"Oh, that looks good!" Harry said. "Thanks a lot. Is there any chance you can sit down for a couple of minutes?"
Neville looked at Hannah.
"Ah, go ahead," said Hannah. "The elves and I can handle things for a little while. I owe you for all the produce you brought in."
"Paid in full," said Neville, "for letting me work in the kitchen today."
Neville turned to Harry.
"Anything on your mind?"
"One little thing," Harry answered.
"When you say little thing…" Neville let the sentence trail off.
"Nothing like, those other, ah, little things," Harry said. "Not asking you to kill an enchanted snake or anything serious.
"Short version, I'm a party to an engagement agreement, of sorts, which semi-promises Daphne Greengrass to me, and vice versa, whereas and wherefore, et cetera, ad infinitum. I read it over a couple of times and it looks like it would cost some money for bond forfeiture if we terminate it, but that's it. I still have to have a lawyer who specializes in this stuff advise me, but that is next week. One way or the other, since it exists, I have to do business with the Greengrasses. I was hoping, since you know more about the pureblood traditions than I do, you could let me know of any taboos attached to this stuff. Like, don't accept food under their roof unless you are prepared to marry the daughter within a fortnight, or never give up your birthday because they'll use the knowledge to conjure up something you won't like."
Neville sat there looking at Harry for quite a while. Harry was starting to think he'd said something grossly offensive, but Neville finally spoke up.
"You're telling me you figure in an engagement agreement along with Daphne Greengrass? The Slytherin Daphne Greengrass from our year?"
"That's the one. I didn't even remember her. She was in Slytherin, and she wasn't trying to kill me or get me expelled, so I guess that was just too low of a profile. Hermione reminded me of one thing, but I didn't even speak, at the time."
"Any idea what she has been up to?" Neville asked.
Harry fished around in his shirt pocket before pulling out the clipping from the Prophet that Hermione had sent. He handed the clipping to Neville.
"I think I understand," said Neville. "You are engaged to Fabio and Kendra Greengrass' eldest daughter, the dazzling Daphne, who, in addition to her accomplishments at Hogwarts has earned two muggle doctorates before she turned thirty. She's a Healer at St. Mungo's, by the way. I see her sometimes when I go visit mum and dad. In view of the foregoing, you are assuming that she is too good for you and her parents will be happy to pay many galleons to throw you overboard lest you defile the finest flower of British magical society."
"Something like that," said Harry. "I'm invited to their place for lunch. I just met her again this week. We don't know each other at all. I figure it'll be gracious, we'll all agree on a couple of innocuous topics, they'll subtly suggest an auror is not up to the task of being their son-in-law, and send me away to lick my wounds for a week, then invite me to Gringott's to abrogate the Agreement and forfeit my share of the bond money.
Neville pondered Harry's words.
"First," he said. "Youwere too busy to notice Daphne at school. That is not her fault. Second, you didn't know about the Agreement because your parents weren't there to tell you about it, and you didn't have a magical grandmother like I did, who could break these things to you bit by bit, so you weren't overwhelmed by them, and third, just because you don't know anything about her, you are still Harry Potter, and you might be surprised to find out she knows a lot, a whole lot, about you. Don't assume she doesn't. If anything, assume she knows your brand of toothpaste. If you had had a normal magical upbringing, you would have both known about the arrangements your parents made for you from the beginning."
"As for etiquette, show up on their doorstep one or two minutes before the invitation states. No hostess gift today, we'll get you something to accompany your lovely thank you note, which you'll send 48 hours later, Monday, in this case.
"Stay away from business over lunch. Fabio has businesses, but today isn't the time to focus on them. Some of the old traditionalists think it is vulgar to discuss business during social events because it gives the appearance that you are interested in them for mercenary reasons. Of course, some of them lack anything other than business to be interested in, but they don't want to hear that from you. Fabio may not be the world's greatest businessman. There isn't any scent of trouble coming off his enterprises, but he isn't visibly investing in new acquisitions, making deals for joint ventures, that sort of thing. Maybe he's just feeling the years.
"Of course, Fabio will be doing a little intelligence gathering himself. His information on the Potters is not current, so he may try to get a sense for how well you've come through the bad years. He won't violate the "No business when we're socializing" rule, but he might allow you to do it. He'll respect you more if you keep yours to yourself. "
Harry picked at his eggs. "Mum and Dad thought they were doing me a favor."
"Oh, I think that goes without saying. My theory is both your parents, and Fabio and Kendra, thought they were making arrangements for children they might not be around to raise, thinking the survivors, if any, could manage the raising of you two. Then you reconstitute the families, as it were, in the aftermath. One thing is certain though."
"And that is?" Harry asked.
"Your mum was one brilliant witch. This has got witch scent ALL over it. Voldemort is dead because your mum was a better witch than he was a wizard. He never could see that. Couldn't even begin to grasp it."
"Well, she's dead too," said Harry, the familiar, terrible, aching sadness rising in his throat.
"Yes," said Neville. "She is, and it was a tragedy for British wizarding that she died so young. She created the weapon that turned the tide, though, didn't she? She made you and equipped you. And then she cut a deal…" Neville looked around to see where Hannah had gotten to… "She cut a deal with Kendra Greengrass so you could jump the queue for the smartest, most beautiful witch available in Britain.
"Your mum was a thinking-three-steps ahead, upper case WITCH. I heard, when she was Head Girl at Hogwarts, she basically ran the place. She's running the place now isn't she? You're just her instrument.
"Want some more? I have plenty back there. I won't even charge you."