Acknowledgment—The following is a work of fanfiction, written and posted solely for the enjoyment of readers. The author thanks Ms. JK Rowling for allowing writers to set work among the population and locations found in the Harry Potter series of books. Everything belongs to Ms. Rowling and the author of this story neither seeks nor receives remuneration.
Two Daughters
Chapter Seven
A Harry and Daphne Fanfic
By
Bfd1235813
Harry Potter brought his Black witches home to Grimmauld Place where they collaborated on drafting, polishing and signing thank-you notes to various members of the Greengrass and Malfoy families.
"Someday you will remember this when you have children of your own," said Potter.
The Black witches looked back, healthy skepticism on display.
"I'm serious," said Potter. "These little social niceties pay big dividends. People notice and they remember."
"Will you remember your walk with Daphne?" asked Delphi.
Potter looked back at the Black witch, trying to approximate her unwavering gaze.
"I expect so," he answered. "Do you plan to remind me, regularly?"
Delphi's eyes swiveled toward Ane, who kept her face pointed at a note that awaited her signature.
"We talked," admitted Delphi.
"We?" asked Potter.
"Ane and I thought it looked nice. You walking with her," said Delphi, then, in a hoarse whisper, "Ane!"
Ane frowned at Delphi before responding.
"You and Daphne make a nice-looking couple," said Ane.
She threw her sister a glance, seeming to announce that was her final word on the subject.
"Miss Greengrass is our lawyer," Potter began. "She is Astoria's sister, who is our cousin by her marriage to Draco. It would be a real chore trying to keep all that straight. Better we have a good lawyer we can count on than a bunch of messy relationships that just confuse everyone."
Neither Ane nor Delphi thought messy relationships were a matter of concern. Their father could find another lawyer if he found employing Daphne while dating was too messy. Besides, neither was very well-informed on what it was lawyers did, anyway, making it easy to ignore his theoretical objections.
"Do you want me to find someone to come live with us? To share our house, be a witch in residence? It sounds like that is what you're saying," said Potter. "I wouldn't be against it. Trouble is, most of the witches my age are already paired off with someone. Doesn't mean there isn't a chance."
"We know," said Ane.
"Look, I'm sorry your mum isn't here," Potter began. "Life isn't fair so we lost her too soon. If there is someone out there for us, we all have to be very careful not to be too eager or we might scare her off."
The Black witches thought the prospect of scaring off a witch was a hilarious thing to contemplate and returned to their project drafting thank-you notes. Potter was not in a hurry, that evening, to get the witches to their rooms and off to sleep.
When he used his wand to make the impromptu photo of Bella for Narcissa Malfoy, it was the first time Potter had seen the picture in such a large format. The memory refused to go away. In idle moments, he experimented with different papers, parchment and dimensions and picked out the one he liked best. He made a fresh print, framed it and put it on his bedside table. One night, after the witches were in bed, Potter locked himself in and took a quick shower in his en suite. He wore only the bottoms of his pajamas when he got out of the bathroom, unlocked the door out to the hallway and crossed to his bed. He was shrugging into his pajama top when he heard, very softly, 'Yum.'
Only after he cast the spell to extinguish the lamp did he speak.
"Did I imagine that?" he asked.
The only response was Bella's unmistakable giggle.
"Oh, no. How?" asked Potter.
"Don't ask me," answered the picture. "I never knew where enchanted portraits came from. They really annoyed me, to be honest. If you didn't have the intent then according to all the magical guidelines nothing ought to have happened."
"Intent. Great," sighed Potter. "Night, then."
He thought about Bella's comment. Did he have the intent to make an enchanted photographic portrait?
He didn't recall anything like that but could it be possible for a subliminal desire to be strong enough to cast the enchantment? All of his memories of Bella were probably infused with longings—to see her, smell her, feel her filling the space of his encircling arms, beneath him, swallowing his essence, raising him up as she arched her back.
'Oh, hell,' he thought, knowing he'd just spoiled any chance of drifting off to sleep.
"Good-night, Harry," said the picture, followed by the 'Smack!' of a kiss blown his way.
Someone, it seemed, just couldn't let it go. The following night, Bella was back.
"So, are they going to fix you up?"
Potter'd tried to get everyone to sleep and himself to bed without making any unnecessary sounds. That was probably irrelevant inside a house so filled with supernatural artifacts it qualified as supernatural all by itself. The best he could do was keep his voice down because he certainly wasn't going to suspend their conversation. Merlin, he missed her so much!
"I don't know what to think of that," said Potter. "Scorpius has Astoria, therefore, they feel they should have someone like Astoria to fill the gap in our house and family. I understand. Believe me, I know what it's like to grow up with no one on your side, no one you can go to with those existential questions. Why this? Why that? On the other hand, Greengrass hasn't given any indication she wants to take us on. One pleasant day in the country isn't a courtship."
"I'm not an expert," Bella began.
Potter had to stifle the laugh, snorted back through his nose and made himself cough, loudly.
"Shush!" she said. "If you wake them you'll be sitting up for an hour or two. Anyway, I'm not an expert because I wasn't a party to my own courtship. Our father made a deal. Rodolphus and I weren't all that attracted to each other. In a physical sense, I mean. We'd have to get together to relieve the tension every so often. We both admitted that is what it was—kind of pathetic, really. Our politics were a perfect match, though. If you hadn't come along he'd be Riddle's prime minister by now, or something equally weighty."
"That is so sad! You were good. As a lover, I mean. I'll take the romance," said Potter.
"You and me both," Bella agreed. "As I tried to demonstrate, verbally and physically."
"You did a great job," Potter assured her. "I miss it, a lot. What's this got to do with Greengrass?"
"Just that you don't have to go at her like you need to recruit a wife to fulfill some role," said Bella. "Give her a chance. No need to get in a hurry. Let her see you and the witches a few more times. She's a lawyer? So she has a head. Is it a good one?"
"I'd say yes," said Potter. "She hasn't steered me wrong. Yet."
"Uh-huh," said Bella. "Three more like today. Don't get fancy. You have a country place?"
"More than one," said Potter. "All under suspense spells. Elves do the maintenance."
"Good," said Bella. "One day in the country at one of the manors or estates or whatever. Al fresco lunch and a stroll around the grounds. One day with the witches on the boat. What do you want to do for the third one?"
Potter lay in the dark, staring straight up into blackness.
"The beach? Lyme Regis? Blackpool? There's museums. Art? I get these invitations to openings. I think the galleries want to do this house over, in better taste," he said.
"Doesn't really matter as long as she sees you three. If she goes out with all of you, by the third time she will have decided. You sit down with her, then, for a private chat. She will want to keep going or she won't. Then, that's that. Both of you a little wiser. No hard feelings."
Potter was grateful to Bella's likeness for the wise counsel. He would always wonder how she acquired the assurance to lay out his course. Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange had not, by her own admission, shared that ideal, of a oneness of heart, mind and desire. Yet Bella's bedside portrait, little more than a sketch, really, spoke with absolute certainty that Daphne Greengrass, Harry Potter and Potter's two daughters would simply know. And that after just three more outings.
Potter felt eyes.
It was morning at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, some days after Delphi braced him. He looked across the table at two sets of Black witch eyes. Kreacher was somewhere behind him, just over his shoulder, no doubt keeping himself informed about the witches' quest for a magical adult female. Kreacher wished them well. He was obliged to give faithful service to the House of Black, regardless of other considerations. To that end, he had accommodated his chief, Harry Potter, mostly repairing their fractured relationship. What he could not accept he learned to gloss over.
Kreacher still wanted a mistress. He was devoted to his old mistress' enchanted portrait. Walburga Black was very sharp, for a magical construct embedded in a layer of paint spread on canvas. Even so, it was merely a substitute for a proper, magic-performing mistress. Kreacher missed having one of those around. Not that he would judge, but if he did, he'd be wishing Potter would at least cross the starting line.
"How's school?" Potter asked.
"You're there at the dining table, every day, Harry," said Delphi.
She meant he sat at the table while the witches worked on their independent study preparatory courses.
"Hmm…You've got me there," said Potter. "Your alphabets are quite good, Roman and runic. You have some years on Ane but she's making progress, too."
"She helps me," said Ane, not at all afraid to admit it.
"I know, I see her," said Potter. "Sits right there giving you tips and everything. She'll have you ready for Hogwarts before she goes away herself."
Ane smiled. Delphi looked down, blushed a bit and looked like she might have smiled if only her father were not so embarrassing.
It was not for lack of trying but Potter didn't identify a Potter-Black family activity for some weeks. Instead, he decided to put some time and energy into inspecting the properties he had inherited from his parents and Sirius Black. Charms were very effective at keeping out all the birds and mammals looking for a home. One bright and shiny Saturday morning, Potter took Delphi, Ane and Kreacher to his family manor by side-along apparation. The old Potter Manor showed its age but it was solidly-built.
"So that's it," he said as they stood before the main house.
The first thing Potter wanted to establish was whether there were elves onsite. If there were, he wanted to question them about their welfare, general health and overall condition. Then they'd ask for a tour. Time permitting, Potter would draft a reasonable to-do list.
"What do you think, Kreacher? Are any of your colleagues around?"
"There are, Master, but they are in deep slumber. It is what elves do when the family will be gone for a long time," said Kreacher.
That was what Potter feared. His parents were murdered when he was just fifteen months old. If no witches or wizards had been in residence at the time, the elves hadn't been in contact with any Potters in decades. Potter silently admitted he might have gone into suspended animation himself, if he had been presented with those conditions.
"My instinct tells me to walk up to the door and present my wand," said Potter. "Do you see anything wrong with that?"
"No, master, Kreacher thinks that would be the right thing to do."
"Right, then," said Potter. "Witches? Let's go but stay behind me until we make contact. Give us a warning if you sense any danger, Kreacher."
The visitors walked up to the front of the house, climbed three steps to the low porch and stood before the door. Potter extended the hand that held his wand just as the latch made a grinding sound. The door opened, exposing a wizened elf wearing a simple terry cloth shift. She had a bandana wrapped around her head like a turban.
"The Master and Mistress are not receiving…" said the elf, ceasing her announcement as she studied Potter's face.
"Master James!" she exclaimed. "Where have you been? Where is Mistress Lily?"
She stopped speaking and looked over the little party.
"You are not…" said the elf, looking closely at Potter.
"I am Harry, Master James and Mistress Lily's son," he managed to choke out.
"Master Harry! We wondered…we knew you weren't dead because we elves did not get sick and die. Please come in. The witches?" asked the elf.
"My daughters, Miss Delphini, and Miss Anemone," he said, taking his time to let the elf put a name with each face.
"And…?"
"Kreacher, formerly house elf for the Ancient and Noble Black family of London and Cornwall, now bonded with me," said Potter.
He knew the elves were going through some elf introduction because heads were inclining as heels came together. Hands were extended and palms touched, although the elves did not grip like humans. Potter surmised there was some information exchange involved. The elves' social time concluded and Willow turned back to Potter.
"Master, most of your elves are named for trees," said the Potter elf. "I am Willow. I have been on duty since the beginning of the year."
Potter took from that comment that the elves had some kind of rotation to spread the work around.
"Very pleased to meet you, Willow," said Potter. "I am just now getting around to see the parts of my inheritance that are outside of London. I think we ought to sit somewhere and let you get the others organized so we can meet. Would that be agreeable?"
Potter was certain it would be since he had consulted with Kreacher, who had informed him that any elves that were bonded to him would be starving for some contact with their lord and the young Misses. Willow actually clapped her hands as she told Potter to sit wherever it pleased him to sit while she brought the elves to the family. They decided on a salon off the central hallway. It had bookshelves, portraits of Potter forebears and plenty of candles in sconces.
Willow was gone a very short time, then returned with two elves.
"Master Harry, may I present my son and daughter, Elder and Beech? Elder is the gardener and Beech is the kitchen apprentice," said Willow.
The two elves approached, very hesitantly. Potter extended both of his hands, inviting them to come closer.
"Come, come," said Potter. "I don't bite."
An elf grabbed a hand each, using both of theirs before falling to their knees. A low-volume mumbling commenced, the few words he picked out telling Potter he was back home, he must never leave again, the elves had been so lonely and eagerly awaited orders so they could get to work. Potter let it go on a reasonable time before introducing the witches.
"Yes, thank-you, so good to be home. Now, these two witches are my daughters…"
This set off another round of hand-grasping and kissing and vows of unending devotion. At some point, by some undetectable elf signal, the two switched witches. Not being a party to the introductory vows, Potter could see the elves becoming energized as they held the hands of their new mistresses. He stole a quick glance at Kreacher, who never really smiled but had a certain expression that appeared when he was pleased with something.
Nor was Kreacher the only one. Ane and Delphi were delighted by the elves and all their expressions of obeisance. Besides, the elves were taking in magic or energy or whatever the term was for the medium of exchange between witches and elves. The witches would agree, later on, that being a Potter-Black witch was the coolest, ever.
Willow excused herself and came back with two more elves. Oak was Willow's husband, semi-retired and formerly bonded to Potter's grandparents, Fleamont and Euphemia. Fleamont had promised both James Potter and Oak that they could stay together after James achieved his majority and married or otherwise established his own household. Holly had been Lily Potter's mother's helper/lady's maid for the short time Lily had been Lady Potter. She broke down upon being introduced to Potter, for whom she naturally believed she would be providing lots of love and care all through his growing-up years.
"Please, Holly, everything is fine," said Potter, one arm wrapped around the elf's shoulders. "I'm back and I've brought these two witches."
Potter motioned the witches closer with a head motion. The two stood and wrapped their own arms around the elf.
"Hello, Holly, I'm Delphi," said Delphi.
"I'm Ane," added her sister.
"We're witches," explained Delphi. "Harry's the head around here. Did you know that?"
Holly laughed and cried at her comment, the two impulses competing to get free.
Once the elves calmed down, Potter asked for a tour. He offered to let Kreacher go back to London, if he had something to do.
"Begging Lord Harry's pardon, but it might be beneficial if Kreacher knew something of the Potter Manor. Some future occasion…"
Potter saw the point at once, nodding his agreement.
"Good thinking, Kreacher. At some point we might need everyone here. Okay, let's tour. Willow and Oak, please lead on," he said.
Potter Manor was fairly standard, as manors go. There were no stables populated by Thoroughbreds, no prize cattle or hogs or other livestock. A stream that cut through the property flowed over a rock shelf. Currents had scoured out some softer rock creating a natural impoundment that Oak assured Potter was reserved for Lord Potter's angling enjoyment.
Ane and Delphi were whispering plans for future Potter Manor activities when, approximately an hour after their arrival, Potter declared an end to the touring so the party could return to London. Before leaving, he met with the elves, letting them crowd around and touch him on the arm or hand, which he understood allowed them to feel his magic and reinforced their bond. He assured them that he had left them alone too long and it wouldn't happen again. The last thing he did was write down a list of tasks for a variety of jobs around the house and grounds. This he reviewed with Kreacher before handing it over to the Potter Manor elves to attend to before his next visit.
When the party got back to London, Potter asked the witches for a few minutes to see Kreacher, alone.
"I'm not chastising, Kreacher, but I do wish I had been told we had elves awaiting our return at the old manor. Please don't wait for an inquiry from me if you know of something that needs my attention," he said. "So, is there anything else I should know at the moment?"
"Master," Kreacher said, his eyes downcast. "The Black estate…If Kreacher could ask. There may be Black elves."
Potter stood still, looking at the old elf who had, a decade before, thrown a fit, in front of humans, flopping about on the floor, all to demonstrate his determination not to accept Potter's leadership of the Black family. That is to say, Potter was named Heir of Sirius Black in Black's will. Black had also adopted Potter before Black was killed so there was no out for the old family retainer. Potter, the half-blood, was owed Kreacher's services according to the ways of blood and magic. What was more, Kreacher needed the bond and opportunities to provide personal elf services to Potter, merely to stay healthy.
All the Black elves were in the same position and Potter had just learned he may have had more, waiting at the Black estate. Best case, they were in the state of suspension elves used to get over long patches without contact with their masters.
"Can you take us there?" asked Potter.
Kreacher brightened up, immediately. Potter had a stray thought, wondering if house elves could actually glow when overcome by something so pleasurable.
"Of course, Master, whenever Master wishes," croaked the elf.
"Right," said Potter. "Let me collect some Black witches."
Powerful elf magic went to work. Minutes later, Potter, Kreacher and the witches stood in front of the ornamental iron gates of the Black estate.
"Wards?" asked Potter. "Hexes, jinxes, curses, secret pass phrases?"
"No, Master, not for the Head of the Black Family," answered Kreacher.
Delphini looked at Anemone Black. The witches sent knowing glances back and forth. Even at their single digit ages, they knew it was good to be the Head.
Potter walked up to the gate, stopping to touch his Black signet to the iron plate that appeared to house the locking mechanism. The lock made a sound like a tympani. Potter felt a shiver race up his spine, followed almost immediately by a sensation in his abdomen. He had a vision of losing the contents of his bowels right there at the gate. It felt like that was about to happen as well. Potter clenched. That was the only word for it.
"Everyone okay?" he asked, focusing on maintaining until Kreacher could direct him to a bathroom somewhere on the estate.
The witches assured him they were fine.
"Did you hear anything?" he asked the witches.
Both shook their heads.
"Kreacher?"
"No, master," said the elf. "Kreacher believes your lordship has heard the sound of Doom. That is the traditional Black salute to Lord Black upon his return."
Potter managed to keep his comment from being heard by either Kreacher or the witches. The pressure gradually lessened in intensity until Potter judged the danger had passed. He resolved to look into deactivation of the Sound of Doom as soon as he met the elves and took the tour.
"So, anyone around, Kreacher?" asked Potter.
"If Lord Harry could wait here," muttered Kreacher.
One quick disapparation was followed by the return of two wizened elves. Potter stood, puzzled by the seeming arrival of Kreacher One and Kreacher Two.
"No," said Potter before he could stop himself. "Your brother?"
"Kreacher has a cousin…" the elf replied.
Kreacher's cousin approached. Potter extended his hand.
"My lord," said Kreacher's look-alike.
Ignoring Potter's hand, or perhaps saving it for later, the elf fell to his knees, wrapping bony arms around his master's legs. Potter looked at Kreacher, appealing. Kreacher shook his head, 'No.'
After what seemed far too long for a simple greeting, the old retainer stood up and immediately reached for Potter's hand.
"You are Lord Potter," he declared. "Your heir is a Potter?"
"I succeeded the late Lord Sirius Black, who was killed in a fight with Bellatrix Black Lestrange."
"Lord Sirius inherited?" asked the elf.
"Yes, he was my godfather. He adopted me as an orphan so that we could not be separated. Then Bellatrix and some other Death Eaters found us in a disadvantageous place. A fight began. Bella got through Sirius' shield and killed him. I was there and saw it."
"Bellatrix killed her cousin," the elf said to himself. "Her lord."
"Bellatrix was married by then," said Potter. "Her surname was Lestrange."
"My name is Polaris," said the elf. "Elves from the estate were often named for stars. Yes, Bellatrix would owe allegiance to her husband's family."
Potter wondered if Polaris was the informal family genealogist.
"These two young witches are my daughters," Potter said as he opened his arms to make room. "Ane and Delphi."
"Pleased to meet you, Polaris," said Delphi.
Polaris extended both of his hands, inviting Delphi to place hers in between. After a minute or so, he repeated the process with Ane. After they separated the old elf smiled and turned to Potter.
"I am the last Black elf at the estate, my lord," he said. "The others were older. We slept much of the time, but still, no one lives forever. They are buried below the garden. I will show your lordship where they are when we have time. Will you look around the house?"
"Yes, please," said Potter.
Kreacher exchanged some words with Polaris that Potter did not understand. When Polaris turned to lead the tour, Kreacher stayed behind.
The tour was much different than the visit to Potter Manor. To begin with, the Black magic recognized Potter and the Black Witches immediately. The more it surrounded them, sensing who they and their positions in the family were, the more agitated it became.
"Feel it?" he asked.
"Yes, Dad," said Ane.
"What is it, Harry?" Delphi demanded.
"Our…or, YOUR family magic is welcoming you to your home," said Potter. "The Blacks were almost dormant and now you Black witches are fixing that. We'll have to arrange for Teddy to come, soon. Well, that won't be a problem. I don't have a job, other than the Potter-Black clan, so we will make an effort and get this family back on its feet."
Polaris led the group from room to room. He knew the names of all the subjects of the enchanted portraits. Some were dormant or sleeping. Others roused, blinking their eyes, grumping about being awakened.
"Lord Black, Madame," Potter said to one as he bowed from the waist.
"My daughters, Delphini and Anemone."
Potter stepped aside and gestured with an open hand as the witches curtsied toward the portrait.
"You don't look like a Black, although they certainly do," said the woman. "Explain."
"I wasn't born a Black," said Potter. "My birth name is Potter. Sirius Black was a lifelong friend of my father. When I was orphaned, Sirius adopted me. He was childless, I inherited and I am taking up my duties."
"For your adoptive father's family? That is some sense of duty, one supposes," she said. "What about these?"
The woman was clearly asking about the witches.
"Pureblood Black witches," said Potter.
"Explain," demanded the witch.
"My daughters, with Bellatrix Black, a pureblood Black witch if there ever was one," Potter replied.
"Yes, I seem to have died shortly after she was born," said the witch. "I remember a baby girl, lungs like the blacksmith's bellows, a look in her eyes. That one has it, too, the other not so much. I think they will possess all the power they will want, or need. Don't be afraid of it, witches. Don't take it lightly, either. Can you do that?"
"Yes, Madame," said the witches.
The portrait witch seemed to be smiling when her eyes drifted closed and she went back to sleep.
"Well, how about that?" asked Potter. "You've met someone on your first visit. Got some free advice in the bargain. Who was that, Polaris?"
"I believe she would be your daughters' third great-grandmother, my lord," said the old elf.
"We'll try to study up on our genealogy before our next visit," said Potter.
"You do not plan to live at the estate, Lord Harry?" asked Polaris.
"We can't stay in one place," Potter replied. "We live in the Black townhouse in London. There is a Potter Manor. It needs work, as does this one. We will be moving around. My plan is to see the properties restored. Something we can all be proud of."
Something about Potter's speculative and somewhat self-serving speech appeared to meet the elf's approval and he began to stand up straighter as he continued to lead the tour.
"Baths. The young witches must have functioning baths, hot and cold water in the taps. Working commodes. I can't emphasize that too much. Should I make a list? Oh, sorry, you do read?" asked Potter.
"Yes, master, Polaris can read," said the elf. "Polaris will do his best with the plumbing. If it does not respond to Polaris' magic…"
"Then stop working on it," said Potter. "If we need a specialist for anything I can manage that. Just don't contract for anything until we discuss it, alright?"
"Of course, Master," said Polaris.
"And now, I think we will be getting back to London," said Potter. "More things to do. I'll be back sometime later in the week. See what you can do about those repairs, if you please. Witches?"
"Thank-you for the tour, Polaris," said Delphi, stepping close so she could wrap her arms around him.
Ane repeated her sister's thanks and farewell hug. The elf appeared to swell some more from the contact with the Black children. Potter noticed and resolved to pay more attention to the elves and their well-being. After all, they did work for him and asked nothing more in return than shelter and exposure to his magic.
Back home from their outing, Potter summoned Kreacher.
"Dinner plans?" he asked.
"Mistress Delphini expressed an interest in a frankfurter, on a bun, with ketchup, mustard and a pickle. She asked for 'pommes frites' which translates from the French as 'french fries,' Lord Harry," Kreacher answered.
"Does it? Well, if young Miss Delphi has an opinion, let us make it so for the family dinner," said Potter. "Now, I want to plan for a mid-week return visit to the country places. Your support, possible transportation and help de-conflicting my schedule, will be very much appreciated."
Potter left Kreacher to get on with dinner preparations, thinking he heard some happy humming as the elf left the room.
The mid-week return visits went splendidly, especially considering how long, through his own ignorance, Potter had neglected the house elves. Kreacher had mentioned, not in a scolding way, that the mysterious bonds between house, master and elves must be extraordinarily strong in his case. That was supported by the relative state of well-being of the elves.
"So, although we'd never met, the elves made it through without me," said Potter. "Meaning I did something right?"
"Begging your lordship's pardon, it was not anything done," said Kreacher. "It was what Lord Harry is. Strength of character and magic is very important. The state of the elves could not be what it is today if your lordship's magic was not sustaining them during your long absence."
"Well. That is something," said Potter. "Black witches. I order you not to let me develop a swelled head because of my elves' good condition, despite my years of neglect."
"We won't!" his daughters assured him.
The party reached Potter Manor at mid-morning. The weather was not summery. It wasn't wintery, either. The temperature was tolerable and the wind vigorous enough to keep outdoor activity refreshing. Ane had a question as soon as the group arrived at Potter Manor.
"Did your family have a pony?" she asked.
"I don't remember being here," answered Potter. "At fifteen months, I became a foster child. My aunt and uncle kept me at their place until I left for boarding school."
Ane looked at Delphi.
"I think Harry WOULD have had a pony," said Delphi. "He just didn't get to live here long enough."
The comment was well-received because Ane nodded her agreement. Potter knew what was coming next.
"Can I get a pony?" asked Ane. "And Delphi, too, if she wants one."
"Thank-you, Ane," said Delphi. "I think I might."
"Tell you what," said Potter. "Let's get the house the way we want it first. Then I'll look into what-all we need to do to be ready to bring a pony here. Of course, you two would do all the pony care and cleaning up and so on?"
"Yes! Yes! Yes!" the witches agreed.
Once again, the Potter Manor elves crowded around Harry Potter and the Black witches, holding hands, touching arms and looking like they were about to swoon when a human hand reached out to touch an elf head.
The drill was repeated at the Black estate. Kreacher took the family to Cornwall by apparation. As soon as their stomachs settled after their trip, the witches ran toward the house. Potter had a moment of panic when they got a few yards ahead and began to shimmer, but that passed quickly and the witches ran up the porch stairs.
"That moment of shimmer?" Potter asked, addressing Kreacher.
"Black family magic," answered the elf. "The witches are welcomed to their ancestral home."
"So gracious," murmured Potter.
Throughout the day Potter thought about his other current project. He wanted to arrange for Daphne Greengrass to get sufficient exposure to himself, the Black witches, Kreacher, the Black and Potter country places and his sailboat so she had something on which to base a decision. That decision being whether Potter and his family were something she wished to join. Details could be negotiated. If the unit as it stood was repellent to her, no amount of talk would put that right. In fact, were that the case, he'd best stick with lawyer Greengrass and cease speculating about a future as one-half of Lord and Lady Potter-Black.
Upon their return to Grimmauld Place, Potter convened a family conference. Kreacher brought tea and some gracious little cookies to the second drawing room.
"Black witches, I have taken your observations to heart," Potter began. "I wish to bring Daphne Greengrass a little closer to our family."
The two Black witches sat up straighter, their eyes fixed on their father.
"To do that, we must offer her the chance to get to know us. By that I mean all of us. She must have the chance to observe us, as a family, including seeing you two as bright young witches with lots of potential. If an adult witch joined us, living here or at one of the manors, you would see her every day. She would see you, as well. She would need to like having that kind of contact or she, and you, would soon grow tired of the situation. With everyone having magic, to some degree, that would soon become dangerous."
The witches looked at one another, then back to Potter.
"Would Daphne be our step-mother?" asked Ane.
Potter started a frantic review of the books they had read recently, hoping nothing featuring a wicked step-mother was on the list.
"Yes," said Potter. "Your mother isn't with us anymore. She's your mother and always will be. Being a step-mother is a difficult job. Expectations are high. A step-mother will always be judged, compared to the birth mother."
"Not that those are always perfect," said Delphi as the tears started to flow.
"Here," said Potter as he opened his arms. "You did nothing wrong, Bella was having a difficult time, she didn't want to hurt you. She was taking orders from a very bad wizard. Now you're here. You're Delphini Black and you're my daughter and you've got a house and a sister and an elf."
After a few minutes, Delphi stopped crying. After one or two more, she let go of her father and stepped back. Her tears had soaked a significant patch on the front of his shirt.
"Better?" asked Potter as he offered Delphi his handkerchief.
Ane gave Delphi a hug.
"Sister," she said.
Delphi hugged back.
"Sister," she confirmed.
"So I'll see if Miss Greengrass is free for a visit, Saturday or Sunday. If she is, we will all do some activity together. Go out on the boat or visit another house. Maybe have lunch there. You can look her over. Afterwards you can tell me what you think. Just remember, she will be looking you over at the same time," Potter said.
That Sunday, Potter waited with the two Black witches, looking at their fireplace as all three secretly willed Daphne Greengrass to speak. The arrangement, negotiated via several back-and-forth owl mail exchanges, was for Daphne to go to the Leaky Cauldron. Once there, she would floo-call and announce her arrival. Potter would leave the witches at home with Kreacher, take the floo to the pub and bring Daphne right back. That way there wouldn't be any courting of dangerous, independently-operating hexes or jinxes because Greengrass was not known to an existing ward.
The exchange went quickly, when Greengrass finally called. The witches didn't move from the front salon at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, apparently mesmerized by the prospect of the adults returning via the dormant fireplace. Potter floo'd to the Leaky Cauldron, met Greengrass and was quickly delivered back to his own salon, and his witches.
"Hullo!" said Potter as the two exited.
Ane and Daphne eye-rolled in unison before standing and facing the new arrivals.
"Miss Daphne."
They spoke as one, dropped their heads and bent a knee, holding their pose for a beat.
The Black witches always impressed Daphne Greengrass. Although she hadn't been in their presence more than a handful of times, their magic made a statement. They were somewhat wild, almost completely untrained, but with plenty of natural poise and charisma. Greengrass sensed magical power in abundance behind their eyes. She admitted to herself that, yes, she not only felt the potential in the two the first time they met, she could not help but find the family group attracting her iron filings to their magnetic field.
Besides being a witch, Daphne Greengrass was a woman. As a human woman she was subject to all of the whims of her glands and those pesky hormones that crept up and ambushed intellect and ordinary rational thought. Some theories held that witches under the right combination of stress, phase of the moon and proximity to a wizard with a compatible mating potential secreted supercharged hormones that could make the homeliest wizard take on matinee idol appeal.
"So, we voted on the boat," said Potter. "There are also two country places. We're working on those but the elves can lay on a spread for lunch. Whatever you want to do."
"Oh, do I get a vote?" asked Greengrass.
"Of course," said Potter. "You get a veto. If you have chronic seasickness or just detest saltwater or marine environments in general…"
"You voted for the boat?" asked Greengrass, directing her question to the Black witches.
They nodded, vigorously, huge grins on display.
"Then that's what we'll do," said Greengrass. "You can show me all your sailing, uh, stuff."
The voice and the bit of hesitation spoke volumes. Potter resolved to tread lightly because his guest had just revealed she knew nothing about sailing.
Arriving at the magical marina by apparation, Potter escorted his group down to their slip. The boat looked fine after a brief scan. There were some wards to deactivate, which Potter managed with a few seconds' wand work.
"Let's come aboard," he announced.
The witches had perfected their boarding technique on earlier visits so they hopped onto the deck and went straight to the cockpit. Potter stepped up and reached back for Greengrass, helping her time the up-and-down caused by the little waves that crisscrossed the harbor.
"Lifelines," said Potter. "Make yourself comfortable."
He went to work rigging the lifelines, his wand making short work of the chore.
"Life vests," said Potter, directing the witches to go below and pitch in. They were soon back topside, their own vests hanging loose, Delphi holding a larger one that she gave to Greengrass. Potter noticed they hadn't brought a vest for him.
"That's how it is, huh?" he asked as he went below.
"Here's how we do it," Potter explained, moving from witch to witch, casting belt-fastening charms.
"Very efficient," Greengrass said as he finished fastening her ties.
"Take the helm, Delphi," said Potter as he hopped back to the pier.
It wasn't really necessary since he was keeping the boat at the pier with his wand while casting-off, but it sounded like a task of great responsibility and besides, Delphi kept her hands on the wheel and the most serious look on her face. Potter liked seeing that.
He took the wheel and stayed there until the boat cleared the breakwater. All the while, Delphi stood by, ready to take over. Not long after they reached the Channel proper, Potter called on his oldest daughter to relieve him. Delphi smiled and took the wheel.
"Two-seven-zero, Helmsman," ordered Potter.
"Course two-seven-zero," answered Delphi.
Potter smiled at Greengrass.
"She's a natural," he muttered, trying not to embarrass his helmsman.
"I can see," Greengrass agreed.
It was a wonderful day for sailing. The breeze was just enough to keep things interesting, Delphi steered them through several course changes and caught some spray on her face. Greengrass did turn green one time but managed the crisis. Potter took back the helm after Delphi lined up the boat on the harbor entrance.
"Right! Great day of sailing," said Potter when the boat was back at its berth. "Everything back in the lockers? All the trip hazards secured? Let's think about some lunch."
He guided his flock, gently, keeping them bunched together, until they reached the pub across the road from the entrance to the marina.
"I suggest the fish and chips with the cup of slaw, but you're free to choose anything you like," said Potter.
The pub smelled remarkably clean and well-aired-out, a condition Potter welcomed. He wanted to treat Daphne Greengrass to a little local color along with a delicious post-sailing meal. That did not need to include the aroma of spilled beer and last year's menu of fried things.
Lunch went well. Greengrass gave no indication of distress over his choice of restaurant. The Black witches had eaten the pub's fish and chips on earlier sailing days. Sometimes they requested fish and chips from the pub for dining at home, much to Kreacher's chagrin.
Perhaps it was how well everything had gone, up to that point. The roundabout collection of Greengrass at the Leaky Cauldron, Potter escorting her to Grimmauld Place, deciding by unanimous vote to go out on the boat, the beautiful sailing conditions followed by lunch at the pub—all of it so smooth, by contrast to a few dicey seconds. Potter and the witches headed to an apparation point near the pub. The distance could be measured in yards but during their transit they would be outside magical wards, disillusionment or other protections. Potter sensed the muggle before anyone saw him as he stepped out from behind the advertising sign, waving a conventional pistol.
"No one needs to get hurt," said the would-be stickup man.
Potter's party froze. Potter took two steps forward, putting himself between Greengrass, the two Black witches and the man with the pistol.
"Money?" asked Potter.
The man snickered but didn't answer. Potter wondered if that would be his defense in court—that he didn't demand money. He simply carried his pistol around and people voluntarily handed over their wallets. Potter moved slowly, to avoid providing any cause to start shooting. His right hand was holding his billfold between them. The man reached out.
"Just…what IS that?" asked Potter as he pointed at the man's shirt.
"What? What are you talking about?" he asked as he took his eyes off Potter and looked down at what might have been a fresh cigarette burn hole.
The edges of the hole glowed the dull red smokers knew from burning tablecloths, trousers and shirts.
"Just there," said Potter as his index finger closed the gap and he touched the hole directly over the man's heart.
The armed robber fell to the ground, clutching his chest. A choked-off cry of extreme pain barely began, then ceased.
"Good time to leave," Potter said.
He circled Greengrass with one arm, pulled Ane to him and wrapped his opposite around Delphi. One disapparation later and the group stood on the top step before Number Twelve.
"Welcome back, Lord Harry, Miss Daphne and Misses Delphi and Ane," said Kreacher.
"Kreacher," said Potter.
He addressed the Black witches who already knew his prescription for transitioning from a day sail to land life.
"Now, upstairs," he went on. "Salty clothes to the laundry. Showers, good and warm. Shampoo your hair. Clean clothes. Then back down here and we have hot chocolate."
The Black witches took off up the stairs followed by the sounds of tossed shoes, rustling cloth and slamming doors.
Potter turned to face Greengrass. He didn't know what to think about her facial expression. She didn't make him wait to find out.
"What was that?" asked Greengrass.
It didn't take a lot of analysis to get her meaning.
"The little spell? Just that," said Potter. "Sticky situation, a diversion, get everyone out of the danger zone, no harm, no foul."
"What happened to that man?" she demanded.
"Not my concern," answered Potter.
"Don't you try and deflect me, Harry Potter!" said Greengrass. "I was watching his face. Did you KILL him? In public?"
Potter didn't know the best way to proceed. Lawyer Greengrass worked in an office, behind a desk. He didn't know if she had ever been in a courtroom, yet she was in his face like a prosecutor who wouldn't be denied her rightful victory.
"Well, Ms. Greengrass, I was on the spot. I improvised. The little hole in the shirt got our man's attention and I used that opening to jab him with my finger, right over his heart. A little mind arts and he felt like he was having an attack of angina," said Potter.
"Did you kill him?" Greengrass demanded. "Did you kill him over a little money?"
"He was waving a gun around in front of you and my daughters," said Potter. "I didn't kill him on purpose although the illusion is powerful and unprepared people are reported to have died during the experience. The illusion isn't designed that way but there are cases in the literature. Why? Are you concerned? Were you going to draw down on him? I wasn't carrying a gun and I'm pretty sure the witches were unarmed. He was a threat and I neutralized him without firing a shot. If he hadn't had the damn pistol in his hand I could have done something different but pulling a wand on someone pointing a gun can have all kinds of unintended consequences."
Greengrass stood there, speechless.
"Want to take a shower? Calm down, relax. We've got some mead around here…"
Perhaps Greengrass thought Potter was mocking her. She looked furious.
"Why did you…aughhh! I can't…I have to know! Get out of my way, PLEASE!" said Greengrass, brushing Potter out of her path with a forearm. Then she was through the front door and gone.
Potter was pulled out of a reverie by the sound of witches coming downstairs.
"Dad, where is Miss Greengrass?" asked Ane. "She promised we would read and drink hot chocolate."
"She's gone," said Delphi. "Did we run her off, Harry?"
"Nothing you did," Potter assured them.
"Is she coming back?" asked Ane, clearly worried now.
"Time will tell, but I don't think so," said Potter.