Chapter Eighteen
Lunch, Plus a Fascinating Political Science Seminar
Daphne led the way to the sunny room where they'd had lunch on Saturday. Harry looked at the table. There was a big green salad in a bowl in the center, and Trix was just arriving with a tray of cucumber-tomato sandwiches. Sure enough, there were big bottles of mineral water next to the salad bowl.
Harry noticed the table was only set for two.
"Where is everyone?" he asked.
"Will you be lonely without more company?" Daphne responded. "Mother and Father went to France, and Astoria is out with some girlfriends looking at stationery samples or silver patterns, or some kind of engagement-y stuff. If you want me to I'll send the lynx after Tracey. I'm sure she'd just love to come over and observe us acting like we were grownups."
"Point taken. I'll stay in harness," Harry said. "Salad?"
As lunch went on, Daphne seemed to be working through a mental checklist of things related to the St. Mungo's Ball.
"What are you going to wear?" she asked.
"Madame Malkin is working on a new dress robe, ready for pickup tomorrow. I hope you like it," Harry said. "I know the ball is formal, but how formal? Will anyone be wearing medals? I've never been to the St. Mungo's Ball, for some reason."
"Most people don't, but Most People don't hold the Order of Merlin, either. I've seen a few. Either way, you won't be the only one. What do you plan to call yourself? All the staff gets announced as we arrive. That means you will be announced, as my escort," Daphne said.
"Hmm," Harry said, working some arugula around. "Would Head Auror do?"
"The thing is, Harry, the St. Mungo's Ball is kind of old-time social. It is the first big 'do of the Christmas season. Lots of grande damesdripping strands of pearls and looking through lorgnettes, sitting there observing who is with whom, who's up-and-coming, who's due for promotion, blah-blah-blah. We'll be noticed.
"Have you given any thought to your titles? I know you aren't all that involved. Neither is Father. It's just tradition, but it does matter to the people who put stock in it, so why not use that to your advantage? Everyone who knows you knows there is a lot more to you than a title, but you are the head of two families, with responsibilities to both. It could be advantageous for the members if you're seen as serious about your position."
"Well, from the options the Magical Heraldry Office provided, I like Lord Potter-Black the best. The Blacks were formidable once. They could be again, if they reconciled with each other. Plus, I'm the only one who can keep Sirius' memory alive," Harry said. "Maybe it wouldn't hurt if Draco reported back to Narcissa that I've started using the title, planting the Black family flag again."
"What do you think?" Harry asked.
"I think it's well thought-out, logical, and you know it is in conformance with the rules because you consulted with Magical Heraldry. What about Head Auror, and your Order of Merlin?" Daphne asked.
"It's Harry Potter, Head Auror, Order of Merlin. I'm told one does not bandy about classes at such times, that the Order is the important thing, and members of the Order should not display pettiness. Reverse snob appeal. I think one would insert Lord Potter-Black between Potter and Head Auror, but I can check with Magical Heraldry. What about you? How will they introduce you?
"I'm Healer Daphne Greengrass. Nothing else, no Doctor, no muggle degrees. I can tell you because you need to know, but I'm going in Healer and coming out Chief of Service, Healer Daphne Greengrass. My promotion will be announced during the awards segment. No leaks in advance of the ball, Potter. I'm serious."
Harry's jaw dropped. "Chief of Service? What does that mean?"
"It means I'll be the head of all the professionals who work with the people suffering from magic-related mental conditions, I'll represent St. Mungo's as an expert witness before the Wizengamot, and I'll advise the Minister for Magic on legislation and regulations relating to the magical mental health dimensions of government health policy."
"Congratulations!" Harry said. "That's a big job."
"Sounds big," Daphne said, "but we only have so many witches and wizards, and a fraction of those have magical psychological issues. But it's still a vote of confidence.
"Now, do you want to wear your medal?"
"I'm leaning toward leaving the medal, and wearing the little rosette. Understated, gets the point across. What do you think of that?" Harry asked.
"Brilliant," said Daphne. "How do you want to arrive? If you haven't been before, I'd suggest we apparate together to the roof and come down the lift. Less traffic. The hospital dining room becomes the ballroom for the evening, with a little applied magic. Arrivals queue up in the atrium, outside the entrance to the dining room, work their way inside to the receiving line, and are announced by a herald from the ministry. The receiving line is the Minister, hospital director, and the chief of staff and spouses.
"Before dinner, we mingle, buy tickets for the drawings, let people see us together. Have you thought about that, Harry? Our lives change forever Saturday night."
Harry stopped eating. He hadn't thought of it that way, as a matter of fact.
"I hadn't, to be honest. Flesh that thought out a little bit for me, please. You mean more than we'll be a couple, formally, I take it?"
"I'm a Healer, not the socio-political-magical arbiter, but, yes, political calculations will shift for some of the attendees, once they get a look at our table. You'll be seen as allying yourself, and the Potters, and the Blacks, with Fabio Greengrass, and, through Astoria, the Malfoys. Everyone who pays attention already knows about the Potter-Longbottom-Abbott-Bones-Weasley-Granger combine, or conspiracy, according to one's tastes. You get the Davises, by accident. You know about Tracey and me, but Mother was a Davis before she was a Greengrass. You've even got a French branch with the Delacours. See?"
"The Delacours? Because of Bill and Fleur? That's a tad stretchy, isn't it?" Harry asked, disbelieving.
"No, Harry, because when Fleur was forced to leave Gabrielle behind during the tournament, you risked everything to rescue her. You didn't know the Ministry wasn't going to allow the abductees to come to harm, so you put your life on the line for Gabrielle. Some of us, when you didn't come to the surface, started to think you might have traded your life for Gabrielle's. After Bill, you're Fleur's hero. You're just plain hero to Gabrielle."
"You know more about these things than I do, but is a 'harrumph' permitted? I didn't do anything to put a coalition together," Harry said.
"Suit yourself, Harry," said Daphne. "Just remember, it isn't necessarily what you put together, it's what others perceive you put together. Have you ever been affected by another wizard's misperception of you, your powers, the danger you present to current conditions, or future plans?"
Harry put his fork down, and sat upright in his chair. Daphne had hit a nerve. He had certainly been affected by such a misperception. His whole life, since that Halloween night in Godric's Hollow, had been diverted due to a misperception held by a murderous, flawed, brilliant, ambitious wizard.
Harry didn't know how long he sat there, working over Daphne's comments. Eventually, he returned to the present.
"You're so much better at this than I am," Harry said. "I can foresee a future for you, advisor to your politically inept partner."
"Harry Potter, I have my own job. You're going to get better at it. You're a fast learner. You've been a hot topic from the day you arrived at Hogwarts, you're just going up another step.
"Rita Skeeter hooked you up, in the national wizarding press, with Hermione. In fourth year, no less! You should be used to it by now. You've always been a person of interest, now you're adding more reasons to be interesting," Daphne said. "Sorry, didn't mean to make a speech."
"That wasn't a speech. That was a revelation. I had literally never considered this an alliance, until you explained it. The way you put it, the political stuff does make sense. Not that I've been pursuing politics seriously," Harry said.
Daphne put down her sandwich, saying, "Because Kingsley's been holding the umbrella for you. Kingsley is a hero, highly respected for honesty, probity, and fair dealing, and he was an ally of Dumbledore's. He's untouchable. You work for Kingsley, you have his confidence, you're untouchable.
"Kingsley won't be around forever, Harry. There will be a successor. You'll have to be ready, or at least conscious, that he or she could be weak, unsure, easily influenced, a compromise candidate, someone like Cornelius Fudge. Someone who appears to be highly competent, if a bit of a cipher, in good times, but who hides in realities of his own construction when real danger emerges. And, it never hurts to remind ourselves, real danger always emerges.
"Our cohort start turning 30 soon, and we'll be assuming greater responsibilities. We're the next wave of influential wizards and witches, and we'll have a lot to say in picking the next minister. Your network, the people you just see as your friends from school, counts on you to look out for their collective interests, and you do have collective interests. They might not agree with you on every detail, but they are your supporters, whether you've noticed that, or not.
"The next Minister might want a loyalist as Head Auror, or Headmaster of Hogwarts, or Director of St. Mungo's. Look at the damage Fudge did, out of his paranoia. Think about it. You can't escape politics Harry. This little magical world is politics."