Chapter 8
Chapter 8
“How is your investigation going?” Ron asks, tucking into his sausage roll. The cafe is busy, filled with muggle office workers stopping in for a quick tea. Even with the rush, the shop managed to retain its cosy vibe, with colourful mugs and cushy armchairs for those with the time to sit in.
Anne had selected the muggle venue for their meeting with Orla, less of a headache then filing the paperwork to admit a muggle into the Ministry - they had had to go through enough hoops not to have her memory wiped after her first visit.
Harry fiddles with the string of his tea bag, pulling the bag up before dunking it back into the liquid. They haven’t been communicating with each other, the air of secrecy covering their investigation infecting their working relationship. Of course, Harry could change that climate now, give Ron something other than clinic generalities.
“Alright, bit slow,” or he could let Ron do it first.
“Well, how much more time do you need?” Ron asks. “I don’t think Lockhart’s sisters are going to be too happy if we can’t give her something.”
“I want to be thorough,” Harry states, taking a sip from his mug.
Ron frowns into his mug.
“Right, I’m sure you do,” said Ron, wiping his hand onto the lapel of his muggle jacket, “let’s just not drag this out any longer than necessary, I already feel scummy enough.”
Harry looking to the clock on the wall, Astoria’s interview with Ollivander would be airing now; the third in her series. From the window, they can see a golden blonde head running down the sidewalk, burst through the door, panting heavily.
“So- sorry,” Orla huffs. “The tube was delayed, and then it terminated early, so I had to run here.” Collapsing into the armchair across from them, Orla unravels her scarf. “God, I wish I could teleport.”
Ron looks at Harry for guidance, he supposes teleport is more of a sci-fi and therefore muggle thing; “apparate” Harry whispers in explanation.
Unzipping her jacket, Orla works her arms free, fanning herself as she goes.
“Yeah, it sure comes in handy,” Ron smiles.
Orla pauses in escaping her outer clothes, “Wait, can you actually?”
“Would you like a tea or anything?” Harry asks.
“No, I say let’s get right into it.” said Orla, adjusting herself in her seat, looking at them both expectantly. “So what's going on then?”
“Uh-”
“Now, I don’t know how your lot do things, but I assumed if my brother were arrested I would at least be informed - you told me you would keep in touch-”
“Yes, Ms. Lockhart, as next of kin you will be notified when an arrest has been made.”
She looks between the pair, stunned. “You haven’t made an arrest.”
“The investigation is ongoing,” said Harry, trying to maintain a level tone.
“Ongo- what more do you need?” Orla demands, her volume rising, starting to draw the attention of the other customers. “I saw those photos myself!”
“Orla, please, I understand your upset,” Harry states calmly, trying to calm her down. Ron casts muffleto and a secrecy charm for good measure. “We have looked into the photographs, most of which were taken during your brother's travels, and notified the appropriate authorities. I can’t give you much more than that when it comes to the foreign investigations, as for our own, well, uh, it’s a bit complicated.”
Arms crossed, she leans back into her chair, pissed. “Complicated how?”
“Uh, well, your brother had a talent for memory charms,” Ron begins, “we have reason to believe that for a number of his, uh, victims, he probably wiped their memories.”
“Wiped?”
“Made them forget, magically.” Harry elaborates.
“So, they don’t know?”
“Yeah, and since his er, accident your brother doesn’t either.” Ron concludes.
“Can’t,” Orla pauses, rubbing her temples trying to take it all in. “Can’t you arrest him in the meantime?”
“If we make an arrest too early, we may lose the case,” Harry explains. “We want as much evidence as we can to build the strongest case possible to ensure that he sees the full force of the law.”
Chewing on her lip Orla doesn’t look soothed.
“Don’t worry,” Harry assures her, “he isn’t a threat at the moment.”
“Are you positive he isn’t,” her tone is lethal. Collecting her coat and scarf she doesn’t pause to get redressed, storming for the door. They watch her briskly walk down the sidewalk towards the tube station.
“Why did you lie to her?” Ron asks once she has disappeared from view.
“What? I didn’t lie.”
“Harry, come on,” Ron sighs, a pitying look in his eye. “Lockhart isn’t going to jail.”
“Why shouldn’t he!” Thankfully the disillusionment charm hasn’t been removed yet, because Harry is yelling now. Even if it had been he wouldn’t care.
“I’m not saying that he shouldn’t, I’m saying he isn’t-
“You don’t think the wizengamot-”
“I think he’s sick, and senile, and no one is going to send him to Azkaban,” yells Ron, running his hand through his hair in exasperation. “What are we going to send Madam Strout with him?”
“So what should we do then,” Harry snaps bitterly. “Should we just do nothing.”
“No of course- I don’t know,” said Ron, defeated. “I don’t know what we're doing anymore Harry.”
“Harry, have you seen my wrist guards?” Ginny calls from the master bathroom.
Sitting on the rug, Harry helps James stack his blocks into a wobbly tower, “on the bed.”
Precariously adding another to the tower James claps when after swaying to and fro the tower stops, still intact. They can hear Ginny stomping from the vanity to the bed upstairs, the floor boards creaking.
From an inside pocket, Harry pulls out a small spiral bound notebook. After his meeting with Daphne he transcribed the guest list, recording those with whom he planned to run into tonight. As established Draco and Astoria would be there, as would Daphne and Amadeus Rosier, Theodore Nott, Gregory Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson. These events always felt to Harry as though they went on forever, but tonight Harry worried he wouldn’t have enough time. Returning the notebook to his pocket Harry’s hand brushed against a pair of extendable ears. The design had since been improved from the prototype, with no fleshy cord required to bind the two, able to magically send audio across short distances.
The use of such materials was common in the Auror office, but it did require permission. Of course, asking for permission meant there was a chance of being denied, he really ought to leave them at home. Sealing the pocket closed with a button, Harry kept the contents safe inside.
“Okay, how do I look?” Fixing more bobby pins into her french twist as she descended the stairs, Ginny appears in a set of vintage quidditch robes, well really her own set of Harpy robes enchanted to bear their 1953 logo.
Ginny was dressed as Gwendolyn Morgan, the captain that saw the Harpies to victory in their famous seven day match against the Heidelberg Harriers. Finished with the bobby pins, she fluffs her victory rolled fringe.
“You look amazing,” Harry smiled, rising from the floor to embrace her.
“As do you Rudolf Brand ,” Ginny teased, referring to Harry’s costume as the captain of the Harriers who famously proposed to Gwendolyn after the match. “If I didn’t know better I might agree to marry you.”
“And what do you think James?” Ginny asked once they had pulled apart, scooping their son from the floor and blowing raspberries on his tummy.
Knock, knock, knock.
The knocking on the door is nearly drowned out by James squealing laughter. Answering the door a woman with thick, dark hair, greying at the temples, and heavily lidded eyes stood there.
“Hello Andromeda,” Harry greets, helping the aging witch over the threshold.
“Uncle Harry!” A knee high blur of blue hair jumps from behind Andromeda to hug Harry.
“Teddy! Look at how tall you’ve gotten!”
“I can get taller,” Teddy assures him. Releasing Harry forms his death grip and scrunching up his face in concentration the seven year old shoots up three inches in height.
“Don’t strain yourself Teddy,” Andromeda admonishes, ruffling the boys hair. “Hello Harry.”
Closing the door behind her Andromeda greets Harry properly, Teddy running past the adults into the living room to jump on the couch.
Depositing James on the couch beside his cousin she catches Teddy under the arms.“Now I know you would never be a bad influence on your cousin, teaching him to jump on the furniture.”
“Never Aunt Ginny,” Teddy giggles, squirming to be let go.
Adjusting her hold, Ginny hangs him upside down, Teddy laughing all the while. “I don’t know, it looked like you were jumping on the couch to me.”
“No, no,” Teddy insisted between giggles.
Shaking her head Andromeda sighs watching the interrogation take place. “What time do you want James in bed by?”
“Oh don’t worry about that, let him have fun with his cousin,” said Harry, hanging Andromeda’s cloak on the coat rack. Checking his watch, the same watch Molly had given him for his seventeenth birthday, Harry see’s that they are now running late. “Ginny, we need to go.”
“Right, let me get my broom,” tossing Teddy onto the couch, Ginny runs back up the stairs.
With his cousin free from his mother, James was quick to pull on Teddy’s sleeve to show him his toys.
“Thank you again for watching James tonight,” Harry thanked Andromeda, fetching his and Ginny’s cloaks from the closet.
“Of course,” said Andromeda, kicking off her pointed shoes. “It’s important that they spend time together, they’re family.”
Family. It was a tricky subject with Andromeda; her husband and daughter died in the war, dead to her sisters and parents who disowned her for whom she married. Her grandson and his godfather are the only family she has left.
“Of course, I’m here for Teddy, we all are,” said Harry. “And for you too.”
Andromeda nods stiffly, turning to hide the glimmer in her eye.
“Oh, I wanted to thank you again for sending over those albums from Grimmauld Place,” said Andromeda, wiping the corner of her eye. “There were so many pictures of Remus tucked in there from Sirius’ school days. The four of them together. I’ve been meaning to send you copies.”
He can appreciate the gesture, but Harry is not sure if he can stand to look at this father, Remus, and Sirius if Wormtail is there beside them; their past selves completely unaware of the tragedy and grief Peter was about to wrought upon them.
“Of course now he wants to know about his Aunt’s, if they’d died in the war too.” It will be a difficult conversation, and Harry doesn’t envy Andromeda’s having to give it. How do you tell your grandson that his mother fought against her Aunt in the war, that his Aunt’s and Great Grandparents fought on the side of the war that took both his parents' lives.
“Oh er, have you tried writing Narcissa?” While Harry is sure Ginny would know better then to mention it he hopes Andromeda doesn’t find out about his afternoon tea at Malfoy Manor, that he would have some sort of relationship with her estranged sister is awkward to say the least.
Andromeda sighs. “I don’t know if I can stand to see her, I don’t feel the need to find out. We said our goodbyes a long time ago.”
Stomping down the stairs Ginny returns with her firebolt tucked under her arm, “alright, lets go.”
Linking their arms together, Harry pulls his wand from his inside pocket.
“Thanks again Andromeda!” Ginny calls as Harry turns on his heel, whisking them off the porch in a twisting blur.
***
Materializing on a London street, the Mandarin Oriental Hotel glittered before them in the dark, fall sky. The organizers had set up a dedicated apparition point for the event, on a path within Hyde Park to the rear of the hotel. Beneath their feet a plush red carpet had been laid, with velvet ropes separating the area covered by the disillusionment and secrecy charms from that of the muggle park.
“Hello Mr. and Mrs. Potter, welcome to St. Mungos annual fundraising Halloween Gala, may I check your cloaks for you?” A young, bright eyed attendant asked, holding their arm out expectantly.
Usually, when it comes to unfamiliar wizarding situations Harry defers to Ginny, as the wizarding world native, however she looks just as uncomfortable as Harry feels.
“Don’t worry, the walk up is temperature controlled.”
“Er, uh, yeah thanks.” Harry shrugged off his cloak, handing it over with Ginnys.
As their attendant magically sent their cloaks to cloak check, other guests began to appear around them, quickly being attended to by their own attendants to collect their cloaks and hats.
“Now, you have two tables this evening, tables 12 and 13. Entering from the balcony, these will be on the left hand side of the ballroom towards the stage with our live band.” The attendant explained. “The bar will be towards the back of the ballroom, and bar service will be available all evening. Currently it is cocktail hour and servers will distribute champagne and hors d’oeuvres until we are seated for dinner at 7 o’clock. Our venue tonight is under magical concealment, so we do ask that you remain undesignated areas - the butterfly terrace has been reserved as a smoking section. We also ask that you please return to Hyde Park to apparate home, an attendant can assist you in finding your way this evening. We will also be able to arrange for the knight bus if you are unable to apparate.”
Taking a deep breath after his long ramble the attendant gestures towards the carpeted path from the park to the hotel. “With that, Mr. and Mrs. Potter, have a wonderful evening, happy Halloween.”
Joining the procession of party goers, the festively clad witches and wizards make their way towards the grand staircase magically added to take them up to the balcony, creating a private entrance, all the while muggle park goers look right through them, as if they weren’t even there.
Through the open french doors, one can see that the stately ballroom has been decorated in elegant halloween decor. The expected floating pumpkin jack-o-lanterns fill the ceiling at a volume only Hogwarts could rival, with black and red candles set in gleaming silver candelabras on the tables, set atop silky black linen.
They are the first of their party to arrive, standing awkwardly with the open dancefloor, Harry grabs himself a glass of champagne from a passing waiter for something to do; nearly knocking over the entire tray in the process. Ginny is no better, constantly needing to maneuver her broomstick to avoid tripping anyone.
“Maybe the broom was too much.”
SNAP
The flash of a camera bulb momentarily blinds Harry.
“You know, this is a costume party, usually people dress up.” Blinking away the blindness, Harry recognizes that voice, that cutting tone. “Would you like to tell the wizarding world what exactly you're supposed to be, or should I write that you’ve just showed up in your old quidditch uniform?”
It is Pansy Parkinson. Letting the camera drop to hang around her neck beside a media pass stating she is representing Witch Weekly, she impatiently waits for Harry’s answer, tapping the end of a self inking quill onto a pad of parchment.
“Oh uh, I’m Rudolf Brand,” answers Harry.
“Eloquent as ever,” Pansy mutters, scribbling down some notes. “And you’re Gwen then,” she nods towards Ginny, not waiting for an answer as she continues writing.
Pansy’s hair has grown out since Hogwarts, her jet black hair once shorn into a bob now hangs down her back in an intricate braid. Stashing her quill and parchment into the sleeve of her medieval style robes, Pansy takes up the camera again. “Can I get one of you bashing him with your broom?”
“Oh um,” Ginny looks at Harry awkwardly, of course Pansy is referencing how after Rudolf proposed to Gwendalyn she gave him a concussion with her clean sweep. While a famous quidditch moment is detailed in quidditch throughout the ages, it doesn’t seem like an appropriate spot to be wielding a broomstick around.
“Come on, it's for a good cause, I’ll even send you a copy,” Pansy goads, camera already in position.
Shrugging, Ginny gets into position, holding her broomstick over her head, ready to bring it down hard onto Harry.
SNAP
“Beautiful,” said Pansy, bored already by the two.
“Pansy, Daphne needs you to get the Minister,” Astoria Greengrass emerges through the growing crowd, wearing a sequined halter dress patterned with a large pink and purple flower print. The print contrasts well with her dark hair, straightened for the event it hangs long and loose down Astoria’s back. The dress is clearly a reference to someone, who Harry doesn’t know. Expertly tailored, the dress is a perfect fit, with a low cut back, and an oval piece cut out below the neck line showing off her belly. Unless in service to replicate a well known outfit, Harry can’t see the point in such a bold fashion choice.
“Is that your belly button!” Pansy smirks devilishly, her camera flashing again before Astoria can answer. “Tell me, do you think it is appropriate to be showing that off in wizarding society?”
Eyebrow arched, Pansy already has her quill at the ready.
“Can you just go before Daphne loses him, please,” Astoria, red in the face, adjusts her clutch so that it is now blocking her stomach.
“Fine, fine,” Pansy sighs, “we’ll talk later.”
Turning on her heel, she goes in the direction she came, towards Minister Smith, who is chatting with Daphne, dressed as Cleopatra with a very fine white robe and gold jewelry, and her Marc Anthony beside her, an average sized brunette in an expensive looking gladiator costume.
“Harry Potter, enjoying the cds I hope?” Astoria asks, their next meeting is scheduled for a few days' time. Catching her straw between her lips she takes a long sip of her cocktail.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be ready.”
“So you’re responsible,” said Ginny, offering her hand for Astoria to shake. “I should thank you, I’m really digging the stones.” Rearranging her fingers so that she can hold her cocktail and purse with the same hand, still blocking her stomach, she accepts Ginny’s hand. “And I love your dress, I wish I was brave enough to wear something like that.”
Sliding her bag under her arm, so that she is no longer hiding behind it Astoria puffs out her chest a bit. “Thank you, you wouldn’t believe the trouble I had finding someone to make it.”
“If I get renewed for another season we can chat about it,” said Astoria, depositing her half finished cocktail on a passing tray, Astoria opens her clutch and begins riffling around inside. Her hand sinks around to her forearm; an expansion charm no doubt. Finally Astoria pulls out a business card, bent at the corners. “I’m sure everyone wants to know the greatest captain the Harpies have ever had top 8”
“Oh flattery will get you everywhere,” Ginny laughs, giving the card a once over.
It’s a risk, but this might be Harry’s only chance to take it, while Astoria is distracted by Ginny, with her clutch open he takes an extendable ear from his pocket, already charmed with a disillusionment charm and anti-detection charm, unless she knows it is there it should remain unnoticed in her bag. Harry drops it inside.
“We’ll see how this one does before I agree to anything,” said Ginny, patting Harry’s arm playfully with a laugh.
“I’ll hold you to it, now excuse me.” Snapping the button closed on her bag, Astoria tucks the clutch under her arm before making a beeline towards the balcony, a blonde head recently arriving.
Draco Malfoy. He is wearing a black muggle suit, however the cut does not look like the ones Harry has seen but rather like the ones from Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's old wedding photos, with a more fitted jacket rather than the current boxer fit, and long triangular shirt collars rather than the thinner square shape of today.
“Um, toilet,” Harry excuses himself lamely, Ginny shaking her at her husband's lack of tact as he makes a beeline towards the loo.
Walking straight past the bathroom attendant at the door and the large bay of mirrors Harry claims the farthest stall from the door, closing the marble door behind him. Taking the twin ear to the one he placed in Astoria’s purse out of his pocket, Harry tentatively holds it to his ear.
“So what happened? Did the charms not work?” Harry can hear Astoria’s voice over the murmur of the crowd. Harry let out a sigh of relief, he should never have doubted George’s magical expertise, as the ear effortlessly magnifies the sounds of the nearby voices, and lowers the background noise.
“I wouldn’t know I didn’t try.” Draco sounds just as Harry remembers from school, slightly dismissive, bored.
“What! Draco-”
“I’m wearing the suit, this Sonny guy has a terrible haircut.” Of course, his retorts aren't as biting as the ones Harry remembers, if anything he sounds apologetic.
“Yeah, so, it's his signature,” Astoria refutes. “No one is going to know who you are.”
“Honey, no one was going to know anyway.”
Astoria sighs, deflating. “Yeah, I know… it would make for some great photos though.” Her tone hits a mischievous note. “God, look at her, she’s thriving, she should be doing this all the time.”
“And cancel all of her lunches.”
“That’s your sister in law,” she doesn’t sound upset though, rather as though she is agreeing with him.
“Look at you, is that a muggle suit?” A new voice joins in, it sounds like Theodore Nott, but Harry can’t be sure. “And Astoria, that dress-” he gives a low two note whistle.
“Can you hold this,” after a pause Harry’s ear is bombarded with a large clap of sound assaulting his ear drum, he has to pull the ear away as they continue in a steady rhythm - she must be beating Nott with her bag.
Through the stall door, he can hear more people entering the bathroom. While he hadn’t heard anything useful at least he knew it worked well enough, he would have to check in again later.
Harry finds Ginny easily, with most of the guests having selected more refined costumes favouring famous medieval witches and wizards, or famous figures from antiquity; her quidditch robes stick out like a sore thumb. Ron and Hermione have since joined her, dressed as Merlin and Gwendolen as they appear on their chocolate frog cards.
Balancing a cocktail napkin piled high with hors d’oeuvres, Ron stuffs his face as his sister and wife chat beside him.
“...it’s less than 3 months now, I can’t believe it, there’s still so much to do,” said Hermione. “Harry, you look wonderful,” Hermione gives Harry a hug.
“So do you,” said Harry.
“Oh, no, I’m just happy I was able to find something that fit,” Hermione sighed, resting her hands on her stomach.
“I’m just happy they let us in here,” Ron said between bites. “I think the napkins cost more than my costume.”
“Hello,” Luna greets the group serenely.
Her face was surrounded by the open mouth of a lion, the mane exploding around her head in a large, collar of fur. Peaking through the mane, up from behind her skull, the head of a goat, with two impressive, twisting black horns. This intricate headpiece was worn with an impressive fur robe, with a narrow train. While the robes were fur, the train was snake skin, ending with the head of a snake. The train was charmed so that the snake occasionally raised its head from the ground and flicked its tongue. Black flats with the toes designed to look like hooves peeked out from below.
“Wow Luna!” Ginny gasps. “That’s amazing!”
Ginny circles her friend to inspect the costume further, praising her friend's sewing and charm work all the while. “I guess we know who’s winning the costume contest.”
“That is…yeah,” Ron falters on his comment, while it is impressive it is also…a bit much. A group of older guests are appraising the ensemble with raised eyebrows. He stuffs his face with more of his appetizer stash, avoiding making direct eye contact. Harry is sure even if Ron does find the costume a little silly he would never tell Luna that he cares about her too much to hurt her feelings on purpose. “Hermione, do you want something to drink?”
Hermione has barely finished stating her order, a lemon lime bitters and soda, before Ron scurries off to the bar.
“Sorry, I hope I’m not intruding, I uh, just wanted to compliment you on your costume,” a man around their age, with brown hair, brown eyes, and freckles dressed as Hercules approaches. “It’s a very accurate chimera.”
“Nearly accurate,” Luna states. “I wanted to breathe fire, but that went against the dress code.”
“Right, right, of course,” the mousy man nods. “I suppose the fangs aren't venomous either.”
“No,” Luna agrees.
“Rolf Scamander,” he introduces, thrusting his cocktail towards her before remembering he is holding it and swapping hands to offer an empty hand to be shook.
“Luna Lovegood,” Luna dreamily, accepts his hand and shakes it gently.
“Lovegood,” Rolf’s eyes widened in recognition. “I’ve read some of your research.”
Hermione scoffs.
“Oh, that's nice to hear, not many people read it.”
“Really? Why ever not?”
“Perhaps because-” Ginny stamps on Hermione’s foot before she can finish her thought.
Someone from Rolf’s group is waving him back over, an elderly couple excitedly waiting to meet him.
“I think they want you to go back now,” said Luna, nodding towards the group Rolf had come from.
“Right, uh, well, hopefully we can talk later.” With an awkward smile Rolf returned to his group.
The moment Rolf’s back is turned Ginny’s face splits into a grin, grabbing Luna’s arm. Luna tilts her head, perplexed.
“Who’s the geeky guy?”
“Rolf Scamander,” Hermione informs him, collecting her beverage. “Newt Scamander's grandson.”
“Harry, this is all so much,” said Molly. Wrapping Harry in a bear hug, she is wearing her own Gwendolen costume. “I don’t think even my wedding was this nice.”
“It definitely wasn’t,” Arthur chuckles, following behind Molly in a Merlin costume. Holding two drinks, he hands Molly her champagne. “Nice costume son,” Arthur laughs heartily; Ron’s ears tinge red.
“I mean it Harry, even Fleur doesn’t have anything negative to say.”
“Well the night’s still young mum,” Ginny grins cheekily.
“Ginevera, have some class please, this is a nice night,” Molly admonishes.
As the Weasley’s catch up with each other, discussing the party, the crowd, and Luna’s encounter with Rolf Scamander, Harry scopes the crowd. Once they sat for dinner he would be stuck at his table for the entire meal, unable to ‘run into’ anyone on his list. And there was no telling how long everyone would stay for the dancing afterwards. Harry needed to make the most of his time now.
Astoria was following her sister, probably assisting in her hosting duties, so it wouldn't be worth attempting to speak to Daphne again until later in the night when she wasn’t so preoccupied. He recognizes Blaise Zambini at one of the tables, the dark Italian boy dressed in a fine set of medieval robes, sitting with Malfoy.
By the bar, see Goyle, drinking alone. “Ginny, would you like a drink?”
“Yes, please,” said Ginny, before returning to her discussion with her brother.
Walking through the crowd, Harry gives a half-hearted wave to everyone recognizing the hero of the wizarding world; next year he’ll wear a costume with a mask.
Once at the bar, Harry orders Ginny her favourite soda, a diet coke, as well as an old fashioned for himself.
Once at the bar, Harry orders Ginny her favourite soda, a diet coke, as well as an old fashioned for himself. Goyle stands facing towards the bar, resting his elbows on the bar top and nursing a whisky neat. Watching from the corner of his eye, Goyle doesn’t seem to notice him at all, dressed as Alberic Grunnion, the inventor of the dung bomb, Harry recognizes him from his chocolate frog card.
“Uh hey,” Harry internally kicks himself for the weak introduction.
Goyle turns his head, giving Harry a vacant look.
“So uh, how have you been since-“ since you tried to kill me and my friends in the room of requirement.
Goyle seems to intuit the gist. “Fine.”
Crossing his arms and setting his shoulders back, Goyle is still an imposing figure just as big as he was in school.
“Er, right, yeah,” Harry scratches the back of his neck, Goyle giving him nothing to build a conversation from. The bartender sets his drinks down in front of him. “Do you, uh, still talk to Malfoy then?”
Goyle shrugs, uncrossing his arms to take up his drink again.
“Yeah, I guess people grow apart,” said Harry, grasping at straws, “but, still, you knew each other a long time, even before Hogwarts?”
“Yup,” Goyle finishes his drink in one gulp, setting his glass down on the bar he taps the bar top twice with two fingers, the bartender pours another two measures of whisky.
“But, knowing someone that long, you must really, uh, know them.”
“I guess,” he takes a sip of his whisky neat. This is going nowhere, Harry thinks bitterly, taking a sip of his own drink. Goyle blinks slowly, he’s already a bit drunk, maybe he should just go for it. “Back when we were at school, what was it like being his friend?”
Goyle merely shrugs again.
Harry gives him a moment, waiting for Goyle to say something more. “I’m sure our experiences were very different, with Malfoy I mean.”
“Not really, he was an asshole.”
“Was?”
Again, Goyle shrugs. “Wasn’t as much fun once his dad went to Azkaban.”
Of course, after Lucious went to Azkaban the first time, after the Battle at the Ministry, where a number of high profile Death Eaters were apprehended, Draco had been given the Dark Mark, being given his own mission from Voldemort; the beginning of his disillusionment with the cause. Harry remembered the falling out the group had, revealed to him in the room of requirement with Crabbe’s mocking of Malfoy- maybe Crabbe had been so bold knowing he and Goyle felt the same.
“Still as bossy though.” Goyle drains his cup again.
“I hear Gilderoy Lockhart is writing a new book, do you remember him from school?
“Yeah,” Goyle watches the bartender refill his glass, staring him down when he tries to stop at a quarter portion.
“What, uh, did you think of him?”
“Talked too much,” Goyle squinted his eyes, as though in thought. “Maybe that’s why he liked Malfoy.”
Shrugging, Goyle takes a swig from his glass, the third since Harry had been there.
“What do you mean like?” Harry licks his upper lip, it tastes salty.
Goyle shrugged, “I don’t know, he just asked him to collect papers or talk after class, teachers pet stuff.”
“Was Malfoy a teacher's pet?”
“If it would improve his grades,” said Goyle, pausing for another sip. “He said me and Crabbe would have to be nicer to teachers if we ever wanted to pass- but I ain’t no kiss up.”
His face molds into a sour expression at mentioning Crabbe. Draining his cup sets his glass down and leaves without saying goodbye.
Collecting his drinks from the bar Harry runs over the conversation in his head. As much as he would like to ask Goyle further questions he doubts he will even have anything more to say - this is the most talkative Harry had ever seen him.
“Harry, lovely to see you outside of work for a change,” dressed as Merlin, Kingsley pulls Harry into a hug.
“You too Kingsley,” said Harry, trying not to spill either of his beverages down Kingsley’s back.
“Have you given any thought to our last conversation?”
“Er,”
SNAP
“Kingsley and Potter, any words of wisdom you’d like to provide the society section.” Pansy interrupts with a grin. Harry wonders how much she’d heard.
“Just that we are happy to be here supporting a good cause,” Kingsley responds smiling, this time posing properly for a photo. Nudging him with his shoulder Harry takes the hint and smiles towards the camera.
“Of course,” Pansy grins falsely; Harry catches her rolling her eyes before her face is hidden by the camera.
SNAP
“If you’ll excuse me Kingsley, I should get this to Ginny,” Harry gestures with the drink, the glass wet with condensation.
“Of course of course,” Kingsley nods, patting him on the back, “decide soon.”
The dance floor has largely emptied, with many of the guests since migrating to their tables; the table numbers have been carved into small gourds which act as the tables centerpieces. Following the attendants' directions Harry finds the Weasley’s easily.
Since leaving for the bar their group has filled out, with Fleur, Bill and Charlie, seated at table 12, deep in conversation, they turn to greet Harry before returning to their discussion. Molly and Arthur sit at table 12 with them enjoying the band.
Ginny sits at the next table over, table 13, talking animatedly to Luna, pausing momentarily to accept her diet coke. “Luna, I’m telling you he likes you, just talk to him!”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to bother him.”
“It wouldn’t be bothering him if he wants you to do it,” said Ginny, taking a greedy sip of her pop. “Ron, you agree with me right?”
“Oh, uhh, I don’t really know, I kinda missed it,” Ron shrugs awkwardly, Harry thinks it's probably smart to stay out of Ginny’s match making. Ron avoids making eye contact with Luna.
Ginny waves off Ron’s unhelpful remark, not in the least dissuaded. “Luna, trust me, I know about dating.”
George and Angelina, dressed in a muggle witch and wizard costume, arrive carrying a tray of shots. “Everyone, everyone, a toast to celebrate the occasion.”
“Don’t worry, these ones are non-alcoholic,” Angelina assures, passing Hermione and Ginny skull shaped shot glasses filled with a red, blood looking drink.
“And these ones definitely are not,” George winks, handing Harry and Ron a shot each; these are clear and smell like fire whisky.
“Not until your brother gets here,” said Molly, setting her shot glass aside to wait for Percy and Aubrey to arrive.
“He doesn’t even have to be here to ruin the fun,” George tisks, shaking his head dramatically.
As if on cue Aubrey and Percy arrive, claiming the seats beside Fleur and Charlie.
“Sorry, Molly would not fall asleep.” Aubrey apologizes, fixing her braid.
“It’s alright love,” Molly assures her, holding her hand warmly.
“Finally,” said George, holding his shot glass up, “now-”
“We’re still waiting for Neville and Hannah,” Hermione informs him.
“Hm Hmm,” Daphne Rosier stands on the stage with the band, clearing her throat to test her voice magnification charm. Angelina pulls George down into his seat.
“If you could all finish up at the bar- don’t worry it will remain open during dinner-” she pauses for polite laughter from the audience. “Hello everyone, on behalf of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, I would like to thank you all for being here tonight -
As Daphne gives her speech, Neville and Hannah awkwardly weave between the tables towards the group, hunching over to minimize their disruption as much as possible.
“Hi, sorry,” Neville whispers, arriving at the table Neville notices that there is only one empty chair left at table 13, the other available seat at table 12. “Here Hannah-”
“Oh no, Neville you’re sitting with your date, come on mate,” George insists, rising from his own seat he grabs the empty chair next to Percy and noisily drags it over, squeezing it next to Ron. A waiter is quick to take over the moving of the place setting from 12 to 13, at a much quieter volume.
Daphne makes an effort to politely ignore the source of the commotion, although Harry can see her eye twitch. Astoria doesn’t make such an effort, giving Geroge a glare worthy of the surname Malfoy.
Once the table has been set, Neville takes his seat, red in the face. George, conversely isn’t the least bit embarrassed at all.
“Now that that’s over with,” said George, jerking his head towards the stage. Molly’s lips are pressed thin. “A toast.”
Raising his shot glass George waits for everyone at their two tables to similarly hold their glass as well. “Harry, thank you for using your wealth, and celebrity, to invite as all to a very fancy party-
“George-” Molly hisses.
“Here's to doing it more often.”
“Here, here!” Charlie cheers before they all down their shots.
“So, Hannah, how are the renovations going,” Hermione asks, setting her glass back onto the tray.
“Surprisingly still on schedule,” said Hannah. She had recently acquired the Leaky Cauldron from the previous owner Tom, who had decided to retire. As part of the reopening Hannah was planning to renovate the barroom and the above hotel rooms. “Just waiting for the other shoe to drop I guess, you never hear a reno story without something going wrong.”
“Knock on wood,” Ginny knocks on the table, “but I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
“And Neville, I heard you’ve recently joined St. Mungo’s research department?” Hermione asks.
“Oh, uh, yeah,” said Neville, again flushing red. “With the medical botany division, apparently my research on Mimbulus mimbletonia was promising.”
Hannah holds his hand, smiling proudly.
“You should look into the healing properties of moonflowers,” Luna suggests, Hermione pinches the bridge of her nose, biting her tongue.
“Oh Harry,” said Angelina, setting her drink down. “I wanted to thank you for your suggestion, we’ve nearly doubled our response rate.”
Hermione and Ron share a look, Harry ignores it.
“Of course Angelina.”
“Well, I say thank you but maybe I should curse you, because I’ve also doubled my work load.” She laughs good naturedly as a server places a salad in front of her.
Hermione bites her lip, clearly having something she wants to say. “Harry-”
“Ginny, would you like another?”
“Yes please,” Ginny says, draining the last of her glass with a smack of her lips.
“Anyone else?”
“A vodka 7, double,” picking the tray he had used to deliver their shots to the table George hands it to Harry, “actually make it two.”
A short que has formed for the bar, fishing his extendable ear from his pocket Harry casts a quick disillusionment charm, anyone looking at him will instead see Harry tuck a loose strand behind his ear. Angling himself to look out into the ballroom he keeps his eyes on the Rosier table while he listens in.
“-it’s like a soup” Daphne's voice comes in through the extendable ear, Harry watches her push her raise her hand to flag down a waiter.
“The salad is terrible,” Harry can hear the smirk in Draco’s voice even if he can’t see it from this distance.
“I’m sure it’s all anyones talking about,” Pansy chimes in.
“Don’t worry darling it’s fine,” an unfamiliar voice reassures Daphne, probably Amadeus then.
“Blaise what do you think?” Daphne asks.
“What, don’t trust our opinion?” Draco asks, mock offended.
“It’s not that bad,” said Astoria, the reassurance sounds forced.
“So it isn’t good,” Daphne concludes with a groan. “We should have gone with the other caterer.”
“No one is going to be talking about the food, they’re all going to be distracted by Notts date.” Astoria
“Ha ha! Yeah Daphne have you seen her!” Pansy laughs meanly. “I thought she was meant to be an escort but turns out she didn’t know you were supposed to wear a costume.”
“I’m sure she has…a great personality.” Rosier falters.
“I’m sure she does,” Blaise states flatley.
“She’s Russian,” Pansy cuts in, gleefully. “Can’t speak a lick of English.”
“Ah, so Theo has a chance then,” said Draco.
“Let’s all hope so,” says Astoria emphatically. “I personally don’t want to hear him wallowing all night.”
It takes a bit of scanning to find Theodore Nott, dressed in white robes, probably as some important astronomer that Hermione would believe he ought to know he sits beside a very pretty woman with a snub nose in a fine evening robe - certainly not a costume.
“Ugh, and you call yourselves his friends,” Daphne says with disgust.
“Please, Daphne, tell us if you disagree,” Blaise taunts.
After a long silence peels of Pansy’s shrill laughter break it.
“Let’s talk about something else,” Daphne huffs, disgruntled by her friend's derision.
“Well, we have some news,” Blaise drawls.
“Ugh, now Blaise? Over the horrendous salad?”
“Pansy!” Daphne exclaims, seeming to already know what this news is.
“Yes, yes, here it is-“ from the bar Harry can see Pansy sticking her hand across the table, “we’re engaged.”
“Uh, sir, did you want to order?” The bartender asks timidly.
“Er, right sorry,” Harry quickly states his order, making sure not to lose track of the conversation. The whole table is a cacophony of voices congratulating the happy couple.
“When did this happen?”
“Just before we arrived.”
“On halloween?” Astoria asks, incredulous.
“Yeah, it’s terribly romantic isn’t it?”
“I always found it tacky,” Astoria replies honestly, someone snorts at her candidness.
“Oh Pansy, Blaise, I’m so happy for you both, a wedding at the Zambini estate would just be divine. You must let me help you plan it.”
“Help, I’m making you do the whole thing!”
“And when will you be giving you resignation?” Daphne inquires.
“What do you mean?”
“What do you mean what do I mean?-”
“Uh, your drinks are ready.” Turning back towards the bar Harry can see that his order is waiting on his tray.
He stuffs the extendable ear back into his pocket, “right, thanks.”
***
“How’s the salad?” Harry asks as he hands out everyone's drinks.
“It’s pretty good,” Ron shrugs with his mouth full.
Hermione shakes her head beside him “Honestly Ron.”
For the next three courses everyone eats, drinks, talks, laughs, and otherwise enjoys their evening out. The dining room abuzz with good cheer. Harry is only ever half listening, nodding and smiling along with his friends, he steals a look over to Malfoys table as often as he feels he can get away with.
As the servers begin clearing the entree plates, fine black china with an intricate blood red trim to match the spooky theme, Daphne returns to the stage, the dinner music receding to a quiet stop. “As we prepare for dessert, I remind everyone to please cast your vote for our costume contest, we will begin counting the ballots shortly.
“Do you know what she's going on about?” George asks the group.
“If you weren’t making such a racket during her first speech,” Molly tuts, still embarrassed by her son's earlier behaviour.
As Daphne descends the stage party guests begin milling about the ballroom, abandoning their tables to mingle at the bar and chat on the dance floor. The band resumes playing as waiters begin to serve dessert.
Carrying an ornate chest about the size of a music box, Astoria announces herself to the group. “Have you all completed your ballots for the costume contest?” She isn’t carrying her clutch; Harry can see it where her dinner plate once sat on the table. “The little piece of paper that you probably threw out when you sat down.”
“Oh yes, I threw it out.” Luna nods, shamelessly.
“Don’t worry, I have extra,” fumbling with the lid of the box Astoria pulls out a stack of ballots as well as some self inking quills, distributing one of each to everyone at the table. “If you need any ideas I’ll have you know that this dress is a painstaking replica.”
“I was going to ask how Malfoy pulled a girl like you but now it makes sense,” Ron jokes as he accepts his ballot from Astoria.
“What do you mean?”
“He’s talking about the ego,” George explains with a wink.
“George,” Angelina hisses, swatting her husband's arm. “I apologize, my husband is a twat.”
Handing Neville his ballot she holds the ballot box with both hands, her smile doesn’t falter but her knuckles are white. “I see it runs in the family.”
“What are you supposed to be anyway?” Ron asks, holding his quill with one hand he uses the other to dig into his Yorkshire pudding. “Ya know, for the card.”
“Ask your wife,” said Astoria, looking expectantly at Hermione, looking forward to someone recognizing her costume.
Hermione gives the gown a once over, brow furrowed, “a, um, muggle?”
“I thought you were supposed to know everything.” Luna bursts into a peel of laughter at Astoria’s remark, Hermione going slightly pink.
“Well who are you then.”
“Cher!”
The name is vaguely familiar to Hermione clearly, the outfit however still means little. “I don’t focus on such frivolous things as celebrity culture.”
Collecting the ballots in silence Astoria takes Hermione harshly, pulling it from her grip before stomping off.
“How immature,” Hermione huffs.
“Well you did call her career frivolous,” Ginny states, taking a bit of her pudding.
“She’s a radio disc jockey, it’s not as though she’s curing dragon pox.” Hermione crosses her arms, having decided she wasn’t going to feel remorse as she was in fact right. “Ronald, can you see if they have any herbal te-”
“I’ll go,” Harry offers, looking for a reason to listen in on his extendable ear.
“Oh, well, uh, thank you Harry.” Hermione stutters, taken aback by his eagerness.
***
The bartender insists on sending someone to the table to tend to bring Hermione her tea, and from the doors connecting the ballroom to the hotel he can see a large tray with a shining sterling tea set emerge. Being famous it would be easy to believe him if he claimed to have been held up by those who recognized him from the paper, clamoring to tell him what a hero they thought he was and that they had always been on his side. Hiding along the back wall, Harry brings his half of the extendable ear pair up to listen in, catching the tail end of something Blaise is saying. Their group has largely thinned out, with Daphne preparing to announce the winner of the costume contest, and Astoria and potentially Rosier assisting her. Only Blaise, Pansy, and Draco remain.
“Blaise, can you get me a drink?” Pansy demands, interrupting her fiancee's antidote. “You can take your time.”
If they had sat closer to the bar, then perhaps Harry would be able to read their expressions, he can only guess what is going on during this pause.
“Fine.” Blaise rises from his seat, leaving the table, however, rather than heading to the bar he goes to the butterfly terrace, taking a cigarette from the attendant manning the door.
Pansy waits, probably making sure that her fiancee is out of ear shot. “You’ve been awfully quiet about my engagement.”
“I thought the custom was to wait until the wedding to object.” Harry can hear the sneer in Malfoy's voice, taunting her.
“You’re not being funny.” Pansy snaps.
“Well is this supposed to be serious?” Draco scoffs. “What do you want me to say, no Pansy don’t do it, let's run away together and start anew.”
“No,” Pansy pouts. “Maybe a little. I don’t know, I just thought it would affect you, that you would feel something about it, a normal person would.
“And is Blaise in on this whole engagement to make your school days boyfriend jealous bit?”
“To make you- you’re so self absorbed.” Pansy spits. “I love Blaise okay,” Draco snorts. “I do, he has a real career, his fathers not in jail-
“Well we don’t actually know that-
“And he is fan-tas-tic in bed.” Pansy pauses. “How is that going, with you and Astoria anyway? Still no kids, I know she has this whole career women thing going but is that the only reason?”
He can hear a chair scraping across the hardwood floor, a blonde head rising in the crowd.
***
“There you are, let’s dance!” Ginny is already leaving her chair as Harry falls into his.
Everyone else had already left the table, moving to the dance floor once the band had swapped the elegant dinner music for a much livelier set. Across the table is a collection of half finished coffees and picked over desserts.
“Uh, maybe later,” Harry sighs, fixing himself a coffee. The mugs must be under a warming charm as it is still piping hot.
“Come on Ginny, Harry’s thinking about something,” Luna says dreamily, indicating that they should go to the dance floor and leave him be.
“You owe me a dance.” With these parting words Ginny and Luna move to the dance floor, disappearing into the throng.
He sips his coffee slowly, using it as an excuse to linger alone. Between songs Harry would sneak a quick listen in on the extendable ear, to try and determine if there were any conversations including or about Malfoy; unfortunately Astoria appeared to have a bad habit of leaving her purse behind. Last he checked he could hear women talking and toilets flushing - she must have left it behind in the lavvy.
“Come on mate,” said Ron, appearing at the table with Hermione who pours herself a large glass of water and greedily drinks it. “If I have to make a fool of myself out there, so do you.”
The floor is filled to bursting with bodies, witches and wizards rocking and swaying to the high tempo jazz of the band. Amongst the crowd, the red heads of the Weasley’s are easy to spot. George, Angelina, Luna, and Ginny, are jumping up and down to the music in a manner more befitting of a mosh pit of a rock concert, the groups egging poor Percy and Aubrey into dancing more vigorously. Fleur, who actually knows how to dance, is leading Bill successfully through a two-step.
Spotting Harry, Ginny meets him half-way, “look who finally made it.”
“I knew he would,” Luna states dreamily, having followed her friend off the floor. “Sorry Ginny, I can tell you want to dance with Harry alone.”
“What, Luna, you don’t have to leave,” Harry interjects. Although he does agree with her statement it seems rude to send her off.
“Don’t worry Luna, I think I found you a new dance partner,” Ginny winks mischievously. “Hey Rolf! Luna needs a dance partner,” Ginny shouts, waving him over.
“Oh, you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Luna assures him.
“Oh no, I would very much like to.”
“Let’s give them some space,” Ginny said, smiling a self-satisfied smile as she leads Harry deeper onto the dance floor.
While the Weasley’s are not strong dancers that doesn’t appear to be the norm in wizarding society, or at least, not amongst the upper echelons, with many couples and groups easily executing a series of dance steps, with no bumping into strangers or stepping on toes. As dancers web and weave about them Harry can’t help but to look for a sequin dress and a black muggle suit, his attention darting to the couple whenever they become visible through the crowd.
“It hardly seems fair does it,” said Ginny, pulling his attention away from watching the pair. “Here we are, quidditch stars and yet we have four left feet between us.”
“I think we do alright,” Harry guides Ginny into a spin, wherein she bumps into the couple beside them.
“Harry, what's going on with you?” Ginny asks. “You're distracted, you’ve been some place else all night.”
A pit forms in Harry’s stomach, of course she is right. After the war there was meant to be no more distractions, nothing between them, and yet with every case there comes a point where he is so obsessed he forgets everything else, all thoughts and attention devoted to the task at hand - to the greater good.
“What do you mean,” repositioning his grip on his hand, Harry takes the lead of their dance. “Ginny, I'm right here.”
Biting her lip, Ginny doesn’t meet Harry’s gaze but allows him to lead their dance. Two songs later and they are moving across the floor in perfect harmony, swaying together with the occasional spin.
The band plays a rendition of A Cauldron Full of Hot Strong Love before the couple is interrupted by a white hand grabbing Ginny’s arm.
“Ginny,” Luna pants, tapping her friend gingerly on the shoulder. “I need advice.”
Wearing a sly grin, Ginny turns to Harry apologetically. “Duty calls.”
Taking Luna’s arm, Ginny leads her to the toilet, “catch me up on everything!”
Harry watches them leave the dance floor, moving to the edge of the floor to survey the crowd. The doors to the balconies have long since closed to keep out the cold and the sounds of the street, an attendant waiting to open the doors for any guest looking for some fresh air. Through the windows of the french doors Harry can see two figures outside.
Astoria and Draco are leaning against the stone railing, Astoria, rummaging around in her clutch. Harry takes out his extendable ear.
“Where was it?” Draco asks, looking at her clutch.
“I left it in the toilet,” having found what she was looking for Astoria pulls out a mother of pearl cigarette holder. If she hadn’t been a smoker when they’d met she was now, removing two smokes from the case she holds both in her mouth lighting them with her wand.
“How frivolous of you,” Draco accepts the offered cigarette with a smirk.
“I cannot get over that! Frivolous! What does she do that is so important,” Astoria fumes, releasing an angry puff of smoke.
“Save the fate of the Wizarding world,” Draco says in a mocking tone.
“Oh whatever, because the world would be worth saving without art and culture, ugh and those Weasley boys-” Astoria pauses to take a short drag from her smoke. “Merlin, now I sound like you.”
“Potter’s entourage has that effect on people.”
“If Harry cancels his interview after this…”
“Speak of the devil.” The ear falls to the floor. Draco is looking right at him. He doesn’t risk picking it up, even if they won’t know what it is he doesn’t want them knowing he has anything.
Astoria turns to follow Draco’s eyeline.
Harry doesn’t look away; he can’t. It is as though he is back in the Great Hall, glaring at each other from across the house tables.
Astoria is shaking her head, laughing, turning away from Harry as she says something to Malfoy, rubbing his arm. Malfoy looks away first.
Stubbing out her cigarette she returns inside, leaving her clutch behind on the railing.
He probably shouldn’t, in fact he certainly shouldn’t, but when had that ever stopped Harry when it came to Malfoy. Just as the walk from Hyde Park the terrace is being temperature controlled with magic.
“Surprised you restrained yourself for this long Potter,” Malfoy sneers.
Cold beads of sweat form on the back of Harry’s neck. “Er, what do you mean?”
“Just another coincidence then,” he pauses,taking a drag from his cigarette he lets out a stream of smoke. “There have been so many recently. First Astoria has booked you for her show, then Walker is bragging to anyone that will listen that he’s been having lunch with the hero of the wizarding world.” Malfoy pauses for another drag. “Mum hasn’t complained about you ignoring her letters.”
Draco gauges Harry’s reaction, he must see what he was expecting. “You were less obvious back at school.”
“Look, Malfoy, honestly I’m just here to support a good cause.”
Malfoy’s eyes narrowed into slits, he doesn’t believe Harry. “I don’t know what you think I’m doing, or if this is just what passes as a hobby for you but stay out of my life Potter.”
Collecting Astoria’s clutch, shouldering Harry on his way out.
Her clutch, with the extendable ear inside.