I was actually quite astonished at the response to Men of Focus (which I should point out is actually a working title: it may be published under another one if and when this is published as a full fic), and I'm glad of it. However, while this is partly my own damn fault for not making it clearer (I'll make it clearer in the published fic), Harry is NOT a Squib. He still has his magic. James TRIED to Squib-ify Harry, true, but didn't succeed. Harry is probably closer to Kiritsugu Emiya from Fate/Zero: he has magic abilities (and is quite skilled with them), but he prefers to use mundane methods if they work better.

I originally thought of the WBWL character as having died shortly before these events begin, somewhat like Disquiet, but I then hit upon an idea, a very interesting idea. This will be the first story I do where the WBWL is an out-and-out villain, and not just an antagonist...though there's a good reason for that.

MEN OF FOCUS

CHAPTER 2:

DAPHNE

Harry gently helped Hermione out of the bath the next morning, both being naked and wet from their shared bath. While having a somewhat stubborn and independent streak, Hermione had come to accept Harry as her helper as well as her boyfriend, and she appreciated the gesture. The fact that they had become intimate over the past year helped matters, and sometimes, bath time became more of pleasure than business. Not that she minded.

Hermione was struck by the contrast between Harry and his fraternal twin half-brother, and not just physically. While Harry wasn't exactly humble, he certainly seemed that way in comparison to Charles. It was more that his confidence was understated, whereas Charles wore it on his sleeve. Harry was not intimidated by her intelligence, nor was he repulsed by it, whereas Charles, along with Ron, had called her a 'bossy little know-it-all with no friends'.

"Do you think Iosef would leave John alone?" Hermione asked. They had taken a Portkey back to the Continental yesterday after the rather thrilling driving session on the airfield.

"I hope so, but Iosef's an idiot," Harry said as he towelled her down, while she enjoyed the intimacy of the action. "He's really little more than an enforcer in terms of skill, even if he has delusional ambitions to take over after his father dies. If he actually called his father, then Dad's got nothing to worry about. Viggo will set Iosef straight. But if Iosef is stupid enough to attack John…well, let's hope that all Dad has to do is make some dinner reservations."

Hermione grimaced. 'Dinner reservations' was Continental-parlance for body disposal and crime scene cleaning. Dinner reservations for twelve, for example, meant twelve bodies to clean up. "Should I feel sorry for Iosef?"

"Feel sorry for his father. His father is a vicious son of a bitch, but he actually has some small heart left in him," Harry said. "Iosef though…I guess what you said about him being the Russian mafiya version of a Malfoy isn't far off the mark, from what you and Daph have told me."

Hermione nodded as Harry finished towelling her down. "You know, it's weird. I used to have this worship for rules. I think Mum and Dad put that into me so that I wouldn't follow in their footsteps. And yet, here I am, boyfriend to the heir to a criminal empire."

"And in a polyamorous relationship to boot," Harry said cheekily, as he helped his lover to don a silk dressing gown, before she clambered carefully into her wheelchair.

"How can I forget?" Hermione asked with a wry smile. "Well, better Daph than some of them. Half the Gryffindor girls I met were gossipy hens, and half the Slytherins were bitches, like Pansy. At least Daphne actually liked to study with me…until the troll."

Harry nodded solemnly. It had been a relatively small thing with big consequences. She had tried to help some little brat called Ron Weasley, a Pureblood whose family had ties to the Potters, in Charms, only for Ron and his half-brother to tear her verbally to shreds after the class. Hermione had fled to hide in a bathroom, and had stayed there for the rest of the day (which was Halloween, a date the pair had bad associations with for different reasons). And then, the troll came.

Hermione was lucky to survive. She had massive internal bleeding, a shattered pelvis, broken legs and a pulverised spine. The Healer of Hogwarts, Pomfrey, did her best, and managed to restore Hermione's broken bones, but her spinal nerves had been shot to hell. She couldn't walk again, and prosthetics that could allow her to walk were never sold to Muggleborns (or Newbloods, as they were called in the US). And even if they could get them off the black market, they needed to be adjusted to suit her growing frame. So, Hermione was holding off until she had finished growing.

She had been pulled from Hogwarts once it was clear no punishment, beyond a simple detention, would be given to the boys indirectly responsible, nor was there any progress in an investigation made into the troll's appearance. The Grangers decided to go abroad, and use their contacts within the Continental to get some education for Hermione, as Hogwarts, or indeed any magical school, was far from wheelchair-friendly. And in New York, she met Harry.

"So, what should we do today? Do any work on our NEWTs?" Hermione asked.

"Actually, I was thinking of taking you to the Museum of Natural History," Harry said. "I mean, the last couple of days was kind of depressing, what with the funeral and dealing with Iosef. I don't feel like business or education today, well, except for going to the museum. We'll head to the Newt Scamander Wing. I'll call the curator. So, what do you say?"

Hermione smiled. "Harry, I say yes."

It was a good day, Harry reflected as he walked alongside Hermione as she pushed her wheelchair along the floor. He would have done it himself, but she wanted to exercise her muscles and something of her independence. The Newt Scamander Wing of the American Museum of Natural History was not open to members of the No-Maj public, or at least those not in the know. Harry didn't know whether 'No-Maj' or 'Muggle' was more derogatory, albeit condescendingly so rather than actually racist.

Anyway, the Newt Scamander Wing was brought into existence shortly after the end of the Second World War, about two decades after Newt Scamander's infamous trip to New York. While mostly dedicated to magizoology (many of the exhibits seemed like they were straight out of the book Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them), some were also dedicated to the 1926 incident and others thereafter, where Gellert Grindlewald tried to manipulate events for his own gain. There was an exhibit on the Second Salemers, modern witch hunters, and their then-leader Mary Lou Barebone, as well as her son, Credence, who was actually an Obscurial.

An Obscurial was a magical child whose gifts are repressed psychologically, often by parental or guardian abuse. This repression can cause the formation of a parasite called an Obscurus, a sentient tempest of magical energy like a living dark cloud. Extremely destructive, to say the least.

Hermione's eyes lingered on the exhibit about Credence and his Obscurus. Obscuri were frightening, fascinating, and tragic entities. From what they both read about 1926, Credence had their sympathies, as did Newt Scamander and his allies. Grindlewald, however…well, Harry wished that old bastard would suffer more in prison. And that bitch Mary Lou Barebone had too quick a death.

As they lingered, they heard a cool, confident voice say, "I thought I'd find you two here."

They turned around to find a blonde-haired girl about their age, her features regal and beautiful, looking at them, only the slightest twitch of her lips betraying her inner amusement. "Hey, Daph," Harry said. "I thought we were going to meet tonight at the Continental."

"I was, but my parents decided to bring me here early," the girl said. "Things are getting dangerous in Magical Britain."

"Dangerous?" Hermione asked.

Daphne rolled her eyes. "Don't you ever read any imported copies of The Daily Prophet?"

"Not anymore. It's got even more depressingly stupid since the end of the Tri-Wizard Tournament," Harry said. "The last I heard was Dumbledore claiming Voldemort had come back from the grave, and then the Ministry went into full-on slander mode against Dumbledore and the Potters."

"That just about sums it up. And when I say dangerous, I mean even more so. Some Ministry toady, literally, as in some ghastly toad-like woman by the name of Umbridge, was brought in as an absolutely useless DADA teacher," Daphne said.

"Isn't that the one who was Senior Undersecretary to Fudge?" Hermione asked. "And wasn't Black DADA teacher?"

"Fudge and the Board of Governors for Hogwarts installed Umbridge as High Inquisitor initially, but she managed to get Black fired on a pretext by provoking him into using the Cruciatus on her, so she claimed. Though to be honest, she's so annoying, I wouldn't be surprised if Black did use the Cruciatus on her. He barely avoided going to Azkaban, but he got fired. Though I think he got his job back after Umbridge got deposed. Long story short, she was there to basically be Fudge's hatchet man, discrediting your half-brother as well as Dumbledore and his allies. Your brother was smarter than her, though, and managed to get her to confess to her crimes. Very Slytherin of him, even if he's in Gryffindor. Actually, he set up a sort of private DADA class, the Defence Association. But the way he went about it…well, it's disturbing. It's almost like he was recruiting his own army for his own benefit."

"Probably to bignote himself," Harry muttered bitterly. "Or to ape Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix."

"Well, in any case, Charles got it into his head to head to the Department of Mysteries, taking a few of his friends with him. Ron and Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and Luna Lovegood. He claims he saw a vision of Voldemort torturing Black in the Prophecy Hall. It was a trap. Ron fell through the Veil in the Death Room, and his sister followed him, despite Charles' attempts to hold her back. Neville and Luna are alive, but in St Mungo's. However, the bright side is that the Dark Lord was exposed in front of the Minister."

"Voldemort, Daph, remember, the Taboo isn't in place at the moment," Harry said.

The blonde rolled her eyes. "Yes, but for how long? In any case, my father's under pressure to betroth me to Malfoy, in spite of my current betrothal to you. Voldemort is making it clear that he refuses to have any fence-sitters. As does James Potter, but he won't kill anyone who doesn't take his side…well, save for Death Eaters. We'll have to have the actual wedding before long, and I will have to continue my education here, as much as I don't particularly want to."

"Shotgun wedding, then? Should we go west to Vegas?" Harry asked facetiously, only for Hermione to jab him with her elbow.

Daphne snorted. "The Continental has a chapel. That will more than suffice. My parents are waiting back at the Continental. I believe they had business to discuss with Winston. In fact, I think they may wish to retain the services of those employed by the Continental."

Hermione blinked. "A dinner party?"

"I believe so."

Harry looked at Daphne. "For the Death Eaters?"

"Yes."

Oh dear. That would be interesting. Harry wondered whether he should contact his father's old colleague Marcus, see whether he was willing to help out…

The trio made their way back to the Continental after leaving the museum and having a brief walk through Central Park. The concierge, Charon, looked up, and smiled. Harry had come to think of the tall, sardonic black man as an uncle, much like Moony. "Good afternoon, Harry and Hermione. And Miss Greengrass, it's nice to have you back."

"Good afternoon, Charon," Harry said. "Any messages for us?"

"Only that your grandfather wanted your opinion on a few new complaints," Charon said. "And as you are working with Hermione in the Complaints Department…"

Harry and Hermione frowned when they heard that. "I see. Has someone asked to see the manager, or is it just correspondence?" Harry asked.

"The latter, purely," Charon said with a reassuring smile. "Oh, and the Sommelier wants your help in some wine-tasting."

Harry returned that smile. "Thanks, Charon. Is this the sort of thing my fiancée can sit in on?"

"But of course."

"What was that all about?" Daphne asked as they used a private elevator. "I'm not wholly conversant with the parlance the Continental uses. I know the Sommelier is the quartermaster of this organisation, so wine-tasting means some sort of weapons-testing, but I've never heard of the Complaints Department."

"It's a joke of my grandfather's, like so many of the euphemisms he employs," Harry said. "The Complaints Department relates to two things: intelligence and discipline. 'Written correspondence' and 'phone correspondence' is general intelligence, gained either through informants or through our spies. If someone has 'asked to see the manager', it means that someone has broken the rules of the Continental, or else is walking the line, and so we have to deal with either disciplining them, or executing them. Of course, killing or attempting to kill someone on the grounds of the Continental is grounds for immediate execution."

"Yes, I'm well aware, unless you are an authorised member of Continental staff acting on the express approval of your grandfather," Daphne said. "Remember, when we first met, you killed that idiot?"

"Oh, I know who you mean. Travis, I think his name was(1)." Harry shook his head. Nobody would mourn Travis, who was a vicious and greedy lunatic of an assassin. It was the first time Harry had ever used the Killing Curse. It wasn't the last, though it was rare that someone broke the rules of the Continental, and even rarer that Harry carried out the punishment.

"Anyway, all Grandpa wants us to do is double-check some intelligence reports for him, something he needs a second opinion on, I guess. He trusts Hermione and me with this. And if Charon said it's okay for you to watch, then I guess it's nothing sensitive."

Daphne nodded, absorbing the information. If she was to be wed to Harry, then she would need to know this, in order to help him run the Continental alongside Hermione. And the thought of working with intelligence appealed to her Slytherin instincts. After all, every Slytherin worth their salt made a mental catalogue of leverage and intelligence on all other students of note. Malfoy was filled with bluster and venom, and so were his compatriots, not knowing what true Slytherins did.

The fact that she would be helping run a criminal enterprise didn't bother Daphne at all. The Continental and its associated assassins was of a higher standard that most other such organisations, and the monies involved was astonishing. She could do far, far worse. And it didn't hurt that her paramours were intelligent and easy on the eyes too.

So, Daphne looked forward to learning the ropes for the future. In fact, given the way Magical Britain was going at the moment, this was her best chance at having a future…

CHAPTER 2 ANNOTATIONS:

So, Daphne's arrived in New York, and we've had some lovely Harmony moments. Next chapter, John Wick begins his rampage…

1. Travis is the name of one of Roj Blake's recurring adversaries in the TV series Blake's 7. Originally a sadistic, brutal enforcer of the Terran Federation, he was forced to cut ties after being made a scapegoat by his superior, Servalan, and ended up betraying humanity to a genocidal alien species.