Harry paused as he walked past the group, eyeing the... was it a Norwegian representative? He couldn't tell by the accent, but if he could hazard a guess the man came from somewhere much colder than Britain.
"Potter Administration?" he found himself asking aloud.
The man startled, wand out and catching the wine that threatened to spill from his glass, directing it back in with a flick of his wrist. "Mr. Potter! A pleasure."
Blinking harshly (because there's no way he'd go to one of these damned things sober) and collecting himself, Harry walked over and took the mans hand, shaking it firmly. "Pleasure to meet you, Mister..."
"Alfsson. Sigurd Alfsson," he said, smiling broadly. "And please, the pleasure is all mine."
Harry chuckled, rubbing the back of his head. "I couldn't help overhearing, but you said something about a Potter Administration? Is there a new charity in my name that I hadn't heard of?"
The man blanched. "Oh, no- no, not at all. I just- it's a little joke, you see."
Blinking again, Harry looked down at his glass. Almost empty, probably needed another soon. "You mean like the 'In Potter's Name' thing? I mean, really, some of the jokes have gotten pretty out of hand. I swear, the other day I heard someone say my name. My name, when they stubbed their toe. I think I almost died of embarrassment."
"Oh, no, not like that- or, not quite. It's silly, please."
"That bad? I've heard them all at this point, and my wife can't stop laughing at me about it."
"Yes, and congratulations on your recent anniversary."
"Ah, yeah." Harry blushed, the whisky rushing to his cheeks. "Luna's lovely, really. Absolute jokester, but that's one of the reasons I married her... so, uh- the joke, was it? Potter Administration?"
The man, pale beyond belief, threw back the rest of his wine and coughed awkwardly. "It's this... joke, you see, among the international magical community. That the... the, er- the British government is... well, really it's not all that funny."
"Oh, please, I have to know. I rate them on a scale of absurdity. Keeps me sane against the damnable fame."
"Yes, well- they say it's your administration. How do the Americans say it? You're the big cheese," Sigurd blurted, spreading his arms wide. "Master and Commander of all of Britain."
Harry stared at him, then looked down at his drink. Then back up, then back down. He shook his head, staring a hole in the ground as what Sigurd said washed over him.
"Wait, what."