Acknowledgement—This work of fanfiction, written and posted solely for the enjoyment of readers, is based on the work of JK Rowling. The author thanks Ms. Rowling for allowing this opportunity to further enjoy her work and neither seeks nor receives remuneration.
Author's Note: This short story follows two earlier short pieces, Further Sorting and Further Sorting – 2. If you haven't already, read those first, blah-blah-blah. Okay?
Further Sorting – 3
A Harry Potter Fanfic
By
Bfd1235813
The post owl was perfectly-matched for its assignment, possessing a personality that would accept nothing less than prompt attention to its summons.
"Alright, alright!" mumbled Harry Potter as he navigated to the bedroom window.
Potter wondered why the post owls refused to peck on a window that would result in his house elf, Kreacher, answering and accepting the envelope. How did they differentiate?
"Ah," he said when he scanned the return address, noting that Daphne Greengrass had sent him an owl post with a HIGHEST PRIORITY designation.
"I told you. You wouldn't listen," Potter said to himself, but really directing his remark to the magical diplomat Daphne Greengrass.
The only thing Potter could think of that would cause Greengrass to send him a HIGHEST PRIORITY note by owl was a problem concerning their mutual friend and lover, Gabrielle Delacour. He surmised the HIGHEST PRIORITY signaled they'd had a spat. The two witches were smart, and they were strong. A clash was quite predictable. Perhaps it was inevitable. Potter slid a finger under the envelope's flap.
"Huh?" he said, aloud.
All Greengrass wanted was to meet for coffee. The HIGHEST PRIORITY was due to her request to see Potter that very morning. He thought over his presumptive schedule. It was a day off for Potter, although he had a vague plan to visit the office for a little closed-door time. Two hours without continuous interruptions was just the thing for clearing up all those nagging duties involving approving, disapproving and/or signing his name. There was no reason a short meeting over coffee should disrupt Potter's plan. The owl was gone, no doubt back to the owl post station by now. No matter, as there were ways. Potter transferred the Greengrass return address to a fresh envelope.
"Delighted," Potter wrote.
They met at a little joint they'd visited together. At first, he leaned toward Greengrass, but she had leaned back. It was clear she didn't think they were close enough, yet, to merit a perfunctory kiss upon meeting.
"No offense intended," said Potter, the Greengrass smirk saying she understood.
"None taken, Harry, I assure you," she said. "I can see why you like this place. So convenient."
"And the coffee is good," he said. "What can I do for you? No trouble, I hope? The HIGHEST PRIORITY got my attention. Sorry, bringing work home."
"You're an auror, of course you bring work home," said Greengrass, sounding very sympathetic to Potter's plight. "I meet people from your world through work. I hold you folks in the highest esteem. You're welcome to it, of course."
"Greengrass…" he began.
"Harry, why don't you call me Daphne?"
"You didn't give me permission, I thought…" said Potter.
"I did give you permission, in a way, perhaps not explicitly, verbally…"
Potter smiled at the handsome witch sitting across the table. Greengrass was wearing a two-piece suit, a sheath skirt and matching jacket over a button-down, unisex dress shirt. He'd noticed the tailoring was so precise, it showed off her form in the most elegant way. There was no exposure of witch flesh, calling attention to itself just for the sake of doing so. Instead, covered from her neck down to right below her knees, the complete package of witch and attire simply were. Daphne Greengrass could have been designed by the same stylist who did the King's limos.
Potter nearly laughed at the veiled reference to the night they'd spent together with Gabrielle Delacour. Thinking it was time to divert that conversational stream, Potter searched for another topic.
"Where are you on your plum assignment? New Orleans, wasn't it?"
"You remembered—amazing," said Greengrass. "Yes, thank-you. I've been told I got it and will be so advised, formally, in the next few days."
"I'm glad," said Potter. "You'll be in charge?"
"I will," said Greengrass. "I look forward to the work. Everyone wants to come to New Orleans. It is kind of a hub for magical folks, for historical reasons, geographic reasons and so on. Then there is Mardi Gras."
"Sounds great. Can I come for a visit?" asked Potter.
"I kind of hoped you would," Greengrass said with a little snicker.
"Is that the HIGHEST PRIORITY item?" he asked.
"Not exactly," said Greengrass. "I'm pregnant."
"Oh," said Potter.
That was the last word either of them spoke for some time.
"You're…"
"Sure? Has to be. There is no one else," said Greengrass. "I remember telling you I thought I'd sorted that question, for good."
"I remember," Potter said. "So-o-o-o, we…"
"Had sex," said Greengrass.
"And no, uh…"
"Measures? No, none that I recall," said Greengrass. "Look, I'm not here to hit you up for money. There are a number of things available. Alternatives. My healer has all the information. The thing is, I will be taking that assignment in New Orleans."
Potter sat still, willing his brain to shut up, hoping for the way forward to show itself. He sensed Greengrass was saying something, without coming right out and saying it.
It was a fact-he'd had a fling with Greengrass and their mutual girlfriend. Between that night and the present, Greengrass learned she was slotted for a once-a-career assignment. She also learned she was expecting and there were a number of things available.
Oh.
"Oh," said Potter. "So, let's see…"
Some quick mental math.
"June?"
"June," Greengrass said, adding a nod.
"Your transfer?"
"August," she said.
"Okay, no problem," said Potter.
"Potter! Damn, I mean, just damn!" Greengrass said, reverting to the formal style they'd used in school.
"What?" he asked. "There should be plenty of time for everything."
"Look, all I want from you is a little support. Be available for an owl. Go to my appointment with me," said Greengrass.
"Why don't we get married?" asked Potter. "That would simplify things. Sort it all out, in fact."
"What are you talking about?" Greengrass demanded.
"Unless you're completely opposed. That's your decision, but if you want to go ahead, I want to step up. Actually, years ago I would have thought I'd be married, with one or two by now. Funny how life is always waiting with a surprise. I asked Gabi, did she tell you? She said no. Yep. Turned me down. Has her reasons, which I understand, but that part of my life is in suspended animation until she settles enough to cope with a relationship. Which, I'll add as an observation, points in your direction, not mine," he answered.
"Potter," said Greengrass. "Tchk."
"Greengrass," he said. "Are you faulting my analysis? Let me guess—that suit you're wearing is a Gabrielle Delacour original, I believe. Yes? The shoulders are natural, no padding because you don't need any. You're slim through the middle, until you start to widen out at the hips. Bust doesn't have anything extra but neither is it too small. From there down to the hips you're perfect, everything is so harmonious. The skirt is cut to let everything have a bit of freedom. She isn't squeezing you into anything but your best, natural look. You don't walk around on Doric columns but you're well beyond merely adequate down there, which I mean, sincerely. Long legs are a thing, after all, and I'm with the majority who like them. Gabi's work shows she understands you, physically, mentally and emotionally. She loves you. She put it all into that suit."
Greengrass sat, silent, staring at Potter. He waited.
"This hasn't gone the way I expected," Greengrass said, sighing. "Not at all."
"Need some time to think? Take a day or two. I'm not going anywhere."
"How could you do it? Leave the Ministry. Your job—you're going places," said Greengrass.
"Aren't you? A New Orleans assignment then back to Foreign Affairs? Promotion, a seat at the big table," said Potter. "Besides, you have Morgana. Morgana has grandparents plus an aunt and uncle who I'm sure dote on her. I have homes, elves and a bunch of sick leave, annual leave, even paternity leave. Probably adds up to close to a year. I can negotiate something. You take care of your obligations to Morgana and your career path. The Potters will take care of this little one."
Greengrass sat there. If she wasn't such a perfectly-raised pureblood witch her jaw would, no doubt, be down around her sternum.
They had to leave it there. Potter still had his weekend work, the overflowing in-box, while Greengrass had a whole new set of variables added to her basic problem. After they parted ways, her mind churned and churned.
First of all, Damn Harry Potter!
No, that wasn't right. Potter did not deserve damnation. Gosh Darn Harry Potter! Darn-darn-darn-darn! All that Daphne Greengrass wanted was to come clean to Potter about what had happened and to ask him for a little logistical support while she dealt with the problem. Then Potter had taken off on a tangent of his own and suggested they consider marriage, even though she had already told him she had figured out where her interests lay.
It wasn't an actual suggestion. It was a proposal. A proposal of marriage! What is more, Potter was serious! He had the resources. He could string sick leave, paternity leave and annual leave together and be a full-time father for a year, or close to it. Potter even pointed out, in his reference to her daughter Morgana, that Morgana's father was her primary caregiver, meaning he could do the same. Potter upset her entire life plan, which had just fallen into place for the next four to five years, by offering to marry her!
What's worse, he complimented her on the suit she was wearing. Potter recognized the Gabi Delacour touches. Didn't keep it to himself, either, throwing comments right and left as he started at her shoulders and pointed out highlights all the way down to below her knees. Thank Merlin Potter didn't seem to have any knowledge of the way Gabi worked with her most favored clients. If he did, he kept it to himself.
Greengrass thought back to when Gabi declared she would create something unique for her lover. That had been quite an experience.
Gabi started by taking Daphne's measurements with an ordinary tape measure. They stood in Gabi's bedroom. She had a stray thought that it was like two girls playing tailor shop.
"Good. Ready to lie down for a bit?" Gabi had asked.
"Uh? On the bed?"
"Yes, please," answered the Veela. "And relax?"
The room was already dark, but Gabi laid a blindfold over Daphne's eyes and stretched the elastic band behind her head. One garment at a time, Gabi undressed her girlfriend.
She chatted as she worked.
"Let's get this off. You don't need to armor-up with your foundations, you know, unless you just like the way it all feels. Mmm…You're flat where it works, curvy where you want to be. Oh! Sorry, I should have said if you like a little curve there."
And so on.
"If you get cold, I can put a blanket on you," said Gabi.
Daphne declined. She felt the bed sag. Two hands began to slowly work their way down from Daphne's neck. Shoulders. Collar bones. Breasts. Rib cage, two fingertips caressing her xyphoid. Pelvis, two hands on the right, then two on the left, then one palm on each iliac crest. Gabi let her hands rest for a moment, then for some more moments, before moving on. Hip joints to knees, right and left.
"Now we turn you over," Gabi almost sang.
She started working her way down a second time, stopping now and then to ask a question.
"Are you tensing up right here?"
"Your scapulas are so perfect, did anyone ever tell you? Nice. It's hard to work with the ones that stick out so."
Gabi took her time further down.
"Getting this right is so important. With a skirt, the fabric has to know exactly what it's doing back here, or you end up flattened. Not a good look for a woman. I can work with these," she said, adding a gentle squeeze on each side.
Once Gabi got past Daphne's bottom, the comments dropped off. The taking of measurements, or whatever Gabi's touching meant, ended and Daphne Greengrass thought her frame had been read, as if she was Braille. She was surprised to find the room was in near-blackout due to heavy curtains. Gabi wore a white tank top and a pair of unisex athletic shorts.
"What was all that?" asked Greengrass.
"I want to make something for you," said Gabi. "Something nice. It will be special because I will take my time. You'll like it."
That was the full explanation.
The special item was the business suit Greengrass wore to her coffee date with Potter. She'd also worn it to the meeting where she was offered the assignment in New Orleans. Gabi was right. Greengrass did like it. She liked the confidence the suit gave her, a feeling of witch-power sufficient to meet any challenge. Greengrass recognized irrational thoughts coming from somewhere inside herself when she speculated the suit conveyed Gabrielle's love as it caressed her most personal places. She began to critique similar outfits when she saw them at the office or on the street. None compared to her Gabrielle Delacour exclusive.
Greengrass struggled, trying to get control of her thoughts. Potter's proposal upset the plans she'd had for her life and career, just when those appeared to have gelled. The proposal was disorienting, as was the night she spent with Potter and Gabi. Greengrass took a day, working hard to keep Potter out of her mind, waiting for her subconscious to tell her what she should do.
After his own very productive day at the office, Potter went back to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. He took the floo home, even though it had been a fairly nice day, more than pleasant enough for walking. Potter was concerned about the possibility Daphne Greengrass might send him a message by owl post or attempt to contact him via a floo call. Considering their just-revealed joint business, Potter thought he should make an extra effort to be reachable whenever there was a possibility either Daphne or Gabi needed to talk.
The next morning brought a post owl to Potter's window for the second straight day.
"Fine."
That was all the note said. Potter recognized the handwriting. He asked the owl to wait while he went to fetch a quill and a bottle of ink.
"Delighted!" he replied, just below the original message.
They'd have to see one another again. There was no way to navigate what lay ahead using owl post. Potter figured Greengrass was working her way toward asking to meet, for a more in-depth discussion. Nor was he wrong.
"Coffee?" read the next owl note.
"Our place?" Potter replied, savoring the picture of Greengrass reading the text with its suggestion that Harry Potter and Daphne Greengrass had a shared 'Our place.'
It worked out and once again, they sat across from one another.
"I'm not pressuring you," Potter began. "I hope that is clear."
"How are you going to do this?" she asked. "Not houses or elves, of course you have those. Raising a real-life baby."
"I have a godson. His name is Teddy Lupin. Teddy is the son of our old DADA professor, Remus Lupin. You might not have heard, but he married Nymphadora Tonks, the auror."
"They died at the Battle…" said Greengrass.
"Right. Teddy was a few weeks old," said Potter. "His grandmother is Andromeda Tonks, whose maiden name was Black. She had two sisters, Bellatrix and…"
"Narcissa, Draco's mother!" said Greengrass.
"Right again," said Potter. "Andromeda raised Teddy, for the most part. Fine young wizard. Clean living, works at his studies."
"So, she'll raise this one?" asked Greengrass.
She sounded a bit of a skeptic.
"No. Like I said, our employee benefits are quite generous. The first year is no problem. After that, Andromeda and I should be able to manage. Next thing you know, the little witch or wizard will be five, six, seven years old and then I'll retire at whatever rank I have at the time. Don't worry about providing for the child. We won't have to live on my auror's pension."
"You make a good case," said Greengrass. "Very convincing."
"Perhaps," said Potter. "You have to make the decision that works for you. All I'm saying is if we go ahead, whether or not you agree to marry me, I will be responsible and give it a good home life. Of course, everyone knows I'm an orphan and only child. There is a network, people I've known for a long time. I've even been through this, much of it, with Teddy. We won't lack for good examples for them to emulate."
"Why is this just coming out now?" asked Greengrass.
"You had a career, then a husband and daughter, then a career plus a daughter. Why would you know anything about some obscure copper back in London? Then you acquired a girlfriend who's one of a kind and also my girlfriend. That's the only thing that brought me to your attention. It was a lottery and someone had to win," Potter said.
"F-bomb," sighed Greengrass.
"What?" Potter wanted to know.
"I used to drop F-bombs, wherever, whenever," said Greengrass. "Then a very senior, very civil and refined officer of my service counseled me. In a civilized conversation. Now when I feel an F-bomb coming I just say F-bomb."
"Perhaps I'll try that," said Potter. "What kind of administration do you need to tidy up before your transfer?"
"There isn't all that much besides the checkout procedure to leave one post for another," said Greengrass. "Some specialist elves handle mundane logistics. It's a fairly well-oiled machine."
"So, if you agree to marrying me, we can go ahead, pretty much any day now?" Potter asked.
"Unghhh! F-bomb-F-bomb-F-bomb!" grunted Greengrass, keeping the volume down.
Potter let her release the pressure in her own way, at her own speed. He thought they'd reached her maximum capacity for rational discussion anyway. While he sat, waiting for her to signal she had come back to Earth, Potter came to a decision. He needed to see his Hogwarts acquaintance, Blaise Zabini. They'd never had a major clash, despite spending their educational years in rival houses. Blaise had some of the Slytherin attitude, but it manifested in an air of confidence in himself, his educational accomplishments and a sense that he felt he could acquit himself well, no matter the situation.
"I have to strain a confidence to the breaking point," Potter began.
"Not on my account," Zabini said. "In fact, I'd rather you…"
"…didn't, I know."
Potter had interrupted. Abruptly. Blaise Zabini knew that signaled some stress. Potter, as he had risen higher, had become smoother and more polished. Normal schoolboy rudeness was nearly extinguished.
"Have you talked to Daphne?" Potter asked.
"If this is about Daphne, shouldn't you and Daphne be having this conversation?" asked Zabini.
"We have. My insight is lacking. She can be subtle," said Potter. "I don't know if I'm reading her correctly. Or at all."
"She didn't tell me the whole story," said Zabini. "You. She left that part out."
"She would, I suppose," Potter said. "Brilliant witch. True professional. Did you know New Orleans is one of the posts the Service reserves for rising stars? Give them a taste, see how they do in a big-time assignment. I had no idea."
"You seem to be saying it's you. The father," Zabini told him.
The auror inside Potter smiled. He'd surmised Greengrass would have had to talk to Blaise, the former husband, who'd done most of the raising of their daughter. Blaise would certainly have known of the gradual change in Daphne's personal preferences. The compass needle coming to rest where it did had decided the fate of their marriage. Greengrass and Zabini separated and moved on amicably. He'd been waiting to see if Blaise would prove his assumptions without his asking. Potter assessed it was safe to move ahead.
"I am," said Potter. "Short version, it wasn't an affair. Nor was it a quicky, up against the wall in the alley behind the pub. Daphne assures me there is no question. I want to get married, give my child my name and be Daphne's husband of record. Materially, there is no problem. Personally, she can take New Orleans by storm if that's what she wants. You two have history and a daughter. I had to do this and ask if you'd be violently opposed."
"Does Daphne know you and I are having this conversation?" asked Zabini.
"No. I'll come clean. If it becomes necessary. Someday," said Potter. "I have to know if what I propose will meet opposition from you and your interests."
"Interests?" Zabini exploded, before he began to laugh. "Where did you get that?"
"There are always interested parties, connections here and there. Legal questions like inheritances and such. Entanglements," Potter finished. "All I suggested to Daphne was that she consider getting married instead of taking the other route. I've never been married. I don't have any children. She won't want to have and hold, share quarters or any of that. I understand. I can live with that. On the other hand, she is impeccable in all the other areas. She can still be a free professional witch. I'll keep out of her way. On the other hand, there is you and your daughter. I would hope you both would welcome a little sibling."
Word salad.
Potter heard it in his head and feared he'd botched his approach to Zabini. The other wizard relaxed against the back of his chair and studied Potter's face.
"You're sincere. You mean that," Zabini said, or, perhaps, stated as an accepted fact.
"Absolutely. I have to talk to the personnel people but I am pretty sure the various kinds of leave that I have on the books right now could give me a year, or close to it, when I wouldn't have to show up at the office. I have the townhouse and the Potter and Black country places. All I wanted to know was whether you would, for any reason, push back."
"No."
"Oh. That was easy," said Potter. "Thanks."
"This may be jumping ahead, but, assuming Daphne goes along, I'd appreciate it if you're good to her," said Zabini.
"Blaise, it does not look like she wants anything further to do with me. She asked for some support, of the emotional kind, and for me to go with her when she went to her appointment. She had it all worked out. She may still, for all I know. Then, I asked her to marry me. That suggestion wasn't well-received. Now she has kind-of, sort-of said yes. If she comes around, I expect to walk out of St. Mungo's with a baby while the baby's mother gets back to her pack-out for the next assignment in her dazzling career."
"Harry. You're something else. I don't know what, exactly," said Zabini.
"Maybe I just grew up," said Potter. "My personal life's a dog's breakfast. I accepted an obligation once, thinking it would be of limited duration. Wrong, so a conventional marriage and family is probably out. When we met for coffee and Daphne told me, it struck me as a gift. The timing even works out. Both the delivery and her new job."
Potter wondered how much Zabini knew about Gabrielle. Gabi and Greengrass had been seeing a lot of each other. Greengrass and Zabini were all cooperation when it came to Morgana. By extension, the two were on such good terms, conversation had to be assumed. Potter wondered if that extended to candor regarding private pastimes.
"I think, if she takes you up on your generous offer, you might be surprised at her level of interest," said Zabini.
"That would be most welcome," Potter said. "I never knew my own mother."
Zabini gave him an odd look.
"Not always a bad thing," Zabini assured him.