Acknowledgment—The following is a work of fanfiction, written and posted solely for the enjoyment of readers. The author thanks Ms. JK Rowling for allowing writers to set work among the population and locations found in the Harry Potter series of books. Everything belongs to Ms. Rowling and the author of this story neither seeks nor receives remuneration.
Two Daughters
Chapter Eleven
A Harry and Daphne Fanfic
By
Bfd1235813
Their extensive preparation and planning notwithstanding, Harry Potter and Daphne Greengrass Potter had plenty of newlywed work ahead of them once they exchanged vows and brought the Black Witches home to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Potter started working his checklist shortly after arriving with his new bride.
"When I spoke to your father," Potter began.
He meant his formal call on Cyrus Greengrass, asking permission to court Daphne according to the sacred traditions of Magical Britain. That introductory phrase caused a single eyebrow to arch above one of Daphne's lovely, raptor-like eyes.
"Yes?" she semi-growled.
Potter sighed.
"I promised him we had plenty of rooms and you get one of your own at all of our places," said Potter. "Not that I'm trying to kick you out or live separately even though we are under one roof."
"Oh, Harry! That's so thoughtful. That means if I bring work home I won't have to sit with Kreacher at the kitchen table to sign parchment or attach wax seals."
Potter thought she might be pulling his leg although he couldn't be sure.
"Want to take a look?" he asked, gesturing toward the stairs.
"Second floor has one unoccupied room," said Potter.
As he spoke, he looked down the corridor so Daphne deduced the room was at the back of the house.
"When were you going to show me our room?" she asked as she stared unblinking into Potter's eyes.
"I haven't done that?" asked Potter.
When Daphne didn't react he thought back. He found he could not remember a time when he took her on a tour of her new, London home.
"That's embarrassing," he said. "Right. This is it."
The viewing was well-received as Potter had shown some foresight and sent Kreacher to Malfoy Manor to discuss décor with Astoria Malfoy who was thrilled to assess the existing master bedroom and make a list of suggestions for home improvements. These were based mostly on Astoria and Daphne's childhood rooms at Greengrass Manor. Potter had assured Astoria that, should the design strike Daphne as leaning toward juvenile taste in such things, he could provide a generous redecorating budget.
Daphne pronounced the new works quite satisfactory and became appropriately gushy over Potter's attention and generosity. Potter suggested Daphne might want to use her personal room as a dressing room, also noting there was space in the master bedroom for a highboy or vanity. One artifact caught Daphne's eye as she was looking about, imagining the placement of a chest or other piece of bedroom furniture.
Walking across the room, Daphne picked up a framed picture from a bedside table. She began studying the face, which was no doubt a likeness of Bellatrix Lestrange, but older, with short, silver-gray hair and a kind of gloss of civilization overlain on what had been the face of a career outlaw. The face didn't move a muscle, simply staring straight ahead.
"Oh…" said Potter. "That is, well, I meant to get that out of here. With all the wedding preparations and…"
"Lovely," said Greengrass, still staring at the picture. "Where was it taken?"
"Ahh…it wasn't," said Potter. "Narcissa was here. We talked about Bella and Narcissa asked what she was like. I didn't know I could do this, but I used my wand and a napkin and some intent. I printed a picture for her. That one went home with Narcissa. Sometime later, after I thought it over, I experimented with the same technique using different kinds of photo paper, plain paper, matte paper. That one you are holding is the one I liked the best. I got the frame and put it there on the bedside. Not very sensitive of me, was it? I'm so sorry, Daphne, I knew I needed to put it away. I apologize. Why don't you let me have it? You don't need to look at it all the time."
Daphne wasn't focused on Harry Potter, who stood, waiting, but the likeness she held in her hands.
"You've moved," Daphne said, addressing the picture.
"There, you did it again."
"Did not," said Bella's picture.
Daphne looked at her husband.
"Enchanted?" she asked.
Potter closed his eyes and nodded, the archetype of a husband caught out, cornered and obliged to confess.
"Yes, I don't know how, but one day she just started talking. I never enchanted a portrait or photo in my life but there it is," said Potter. "Sorry. Give it to me and I'll keep it under my socks."
Potter held out his hand for the portrait, not realizing he had reached the end of Bella's patience.
"Back off, Potter. Let me get to know this new bride. I'm not going to bite her," she said. "Why don't you go find Kreacher and make sure he has tea ready for Lady Potter-Black?"
Daphne gave Potter a moment of silent observation, pivoted half-right and left the master bedroom. She thought it a good time to assess some more of her room options. Her husband mentioned an upper floor so Daphne climbed the stairs. First looks can be deceiving but Daphne did not think she would warm up to any spaces on the third floor once she saw the look of the central hall. The gloom could have been a custom gloom-fitter's masterpiece. Daphne was struck with the thought that she might desire just such a space, perhaps to de-energize a troublesome distant relative house guest. A quick glance into the rooms confirmed her initial judgment.
Returning to the second floor, Daphne went to the rear of the townhouse, discovering a room that overlooked the garden and the alley beyond. The windows needed a good washing, the only major maintenance that stood out. There was a double bed that looked to be in relatively good shape, two nightstands and a dresser with three drawers that didn't match the other furniture.
Daphne called out for Kreacher, who popped into existence, ready to serve.
"Kreacher is here, milady," said the elf, literally shedding glee at the prospect of once again serving a real, pureblood Black mistress.
"Kreacher, I might need a private place to do some correspondence or other social chore. This room would do nicely but there would be a requirement for a small desk and chair. Would you…"
A snap of elf fingers brought a wooden desk—polished top, kneehole, two pedestals with drawers and a thickly-padded chair—for Daphne's inspection and approval.
"Perfect, Kreacher," said Daphne as she reached out and placed her picture of Bella on the corner of her new desk. The Black witch caught Kreacher's eye.
"You may go, Kreacher, and thank-you," said Lady Potter-Black.
She turned to the framed picture on her new desk.
"Now. My husband didn't think to tell me about you. Start from the beginning," said Daphne, sitting down.
"Okay. First of all, I'm dead. The ticker just wore out. It was around five years after my perfectly-legal jump from the roof of Azkaban. Potter and I talked that over, again and again. My volunteer effort saved a lot of people a lot of grief. Your husband forgave me for all the harm I'd done him and his friends and family. There is no explanation, at least not that we could find. We both think we were meant to be together. It's agreed it would not have worked if the timing was off in any way or our ages reversed. We didn't annoy those details by over-analyzing them. Certain present-day facts derive from that arrangement, Anemone, for one, and Harry's discovery of Delphini, for another," said Bella's picture.
Daphne sat back, upright in her desk chair.
"Hmm…I agree those two are needed in contemporary Magical Britain. Something…the instant I set eyes on them. The magic bounces so between Harry and those witches, it's intimidating. Right, then. Change of plans," said Daphne. "You were headed to his lordship's sock drawer when we came in this room but for now, that corner of my desk where you sit will be suitable, I think. We'll work out our own diplomatic relations. You will be my valued consultant on Black matters, how's that? Just remember I have some other sources close at hand, my brother-in-law and your sisters, to start."
Bella's portrait flinched at the final caveat.
"Yes, just a quality control check," Daphne said, smiling. "Harry needs to stay happy and satisfied if the post-wedding glow begins to fade. Then there are the two Black witches to raise. I'm sure Harry would have wanted to introduce you to them when they reach the proper age. I, too, think that is a good idea. I will discuss how to handle that with him, when the time is right, so we go forward as one. Now, I need to make the most of my time off from work. Feel free to get some rest."
There was a brief moment of silence, then, Bella spoke again.
"Yes, milady. Thank-you milady," said Bella's portrait.
Daphne exited her room, casting a simple alarm charm as she did so. Of course, her lord, to whom she had paid obeisance, could come and go as he wished, but it wouldn't be prudent to let that go on without ensuring she was properly informed.
"Okay, everyone, that's done," Daphne called out.
They were back downstairs where Kreacher did have a fresh pot of tea waiting.
"This is a pleasant surprise, Kreacher," said the new Lady Potter-Black as she sat in the second drawing room and raised her cup. "Oh, that hits the spot."
Kreacher got a kind of all-over rosiness as he bustled about, topping off cups of tea. Daphne looked at Harry, who smirked as he looked back.
So went the day. The Black witches were on their best behavior. Kreacher stayed close to his mistress all the time, yet not close enough to be a bother. Lord Harry was on an emotional roller coaster. Observing all that was going on around him, what they had done together, Potter felt a great upwelling of pride remembering where he was and why he was there. Six years before he'd been an amateur gentleman rogue with a fugitive mistress.
Now, Harry Potter had a new wife and stepmother for his daughters. She was well-born and educated. Having grown up in a very proper pureblood home, she knew all kinds of magical knowledge Potter missed due to the fact he had been raised by muggles. Daphne Greengrass Potter-Black was not concerned, in the slightest, by her step-daughters' history, nor their pedigrees. She respected their mother, as a matter of fact. Aside from being a Dark servant of Voldemort, Bellatrix Black Lestrange was also an accomplished pureblood witch. They would all agree to see Bella's multiple crimes and misdemeanors in the context of their time and not judge her.
Potter did not share his thoughts on his late lover Bella with anyone. The Black witches were too young to understand the complexity of their father's actions and the reasons he did what he did. Then there was Daphne.
"Merlin!" thought Potter. "Where else…who else would do this?"
Daphne didn't know everything but she knew enough. Her husband, before they married, took a very bad witch sailing. He kept her out of sight of the authorities who'd ought to have scoured the entire Atlantic basin, looking for her. For additional diversion, he'd fathered two children with the witch. Daphne Potter-Black assured everyone in their little Potter-Black circle, including the witches, that she relished her role. Potter, like so many people, knew of numerous blended households that never really meshed. So far, it appeared his was getting off to a rollicking good start.
"Witches, is there anything you want to do?" asked Daphne. "I will be going back to the office in a few days so we should make the most of our time."
Ten minutes later, Daphne and the Black witches had a list of things to do. They worked on the list for close to an hour. First Ane, then Delphi wound down from all the day's excitement. Potter carried them both upstairs to their rooms. Daphne stayed with Ane while Potter went back down for Delphi. The Black witches would awake in the morning with the most vivid memories of dreams of Harry and Daphne watching over them while they slept.
"Finally," said Potter as they entered their own room.
His wife smirked.
"Yep. Finally," she said.
Potter got the entire floor secured with a single wave of his wand and a 'Nox,' command.
"This is an odd time to ask but it just occurred to me that we're getting ready to go to bed and I don't know if this is okay, if you want something different, even if you like the room. We can move if you want. Gosh, what a thing to overlook," said mildly puzzled Potter.
"It will do just fine, milord," said Daphne. "Let's give it a chance. No need for quick decisions."
"Oh, that's reasonable," said Potter. "You are being very accommodating of me. That's really nice."
Daphne stopped undressing and stood, looking across the room at her husband. She moved closer, holding his gaze.
"Come," she said, kneeling on their bed, still in her bra, a half-slip and the pearl-gray stockings she had worn all day.
Potter got on the bed, also on his knees and crossed to meet Daphne, expecting a sweet, lingering kiss.
"I know you like all the pureblood, witchery rituals and lore, so listen carefully or I will be lecturing you for the next hundred years. Got it?" she asked.
"Um…Oh, sure!" Potter answered.
"You were very brave when you took care of that mugger. You had three vulnerable witches to protect from an uncivilized fellow with a gun. Most wizards would have wet themselves but you assessed the other guy and saved the day. You got us out of there and back here safely. Then I had my emotional meltdown and you waited patiently, took care of me when I showed up back here, soaked to the skin and hypothermic, managed that, managed the Black witches. Remember?"
"Of course," Potter replied. "I was thinking, 'Oh, crap, you've blown it now. She'll never want to have anything to do with you again!'"
"That was the first time that day you miscalculated," said Daphne. "I know now that is a very rare occurrence. So, then, I gave you my obeisance. What do you think that means?"
"Thank-you? You have my respect?" asked Potter.
"Sure, that, and more," said Daphne. "This is very old magic, husband. Your competence and bravery in battle must be recognized. By coming to you on my knees I acknowledge my debt to you. I thank you for bringing me inside your home, treating me for the hypothermia I got by foolishly exposing myself to the elements. I pledge my love and all the services you're due. Do you understand? I'm a professional woman, it's true, and quite proud to be one, but your skills are different in character. The decent people still need warriors to get between themselves and the horrors of the world. We owe allegiance, support and lots and lots of loyalty. Obeisance."
Daphne held Potter's arms and pushed, lowering him slowly to the bed. It didn't seem to Potter that it took his wife any time at all to have the rest of his clothes off and tossed to the far corner of their room. For punctuation, she took his hands in hers, kissing them.
"Uh…" Potter tried.
"Shh…I always wondered, would I end up with my imaginary prince or a cad? Now I know," Daphne said. "I may be new to this married life, but I have the means to reward my prince. Will you accept my special, private obeisance?"
Potter wondered what his wife considered an appropriate special, private obeisance. He had only a short wait to find out.
The morning came much too early, clear and bright. The sun shone around the edges of their bedroom curtains. Potter knew that if the sun was up, one of the young witches would be getting up and that meant the other would not be far behind. He looked down and saw Daphne Potter-Black's eyelids were starting to flutter. Try as he might, Potter could not get out of bed without some motion transmitting to his bride through the bedding. Daphne's eyes stopped fluttering and opened up. The first thing she did was reach out to put her hand behind Potter's neck, pulling his head to herself. Their lips met, mouths open.
"What time did we get to sleep?" he asked, as they pulled apart.
"Don't know. Late," she answered.
"How do you feel? I wasn't too demanding, was I?"
She started to laugh.
"If witches weren't built to handle it our species would be extinct," Daphne assured him.
"Okay," said Potter. "I'm going to listen at a keyhole, so if you want to use the loo…"
Potter did listen and heard nothing. He found his own loo, leaving Daphne their en suite, then took the stairs down to the kitchen.
"Kreacher," he said, greeting his elf. "Coffee. Glass of orange juice? A few pancakes with maple syrup."
"Of course, Master," agreed Kreacher. "Lady Daphne?"
"Along any minute now," said Potter.
She did come along, asking for coffee, a low-calorie, high-protein cereal and a glass of water. Daphne was a big believer in water, taken regularly throughout the day. Potter hoped his wife was not planning to take charge and put him on her idea of a so-called healthy diet. It occurred to him he might have explored that when they were in their courtship phase. A codicil emerged from that thought, that it was a bit late to be pondering those kinds of things now, after they'd exchanged vows. Must he honor her views on his intake of things like beef and sugar? He resolved to increase the loving and cherishing if his honoring was weak.
When the Black witches arrived in the kitchen, they went straight to Daphne for a double-hug.
"Mum Daphne!" they shouted.
"What are we doing today, witches?" asked their step-mum.
The suggestions and requests were both numerous and fragmented. To save time, Daphne agreed to do all of it that very day, the schedule to be determined after further discussion, over breakfast.
Potter observed it all, impressed with his new wife's ability to lead the Potter-Black progeny with such a deft touch. The young witches didn't even realize they were being led as opposed to eagerly emulating the accomplished witch who had fallen so conveniently into their laps. Potter shared his daughters' view that, perhaps, Lady Daphne had something to teach them all.
Potter, along with the Black witches, continued his program of independent study. They were polishing the skills they would need when they entered Hogwarts School in the not-too-distant future. Potter's subjects, alchemy and mind arts, built on what he had acquired at school. The Hogwarts curriculum pounded away at responsible uses of practical magic. Defense Against the Dark Arts was consistent with the description—Defense.
Vast magical libraries contained volumes of spells, potions, charms and concoctions. Most was benign but even that could be used irresponsibly. Potter learned a handy charm to manipulate naturally occurring radiation with a magical lens. Gamma rays, if concentrated enough, could be used to create tiny holes in material objects. Hogwarts would not have taught its students such a skill, even in its highest-level courses. Post-secondary students such as Potter were expected to have the judgement to know responsible from irresponsible uses for the advanced magic. Potter had great fun with his new subjects, even if he couldn't always figure out a use for them. When a possible use became apparent, he assured himself only responsible applications would occur to him.
The Black witches adapted quickly to their new domestic situation. More and more, Potter found Teddy Lupin joining the family for trips to the Potter and Black properties and outings on the sailboat. Lady Potter-Black reveled in her youthful audience. The weekends devoted to associating with Potter's odd collection of witches and one wizard proved to be a refreshing and
welcome break from legal parchment and meetings. Daphne had some vacation days coming so Potter planned a sail-about with the children. Andromeda Tonks offered to come but Potter deduced she was really interested in three or four days to herself, a fact confirmed by Narcissa Malfoy only after she had extracted a promise of confidentiality.
The party left the magical marina and sailed west before turning north once they were past Land's End. Potter's magical chart showed an island not far from the Isle of Man. The muggles' chart didn't have the island which meant the magical sailors kept its existence to themselves. Potter found the magical harbor master right where the guide said he would be.
"We're all set," he told his crew when he returned.
Delphi had been in charge of getting the boat secured so the travelers could go ashore for a look-around. Potter hadn't been on an actual trip in his boat for months, despite lots of days sailing out of his home marina on the Channel. He thought he identified a physical need within himself for the feel of new territory. Every port had its own atmospherics, its own sounds, its own scents. When a sailor pulls into a new harbor for the first time, it is like discovering a new world, although one doesn't have to travel into space for it.
Potter found the streets outside the harbor area quite agreeable. The pubs did not have the pounding music and raucous laughter he'd encountered in so many of the Caribbean ports. Instead, the inhabitants were out walking in the evening air, many couples and families among them.
Daphne was functioning as the Potter-Black mater familias—keeping an eye on both the children and her husband, looking around at the sites only after taking inventory. They passed by a few pubs where someone had brought a guitar or a fiddle. Potter was reading the names on the signs hanging outside the businesses. Some of the pub names leaned toward the fanciful.
"Grace O'Malley," said Potter as Daphne turned to look.
"Right, so witches, do you know who that is? Teddy?" she asked.
"A witch?" asked Delphi.
"Better," said Daphne.
"I read about her," said Teddy. "She was a pirate."
"A pirate named Grace?" asked Delphi.
Teddy looked at Daphne, who was nodding her agreement.
"Excellent, Teddy," she said. "Grace O'Malley was indeed a pirate from this very part of the world. Ireland, to be exact, which is just a short sail in that direction."
Daphne pointed out beyond the little harbor indicating a vague westerly course.
"And a witch?" asked Ane.
"Well, in those days, lots of muggles anointed any strong woman a witch because they couldn't explain how a woman gained knowledge, certain kinds of skills or power in her community unless she had demonic help. They were so prejudiced toward women they took them to court and got a judgment then they executed them."
"Ohh…," said Delphi.
"That's awful!" said Ane.
"So rotten," said Teddy.
"Let's go in," said Potter. "It's time to eat and I smell fried fish. I think."
The family stepped inside the Grace O'Malley, breathing the air, collecting the scents of food, stout, sawdust and human bodies shedding a bit of perspiration. There was a bar, a few barstools, tables and chairs and a little stage that rose eight or ten inches above the slate floor of the pub.
"If they have fish and chips, will that be okay with everyone?" asked Potter. "I'll order for us."
Predictably, the rest of the party agreed on fish and chips.
"Butterbeer to drink? They might have lemonade or iced tea or some other non-alcoholic drinks or water…" Potter offered.
He looked from face to face, inviting his table companions' comments. Along with studying the family, Potter stole quick glances at the other customers. Working around the table, going from one Potter-Black to another gave three-quarters of a complete circle of the pub patrons. Most were focused on a glass or platter of fish, some stared off into real or imaginary space, two or three had thoughts that caused them some distress or actual anger.
Potter noticed a server coming toward the table. She stopped and looked around.
"Fish and chips?" asked Potter. "Five? And I'll have an iced tea."
The others asked for iced tea, except for Ane, who ordered a lemonade.
"Aren't you going to say hello?" asked the server, looking at Daphne.
"Oh—you are?"
The young woman smirked.
"Meri Pennyfarthing! I was four or five years behind you, in Slytherin!" she said.
"Meri! Of course. Sorry, it has been a few years, and you're wearing your hair up," said Daphne.
Harry raised his eyebrows.
"Harry, my Slytherin housemate, Meritous Pennyfarthing. Meri, my husband…"
"Yes, Harry Potter, I remember," said Meri. "You must excuse me, I didn't expect—um—this."
Meri Pennyfarthing made a little sweeping motion across the Potter-Black table.
"No reason why you should," said Potter. "The young folks—Teddy Lupin, Delphi and Ane Black. This is Miss Pennyfarthing."
"Very pleased to meet you, Miss Pennyfarthing," Delphi and Ane said together.
Meri Pennyfarthing left, smiling. She was back a few minutes later with their meals.
"Right, then, everyone, enjoy," Potter said as he picked up a piece of fish.
Following Potter's example, the others started picking up fish, chips and breadsticks.
Delphi noticed her father seemed tight, almost the way she had seen him gathering himself when he was about to tackle some arduous task. She decided to stay alert for signs that the still-unknown stressor was poised to act. Her stepmother also sensed something was upsetting Potter. Delphi's body language betrayed her interest. Daphne shifted her eyes, registering that Delphi had her under observation. Each raised her brows, just slightly.
Potter was the table's student of mind arts. Whatever caused him discomfort was staying quiet. Not desiring to spoil his family's dinner, while they were on vacation together, no less, Potter looked across that modest space. He sent smiles here and there among his table of diners. Potter wondered if he possessed calmative powers.
'Armstrong,' thought Potter. 'Derrick Armstrong.'
Starting with a sketchy recollection of a most obscure member's remarks at a forgotten session of the Wizengamot, paired up with sentence fragments pulled out of the pub's murmur, Potter identified the source of his discontent. Derrick Armstrong delivered the non-speech complaining about Ministry officials making post-war decisions in haste. What was Derrick Armstrong doing in the Grace O'Malley, just when the Potters were in town, enjoying their fish and chips?
None of it made sense. The bits of conversation that came his way didn't help Potter identify Armstrong's subject matter or the other speaker. Not seeing any danger in letting his attention go elsewhere, Potter took the floor. It was time he did some family-raising.
"I've been thinking, I'm going to call this trip the Black Cruise," Potter declared.
Ane smiled, Delphi looked a bit skeptical and Teddy raised both fists over his head, his arms forming a 'V'.
"Why?" asked Daphne.
"To build Black solidarity," Potter answered. "Teddy and Delphi will be starting school next year. We need these shared experiences. They'll be a strong foundation for when the world comes knocking. What would you think about an annual Black Cruise?"
Daphne didn't know if she understood completely but it did sound like Potter's heart was in the right place. Besides, it had been clear for a considerable time; the Potter household wasn't going to be built on a nuclear family model. He'd pulled his family together from here and there, building it out of bits and pieces he found along the way.
Conversation picked up, considerably, at the Potter-Black table. Delphi wanted to know where the next Black cruise would be going. Potter noted the prospective cruise was a year in the future. Ane asked if they would all be getting new fishing rods for the trip. Potter observed he hadn't known Ane even knew what fishing rods were. Delphi extorted a promise from Potter that he would acquire the necessary charts so they could begin plotting their various courses.
Throughout their meal, Potter kept one ear partially tuned to Derrick Armstrong, to the extent he could pick him out from cross-conversations. It didn't make a lot of sense to him. Armstrong and his dinner companion agreed they had an issue with some of the post-war decisions of the Ministry of Magic, that was clear. Potter had no luck identifying the issues they believed had been mishandled. It sounded like they could become very agitated if they stayed on the subject too long.
Eventually, the fish, chips, Cole slaw and drinks were finished and the family started to pack up. Potter waved Meri Pennyfarthing over and settled their bill. The witch began to make change before Potter demurred, insisting she keep the overage. The amount must have been generous, judging by her expressions of gratitude.
The group attracted attention simply by standing and moving together toward the door. Potter recognized Derrick Armstrong, who was sitting at a table with a clear sightline to the exit. Armstrong was sitting with a man, presumably another wizard, whom Potter didn't recognize. The stranger wasn't intrusive, but Potter was sure he felt eyes on his back as he got his family outside.
The island magic was amplified by the absence of garish electrical lighting on their walk back to the marina. The volume of conversation went down as everyone strolled along together. Delphi found their pier and led the way back to where they'd tied up the Bella.
"Right, then," Potter began. "The mate will be in charge of getting the vessel secured for a routine evening in port."
The order was crisp, assured. Delphi Black tried to suppress a smile and failed. Delphi's duties consisted of a tour of the main deck, from the stern to the bow on the port side, then turning around and walking back down the starboard side. The lines between the boat and the cleats fixed to the dock were tight. She looked to make sure all the fenders were in place. Light came from some very dim lanterns mounted on the cabin superstructure. Delphi loved everything about the boat-salt air, mist and the subdued atmospherics in magical marinas devoid of the muggles' eye-scorching, unnatural electrical lighting. She wasn't much for physical display, but Delphi walked close to Potter and hugged him around the waist.
"Harry?"
"Yes, Delphi?"
"Thank-you for taking us all on this cruise," she said.
"You're welcome," he said. "Thank-you for coming along and helping me out."
"What's the plan for tomorrow?" Delphi asked.
"Good question," said Potter. "I'd prefer to check and make sure everything is shipshape then get underway. We have plenty of food. Breakfast won't be a problem. You and I tend to the sailing, and someone fries eggs, toasts bread. You know. My thought was to be near home tomorrow. Depending on the wind, of course."
"Of course," said Delphi.
"Sound like a plan?" asked Potter.
"Aye, Captain," Delphi answered.
Potter wondered what she had been reading.
"Do you know Derrick Armstrong?" Daphne asked.
"Don't KNOW-know him," answered Potter. "He delivers remarks at Session from time to time. Seems like a kind of low achiever, at least on the surface."
"True. Kind of a low achiever with a survival instinct," said Daphne. "Did you recognize his companion back there at the pub?"
"No. Thought I'd heard the voice before but couldn't place it," answered Potter.
"He's a Lestrange," said Daphne. "Theobald. Theobald Lestrange. He'd be a cousin by marriage of Bella's."
"Cool name," said Potter. "He could write sci-fi, horror—wouldn't even need a nom de plume."
"I wouldn't know about that," said Daphne. "Who reads that stuff, anyway? The villainy is laughable, compared to real life."
"That's one perspective," Potter semi-agreed. "One or two of the authors get a few things right. Anything remarkable about Theobald Lestrange?"
"Not really," Daphne answered. "Guess they're just sightseers, like us."
"Guess so," Potter said. "Well, tea or straight to your bunk?"
"My bunk, of course. I'm exhausted," said Daphne. "You're not?"
"Maybe just sit out, topside, for a bit," Potter said. "Keep an eye on things."
"Don't sit up keeping watch, Harry. Please? The last thing your family needs is an exhausted patriarch."
Potter reached out and pulled the Greengrass Heiress to himself, his arms encircling her, anaconda-style.
"That's right, I do have a family, don't I?" he said.
"You always did," Daphne said, her lips close to an ear. "You had Teddy and Andromeda. Then you got Ane. You came home and found Delphi and it turned out you were her father, too, you exemplar of potency."
Potter snorted.
"Exemplar of potency? Merlin, you just made my head size expand," said Potter. "And you assessed us as worthy and let us take you captive."
"Yes, and then you and your band put me on a boat and sailed us away to this magical island," said Daphne.
"You make our lives sound like a fairy tale," he whispered, squeezing just a little tighter.
"Yes, yes, yes! Exactly," said Daphne. "All of it magical, thanks to you."
That was the point each pulled back just enough for eyes to look into eyes, lips to touch lips, cheeks to rub and the vibrations of soft murmurs to be heard, if one were very, very still.
"So, I'm going to sit here, topside, and just keep a lookout for a short time," said Potter. "No schedule for tomorrow. We get up when we're all awake, leave port, then we should have a leisurely sail back home."
"Like a magical sailing vacation," Daphne noted.
"Exactly," said Potter.
"Okay. Night," said Daphne.
"Night."
Potter watched Daphne descend into the cabin. He thought about Bella, how she looked when they'd encountered one another in the forest, her days in court, broken and defiant all at once. He remembered how she had transformed after apparating to his boat, how he hadn't had a plan and didn't know what he was going to do with his latest acquisition—a psychopathic witch who had faithfully served his mortal enemy. Bella had probably broken every criminal statute in Magical Britain at least once. Now he had a perfectly respectable solicitor for a wife. Teddy Lupin, the child of a werewolf, was his godson. He had two little witches from Bellatrix the criminal, witch, prison escapee.
It really was a puzzle. What magic was at work? He had a lovely family as one result of the terrible decades of intracommunal warfare between factions of the wizarding community. Tactics were vicious. Assassination was common as was extortion, torture and violation of universally accepted codes for the conduct of war. From that came this artifact of transcendent beauty, his family for which he had no other explanation but that he was the luckiest wizard alive.
Potter stood and stepped onto the pier. He walked back to land and chose a seat on one of the benches that gave him a view of the piers and the boats in the little marina. He became conscious, once again, of the peace that descended with full darkness, undisturbed by the muggles' prized electrical lighting. Potter understood the necessity, in places like city streets. London's population dictated it would be one of the world's twenty-four-hour cities. Without street lighting, London at night would be complete chaos. Even a nature loving wizard understood that and accepted it.
Even so, there was something about the darkness, the slap of wavelets on boat hulls and the little, dim oil lamps that barely illuminated circles of light one meter across. Potter focused on his breath, counting and feeling all the sensations of the marina. He'd gained a lot of control, due to his habit of daily meditation. As his teacher had explained at the beginning, when one does it enough, one can shift into a meditative state at will. Potter was a skeptic until one day he did it without thinking. Realizing what he had done came later. Potter began to laugh, which continued, intermittently, for an hour.
Potter was in deep enjoyment, half meditation, half reverie, when a pair of annoying voices intruded. One was oily, smooth, inherently untrustworthy. The other was quiet, the points the speaker made all understated. Something lay beneath the words. The second voice overlaid a thin veneer on top of a deeper, more menacing message.
"Mark my words, Armstrong!"
That got Potter's attention. Sitting up, more alert than at any point in the last three or four hours, he focused on the first speaker.
"Theobald, please," said the second wizard.
'Okay, that wasn't hard,' thought Potter. 'Derrick Armstrong and Theobald Lestrange. Now, was Armstrong trying to make a connection with Bella with that cockamamie speech all those months ago?'
"I raised it during Remarks Time at Session, remember? I understand if you feel you have a grievance but no one, and I mean NO ONE, will fall in behind you on this. We've been over it too many times already."
'Yes, he was. How about that? I suspected but never heard an inkling of confirmation that my hunch was accurate,' thought Potter.
"He's a pile of dung! No respect. He even named that boat after Bellatrix! My cousin's late wife. Took her cruising for years! Got her knocked up and sailed back with the bairn, big as you please, and no sign of her mother. It's a disgrace, spittin' in the eye of my whole family," Lestrange concluded.
"Okay, Theobald, do you have evidence that Potter, somehow, rescued Bellatrix and went sailing around keeping her out of sight while copulating madly and eventually producing issue? No. You tell me, haven't we considered all of that?" asked Armstrong.
The strollers stood in a patch of light, just strong enough for Potter to pick out a little detail in their faces.
"It's an insult to the Lestrange family!" Theobald Lestrange insisted.
Potter sat, silent, while the wizards stared at one another. Derrick Armstrong finally shook his head before walking back down the row of slips in the lamplight. Potter watched Armstrong for a few moments. His Wizengamot colleague looked to be headed back to the pub. The sound of feet on crushed stone brought Potter's attention to something nearer. He looked up to see Theobald Lestrange stopped, staring into Potter's patch of shadow.
"Potter," said Lestrange.
"That's me, yes," said Potter. "If I have somehow given offense…"
"Eavesdropping on a private conversation, yes, that could be categorized as offensive," Lestrange spat.
Potter sat, quiet, looking at Lestrange but paying particular attention to the man's hands. He doubted Lestrange was well-drilled in wandless casting.
"To finish my thought, if I've given offense, I apologize," Potter said.
"Besides the insult to my uncle?" Lestrange demanded.
"To whom I did nothing," Potter noted. "We never met. What do you think you know about me or whatever you believe I did to your family?"
"You need to take that brood and get out of Britain!" shouted Lestrange. "Everyone knows…"
"What?" Potter wanted to know. "What does everyone know?"
"Those witches! Everyone knows who their mother is!" said Lestrange.
"Got any documentation?" asked Potter. "Official paperwork? Clippings from the Prophet? Any of your friends attend baby showers? Did any of the witches in your family give her a baby shower? Did your aunt and uncle write personal letters to family and friends? Those are your choices, more or less."
"Anyone who ever saw Aunt Bellatrix says they look just like…"
"Who? Your aunt? Is Bellatrix the source of your information?"
"Of course not," said Lestrange. "She was very…discreet."
"Mmm-hmm, violent, too. Do you think it was for good reasons? Perhaps she and your uncle were protecting you and the rest of your family? Would too much knowledge have proven fatal, should word have gotten to the wrong ears? Word that you possessed certain information that you should not? That you were a bit too close to a famous outlaw who wouldn't have wanted anyone to know such closely held information? Besides, it isn't just the lack of documentation. You would have a very hard time producing evidence that I ever did anything besides make a humanitarian visit to a prisoner. One, I wish to add, who is known to have attempted to kill me on numerous occasions over the years."
Potter's speech ended there, although he did continue his study of Lestrange, especially his hands. Lestrange stared back for a few moments before turning and leaving the yacht slips. He walked just a few yards before turning around.
"This is not over, Potter!"
Theobald Lestrange stomped off into the darkness.
Potter thought Lestrange knew his own mind and had no reason to doubt the man. He took several deep breaths while keeping Lestrange's back in sight as long as he could.
"What are you going to do, Potter?"
Bellatrix. He might have known.
"Magic," Potter replied.
Bella didn't speak further, although she did, somehow, communicate the sound of a sceptic's doubtful sniff. After some minutes or, more likely, a half-hour, Potter rose, boarded the Bella, and descended the ladder to the cabin.
The interior was black as pitch and all the family was asleep, except Delphi. Potter wondered how her eyes were nearly luminescent in the cabin when they looked like obsidian in daylight.
"It's okay," Potter whispered as he lay his hand on the side of Delphi's face.
"I know," said his daughter.
The next day dawned fair and dry. The crew used some of their fresh water to hose down the weather surfaces to get the salt off. The trip home would put the salt right back on. The captain judged it worthwhile to get the old salt off before the new built up a crust.
Potter was relieved on the helm by a steady rotation of young Blacks asking for a turn. Delphi liked the helm but preferred leaning on the little chart table, identifying the features she could see and comparing them to those shown on the chart. The wind changed and Potter asked the children to stay off the main deck, lest a stray swell break over the side, possibly knocking them off their feet.
"Having fun?"
Daphne had moved next to Potter. She put one hand on the wheel. The weather wasn't that rough. It was more of a 'through thick and thin' gesture. Potter smiled a huge smile.
"Isn't this great?" he asked. "Why do we want to do anything but this?"
"I am starting to see the attraction," Daphne said. "Although, I do like my job."
Potter was silent, wondering if he'd somehow miscommunicated a wish to toss London, the estates and all the other landsman folderol in favor of a life of exploring all the cute little magical ports around the world.
He gave Daphne a glance and decided the smirk meant she was having a bit of harmless fun. Potter was not aware Delphi had returned until she spoke. Potter looked toward the hatch where his daughter stood, a chart in one hand.
"If you stay on our current heading we can stop in Newlyn. That's right here, it's a port, and supposed to be very arty. We could spend the night and sail back home tomorrow," she said.
"Come here. Bring your chart," said Potter.
"Okay, trade. Take the wheel. Keep to our current course."
Potter looked at the chart, doing a rough calculation using his thumb and index finger.
"Right you are," he said, turning to Daphne. "I don't recall telling Andy we'd be back today, or tonight."
"Don't think we specified," Daphne said.
"Feel like seeing Newlyn? I've been there once. It was one of my first trips out and away from my teacher's marina. I wouldn't mind seeing it again."
"Fine with me," said Daphne. "They do have owls, don't they?"
"They do. Right, Helmsman, take over. Current heading is good. Tell me if you recommend a course change," Potter ordered.
"Aye, Captain," said Delphi.
Magical Newlyn turned out to be a lovely counterpart to muggle Newlyn. Plenty of the local witches and wizards had artistic vocations or avocations so the Potter-Blacks enjoyed the town and a dinner from a pasty shop run by a delightful witch who regaled the family with tales of wizards, pirates and the local craft of salvage.
While the Black Cruise was underway, Theobald Lestrange had taken to his bed with an unbearable headache.
