The World's a Stage
Preshow
Harry
"Furthermore, there are some very interesting ways that magical beings are treated by the law in Romania, isn't that right, Harry?"
Harry kept his firewhiskey pressed to his lips, buying himself the time he needed to come up with a response – sure, he knew a little about Romanian society, but not so much that he wanted to chime in to this conversation that was rapidly becoming A Thing.
"Er," He began.
"Romania's different than Britain," Remus interjected, allowing Harry to return to nursing his drink, "and we can definitely do better than taking inspiration from Blood-suckers."
"Remus!" Hermione chastised. "First, that is a very offensive term! They prefer to be called Vampires, or 'Dragon-blooded' if you want to be polite. Secondly, while it is certainly not perfect, the Roman Court has centuries of reasonably peaceful coexistence between humans and other so-called magical beings, which has to be preferable to…"
Harry honestly stopped listening by this point. He loved Hermione, he truly did, but once she got started on one of the Things that had currently caught her attention, there was absolutely no stopping her, or even convincing her to change her mind. Even though she'd learned from the whole S.P.E.W. kerfuffle of their childhoods, the opinionated and strong-willed school girl of that time had grown up into a fiercely intelligent, deeply caring, and incredibly stubborn woman.
"Oi, Harry, need a refill?" George called out across the room, and Harry gladly took the opportunity to wander into the den, where the Weasley was sprawled out comfortably in a chair, a (rapidly-emptying) bottle of firewhiskey at his side.
"Cheers, mate," Harry thanked him, clinking their glasses together. Tonks sat across from them, presumably also sheltering herself from the escalating debate on laws and regulations which Remus and Hermione were engaged in.
"Might as well talk shop over here, eh?" She joked, throwing her gaze over Harry's shoulder at Hermione and her husband, who were now bringing out documents to support their arguments. Harry rolled his eyes, while he'd grown to appreciate the importance of research and even learning as he'd grown older, he would never find himself fit for academia in the same way as the two at the dining table.
"Might as well," he agreed, "got anything interesting for me?"
"Bugger all," Tonks replied, taking a deep swig of her own beer, "not that you'll hear me complaining, but you've done a bloody bang-up job at scaring off most of the more interesting cases."
Harry allowed himself a hint of pride at that. While not a full-fledged Auror like Tonks, his contract work with them allowed him to exercise his ongoing drive to hunt down dark wizards and witches without getting himself mixed up in another scenario where sacrificing himself seemed like the best outcome.
"Shame," Harry continued, "I wouldn't mind the chance to have something to do other than attend weddings."
"Heh," Tonks snorted, "I'm sure you've been idle, just lazing about in your mansion until you have a chance to attends galas, that definitely sounds like you. What'bout your end?" She asked, slurring only slightly, "heard anything that the Aurors should know about?"
"Hm," Harry answered, the information spilling from his lips as soon as it came to mind. "Pansy Parkinson approached me at Draco and Gin's wedding, apparently she's opening a clothing shop of some sort. Sounds like it's on the up-and-up, but it's Knockturn, y'might want to keep an eye on it just in case."
"Parkinson?" George cried out, dramatically pressing the back of his hand to his head as if he were overcome by this word alone, "these snakes, they just keep sinking their fangs into you poor, innocent lions!"
Harry rolled his eyes again. "It's not like that," he lied, "I think she was just excited about her store, or something."
"Ah, the foibles of youth," George bemoaned, as he pantomimed being stabbed in the heart, "she's a fit bird, I'll give you as much, but I'd be too scared of her poisoning me! Now, if you wanna go for a snake, why not follow in ickle Ronnie's footsteps and snag a Greengrass?"
"A 'fit bird', eh?" Harry replied, feeling a flush creeping up the back of his neck, "How y'figure Angie would take it if she heard about you ogling Slytherins?"
"Ang," George answered, pronouncing Angelina's name like "anj" - which she hated - "was the one who pointed out Pansy's dress at the wedding," George continued, waggling his eyebrows lasciviously.
Harry just snorted in response, raising his glass towards George in a mocking toast.
"'sides," George kept going, "I'm just concerned about my little 'siblings', you know, just wanna see you and 'Mione find some nice people."
"Don't think you'll have to worry about 'mione for long," Harry chuckled, before he winced at himself for engaging in this gossip. Although - thank Merlin - George dropped the idea of suggesting that Harry and Hermione get together after he'd been thoroughly excoriated for bringing it up once (Harry loved Hermione, and she loved him, but it was not that kind of love), he still had a frustrating insistence on suggesting possible suitors for each. Of course, unlike others who had been more serious about doing so, half of the reason George kept this joke up was because Harry's frustrated reactions amused him, but if Harry had the shape of things right, Hermione wasn't really on the market for a suitor.
She'd been out of town for Ginny and Draco's wedding, after all, and was apparently recently up to date on the goings-on in the so-called "Roman Court" that oversaw magical society in Romania – and, unlike the divisions in the Muggle world, it counted Bulgaria among its territories. Harry smirked to himself. He liked Krum, and – crucially – Viktor had never once expressed any kind of insecurity over Hermione's fierce intelligence.
"Aye," Tonks began, apparently amused at George's digression, "where is 'anj' tonight, anyways?"
"Oh, you know," George waved his hand dismissively, "busy lady, 'leesh has a game this weekend, gotta support the team, y'know."
"Ah, and how is Alicia?" Tonks inquired.
Harry rolled his eyes, exasperated at his friends. There had been a lot of whispered speculation that George, Angelina, and Alicia were in some sort of relationship together, though nobody (at least, none of those who actually cared to gossip about it) had figured out if George was with Angelina who was with Alicia, or if George and Angelina sometimes dallied with Alicia, or if all three were with each other, or what. Harry, for his own part, didn't care: if the three were happy with whatever arrangement existed, good for them.
"Oh, she's good, she's good," George answered, unconcerned, "Katie, though, sounds like she's been a bit lonely out in Scotland, you should go visit her, Harry."
Harry's ears flushed. He'd been involved with Katie briefly, but it was (as they had mutually agreed on while before they'd ever shagged) nothing resembling a relationship, and George bringing this up was surely meant to distract Tonks from his own juicy gossip.
"Er," Harry answered, "right, yeah."
"Harry!" Hermione's voice called, which – at this point – he was grateful for, he'd actually rather get bogged down in political debate than discuss the inner workings of his love life. "Question for you!"
"Right," Harry continued, rising from the lounge chair, and walking back to the dining table, not missing the chortles originating from George and Tonks alike.
"So," Hermione began, her tone only somewhat clipped, "Remus and I were wondering what the mood is at the Wizengamot regarding werewolves, these days."
Harry shrugged. "No clue."
"What?" Hermione asked after the briefest of delays.
"Haven't exactly been many trials lately," Harry answered, "haven't been involved in a while."
"Har-what?" Hermione sputtered, blending his name into a second question, "trials? Harry, the Wizengamot isn't just about trials!"
"Oh," he replied – this would make more sense of why they kept owling him about his attendance. "I kind of assued…"
"It's… it's more like parliament, kind of," Hermione continued – Harry winced, as he felt a learning moment approaching from the tone of her voice, "the representatives of different Ministry branches and Noble Houses vote on a variety of wizarding laws. You're the head of two Noble Houses, Harry, you have more votes than pretty much anyone else!"
"Ah," Harry scratched his head, "I, er, didn't really know about that." He had a general idea about it, of course, but politics was a world that he had less than 'no interest' in getting involved with.
"Harry," Remus interjected, "you really should at least attend the votes…"
Great, Harry thought, now I get two lectures.
Still better than "helpful" suggestions about my love life.
The rest of the evening had passed relatively painlessly – he'd made a half-hearted offer to try and attend more Wizengamot sessions to Hermione (he probably wouldn't), and this had at least calmed her down enough that she managed to re-focus on the debate with Remus over the term "magical being" compared to "magic-natured person" (apparently a more "inclusive" means of referring to Werewolves, Vampires, and the like).
He still found himself sitting with a drink in his hand at Grimmauld Place, a frustrated kind of tension rattling around in his head. As if by magic – heh – he heard the enchanted notebook which Daphne, Pansy, and himself used to communicate ping with a cheerful sound, notifying him of a new message from one of the two.
"Hey," The message – from Daphne – read, "you fancy a drink?"
"Absolutely," Harry scrawled his reply.
"Excellent. My place."
Well, Harry thought, that's certainly one way to salvage his mood. He quickly checked himself in a mirror – still wearing his outfit from Remus' little dinner party, which was probably smart enough (though he ditched the jumper he'd been wearing over his button-down), he exhaled heavily, trying to force some of his frustration out of his mind, replacing it with images of Daphne's apartment, before apparating with a crack.
On arrival, he immediately took note of the cool air in Daphne's apartment, a faint hint of fragrance lingering in the air.
"In here, Harry," Daphne called, as he kicked his shoes off beside her doorway. Making his way to her bedroom, he was greeted with the pleasant sight of Daphne Greengrass sprawled over a chaise longue, a vibrantly green drink in one hand, slow wisps of smoke curling off a lit cigarette in the other, and what seemed like a silk robe of some sort draped over her.
"How're you?" She drawled, the very vaguest hint of intoxication in her voice.
"Not terrible," Harry answered, seating himself beside her. She idly extended her legs to fall over his lap, and just as idly his hand fell over her calf, his thumb running in small circles. "Dinner got a bit tense, I'm glad to get away, honestly." "Oh?" She asked, wordlessly offering him her cigarette – menthol, and light – as she turned to dangle one of her legs against the floor, "the kind of tense a drink could help?"
"Hah," Harry chuckled, "it just might."
"Allow me," She answered cheerfully, smoothly rising from her distinctly lounging position onto her feet with a grace that Harry could never duplicate. "Anything in particular behind this tension?" she asked as she strode from the room.
Harry – his gaze fixed firmly on her arse as she sashayed away – took a moment to respond. "Just some shite about the Wizengamot," he spoke dismissively of the topic, "apparently I'm not doing my duty as a head of house."
"Mm," Daphne made a noise of understanding, as she returned to the room carrying a second vibrant green drink, which Harry noticed only after his eyes traveled up her (spectacular) bare legs, over her hips, up her chest (which threatened to escape the confines of her silk robe), and lingered briefly on her lips. "How's that?"
As she returned to sitting beside him – albeit upright, this time – Harry shrugged, and took a sip of the drink. Something with absinthe, he realized, not that he was particularly choosy at this juncture. "I haven't been to the sessions in, well, ever," he explained.
"So?" Daphne asked, her eyebrow quirking in a particularly attractive way. "It's not like anything's happened lately that your delegates can't handle."
Harry didn't answer, just taking another sip of his drink, as his own eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Delegates?
"Harry," Daphne continued, picking up on his consternation, "you know you can appoint someone to attend Wizengamot sessions in your name, right?"
He hadn't, of course, but this certainly made things easier – if Hermione had such an interest in local politics, then perhaps she would enjoy being involved much more than he would.
"That's a… good idea," He admitted, stubbing out the cigarette, "not that I'm particularly interested in the whole pureblood politics thing."
"Me neither," Daphne answered, as she turned to face him, one of her legs draping over his lap, "still tense, though?"
"Mm," Harry answered, putting his drink down and running a hand up the back of Daphne's leg, "a little, I suppose."
"Well," Daphne smirked as she moved the rest of the way, pressing up against Harry, as he realized she wasn't wearing anything under her robe, "I think I can help with that."
That was an excellent idea, he thought.
.