Their walk through the gardens around Greengrass Manor was at a leisurely pace, giving Harry ample opportunity to study his companion in great detail. Staring at someone was rude, but in this case, Harry didn't feel too bad about it, seeing as Tracey Davis was doing the same to him, perhaps even more so.
Harry didn't blame her, knowing Tracey was still shocked and coming to terms with the fact Harry Potter was not only allied with but also romantically involved with her best friend. Her best friend, who was a staunch supporter of pureblood supremacy, was now holding hands and sharing kisses with the boy-who-lived, the person Daphne would have gladly handed over to the dark lord only a few months ago.
Yes, Harry definitely didn't blame Tracey for being confused by his presence. He felt the same. After examining his memories over and over these past few months, Harry could now recall seeing Daphne Greengrass at Hogwarts on a few occasions, usually in the company of the other Slytherin girls, Millicent Bulstrode and Pansy Parkinson. Harry suspected Tracey must have been there as well at least a few of those times, which Daphne confirmed. But no matter how much Harry tried, he couldn't recall seeing Tracey.
The reason for that was the other three Slytherin girls were simply far more memorable – Daphne was the epitome of classical female beauty, Millicent was tall and broad-shouldered, and the poisonous remarks Pansy liked to make... well, they made her tough to ignore. In contrast to them, Tracey just didn't stand out that much.
Harry was painfully aware how unfair that assessment was to Tracey, especially as she was truly a lovely girl in Harry's opinion. She had a slight, delicate build, giving her an elegant and graceful appearance. Her dark hair cascaded in soft waves down her back, framing her face gently. Her eyes were a rich brown color, and Harry could see them sparkling with curiosity and intelligence. She carried herself with a serene and thoughtful expression, adding to her overall aura of quiet confidence and charm. It made her seem approachable, and Harry could see people becoming quick friends with her.
"So... do you know what Daphne is talking about with your parents?" Harry finally asked, hoping to break the uncomfortable silence. Daphne had told him Tracey was outgoing and very chatty, and he really hoped to see some of that for a change.
The girl nodded without meeting his eyes. "Yes, I think so. I expect she wants my dad to be the next Minister for Magic... perhaps even my mom," she told him and finally looked at him, playful mischief dancing in her brown eyes for a second. "How am I going?"
"You- you're doing well," Harry admitted with complete honesty, impressed by her acumen. He chuckled and asked, "Is everyone in Slytherin this politically astute?"
"Yes... yes, they are," Tracey answered without pause before shrugging. "Well, maybe except Crabbe and Goyle," she said, and they both briefly laughed at that before Tracey continued. "But in this case, it really doesn't take a genius," she informed him before adding, "Given what Daphne told me – and I'm still trying to wrap my head around that – my dad would be the obvious choice for heading the post-war administration."
"And why's that?" Harry questioned her curiously.
Of course, he already knew why Tracey's father was a good choice for the Minister post and was just interested to hear Tracey's perspective on the matter. Daphne and Harry had talked extensively about it, just as they had discussed everything else about how the post-war society was going to be structured. Unlike most people in his life so far, the blonde genuinely cared about his opinions and concerns. It was why Harry loved discussing politics with Daphne, even though it wasn't a topic he normally enjoyed.
Then there was also the fact his girlfriend had always looked incredibly sexy to him while plotting and scheming. He knew Daphne put a lot of agonizing thoughts and meticulous planning into her plans for the future. But she did so with complete confidence that made it seem effortless, even while deciding the fate of tens of thousands, something Harry could never do. Watching Daphne being so casual about it never failed to stir up desires within him. The blonde was well aware of the effect she had on him, and it was to her credit she had never tried simply dominating him into agreeing with her on the seriously divisive topics. Harry knew he would've succumbed to Daphne every time if she had used that tactics. Instead, Harry had managed to convince her on many issues where he thought she was wrong. It was one of the many reasons he loved her. Why he would always love her.
"Well, dad's a pureblood," Tracey answered, putting a stop to Harry's daydreaming about his incredible girlfriend and drawing his attention back to their conversation. Tracey continued, "But he's not from one of the old families and doesn't have that stuffy feel they sometimes do," she said before glancing at Harry and adding, "Uh. No offense." Harry laughed and dismissed her concern. He could still remember his first day at Grimmauld Place, the home of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. He reckoned stuffy was a good adjective to describe the place, and by extension, the family.
"Last but not least, dad's married to my mom, who's a muggleborn, scoring him points with the progressives," Tracey reminded him. "In short, he's one of the most broadly acceptable candidates as far as the whole blood debate goes," she concluded.
Harry nodded, soundly impressed at Tracey managing to correctly deduce everything in such a short time. "What's your dad like?" he asked her next. Again, from his talks with Daphne, Harry already had a pretty good idea of what Oscar Davis was like. But it could be interesting to hear it directly from the man's daughter.
"Dad... can be pretty liberal, actually," Tracey admitted after a moment of contemplation, surprising Harry as that wasn't how Daphne had characterized him. The girl chuckled at his puzzled look. "My grandparents say he was one bad speech away from being a full-blown blood traitor when he was our age," she said and laughed nervously while Harry's confusion kept growing. "Fortunately, he has mom to keep him in line," she said and smiled serenely. "She also made sure Roger and I were raised proper," she said with only mild obligatory sarcasm one might expect from a young adult praising their parents.
"I take it your mom is not liberal, then?" Harry asked, already suspecting the answer. He knew Tracey's mom and Daphne's mom were best friends, having grown up in a single household after orphaned Susan Davis had been adopted by the Selwyns.
Oh, and Susan was also Daphne's godmother while Julia was Tracey's. Harry had learned that bit of information only a few days ago while discussing the Davis' visit with Daphne, making him wish he'd known much sooner. He would've enjoyed throwing it into Hermione's face during her numerous self-absorbed rants about how Daphne hated all muggleborns.
"Even Daphne's liberal compared to my mom," the girl answered simply.
Harry raised an eyebrow at that. "Really... your muggleborn mother?" Harry asked, unable to prevent skepticism from slipping into his voice. Harry knew Susan Davis was a pureblood supremacist, but the idea of muggleborns who not only accepted but enthusiastically embraced that philosophy still puzzled him. Admittedly, he hadn't spoken with many of them.
There was Sue Li, who Harry knew honestly believed Daphne to be her superior. Her academic research also led her to conclude the superiority of purebloods was supported by empirical evidence. But Sue admitted to him she sometimes still had some troubles with truly accepting it on a personal level. And then there was Hermione, of course, who had fought against Daphne's attempts to subjugate her with the ferocity of a werewolf, rejecting absolutely everything the pureblood girl wanted to teach her.
But it seemed Susan Davis was a whole different level.
Tracey chuckled at his disbelieving tone. "My grandparents were pretty horrified when dad told them about mom, you know."
"They didn't want him to marry a muggleborn," Harry voiced his guess.
Tracey shook her head. "They didn't want him to marry a mudblood," she corrected him so dramatically Harry suspected it was an often repeated family story. "Of course, their displeasure vanished the moment they actually met her," Tracey said and smiled. "One conversation with her was all it took. Suddenly, they couldn't have them married fast enough!" she told him and laughed again.
Afterwards, Harry finally got to see the chatty version of Tracey Davis his girlfriend had warned him about. Harry didn't complain though, as he was learning truly fascinating things about her family. One of the things Tracey mentioned was how her mom wrote a partially autobiographical book that promoted pureblood supremacy. Harry already knew that, as it was prominently featured in the Greengrass library. Harry had never read it, but knew it had to be something special. He could recall Hermione looking particularly devastated and ashen-faced after Daphne made her read it.
According to Tracey, the book was a big success on an international level, so much so the publisher had arranged for Susan Davis and her family to go on a world tour to promote it. Tracey had fond memories of that as she got to visit so many interesting places all over the magical world. She was about eight at the time. On a typical day, she would go sightseeing with her brother and father while Susan Davis was giving lectures at one prestigious institution after another, promoting her book and pureblood supremacy.
The tour was a resounding success and had silenced most of the critics. Because Susan Davis was a muggleborn, they already had a hard time outright dismissing her ideas the same way they could with pureblood authors. Their most common argument—that Tracey's mom was completely brainwashed—was easily disproved by allowing people to meet Susan and showing how passionate, intelligent, high-functioning, and very-much-not-brainwashed she truly was.
Tracey also spent some time talking about her brother Roger, who Harry was far more familiar with, having played Quidditch against him while Roger was the captain of the Ravenclaw team. He was also Fleur Delacour's date to the Yule Ball, where he completely succumbed to her Veela allure and made a fool of himself. Fortunately, there was no real scandal involved, but it was something Tracey still liked to tease her brother about.
"But enough about my family and politics," Tracey finally decided, having talked nonstop for about twenty minutes. The girl turned to him with a sly smile. "Tell me about yourself, Harry Potter."
Harry knew it was coming, but talking about his life was something he admittedly didn't much enjoy. "I imagine you already know almost all of it," he suggested, trying to evade the question. "Daphne told me you're well-connected at Hogwarts," Harry said, putting it in mild and polite terms. According to his girlfriend, a love of good gossip was something Tracey inherited from her mother.
"Oh, she told you that, didn't she?" Tracey said with false sweetness, making Harry wonder whether he wasn't supposed to say that. He could also tell Tracey saw right through his attempt to avoid her question. He should have known better than trying to do that with a Slytherin. Before Harry could try and rectify his mistake, the girl asked something very strange. "Do you and Granger sacrifice pureblood babies to appease your muggle gods?" she asked him in a dead serious voice.
"W-what? No!" Harry gasped, totally baffled by the weird and disturbing question.
Tracey nodded with satisfaction and relief. "In that case, it's probably better if I don't rely on the rumors I heard about you," she suggested, and Harry couldn't agree more. The girl then smiled and added. "So why don't you tell me about yourself, Harry?"
Harry sighed, realizing she had just played him like a fiddle, repaying his feeble attempt at subterfuge with interest. 'Bloody Slytherins...' Harry thought with amusement before proceeding to narrate to Tracey the story of his life. Although the girl was a gossip, Daphne made it clear she could be trusted, and so Harry had no fear telling her about himself. The girl listened patiently as he spoke, not asking any questions despite obviously wanting to, easily picking up on the fact Harry wouldn't appreciate it.
"So... you're just like me—a halfblood. A pureblood father, a mudblood mother," Tracey finally summarized once he was finished talking.
"Yup," Harry simply agreed with a nod.
"And you're in love with Daphne Greengrass, my godsister and best friend," she practically sang the words before adding seriously, "You're going to marry her."
When Harry gave her a resounding yes to both questions, there was again a long silence as the two of them just walked through the garden. Finally, when Harry was starting to think about what to say next, Tracey decided to break the uncomfortable silence... in the most decisive way imaginable.
"Seriously, WHAT THE FUCK, POTTER?" she yelled out, and both of them stopped in their tracks. Before Harry could ask for an explanation, she seemingly provided it. "Do you have any idea how many people you're going to disappoint with this?!"
"I don't care about that," Harry retorted with passion. "I know some people will condemn me as a traitor. But I love Daphne, and I'm going to support her. I'm going to marry her and that's it!"
Tracey took an instinctive step back, so forceful was his declaration. Harry didn't mean to snap at her; it's just that he was genuinely sick of worrying about people's reactions to his relationship. In fact, he couldn't wait for the war to be over so he'd finally be able to announce it to the world. He was going to follow Daphne's lead on that one though. His wonderful girlfriend already had a plan on how to officially inform the public about their relationship that maximized the benefit to the purebloods and their political cause. All those people who had turned him into their unwilling personal messiah (as well as a scapegoat and a whipping boy when things didn't go the way they wanted), would be sorely disappointed, their dreams crushed beneath Daphne's heel.
"Well... good for Daphne and you," Tracey told him after she regained her bearing, sounding genuinely impressed. Then her unhappy expression returned but now Harry could see it had been a pout rather than genuine anger all along. "But I wasn't talking about that. I meant the pool!"
Harry blinked as he tried to make sense of her words. 'What pool?' he almost asked before remembering something else Daphne told him about her best friend. In addition to being a supreme gossip girl, Tracey also liked to organize various betting pools among the students.
"Tracey Davis!" Harry cried in his best admonishing dad-voice. "Are you saying people are... they're... betting on who I end up with?" Harry asked, giving out the impression he wasn't angry, just disappointed. It wasn't so much about his privacy being violated, as he was pretty much used to that. Rather, he was amazed people would actually waste their time and money on something like that.
"Well, not anymore they're not!" Tracey answered with a disappointed pout. "Not a single person bet you'd end up with Daphne. The pool's completely ruined!"
Harry was still busy coming to terms with the fact a betting pool about his person even existed that he at first didn't register Tracey's words. But when he finally did, he couldn't help but ask. "Really? Nobody bet on Daphne and me?" he asked, feeling irrationally disappointed by that despite telling himself he couldn't care less.
"Well... there was one girl who talked about it. But in the end, she didn't make the bet," Tracey admitted and shook her head. "Almost forgot all about it until now. It was truly weird. For some reason, she wanted to bet on both Daphne and Ginny Weasley. When I asked her why, she said something about how it all depended on whether we're following canon or a different manner."
"W-what?" Harry stammered. "What's a different manner?"
"That's what I said!" Tracey pointed out before she shrugged. "In the end, it didn't matter as I wouldn't let her bet on two names," she told him, and when Harry didn't say anything for a while, she looked at him suspiciously. "Aren't you going to ask me who that girl was?"
Harry just smiled and shook his head. He already had a pretty good idea. Instead, he looked at Tracey and asked. "You have the ledger here, I assume?" Having fooled around with Daphne many times, Harry knew witches had many pockets, even when wearing deceptively form-fitting robes and dresses. "I want to see how people bet."
"And why should I let you see that?" Tracey demanded, crossing her arms defensively. "The pool might be ruined, but I still have my bookkeeping standards, you know," she reminded him.
"You'll let me see... because... because I am going to marry your best friend?" Harry suggested with a sheepish smile.
Tracey snorted at his words. "Oh, you can do far better, Mr. Gryffindor," she told him, not budging. Harry sighed. Negotiating with a Slytherin was never easy, he knew from personal experience. He was in love with one. He might never be able to be like them, but perhaps he didn't need to. What would Daphne do in this situation?
"Not sure if Daphne mentioned it to you, but I'm also the Lord of House Black," he told her with casual ease, seemingly changing the topic for now.
Tracey rolled her eyes. "You mean, did my very much pureblood supremacist best friend mention she's gonna be the Lady of the oldest pureblood family in Britain?" she asked sarcastically before answering herself. "Yeah, she might have casually mentioned it once or twice. It was difficult to understand her over all that happy dancing she was doing at the time," Tracey told him sarcastically before she frowned. "Where're you going with this, Potter?" she asked, her eyes narrowing with suspicion.
Harry continued to smile innocently. "I'm just wondering how your mom's going to react when she learns her daughter has denied Lord Black," he tittered before exclaiming with mock outrage. "Over something so trivial, no less!"
Tracey's fair skin turned red at his suggestion. "You wouldn't dare!" she hissed, but Harry just inclined his head, his face stern as if it was made from stone, emulating his girlfriend as best as he could. "Wouldn't I, Miss Davis?"
Tracey scowled at him for a while longer before a grin appeared on her face. "Well done, Harry Potter. You pass."
"Thank you," Harry said with a smile, briefly enjoying the acceptance from Daphne's friend. Then he extended his hand. "Now... the ledger, if you please?"
Tracey reluctantly reached into her robes and pulled out a small, well-used book. "Don't let anyone know I've shown you this," she pleaded with him. "I wasn't entirely joking before. I truly have a reputation to keep," she said, and when Harry easily agreed to her stipulation, she handed him the book, already opened on the relevant page.
Harry read the first few lines and immediately realized he had been tricked. "You're only using initials!" he accused her, seeing only the name of his future partner written on the line, followed by the value of the bet and usually two letters.
Tracey smirked at his realization. "Hey, you asked for the ledger, you got the ledger. You don't have the right to take away what's inside my head... my lord," she added mockingly.
Fortunately, Harry wasn't annoyed as even without knowing who had made the bets, it was still a fascinating read, and he soon became engrossed in it. "The bets are not that high," he remarked.
"Of course not, the teachers would crack down on us if we were betting serious money," Tracey explained, and Harry nodded in understanding, thinking that made sense. "It's about the fun, the bragging rights when you win," she explained further.
Harry then focused on the names of the girls people were guessing for him, which was the most interesting albeit also fairly disturbing part. He did a quick count in his head and noticed many betting on Ginny Weasley, which made sense as they had been dating once. But she surprisingly wasn't the top choice.
"Really? So many people thought I was going to end up with Hermione?!" Harry asked in disbelief, the very thought of being romantically involved with her making him ill. "Why would they even think that? We were only ever friends, nothing more!" he pointed out, stopping short of adding they weren't even that anymore. He didn't want to derail their discussion by bringing up Hermione and her deplorable actions.
"Yes, but the two of you were together all the time," Tracey tried to justify the idea. "Surely you can see why people might think there was something between you already... and even if there wasn't yet, that there might be something in the future," she said, defending the most popular choice of her betters.
"Hell, even I bet on the two of you!" she admitted, and when Harry looked at her like she was insane, she quickly put up her hands, "Hey, you were hanging out with her pretty much non-stop! What was I supposed to think?" she said defensively before adding, "Besides, I kinda figured muggleborns might just be the Potter men's type."
Harry finally shrugged and smiled at her in acceptance. "I expect you might have been thinking about your own parents as well," he theorized absentmindedly before noticing it caused Tracey to look at him very strangely for some reason. And then she started laughing.
"What?" Harry asked, honestly confused.
"Have I said something funny?"
"Oh, not really," Tracey dismissed the question after she stopped her laughter. "It's just... that is exactly what Daphne said back when I told her about my bet."
Harry immediately smiled at that, just as he did anytime Daphne came up in conversation. "Really?" he asked in surprise.
"Word-to-word," Tracey confirmed.
Harry's eyes suddenly widened and went back to the ledger. "Wait a minute, did Daphne..." he asked as he quickly searched for "D.G." in the ledger.
"She didn't make the bet," Tracey quickly informed him, saving Harry the trouble. "She said it would be a waste of time and money." Harry again smiled at that, as it was exactly what he thought. But before he could react in any way, Tracey suddenly started laughing again... and this time she had trouble stopping.
"She—she said something else," Tracey managed to get out in between the laughs.
"What did she say?" Harry asked with burning curiosity that had to go unsatisfied until Tracey managed to get her laughing under control and catch her breath.
"Oh, just that she couldn't care less what stupid whore is Harry Potter going to end up shagging," Tracey said in a decent imitation of her friend, and Harry joined her laughter after that. "I so have to remind her of that!" Tracey declared at the end, eager to tease Daphne over her earlier words.
Meanwhile, Harry swallowed nervously, knowing the beautiful blonde wouldn't be happy he'd reminded Tracey about that. No doubt she would complain about insolent halfbloods before firmly reminding Harry of his place once more. And like always, Harry would obey, letting Daphne do whatever she desired to him, making sure her pureblood honour was satisfied. The thought made him shiver with both fear and excitement...
Harry skimmed through the rest of the list, noting some of the less common names people had been betting on, some of which he hadn't even heard of. Two girls seemingly bet on themselves, or at least their initials matched their bet. Harry was shocked to see some people even bet on him and Ron ending up together. Did he ever give them a reason to think he was gay? Clearly, he must have, because there were even a couple of bets on him and Draco Malfoy, the person he had nonstop hated for six years! Why would anyone think he'd ever end up with Malfoy?! Did some people just naturally have their minds in the gutter?
There was also one bet that both annoyed and amused him. Namely, 'S.S.' had bet one knut on Harry ending up with 'No one. Brat will die alone'. Harry had a pretty good idea who S.S. might be. And he felt a vindictive pleasure at proving the bastard wrong by actually ending up with the most beautiful girl in school.
Harry finally closed the ledger and handed it back to Tracey. "I'm still kinda insulted nobody bet on Daphne and me," he mentioned while she pocketed the small book.
"I get that, Harry. But can you really blame them?" Tracey retorted. "You two are just so different!"
Harry sighed and nodded, reluctantly acknowledging her point. "I guess..."
"With that said... I should have seen it coming. And I think I would've, had I only gotten to know you sooner," Tracey suddenly spoke up. "You and Daphne are virtually identical," she told him, causing Harry to pause in his step.
"W-what?" he murmured the question, confused. "You just said we're completely different!" he reminded her.
"Yes, you are. But that's only because you were both raised in completely different worlds," Tracey explained. "But the thing is, had someone switched your places when you were babies, I'd stake my life on you being just as Daphne is now and she being just like you."
Harry thought about that for a long while. "You really mean it?" he asked in the end.
"Harry... we've been talking for less than an hour and yet I feel like I've known you my whole life," she told him seriously. "It's actually scary how similar you and Daphne are deep down. How your brains are wired the same. And you don't even see it... it's really cute," she said and chuckled before turning serious again. "I think it's also the reason why you make such a great couple."
Harry swallowed, deeply touched by her words. "Thank you, Tracey. That means a lot." The girl smiled at him encouragingly in response. Harry truly hoped she was right in her assessment. Knowing how much Daphne and he were different had been a constant source of anxiety for Harry, making him worry about their future together and the stability of their relationship. But if Tracey was right, perhaps he had truly been worrying about nothing.
In the morning, Michael Wilson quietly knocked on the door of Ron's room. He was accompanied by two of his colleagues from the household guard. All three of them were solemn and grim-faced.
In his short time at the Greengrass manor, Ron Weasley had grown on all of them, both as a friend and a wizard, regularly training with them during their exercises. Even their stoic Lord Commander grudgingly admitted he wouldn't mind Ron joining the Greengrass household guards after the war. Michael could honestly say Ron Weasley was a good friend of his. And yet here he was, about to escort his good friend to the infirmary where he would get over a year of his memories erased, including their entire friendship. What a waste...
There was no answer to Mike's knocking. He figured Ron might still be asleep and decided to enter the room after signaling his two companions to follow him quietly. The three of them stepped inside... and froze at the sight in front of them. Only years of training stopped Mike from gasping loudly in shock.
Ron Weasley wasn't asleep in his bed as Mike was expecting. Instead, he was sleeping on the couch, his head slumped on the backrest at an awkward angle. Ron was obviously hurting his neck by sleeping in such an unhealthy position, and Mike truly wished that was the only disturbing part about the image in front of him. Unfortunately, it was not, as Astoria Greengrass was sitting and sleeping next to him, her head resting against Ron's broad shoulder and using him as a makeshift pillow. Mike took a moment to appreciate that her sleeping posture was far better than Ron's, especially given the circumstances. In fact, it seemed like Ron had purposefully positioned his upper body in such an awkward position, just so Astoria would be comfortable.
Then the full meaning of what he was seeing fully filtered down into Mike's shocked brain and their sleeping postures became the least of his concerns. He shared a helpless look with the other guards who were equally as confused. The one person they were supposed to keep away from Ron under all circumstances was inside his room and sleeping right next to him!
How the hell was that even possible?! Desperately seeking answers to this mystery, Mike's eyes shifted to the other details of the room. He noticed the table in front of the couch was filled with mostly empty plates and – what was worse – empty bottles.
Last night, a house elf came to him, informing him Ron Weasley had ordered additional food and alcohol to be delivered into his room. Mike had approved the request without a second thought, knowing Ron had a fast metabolism and late-night snacks were nothing unusual for him. In addition, he reckoned Ron wished to have a 'last meal' of sorts. The alcohol also made sense to him, given what was going to happen to his friend in the morning. He merely suggested the elf bring him pepper-up and hangover potions as well so he'd be fit and ready for the morning operation. But apparently Ron had a similar thought and had already requested the potions from the elf.
Mike took in the number of empty plates and glasses and realized Ron hadn't been eating and drinking alone last night. In fact, it was a safe bet Astoria had been inside his room the entire night. In addition to the plates and bottles, the chessboard Ron liked to play with was also placed on the table. Mike briefly noticed how the figures were all haphazardly spread on the side. Not gently placed there but rather like someone had swept them away from the board in anger.
'Well... shit.'
Mike was certain his two companions were having the same thought. This was a total failure of their security protocol! They probably wouldn't get fired for this, but Mike definitely wasn't counting on getting any performance rewards for a while. And that was really unfortunate as Sue recently decided they needed to get some hugely expensive table for their new home. Mike suggested it didn't matter what table they'd get as they were going to cover it with cloth anyway. The only important part was it'd be sturdy and wouldn't wobble. However, for some reason, his girlfriend wasn't impressed with his perfectly logical reasoning. So a freaking expensive table made from real magical wood it was.
At this point, Mike was desperately trying to come up with some bright side about the unmitigated disaster in front of him. The only small mercy was that both Astoria and Ron were wearing clothes, and they didn't look like they had been taken off at any point of the night and then put back on. So hopefully the Lord Commander wouldn't just take off their heads out of sheer annoyance.
"Uh-uh," he loudly cleared his throat. He failed to wake the two sleepers on the first try and had to do it again, this time loud enough to make the empty glasses vibrate at the sound. Ron and Astoria both opened their eyes, first looking around in confusion, then at each other, and finally at the three annoyed men standing over them. Mike was expecting at least some surprise from either of them after realizing they had been caught. But nothing like that happened. Ron's expression was completely neutral as their eyes met. And as for Astoria... she actually smiled.
"Hello boys," she murmured flirtatiously while separating from Ron and stretching her body, looking like an elegant cat as she did so. And not just any cat, but one completely satisfied after devouring a particularly tasty prey. Mike had a very bad feeling about this.
"Good morning, my lady... Ron," he greeted them both before his eyes settled on the girl. "May I ask what you're doing here?" he politely requested an explanation. Astoria clearly wasn't supposed to be here and was in direct violation of Lady Greengrass' orders. But she was still the lady's sister and the last thing Mike wanted was to insult her. Astoria was also a pureblood and he was a mudblood. Just because in this instance he was right and she was wrong didn't mean he no longer had to display appropriate deference and respect.
"Yes... you may ask," Astoria replied cheekily even as she reached for some of the leftover food.
Mike's cheek twitched and he ground his teeth in frustration. "Thank you... my lady," he acknowledged her permission before immediately repeating the slightly rephrased question. "What are you doing here?"
Astoria was seemingly busy with eating. Instead of answering, she pulled on Ron's sleeve and when the older boy looked at her, she leaned her head in Mike's direction. Ron, who had so far been watching their conversation quietly, nodded and turned to him. "I'm sorry, Mike. As you can see, Lady Astoria is having breakfast right now," he informed him. "Please address your questions to her later."
For some reason, Ron looked incredibly proud as he told him that, despite how petulantly childish the entire exchange was. He looked at Astoria like he was seeking approval for the way he had handled the situation, which the girl gave him, smiling and nodding in his direction. This made Ron swell with pride and beam with happiness.
Mike's increasingly bad feelings reached a crescendo. Recognizing the current situation, whatever it was, was way beyond his pay grade, Mike finally said, "I think we all need to go see Lady Greengrass," he announced. When Astoria continued to eat like before, he added forcefully, "Right now."
"Oh, fine," Astoria cried out in mock frustration as she put the food down. "But you bet I'm telling Daphne how you've denied me the most important meal of the day!"
One of the guards standing next to him chuckled quietly at that, and Mike shot him a sharp look. "Please... my lady. Let's go."
Astoria sighed and shared a look with Ron. "Very well. Let us go see my beloved sister," she said even as she and Ron reached for two glasses on the table that were still full. Mike recognized their content as the hangover potion. Astoria and Ron clinked their glasses before downing the two shots. In a few seconds, they looked like they'd been sleeping the whole night instead of drinking. Ron then stood up and went to the bathroom to at least splash cold water on his face while Astoria simply used magic to make herself presentable.
Mike was about to make a hole in the floor with his nervously tapping foot when they finally announced they were ready to go. He and his colleagues proceeded to escort them to the Lady's office. Even as they walked, there still wasn't any sign of nervousness on their faces, no fear of experiencing Daphne's wrath. Ron also looked like he no longer worried about the impending operation at all.
Mike only wished he could share in their confidence. He still hadn't the slightest clue how Astoria had managed to get through all their security measures completely undetected. He clearly must have overlooked something critical, and that was both embarrassing and dangerous.
'Yeah, forget about rewards,' Mike thought with resignation. 'For this, we're probably getting demoted to shovelling manure.'