"What the hell is this?"
"It's a woman's clutch."
"I know what it is Hermione!"
"You didn't say it was a rhetorical question."
Harry, Hermione, and Blake stood in a circle around the offending personal effect left alone on the collection table. The glittering monstrosity seemed to glare back at them.
"And no one reached for it? Used a gemino and left the duplicate?" Hermione asked Blake.
Blake shook his head mournfully. Harry had spent an hour under his cloak of invisibility to watch the guests come and go, tallying about a dozen women who fit Lady Bluebird's profile. Until Auror Penelope needed his help transporting a giant spider corpse, citing his history with Hagrid as expertise, so he'd left Blake in charge with strict instructions to watch who claimed the bag.
"A bunch of ladies came in last minute. None of them claimed it."
Harry pried the clutch open.
Lipsticks, candies, and hairpins. No wand.
"Harry," started Hermione, as though he were on the verge of casting a bombarda on himself. Hah, he would never, not after surviving this long.
He closed the bag slowly. His left eye began to twitch.
"Can I know what's going on, Sir?"
"No," said Harry.
Blake's cheeks puffed on in irritation, only mollified when Hermione added, "It's top secret, but we're counting on you."
Harry retired early before he gouged his or someone else's eye out with his thumbs.
"Mother," Daphne called. "We're leaving for Astoria's treatment."
Erecta paused in her tinkering with the teacups and sugar bowls. The only sign of discomfort was her minute tightening around the sugar spoon as she licked it clean.
Nothing. Their mother never did anything, content to roam the home and library, head stuck in grandeur delusions of a forgotten past.
"You don't have to come," said Astoria.
"I'm coming."
"You don't have to."
"I want to."
"I don't want you—" Astoria broke off, rubbing her arms. They'd gotten pallid in the last few days, taking on a gray sheen. They returned to St. Mungo's every two months for a few days, enough for the treatment to circulate through her entire body.
It wasn't enough. Experimental treatments demanded they live on the continent, so the medical and living expenses would quickly outflank whatever Daphne earned with the column.
Astoria took the urgency of a living curse ravaging her blood lightly. She seemed to find amusement in it, which might explain why she wasn't worried about securing a husband as Daphne was.
"Another round, Healer Jones?"
Healer Jones smiled, threading prickly tubes around Astoria's forearm. "The usual."
"Don't forget the grisly bits."
"Of course not." Healer Jones attached a trinket to Astoria's wrist to keep the tubes in place. Potion flushing, they called it.
The sisters sat in a frosty silence, interrupted occasionally by Healer Jones and Astoria flirting their way through the ugly procedure. When Astoria was all settled in for the next two days, Daphne stood to rearrange the blankets as she liked it.
"Are you going to the auction this weekend?" her sister asked.
"Obviously."
Astoria gestured to her bag on the small table next to the bed. "There's a letter in there. Can you give it to Draco?"
Daphne's fingers slowed. The blanket was too thin and cheap. She'd need to bring the bedding from home. And the food—Knobby could bring meals at least once a day. And then she needed to research for the weekend and reply to Davies on Astoria's behalf with something that kept him interested and thinking she was still interested, but enough room to consider other prospects.
"Daphne? I know that look. Stop thinking."
Daphne pulled at a stray thread.
Astoria nudged her towards the bag. "If you love me, you'll do it."
Fuck.
She hated Slytherins.
Of Mandy's friends he was able to contact, between maintaining a modicum of a social life, sleeping at least a few hours per night, and scouring the southern seas for other poor animals seized from their homeland, only two replied, saying they didn't know where she'd gone and they hadn't heard from her. Flint also didn't know who she was, and though Lady Flint had handed over the invite list, it seemed like everyone and their mothers had attended the party.
Meanwhile, Harry's closet at Grimmauld place now held two pairs of women's shoes and a purse that he suspected cost more than a pet Hippogriff.
He'd transported the offending items here because his office was becoming littered in potions and venoms and other important pieces of evidence, and he would've committed a seventh procedural violation by not involving the evidence department.
Part of him was angry he hadn't commandeered the tracing system himself and placed it on the wand, who cared about the clearance system (he did, actually), but that would be a shortcut to a Wizengamot trial. Wizarding World favorite he was, endearing to old men and women beholden to tradition and plum-colored suits he was not.
He regretted not immediately taking the wand to Ollivander's for identification. Unfortunately, when he went after the fact, the old man apologetically told him he couldn't identify a wand through a picture or verbal description.
The Woman was running him ragged.
The fact she'd retrieved her wand under his nose—him! A two-time killing curse survivor and dark wizard killer extraordinaire!—was unbelievable. And now he had to see vestiges of her closet every time he opened his own.
He sipped absently on his firewhiskey.
"Aren't you becoming a tad obsessive?" asked Neville.
Ron snorted around a mouthful of burger. "When has Harry ever had a gut feeling and left his manic stalking at tad levels?"
It was the first time he and Ron had met in over a month. Neville had kindly joined to balance out the tension and was doing a poor job of inventing new topics of conversation, leading the group to talk about the only safe thing at the moment: work.
"I wouldn't call it manic," he muttered. Notably, he didn't dispute the term stalking. Following Snape in first year, Malfoy in second year…in third year…sixth year too, actually…
"This woman," Ron leaned in conspiratorially, "You think she's working for them?"
"She wasn't clear on that front but next time I'll ask her again."
His sass earned him Ron stealing his last chicken wing.
Neville cleared his throat. "Maybe it's not so bad. It sounds like it's keeping him busy, which is good after…"
Ron and Harry glared. Neville made multiple attempts to backtrack and reword but they all led down the same lane.
Harry's relationship with Ron stayed the course after Ron and Hermione broke up, probably owing to the fact that he himself wasn't involved and the two had been incredibly mature about it, though it would take time for the three to resume life as usual.
Harry hurting Ron's sister, however, was different.
Simply, he wanted a normal life after war. After a life under the thumb of her parents and six brother, she wanted freedom.
But she didn't want it enough, he thought bitterly.
Her appearance at the museum was manageable; he was too busy spending most of it following Warrington Senior around. At the yacht, however…gods, she was as beautiful as he remembered.
At least there was someone who'd taken his mind off things: The Woman. She'd come dressed differently, not only with a new mask but style too. She'd taken to wearing a dress that covered everything but showed everything. Her slender neck. The fabric spilling like ink over her hips and bunching at her knees before flaring out.
Racing to help her was instinct. But the distinct perfume and feel of his arms around her, even in the middle of a high-adrenaline rescue, was all he could remember now.
He needed to see her face. Better than that, he needed to tweak his strategy. Not slinking around in an invisibility cloak playing defense, but being on the offense. Aggressive.
He bit into a fry. "Speaking of marriage, the License Hall has all the records, yeah?"
Neville and Ron exchanged concerned glances.
"Daphne," Mandy's voice boomed in the parlor.
Daphne jolted out of the wing-backed chair from where she was reading a magazine catalogue on ice cream (in order to prepare a plan of attack on Marcus Belby), saw Mandy's face shimmering ominously in the fireplace, and bit back a groan.
"Daphne, are you sure you're coming?"
"Yes. You can't call me every day to ask, I've got other things to do. I promise I'll convince a solid number of people to come."
"I don't call anyone else." Mandy pouted. "My friends hate me."
"That's not true." But it sort of was—how many people from the season had kept socializing with Pansy prior to Bluebird's latest? Eight or nine, maybe? And that was out of three hundred.
"It is. Someone sent me a letter saying an Auror was asking about me and told me to stay away from society." She heard a scowl in her voice. "My parents' trial is coming up. Why won't they leave me alone?"
Daphne inhaled sharply. "Where are you now?"
"At Terence's."
"At Higgs?" she nearly screeched.
"He hasn't done anything," Mandy said quickly. "It's just—they despise getting involved with government folk, and when I told his mother I was nervous about being brought in again and hated the Aurors, she invited me to stay."
Daphne suspected it was more a ruse to keep Mandy under their thumb than anything else. Ensure she wouldn't create problems or run away before the wedding, causing more scandal.
"You haven't told him about—"
"No, no." There was a short pause, as if Mandy was looking over her shoulder to ensure privacy. "It's like you said, Daphne. It's getting better. It will be better. I don't know how Lady Bluebird found out, but she made this happen. Gosh, if I met her, I'd be so thankful. And to you too, Daphne," she tacked on. "I can't believe I thought you were horrid just a month ago."
Daphne softened. "Don't thank me yet, Brocklehurst."
"See you soon."
The mothers of the season wished for a 'private' affair to discuss the whirlwind of the past two weeks. Thus, on Wednesday, Daphne was stuffed between the stony-faced Lady Rafiq and Lady Boot in Lady Abbott's home.
And because it was Lady Abbott doing the hosting, there were few new faces today: Elizabeth Cattermole, Aishwarya Patil, Fiona Wood.
Molly Weasley and Marigold Parkinson.
Daphne spotted Narcissa at the other end of the long table, Lady Abbott having graciously given the Lady of the Season the seat. Narcissa, though no longer prone to scrunching her nose at whatever she found unsavory, still managed a subtle grimace when Mrs. Weasley arrived ten minutes late. Much too early to be appropriately fashionably late, but too late to be considered mannerly. A huge roast beef and a bowl of mash teetered in her arms that Hannah quickly stood up to help with.
"Molly, lovely to see you," lied Mrs. Zabini. Her mouth twitched. "You brought…food?"
Mrs. Weasley smiled. "Why, yes! One must never come empty handed, I say, and this is a famous recipe from my grandmother."
"Gosh, I've missed your cooking," gushed Elizabeth Cattermole.
"Can I take a slice home for my husband?" said Fiona Wood.
"Everyone must try," insisted Lady Abbott, already cutting into the hunk of meat.
The ladies of older families evaluated the proceedings of what laypeople called a 'potluck' in shock.
Fleur, invited to today's 'check-in' by Lady Abbott herself, scooted to create space for her mother-in-law. The other newcomers were scattered about, leaving for an interesting mosaic of lifestyles that Daphne expected to cause a great number of passive-aggressive arguments today.
She wasn't disappointed (not by the food; the roast beef was utterly delightful, and now her understanding of the Weasleys' eating habits at Hogwarts rose by a smidge). Lady Bulstrode, carrying on her tirade against conspicuous redheads, made no less than three huffed comments at Mrs. Weasley. Lady Davis kept pawing at Mrs. Patil's luscious hair like she was some exotic creature from over yonder, and everyone ignored Elizabeth Cattermole, sister to a plain Ministry worker, despite her daughter's impressive credentials on the marriage mart.
Lady Abbott was probably aware of the social discordancy, but like Hannah thought bringing together pieces of different societies would foster social cohesion.
And like Hannah's lunch, proceeded disastrously—blessedly, it did not end with a search and seizure.
"What is it like in India?" started Narcissa. The woman was aiming for diplomacy, at least.
"Wonderful. I haven't gone since I was a child," replied Mrs. Patil.
"That makes sense," said Lady Rafiq, nodding sagely. "You are rather well-spoken."
Mrs. Patil set down her fork. "I would hope so. I speak three languages."
The table went quiet. Lady Rafiq let out a nervous titter.
"This beef is quite delightful," tried Lady Montague. "I am sure my house-elf can imitate the recipe should I desire a...distinctive flavor."
"Oh, let the poor elves rest. A dish like this requires honest hands," replied Mrs. Weasley.
More silence. Lisa Turpin coughed into a fist.
"Well then," Narcissa clapped her hands together. "Eleanor, I do believe you promised us your famed darjeeling blend?"
Lady Abbott nodded and went to fetch the tea. This was a no-elf household, a fact one of the ladies pointed out early on.
Mrs. Wood dabbed at her mouth. "Why don't we take turns speaking about why we're here and how we may help one another?"
The table stared at Mrs. Wood. From their expressions, Daphne estimated that at least five guests concluded that Oliver Wood inherited his smarts from his mother.
"Splendid idea!" declared Mrs. Weasley, before Lady Narcissa, per custom, could gesture to open up the floor for tea-time conversation. Narcissa did a fantastic job of smoothing her expression over into mild interest, though her fingers twitched over the monogrammed napkins.
Lady Parkinson spoke for the first time. It would be forgiven; she was out of practice, of course, and not at all due to the fault of society, who were all only following what others were doing, and no one had known any better, but Lady Bluebird had graciously clarified things, of course.
"I have been struggling to convince our lovely Pansy to engage more." Lady Parkinson's smile stretched wide. "It's understandable, really. She is an impressionable young woman, still struggling among her peers who were so quickly reintegrated. I ask everyone to welcome her graciously at the auction this weekend, should they see her."
The table made a chorus of affirmative hums.
"We understand," said Lady Warrington, mother to the ex-death eater and pardoned Cassius Warrington. Cassius enjoyed the company of at least two or three ladies at every party, some curiously taken with his fading Dark Mark.
Lady Parkinson's smile widened. "I'm not sure you do."
All went still.
Thankfully, Mrs. Weasley missed the subtext and began babbling.
"Our youngest, Ginny, wasn't eager to join. Arthur and I have never enjoyed these sorts of things, and none of our boys entered a season. But we were so worried about her after Harry, you know—Harry Potter," she clarified, as though none of them had read the Daily Prophet 's ongoing series on his relationship, "that when she came to us and said she wanted to try, we were stunned! Eleanor has been a great help, but I'm afraid I can't do much more for Ginny than she can for herself."
"A mother's role is vital." Narcissa took a small sip of her tea. "A mother is the pillar of the home and shapes the child. We guide them through thorny paths we have already endured."
Daphne tried to stamp down the bile rising at thoughts of Erecta. Mrs. Weasley's bobbing bright red hair helped distract, and everyone was surprised to see Narcissa and Mrs. Weasley share a wistful look of concern over their children.
"Harry is like my son too, of course. I still have hope he could become a son of mine, but I want him to find someone who understands him, even if it couldn't be my daughter."
For reasons unknown, Daphne couldn't look at Mrs. Weasley.
These people were so different. So easy to read and required no subterfuge.
She was not alone; it took a few moments for any lady to muster a response to that.
"I do think the mart is a place for understanding. Not love, but mutual respect," nodded Mrs. Midgen.
Mrs. Zabini also smiled in agreement. Daphne didn't think any of her husbands had understood her need for mariticide. "That is the best we hope for. Look at the Brocklehursts. I am sure they know they are most lucky that their daughter has found an understanding."
"Indeed," said Lady Parkinson. "Has anyone heard a word of this wedding? I fear it is a Bluebird mistake."
Lady Boot sighed dramatically, knocking her elbow into Daphne's side. "With Lady Flint's arrest, I can hardly keep up."
"My daughter says she heard word of a small ceremony tomorrow, but they are keeping it small," said one lady.
"As they should," harrumphed another.
Daphne, Hannah, Lisa, and Fleur exchanged knowing looks. Daphne had sent a letter to the three explaining her belief that they should come together for Mandy, as the upstanding individuals they were. The flattery had worked on Hannah and Lisa, and Fleur was delighted to see what a 'properly British' wedding looked like.
"I dare say it is a good thing," said Daphne.
"Oh, dearie, I almost forgot you were there. Such a tiny thing! Is your mother in good spirits?" asked the harrumphing lady.
"No, madame, she is still under the weather. But I do think it positive that a woman find a match. Is that not why we're here?"
Narcissa locked eyes with her, raising an arch brow. "Have you read too much Lady Bluebird, darling?"
"No. I suppose—" Daphne stopped, rethinking her turn of phrase after remembering how Narcissa had chastised her previously. "I wish the best for other ladies as I do my sister."
Lady Abbott looked utterly ecstatic, like she was becoming the foil to the great and untouchable Narcissa Malfoy. Whatever John had told her about their awkward turn about the museum, and her slinking away on the yacht, hadn't deterred them. Another side problem to also deal with.
"This new Lady Bluebird would certainly agree." Narcissa smiled into her cup. "What possessed her change after years of exposés on feminine transgressions is most intriguing indeed. Us mothers of sons must tread more carefully."
Daphne swallowed, warmth tingling her fingertips.
Daphne stayed true to her promise and managed to fill Mandy's side for the simple ceremony. If all proceeded well, Lady Bluebird would spare a line or two about the smooth ceremony, offer congratulations on another season's nuptials, and Mandy would make her way back into society.
Lady and Lord Higgs' surprise at the crowd made her crow in glee. It was no secret their oldest son had gone fully dark, still on the run, but their barely rehabilitated reputation was once again in tatters after the Lady Bluebird column. After their own small wedding party later today, the season's hosts might be more willing to forgive.
Other than the nicely worded plea to Hannah, Lisa, and Fleur (and of course Tracey's agreement out of mistaken notion that mayhem was certain to occur), Daphne's request to other, more narcissistic types, was an alternative offer to a front-row seat at Mandy's unholy matrimony. About half heeded her call, resulting in a good group of sixteen sitting on her side, some young unmarried ladies and some mothers of the season, probably here to see the fate their child would face if they didn't find a good match soon.
On Higgs' side sat Goyle, Pucey, and an aged couple that looked to be on death's doorstep.
Someone had doused Higgs with a Calming Draught. The man was swinging his arms back and forth and glancing out at the dusty cobwebs hanging in the musky room. Mandy wore a simple and demure white dress, her hands shaking and lips trembling. Daphne surreptitiously cast a cooling charm on her.
Lady Rafiq, a lady most definitely here to glee in Mandy's misfortune, cupped her hand around her mouth and leaned towards Daphne. "That man over there. Do you know him?"
Pretending to ensure her up-do was in one piece, she stole a look over her shoulder. There was an older man sitting in the back-most row, away from the other guests. He didn't strike her as particularly familiar, but she also wondered whether she'd seen him somewhere in her previous jaunts to the Ministry.
"Perhaps he knows Higgs?" Daphne whispered, hoping her anxiety would take a backseat for the short ceremony.
Lady Rafiq shrugged. "Possibly. The Higgs were a clean family with many allies before this nonsense." She dabbed at the spittle beading at the corner of her mouth with a handkerchief. "I would have just let him marry the half-blood. Let bygones be bygones. A princess? I shall see if I have a nephew or cousin available…oh yes…"
Emma Dobbs, sitting on Lady Rafiq's right, shoved her face into the conversation. "My brother heard something from Ignacio about Higgs."
"Ah, don't keep us waiting, dear."
A few more whispers and hushed murmurs. There were rumors Higgs was trying to contact his brother, or that he was actually a poly-juiced replacement because the real Terence Higgs died in the war, and Daphne quickly determined this to be trite gossip.
Regardless, it had the crowd twittering until the officiant called order.
"We are here to witness the joining of Terrace Huggs and Mandarin Brocklehurst."
Lady Higgs, standing to Higgs' left, twitched.
The officiant looked up from his sheet of parchment and in a voice dryer than sand amended, "Terence Higgs and Madeline Brocklehurst."
The rest of the ceremony was equally unholy. The officiant looked like he wished to be underground than here, and mixed up the binding spell for a tongue-tied jinx three times. Finally, he managed an Amare Aeternum, lifting winding white threads around Higgs' and Mandy's joined wrists.
"Stop!" cried a voice.
Every head in the room craned their necks towards the intrusion.
A striking woman with dark, expressive eyes and thick black hair stood at the entrance, her vibrant red and gold dress blinding.
"Terence…" the woman's lower lip wobbled.
Higgs' stiffened. Dollops of sweat beaded across his forehead, then slid down his face like thick goo. His mother hissed. His father growled, and Mandy wobbled on her feet.
"Terence?" Mandy murmured, her voice barely audible over the crowd's growing confusion.
"Can we continue?" asked the officiant. "Repeat after me, Amare—"
"I loved you!" cried the woman. "You'll be with someone else because—because of a newspaper rag?"
The room gasped. Tracey, sitting in the row ahead, swiveled in her seat to mouth 'mayhem' at Daphne.
"I can't believe you!" the woman continued.
It was fake. The cadence in the woman's voice wasn't desperate enough, and her stance was too stiff. Draco trying to pretend everything was normal in sixth year was a better display of acting than this. Second-hand embarrassment warmed Daphne's cheeks.
"You whore!" shouted Lady Higgs, lifting her dress to her knees and climbing her way down from the front.
"Dear, dearest," Lord Higgs muttered after her. "Your kneecaps—"
Terence's sweat pooled into a puddle around him. "Aşkım!"
"Don't 'aşkım' me!" The famed—and fake—Turkish princess' shoulders shook, and she ran away before Daphne could see how bad the sobbing could be.
Mandy remained frozen the entire time. Terence twisted his hands out of her hold to follow his parents. His feet skidded through the lake he'd created, somehow managing to skate out of the ceremony hall.
That was the last anyone in the room saw of him.
Like a marionette with its strings cut, Mandy fell to her knees. She stared, unblinking, where her erstwhile fiancé had stood and the falling wisps of the Amare Aeternum spell.
The officiant vanished his parchments and left through a back door.
"Well, that was wonderful. Thank you for the invite, dear." Lady Rafiq had a bounce in her step as she left. Genevieve also nodded and bid everyone an airy goodbye.
A hurricane of guests converged on Mandy. Daphne pushed her way through the gaggle, composed of Tracey, Hannah, Genevieve, Emma Dobbs, Lisa Turpin, the Delacour, and to her surprise, Goyle and Pucey, to reach for Mandy.
Mandy's eyes were thin and shiny as glass.
"Mandy?" Daphne leaned over, trying to catch a glimpse of the girl's entire face, but swishing skirts and harried voices flounced about, allowing her only a glimpse of Mandy's lips parting slightly. But no sound came.
"Is she alright? If she has a panic attack..." said Hannah.
"Poor girl," murmured Genevieve.
"I can kill him," offered Goyle.
"She's not going to be your fourth baby mother," said Tracey.
Goryle slinked away.
Daphne squeezed around Genevieve's bouncy skirt, kneeling to wave a hand in front of Mandy's face. "Mandy? Can we give her space, please?
The crowd shuffled back precisely two inches.
"No one will marry me," Many croaked in a hollow voice. "I am the head of my estate and still no one will have me."
Tracey placed an awkward hand on her back. "There, there."
Mandy lowered her eyes to her bare arms, unmarked in her singledom. "I haven't even touched a penis. And still no one will have me."
As Tracey's hand fell, Hannah cleared her throat.
"Life—is still, er, worth living, without touching one."
Fleur nodded eagerly. "It eez overrated. Not my dear Bill's, of course, but if you weesh, zere's a gentleman 'ere you can make arrangements weeth." She gestured at Pucey.
Pucey scratched the back of his neck. "Uh…"
"But he's ugly!" Mandy burst into tears.
"He's prettier than Higgs!" Tracey insisted.
"He looks like a ponce! I want my husband back!" snot dripped from Mandy's right nostril. She placed her hands over her face and began to cry, a full-bellied one that came from the gut. "You lied," she said through pauses in her gasps, and Daphne knew she was speaking to her. "I should—I should have run away—you lied —" she broke off into dissolving wails.
The ladies of the season looked at each other, confused, but all dropped to Mandy in a cascade, ensconcing her in a hug. Someone yanked Pucey into joining.
Daphne knew a few of them were secretly happy. Mandy was exactly what they didn't want to be, and took delight in the fact they weren't her.
A few weeks ago, Daphne might have been that person.
She joined the group, holding Mandy close, and allowed herself to feel all of Mandy's pain.
She felt sorry, and didn't let it go.
The old man Lady Rafiq had pointed out craned his head above them. "Should we get her to a healer?'
Mandy's wails escalated.
"I'll take her, I have to go in for a shift soon anyway," Hannah said kindly.
Daphne wanted to go. But the last time she interfered, it led to this disaster.
Would it have been kinder for Lady Bluebird to remain silent? Could Mandy's tattered reputation be repaired, since this wasn't her fault?
It was too late to renege on her indecision, anyway. Hannah and the old man helped Mandy to her feet and escorted her out. Pucey muttered under his breath about his perfectly fine penis, and Goyle shot daggers at anyone who dared to look at him. It's not as though Lady Bluebird was needed to expose him; Goyle's wasn't very good at hiding his indiscretions, unlike Higgs had been.
As she shuffled outside the ceremony hall, following Tracey and Emma, she laid out the facts.
That old man was definitely an Auror in disguise.
The wedding-crasher, purporting to be that Turkish half-blood princess, was a bad actress. Not real. Ergo: a plant.
Green Eyes was after her and Mandy to get to Higgs.
Someone or something really didn't want Higgs and Mandy to marry, and that someone seemed to be the DMLE, law enforcement, or whatever forces above.
The DMLE was also snooping around every society event since the season began. Tunnels with a Nundu. An octopus in Poole Harbour?
"What a wreck. I feel so bad," said Emma.
Tracey nodded as they ambled towards the floo. "Do you think Bluebird will get wind of this?"
"I don't know. She seems to know everything. It read like she was pushing for this wedding."
"Yeah…"
Daphne realized a few things at once.
Was Higgs a nefarious dark wizard, and she'd just...missed it?
She'd been wrong about Mandy and had changed her mind about Pansy. It wasn't a stretch to have been wrong about Higgs, or any of the other dozens of people she assessed and made judgment calls on. She was so busy using Higgs for her own reasons, that it'd blinded her. How was it any different from using Mandy to serve her own needs?
"Oh, gods," she mumbled.
It was all so awful. Had the DMLE not staged what they did, she could have been responsible for Mandy marrying a dangerous man.
After Emma broke away, Tracey looped her arm around Daphne's.
"You alright? I assume that reminded you of Astoria."
Daphne tried to blink away her poisonous realizations. They lingered at the edges. "Yes. Astoria is home from hospital, though. She needs a few days to rest."
"Tell her she didn't miss much."
They weren't speaking much these days anyway, and not because Daphne didn't want to, but because Astoria looked at her with such irritation it was painful to bear.
And also because Daphne didn't know what to say. Astoria's letter to Draco sat on her dresser, and more than once she'd considered taking a peek.
"I'd love for a post-mayhem lunch, but I've got to go. Homework, pontificating, all that." Tracey winked and strolled to the floo Emma had left through a few minutes ago.
And now she really was alone with all of her thoughts. Sometimes, she wondered if she depended on Astoria not only to give her purpose, but a grounding.
Without her sister, all her thoughts might collapse on her.
It was a dangerous idea to formulate.
As she crossed the atrium to join the line for a floo, she saw two figures race by. The bushy hair, she clocked immediately as Granger. She would've been content with ignoring her if it hadn't been for the weedy brunette next to her. The sight made her pause, and the pause caused someone emerging from the left to have to sidestep around her.
She balked at almost being run over, even more so at the disheveled hair and lightening-bolt scar.
"Careful, Potter."
His hands were in his pockets, and he was leaning forward mid-beeline as though in pursuit of a bad wizard, even if it meant running wedding guests over.
He grimaced. "Sorry, Greengrass."
The idiot pair trying to sneak away stumbled at the names. Daphne lifted her eyes skywards. She'd need to give Theo a lesson on subtly—the Ministry life had ruined him, clearly.
Granger and Theo rotated at a flobberworm's pace, almost comically deliberate.
"H-Harry! Didn't see you there," shrilled Granger, nudging Theo. "And Greengrass."
"Potter," greeted Nott. "Daphne, a pleasure as always. Have you always been haunting the Ministry?"
Potter's face clouded with irritation.
The cursed foursome created a cursed blockade in the atrium.
"Were you heading out for lunch?" asked Potter, speaking only to Granger.
"Um, yes. Nott is helping me with a project."
"What project?"
"Confidential," Granger's response came too quickly, wearing a penitent frown.
Confusion filtered into Potter's narrowed eyes. Daphne imagined this is what he looked like in the middle of bad wizard hunting.
"I was heading to the cafeteria. Can you come with? I haven't briefed you yet on this week's agenda and won't have time later."
Granger bit her lip. "Sorry, Harry. Maybe tomorrow?"
Granger immediately entered the running for worst actress in direct rivalry with the princess-wannabe. Meanwhile, Theo had been inching closer to Daphne since the beginning of Potter's interrogation, and cast her a sidelong, pleading look.
Granger pathetically deflected another insistence from Potter. Potter's agitation sizzled.
Please, Theo mouthed.
Daphne ignored him, content to watch where this went. Maybe Potter could strangle Theo for her. Let her ever try helping others again.
Theo's eyelids drooped, and his eyes went positively bombastic. He nudged her once.
She ground her teeth.
He mouthed please at least two more times.
"Potter," Daphne started faintly, tilting her chin at the Auror. He was still staring at Granger, trying to piece together the obvious conclusion in his head. It would've been adorable to see if she wasn't stuck in the middle of it.
"Potter," she tried again, "Would you be available for lunch?"
Granger grew aghast, and Theo's jaw went slack.
What, she mouthed at Theo. He couldn't beg her and then judge her methods.
"My sister—" oh, fuck, Astoria was going to kill her, "—is considering a few career options, and the DMLE sounds…nice…"
Potter's eyes leapt to Theo. "She can reach out to Career Services."
Embarrassment fueled her cheeks. She tried to lift her shoulders in a casual shrug. Obviously someone like Potter didn't just have a free hour to hang around the children of dark wizards.
"I see, thank you. Bye then."
Just as she began to walk away, her sleeve was seized and Theo drew her back into the cursed circle.
"What Daphne means to say, is she is most appreciative of the DMLE saving the day on Saturday, and wishes to show her gratitude."
"Gilbert should be free. He's upstairs," said Potter, back to assessing Granger.
"She's shy, and she already knows you." Theo insisted.
Daphne was going to hex his balls.
But it worked. She was now the subject of Potter's horrendously amused look.
"Shy," he echoed.
Daphne grimaced. Her obstruction of the law would not be so easily forgotten.
"For Merlin's sake, Harry!" shrieked Granger. "You need some time outside. Daphne seems nice. Go enjoy something on me."
The two rushed to the nearest floo. Hungry strangers flooded into the space they left behind, pushing Daphne and Potter closer together.
Potter took off his glasses and stared where Granger had been mere moments ago, forlorn.
Should she leave? She didn't fancy witnessing the fallout of Potter's belated realization. A match like Theo and Granger was doomed. The scandal would reach the height of Andromeda Black and Ted Tonks, but not because Granger was a muggle-born, or anything, but because he was a man in the season and she was not, and she was just, well, different, and libertine and not suitable for their men.
Or so would be the gossip.
Lady Bluebird could be nicer about the pair, a part of her brain pointed out. She could turn the tide like she'd try to do with Mandy and Pansy, point out the contradictory vanity their society lived in and its suffocating grip.
"You already know," Potter spoke.
"About Theo and Granger?" Saying it out loud made it feel more real. The green tinge to Potter's face indicated he felt the same. She explained, "It was a few things. It's obvious."
"She could have told me."
"If she truly wanted to hide it, they would've done a better job."
Potter's expression shuttered.
Theo at least knew the cardinal rule of secretive dalliances: go separately and stagger return times. But maybe he'd been driven to compulsion the way Astoria was with Draco, having been reduced into dewey-eyed soft fools.
It also showed her that someone like Potter, too, could be upset by the things his loved ones kept from him. It was a mundane weakness that rounded him out. Made him less myth-like and more tangible, reachable. She'd always known he was less than perfect—Snape had an ode to the scarred wonderboy's crimes against humanity (read: against his classroom)—but he ultimate had a fate to stop the baddest wizard in a century and to live for greater things. Yet he was here, an entire Auror and future Head Auror in the making, saddened by his friend keeping secrets.
"She'll tell you when she's ready," Daphne said absently, thinking of many other things. "Bye, Potter."
Her stomach announced that it was quite hungry by gurgling.
And that is how Daphne found herself at a food cart outside, eating lunch with Harry Potter.
Daphne Greengrass was a twitchy woman.
Harry assumed it was because of him; she probably thought the foray outside would garner attention. Fortunately, he'd been working here for years, so his scar was a ubiquitous appearance. That didn't stop the food seller from offering a discount—one that he tried to gallantly deny. But the seller insisted, enumerating all of his accomplishments, which made him accept the offer just to stop the limerick about his charming fits and hairy pits.
Greengrass also ordered a burger. He watched her eyes flit over the meager options on the grease-stained menu, half the prices crossed out with new ones crammed in on the margins, and wondered if women like her had ever frequented a food cart. After he paid for her food too—technically Hermione was responsible—he strolled to a nearby bench, suppressing a chuckle when Greengrass perched her bum on the very edge.
"Not your type of place?"
"I'm not afraid of dirt," she snapped, suddenly defensive. "I'm wearing wedding attire, and laundering is expensive."
"Don't you have house-elves for that?"
"These clothes need to be hand-washed in lukewarm water, air dried, and cleared with three different restoration spells. A cleaning charm would ruin the fabric. I'm not subjecting my elf to that."
He picked at his burger and tried to imagine how happy Kreacher would be to serve such a mistress. Even after their relationship had gradually improved, the elf's eagerness never failed to bother him.
Greengrass tilted her burger this way and that way, and finally lifted it to her mouth. As she bit, only a portion of the lower bun, with barely a nibble of meat, came away.
"You need to..." he opened his mouth wide and took another bite.
Her nose wrinkled. While he chewed, he watched her evaluate the burger again, take a long breath, and part her lips. Wider, as he'd instructed.
Oh, Merlin. No. Professional thoughts only.
As she ate, he kept his eyes trained on the carts in the distance and the Ministry employees milling or smoking about, counting the minutes down until they were due to return for the afternoon. What had he been thinking before? Yes, Hermione and Nott, and that was an entire headache and conflict of interest issue he should probably bring to human resources, only because he cared about procedure and not because Nott was one of those men who liked to peacock around in pureblood society.
And before that, he was thinking about how he had narrowed down the Woman to some names. Finally.
Mandy Brocklehurst and Terence Higgs had to get married at the Ministry at some point. Harry, as an Auror, had some general clearance into Ministry records for day-to-day things. And wouldn't luck have it, the two had submitted a marriage license application with a solemnization ceremony for Friday morning.
His findings on Higgs made Robards ecstatic. Ecstatic enough that Robards put Katie to work again to salvage their Higgs line of information, while Harry could focus secretly on Mandy. Purloining some of Katie Bell's polyjuice potions had been easy (invisible cloak, citing an overtime day, and breaking into her office). He took on the appearance of Old Man Duncan down in Level Five, a clerk in Magical Games that liked to chat with him about broomstick models and shedded beard hairs faster than Hermione's cat.
The Woman had been at Mandy's wedding. He was certain.
He felt guilty in seeing Mandy collapse as she did; he'd known she was easily frazzled, and he really hadn't meant to stilt her at the altar.
Not that being married to Higgs was the better option. Higgs and his family had connections and networks on the continent that would make any dubious wizard in Britain salivate.
He hoped the girl would be okay. She seemed nice, at least. The point was that The Woman was protecting Mandy at the museum, and The Woman, as Lady Bluebird, was trying to protect Mandy, as Blake so kindly had pointed out, and so she would be there at the wedding, also to protect Mandy.
Of the blonde women present at the wedding, he noted firstly Lady Rafiq. But not only was she forty-five years old—he hadn't explored his sexual appetites broadly, but he was sure he was not into older married women—he'd overheard her speak negatively about Mandy and express her desire that Higgs stay with the 'princess'.
That left Gabrielle, Genevieve Braun, Emma Dobbs, Hannah Abbott, and Daphne Greengrass.
Gabrielle was an uneasy choice. She was Fleur's sister, so a sort of distant family relative by marriage if he was considered a Weasley adopted child. Also, if Gabrielle knew all that Lady Bluebird did, she would've come to him or the DMLE.
Genevieve Braun he would have to look into; her name didn't ring any memories from Hogwarts, so she was likely visiting. Blake had mentioned there was a girl named Genevieve present when the ladies had tossed the rose-gold bag around in a game of hot potato. Emma Dobbs was a Hogwarts student a few years behind him. He'd seen nothing from her yet to confirm or deny either way, other than the fact she was at the wedding.
Hannah, he wanted to eliminate for the same reason as Gabrielle. But Hannah had been at the café with Mandy, had visited the DMLE soon after to ensure Mandy was okay and confirm the girl had a panic attack, and took her to St. Mungo's today too. The problem was, at the Brocklehurst Luncheon, he'd overhead her mother use her name and saw her in a floral gown before he and Gilbert had snuck off into the forest. While it was possible to change into a blue dress paired with outrageously golden heels in the span of five minutes, it still posed a problem.
Lastly, Greengrass. She was neither a stranger, like Dobbs and Braun, nor was she a friend, like Hannah and Gabrielle. In fact, for most of his life she was a non-entity, her blonde head having bobbed behind Pansy Parkinson or Tracey Davis for most of their school years. Though Parkinson was the head of their group, Davis and Greengrass had indulged in their own jibes. He remembered fifth year when Hermione had returned from her O. upset that "the Greengrasses" had compared her shrill incantations to a howler before their Charms practical. Maybe it was this bias that kept him from dwelling on her, for the idea of finding someone like that magnetizing was difficult.
But Snape and Sirius were lessons in bias and complexity, and aside from their initial bickering, Greengrass seemed, well, to have grown out of childhood misgivings. And like Hannah, she'd helped Mandy at the café, butting headfirst into the seizure.
Polyjuice and a honeypot trap had narrowed Lady Bluebird's identity to five women.
This line of thinking consumed him entirely throughout his burger. Greengrass, however, was only on her third bite.
A dollop of ketchup fell from to her chest. Instinctively, he reached out, but stopped when she noticed it herself.
"Oh, Merlin. I must be out of it today," she muttered. "May you hold this?"
He took her half-eaten burger as she stood and headed to the cart for a napkin.
Daphne Greengrass, he noted, possessed an extraordinary pair of legs. In fact, all her limbs moved consistently as though she were wading in water. She was a lady, wasn't she? Born and bred to be a dutiful woman of the house. But there was something different he couldn't quite place; like she was purposeful in making those motions, rather it coming naturally.
Harry might not have the best eye for details, but he was well-versed in trying to play out the actions of a fate pre-planned for him.
She dabbed delicately at her chest. For all of her society's ridiculousness, he'd appreciated the habit of a good handkerchief square. Had he one with him now, he would've offered it, so employees strolling by wouldn't be trying to horribly hide their leers.
Five women. He'd start somewhere.
"You're friends with Mandy Brocklehurst."
She was in the midst of adjusting her dress, smoothing it out and ensuring no more saucy spots dotted her soft blue dress. "I wouldn't say...friends. Why do you ask?"
"I heard she was married today. Her parents' first hearing is on Monday. Odd timing for a wedding, isn't it?"
She pinched her hem between two fingers, appeared to have forgotten about her burger. "Not that odd in our society. And the wedding didn't go through, which I don't know whether to be sad or relieved about."
"Why?"
"You ask an awful lot of questions."
"I'd be a piss-poor Auror otherwise."
Harry handed her the burger. She scowled at it.
"It's greasy."
"There's an entire world out there of fat and flavor. Give it another go."
She scrunched her nose. Eating a burger was her equivalent of preparing for a duel; she straightened her back, adjusted her posture, and finally, opened her mouth.
She also looked at him while doing so, as though she were seeking his approval. She chewed delicately, more chews than really necessary, and swallowed.
His efforts earned him a mild noise of approval.
"I suppose a good analogy would be Theo and Granger."
Mention of Hermione made his stomach swoop.
Theodore Nott was worlds apart from Ron. They'd exchanged maybe two—three?—civil conversations, and that too in the context of work (Harry didn't enjoy a favorable reputation with the Department of Mysteries, for obvious reasons). But he also knew Hermione was a woman of her own class, careful in who she allowed in her personal life. She could be impulsive, but she was far from irrational.
That meant she trusted Nott. Enough to let him put his hands on her.
"You don't like the idea, but want her to be happy," he mused.
Daphne smiled shrewdly, patting his shoulder. "Exceeds Expectations."
"Problem with the analogy: it's Higgs." He said this while ignoring his brain proceeding to fly off into space at the human contact.
"You don't object to Theo."
"I don't—" he broke off into a sigh. He didn't know yet.
"What's the issue with Higgs?"
It was his turn to be mysterious. "Confidential. They're not a good family, though. Good for Brocklehurst."
"It's—" She halted, her lip caught between her teeth.
"It's what?" Maybe she knew more about Mandy and Higgs than she let on. He tried to look not too eager at the prospect.
"You wouldn't understand. It's a society thing."
"Oh. Probably not, then."
Her eyebrows furrowed at her still unfinished burger. He cleared his throat. "Er—did you want to still talk about it?"
His eloquence was met with a glare. Clearly not, she seemed to say, and clearly not with you.
Then her icy eyes melted into a softer imposition. Were it not for the sudden whiff of her perfume, he wouldn't have noticed she'd inched closer. Not enough to touch knees, but still, closer.
"You're an Auror."
"I think so, yes."
"Don't be cheeky."
"Sorry."
Her cheek dimpled. "You have to follow rules to catch the bad guys. Ideally, but you're Potter, so I imagine the rule-breaking is ignored." At his cough, she added, "Most of the time. But you have those dull interrogation procedures, arrests, trials, and a whole lot of guidance on when and where you can use a killing spell. Even if you don't agree, you have to do what you're told to do because it's the only way to do it. The season functions the same way."
He highly doubted a well-organized mating ritual worked like dark wizard catching, but there were worse analogies to make. Still, he nodded like the studious student he never was.
"There are rules and guidelines and hierarchies. To get—promoted, if you will—and have more options, you need to follow the rules, even if it means stepping on other people. But part of playing the game is also knowing when you're close to losing, and leaving with what you can get." Greengrass' eyes flickered low. "That's where you see people like Mandy, Pansy Parkinson, Ida MacNair...even Marietta Edgecombe, in a way..."
For some odd reason, Harry thought about Quidditch. "Then try a new strategy?"
"I have." Her eyes' blazed. The force of emotion in them were dimmed immediately, but its lingering pull kept Harry unblinking, momentarily at a loss for words. "It hasn't worked as neatly as I hoped."
He exhaled a long breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "Then don't play."
"That's clichéd. I have to play. I have—someone—depending on me."
Yeah, he thought, looking at the sky. Don't we all.
"Has Nott put a target on Hermione?"
"Ah, yes. Do be advised there will be jealous girls running amuck. Vicious attempts at poisoning and pitchforks," she remarked dryly. "Riots for the ages."
Harry was not amused. Slinging an arm over the back of the bench, he leaned close enough that he hoped it looked imposing. "Hermione is my sister. You'll look out for her?"
"And why would I do that, Potter?" Greengrass chewed slowly on another bite.
He tried to think of an answer. Unfortunately, there was a little crumb at the corner of her mouth, and her chewing made it impossible not to look there.
He acted impulsively. Oh, yes, he did, for reasons unknown, but not unwelcome. He swiped the pesky crumb away.
Her skin was nice. Very nice. Her eyes darkened.
"Because you're nice," he answered. "I think?"
Her breathing hitched and then came to a stop altogether. A pleasing pink graced her face, even as the few remaining bites of the pitiful burger plopped into her lap. She wiped frantically at the mess, gave up midway, and stood to leave.
"Tell Granger I thank her for lunch, and that Nott owes me. Bye, Potter."