Chapter 5 – The Lord's Debut
Harry stood in his apartments at Rowan Hill, gazing out at the sprawling landscape when a soft pop sounded behind him. Kreacher appeared, straightening the lapels of Harry's black and gold overcoat with meticulous care. The overcoat was finely tailored, adorned with intricate gold detailing along the lapels and cuffs, adding a touch of elegance and grandeur. It draped over a crisp white shirt, sleek black trousers, and polished shoes, all meticulously selected for the formal evening ahead. He looked every bit the part of a Lord of the Wizengamot—his outfit exuding sophistication and authority, perfect for such an event. Another pop announced Winky's arrival.
"Master Harry, Mistress Andy has requested that you come greet your guests in the Entrance Hall," Winky said, her voice small and respectful.
"I'll be along in a moment," Harry replied, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt.
The night ahead loomed large in his mind. It was the Ministry's Evening Ball—a memorial and celebration honoring those lost in the Second Wizarding War. This would be his first as a Lord of the Wizengamot. Brian and Andromeda had advised him that while the formalities might be uncomfortable, the evening presented an opportunity to network and gather support for the Foundation—something that could greatly benefit from Ministry alliances.
Harry stepped out of his apartments, reflecting on the two weeks since he'd moved into Rowan Hill Manor. The Lord and Lady Potter's Apartments, his new quarters, had been restored to their former elegance. With sweeping views of the estate and valley below, the manor sat proudly atop Rowan Hill. Despite the grandeur, it still felt foreign to him. The beauty of the place, though striking, made him hesitant to invite friends over, fearing their judgment—particularly Ron's.
As he descended the grand staircase, he was still adjusting to the overwhelming scale of his new home. The weight of his title and responsibilities pressed on him, but the company he'd be keeping tonight provided some comfort.
In the Entrance Hall, familiar voices reached his ears. Andromeda was in conversation with Professor Slughorn, Brian, and another guest—Lady Zsuzsanna Árpád, Andromeda's goddaughter from Hungary. Zsuzsanna, the daughter of the Hungarian Ambassador, was already attending the ball with her parents. Andromeda had suggested Harry invite her as his date to fend off the dance requests and matchmaking attempts that came with his newfound status as one of the most eligible bachelors in the Isles.
When Zsuzsanna had arrived at Rowan Hill a week ago, she had been quiet, often disappearing into the library to read. Harry enjoyed her company—she never treated him differently because of his fame. They were the same age, and she had just graduated from the Black Sea Academy of Magic. She was planning to follow in her father's footsteps in diplomacy.
"Ah, Harry!" Andromeda's voice rang out as he entered. "You look very handsome. Excellent choice of attire. I believe you know our guest."
Harry smiled and shook Professor Slughorn's hand. "Of course, Professor."
He then turned to Zsuzsanna, taking her hand and pressing a light kiss to her ring finger. "You look beautiful, Lady Zsuzsanna."
"As do you, Lord Potter," Zsuzsanna replied, her cheeks turning a slight shade of red. "But honestly, I keep telling you—call me Zsuzsi."
Harry rolled his eyes and nodded, then turned back to Slughorn. "It's a surprise to see you here, Professor."
Slughorn chuckled warmly. "Well, my boy, Andromeda asked me to join you this evening and introduce you to a few key people. I thought it would be a splendid opportunity, seeing as I'm attending the ball anyway. And as luck would have it, Andromeda agreed to accompany me—she was in my Slug Club, after all!"
Brian stepped forward with his usual calm demeanor. "When we arrive, Harry, you'll be announced first. Then you'll be received by the Minister's welcoming line—Minister Bones, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Albert Croaker, along with Senior Undersecretary Jones, whom you've already met. Throughout the evening, we'll take turns introducing you to key people. First on the list is Ambassador Árpád and his wife, Lady Seraphina—Zsuzsanna's parents."
Harry smiled; grateful he wouldn't be facing the night's challenges alone. He turned to Zsuzsanna, offering her his arm.
"Shall we?" he asked.
She smiled, gracefully accepting his arm, and together they led the way to the Floo Room. As they gathered by the giant fireplace, Andromeda stepped forward first, disappearing in a swirl of emerald flames. Slughorn followed next, grumbling good-naturedly about the soot, and soon it was Harry's turn.
Stepping into the Floo, he called out clearly, "Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place!"
In a flash of green, Harry was whisked away, arriving moments later in the familiar, slightly gloomy entrance of his London home—Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. As he stepped out of the fireplace, Kreacher was already there, waiting with a brush in hand, gently expelling the dust from Harry's robes with practiced precision. A moment later, the others followed, and Winky quickly set to work, fussing over the soot that clung to their attire.
"Master Harry, your robes are spotless," Kreacher said with a bow, before moving on to tend to Brian and Zsuzsanna.
As they brushed off the last traces of dust, the faint sound of hooves echoed from outside.
"The carriages are waiting," said Andromeda, glancing at Harry with a small smile of approval.
Harry, now feeling more prepared with his ensemble pristine and perfectly fitted, offered his arm to Zszsanna once more as they stepped out into the cool night air.
The carriage ride from Grimmauld Place to the Minister's Residence took only twenty minutes. Enchanted to move on its own, the carriage weaved smoothly in and out of Muggle traffic, invisible to the non-magical eye. As they approached the street where the Minister's Residence stood, they passed a blockade that had sealed off the area. The carriage joined a line of others, each waiting its turn to stop in front of the grand entrance.
According to one of the Ministry protocol books Harry had skimmed earlier, the Minister's Residence had been granted to the British Minister for Magic during the Regency Era. It was one of the few remaining aristocratic houses, much like Clarence House or St. James's Palace, and still served as the London residence for the Minister. To Muggles, it appeared as nothing more than a cluster of unremarkable office buildings.
As they neared the entrance, Harry could see guests descending the steps from other carriages. Brian handed him their invitation, which he would soon present to one of the footmen who would escort them to the Grand Ballroom, where they'd be formally announced. His nerves began to stir—this was unlike anything he had experienced before.
The carriage rolled forward, and a Ministry footman opened the door with a bow. Harry motioned for the ladies to exit first, and then he followed. Almost immediately, he felt eyes upon him. The flashes from the gathered press erupted, camera bulbs popping and reporters shouting for a moment with him. Ignoring the clamor, he offered his arm to Lady Zsuzsanna, and they began to walk forward, watching as their carriage disappeared into the night.
As they ascended the steps into the Minister's Residence, Harry couldn't help but notice the high number of Aurors stationed along the street and discreetly posted around the building. It was a reminder of the heightened security needed for such events, especially given the significance of the evening.
At the entrance, Harry handed their invitations to the doorman, who nodded and led them through the grand entrance hall. People waved as they passed, and Harry smiled back, determined to carry himself with confidence. He felt Zsuzsanna's grip tighten on his arm and glanced at her, sensing she was just as nervous as he was. They exchanged a look of shared resolve as they moved further inside, making their way through the Minister's Hall.
Finally, they were told to wait, and Harry's stomach did a nervous flip. The Master of Ceremonies appeared, accepted their invitations, and Harry knew their announcement was imminent.
"Lord Harry James Potter, Head of the Ancient and Noble Houses of Potter and Black, and Lady Zsuzsanna Árpád!"
Almost the entire ballroom turned to see them enter, eyes scanning Harry and his retainers. The weight of the moment was palpable, but Harry kept his posture steady.
Amelia Bones was the first to greet him, elegantly dressed in a black evening gown. She smiled warmly as she extended her hand.
"Lord Potter, welcome. It's an honor to have you here," Amelia said with a slight nod of respect.
"Thank you, Minister Bones," Harry replied, shaking her hand. "The honor is mine."
Amelia's gaze flicked briefly to Zsuzsanna. "And Lady Zsuzsanna, how lovely to see you as well. Your father speaks highly of your accomplishments."
Zsuzsanna gave a graceful nod, though her hand still lightly trembled against Harry's arm. "Thank you, Minister Bones. I am glad to be here."
Next came Junior Minister Shacklebolt, who smiled broadly as he shook Harry's hand. "Harry, it's good to see you outside of the Foundation. Enjoying your evening so far?"
"It's still early, but I'm trying," Harry said with a small chuckle. "Quite an event."
Shacklebolt nodded in agreement. "You'll find your way through. I was nervous my first time too. You'll do fine, trust me."
Shacklebolt's wife, a tall, elegant woman with warm eyes, stepped forward. "We've heard so much about you, Lord Potter. Kingsley speaks highly of you," she said with a kind smile.
Harry inclined his head slightly. "Thank you, Mrs. Shacklebolt. It's an honor to be here."
Junior Minister Croaker stepped up next, his face neutral but his eyes appraising. "Lord Potter," he greeted curtly, then added with a nod to Zsuzsanna, "Lady Zsuzsanna."
Harry offered his hand, and Croaker shook it firmly before introducing his wife, a delicate woman with sharp features and an aura of quiet intelligence.
"Lovely to meet you both," Croaker's wife said, her tone formal but pleasant. "We look forward to seeing more of you tonight."
As the introductions concluded, Harry could feel the tension in his shoulders ease slightly. He had made it through the welcoming line, and now the rest of the evening awaited.
After the greetings from the Ministers, Harry and Zsuzsanna moved further into the ballroom. Harry noticed that Andromeda, Professor Slughorn, and Brian had veered off as expected, quickly drawn into conversations with other guests, leaving him and Zsuzsanna to meet her parents alone. It wasn't long before they spotted her parents, Ambassador Árpád and his wife, Lady Seraphina. Both were impeccably dressed, with the Ambassador wearing elegant black robes adorned with a sash signifying Hungartian Colors, the vibrant colors standing out against the dark fabric. Lady Seraphina looked graceful in an emerald gown that shimmered under the chandelier light.
As they approached, "Ah, there you are, my dear!" the Ambassador said warmly. He shook Harry's hand firmly. "Lord Potter, it's an honor to finally meet you. Andromeda and my daughter speak highly of you."
"It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Ambassador Árpád," Harry replied, trying to maintain his composed demeanor. "Your daughter has been a wonderful companion at Rowan Hill."
Lady Seraphina smiled warmly. "Zsuzsanna rarely takes to people so quickly. We're delighted to see her so comfortable."
After a warm exchange of pleasantries, the Ambassador smiled at Zsuzsanna. "We'll leave you to enjoy the evening, my dear. Your mother and I must go greet some of the other guests."
Zsuzsanna blushed slightly but smiled. "Thank you, Mother."
Lady Seraphina gave Harry a nod. "It was lovely to meet you, Lord Potter. We'll see you both later."
As her parents excused themselves and moved gracefully through the crowd, Hermione made her way over, her face lighting up as soon as she saw Harry.
"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug. "It's so good to see you!"
Harry grinned, returning the hug. "It's good to see you too, Hermione."
As they pulled apart, Harry noticed Ron trailing behind her, looking impressive in his dark dress robes.
Ron's eyes scanned Harry's attire, his expression shifting into something less than approving.
"Blimey, Harry," Ron said with a half-snort, glancing pointedly at Zsuzsanna. "You look like you're auditioning to be a model for Witch Weekly's 'Most Eligible Bachelors' or something. All dressed up like you're trying to impress some high-born snob."
Harry frowned slightly, but before he could respond, Zsuzsanna stepped forward, her tone sweet but laced with confidence.
"Well, it's working, isn't it?" Zsuzsanna said, flashing a cheeky smile. "I suppose it takes one to know what 'impressing a snob' looks like, though, doesn't it, Mr. Weasley?"
Ron's face went bright red, clearly caught off guard by her comeback. He stumbled over his words, glancing at Hermione for support, but she was giving him a disapproving look.
Ron, still flustered, muttered under his breath, "I was just having a laugh. No need to get your fancy dress in a twist."
Harry, sensing the moment might spiral out of control, shot Ron a firm look. "That's enough, Ron. You don't have to be rude."
Ron's face darkened, his usual defensiveness kicking in. "Rude? I'm just joking around, mate. Merlin, you've gone posh, haven't you?"
Before Harry could respond, Ron threw up his hands, clearly offended. "Fine, whatever."
With that, he turned on his heel and walked away, heading for the buffet table, disappearing into the crowd. Harry sighed, watching him go, the tension lingering.
Hermione rubbed her temple. "I'll talk to him later. He didn't mean it... not like that."
Zsuzsanna smiled confidently, the cheekiness still lingering in her eyes. "It's fine. I've heard worse."
Harry nodded, though he felt a bit guilty for how the situation had escalated. He didn't want to argue with Ron, but he wasn't going to let his friend insult Zsuzsanna, especially not in front of everyone. As Ron disappeared into the crowd, Harry noticed that Hermione and Zsuzsanna had begun talking quietly, exchanging polite smiles.
Though he couldn't hear their conversation, the ease with which they spoke gave him a sense of reassurance. He found himself scanning the room, distracted, as they continued their conversation. As the tension began to settle, the sound of the Master of Ceremonies announcing the next guests caught Harry's attention.
"Lord Cygnus Greengrass – Head of the Ancient & Noble House of Greengrass and his wife The Lady Ophelia Greengrass, with their daughter, Miss Daphne Greengrass."
Harry's gaze shifted toward the entrance, and there they were—the Greengrass family. Lord Cygnus Greengrass looked every bit the part of a distinguished aristocrat, with his silver hair neatly combed back and a dark green robe tailored to perfection. Lady Ophelia walked gracefully at his side, her posture regal and commanding.
But it was their daughter, Daphne, who caught Harry's attention the most. Draped in a deep emerald gown that matched her family's heraldic colors, Daphne Greengrass looked striking. Her blonde hair was swept elegantly to the side, and her expression, though reserved, was captivating.
For a moment, Harry found himself marveling at her presence. There was something about the way she carried herself, poised and self-assured, that seemed to draw him in. He had seen her at Hogwarts, of course, but never quite like this.
Zsuzsanna noticed the slight pause in Harry and followed his gaze. She said nothing, but a subtle smile tugged at the corner of her lips as they stood side by side, watching the Greengrass family make their entrance.
As the murmurs around the room settled, the Master of Ceremonies announced the next guests.
"Lady Narcissa Malfoy, Lady of the Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy, and Draco Malfoy, Heir Apparent of the Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy."
Harry's stomach knotted as Narcissa Malfoy swept into the ballroom, elegant and composed. The whispers started immediately, but they only grew louder when Draco followed behind her, his pale features highlighted under the ballroom's grand lights. Their eyes met briefly—Draco's expression unreadable—before Harry turned away.
Before he could dwell on it, another announcement followed.
"Lord Valerian Nott, Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Nott."
Lord Nott's imposing figure strode into the hall, his sharp features and dark attire standing out amidst the finery around him. The atmosphere shifted slightly, the crowd watching him with a mixture of curiosity and caution.
The weight of the evening, of the families present and their histories, hung over Harry, but he kept his composure, determined to see the night through.
After the final guests had arrived, a podium was raised in the middle of the ballroom. The sound of light tapping against a glass echoed through the hall as Minister Bones ascended the steps, drawing everyone's attention. The hum of conversation faded, and all eyes turned to the Minister.
Amelia Bones stood tall and solemn; her voice steady as she addressed the gathering. "Tonight, we honor those we have lost, and those who survived. Their courage, their sacrifice, and their enduring strength continue to shape our world."
She paused, and the room fell into a reverent silence. Heads bowed as everyone observed a moment of reflection for the victims and survivors of the Second Wizarding War.
Once the moment of silence concluded, Minister Bones continued. "This evening is also a night of great recognition. As we look toward the future, we must also celebrate those who have gone above and beyond in their service to the wizarding world. Tonight, I announce the following recipients to receive the Order of Merlin."
She glanced at the list before her, smiling at the names. "Order of Merlin, First Class, for outstanding bravery and service, will be awarded to: Harry Potter, Minerva McGonagall, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Aberforth Dumbledore."
A murmur of pride rippled through the room as people glanced at Harry and the others mentioned.
"Order of Merlin, Second Class, for exemplary leadership and valor in battle, will be awarded to: Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, and Horace Slughorn."
Harry caught Ron's eye in the crowd, the earlier tension between them momentarily forgotten as pride swelled in both of them.
"And finally, Order of Merlin, Third Class, for significant contributions to the cause, will be awarded to: Arthur Weasley, Molly Weasley, Filius Flitwick, Rubeus Hagrid, and Pomona Sprout."
The names of those beloved by so many in the room echoed across the ballroom, the applause growing louder with each announcement. Amelia raised her head and smiled gently. "Now, let us celebrate in their honor and embrace the future they fought for. I hereby declare the ball open."
With that, the music swelled, and the ballroom came back to life as the formalities ended, and the festivities began.
Harry was scanning the ballroom when he noticed Neville Longbottom standing near the grand staircase, looking both distinguished and slightly nervous in his formal robes. Beside him stood Augusta Longbottom, her presence as formidable as ever, engaged in conversation with Junior Minister Albert Croaker. Harry smiled at the sight of Neville, who seemed to catch his eye at the same moment.
"Neville!" Harry called out, making his way over with Zsuzsanna at his side. Neville greeted him with a warm smile, though Harry could see the tension in his shoulders.
"Harry, good to see you!" Neville replied, glancing briefly at Zsuzsanna before turning back to Harry.
"Quite the event, isn't it?"
"More than I'm used to," Harry said with a chuckle. "Neville, this is Lady Zsuzsanna Árpád, Ambassador Árpád's daughter. Zsuzsanna, this is Neville Longbottom, Heir Apparent of the Ancient and Noble House of Longbottom."
Zsuzsanna smiled warmly, extending her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Neville."
Neville took her hand gently, his usual awkwardness showing for just a moment. "Likewise, Lady Zsuzsanna."
Before the conversation could continue, Augusta Longbottom and Junior Minister Croaker approached. Augusta's sharp eyes settled on Harry but softened slightly as they always did when greeting someone she approved of.
"Lord Potter," she said with a nod. "And Lady Zsuzsanna. I trust you're both enjoying the evening?"
"We are, Lady Longbottom," Harry replied respectfully. "It's good to see you again."
Zsuzsanna inclined her head politely. "It's an honor to meet you, Lady Longbottom."
Augusta gave a brief smile before turning her attention to Neville.
"Have you told him yet?" she asked, her voice sharp but not unkind.
Neville sighed lightly but nodded. "I was getting to it, Gran."
Harry raised an eyebrow, curious. "Told me what?"
Neville straightened slightly, glancing at his grandmother and then back at Harry. "We are applying going to be a motion for a vote of no confidence. My father... well, he's still technically the Lord of the House, but given his condition, it's been decided that I should take up the title of Lord Longbottom."
Harry blinked in surprise. "You mean, you'll be..."
Neville gave a small nod. "The new Lord Longbottom, yeah. Gran and the elders think it's time. My dad's been incapacitated for a long time, and the House needs someone active to lead it."
Zsuzsanna, standing beside Harry, looked at Neville with quiet understanding. "That's a great responsibility, but I'm sure you'll rise to it."
Neville smiled at her, his nervousness easing a little. "Thank you. I'm still getting used to the idea, but... it feels like the right thing to do."
At this, Augusta interjected. "The House of Longbottom has always existed, and it will continue to do so under Neville's leadership. He's ready." Her eyes flicked to Junior Minister Croaker, who had been silently observing.
Croaker finally spoke, his voice measured and calm. "I've given my full support to Neville's ascension. It's overdue, and the family is behind him." He paused, then added with a small smile, "After all, family looks after its own."
Harry's eyes widened slightly. "Wait... your family?"
Augusta's expression softened just a fraction. "Albert Croaker is my brother—Neville's great-uncle. The Croakers and Longbottoms have always been intertwined, though we don't broadcast it."
Croaker nodded. "We've kept it quiet for various reasons, but yes. I'm proud to see my nephew take on his rightful role."
Harry took in the revelation, realizing just how deeply connected the old wizarding families were.
"Neville, that's... incredible. I had no idea."
Neville shrugged modestly. "It's not something we talk about much, but it's time I step up. Gran's been preparing me for this, and Uncle Algie's been helping behind the scenes."
Augusta gave a curt nod, her eyes filled with pride. "The Longbottoms are known for their strength and honor. Neville will carry that legacy forward."
Zsuzsanna smiled warmly at Neville. "I have no doubt you'll lead with that same honor and strength."
Harry nodded in agreement, a smile on his face. "You've come so far, Neville. You'll be a great Lord Longbottom. And honestly, it'll be nice to know someone else on the council as well."
Neville's face flushed with gratitude, but his confidence seemed to grow as he looked around at the people who supported him. "Thanks, Harry. And thank you, Lady Zsuzsanna. That means a lot."
As they stood together, Harry couldn't help but feel a deep sense of pride for his friend. Neville had come a long way from their days at Hogwarts, and now he was about to take on the mantle of one of the most powerful and respected wizarding families in Britain. And by the look on Augusta's face, there was no question—Neville was more than ready.
After a few more introductions and polite conversations, Harry found himself alone near one of the ballroom's large windows, trying to gather his thoughts. The evening had been filled with formalities and stiff interactions—something he still wasn't used to. He glanced over at Zsuzsanna, who was now deep in conversation with Hermione, both of them laughing quietly. That brought a small smile to Harry's face.
But his moment of peace was quickly interrupted as Ron appeared from the crowd, his face set in a frown. Harry knew immediately that something was wrong.
"Harry," Ron said, a touch of frustration already in his voice. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"
"What's this about?" Harry asked, feeling the tension building already.
Ron didn't waste any time. "You've changed, Harry," he said, his voice low but filled with accusation.
"And I don't just mean the titles or the fancy house. You're not the same person anymore."
Harry stiffened, his frustration flaring up. "What are you talking about, Ron? "
Ron snapped, crossing his arms. "Ever since you moved into Rowan Hill, started the Foundation, and got all this attention—you're like a different person. You care more about impressing them than you do about your real friends. You haven't even invited us over to your big fancy house! What, are we supposed to beg for an invitation?"
Harry felt a familiar surge of irritation. This wasn't new. Ron's jealousy had been bubbling under the surface for years. There had been moments at Hogwarts, flashes of resentment during the Triwizard Tournament, or when Harry's fame had cast a shadow over him. Harry had hoped they'd grown past it, but it seemed that old wounds hadn't healed.
"You're jealous, Ron. Admit it. You've always been jealous, ever since Hogwarts," Harry said, his voice rising. "This isn't about me changing—it's about you feeling like you've been left behind because I have things you don't. But I never asked for any of this. You think I enjoy all the responsibilities and expectations that come with being Lord Potter or Lord Black?"
Ron's face flushed, but he didn't back down. "It's not about being jealous, Harry. It's about you forgetting who your real friends are. You're living in some grand manor, rubbing elbows with people like Lady Zsuzsanna and all these so-called 'lord and lady' types, and you expect me to believe that hasn't changed you? And this Foundation—ever since you started it, it's like you're constantly in the spotlight, and you seem to love it. You've got all this now, and we're just supposed to pretend everything's the same?"
Harry's temper flared. "You think I've forgotten my friends? You think I wanted this life, Ron? Do you even understand how I came by all of this? My parents are dead—that's the price I paid to inherit everything. You think I wanted this?" You have no idea what it's like to lose everything! I'd trade every galleon in my vault, all the titles, the bloody manor—just for one moment with them!"
Ron froze, the heat in Harry's voice cutting through his own anger.
"I moved into Rowan Hill because it's the only place where I feel connected to them," Harry continued, his voice thick with emotion. "It's not about the house or the titles. It's about family. Something I never had, and you—you've always had it. You don't know what it's like to be alone." Harry paused, then added, his voice more resolute, "But that's not all. For the first time in my life, I feel like I'm growing into someone I can actually stand by. Not because of the money or the titles—but because of the good I can do with them. The Foundation, all of it—it gives me purpose. I want to help people, and I finally have the means to do that."
Ron's expression wavered, but the jealousy still lingered in his eyes. "So now I'm supposed to feel bad because you've got money and titles, and I don't? You're getting all this attention, Harry, all this praise, and you expect me to act like nothing's different? You've got your own Foundation, everyone's singing your praises, and you're just eating it up."
Harry shook his head, disbelief creeping into his voice. "You don't get it, do you? I would trade everything, every bit of gold and every fancy title, just to have what you have—a family. But you... you accuse me of being different, like I wanted any of this. Like I had a choice."
Ron's face hardened again, and he crossed his arms. "Maybe I don't understand. Maybe I can't. But it feels like you've changed, Harry. You've got all this now, and I'm just supposed to act like nothing's different?"
Harry's eyes flashed with anger. "You're lucky, Ron. You've got your parents. Your family. You have no idea how much I'd give just to have that. And for you to stand here and accuse me of changing because I've finally found something that makes me feel close to them—well, maybe you're not the friend I thought you were."
Ron's face paled slightly at the words, but the anger still simmered beneath the surface. "So that's it, then? I'm the bad guy because I don't get it?"
Harry looked at him, the weight of their friendship suddenly feeling heavier than ever. "No, Ron. You're not the bad guy. But maybe we've outgrown each other. You can't understand what I've been through, and I can't keep pretending that everything's the same when it's not."
Ron stood there, his expression a mix of hurt and stubbornness. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, shaking his head.
At that moment, Hermione, who had been chatting with Zsuzsanna, noticed the tension between them and started making her way over, concern written all over her face. She caught Harry's eye, her gaze flicking between him and Ron, but it was clear she didn't know what to say.
Ron glanced briefly at Hermione but didn't acknowledge her. Without another word, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.
Harry watched him go, the knot in his chest tightening. The realization settled heavily on him—whatever friendship they had, whatever bond had once been so strong, was now shattered.
Harry stood by the window, watching as Ron disappeared into the crowd. The knot in his chest felt heavier with every passing second. He took a deep breath, knowing the damage had been done. His friendship with Ron had changed irrevocably, and there was no going back.
A soft voice interrupted his thoughts. "Harry?"
He turned to see Hermione standing nearby, her face full of concern. She had clearly witnessed the argument and now looked torn, glancing between where Ron had gone and back at Harry.
Harry sighed, his voice quiet but steady. "Go to him, Hermione."
Hermione blinked, surprised. "What? But Harry, I—"
"No," Harry interrupted gently. "He needs you more than I do right now. He's upset, and... you've always been the one who can calm him down." His eyes softened as he glanced toward the crowd where Ron had vanished. "I'll be fine. He's your best friend too. Don't leave him alone in this."
Hermione's lips parted, as if she wanted to protest, but she saw the understanding in Harry's eyes. Reluctantly, she nodded. "Alright," she whispered. "But this isn't the end of things between you two, Harry. It can't be."
Harry offered a faint smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "We'll see."
Hermione gave him one last glance before turning and hurrying off in the direction Ron had gone. Harry watched her disappear into the crowd, feeling a strange mix of sadness and relief.
A soft voice beside him pulled him from his thoughts. "You're handling it well."
Harry turned to see Zsuzsanna standing beside him, holding a small plate of food. Her expression was kind but perceptive. "I saw what happened. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," she added, her tone gentle.
Harry offered her a grateful smile. "Thanks, Zsuzsi. It's... complicated."
Zsuzsanna nodded, her eyes understanding. "Most things with friends are." She handed him the plate. "Here. You haven't eaten anything, and I think you could use the distraction."
Harry chuckled softly, accepting the plate. "You always know what to say, don't you?"
She smiled and took a seat next to him, her presence comforting but not intrusive. "I'm here if you need me, Harry. Even if it's just to sit quietly."
Harry nodded, appreciating the gesture. For the first time that night, he felt a small weight lift off his shoulders. They sat together in silence for a moment, a platonic but steady support between them, as Harry picked at the food on his plate.
Before long, the silence was broken by a familiar voice. "Potter."
Harry looked up and saw Draco Malfoy standing a few feet away, his expression hesitant and guarded. Zsuzsanna glanced between the two of them before standing up quietly, giving Harry a reassuring nod.
She slipped away to give them space.
Harry set down his plate and stood to face Draco. "Malfoy."
There was a brief silence, tension hanging in the air between them. Draco shifted slightly, as if uncomfortable, before speaking. "I didn't come here to cause trouble."
Harry raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.
Draco cleared his throat, glancing around as if making sure no one else was listening. "I... wanted to ask about something." His voice was lower now, more uncertain. "It's about Dobby."
Harry blinked, surprised. He hadn't expected this. "What about him?"
Draco hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with what he was about to say. "I... I know what he meant to you. And I know he... he didn't exactly have the best time with my family." He shifted again, his discomfort obvious. "But I heard that you buried him... and I wanted to see his grave."
Harry stared at Draco, taken aback by the request. "Why?" he asked, not unkindly, but truly puzzled.
Draco's eyes darted to the floor for a moment before he sighed and spoke quietly, his tone more vulnerable than Harry had ever heard. "When I was a child... Dobby was the only one in Malfoy Manor who would... play with me or even spend time with me." He paused, his voice growing more hesitant. "I didn't understand it then, but looking back, he was the closest thing I had to a friend in that house growing up."
Harry's anger softened slightly. This was not something he ever expected to hear from Draco. Then a sudden realization hit him—Dobby had only known about "the Great Harry Potter" because of Draco. All those stories Dobby had shared with such admiration for Harry, they must have come from Draco's childhood, where he had likely boasted about Harry long before they had even met at Hogwarts.
The thought hit Harry hard. Draco hadn't always hated him. In fact, when they were eleven, Draco had probably wanted to be his friend. Harry's mind flickered back to that first moment at Madam Malkin's, and later, on the Hogwarts Express, when Draco had extended his hand in friendship. At the time, Harry had turned him down because of how he treated Ron. But now Harry wondered—was it just a misunderstanding that had spiraled into years of rivalry and resentment?
All the talk of "the Great Harry Potter" that Dobby had repeated, it must have come from Draco, from a place of admiration, perhaps even longing. Draco had grown up in a house where he was isolated, treated like a tool of his family's ambitions. And Dobby—Dobby had been the one constant presence who showed Draco a shred of kindness. Draco had probably looked up to Harry before he even knew him, imagining him as someone who could be a true friend. But when Harry rejected his offer of friendship, that admiration had curdled into bitterness.
For the first time, Harry saw their history in a completely new light. The rivalry, the hatred—it had all started from a place of hurt, not malice.
"I didn't treat him right," Draco admitted, his voice low. "I know that. But I... I'd like to see where you laid him to rest."
Harry took a deep breath, still processing the shift in his perspective. After a moment, he nodded.
"Alright. I can take you there. But why now?"
Draco shifted again, his gaze falling to the floor. "I've been thinking a lot about the past. About the choices I made, the things I did. I can't change what happened, but... maybe this is a way to understand some of it. Maybe it'll help me move forward."
Harry considered him for a moment, then nodded again. "I'll take you."
Draco let out a small breath, as if relieved. "Thank you."
There was another pause before Draco shifted awkwardly, his usual guarded demeanor slipping just slightly. "There's something else."
Harry frowned. "What?"
"My parents," Draco said, his voice low, "they wanted me to pass on a message. They want to meet with you. To... discuss things."
Harry's expression hardened. "What things?"
Draco hesitated again. "They... want your support. They're facing charges, as you probably know. They think, given everything that's happened, your influence could help get the charges dropped."
Harry felt a surge of anger, but he kept his voice steady. "They want my help to get out of facing justice?"
Draco flinched slightly at the accusation but didn't back down. "I'm just the messenger, Potter. You don't owe them anything—I know that. But they wanted me to ask."
Harry clenched his fists, trying to contain the frustration that bubbled inside him. After everything the Malfoys had done—how could they even think to ask for his help?
But Draco's expression wasn't one of smugness or manipulation. He seemed... resigned. Almost as if he expected Harry to refuse.
"I'll think about it," Harry finally said, his tone clipped.
Draco nodded, looking almost relieved that Harry hadn't outright refused. "That's all I can ask."
There was a beat of silence between them before Draco turned to go. But before he walked away, he looked back at Harry, his voice quiet. "Thank you for considering it. And... for Dobby."
Without waiting for a response, Draco disappeared into the crowd, leaving Harry standing there, a mix of emotions swirling in his chest. The realization that Draco had once wanted to be his friend—that their entire relationship might have begun with hope and admiration—left Harry shaken. He had spent years thinking Draco's hatred had been immediate, but maybe... it had all started because of Harry's rejection.
The thought lingered heavily as Harry stared out at the crowd. For the first time, he wondered if things could have been different.
After Draco walked away, Harry felt the weight of the evening pressing down on him. He needed to take a moment to gather his thoughts, but before he could retreat into his own mind, he spotted Andromeda across the ballroom, deep in conversation with Professor Slughorn. Knowing that some company might do him good, Harry made his way toward them.
As he approached, he caught the end of Slughorn's booming laughter. "Ah, Harry, my boy!" Slughorn called out, his face lighting up as Harry neared. "Just the man I was talking about!"
Harry gave a polite smile. "Professor Slughorn, Mrs. Tonks." He nodded to Andromeda, who greeted him with a warm, approving smile.
"Harry, dear," Andromeda said, her voice soft but steady. "I was just about to come find you. Horace has been telling me all sorts of stories about his Slug Club days."
Slughorn beamed proudly before gesturing to the two women standing with them. One of them Harry immediately recognized as Gwenog Jones, the legendary former captain of the Holyhead Harpies, her sharp eyes and confident posture unmistakable. Beside her was a woman with the same fierce energy, though slightly more reserved—Hestia Jones, who Harry had met briefly during his time with the Order of the Phoenix.
Slughorn, ever the master of introductions, took center stage. "Harry, allow me to introduce you properly. You of course know Gwenog Jones—former Captain of the Holyhead Harpies and now the newly appointed Director of the Department of Magical Games and Sports!"
Gwenog extended her hand, her grip firm and her smile sharp. "Lord Potter," she said, her voice steady but with a hint of admiration. "Good to finally meet you. I've heard quite a bit about you—though I'm not sure if it's more about your Quidditch skills or your heroics."
Harry chuckled softly, shaking her hand. "I'd hope a bit of both."
Gwenog grinned. "From what I've heard, it seems like both are well-deserved."
Slughorn then gestured to the woman standing beside Gwenog. "And this is Gwenog's sister, Hestia Jones—our new Senior Undersecretary to the Minister."
Hestia gave Harry a warm smile, much more subdued than her sister's intensity, but no less genuine.
"Harry, it's wonderful to see you again. It's been quite some time since the Order days."
Harry smiled back, shaking her hand. "It's good to see you too, Hestia. Congratulations on the new position—especially after the last person to hold it. You'll be a breath of fresh air after Umbridge.
"Thank you," Hestia said graciously. "It's been a whirlwind, but I'm excited for the challenge."
Slughorn, always keen to keep the conversation flowing, clapped his hands together. "Now, you see, Harry, we were just discussing the state of Quidditch in the Ministry. With Gwenog at the helm of Magical Games and Sports, and with Hestia so close to the Minister's ear, I'd say Quidditch is in very good hands."
Gwenog smirked slightly. "I'd like to think so. There's a lot of work to be done, though. The last administration wasn't exactly focused on promoting the game."
Hestia nodded in agreement. "There's a lot of bureaucracy to cut through, but I'm sure we'll make some changes."
Harry, feeling a bit more comfortable, saw an opening and decided to take it. He cleared his throat slightly before speaking. "Actually, I've been meaning to talk to someone about this. The Foundation—my Foundation—is considering running a Summer Quidditch program. Something to get young witches and wizards involved in the game, especially those who don't usually get the chance to play. I thought it could be a good way to promote community engagement and give them something active and fun to look forward to."
Gwenog's eyebrows shot up with interest. "A Summer Quidditch program? Now that's something I'd like to hear more about."
Harry nodded, feeling encouraged. "We've been thinking about holding free Quidditch camps in different regions, particularly for underprivileged kids. A few days of training, coaching, and scrimmages—maybe even getting some professionals involved to mentor them. The idea is to give these kids the same love for the game that we all grew up with."
Gwenog's grin widened. "That's a brilliant idea, Potter. You've got a good head on your shoulders. Quidditch needs more initiatives like that, especially if we want to keep the sport alive for future generations. You know, the Ministry has been discussing ways to get more youth programs off the ground. Your Foundation could be the perfect partner for something like this."
Hestia chimed in, her voice thoughtful. "With Gwenog in her new role, we could certainly look into supporting something like that from the Ministry's side. And I know Minister Bones would be in favor of any initiative that brings communities together."
Harry felt a surge of hope. This was exactly the kind of project he had envisioned when he started the Foundation—a way to use his resources and influence for something positive. "I'm glad you think so," he said. "I'd love to work with both of you to make it happen."
Gwenog's eyes gleamed with enthusiasm. "Consider me on board. I'll even make sure some of the Harpies get involved—they'd love it. The kids will be over the moon to meet professional players."
Slughorn, not to be left out of the excitement, chuckled heartily. "Now this is why I love gatherings like these! Connections, partnerships, great ideas—ah, Harry, you never cease to amaze."
Harry smiled, feeling a sense of accomplishment and relief. He hadn't just made a connection—he had found genuine support for something that mattered to him. As the conversation flowed between them, Harry realized that this was what he wanted to do: use his name and position to bring about real change.
As the conversation with Gwenog and Hestia wrapped up, Harry felt a sense of satisfaction, knowing that his Foundation's Summer Quidditch program had the potential to make a real difference. But the evening was far from over. The ballroom was still filled with important figures, and Harry knew that more introductions and conversations awaited him.
However, for now, he needed a break from the formalities. His gaze landed on Andromeda, who was watching the crowd with a quiet, knowing expression. A thought struck him, and with a smile, he made his way over to her.
"Andromeda," Harry said as he approached, offering her a smile. "How about a dance?"
Andromeda raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by the request. "A dance, Harry? With me?"
Harry shrugged, still smiling. "Why not? You've been standing here long enough, and it looks like Slughorn's storytelling might start up again any second."
Andromeda chuckled, a gleam of amusement in her eyes. "Very well, then. I suppose it has been too long since I had a proper dance."
Harry extended his hand, and Andromeda took it with grace. They moved onto the dance floor just as the music shifted to a slower, more elegant tune. Harry led them in a gentle waltz, doing his best to avoid stepping on her feet. But Andromeda, with her natural poise, seemed to glide effortlessly across the floor, making Harry feel more confident in his steps.
"You've grown into it, I see," Andromeda remarked, her tone both playful and proud.
"Thanks to your teachings," Harry replied, keeping in time with the music. "Though I'm sure I'm still no match for some of the dancers here."
Andromeda laughed softly, the sound soothing amidst the hum of the ballroom. "You're doing just fine, dear."
For a few moments, they danced in comfortable silence, the atmosphere light and easy. But then, Andromeda's expression softened into something more thoughtful as they moved through the steps.
"So, Harry," she began, her tone still gentle but laced with curiosity, "what have you observed tonight?"
Harry glanced at her, a bit taken aback by the question. "What do you mean?"
Andromeda raised an eyebrow, as if expecting more from him. "You've been mingling with some very important people this evening. Surely you've noticed the dynamics, the way people interact. The politics of it all."
Harry thought for a moment, his mind going back to the various conversations he'd had throughout the night. "I guess I've noticed a few things," he admitted. "Like how everyone seems to want something from someone else. Even Draco asked me to pass on a message from his parents, asking for my help with their charges. It all feels... calculated."
Andromeda nodded, her eyes scanning the room as they twirled. "You're not wrong. In gatherings like this, everyone has an agenda, whether they admit it or not. It's not just about power—it's about alliances, about who you can align with to achieve your goals."
Harry frowned slightly. "It's exhausting."
Andromeda smiled at him, a maternal warmth in her gaze. "It can be, but it's also how our world works, especially in circles like these. You'll need to be aware of it, Harry, if you want to navigate it successfully."
They danced for a few more moments in silence before Andromeda leaned in slightly, her tone softening as she continued, "But don't lose yourself in the games, Harry. You've already done something most people here can't—you've built real connections, people who trust you because they know you're genuine. That's more valuable than any title or alliance."
Harry met her gaze, her words settling in. "You're saying I don't have to play their games?"
Andromeda's smile grew, and she gave him a playful nudge. "Not in the same way. But you do need to be aware of them. You can still be yourself, Harry—that's your greatest strength. But don't underestimate the power of observation. Watch how people move, how they speak. There's always more to a conversation than what's being said out loud."
Harry nodded, her advice sinking in. "Like Slughorn," he mused, "always talking about his connections."
Andromeda chuckled softly. "Exactly. Horace may seem harmless, but he's one of the most politically astute people here. He knows how to stay relevant, how to align himself with the right people. Even his storytelling has a purpose."
Harry couldn't help but smile. "And you? You've been watching all night."
Andromeda gave him a mischievous look. "Of course I have. Old habits die hard. But unlike most, I'm only watching to make sure you or Zsuzsanna aren't getting swept up in the chaos."
Harry felt a warm sense of gratitude. Andromeda had been a steady presence in his life ever since he moved into Rowan Hill. Her maternal care was something he hadn't known he needed, but now cherished deeply.
"Thank you," Harry said quietly, his voice full of sincerity. "For always looking out for me."
Andromeda's expression softened, her eyes shining with affection. "Always, Harry. You've grown so much, but no matter how far you go, you'll always have people who care about you."
The music slowly came to an end, and they both paused, still standing in the middle of the dance floor. The conversation had been light but meaningful—a reminder to Harry that while he had to navigate the politics of his new life, he didn't have to do it alone.
"You're doing well, Harry," Andromeda said softly, her hand squeezing his gently. "Just remember to trust yourself."
Harry nodded, feeling a renewed sense of reassurance. "I will."
With that, Andromeda smiled and led him off the dance floor, leaving Harry feeling both comforted and more aware of the intricate world he was now a part of.
After parting ways with Andromeda, Harry felt more centered, her advice resonating with him. He scanned the room, searching for Zsuzsanna, hoping to share a quiet moment amidst the chaos of the evening. But as he began to weave through the crowd, another voice halted him in his tracks.
"Lord Potter."
Harry turned to see Lord Valerian Nott, tall and imposing, making his way toward him. The Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Nott carried an air of authority that was hard to ignore. His black hair and sharp features gave him an almost regal appearance, and though he wore a polite smile, there was a coldness behind his eyes that made Harry instantly wary.
"Lord Nott," Harry greeted with a nod, his tone measured. "A pleasure to meet you."
Nott smiled thinly, his eyes studying Harry carefully. "Pleased to meet you as well, I've been quite interested in speaking with you for some time now."
Harry straightened slightly, knowing where this conversation was likely headed. Lord Nott was the leader of the Traditionalist Voting Bloc on the Wizengamot—a faction that held considerable influence in the Council but also very closely aligned with Voldemort. Harry had chosen to remain independent, refusing to align himself with any-one voting bloc, and he knew that decision had not gone unnoticed.
"I've heard that," Harry said, his voice neutral. "But I haven't made any decisions about aligning with any particular group."
Nott nodded, as though he'd expected the response. "Indeed. And that, Lord Potter, is precisely what concerns me. You see, neutrality may appear to be a safe stance, but in our world, it is often viewed as indecision. In time, you'll find that the Wizengamot does not look kindly on those who stand on the sidelines. We value strength—commitment to the traditions that have held our society together for centuries."
Harry felt his jaw tighten but kept his expression calm. "I understand the value of tradition, Lord Nott. But I believe that change can be just as important. I'm not interested in joining any voting bloc at the moment. I'd rather make decisions based on the issues themselves, not because I've pledged loyalty to one side."
Nott's smile didn't falter, but his gaze hardened ever so slightly. "That's a noble sentiment, Lord Potter. But one that may prove difficult to maintain in practice. The Traditionalists have long been the stabilizing force in our world—ensuring that our heritage, our values, are preserved. You, of all people, should understand the importance of safeguarding what we have built."
Harry held his ground, refusing to be intimidated. "I do understand the importance of safeguarding our world. But I also believe that we need to be open to progress. I want to make decisions that I believe are best for everyone—not just for those who cling to the past."
Nott's expression remained unreadable, though his eyes seemed to darken slightly. "You are young, Lord Potter, and your reputation carries great weight—more weight than you may realize. In the coming years, your influence will shape the course of our world. And whether you align yourself with us or not, you will need allies."
Harry's frustration bubbled beneath the surface, but he kept his voice steady. "I'm aware of that, Lord Nott. But I've already decided—I'm going to remain independent. I want to focus on what's right for the future."
There was a long pause as Nott regarded Harry, his gaze calculating. Then, he gave a slow nod, though his expression remained as cold as ever. "Very well, Lord Potter. But remember this—neutrality can only last for so long. Eventually, you will be forced to choose a side. And when that time comes, I hope you will see that tradition is what keeps our world from descending into chaos."
Harry met Nott's gaze steadily. "I'll keep that in mind. But for now, I'll make my own decisions."
With a final, thin smile, Nott stepped back. "I admire your conviction, Lord Potter. But convictions have a way of being tested. I look forward to seeing how you navigate the path ahead."
Without waiting for a response, Nott turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Harry standing alone.
Harry exhaled, a mix of relief and frustration washing over him. The conversation with Nott had been a test—a subtle warning that neutrality wouldn't protect him forever. He understood now more than ever that the world he had stepped into was one filled with power plays and alliances, and sooner or later, he would have to choose a path.
But for tonight, Harry was determined to remain true to himself.
After Lord Nott disappeared into the crowd, Harry exhaled and ran a hand through his hair, still processing the weight of their conversation. He had managed to hold his ground, but the tension of the evening was beginning to take its toll. His mind briefly wandered to Zsuzsanna again, her presence offering a sense of calm amidst all the politics.
But before he could move forward, a familiar, comforting voice called out from nearby.
"Harry! There you are!"
Harry turned and immediately spotted Molly Weasley making her way toward him, her face beaming with affection. Arthur Weasley was right behind her, his expression warm and welcoming as ever.
"Molly, Arthur," Harry greeted them with a broad smile, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. The Weasleys had always been like family, and seeing them now felt like a much-needed anchor in the sea of formalities.
Molly wasted no time pulling Harry into a tight, motherly hug. "Oh, Harry, it's so good to see you!" she exclaimed, holding him tightly for a moment before pulling back and looking him over with a proud, approving gaze. "You look so handsome tonight. I can't believe how much you've grown."
Harry grinned, his heart warming at the familiar comfort of Molly's embrace. "Thanks, Molly."
Arthur stepped forward and clapped Harry on the shoulder with a fatherly smile. "Looking sharp, Harry.
You've been handling yourself well tonight—I'm sure it's a lot to take in."
Harry chuckled softly. "That's putting it mildly. But I'm managing."
Molly fussed for a moment, adjusting the collar of Harry's coat as if he were still a teenager at Hogwarts.
"I hope you've taken a moment to enjoy yourself tonight, dear. It's not all politics, you know."
"I've been trying," Harry said, his smile growing. "It's been... an interesting night."
Arthur nodded knowingly. "These events can be exhausting. But from what I've heard, you've handled everything with the usual Potter charm."
Harry raised an eyebrow, a touch of amusement in his voice. "Potter charm? That's a new one."
Molly chuckled and gave him another affectionate squeeze. "Oh, don't be modest. You've always had a way with people, Harry. Just remember, it's important to take a moment for yourself amidst all of this. You've earned it."
Harry felt a swell of gratitude in his chest. The Weasleys had always been there for him, and their unwavering support meant more to him now than ever. "Thanks, Molly. And thanks, Arthur. It means a lot to hear that."
Arthur gave Harry another reassuring pat on the shoulder. "You're doing great, son. Just keep being yourself, and you'll be fine. No need to get too caught up in all the pomp and circumstance."
Molly nodded firmly. "Exactly. Don't let anyone push you into something you're not ready for."
Harry nodded, feeling a deep sense of appreciation. "I'll keep that in mind. Thanks again."
After a few more moments of conversation, Molly glanced toward the other end of the ballroom and smiled. "I won't keep you too long, dear. It looks like you've got company waiting."
Harry followed her gaze and saw Zsuzsanna standing by the edge of the room, still in conversation with Professor McGonagall. He smiled warmly, knowing he had spent far too much of the evening caught up in politics. He could use a friendly conversation to unwind.
Arthur chuckled lightly. "Go on, then, Harry. Don't let us keep you. We'll catch up soon."
Molly gave him one last, affectionate pat on the arm. "Take care of yourself, Harry. And don't forget—you always have a place at The Burrow."
"I won't forget," Harry said, his voice full of gratitude. "Thank you, both of you."
With that, Harry waved them off and turned toward Zsuzsanna and McGonagall, feeling a renewed sense of calm and comfort after speaking with the Weasleys. As much as his life had changed, some things—like the unwavering support of Molly and Arthur—remained a constant source of strength.
Harry approached the spot where Zsuzsanna was standing, still engaged in conversation with Professor McGonagall. He couldn't help but smile as he watched the two women, both so different yet clearly getting along well. Zsuzsanna was poised and graceful as ever, her sharp mind fully engaged with McGonagall's sharp wit.
As he neared, he caught the tail end of their conversation, just in time to hear McGonagall let out a rare chuckle.
"Good evening, Professor," Harry greeted, stepping up beside them.
McGonagall turned to him, her eyes twinkling with warmth. "Ah, Mr. Potter. I was just telling Lady Zsuzsanna here about your, shall we say, rather adventurous years at Hogwarts."
Zsuzsanna raised an amused eyebrow, a hint of mischief in her smile. "Adventurous? I'd say that sounds about right."
Harry laughed softly, a little embarrassed but used to McGonagall's teasing by now. "I hope you didn't tell her everything, Professor."
McGonagall gave him one of her signature looks—stern but affectionate. "I'll leave some of the more... colorful details out, Mr. Potter. But I've been reminding Lady Zsuzsanna here of the importance of remaining aware of the world around her. She seems to have a good grasp of that already."
Zsuzsanna smiled modestly. "Thank you, Professor. I've always tried to stay informed, especially when surrounded by people like Harry."
McGonagall nodded approvingly. "Indeed. You've both shown a great deal of maturity beyond your years. It's heartening to see." Her gaze shifted between the two of them, her eyes twinkling with something that felt like pride.
Harry felt a swell of appreciation for the compliment. "Thank you, Professor."
McGonagall inclined her head slightly, her gaze softening as she looked at Harry. "You've come a long way, Mr. Potter. Just remember, the best leaders are those who remain true to themselves."
"I'll do my best to remember that," Harry replied sincerely.
With that, McGonagall gave a small nod, her eyes twinkling once more. "I'll leave you two to your evening. Enjoy the rest of the night, Mr. Potter, Lady Zsuzsanna."
Harry and Zsuzsanna exchanged a glance as McGonagall walked away, disappearing into the crowd.
There was a moment of comfortable silence between them before Harry spoke.
"Looks like you made quite the impression on McGonagall," Harry said, grinning.
Zsuzsanna chuckled softly. "She's impressive herself. I could listen to her for hours. She mentioned some interesting stories about you, though I'm sure she left out the more... colorful parts."
Harry laughed. "Let's hope so."
Zsuzsanna smiled warmly, the conversation flowing easily between them. "You've handled yourself well tonight, Harry. I know it hasn't been easy, but you've done a great job."
Harry exhaled, feeling some of the weight of the evening lift. "Thanks, Zsuzsi. It's been... a lot. But having people like you around makes it easier."
Zsuzsanna's smile remained kind and genuine, though her tone stayed platonic. "That's what friends are for, right? To help each other through the chaos."
Harry nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. "Yeah, exactly."
The two of them stood there for a moment, enjoying the quiet, mutual understanding between them. Harry glanced around the room, his mind still buzzing with all the conversations and connections he had made throughout the night. But here, in this moment, he felt grounded.
As Harry was about to suggest heading back toward Andromeda and Brian, something—or rather, someone—caught his eye near the grand staircase.
Standing near the exit, adjusting the shawl over her elegant emerald gown, was Daphne Greengrass. Her blonde hair fell softly around her shoulders, her expression calm and composed as she prepared to leave. She had been present throughout the night, always poised and somewhat distant, but something about her caught Harry's attention now in the quieter moments of the evening.
Without fully thinking it through, Harry stepped forward, his curiosity piqued.
"Miss Greengrass," Harry called softly as he approached.
Daphne turned to face him, her pale blue eyes meeting his with a flicker of surprise. For a brief moment, Harry thought he saw something unguarded in her expression—something that quickly shifted back to her usual calm demeanor.
"Lord Potter," she greeted, her voice smooth but polite. "I wasn't expecting anyone to catch me before I left."
Harry smiled, feeling oddly at ease despite the formality. "Neither was I. It's been a long night."
Daphne's lips quirked into a small smile. "That's one way to put it."
They stood there for a moment, the noise of the ballroom fading around them. There was no pressure to fill the silence, and Harry found it strangely comfortable. Daphne, usually so distant and mysterious, now seemed approachable in this quiet space between the chaos of the evening.
"Quite the event, isn't it?" Harry said lightly, breaking the silence.
Daphne nodded, her expression softening slightly. "It is. Though I imagine you've had a much busier evening than most of us."
Harry chuckled softly. "It certainly feels that way. But I've survived."
Daphne raised an eyebrow, a touch of amusement in her eyes. "Survived, yes. But I imagine you'll be facing more of these events in the future."
Harry shrugged, feeling a little more relaxed now. "That's what everyone keeps telling me."
There was a pause, and for a moment, they simply stood there, the comfortable silence stretching between them again. Harry wasn't sure why, but he found himself drawn to this quiet moment with Daphne—perhaps it was the fact that there was no expectation, no pressure, just two people at the end of a long night.
As they stood there, someone passing by bumped into Harry's arm, causing him to stumble slightly. Instinctively, he reached out to steady himself, his hand brushing against Daphne's arm.
"Sorry about that," Harry said quickly, stepping back with a faint flush of embarrassment.
Daphne glanced down at where his hand had touched her arm, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "No harm done," she said, her tone light. "Though I suppose we're all a bit unsteady by the end of a night like this."
Harry chuckled, the moment of awkwardness easing into something more natural. "I guess so."
Daphne's eyes lingered on him for a moment longer before she glanced toward the door. "I should be going. But perhaps we'll see each other again at the next event."
Harry smiled, feeling an unexpected sense of connection. "Maybe we will."
Daphne gave him a small, genuine nod before turning and walking gracefully toward the exit. Harry watched her go, feeling a subtle shift in the air—a quiet, unspoken beginning of something different.
As he turned back toward Zsuzsanna and the others, he couldn't help but wonder if this was the start of a new chapter, one filled with unexpected connections and possibilities.
END
AN: I'd love to hear your thoughts, both positive and constructive, as I'm eager to improve my writing. Please share any feedback you have—it means a lot and will help me refine my work. Thank you!