Morning After
Pansy
"This was a mistake," Pansy groused, "I know that I said I wanted to do this, but, well, I fucked up."
"We can't stop now that we've already started," Harry practically gloated, "just deal with it a bit longer, Pans."
"You're torturing me," she protested.
"Come on, Pans," Daphne taunted – though Pansy was glad to see that she had a sheen of sweat on her face – as she panted for breath, "this was your idea, so you have to deal with the consequences."
I'll show you "consequences", she grumbled to herself.
Her body practically burned, half with physical exertion, but half with fury.
In truth, the trio had made it a few laps around the grounds of Grimmauld Place, thanks to Pansy's absurd idea that she wanted to join Harry during his bloody exercise. At that moment, while it prickled her pride to admit, Pansy would have insisted that this was the greatest mistake that she'd ever made.
While she was a thin, lithe woman, it seemed that her svelte build hadn't conveyed any particular advantages in the area of fitness, judging from how her legs practically screamed at her as the three rounded their final lap.
When they finally came to a halt, she was infuriated all over again when she noticed that while Harry's skin glistened the slightest amount, he didn't even appear to be out of breath, while Pansy slumped to the ground to flop flat on her back.
Daphne giggled beside her, and she couldn't even summon the energy to reach out and pinch her girlfriend in retaliation.
"You did pretty good for your first time," Harry summoned a glass of cool water from thin air, and Pansy guzzled it, as even the chilly January air didn't seem sufficient to douse the heat which coursed through her lungs.
"I'm regretting it already," Pansy grumped, "what was I thinking? I'm a fucking Witch, can't I just cast some kind of cardio spell? Brew up a potion of fitness?"
"You know as well as I do," Daphne smirked, "that while our magic works to keep us healthy to a certain extent, the benefits don't quite extend to actually keeping us in good shape, in the same way."
"Why is that?" Harry wondered, running his fingers through his hair – Merlin, he looks great when he's sweaty – as he passed Daphne a similar glass of water, "I mean, I know the basics, 'Wizardkind' doesn't age as quickly as Muggles do once we hit adulthood, non-magical diseases basically don't affect us, all that, but why?"
"Well, you remember what Padma had talked about before, about the so-called magical presence each person has?" Daphne began to launch into one of her explanations, and Pansy smiled at her girlfriend's enthusiasm for these kinds of academic topics, "it's related to that. It could be argued that Witches and wizards are actually Magical Beings, that our ability to use magic is because we have a different nature when compared to Muggles."
"You may have noticed," Pansy drawled, "that it has certain benefits for you, Potter. After all, since you're attending all these balls and galas now, surely you've picked up on how a lot of Pureblood ladies look like they're in their thirties well after the fact."
"Yeah?" her boyfriend seemed confused, which Pansy couldn't help but grin at.
"That means that Daph and I," she gestured to herself and their girlfriend, "are gonna stay this gorgeous for quite some time. You lucky dog, you."
"Of course I am," Harry chuckled, and Pansy suddenly imagined her boyfriend as an older man, with more weathered features, maybe some greying hair at his temples, but his eyes still sharp and bright.
She liked this image that her mind had conjured up.
"Pansy more than myself, unfortunately," Daphne had a teasing note in her voice, "after all, plenty of Pureblood men look their age, so it's probably got something to do with vanity."
"Me, vain?" Pansy crossed her hands over her heart, as if wounded, "I am shocked that you would dare to describe me so accurately."
Not that she agreed with Daphne's first statement. Pansy was fairly certain that her girlfriend's beauty would only improve with age; she imagined Daphne's few lingering qualities that could be called "girlish" giving way to a sophisticated and regal countenance over time.
This image, as well, was one that Pansy found very appealing.
"I'm going to be even more of the odd one out than I already am," Harry joked, "just wait until I get all doughy and soft around the middle, in my comfortable old age."
"Oh, hush, you," Daphne laughed, "you're hardly the 'odd one out', you prat, you know that you're rather handsome."
"Is he?" Pansy teased, "I suppose he's got something of a quaint charm to him, if that's your thing. I'd rate him somewhere around the seventh 'Hottest Single Wizards', myself."
She referred to a recent Witch Weekly article which had, in fact, placed Harry in the number one position, a ranking that she did not intend to stop bringing up until Harry's reactions ceased to be so amusing.
"Seventh, eh?" Harry grinned at her, "I can't blame you, they still keep saying that Blaise is single, after all, to say nothing of my competition like Zacharias Smith…"
"Ugh," Daphne groaned, "he looks like a squirrel."
Pansy laughed at her girlfriend's criticism; while the man in question had been something of a heart-throb when he was in Hufflepuff, he had not aged well, and his personality did more to make him unappealing than even his not-great looks did.
"She's not wrong," Pansy agreed, "I suppose I could be convinced to give you the edge over him…"
She held her now-empty glass of water out towards Harry, waggling it expectantly at him.
When he waved his fingers in the air and sprayed cold water at her instead of filling her glass, she shrieked in protest, before she snatched Daphne's glass from her hands and splashed it on Harry as a counter-attack, darting behind her girlfriend to dodge Harry's attempt to reach out and grab her, cackling all the while.
"You two are impossible," Daphne sighed, before she whirled around to dig her fingers into Pansy's sides, causing her to shriek-giggle even harder as Daphne tickled her, "you know I'm going to team up against you when you start it, Pans."
"I can take you both," Pansy laughed, reaching around Daphne to flick Harry's nose, "just try me."
As it turned out, she couldn't handle their combined attack of tickling, pinches, and half-hearted swats to her arse, but she was more than happy to lose this particular battle.
Harry
He walked up the steps to the humble, yet cozy and "homey" house and knocked on the door. After a few moments, it opened, and Harry was greeted by his good friend Tonks.
"Wotcher, Harry," her catchphrase had remained consistent over the years, "come on in."
"Wotcher, Tonks," he replied, looking down to the skinny boy with shockingly green hair standing behind her, "oh, who's this young man?"
"It's me," the boy protested, "Teddy!"
"It couldn't be!" Harry made a show out of seeming flabbergasted, "Teddy isn't anywhere near as tall as you are!"
"I'm growing!" Teddy announced proudly, "I'm six now!"
I guess it has been that long, Harry mused, as he walked over to ruffle Teddy's hair, kneeling to his godson's level.
"Six, eh? Why, if I hadn't been at your birthday party, I might've guessed that you were seven!"
"No, I'm not seven yet!" Teddy stuck his tongue out as he thought, "not for, umm, three months!"
"Oh, what a shame," Harry spoke very seriously, "and here I brought a gift for you… I suppose it'll have to wait then, won't it?"
"Uh," Teddy thought about this, "I guess so?"
Harry grinned, and reached into his jacket to retrieve his present: a little toy dragon, charmed to prowl around and breathe (harmless) flames when ordered to.
"Well, I can't keep this little fellow waiting, I'm afraid," Harry watched as Teddy's eyes grew wide, "so I guess you'll just get a present a bit early, hey?"
"Thanks, Uncle Harry!" Teddy took the toy from Harry's hands when he offered it forwards, before turning to his mum, excitedly explaining to her what he'd just been gifted.
As he rose to his feet, Harry felt a warm contentedness with this reception. Teddy's a good kid, he thought, watching the young Metamorphmagus's hair shift from green to pink and back as Teddy explained "this is a Welsh Green!" to Tonks.
"I figure I'll hear about this for the next week," Tonks joked, "go have a seat in the lounge, Harry, Remus'll be right down."
"Cheers," Harry did just that.
He was often struck by the ways in which his godson seemed to have inherited an even split of both his parents' personalities: Teddy was easily-excited like Tonks, but also enjoyed reading and learning in the same way that Remus did. Harry figured that the young boy would have to grow up some more before his own disposition became more obvious, but as it stood now, he apparently tended towards shyness around people he didn't know.
This only made Harry even happier that his godson was always so exuberant and outgoing around him.
"Hey, Harry," Remus greeted him, as he limped into the lounge. Remus had fought a terrible duel against Fenrir Greyback at the Battle of Hogwarts, one which left him with wounds that lingered to the day, but Harry counted his blessings each and every day that Remus had survived that fight.
"How's things, Remus?" Harry asked.
"Oh, you know, two steps forwards, one step back," Remus slumped into his armchair, "one step sideways."
"Bill?" Harry could guess at what frustrations Remus was grumbling about.
"Bill." Remus confirmed, "don't get me wrong, I don't want to speak ill of Molly's boy behind his back or anything, but… Merlin, he isn't making things easy."
"I'll poke Ron to have a talk with him again at some point," Harry said, "as you can imagine, Ron's a bit wrapped up in his own 'about to be a dad' thing right now."
"Oh, don't trouble Ronald about it," Remus shrugged, "it's just frustrating. I feel like I'm backed into a corner where I wind up arguing against him being able to be open about who he is, but… these 'wolf-blooded' that he's made a movement out of are such a pain in the arse."
"I can see that," Harry admitted. The so-called "wolf-blooded", people like Bill who had been attacked by Werewolves (and yet not infected by them) had sprung up as an unexpected new demographic, just another example of how things had changed after the Second Wizarding War.
"I've spent so much of my life arguing that we aren't controlled by our instincts," Remus explained, "and here's a group of famous young people, claiming the exact opposite. Ugh."
This particular complaint also made sense to Harry. The wolf-blooded, and particularly Bill Weasley, made a big deal out of their pack instincts (which had apparently resulted from a partial exposure to the Werewolf curse), making very public demonstrations to argue that their unique forms of relationships were valid, even if they were peculiar to many people.
On the surface, Harry very much agreed with that argument, especially considering that his own relationship was so non-conventional. Privately, Harry couldn't help but feel – as hypocritical as he supposed he was being – that the whole "alphas and omegas" thing that Bill claimed as the reason he'd divorced Fleur and shacked up with Lavender almost immediately afterwards sounded a bit iffy.
"Well, as it turns out, that's part of the reason I wanted to drop by," Harry described, "I dunno if you've heard, but, well, I'm getting involved in politics, now, and I wanted to make sure that I can help out if I can."
Teddy might very well wind up being seen as "wolf-blooded", Harry left this thought unsaid, and if I can help make the world a bit more accepting of him? There's no way I couldn't do all that I can.
Remus just watched Harry for a few moments, before a sentimental grin crossed his features.
"You know, it's funny," Remus almost sounded a bit sad, "you've been compared to your parents a lot over the years, I know you've heard people call you a young version of James, and you always reminded me more of Lily."
"I'd like to live up to them if I can," Harry confessed.
"In recent years, you turned out more like Sirius than I ever would have guessed," Remus continued, "Merlin knows that he must be absolutely thrilled that you have two girlfriends, wherever he is," he chuckled, "but I want you to know, Harry, that all of them would be incredibly proud of the man you've become."
"I just do what I can," Harry shrugged, "and since Sirius saw fit to give his House to me, I might as well try and use that influence for good, yeah?"
As Remus transitioned into a discussion about the current political concerns regarding Werewolves, the wolf-blooded, and both, Harry found himself lost in a sentimental train of thought of his own.
Teddy's such an obvious combination of his parents, Harry pondered, apparently, I'm a lot like both of mine and my godfather, damn, I wonder what my kids are going to get from me.
He imagined all the different possibilities: Harry kind of half-dreaded the idea of raising a child with Pansy's temper and his own impulsiveness, or his tendency to sulk combined with Daphne's occasional defensive frostiness. To say nothing of the idea of either of their ambition blended with his buried, darker tendencies.
Then again…
If he did wind up having kids with his girlfriends, Harry also figured that the many good qualities each woman possessed would – hopefully – provide enough of a wellspring to draw on that their children might wind up being as brave as Pansy, as smart as Daphne, or holding the same unshakable inner strength they both had.
He was looking forward to finding out, some day.
Daphne
"Right, so, um, where'd you want to start?" Harry asked, scratching at the back of his neck.
"You're quite literally the expert here," Pansy drawled, "so whatever you think, Professor Potter."
The trio had made their way to the duelling arena hidden away in a rarely-visited corner of 12 Grimmauld Place, setting out to begin the first of the "self-defence lessons" which Pansy had pushed Harry into offering his girlfriends.
Daphne found this idea just as appealing as Pansy did, though she suspected that her own interest was for different reasons; most obviously, she enjoyed learning, and while combat magic wasn't at the top of her list, she still looked forward to broadening her understanding of it.
Her secondary interest in this activity was to watch Pansy wind Harry up over the course of these lessons, which judging by the "Professor Potter" title she'd just invented, was already well underway. Daphne smiled as Harry predictably rolled his eyes in response to Pansy, though he didn't quite manage to disguise his own grin.
Daphne always enjoyed being around her partners, but it was just fun to watch the two of them taunt and tease each other, and she had to admit she got her own kicks out of joining in to team up against one or the other, her "allegiance" shifting quickly and unpredictably to keep the other two on their toes.
As long as they don't get into one of their pun wars…
The third reason that Daphne was interested in Harry's lessons was, unfortunately, a much more practical one. When the Wizengamot reconvened next week, Harry would be taking a significant step forwards into political society, and the plans that the trio had crafted also involved her own re-entrance into that arena.
Though Daphne doubted that she was likely to come under literal attack once she was in the public eye again, she couldn't rule it out. A large part of her automatically assumed that Harry would be there to protect her if it ever came down to it, but the rest of her insisted on being capable of taking care of herself.
"Okay, well," Harry started to mumble to himself a bit, "I figure that I might as well try and get a grasp of where you're starting at, yeah?"
"What, like a training duel?" Pansy asked.
"Absolutely not a duel of any sort," Harry stated, emphatically, "this is just, er, practicing some spell-work together."
"I agree," Daphne interjected, "this is far from duelling, simply a hand-on form of magical instruction."
"Yeah, yeah," Pansy rolled her eyes this time, "this isn't a duel, so do I swear, blah blah blah. Let's get to the magic!"
This was one of the few examples of one of Harry's quirks that remained entirely a mystery to Daphne; before these lessons had begun, he had been insistent (with a degree of seriousness she rarely saw from him) that he was not planning to engage in duels with Pansy or Daphne, and that he would not, under any circumstances, do so.
While it was true that an official "duel" carried some kind of magical weight behind it, Daphne was surprised at just how resolute Harry had been about this requirement. She wondered if it had something to do with an undisclosed trauma surrounding duels, but – given the confidence and competence he'd displayed while taking on four opponents at the Winter Solstice Gala – suspected that probably wasn't the full story. Whatever the reason behind this rule, it was one that he preferred not to discuss.
"Okay, right," Harry strolled onto the arena floor, and Daphne swore that he held himself a bit straighter, his movements became a bit more precise with every step, "when you two are ready, step onto the floor, and let's see what you can do."
Pansy stepped forward immediately, and Daphne smirked at her exuberance.
"Right, er," Harry clarified, "let's stick to spells that aren't potentially-disfiguring, yeah?"
"Take all the fun out of it, why don't you," Pansy teased, "it's not like either of us are going to land anything, you know."
Daphne idly twirled her wand between her fingers, then stepped forward to join Pansy, the two of them standing opposite Harry, who drew his own wand once his partners were ready.
"Alright," Harry announced, "let's get started. Go ahead and cast some attacks against me."
"Expelliarmus!" Pansy cried as soon as Harry gave this signal, cheekily using Harry's own signature spell against him.
Of course, the spell hit an invisible shield surrounding Harry, exploding into sparks as it disappeared.
"Petrificus Totalis!" Pansy continued, casting a body-bind jinx, then following it with "Incarcerous!"
Pungo, Daphne thought, flicking her wand and casting a stinging jinx wordlessly.
As expected, these spells were just as harmless against Harry, all three flickering away without requiring him to so much as move, let alone employ any counter-spells.
"Not bad," Harry reviewed, "good job with the silent stinging jinx there, Daph. Pans, that's basically rule one of fighting: if you can get away with casting something wordlessly, you really should. Calling your attacks is only worth it if they're powerful enough to justify giving your opponent time to prepare."
"Well, it has been absolute ages since I've actually been in a-, umm, practiced magic with someone like this," Pansy protested, "most of the spells I can pull off wordlessly are more along the lines of transfiguration, yeah?"
"Transfiguration can be useful!" Harry explained, "actually, transfiguring something to get in the way is one of the only three ways to counter the killing curse, and it's more reliable than just dodging it."
"What's the third way?" Pansy asked.
"Being me, apparently," Harry smirked, and Daphne felt an odd kind of pride at how her boyfriend could joke about such a dark part of his history.
"Of course, how could I forget you're the Chosen One," Pansy teased, though she had a soft smile on her face as well, "well, I'm not exactly planning on going to war, so let's leave that one behind for now."
"I agree," Daphne added, "I'm rather hoping we don't actually have to use any of what you teach us, but I'd rather be prepared and not need it rather than not being prepared."
"That's a good way to look at it," Harry nodded, "alright, let's try that again, but Pans, this time, try and put more power behind your spells. Daph, you can do the same, or try hitting me with something a bit more advanced if you want."
I can do that, Daphne recalled some of the childhood duels she'd engaged in as a Slytherin, where her proficiency with a certain spell was part of the reason that she'd earned her particular moniker.
On Harry's signal, Daphne swished her wand through this familiar pattern, before she spoke "Glacius Vento", her tone even cooler than the 'freezing wind' spell. She knew that she was fully capable of casting this spell wordlessly, but chose to use the incantation to empower it, the brief ritual funneling more of her power into the magic.
"Stupefy!" Pansy shouted the stunning charm.
While Harry flicked his wand towards the icy air that erupted from Daphne's wand, the jet of red light from Pansy's slammed into Harry's shield, which became visible around him in a sudden burst of golden light as he lurched backwards a half-step.
"Wow," Harry seemed impressed, "fuck, Pans, you hit hard when you want to. That almost got through my shield! You too, Daph, that one took some effort to counter-spell."
"Huh," Pansy pursed her lips, "don't take this the wrong way, I've always been an absolute terror if you get on my bad side, but I'm pretty sure that I've never actually cast something that powerful before."
"Yeah?" Harry wondered.
"It's like I mentioned," Daphne explained, "since the three of us are so close now, we're going to wind up picking things up from each other, magically speaking. It wouldn't surprise me at all if Pansy's drawing on some of your power, Harry."
"Only fitting," Pansy agreed, "for the sort of Witch I am."
"Which sorta Witch?" Harry smirked at her.
"A wicked witch," Pansy finished.
Oh no, Daphne realized with exasperation, they're starting the wordplay.
"Since we're so wicked," she teased, deciding to humour Pansy for now, "why don't you show us what we have to improve on with our defenses?"
"Oh, yeah!" Pansy seemed excited by the prospect, "show us what you can really do, Potter, since we're such bad little Witches and all…"
Daphne waved her wand as she brought up a non-verbal protego charm, the shield reaching to envelop her and Pansy both, as Pansy cast a spell which Daphne wasn't familiar with, one that summoned floating motes of blue light in front of the pair.
"That's how it is?" Harry grinned, "okay, here's a bit of what I can do…"
One moment, he stood a dozen paces in front of her, and the next, Daphne felt her shield disintegrate, and something grabbed her body, hauling her sideways towards Pansy. When she looked down, she saw that they were both bound in ropes, and Harry now stood behind them, a confident smirk on his face.
"Fuck, what was that?" Pansy wriggled against their bindings, but she sounded impressed.
"Apparition, shield-breaker, counter-spell, and Incarcerous," Harry answered, "that's why casting wordlessly is what I want you to work on, it's so much faster than spoken spells."
"You weren't really taking the four idiots you duelled at the gala seriously, were you?" Daphne wondered.
"Er, uh, not really," Harry seemed to return to his more typical brand of bashfulness, "I kind of wanted to show off a little, I suppose."
"You should show off more often," Pansy suggested, and Daphne agreed with her.
"We'll see about that," Harry muttered, as he waved his wand to dismiss his spell, only to be interrupted by Pansy's latest interjection.
"Wait!" Pansy announced, and Harry paused with one eyebrow raised.
"It took me forever to get you to tie me up," Pansy's voice lowered to a purr, "you're telling me all I had to do was wave my wand at you a bit?"
Daphne laughed out loud at this; her girlfriend's shamelessness was equally as enjoyable as the blush that appeared on Harry's face when he understood what she meant.
Pansy
Pansy sipped her coffee, idly inspecting her nails while she waited at a café. While she was certainly acquainted with the woman, she wouldn't consider Fleur Delacour one of her friends per se, which made this apparent social invitation a curious one to her.
"Ah, bonjour, Pansy," the woman in question appeared – as always, a veritable vision – dressed in grey slacks, a cream blouse, and an enormous white mink fur coat.
"Hello, Fleur," Pansy stood to greet her, and resisted the urge to make an 'eep' of surprise when the French woman brought her into a sudden embrace.
"Happy 'olidays! I know it is somewhat belated, at this point, but it is ze spirit that counts, non?" the way that Fleur's accent appeared and disappeared seemingly at a whim never ceased to frustrate Pansy, and she half-suspected that Fleur did this intentionally.
"Yeah, same to you," Pansy agreed, returning to her seat, "you spend them back in France?"
"Oui," Fleur replied, "I spent the winter solstice with my family."
"And how are all the various Delacours?"
"Ah, no," Fleur grinned, and there was more than a hint of a predatory gleam in her expression, "wiz my other family."
"Oh?"
"Yes," Fleur flagged down a passing server, ordering a complex drink with no less than six different specifications, "if I am thankful for anything about my relationship with William, it was zat he gave me the inspiration to start being more authentique to my own nature."
"What's that involve?" Pansy was curious, "I know you've got the whole, well, allure thing already, is it related to that?"
"Hmm," Fleur pondered this question for a moment, before flicking her wand in a subtle motion, "zere, now we may speak privately. My answer is yes, but also non. The sang de loup are not the only ones who possess certain instincts, and I have decided that I will start indulging myself, oui?"
"Right, yeah, I've heard about some of that," Pansy nodded, as Fleur's drink arrived, and the server only just managed to disguise his outright awe at Fleur while he delivered it, "they're driven to form packs, yeah? Some kind of 'alpha wolf' sort of thing involved in that?"
"More or less," Fleur took a sip of her ridiculous beverage, piled high with whipped cream, and it was actually unfair how not a smudge of that garnish lingered on her lips, "zat was the problem with William and I, really. He says he is driven to be ze 'alpha', and yet he was, in the end, incapable of truly dominating me."
"So, the Veela equivalent," Pansy wondered, "you're driven to be… submissive?"
This didn't seem to line up with Pansy's impressions of Fleur, but then again neither did it seem inaccurate from what Fleur had occasionally mentioned of her single life.
"Once more," Fleur answered, "yes, but no. We Veela are somewhat more… complex, in our inner nature, than ozzer magic people might be. It is said that we descend from nature spirits, somewhat like ze "nymphs" of Greek legends, and our impulses certainly appear to be, hmm, moody enough to give credence to zis belief."
Fuck, it's pretty obvious that "nymph" would be a suitable term for Veela, Pansy thought.
"We are similarly mercurielle in the sorts of partners we tend to seek," Fleur continued, "Veela seek to dominate most people, the hurtful stories about a Veela woman entrancing an entire village of men are inaccurate more in their pettiness than in the underlying motivation, oui?"
"There's definitely something to be said about using one's charms to get what one desires, yeah," Pansy agreed, fighting back the heat that rose at the back of her neck as she recalled the time she'd inadvertently fallen under Fleur's allure.
"The other side of this drive," Fleur paused to delicately sip her drink once again, "is to seek those rare people who are magnificent enough to stand dominant over even a Veela."
"Which Bill Weasley, obviously, wasn't."
"Oui," Fleur sounded a bit wistful, at most, but certainly not regretful or anything like that, "I do not begrudge him for his own nature, and he is truly an impressive man in many regards… but not that impressive. He tried his best to be as magnifique as I desired, but, hmm, could not."
"I've known the type," Pansy concurred, "always a bit frustrating when someone claims to be more capable than they actually are."
"It is much better," Fleur agreed, "when someone is more capable than they claim."
"That's frustrating in its own way," Pansy snorted, thinking of her constant struggle to draw more of the powerful, almost domineering side out of Harry, when compared to her boyfriend's more usual easy-going and people-pleasing tendencies.
Definitely not the worst problem to have, Pansy knew, and it's fun in its own way to keep pushing him to get more dominant… but fuck, did I ever enjoy seeing him throwing his power around at the gala.
"Oh?" Fleur leaned forward, her eyes glittering in a positively magical way, "is zat an issue with Harry?"
I forget how clever she is, Pansy realized, for as straightforward and open as she presents herself, she's a more capable schemer than half of bloody Slytherin could ever dream to be.
"As you say, oui, but non," Pansy answered nonchalantly, "he's by far the best man I've ever been with, but I think he forgets that I'm not a fragile little doll, sometimes."
"Are you not?" Fleur smirked, "you are so petit, after all! But I am happy to hear that you are happy, 'arry is a great man, he deserves such a woman in his life."
"Women, absolutely," Pansy returned the smirk.
"On that note, I am curious," Fleur had a gleam in her eye which sent an interesting thrill down Pansy's spine, "how did that come to happen? I do not know Daphne so well as I would like, but she seems a bit… well, timid, to be with someone so prominent as Harry."
"Heh," Pansy chuckled, "yeah, honestly, she can take a while to warm up to people, but there's nothing 'timid' about her when she's on a roll."
Pansy wondered about this particular dynamic being discussed; she knew that Daphne was a little bit intimidated by Fleur (understandable, Pansy thought), but Pansy could only imagine that her girlfriend would be fascinated by the discussion about the magical nature of Veela which she herself saw as an idle curiosity.
"Ah, très bien," Fleur replied, "I suppose she would have to have some fire, to pursue Harry and you at once. Am I correct to presume that she was a later addition to your ménage à trois?"
"Not really," Pansy shrugged, "it was kind of… well, it just wound up happening, really. It was all three of us from the start, but I don't think any of us three saw things working out this way at the beginning."
"How fortuitous," Fleur smirked, "I must admit, I was almost disappointed when 'arry introduced you two as his women, I had something of an idea that you might have made a diverting partner in libertine pursuits, non?"
"Hah," Pansy laughed, "I'm sure we can still go out drinking, it's not like I've retired from having a social life. Besides," she couched this question as a joke, but was honestly curious at how Fleur might answer, "weren't you more disappointed that I took Harry off the market, hmm?"
"Mmm," Fleur's smirk deepened into that predatory sort of look again, "it is true that Harry is très exceptionnel, but non, I do not seek to find 'the one' any time soon. I am single for ze first time as a grown woman, a mature Veela, and I do intend to enjoy this."
"Well, it sounds like you have been," Pansy's curiosity wasn't quite sated, "but I'll admit that surprises me. I've always kind of assumed there was some sort of history there, really."
"No, no," Fleur tittered, high and musical, "when I met him, 'e was but a boy. An impressive one, oui, but young. I do suppose," her voice dropped to a conspiratorial level, "I was his first kiss, as it happens, but zat was just a friendly gesture after Harry saved ma souer at the Triwizard Tournament."
Right, Pansy recalled, Harry did rescue Gabrielle Delacour in the second task, I almost forgot about that.
"Anyway," Fleur continued, "you have nothing to fear from me, ma chérie, I would not care to pursue a taken man, no matter how magnificent he might be."
Pansy almost felt like mentioning that Harry – while indeed "taken" – might still be available in some ways, but instinctually felt like it wouldn't be right to reveal that aspect of their relationship to Fleur. Sleeping with Padma was fucking great, Pansy thought, but explicitly temporary, and easy to keep uncomplicated and no-strings.
In a way that was almost paradoxical, bringing another woman into their bedroom had seemed to reinforce and strengthen the relationship between Harry, Daphne, and herself, but Pansy had an unshakable feeling that it would be the wrong time to discuss this with Fleur.
"Well, glad to hear that," Pansy joked, replying to Fleur, "but anyways, what's up? I enjoy the conversation, but I doubt that you invited me out for coffee to gossip about my relationship."
"Astute as ever," Fleur met Pansy's bluntness with as much grace as she did everything, "I actually wished to discuss my next wardrobe I wish to commission. I am afraid that you will have to retake my measurements, one of the effects of accepting my Veela nature is zat I will, hm, change, to a degree."
"Oh?"
"Oui," Fleur explained, "I have already grown slightly taller, and I expect that my proportions will become more graceful."
Well, that's just fucking unfair, Pansy thought (slightly ruefully), you're already a veritable goddess of beauty, and now you're going to be literally inhumanly good-looking? Morgana, it's almost hard to imagine.
Pansy put those ideas aside (for now), shifting seamlessly into this more practical topic of conversation, as she and Fleur spent the next hour discussing the latest trends that the blonde had seen during her visit to France.
Harry
This is nice, Harry thought, basking in the warm contentedness he felt, seated on his couch, with Daphne beside him, and Pansy comfortably curled up in a way that she was both in the middle of them and halfway on their laps at the same time.
The trio had dedicated their early evening to watching an old Muggle film on Harry's TV, one of the benefits of Ron's work into integrating technology into Wizarding households. The wards surrounding the device worked to stave off the flow of magic from ruining the screen, allowing the trio to watch "12 Angry Men", a classic from the fifties.
"Fuck, that was great," Pansy reviewed as the film ended, "I can see why you recommended it, Harry."
"I agree," Daphne added, "and I can also tell why you liked it, Pans: that was a very effective demonstration of different sorts of social manipulation in action."
The movie was one that centered around a jury deliberation, showing a fictional case where a single juror argued against a guilty verdict, slowly coming to convince the other eleven of his stance over the course of the film. It was, apparently, renowned as a character study, and Harry was glad that Hermione had recommended it to him.
"But it was manipulation used for good, yeah?" Pansy nuzzled into Daphne's side, as the blonde began to play with her girlfriend's hair, "isn't that what we're here for, after all? Using our devious Slytherin charms to help the hero boy navigate his trials?"
"The hero boy?" Harry acted unimpressed, teasing Pansy with his blasé response.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," she rolled her eyes, "the hero man, right."
"The comparison actually isn't that off," Daphne added, "the protagonist, 'Davis', he did argue for what was right no matter the odds against him, that's not exactly unlike you, Harry."
"I'm hardly a hero," Harry grumbled, "but… yeah, I guess I'll do the right thing when I can, and you two are a huge help in figuring out how to actually manage that."
"You're obviously a hero, you prat," Pansy wiggled her feet into Harry's lap, pushing her toes into the side of his knee, "if nothing else, for the fact that you managed to tame Pansy Parkinson, somehow."
"Ah, yes," Daphne giggled, "because you are definitely a tame and domesticated woman now, practically demure, absolutely."
"Oh, I'm entirely innocent," Pansy grinned in a way which proved she wasn't, "really, it's Daphne we should watch out for, Harry, you know how those Slytherins are too clever for their own good, well, she's the most intimidating of that lot."
"You're a Slytherin," Harry brushed his fingers against the back of her knees, causing her to twitch from being tickled, "and definitely the most devious out of the three of us."
"Hmm, are you sure about that?" Daphne smiled at him, "after all, you've done a very good job at convincing us that you're a simple, straightforward sort, completely blind to any forms of subtlety… perhaps that's what you want us to think."
"The fearsome Lord Potter-Black," Pansy intoned, "is indeed a dangerous man. It's said that he can turn lead into gold, dragons into shoes, and even Draco Malfoy into a chipper, Quidditch-watching solid bloke."
"I wonder if the legends about me," Harry stroked his chin, acting as if he were deep in thought, "will remember to mention the unrelenting mockery that I suffer from, tormented in my very home by a silver-tongued serpent."
"You love it," Pansy stuck her tongue out at him.
"I do," Harry chuckled, reaching over to stroke her arm affectionately, "I really do love the both of you. I wouldn't have a hope at handling all this political bullshite about to start up if it wasn't for you two."
"We love you too," Daphne smiled, "and I agree. I'd never have dreamed of getting involved with that again, and I'm hardly thrilled about the idea, but knowing that I have you and Pansy by my side makes it easier to handle."
"Obviously I love the two of you," Pansy pulled Daphne and Harry closer for emphasis, "sentimental saps that you may be, but I don't think it's going to be as bad as you two fear. Maybe it's because my role is limited to showing up at parties and looking pretty, which is hardly a struggle for me, but I think that you'll have it handled better than you expect."
"You are good at being pretty," Harry agreed, teasingly, "but give yourself more credit, Pans. You're basically our ear in the socialite sphere, the rumors and gossip you've dug up has already helped us to plan ahead."
"Ooh, I do rather fancy being a spy," Pansy dropped her voice into a lower register, mimicking a vaguely Eastern European accent of some sort, "I will need your dress size, Mrs. Purebloodington, along with your darkest secrets."
"'Purebloodington'?" Daphne laughed, "is that what you call your customers?"
"Might as well, for some of them," Pansy shrugged, "but there's some exceptions, I suppose. Actually, while I'm thinking of it, I've got tea with Narcissa coming up in a couple weeks, want me to work my magic on her to dig for anything in particular?"
"Hmm," Daphne pondered, "Narcissa Black would be an excellent ally if she threw in with us, but I have a hard time imagining that even you could manage to manipulate her into revealing anything she didn't already want to, Pans."
"Draco's already pretty much committed to voting however I do," Harry stated, "House Malfoy might not be as influential as it was before, but that's hardly a bad thing, considering that he's turned it in the right direction and all."
"Our generation is really looking a lot better," Daphne added, "in forty years or so, why, we might even manage to become something approaching progressive as a society."
"That's probably why the old fucks are so desperate to cling to power," Pansy agreed, "but you and Daph have got it handled, Harry, I actually believe in you."
"Thanks," Harry murmured, unsure how to handle this level of sincerity, "let's move on to something else for now, though? We've hardly got a week left before that'll be all we talk about, and I'm not looking forward to that."
"Well, I was actually thinking," Pansy grinned at him, "we should really plan your outfits, since you're a fancy Pureblood lad now, hey?"
"That almost seems worse," Harry groaned, but he couldn't help but grin anyways.
"Unless you plan to show up to Wizengamot sessions in your dragonhide armour," Daphne teased, "that's actually an important suggestion."
"I was thinking more like ripped up jeans, a t-shirt with a Muggle band on it," Harry joked, "maybe one of those big hats that Muggle blokes are wearing now, yeah?"
"Harry," Pansy poked him in the ribs, "I absolutely adore you, but I swear to Merlin I will dump you on the spot if you ever show up wearing a bucket hat."
The three broke into giggles together, and Harry treasured this opportunity to simply relax with his girlfriends. While he might not have ever considered that he'd wind up dating Pansy or Daphne before it happened, once they'd entered his life, he'd quickly come to discover that he couldn't imagine a future without them.
Daphne
"So," Daphne blew into her mug of tea, which was piping hot thanks to Astoria's half-magical kettle going well past 'boiling', "what's on your mind, 'stori?"
"I'm far too pregnant to be subtle," her sister grumbled – indeed, she was enormous at this point, not that Daphne would use that phrase in front of her – while staring at her own tea, "I'm going to give birth any day now, and I want to make sure that certain issues are addressed before I do."
"Hmm?"
"I'll be blunt, Daph," Astoria met her eyes, uncharacteristically serious, "I know that you're working on something with Harry to oppose father's latest bill, and while I'm definitely on your side when it comes to that, I need to make sure you're not planning anything too rash."
"Well…" Daphne trusted Astoria, and she was confident that anything they discussed would not find its way back to their father, but at the same time understood that Heiress Greengrass had certain obligations to meet, "I wouldn't say 'rash', no, but we are planning to do everything we can to stop his bill from passing."
"The Wizengamot's one thing," Astoria grumbled, "and if I was worried about that, I'd have your boyfriend sitting here, and I'd tell him to at least try not to duel anyone for a while, but no, that's not what concerns me."
"What is your concern, then?"
"I'm going to be a mother, Daph," Astoria sounded breathless, as if even she couldn't believe it, "and our child is going to be the next heir to House Greengrass. I want you to be there, I want you to be part of their life, but you know that our parents are also going to be involved, and I'm not going to have my child exposed to you and father going for each other's throats all the time."
"I'm quite willing to be civil if he will," Daphne replied coolly, "but I'm not going to tolerate it if he starts treating me as if I were livestock to be sold, 'stori."
"I've already talked to him," Astoria admitted, "and I've made it quite clear that while he is indeed the head of our House, and my child's grandfather, that he will not have command of their upbringing."
"Well, I'm glad to hear that," Daphne said, "I rather expect that Molly Weasley would have his head if he tried, anyways."
"That's actually a good segue," Astoria continued, "the Weasley family, sure, they can be a lot, but the biggest difference I noticed when I started becoming part of that family was how much they all care for each other. I know that father was awful to you, and I'm not excusing his actions, but I still hope that one day my child will be able to see that both sides of his family are actual, well, families."
"You know that I can't promise that," Daphne protested, "if he ever really apologized to me, and begged for my forgiveness? Possibly. But it sure doesn't seem as if father is turning over any kind of new leaf, if anything, the allies that he's surrounding himself with are worse than his old ones."
"Yes, that troubles me too," Astoria agreed, "he'd always been so calculated in ensuring that he protected us from the worst sorts of traditionalists, but some of the men he's fallen in with… barely two steps removed from Death Eaters, it seems."
"He's a prideful, arrogant man," Daphne spat, "it must rankle him that he hasn't been anointed the uncontested leader of our society, and apparently he's decided to kowtow to the absolute dregs of the Pureblood families."
"I understand that I won't convince you of this," Astoria argued, "but if I know our father… I doubt that he has only one reason for his actions, that he's restricted himself to a single plan. I hope you understand, Daph, that while I agree with you in private, I'm going to act as the most stereotypical Greengrass in public, yeah?"
"Neutral?" Daphne grumbled, knowing full well her family's reputation.
"Exactly," Astoria confirmed, "I love you, and I want to support you in the ways that I can, but you simply can't count on my allegiance in politics."
"I know," Daphne sighed, "and I wouldn't expect you to publicly join our side. I hate that I'm even mixed up in this all over again, but I simply can't stand back and do nothing while people I care about are threatened."
"Well, I hate to say it," Astoria grinned, her expression not matching her words, "but you really should have expected that you'd wind up in the public eye again once you started dating Harry."
"The whole 'Lord Potter-Black' nonsense wasn't anywhere near involved in that choice," Daphne argued, "Morgana, he hates politics almost as much as I do!"
"I'm well aware," Astoria hummed, "I am actually pretty good friends with Harry, remember? I'm absolutely thrilled that the two of you are together, I'm even happy that you found Pansy too, which is why I'm still going to insist that you at least try not to let politics cause irreparable harm to your family."
"Astoria," Daphne bit, "I love you too, and I want to be in your child's life… but you can't ask me to forgive father. Not with how he's treated me, and certainly not with how he doesn't seem to feel the slightest hint of regret for his actions."
"I'm not asking you to forgive him!" Astoria cried, "fuck, I know that! I'm asking you to play nice, for your sake, for my sake, and for my child's sake!"
It's awfully fucking unfair for you to use your child as a pawn, Daphne thought, her emotions freezing over, you're starting to sound like our father, Astoria.
"Look, I'm not getting involved in the public debate," Astoria continued, her voice rising to a point near hysteria, "but I'm not stupid, Daph, I can see what you and Harry are planning. Faking a public courtship when you're already together, using Susan Bones as a lightning rod to attract your enemies so that Harry can destroy them? You might hate it, but damn it, you're better at playing the game than you give yourself credit for."
"I'm not sure if that's a compliment," Daphne snapped.
"It's also not wrong," Astoria retaliated, before taking a deep breath, "I didn't intend to argue with you today, and I'm sorry that I ambushed you with politics and our father, but I'm trying to look out for you, and surely you can see that."
"It doesn't feel that way," Daphne grumbled, "but I'm not actually mad at you, 'stori, I'm just mad about… well, everything else."
"I said I'd be honest with you," Astoria replied, "and I'm too bloody emotional to play little Slytherin games right now. You don't have to tell me your plans, I know that I haven't really earned that trust, but I'm trying to help right now."
"By using my niece or nephew to try and convince me to be 'nice' to father?" Daphne scoffed.
"Yes," Astoria sighed, "fuck. I hate this too. Okay, what I mean is… you and Harry, you're a good pair, and that's obvious even to people that don't know either of you. It's clever, using your relationship to craft a fiction about traditional 'courtship' to muddle the webs of allegiance in the eyes of the noble families, and I do mean that as a compliment."
"And that ties back to acting like a good little Pureblood woman how, exactly?"
"The ploy you've created will disintegrate if you have another public falling-out with father," Astoria frowned, "and instead of allowing people to believe that the courtship between Houses Potter-Black and Greengrass is a sign of an olive branch being extended, will turn it into an avenue for the traditionalists to attack you and Harry, to portray him as a ruthless manipulator who uses his opponent's families against them."
"That's…" Daphne sighed deeply, "that's a good point. I hadn't thought about that outcome."
"I'm pretty good at playing this game too, as it turns out," Astoria smiled weakly, "which is why I'm trying to help you in the limited way that I can. Fuck," she cursed, "you don't have to forgive father, but it's going to help your own plans if you can be polite to him, that's all I'm saying."
"How does that tie into your child, though?" Daphne let her fury drain out of her, knowing that Astoria was correct even if she didn't want to hear the words.
"I was being honest about wanting them to grow up feeling like both sides of their family support and care for them," Astoria explained, "and while, bluntly, our father is just worse than any of the Weasleys are, I'm still harbouring a faint hope that becoming a grandparent will at least soften him a bit."
"Probably have more luck convincing a dragon to become a lapdog," Daphne shrugged, "but I suppose stranger things have happened."
"For all that he can be an utter dickhead," Astoria swore, and Daphne couldn't help but giggle at her choice of phrase, "our father is, above all else, a pragmatic sort of man. I'm not trying to predict anything, but who knows, maybe if he sees that he has the opportunity to join with Harry as an ally of some sort, he'd see reason to disentangle himself from his more recent compatriots."
"I wouldn't bet on it," Daphne sipped her tea, which had finally cooled enough to become drinkable.
"Above all else," Astoria reached to place her hand on Daphne's, and Daphne let her sister mend the disagreement between them, "I don't want my child growing up as the heir to a House which fell into the Dark, I don't want them burdened by a legacy where their godfather destroyed their grandfather after they became bitter enemies."
"I don't want that either," Daphne admitted, running her thumb against Astoria's palm, "I'm sorry for getting upset. You're in a delicate condition after all, I should be more understanding."
"'Delicate condition'," Astoria snorted, "now that wasn't any sort of compliment, pfft."
The two sisters laughed together as the last remnants of their argument dissipated, and the more that Daphne thought about it, the more that she began to understand the points that Astoria had made.
"I wish it was easier," Daphne murmured.
"We're Greengrasses," Astoria stated, "nothing about us is 'easy'. Besides, if you were looking for simplicity and normalcy, then you shouldn't have started dating Harry fucking Potter."
"Heh," Daphne chuckled, "yeah, that's true."
"Or Pansy fucking Parkinson," Astoria continued, "Merlin, I still wonder how you two managed to defang her, sometimes. Harry's one thing, but yeesh, I dread to think of the warpath that she'd go on if she thought that you needed defending."
"Mhmm," Daphne nodded, "they're both quite fierce, in their own ways."
"Good," Astoria beamed at her, "someone as strong as you needs to be challenged. I've always admired that about you, Daph."
"I've always admired how you're not afraid to argue your case," Daphne smiled in return.
While she wasn't quite as confident as Astoria that Harry and herself would manage to navigate the complicated political conflict they'd become embroiled in, Daphne was certain that Pansy would be steadfastly at their sides, and this helped to reassure her that small, crucial amount.
The three of us together are rather formidable, Daphne thought, why, if we put our minds to it, we might well be able to change the world.
Susan
The meeting room deep in the interior of the Ministry of Magic sure felt like it was a suitable site for scheming, if not general skulduggery, most of the room consisting of an enormous oak table at the center, surrounded by positively ominous tufted-leather seats that looked more fit for some supervillain's lair than they did for a meeting.
It doesn't help that they've decided to light the room with candles, of all things, Susan thought, I know that you've got a perfectly functional magical light system rigged up here, don't you?
"Good evening, Lady Bones," Kingsley Shacklebolt greeted her, "thank you for accepting our invitation, I'm quite certain that we pursue a common goal."
"Right," Susan was fairly sure that she agreed, "well, it's not every day I get called on by the Minister himself, yeah?"
As she took a seat, so too did Susan take stock of the other four people already sitting around the table: The Minister of Magic, Shacklebolt, was – of course – unmistakable, looking authoritative if not practically regal in his deep purple dress robes. Auror Nymphadora Tonks was similarly unforgettable, which Susan thought was a bit hilarious given that the Metamorphmagus could look like anyone.
The final two people weren't quite as famous as their compatriots, but Susan recognized them all the same: the Head Auror Gawain Robards, a burly-ish man who constantly looked as if he was in desperate need of a coffee, and his second-in-command Nigel Proudfoot, a lanky man who always seemed as if he'd had one cup of coffee too many.
Pretty much the "who's who" of the DMLE, Susan figured, wonder what they want with me?
"Before we get down to brass tacks, can we get you anything? Tea? Coffee?" Robards asked her, almost making Susan snort as he lived up to her earlier characterization of his appearance.
"Well, I figure if the four of you want to speak to me in private," Susan answered, "the situation probably calls for a glass of that scotch I see over there," she gestured towards a decanter at the side of the room, "that sounds just fine to me."
Tonks did snort in laughter at her response. Always did get along with her, Susan reminisced, I might not have been part of the inner circle of the Order of the Phoenix, but I paid my dues, yeah?
"I'm sure that you're curious why we invited you here tonight," Kingsley intoned, his voice deep and resonant, "and while I don't wish this to sound overly wary, I would appreciate your discretion regarding the matters that we have to discuss."
"Right, sure," Susan agreed, "what 'matters' are these, anyways?"
"We've been paying attention to your career in politics," Robards answered this time, as Proudfoot returned to the table with Susan's glass of scotch in hand, "and we've found it particularly interesting the sorts of enemies you've found as of late."
"Ah, of course," Susan nodded, "the Burkes, Yaxleys and Selwyns of the world – a bunch of sanctimonious old pillocks, yeah?"
"Members of families with long histories of practicing Dark Arts, that is," Robards clarified, "while the current crop of Lords holding their family seats have never been proven to have associated with Dark Wizards… well, let's just say that the Aurors' office has certain misgivings."
"Oh, believe me," Susan grinned, "if I had anything concrete on any of them, I'd happily turn it over in a heartbeat. Sadly, I haven't got anything to go on other than the fact that they're all, well, pricks."
"Heh," Tonks chuckled, "you've got that right."
"The reason that we bring this up," Kingsley stepped in, "relates to a number of different factors. Some are ongoing, others are only hypothetical, and others still are potential causes for concern."
"Such as?" Susan's curiosity was most definitely piqued.
"Are you familiar with the arrest of one Wesley Rosier, last summer?" Robards asked her.
"Can't say I am."
"We busted him for possession and smuggling of Dark Artefacts," Tonks explained, "and he was moving some real nasty work, worse than we'd expected to find in the hands of a crooked accountant."
"So, what, you figure he's got patrons of some sort?" Susan knew that there was still a Lord Rosier sitting in the Wizengamot, though she couldn't really recall any particular interactions she'd had with him.
"Just so," Robards agreed, "we investigated a number of suspects, and while our suspicions weren't exactly assuaged, the leads that we chased down didn't seem to lead to the source of the particular artefact that Rosier was holding."
"Which brings me to the offer I want to make," Kingsley interjected, "should you accept, then there's information and intelligence that we wish to share with you, but as it's particularly sensitive, it's better that we lay our cards on the table before we get to that point."
"Well," Susan thought for moment, "what's your offer, then?"
"The interim DMLE head, Chester Davies, is planning on returning to his previous posting with Improper Use of Magic," Kingsley spoke, and Susan began to worry about what sort of 'offer' came with a backstory, "and I'm quite hopeful that my good friend here, Head Auror Robards, will take his place."
"Yeah?" Susan didn't see how this applied to her, "well, congratulations, Auror Robards, I'm sure you'll be brilliant and all."
"I know that you've already done more to fight against Dark Wizardry than someone your age should have had to," Robards spoke this time, "and while I want to be clear that this is not an obligation of any sort, I would like to offer you the position of deputy department head."
Whew, Susan sat back in the enormous leather chair, sipping her glass of scotch, that's quite the offer, actually.
"I can't say that I had anticipated this," Susan answered honestly, "but, hmm, not to sound ungrateful or anything, why me?"
"A number of reasons," Robards actually smiled, though the expression just looked vaguely strained on his face, "as we mentioned, we've been following your career in the Wizengamot with interest, and I think that you've got the political savvy and the guts to be effective in this role."
"As a seated Lady of a Noble House," Kingsley added, "one of the political realities is that you would bring a specific sort of legitimacy to a department which still has a number of detractors."
"If Robards here doesn't take the spot," Tonks jumped in, "word on the street is there's a push to put fuckin' John Dawlish in the position."
"Dawlish?" Susan remembered that particular ex-Auror quite well, "didn't he get locked up after the war?"
"Found not guilty," Tonks grumbled, "apparently he was victim of a Confundus Charm, possibly influenced by the Imperius Curse, all that."
"What these two aren't telling you," Auror Proudfoot interjected, "is that there's something of a tradition in the DMLE that they need you to carry on."
"Oh?"
"It's not really a tradition," Robards sighed, "it's just a coincidence that every generation, there's been a Bones in the department."
Right, yeah, Aunt Amelia was the department head, Susan remembered, Granduncle Reginald was head Auror back in the day, and Great-Grandad Samuel was a hit-wizard or something. Huh.
"It certainly isn't an actual oath or anything of the sort," Kingsley cut in, "but as it turns out, it is a trend that's held true ever since the days of Phrixus of Kent, the 'Lord o' Bones' himself."
This ancient ancestor of Susan's had, from the family legends she'd heard, not been a particularly nice sort of man. It was true, nevertheless, that he'd been a staunch ally of the faction which eventually turned into the "Wizard's Council", itself a predecessor of the Ministry of Magic.
You don't wind up naming your House "Bones" because you're known for being soft and pleasant to deal with, Susan recalled one of the stories that her Aunt had told her, but rather for what he had a habit of turning his enemies into.
"Right, yeah," Susan finally replied, "I'm not sure about the whole 'legacy of Bones' thing, but as far as the job offer itself goes… yeah, I figure that's up my alley."
"Fantastic!" Kingsley boomed, "now, once more, I must apologize for seeming overly-paranoid, but I'll have to ask you to swear on this commitment before we continue this particular conversation."
Susan did so, smoothly rattling off the various forms of oaths that would serve to ensure that she would make a genuine commitment to this offer without managing to trap herself in an inescapable bond or a contract which served to ensnare her – justified paranoia goes both ways, yeah?
"Excellent, with that settled," Kingsley spoke, "Gawain, would you give the full report now, if you please?"
"During our investigations into who might have supplied Wesley Rosier with a Shrine of Sorrow," Robards started (phew, that is some dark shite, Susan thought), "we began to notice some particularly concerning rumors arising from the shadiest corners of the underworld."
"Nobody's sure of anything," Tonks interjected, "and it's all rumors and hearsay at best, but if even a quarter of what people are yapping about is true… well, it's not good."
"Fantastic," Susan groaned, "ugh, I thought we'd get a bit of a break from this sort of bullshite."
"The battle against Dark Magic is an eternal one," Kingsley spoke solemnly, "our hard-fought victory was a great triumph, but now our enemies become all the more pernicious as they retreat underground."
"While we've made great strides at clearing out practitioners of the Dark Arts from Magical Britain," Robards elaborated, "this simply means that new sorts of threats arise across the continent."
Well, at least I might get a bit of a vacation out of going around stomping out hives of Dark Wizards, Susan thought grimly.
"Our agents in Europe have reported that several competing Neo-Grindelwaldist factions are attempting to recruit," Robards continued, "and while we were indeed very successful at capturing most of the surviving Death Eaters after the defeat of their lord, some managed to escape our nets and have fled across a half-dozen countries."
"Augustus Rookwood was spotted in Sweden," Proudfoot added, "but he's either caught on to our tail or ran afoul of someone worse than him, because nobody's reported hide nor hair of him for months."
"Scandinavia in general is a bit of a hotspot right now," Tonks provided, "there's a clan of Werewolves who move across the north – the 'Fenrisbrot' – who seem to be getting themselves riled up for some sort of 'blood feud' against Wizardkind in general."
"Fenrisbrot", Susan sounded out the word in her thoughts, wonder if Greyback had anything to do with them?
"Thankfully, the Delacours are as effective as ever at keeping matters in France in hand," Robards reported, "and the Court of the Dragon King has been roused from their slumber in Magical Romania. While I would hesitate to call them anything resembling 'Light', they are no friends of anyone adhering to Grindelwald's cause."
"Right, how did that even become a thing again?" Susan wondered, "old Grindles lost pretty convincingly a few times, yeah?"
"Dark Wizards are just as prone to politicking and opportunism as the Ministry is," Kingsley hummed, "the deaths of both Dumbledore and the former 'dark lord' have left a power vacuum of a sort, and some particularly fanatical types might see themselves as stepping in to fill it."
"Well, that's pretty unlikely," Susan argued, "we've still got McGonagall and Flitwick standing guard," she almost felt strange saying the next words, "not to mention Granger, and of course, Potter."
"Harry's brilliant," Tonks agreed, "but he doesn't have the reputation that Dumbledore did, not yet, at least."
"That's actually one of our concerns," Robards interjected, "perhaps even the most pressing."
"Oh?" Susan frowned.
"We know that you're close with Harry Potter," Kingsley spoke, "and the recent ploy to portray him as 'betrothed' to you is one that the Ministry won't interfere with."
Susan felt a spike of suspicion settle in her gut, as she felt her face snap into a grimace. She flicked her gaze towards Tonks, who she knew was also in on the secret of Harry's real relationship, but the pink-haired (for now) Auror just shrugged and nodded her head towards her boss.
"Harry's secrets are safe with us," Robards explained, "and we have our own sources outside this room who handle the keeping of any particularly intimate sorts of information, such as his actual relationship status."
"All of us sitting here are on Harry's side," Proudfoot concurred, "which makes it all the more unpleasant that there's certain concerns we have which must be kept from him."
"Hmm," Susan muttered, "nope, don't like that. What could possibly be so secret that the fuckin' Man-Who-Won can't know about it?"
Robards and Kingsley shared a look, and after a slow moment of contemplation, the Minister of Magic nodded.
"We have an agent inside Azkaban," Robards expounded, "who sends us worrying reports. It seems as if Rabastan Lestrange has started a cult of some sort, which has not only caught on like wildfire amongst the former Death Eaters imprisoned there, but seems to be gaining momentum outside the prison."
"And this relates to Harry how?" Susan demanded.
"They're calling themselves 'Followers of the Fated Child'," Robards stated, and the phrase meant absolutely nothing to Susan, "while we haven't been able to ascertain what this means or even how this new belief came to arise, we're concerned for what it might mean for Harry, specifically."
"Some of the Neo-Grindlewaldists," Kingsley spoke up, "seem to believe that Harry is the latest inheritor of a legacy of some sort, an unclear belief tied to their veneration of the mythical 'Deathly Hallows', itself a legend which has proven to be frustratingly opaque to our understanding."
"Wait, what?" Susan really didn't like where this was going, "are you telling me that some of these lunatics think that Harry is their next Dark Lord?"
"We don't know," Tonks didn't shout, but she came close, "that's what worries us the most."
"An equally concerning possibility," Proudfoot spoke this time, "is that they're using these legends as bait for something; to ensnare Harry in a fiction about placing him in a position of honour in their beliefs, only to spring some sort of trap on him when he inevitably disagrees in his characteristically emphatic fashion."
"That's why we're keeping this from him," Tonks grumbled, "imagine if Harry catches wind of fuckin' thrice-damned Lestrange building a cult around him, storms into Azkaban to demonstrate just how wrong this is, and stumbles right into the middle of some dark ritual we haven't managed to catch."
Fuck, that is exactly how I'd set a trap for Harry if I wanted to, Susan realized, well, that or I'd kidnap someone he cares about...
"Fuck," Susan decided to voice her thoughts, "what about Harry's, er, 'relationships', then? Are those possible targets?"
"All of us are possible targets," Tonks sighed, "constant vigilance, Bones."
"The most relevant reason that we decided to approach you now," Kingsley took his turn to speak, "is, indeed, the political schemes which you and Harry are enacting."
"Oh?"
"Your opponents in the Wizengamot," Kingsley continued, "how would you characterize them?"
"Purebloods, mostly," Susan didn't hesitate, "usually older than us, mostly men, quite a few of them are fairly wealthy, and the entire lot of them have more pride than brains."
"Precisely," Kingsley agreed, "in other words, the exact demographic which would be most susceptible to the rhetoric of various Pureblood-supremacist, pro-Dark Arts, or anti-Ministry movements."
"So, you recruited me to…?" Susan gave herself the credit she was due, but knew that she was failing to connect these different pieces together.
"Really, we don't intend for you to do anything else than what you already would have," Robards explained, "keep an eye out for any of the Noble Lords who seem to be getting a bit too Dark for their own good, pay attention to any rumours or whispers that there's a particular threat to your safety, the usual common sense."
"We wanted you to be forewarned with the knowledge that there's conspiracies in action which we don't know the full extent of," Kingsley finished, "and that some of these actors may or may not be targeting Harry in some way, which itself might be a ploy to try and bait him into exposing himself."
"Yeah, great, ideal, really," Susan complained, "so how do we actually stop these fuckers?"
"We wait," Robards spoke with authority, "and when they finally reveal themselves, we crush them."
"Houses Potter-Black and Bones would make fearsome allies, true," Proudfoot added, "but Harry Potter could use someone in his corner who knows what mysterious forces are moving around him, and we decided that you'd be the best fit."
That was the first thing that someone had said in a long time which actually made sense to Susan.
Fuck's sake, Harry, she tried to recount this discussion to herself, this is a right mess, innit? We're going to be faking a "relationship" as part of a scheme to try and convince the bloody-minded Purebloods not to sabotage themselves and the rest of us out of sheer spite, and the whole time I've got to keep my eyes open for various snake-brained lunatics who might think you're their new chosen one, or maybe they're scheming to try and draw you into something...
Merlin's beard, Morgana's tits, and Maeve's sacred fuckin' mead, she cursed in her thoughts, by the end of all this, we're either going to hate each other, or we're going to wind up fuckin' inseparable, yeah?