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 Nine
A Harry and Daphne Fanfic
By
Bfd1235813
Potter arranged for some extended childcare via a floo conversation with Andromeda Tonks. They made a serious effort to keep the volume low and the content non-specific. Potter knew he would unleash a circus if Teddy and the Black witches learned he was going to take a little longer getting back in order to call on his prospective in-laws. They would just naturally assume that meant by sundown, they would have a new stepmother-witch.
Potter's caution in his discussions, primarily with Delphi, stemmed from his superstition that anticipation of a favorable outcome could somehow jinx things. Only in the deepest recesses of his mind did Potter admit to himself that, one, he had fallen for Daphne Greengrass and, two, he wanted her for himself and, three, his little witches really needed someone like Daphne to show them how being a pureblood witch was done.
Potter didn't dwell on misfortune. He would have gone completely insane if all the bad luck in his life were foremost in his mind. Potter did have a bunch of it. He emerged into adulthood a recognized war hero. He learned he had two hereditary titles. He was a member of British magical society's governing body. None of it went to his head.
Instead, he harbored a longing for a witch who had been a deadly enemy. After helping her escape prison, which she deserved, he took her sailing outside magical law enforcement's reach.
He fell for her and he fell hard.
She shed her psychotic ways and devoted herself to making Potter happy. Then she died.
The day they all went sailing, Potter's thoughts verged on chaotic. He wanted Daphne Greengrass. She seemed to want him. Potter's daughters were smitten. He tried not to think of everyone's bright future together lest the heartbreaks all come back once more.
"Done," he said.
"Do you think they overheard?" asked Greengrass.
"Oh, the smart money would go all in on 'Yep,'" he said.
"I think you're right, so, ready?" she asked.
"Let's," he said, giving the Potter Manor hearth a little wave.
Daphne Greengrass did the honors, dropping the floo powder and asking to be transported to 'Greengrass Manor.'
Potter didn't know what to expect for a reception. Daphne's parents would be expecting some kind of news. She was a lawyer, after all, with a practice in London, clients, legal work to get done. An afternoon call with the single wizard in tow held meaning, of some sort.
They emerged from the Greengrass Manor floo via a fireplace in a room Potter recognized from an earlier visit. He'd brought the Black witches there for a birthday fete. The room had portraits and magical artifacts but wasn't overdone. A thought flashed, that Daphne Greengrass had been shaped by her environment. She was like the room, all good taste, moderated by restraint. There was a saying. 'Still waters run deep.' Potter resolved, in a flash, to keep that thought at the front of his mind.
"Lord Harry, welcome back," said Daphne's mother, Isabella.
Lady Greengrass stepped forward, her right hand coming up to approximately waist level.
"Madame," said Potter as he brought his hand up beneath Isabella's.
He held the hand, bent at the waist and brushed her knuckles with his lips. Bella Black, of the Jamaica Blacks, had taken her time explaining the magical protocol for the kissing of hands. She took him through the various degrees of closeness, within families and outside. An enthusiast for all the pureblood customs, Bella had infinite patience, it seemed to Potter.
"I have to get you ready," Bella told him, failing to add what it was she was getting him ready for.
Holding Isabella Greengrass's hand in front of the fireplace, Potter's mind drifted back. He smiled a little smile, which none of the others saw because his face was directed downwards.
A prospective in-law, not otherwise related, with no or very little shared history. He hoped Bella would agree his minimal contact with Isabella's knuckles was polite, appropriate and mildly-affectionate with no suggestion of familial bonds or other, more intimate relations. Potter was well-drilled and hoped Bella would agree.
Daphne Greengrass responded, in a chaste and restrained way, by touching Potter's back gently with just her fingertips, starting between his shoulder blades, then letting them drift slowly downward.
Potter turned toward Cyrus Greengrass.
"My lord," said Potter. "Thank-you for receiving me."
The two shook hands.
"We're honored to have you in our home, my lord," said Cyrus. "Will you sit?"
The last thing Potter needed, following lunch and the ministrations of the elves of Potter Manor, was more tea. He had the presence of mind to accept a cup from the Greengrass elf, raise it to his lips and smile.
"Excellent!" pronounced Harry Potter.
Isabella smiled at Potter, then gave just the slightest nod toward Daphne. Potter noticed and hoped that meant Daphne's mother was complimenting her on her taste in wizards.
Some minutes passed in polite exchanges covering a range of subject matter. Everyone participated in determining that Potter and Greengrass were both members of the ill-starred Hogwarts year that culminated in Potter's ridding Magical Britain of its greatest menace. Daphne had gone for her mastery in the law. Potter had retained her services. Isabella was pleased to learn Potter found her daughter's legal services well worth her fee. The two had visited one of Potter's country properties, that day, in fact. He had learned to sail and completed Trans-Atlantic voyages.
He and Narcissa Malfoy (plus Draco and Scorpius) were distant cousins, making Daphne's sister Astoria a cousin by marriage. There was more, garnering comments—'My, my! Is that so?'—of agreement on the most commonplace observations.
"More tea?" asked Isabella.
Potter scoured his brain, seeking guidance from his protocol lessons under Bellatrix Black. He didn't need more tea. He needed an opening, leading to a graceful transition to business. Potter was there with a purpose, to table a piece of information. He needed to announce his opening bid for the hand of the Honorable Daphne Greengrass.
"Oh, I wish I could, Lady Isabella. Truth is I've reached my capacity. There is, however, something I need to raise this afternoon. Your hospitality has me in a mood—well, if I needed anything more, your hospitality convinced me I can delay no longer. I seek your permission to call upon your daughter as a suitor. We met over a professional matter. Then I got to know her better. My daughters are mad for her. She went sailing with us and we agree we fit. Nothing more needs to be said. If you have wishes or requirements I want to accommodate anything reasonable."
Potter looked at Daphne, who sent a smile his way, a very slight smile. Potter interpreted that as a non-verbal, 'Nicely done!'
Cyrus sat up, very straight. He looked thoughtful and serious. Potter didn't know Cyrus, really. One meal and some nods in passing, those were the extent of their dealings. He waited, expecting an onslaught of mentions of bride prices or other material matters deriving from the obvious advantage to the Potters and Blacks of gaining a witch of Daphne's breeding and education.
Potter didn't know it but Lord Cyrus Greengrass harbored some fear that Daphne, due to the betrothal to Laurent Selwyn, was going to live with himself and Isabella for the rest of their lives. Some of the hard-core traditionalists would see her as Daphne had described herself: damaged goods. The mere fact of the betrothal would attract the attention of busybodies who would not be resistant to thoughts of the couple treating the betrothal as close enough to marriage to just go ahead and start enjoying their carnal privileges.
In reality, Daphne had begun to wonder, by the time of Selwyn's death, whether he was interested in her in a physical way. He had kissed her hand, twice, at evening events. She took his arm to enter dining rooms. That was it. She hadn't heard anything indelicate but she did speculate.
If Daphne speculated about Selwyn, the busybodies would surely speculate about Daphne. That would be enough to make some families prejudiced which could have meant spinsterhood. He hid it well but Cyrus Greengrass breathed a figurative sigh of relief, hearing of Potter's interest in Daphne.
Smiles and titters were seen and heard as Isabella's hand came to a gentle landing on Daphne's.
"Our career woman," Isabella said to Harry. "Proud as we are, a mother can't help her interest."
Potter thought that an extraordinarily diplomatic way to admit to being nosy.
Isabella's timing was perfect as she suddenly remembered some domestic problem she had encountered that required Daphne's presence in the kitchen. Cyrus stood, kissing Isabella on the cheek, squeezing Daphne's upper arm, then closing the door behind them. Instead of returning to his chair, Cyrus crossed to a cabinet that turned out to be a dry bar and began arranging bottles.
"Gin. Irish whiskey. Scotch whiskey. American Bourbon. Vodka. Soda. Tonic. Looks like there is still a finger or two of mead," said Cyrus.
"Whatever you're having," said Potter. "Not picky."
"No favorites?" asked Cyrus.
"Never pursued it long enough to develop a taste," Potter replied.
"Very wise. Let's do just a wee dram…" said Cyrus as he reached for the Scotch.
"To our mutual something-or-other," he said, handing Potter the little glass. "Now, you want to court Daphne?"
"Yes, sir. She's agreeable."
Cyrus Greengrass smiled and took a sip of whiskey.
"Wonderful. Let's get something out of the way, Lord Harry," Cyrus said. "Daphne was betrothed. Did you know?"
"Yeah, she told me about it," Potter said.
"Good. You're okay with that? No lingering doubts? The reason I ask is the old prejudices show up. When they do, the least damaging result is hurt feelings," said Cyrus. "You don't have any of that?"
"Oh. I see what you're getting at. Look, I am a half-blood. My mother was muggleborn, a witch but she would have been unacceptable to at least half of the purebloods. So would I. Nor was I brought up according to my so-called 'station.' My parents left me a little money but I was kept away from of all that. Never got any talks from my dad about finances, how to make what I had stretch to cover what I had to cover, how to insure any surplus went back to work and not down the urinal. After the fighting, when my horizons could expand a bit, I saw how much I had to learn and I went to work. I also got the hell out of here and stopped thinking about purebloods and half-bloods and mudbloods and muggles and seeing a rain cloud or a crow in those terms. Some of the old ways are wisdom of the ages and some are pernicious bullshit, if you'll excuse my language."
"Well," said Cyrus Greengrass, "Sounds like you know your own mind on that subject."
"If I was overly-blunt, I apologize," said Potter. "Daphne is a lawyer. She is already making a name for herself. That is how we met, I needed some wise counsel and she did a little work for me. Worth every penny, by the way. A betrothal when she was in her teens certainly does not damage her in my book. Not that I would be one to call a contemporary damaged, no matter what they did when we were kids."
"Oh, so you don't mind if I ask something?" said Greengrass.
"Go ahead," said Potter.
"You have daughters—"
"Bella Black, of the Jamaica Blacks," said Potter. "We met sailing. Tragically, we lost her, to a heart condition. If you don't mind, the girls and I find the subject difficult."
"Of course, of course," said Greengrass, looking a bit sheepish.
Both paused and took little sips of their whiskey.
"Anything else? We're more than capable of taking in another family member, especially one who supports herself," said Potter. "We can give her all the country life she can handle. I have a couple of family places in the sticks. Everything is big enough to give her a room of her own which she can use any way she pleases."
As Potter and Greengrass sipped whiskey, Isabella Greengrass was pouring her daughter yet another cup of tea. They sat in a little passageway between the main kitchen and a large pantry. Someone had noticed the space years before. They saved the connection between rooms and tucked in a little table and some chairs. The result was a private, unobtrusive nook that could have been designed just for mother-daughter teatime and private discussions of engagements and post-wedding plans.
"Now," said Isabella, "You don't have any related news?"
"I'm NOT pregnant, how's that?" asked Daphne.
"Don't get testy, girl, it's just better if a mother knows these things in advance," Isabella answered. "To be prepared, of course."
Daphne sighed.
"We've never gone to bed, Mother. Don't let that keep you awake," she said.
"I meant no offense."
"None taken," said Daphne. "I know what you mean, believe me. Some of the Slytherin witches, after the fighting was over, you know? They really wanted to know if I was going to have a little Selwyn. You would have thought they expected to be front row for tabloid history. That took months to settle down. Actually, I wonder what the Selwyn's would have said if I showed up on their doorstep with a little bundle in my arms?"
"I like to think they would have asked you in, given you a room of your own, an elf and raised the baby as a Selwyn. Name and all. Although, honestly, I can't know for certain. Some of the old families can be so backwards," said Isabella.
"Cut off the nose to spite the face," observed Daphne. "For your information, Harry is totally captured by the girls. I wouldn't be surprised to learn it was them who cornered him and made him take me sailing. Quite a surprise. He was an outlaw, literally. Now he is a toady for two young witches."
"That is a real career change," Isabella agreed. "You seem to be okay, with his earlier, ahh, arrangement?"
"She was a powerful witch, quite skilled," said Daphne. "I don't anticipate coming home to find her compromising my future husband. By the way, I know at least two witches roughly my age who couldn't say that."
Isabella blushed and didn't look right at Daphne.
A few rooms distant, Cyrus offered Potter a little freshen-up with a wave of the whiskey bottle.
"No, thank-you," Potter answered.
He wondered when Cyrus Greengrass would get to the main agenda item, how much he expected Potter to put up in recompense for absorbing the noble and rising London magical solicitor, Daphne Greengrass, into the House of Potter and Black. Potter did not expect to get off cheap. Social Daphne's C.V. was almost other-worldly.
Daphne's father was a successful businessman. Her mother was a masterpiece of genealogical engineering with a right to display the arms of Asturias. They were pillars of British Magical society, at least now that the threat to the whole structure of British Magical society was removed. Daphne was a Slytherin witch. She lost count of the OWLs and NEWTs she had earned. After graduating from Hogwarts with honors, she earned her mastery in law and joined one of the most prominent London magical law firms where she rapidly gained a reputation for expertise in magical family law and inheritance issues. The hiccup that was her one-time betrothal to Laurent Selwyn turned out to be ephemeral when the necessary nine months passed without issue.
In short, Potter thought, Daphne Greengrass was a catch and perfect fit for Harry and the Black witches. He anticipated being asked for a bundle. After some pro forma quibbling, Potter expected to pay up.
"Well, Harry, I hope you don't want to go back and forth over money. Some men think that is fun or expected or something. You don't strike me as being like that. We need some numbers for the contract, so I propose a bride price of, say, ten thousand galleons. Isabel and I will gift the same amount to Daphne as a dowry. Gringotts will deposit that in her vault. We have an embarrassing collection of heirloom china, silver, crystal, linens, tapestries, you name it. Daphne can have all of that she wants. Her mother wants to give her some special pieces of jewelry. They are probably better-informed than I am. Daphne and Astoria played dress-up with some of it," Cyrus concluded.
"That sounds reasonable," said Potter. "You know more about the customs and traditions than I do, but if you will match the bride price at ten thousand, would you do the same at fifteen or twenty? She has a job and all but Daphne might want a little capital under her control."
"Can't very well say no, since you're the source of it all," said Cyrus. "Whatever you think, Harry. Isabel and I will handle getting it transferred into Daphne's vault."
Potter thought they were done. Cyrus ought to have sighed, relaxed and stretched his legs out before him. Potter noticed he didn't. Instead, Cyrus seemed tighter than ever.
"Um…One more thing, if I may?" asked Cyrus.
"Certainly," Potter said, puzzled by Cyrus' obvious tension.
"We've met your lovely daughters, of course," said Cyrus.
Daphne and Isabella had arrived at Delphi and Ane just as Cyrus was speaking.
"Can I speak freely?" asked Isabella.
Daphne flinched. She was under the impression they had been speaking freely all along, as one does in a proper mother-daughter conversation.
"Please," said Daphne. "Anything you have to get off your chest? Let me know if you've confidences to impart."
"Daphne!" huffed Isabella, "It's nothing of the sort. I simply wondered, the witches being who they are if you think safety…"
"Mother, please be careful," cautioned Daphne.
"Ahhh..." said Isabella, her eyes filling with tears.
"You and Astoria are my darlings," she said, trying to stay coherent even though she was weeping. "You always will be. I'm just concerned. We never spoke of her but I knew Bellatrix. Those witches could have come out of the same mold! Harry seems nice but he is no stranger to violence. I can't help thinking about that!"
"Oh, Mum," said Daphne as she reached for Isabella's hands.
"I know a little bit about the Blacks, too. Harry says Bella totally reversed course after her second conviction. She worked on all her issues, started meditating, had a life-altering experience that lasted two or three days and so on. Now, Harry and the witches have turned a page. I believe they deserve a bit of slack. Yes, Harry experienced a lot but it comes out as knowing how to face things calmly, logically and kind of professionally, to be honest. The witches are lively. Lots of magic in them, but they're delightful to be around. They need proper handling and an absence of people disparaging their heritage. Sorry if I'm coming on too strong."
Isabella Greengrass sat back in her chair, studying her daughter.
"You're right," she said. "That wasn't fair. They seem to be well-behaved young witches. You want to guide their preparation for Hogwarts, don't you?"
Something about Isabella's words brought up a vision of working with young witches, just as Daphne had done for Astoria when she was home on break.
Back in the salon, Potter had ceased speaking just as Daphne became voluble. He'd never considered an arrangement such as the one described by Cyrus Greengrass. Cyrus suggested they agree that Potter and Daphne Greengrass would make every effort to produce children until Daphne bore a son, and that the said, first-born son would be called Greengrass. It would be more accurate to say the boy would be named 'Something-Something-Greengrass,' with Harry and Daphne in charge of the first two names .
"So as I understand it, when we are married, Daphne is expected to become pregnant and produce a young wizard who will bear the surname Greengrass. We will be responsible for raising him, educating him and so on. Then, when we're gone, he will inherit from Daphne? So no more Potters," said Potter.
"Oh, you can make whatever provisions for the lad you think best," said Cyrus. "If the law and customs of succession are still the same, eventually he will inherit this place. Well, everything that wasn't part of Astoria and Scorpius' bequests. What is the succession for your property?"
"Oh, young Teddy Lupin will get Black. At present, I should say, he is the Heir. My daughter Delphi is Potter. I'll figure out a way to take care of Ane. There is plenty of time. I just…well, I've always assumed, kind of vaguely, I'd have a son," said Potter.
"Lord Harry, if I could, you would still have a son," said Cyrus. "It's just, Isabel and I only had daughters. Daphne is the Heiress Greengrass, no question, but if she does not have a Greengrass child, the line goes dormant. There is all the ancillary stuff as well, like the seat in the Wizengamot. The manor and land would probably end up consolidated into the Potter holdings, then one generation later, someone had better be sitting on a shipload of cash to pay the estate taxes."
Potter leaned back in his easy chair. He hadn't thought about any of that. Instead, his visions of gauzy atmospheric conditions, waking up warmly cuddling his bride while young witches cavorted upstairs and down in his enchanted London townhouse, providing generous stipends and estates for godsons and a nephew-in-law combined to displace the practical subject matter Cyrus described.
"Please indulge me, Lord Cyrus," said Potter. "I haven't thought about any of that. This will take some time. I might have to engage a different lawyer. Daphne could have a conflict of interest."
"Certainly," said Cyrus. "Take all the time you need. Did you have any other questions?"
"I don't think so," said Potter. "Daphne and I are a little further along in real life. No need to make this complicated. We aren't seventeen."
"Well said," Greengrass noted. "Talk to whomever you want, get the answers in advance. Ready for another?"
He meant whiskey.
"Half-finger," said Potter. "No cheating."
Cyrus Greengrass was on his way back to his chair when he had to divert to the door due to Isabella's knock. The witches entered, their faces in quizzical mode, seeking answers to questions Potter and Cyrus Greengrass could have dictated with no further study.
"Am I betrothed?" asked Daphne.
"Uh, well, not exactly," said Potter.
"We covered a lot of ground, darling, very productive," said Cyrus.
"What is wrong?" Isabella demanded.
"Oh…" said Cyrus.
"We, uh…" added Potter.
The four looked back and forth but only Daphne Greengrass seemed to know what to do. Potter could usually make sense when it was just the two of them. Greengrass reached toward Potter.
"Come," she said, her fingers flexing, ready to grasp an arm or hand.
Daphne Greengrass had lots of favorite walks around Greengrass Manor. There were the routes she took when she needed some solitary time and all the places she and Astoria had had adventures. Strolls to family picnic grounds when Cyrus and Isabella's family was young and hilarious and such a beautiful pair of sisters they could stop conversation in a Diagon Alley store, just by walking inside.
"What is it?" asked Greengrass as they strolled along, hands joined.
"I didn't see it coming but Cyrus wants a son," said Potter.
With only three questions, Daphne translated Potter's cryptic reply.
"You? Me? And a Greengrass son?"
"Yeah, I didn't know what to say," said Potter.
"Nonsense, he doesn't want a son," Greengrass answered.
"Well, I guess, but he wants a wizard with the name," Potter said.
"This is old magical family stuff coming out," said Greengrass. "It's strategic advance thinking to preserve family lines, along with rights to landholdings and so on. Cyrus and Isabella don't have a son. I'm oldest so the entailment requires I be the Heir. If I have a son, the usual work-around was to give him the surname Greengrass so all the family common property stayed together. Otherwise, the family risks being declared defunct and everything is broken up and parceled out making the Ministry the big winner because it can sell the house and land and put the money in the Treasury."
"That sounds right," Potter agreed. "Cyrus tried to explain."
"Do you have a problem with that?" asked Greengrass.
"Well, if we have one son, he's either the Potter or we have the same situation with Delphi," said Potter. "She'd have to produce a Potter or our name will die out."
"Look, Delphi is already the Potter Heir, right?" asked Greengrass.
"Right," Potter answered.
"So if you and I get married, you can be gracious and concede your first-born son will be the Greengrass Heir, once removed because of me being first in line."
"There's a bench," said Potter. "Want to sit? Okay. Let's say we marry and the usual natural stuff happens and we get a baby boy and he's the Greengrass. He waits patiently and eventually you go to your reward. He gets this place?"
"If we still have it," said Greengrass. "You want to get us married then sell this so you can buy a bigger boat, I take it?"
"NO! Damn, Daphne, where do you get your ideas?" Potter demanded. "All I am saying is this inheritance stuff has kind of taken me by surprise. It feels like I've known I am Harry Potter and my parents were James and Lily Potter for as long as I can remember. If I thought about it at all, I suppose my assumption was any sons I had would be Potters."
"That's the key—if you thought about it at all, do you see?" asked Greengrass. "The magical landowning families got canny, over time, about succession, inheritance and property rights. Wizengamot seats are highly-coveted because the members can influence legislation dealing with taxes, public expenditures and all kinds of stuff."
"All of which goes back to inheritance," Potter mused, his eyes looking off into the who-knows-where.
"Are you starting to get it, even a little?" Greengrass asked. "I'm going slow on purpose so you can keep up."
"I have titles, which confer seats," said Potter.
"Good thinking!" said Greengrass. "Keep going…"
"If I were to marry the Greengrass Heir," Potter continued, "Her interests would interlock with mine. We hadn't ought to be opponents. Our three votes should serve the general interest, of course. Our family would be totally in agreement, I'm sure."
"That's my big, public-spirited boy coming out! Anything else?"
She was leaning forward, encouragement showing all over her sculptured, aristocratic face.
"Handled properly and with due concern for the sacred traditions, we could give the next generation the tools to keep the greater, extended family of Potter-Black-Greengrass—I don't know about Malfoy—prominent, comfortable, influential…" said Potter.
"Oooh, you certainly know how to sweet-talk a hormonal pureblood witch, Harry. I'm virtually untouched as a mating-age woman and yet this is exactly how I always imagined my magically-powerful wizard husband initiating foreplay!"
"Yes, I can see, I just bet this is exactly how you imagined it," said Potter. "Hints of generational power transfer, not to mention land and gold. Then there are the twenty or twenty-five Thoroughbred mares your husband gave you, tending their colts in your pasture. Of course we're beating the system devised by the bureaucrats by the subtle naming of a magical son, even if that is pure speculation at this point!"
"Harry, not so fast!" demanded Greengrass. "I'll finish too soon."
"I can do it again if you'll give me five minutes to catch my breath," Potter assured her.
Daphne Greengrass twisted on the bench, enclosing Potter's torso in a crushing hug as she buried her face in Potter's neck.
"Tell me about the name," she whispered. "Tell me and I'll give my wizard my obeisance. On my knees. Just suggest a name."
"Mmm…Cyrus?" said Potter.
Greengrass groaned.
"More…can you do more?" she pleaded.
"Cyrus…Draconis…"
"Harry…Harry…" she breathed as Potter felt fingernails on his back, pressing through his robe and the shirt underneath.
"Cyrus Draconis Potter Greengrass," Potter shouted, finally, as Greengrass moaned and bucked a little inside his embrace.
It was five minutes later that Daphne Greengrass cleared her throat, said "Well, then!" and started to disentangle them. "Do you want…"
"Here? Hell, no, that's private," said Potter. "Just credit my account. I'm sure I'll need it, eventually. What do you think? Will that be satisfactory?"
"Oh, Cyrus won't have any problem accepting that, Harry," said Daphne. "One thing…Draconis?"
"I thought it might be wise to throw the Malfoys a bone. You know, encouraging them to stay in the Potter-Greengrass orbit. Draconis is a camouflaged reference to Draco. What do you think?" asked Potter.
"My fiancé is a genius," said Greengrass. "A genius and a quick study."
"Have we said, 'I love you?' because it just hit me maybe we'd ought to," said Potter.
"No, you inconsiderate lover who kept me dangling throughout weeks of professional consultations before finally taking me sailing with his little witches," said Greengrass. "I love you."
"That's good because I love you," replied Potter. "Ready to go chat up Cyrus and Isabella?"
"Merlin! I always saw this as bureaucracy run amok and it's actually kind of fun," said Greengrass.
She brought them in via a paved patio through a sunroom to the central hallway and found Cyrus and Isabella in the room where Potter had had a drink with his prospective father-in-law.
"Many thanks to my esteemed lawyer, Daphne Greengrass, for the most cogent explanation of some subtleties of magical culture," Potter said, bowing to Daphne.
"My thanks to the gallant wizard Harry James Potter, Order of Merlin, for a memorable half-hour in the gardens of my childhood," replied Daphne.
Her smile was incredibly warm and gracious, considering the defined planes of her face, accented by nostrils and ears that were delicately translucent and those raptor's eyes that seemed to come and go as required. She might have been modeled on Athena with her helmet and lance, the deadly beauty a natural force that could be appeased by prayer and sacrifice but, when pleased to do so, granted only temporary respite.
Potter saw it and wondered, for just a moment, why he wanted it with all his heart and soul.
"We have agreed to a proposal," Potter began. "Now, Daphne having taken me through some of the legalities and the advantages and disadvantages, I offer the following: Courtship and marriage to Daphne Greengrass in full accordance with the sacred customs; in recognition and appreciation, Potter will gift twenty thousand galleons to Greengrass; Daphne Greengrass will bring to her marriage a dowry of twenty thousand galleons, the disposition of which will be at the sole discretion of the bride; Harry Potter and Daphne Greengrass hereby agree the first male issue of their union shall bear the surname Greengrass as will his descendants."
By the time he finished, both Isabella and Daphne's cheeks were wet with tears. Cyrus was looking around, obviously awaiting his chance to speak.
"Did you consider any other names?" he asked.
Potter caught Daphne's eye and nodded.
"Father, we thought Cyrus Draconis Potter Greengrass had a nice sound," she said.
Isabella's wand was out first, pointed up at the ceiling.
"YES!" she shouted as sparks flew upward.
Cyrus followed, sending only a few sparks up before opening his arms for Daphne. Isabella got the spirit and embraced Potter, squeezing him while they rocked back and forth.
"Thank—thank you, um.." said Potter.
Lady Greengrass held Potter at arms-length and said, "Call me Isabel, Harry."