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Chapter Text

Harry Potter, the man-who-was-going-to-get-hyphenated-again-soon for personal misbehaviour, sat in his office, as head of DMLE, looked at the letter from Ginny, fortunately not a Howler.

‘Harry

So you decided to shag Hermione.

Thank you so much.

You can explain to your children why mummy’s not coming home,

and why Auntie Hermione, Minister for magic is Daddy’s private sextoy!

Your soon-to-be-ex-wife

Ginevra Weasley.

P.S Have hired Snatchitt, Grabbitt and Runne as my lawyers. I’m going to leave you high and dry you … Harry Potter.

P.P.S Have gone to my mothers. So don’t think you can cadge food or childcare from her!

‘

Harry thought about that. No howler. Not a single profanity. He read the letter again, and realised she’d used his actual name as a profanity. He scratched the hair on the back of his head.

Bugger. The ‘thing’ with Hermione had been a… Harry wanted to say spur-of-the-moment thing, but Ginny’s movement reports, coming in as part of all high-profile-persons watch, rather irritatingly lined up with the captain of the Spanish national Quidditch team. Not that she was doing anything… immoral. Dennis had filled pages and pages of surveillance reports. They talked.

Harry remembered talking to…

He snorted. He’d never really talked to Ginny for any length of time, snogging was always preferable. Even when they’d married… well they were newlyweds, and Aurors and professional Quidditch players are both quite fit professions. Beds had, in fact broken. Harry felt a flush of arousal, tempered by awkwardness. Ginny had liked it … rough. As a witch, she was far tougher than a muggle, and she was a quidditch player… which was a rough game. Harry always felt awkward doing some of the things Ginny wanted. It felt wrong. But also… sex.

The ‘thing’ with Hermione… well shagging in her office on her desk was definitely wrong, morally wrong but it had been so … comfortable. And since then they’d… comfortably shagged a few times. Hermione did like things done her way, but she was, well she’d always been like that. And she was very broadminded about showing her appreciation. Harry tried to stop thinking about Hermione for a second, and concentrate on the letter. He took a quill and started making bullet-points.

Intent? What was the intent of the letter? To tell Harry she was moving out, going to her mothers, leaving him to organise childcare for Lily… and… She was using lawyers. So a divorce, however you did that in magical Britain.

Harry looked at his bullet points. He needed a lawyer, a discreet lawyer, right now. He’d inherited a lot of money from his parents, even more from Sirius, then bought Briar-hill, a little house on the edge of a muggle village called Brackhampton, with Ginny. Apart from one nosey old lady, it was great. More importantly, he had the family invisibility cloak, Slytherin’s broken locket, and Grimmauld place, and the derelict cottage in Godric’s hollow. Maybe he owned other properties, but he’d never had time to look at that. The Death Eaters needed to be rounded up at the end of the war, and then there was always something, then the boys were born… then Lily.

Harry realised, guiltily he hadn’t ever even made a will. He really needed to will Grimmauld place to Teddy.

Harry looked at the bullet-points he’d doodled as he’d thought. There was only one thing to do. He needed a lawyer. One who could ensure Ginny got a fair, but not crippling settlement. She earned as much, if not more than Harry anyway, maybe he could get some child support from her.

And he needed a lawyer that wasn’t Snatchitt, Grabbit and Runne. And he knew nothing about civil lawyers; he controlled the Aurors, they sent people to the Wizengamot for hearings, after that it was DMLE prosecutions, who Harry basically ignored. They were a bit wet, after all people like the Malfoy’s routinely got off everything. And like a ‘lumos’ in a darkened broom-closet Harry had a brilliant idea. He took the letter, and it’s bullet-points and left his office.

“Stephen?” said Harry. His secretary looked up, all brown hair and brown beard.

“I’m going out, personal business for the afternoon. Tell the head Auror not to have an emergency, and send a Patronus if there’s I dunno, a dark lord that needs his head kicked in.” said Harry.

Stephen nodded, and made a note.

“Shall I memogamme the Minister, so she can … coordinate her personal business?” said Stephen in a tone of barely concealed sarcasm.

“Stephen… nothing to do with the Minister. Take some time out tonight to fuck yourself,” said Harry pleasantly.

“I was just asking,” said Stephen.

Harry mused as he headed to the fireplaces, that Stephen was an obnoxious little shit. Did take good notes, and nobody would suggest Harry was shagging him. There was even – perish the thought some witch he lived with.

Harry flooed from the ministry atrium to… ‘Malfoy Manor!’

He stepped out into the overdone, tasteless, really expensive front hall of Malfoy Manor. For someone who’d been fined millions, he still looked just as rich as back in the war years.

“SHOP!” Harry yelled rudely.

The sound of shoes on marble click-clacked in the distance, slowly getting closer.

Out of one of the arched doorways, came a Draco Malfoy. Harry had been expecting a rich blond prat, a little older. Draco instead looked nearly fifty, with receding hair, stubble and a pink nose. His clothes were expensive, but… tattered and stained.

“Fuck,” croaked Draco Malfoy.

“Hello Draco” said Harry. “I need the name of a lawyer who can get me off.”

Draco Malfoy blinked and stared at Harry. “You killed someone in the Atrium, didn’t you?” he asked. Harry ignored that quip.

“My wife is divorcing me.” said Harry.

Malfoy opened his mouth and nothing came out. After a while, he closed his mouth.

“Weaslette divorcing you?” said Malfoy, looking at Harry in what Harry suspected was incredulity. “She’s been spreading her legs for you since she was twelve. She’d probably lick your arse clean! There’s no way she’d divorce you.”

“I’ve been cheating on her with Hermione” said Harry bluntly, not bothering to rise to Malfoys’ childishly coarse accusations.

“That?” said Malfoy “You cheated on Ginny Weasley’s arse for Granger? Ironingboard Granger?”

Harry entertained the pleasant thought of perhaps misfiling a prisoner movement and accidentally sending Draco to Azkaban for a little break… for eighty or ninety years. And Hermione had much bigger breasts since Rose and Hugo. Ginny’s bum, well Harry found himself regretfully agreeing with Draco Malfoy – but only inside his head. Ginny’s figure had even arseholes like Blaise Zabini taking note, she had been probably the prettiest girl at Hogwarts, with Cho Chang coming a close second.

Harry took a deep breath. “Malfoy, I need a lawyer to ensure family heirlooms stay in the family, that the current heir of the Black family gets his inheritance… that sort of thing.

Malfoy’s ferrety face narrowed further has he narrowed his brows. “You never made a will?” Malfoy asked.

“I was busy,” said Harry.

Draco shook his head “And I thought I was a bad parent. Fuck Potter, you suck.”

“Look, Ginny sent me a letter saying she’s got Snatchitt, Grabbit and Runne, and that she was going to try to crush me.” said Harry firmly.

Draco leaned on the nearest pillar, now quite clearly hung-over “Fuck,” he said “She really hates you. That’s the firm WE use.”

“The one that got your father off in the first war?” asked Harry.

Draco nodded “Though, all hope is not lost. Two divorces and one marriage?”

Harry shrugged. “This is ME, doing things for MY family.”

Draco tilted his head “So the Granger thing not working out so well?”

“It doesn't matter.” said Harry, “My children, and Teddy matter. Not losing all the family’s savings matters.”

“You’re prepared to put your family before … your mistress?” asked Draco.

“I’m comfortable with her, but … This is going to be a shit sandwich forever. Better I just take my beating now.” said Harry.

Strangely, Malfoy nodded. “I used to expect you to do things for yourself” said Draco. “But you don’t really, do you?”

Harry said nothing.

“Did you even start the things with Granger?” asked Draco, a malicious gleam in his eyes.

Harry defensively said “It’s none of your business.”

Draco shrugged. “Now, I’m going to suggest a company, but I have a family relationship to them, so you can see that as a reason I’d lie to you.”

Harry nodded “You are a shitty human being.” he agreed.

“I’m not the one being divorced for cheating with a married woman” said Draco. “I was married to MY wife, till she died.”

“How’d she die” asked Harry “The DMLE can always go digging, if you’d rather?”

“Try,” said Draco, coldly, “Drag me up in front of the wizengamot – you’ll look like a vindictive idiot. She was … ill and she died trying to have our second child.”

Then, unaccountably, Draco Malfoy started to cry.

Even more unaccountably, Harry felt a sickening sensation in his chest.

He felt… like he’d been an arsehole to… Draco Malfoy and… he hadn’t deserved it. Not… this time.

“Sorry” Harry whispered.

“Viridian,” said Draco Malofy, sniffing. “They’re discreet.”

--==0==--

Harry nipped into Grimmauld place and visited the bank vault he’s installed in an old basement room, instead of Gringotts, and took out some gems. Harry felt that the double-handful of huge rubies and emeralds should be worth plenty of money. Gringotts had never had forgiven them for the burglary.

Viridian’s office was over a florist in Diagon Alley. Harry opened the door off the landing and stepped into a room with a desk, some soft chairs, and bookshelves of books that all looked similar.

An inner door opened and a woman about Harry’s age, pretty in a tall, put-together, blonde-haired, aristocratic way stepped into the room, then stopped. She was wearing a grey dress robe that looked so unadorned, it was making some sort of statement. Grey shoes and Grey tights too.

‘You’re Harry Potter” she said, sounding confused. Harry had his doubts about her brainpower.

“Draco Malfoy recommended Viridian. I need a lawyer for a civil matter, who can get me off.”

The woman pulled herself together again.

“Director Potter,” she said, “I am Daphne Greengrass. For my many sins, I’m the nearest thing Scorpius Malfoy has to a mother, and a partner with Viridian. What can I do for you?”

“I need a lawyer who’ll win in my divorce with Ginny Potter,” said Harry.

“Are you the initiator?” asked Daphne Greengrass.

“No” admitted Harry.

“Who’s she using?” asked Greengrass.

“Snatchitt, Grabbit and Runne,” said Harry.

“Well that’s not good.” said Greengrass. “And why?”

“I need some sort of contract don’t I?” asked Harry.

Greengrass nodded slightly, snorting softly “Yes, Director of the DMLE, for Lawyer-Client confidentiality to apply, you need to hire us first.”

“What’s an appropriate sum?” asked Harry.

“A thousand galleons, we’ll remit unspent monies when the hearing’s over,” said Greengrass.

Harry reached into his pocket and dropped the two handfuls of gems on the table.

“You’ve overpaid” said Greengrass. Harry shrugged.

“We’ll owl you a receipt when those… ludicrous gems are valued at Gringotts.” said Greengrass. “Pray, explain?”

“I cheated in Ginny with Hermione Granger-Weasely,” said Harry. “And yes, more than once. Ginny knows, and sent me a letter. Harry put the letter on the table.

Greengrass moved across the room quietly like some sort of very solid ghost, picked up the letter and skimmed it.

“Greedy,” she said mildly, putting the letter down. “We’ll need a complete list of all your assets.”

“That’s also a problem” said Harry “I never checked if I own other stuff.”

“Well, Gringotts vault?” asked Greengrass.

“Don’t have one. Robbed a Gingottts vault in the war, had to move all my stuff to my own private vault.” said Harry “I own a couple of houses, a townhouse in London.”

“She doesn't want a house?” asked – Harry’s lawyer, he realised.

“Expect not,” said Harry. “She earns more than me; can we wrangle some child support?”

Greengrass snorted, then laughed. “You are an optimist.” she said, with a small smile.

“Oh, and I don’t have a will,” admitted Harry.

Daphne Greengrass lost her smile “I see we’re going to be hard at work.”

“That’s what got me into this mess,” said Harry, with a wicked crooked grin.

Greengrass ignored his little joke.

“Did you just wake up one day and decide to crash your life into the ground at speed?” asked Greengrass.

“Um. No. It’s been coming for years really,” admitted Harry.

“Everyone thought you and Granger had a thing at school,” volunteered Greengrass, who Harry finally remembered had been the quiet blonde in Slytherin behind Pansy. He’d technically had potions and Defence with her for five years.

“No” said Harry “She and Ron had UST, till the war ended.”

“Oh. So no threesomes,” said Daphne Greengrass deadpan.

“Strange as it may seem, given my immense fame, I’m … rather more boring in bed than…” said Harry.

“Ginny Weasley would prefer,” said Daphne Greengrass perceptively. Harry simply shrugged.

“Hmm. Mr Potter, you show the signs of having had what we in the trade call a dead marriage walking for some time. Are you going to remarry with Miss Granger?” asked Daphne Greengrass.

“Why should that matter or not?” Harry asked.

“Sympathy votes,” she said sourly “The adjudicator will probably be old and married, so someone wanting to change who they’re married to will do better than…”

“Someone who married straight out of school to their first proper girlfriend and is now drifting into middle age” said Harry.

Daphne Greengrass’s eyebrows went up. “That’s horribly perceptive of you.”

“My brain solves cases. I’m not just a pretty face.” said Harry.

“Witch Weekly disagree.” said Greengrass cheekily.

“They’re vultures. How do they even get pictures of me in my gym gear?” asked Harry.

“I don’t know, but given your advanced age, you look okay in running shorts” said Greengrass.

“I can still run a mile in under five minutes” admitted Harry.

“Can I sell that fact to Witch Weekly?” asked Greengrass, eyebrows up.

“What I want is a lawyer who can get me off” said Harry. “I need the family savings preserved, the houses kept, and a few very private heirlooms kept with me, so I can leave them on to my children and heirs later… once I’m dead.”

“With no will. And no list of assets. Not an easy client.” said Greengrass.

“Oh I’m easy – that’s the problem” said Harry.

“Are you drunk?” asked Greengrass.

“Wish I was. Need to go home and look after my ten-year-old daughter.” said Harry.

“Well, make a list while you do that of everything you know you own – ” started Greengrass.

Harry handed over his bullet-point list.

“And leave your poor lawyer to deal with the ministry. Trying to find the extent of your estate.” said Greengrass.

“Well, as I overpaid, take one stone, and treat yourself. Buy clothes that aren’t grey?” said Harry.

“I’m in mourning,” said Greengrass, and Harry felt horribly awkward.

“Sorry,” he said, suspecting he’d just insulted a widow.

“Sorry won’t being my sister back,” said Greengrass.

“He looks like shit,” said Harry.

“Because he drinks his meals,” said Greengrass harshly.

Awkward silence.

“With no Gringotts vault, how much gold do you have?” asked Greengrass.

“Twenty three thousand galleons when I moved it after the war” said Harry “I spend less than my pay. So more now.”

Daphne Greengrass shook her head “You have no Gringotts vault, so what little you have is in a small safe at home. Has Ginny seen it, seen inside it?”

Harry wondered about that.

“Um. Maybe not. She doesn’t go to that house ever, and doesn’t have a key or the combination” said Harry.

“Hypothetically,” said Greengrass “Your gold is in a small safe. About a thousand galleons. Several years pay, but you lost the rest to Gringotts.”

Harry wanted to say ‘But I got Kingsley to pay me the money,’ then he realised what Greengrass was saying.

“I’ll get a small safe and make sure it looks like – “ started Harry.

“Greengrass interrupted “No, you own a small safe, and have many years of earnings saved up. You’re certainly not hiding funds. As a lawyer I could be compelled to disclose that.”

That afternoon Harry set Lily to work on a jigsaw puzzle, used a comb-a-chameleon to disguise himself, bought a small safe, and installed it at Grimmauld place. He took a little gold from his vault, concealed the vault carefully by moving china hutches, and nearly filled the safe with gold. As suggested by his sarcastic, devious lawyer he had a small safe of gold. That gave him another idea.

Then he went and wasted money on an invisibility cloak, and got Kreacher to swap it with the family cloak in James’s Hogwarts trunk– which he put into the vault. James could use a demiguise hair cloak.

Harry emptied the old mokeskin pouch of old Horcruxes and a Hawthorn wand onto a conjured table in the vault. He looked at the pouch, Hagrid had given it to him, and he valued it, but … it wasn’t irreplaceable.

A week, an awful howler fuelled week went past. His boys now apparently hated him, Molly wanted him to die, and the Daily Prophet ran article after article about how awful he was. Hermione managed to keep her problems quiet-er. Ron sent him a letter. Well, practically a memo.

‘If you were such a good mate, why did you bang my wife.’

Sending Ron a letter comparing banging his wife with banging his little sister, Harry thought, while amusing might be counter-productive. It’s not like Hermione was better than Ginny. It was just… less fraught with accumulated issues, and she didn’t want to be choked.

--==0==--

The actual hearing went ludicrously well. So well, in fact that Harry was starting to wonder if DMLE prosecutions were actually good at lawyering. Greengrass got Harry’s ‘safe of galleons’ divided down the middle for Ginny, and the list of properties was read through by the arbitrator.

“Twelve Grimmauld place?” read the arbitrator.

“Entailed to the Black heir,” said Daphne Greengrass politely.

“The famous cottage at Godrics hollow?”

“A ruin, preserved by the Ministry,” said Daphne Greengrass, making a little tick mark on her list.

Greengrass had added a lit of properties to the list at some point, and they were read out as just “Black family property number three, derelict, Black family property number four, derelict…”

Finally they got to “And a house, Briar-hill at Brackhampton.”

“My client lives there with his children, the other buildings are somewhat unsafe for children, dark magic residues,” said Greengrass.

“Potter bought this Briar Hill after marrying My client,” said Phineas Grabbit. “We’ve had it assessed as being worth … with currency conversion to galleons, twenty-three thousand.”

Greengrass interrupted “I would like to point out that while the muggle building in muggle money could be valued as that much, a magical copy of a four-bedroom bungalow would not cost more than three hundred galleons; it has no magical features, no protections built in, it is in that respect just a brick box in the shape of a house, which could be transfigured up in a few hours.”

“Hmm,” said David Davidson the adjudicator, who was so short Harry suspected they were a dwarf. “We will check that ourselves, I think.”

“My client’s expenses,” said Greengrass politely, offering up a sheet “He has a number of entailed and derelict properties, which will require restoration, three children… As Miss Weasley’s income is rather greater than Mr Potters’… we would like to raise the spectre of child support payments.”

“My client’s income is the product of her hard work, she is entitled to all of it,” said Grabbit.

David Davidson harrumphed “They are her children, so she can pay half the cost of raising them, until they reach their twenty-first birthday.”

“My client has spent most of his income supporting his family so far,” said Greengrass sincerely, slipping a parchment over to David Davidson.

Harry was astonished at the smoothness of that lie, how convincing it was. ‘Well, she’s your lawyer, hired to get you off,’ he thought to himself. And then that he should never get on the wrong side of Greengrass – she’d have him slapped in Azkaban on trumped up charges quicker than you could say ‘Hagrid did it.’ Harry envisioned the huge pile of gold in his vault, still less than Grabbit had Briar Hill valued at, but… a substantial sum. Harry wondered for the first time if he was almost rich.

“Hm… they must eat like starved inferii,” said Davidson.

“Weasley inheritance,” said Harry. His children were fairly hearty eaters who ran around like nutters all the time. They fit into the greater Weasley family perfectly, and his boys reminded Harry of young Ron. Ginny, by the time he started taking her out for meals, was a professional athlete, so she trained incredibly hard and ate at least as much as Harry, which as she was barely five foot three was always funny to explain to waiters. Harry was uncomfortably reminded of the way Ginny would suggestively explain it as “Well… I’ve got a big appetite,” after a restaurant meal. They’d inevitably go home afterwards and have energetic, rough … snogging.

Harry wished he could stop remembering Ginny that way. She wasn’t his friend now.

A day later, Greengrass owl-posted Harry the ruling. Harry read the top sheet, from the arbitrator. He was going to owe Ginny nearly eight thousand galleons, but she’d have to pay for all the children’s school supplies, and fifty galleons each a year on top.

Well, thought Harry, could be worse.

---==0==--

A day later, Harry got an owl-letter.

‘Potter,

Need to organise a time and place to exchange funds. Your unspent balance with Viridian is GG546, which is a fairly large sum. We advise you should have a sack of galleons – 7544 of them, ready for us to take to Snatchitt, Grabbitt and Runne, in order to comply with the ruling.

Daphne Greengrass for Viridian.

P.S. Two hour appointment will be required after settlement; unspent funds will be reduced there by to approx. 446.

‘

Harry made breakfast for Lily, and helped her get ready for a trip to Stephanie’s house by floo. Stephanie’s parents were, according to his office, safe enough, and Lily would be supervised.

“Dad?” asked Lily “What did you do to make mum so angry?”

“I um, slept with aunt Hermione,” said Harry.

“Phht!” went Lily “A sleepover’s not that bad.”

Harry stilled, wondering if Lily was that innocent. Possibly.

“Besides mum always talks about Fernando Garcias,” said Lily, and Harry realised Lily was being polite.

“She wasn’t having sleepovers when she moved out,” said Harry.

Lily frowned “Dad, Uncle Ron’s really mad at you. Like, proper mad.”

Harry nodded “That makes sense” he admitted.

“Vic says you should have kept it in your pants?” asked Lily. “Don’t Worry, Teddy stuck up for you. Claimed Aunty Hermione can’t be innocent in this. Which of you started it?”

“Um,” said Harry awkwardly. “Your mum and I have been having problems for a long time.”

Lily nodded “Since I was born dad. I can do the math. James, two years, Al, two years, me, and no more kids.”

“It’s not your fault,” said Harry preemptively.

“Are you going to tell me a story now about how it’s nobody's fault?” asked Lily sarcastically.

“It’s Hermione and I’s fault,” said Harry. “And maybe I never talked to your mum enough.”

“You two were always shagging,” said Lily precociously “Really loudly too. Stephanie says Her parents don’t make so much noise that the house shakes.” Harry kissed his daughter on the head, she was as kind as Ginny and as tactful as Harry.

“So if Aunty Hermione comes to visit, will I get any sleep?” asked Lily. “And where are we going to live?”

“I’m paying your mum a settlement, we’re keeping Briar-Hill. Ginny will pay towards your schooling, and fifty galleons a year each.”

“Woot!” said Lily “My parents divorced but on the upside, my pocket-money’s ludicrous!” She sounded only slightly sarcastic. Harry looked at her using his serious face.

“Are we gonna be broke?” asked Lily quite seriously.

“My lawyer got me off,” said Harry, and Lily blushed. “DAD!” she said “You’re a man-whore!”

Harry eyed his almost teenager. “Ha Ha” he said “I’ve got to go see Viridian, the law firm with a sack of gold for your mum. And a meeting after that too, apparently. I’ll still have enough money to buy you a broom if you make the quidditch team.”

“If I wanted to make the quidditch team, Al doesn’t play, but I suppose that’s okay as he’s a disappointment, for being in Slytherin house.”

Harry took a slow breath, in and out. “Al’s a disappointment for being friends with Scorpius Malfoy,” said Harry. “Nothing else.”

“Well” said Lily, tapping her fingers together in a steeple “I’ve got news for you about a bigger disappointment – your girlfriends' daughter.”

Harry wondered if Minerva McGonagall found his children this stressful.

“So you’re about to dish some dirt on Rose?” asked Harry.

“And you admit Aunty Hermione’ your girlfriend. Gross. Anyway...” said Lily.

“The point, Potter,” said Harry, channelling Snape. “Get to it.”

“Rose is not dating Scorpius Malfoy, however Scorpius moons over her. It’s revolting. Rose so far can resist his blandishments, and ignore his pretty eyelashes,” said Lily.

“What?” asked Harry, thinking … this counts as a portent, doesn’t it? Hermione, Ron, Draco, they’d all die of disgust. Then the thought surfaced… clearly Scorpius isn’t disgusted at the idea of kissing a muggle-born. Rose was a pretty enough girl, though Hermione’s uncontrollable hair in red was a sight to behold.

Harry sighed “That would be a difficult relationship,” he said.

“Rose says he’s far too proud of himself.” offered Lily. “Vic says Rose should take Scorpius, because she’d be rich once she was Mrs Malfoy, and Rose could buy all the books she ever wanted.”

“And what did Rose say to that?” asked Harry, deciding that yes, he was going to hear about the mental processes of his nieces, even if it made him want to laugh and cry.

“That buying her affections would only work if he had a really big library,” said Lily “Then Vic said something about sausages. I’d got bored.”

Harry snorted. He couldn’t help himself.

“If you marry Aunt Hermione, will that make Rose my sister?” asked Lily. “She and Al fight a Lot.”

“I’m not sure where Aunt Hermione and I are going,” said Harry honestly. “You guys are more important to me.”

“Does that mean you’re taking a day off tomorrow to take me to the zoo?” asked Lily.

--==0==--

It took Harry all evening to enchant a sack to be both space-expanded and light. The trip to Grimmauld place afterwards was anticlimactic; go in, fill the sack, out again. Harry heard what was either a very big rat or Kreacher moving about. Honestly, he hoped it was the rat.

Greengrass gave him a receipt the next day when he dropped it off, then insisted he carry the sack along to Snatchitt, Grabitt and Runne ; “You’re good security,” she quipped.

Harry dropped the sack in their office – swankier than Viridian, and Greengrass got a receipt, which she handed to Harry “Paid out,” she said. “Can you take an appointment now?”

Harry checked his watch.

“Tomorrow?” asked Harry. “Sort of busy.”

“You need this,” said Greengrass mysteriously.

Harry went back to Viridian, and fired a Patronus to Steve, to tell him Harry was dealing with legal matters for two hours.

Greengrass opened the office door into a back office “we should talk more privately.” she said, and pointed to her ear.

Harry followed grey robes and grey shoes into a small neat office with a picture of a horse on the wall.

“Buttercup. My first horse,” explained Greengrass, closing the door and lowering a rune-engraved bar across the door.

“The room is protected against eavesdropping,” explained Greengrass, and she sat down “You’ve got some news you were NOT expecting.”

“Really, what news?” asked Harry.

“When I went to get money from the LeStrange estate, the executor was being very suspicious,” started Greengrass “And with some digging, I found there’s an heir alive.”

“A LeStrange?” said Harry “That’s a surprise.”

“A bastard” said Greengrass “And a distant relation of yours.”

Harry entertained a moment’s imagination that Sirius had shagged his cousin. No, too ridiculous.

“But I got the dowry back, and the one for Narcissa Malfoy too” said Greengrass “It’s a lot.”

“Define a lot.” asked Harry, quite seriously.

“A hundred thousand galleons,” said Greengrass “At this point, I will say I’m single.”

“Isn’t that very unprofessional of you?” asked Harry.

“More sarcastic,” said Greengrass, with one eyebrow up. “That’s serious money. You should keep quiet about it, least of all to keep Ginevra out of your hair.”

“Well, good news,” said Harry, thinking… I think I might be rich now.

“Bad news, I can’t work out who the Bastard’s father is. But she was raised by a Mrs Rowle, who claims ‘she’ll end up coming to no good’ which is a charming sentiment in a primary caregiver.”

“She?” asked Harry.

“A teenage girl,” said Greengrass. “Raised by strangers, currently finishing her seventh year at jolly old Hogwarts.”

“A name?”

“She’s going by Delphini Diggory,” said Greengrass “And that’s as fake as a pink galleon.”

“Diggory?” asked Harry.

“Amos’s niece, supposedly,” said Greengrass. “Far closer to your niece, really. The Diggory’s are well, they’ve never been right since Cedric died, but when I talked to them, they seemed like perfectly ordinary memory charmed patsy’s to me.”

“Memory charmed?” asked Harry.

“I scoped out their house when I went to the loo. No real evidence she’d ever lived there,” said Greengrass.

“Are you an amateur detective?” asked Harry.

“I was looking for a picture I could copy for you” admitted Greengrass “Hogwarts stakeout’s your best bet.”

“Why?” asked Harry.

“Because I bribed the goblins for information, and they admitted nearly denying Miss not-Diggory her vault because she’s related to you somehow,” said Greengrass.

Harry scratched the back of his head “The goblins won’t let my children have vaults. They um…”

“Banned your get,” said Greengrass. “They explained. I’ve never had goblins point spears at me before.”

And then, less unexpectedly, there was a will to sign.

“The lump sum to you, is being paid in gems. It’s still going to be a big sackful” said Greengrass. “If I was you, I’d get a vault and install it in a house you own, but don’t live in.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, and she didn’t even flinch, just raising a single eyebrow in retaliation.

Bloody Slytherins with their raising-one-eyebrow stuff. And she really was annoyingly sarcastic.

“Are we done?” asked Harry.

“You should keep me on retainer,” said Greegnrass “You will need legal advice again soon. If only about Granger.”

“About Granger?” asked Harry.

“You will need a prenuptial agreement. I would argue you need one soon, Granger’s muggleborn so would be smart enough to sue you under her de-facto property rights in the event you… hypothetically shag someone else in the office.”

“What?” said Harry.

“Even without marrying you, she could in time claim de-facto property rights, a good lawyer could take you to the cleaners,” said Greengrass. “The shirt off your back.” she added.

Harry signed. It was unlikely Hermione would leave him but…. Harry wondered, what if he met someone else. He looked over at the sarcastic lawyer in the … very severe grey dress and wondered about what she looked like naked. Tall, long legs… Harry’s testicles prickled.

Harry felt his cheeks flushing.

“You really are dreadful,” said Greengrass. “If you want to keep me… on retainer that would be a hundred galleons a year. In return, I won’t take cases acting against you. It’s a bit like having a lawyer on a leash. Except that costs a lot more.” She smirked, and Harry felt that his pants were far too tight suddenly. And how could she… on a leash. Harry’s imagination supplied a leash overlaid on her boring clothes. He swallowed with difficulty and said “Well, I overpaid –” He took a breath with difficulty and added, “use that.”

Harry snatched the parchment from the desk, held it to cover his lap and left. He got into Diagon Alley, and relaxed once he’d closed the door behind him. He took deep, calming breaths – and smelt flowers, that was nice. Harry apparated home with a crack, and shoved the paperwork in his desk drawer. Sarcastic Slytherin bitch. But also, good lawyer.

Time to gather some facts. And visit family.

Harry apparated to Hogwarts, and rang the little bell on the gatepost. And waited.

Hagrid came by a bit later and opened the gates for Harry with a large key.

“Harry, good to see yah,” said Hagrid, a little grey in his beard these days. “Your kids are pretty tame un’s. Next year’s your girl, She’ll be a right little tearaway, won’t she? Like her mum?”

Harry wondered if Hagrid had missed reading about his divorce by some weird miracle involving flesh eating slugs and poorly positioned newspapers.

“Yeah,” said Harry politely. “I’m here to see one of the students.”

“Oh no,” said Hagrid, his shoulder slumping “Tha’ cant’ be good news if the head of DMLE is bringing it.”

“It’s not that,” reassured Harry. “She was raised an orphan, and I’m her next of kin. I’m here to say hello, find out how and where she was brought up… that sort of thing.”

Hagrid nodded. “I do hav-ta ask yer for some paperwork before you can talk to students alone, you know that?”

Harry nodded “Sure. I’ll bring some next time.”

“Next time?” asked Hagrid.

“She’s my niece and nearly grown up, I need to make sure she understands she’s got a family for her now.”

“I will need the paperwork” said Hagrid. “An what about asking sure she’s got enough money for clothes? Orphans need that sort of thing. You should know.”

Harry sighed “My niece has a vault at Gringotts. She’s rich enough… to not worry about money.”

Hagrid smiled – the beard moved “Well that’s one thing but sorry Harry, you’ve got bad reputation – I has to see some paperwork, Sorry.”

Harry drew his wand and summoned the paperwork from home. It popped into his hand.

“Thumping good!” exclaimed Hagrid. “You’ve got the hang of that!”

Harry turned pages and found the page about Delphini Diggory.

“Hagrid, here… but this is confidential. Delphini may not have told people about her birth family,” said Harry, not mentioning the Diggory’s acting like they were memory charmed. The whole thing smelt of ferret faced blond daddies, and peacock shit.

Hagrid bent down and read the page. “Oh,” he said in a low rumble. “That’s a rum arrangement.”

Hagrid stood up “You want to pull her out of class?”

“We can wait for lunch,” said Harry.

“Well, come on down to my hut, I’ve got some right interesting things….” said Hagrid.

...

Harry walked towards the great hall from Hagrids, rubbing the half-healed bite on his elbow, and his tongue wiggled his molar – not broken, he’d forgotten about the rock cakes.

He got to the doors of the great hall before a greasy haired young man in a long grey raincoat stopped him “Oy, you can’t go in there” he said, placing a hand on Harry’s arm “There’s rules.”

“And you are?”

“Filch” said far too young to be Filch.

“You seem younger than I remember” said Harry drily.

“My uncle.” said Filch.

“Well, Filch, I’m going in to get my niece, and talk to her. Hagrid’s checked my paperwork – “

Harry took out the bundle, made sure he only had the right one out ,and showed new Filch.

“That’s not right, is it.” said Filch sourly.

“No” said Harry politely “So, Filch, take your hand off my arm. You know I’m the head of DMLE? Harry Potter? Vaguely famous?”

“I ‘aint gonna treat nobody different just because they’re famous” said Filch.

Harry smiled “Good” said Harry. “Now, let go… and run along.”

Filch let him go and waited a second before saying “The oppressive rule of the magitocracy will be overthrown. The injustice won’t last forever!”

Harry put the parchment back in his robe pocket “Filch” said Harry softly “If you find any evidence of oppression of say… squibs by mages… write it down, dates, names, where, get two witnesses if possible, and sent it to me at the DMLE.”

“But you’re one of them” said Filch.

“Yes” said Harry “Doesn’t make me an asshole.”

“And cheated on your wife with the minster for magic” added Filch.

Harry glared at Filch.

“I’ve made some mistakes in life” Harry said.

As Harry passed between the doors Filch said behind him “The powerful oppress the weak!”

Harry inched out his sheet of parchment nervously and headed up the middle of the great hall, trying not to feel like he was going to detention. Professor McGonagall looked up at him and her gaze was… stony. It occurred to Harry that Professor McGonagall had come to his wedding, and might not be totally happy about things that had happened since. The noise from the students got louder and louder. How, wondered Harry had Crouch, Fudge and so on walked up the hall so confidently.

Harry stepped up onto the platform the high table sat on, and walked to the edge of the table and handed Professor McGonagall the page of parchment She read it quickly ,and looked up at Harry with – was that sadness in her eyes. “Mr Potter then, not Head of the DMLE.”

“Mr Black perhaps.” muttered Harry “I need to talk to her.”

Professor McGonagall handed back the parchment, and stood up. “Pomona, bring Diggory to the antechamber.” and she started walking around the table. Professor Sprout dropped her cutlery, and stood up, and walked over to the Hufflepuff table.

“Potter, with me,” said Professor McGonagall” who’d arrived on the other side of the table next to Harry, and started walking out of the great hall.

Harry didn’t see who Diggory was, Professor McGonagall walking briskly to the room outside the great hall first years were held in, before sorting.

“Potter this is most irregular.” said Professor McGonagall.

“The Malfoys are involved,” said Harry.

“Oh,” said Professor McGonagall.

Delphini Diggory was a tall girl with silver hair; the tips were electric blue. She had dark eyes.

“Miss Diggory, Mister Potter has some important news for you.”

“Is it about my aunt and uncle?” she simpered. Harry smelt a rat – the girl knew something, and had the sort of face that Occulamens had.

Professor Sprout closed the door, and came back over and patted Delphini’s arm.

Harry mused at her being in Hufflepuff. Still… why not.

“The Diggory’s, Delphini, aren’t your aunt and uncle” said Harry. Delphini’s feigned surprise was ... typically bad acting for a teenager.

“You’re actually a distant relative of mine, Miss LeStrange,” said Harry. Her dark, almost black eyes widened in surprise. And she recovered quickly “LeStrange?”

“I’m sorry to say, you’re not really a LeStrange. You were born outside of the LeStrange marriage. Your mother was Bellatrix LeStrange nee Black and your father… well nobody’s sure.

Delphini’s eyes gleamed in triumph. Harry rolled his, “But you’re my kin, and Bellatrix was a Black, and I’m in charge of Blacks … so I’m your uncle. Which means you’ve got cousins here at Hogwarts, though they don’t know yet – Professor McGonagall can you get mine?”

“You’re a philanderer and a home-breaker,” said Delphini, holding long, elegant fingers to her cheeks.

“You’re a bastard,” said Harry “But that’s just a slur. You’re family. I’m sorry that I’ve made a bit of hash of things recently, but you’ve got lots of family. I had a word with your Aunt Narcissa Malfoy. She knew you were left at Mrs Rowle’s … and did nothing. And now her husband’s taken over doing… nothing,” said Harry.

Delphini reacted badly to hearing that her aunt had done… nothing, dropping her hands and glaring. She had a fairly Bellatrix-like glare, thought Harry.

“Your cousin Draco is my age – he could have easily kept you in their manor had either parent mentioned you to him – I haven’t questioned him yet, so I’m not sure where he sits in this. His son Scorpius and you would have grown up together – and your cousin Ted – Ted Lupin, your Aunt’s grandson. If I’d known, I’d have had you in a cot at my house immediately.”

“So,” said Delphini, looking a bit upset.

“I don’t know,” said Harry. “I know now – my kids will know, you’re not alone. You’ve got family… somewhere to go, I know you’re nearly an adult, but… we’ve got room for you – and the boys could do with a big sister.”

Professor Sprout was trying to glare a message at Harry that he just ignored her.

“So?” said Harry “I know it’s abrupt. But,“ Harry drew his wand.

“Expecto PATRONUM!” Harry cast, and sent Prongs to get James, Al and … Scorpius.

“And you’ve got a girl cousin. My Lily, she starts Hogwarts next year.”

“So you just expect to barge in here and… we all hug, and it’s all fine?” asked Delphini, sounding extremely sarcastic. How was she a Hufflepuff?

“No,” said Harry, feeling like he was visiting the family of a suspect that had died in questioning, “We all meet, and know who we are, and you decide what name you really want. You can be Delphini Black – LeStrange might be a bit tricky but my Lawyer’s good. You do know you’ve got a massive vault from the LeStranges?”

“But he said – “ said Delphini and then she clammed up. Harry ignored that. She wasn’t a suspect, just a kid. A kid from a shitty home. Abandoned. A bit like him.

Harry blinked and took a deep breath. “Well, anyway at Gringotts you’ve got a massive vault, and you inherited all the LeStrange property. We’ll need to get you to a lawyer to explain how much you own, and help you decide what to do with it.”

“You're not…” said Delphini.

“It’s your birthright, Delphini Druella,” said Harry. “Not mine, I’ve only just found out I’ve got piles of houses all falling down.”

“Falling down?” asked Delphini, sounding surprised.

“Well nobody told me – I’m telling you. You’re not just a witch, Delphini, you’re rich.”

She glared at him in a way – the long fingers, the dark eyes. She was like Tom and Bellatrix. Yech.

“You must have been born just at the end of the war” said Harry, thinking aloud. “Raised as an orphan.”

“You said I’m your kin? You’re only adopted into the Blacks,” said Delphini. “Ursurping the rightful heir.”

“Well that would have been you,” said Harry, “You’re my blood relation. On your fathers side.” Harry suddenly remembered about three brothers, not three sisters, about Cadmus’s cursed stone. Harry smiled; his brain had put the pieces together. He really wasn’t just a pretty face for the DMLE.

Harry held out his arms, offering a hug. “I’m your cousin on your dad’s side. We never got along, that’s true but… that was his choice, not mine, welcome back to the family… Delphini Riddle. We’re Peverells way back, both of us. I’m from Ignotus’s line, you’re from Cadmus’s. There’s nobody from Antioch’s line, obviously as he died without… children.”

“What?” said Delphini, frowning and looking quite like her mother suddenly. “Peverells? He said I was his lordship’s heir!”

Harry dropped his arms and drew his wand and cast an old charm. Glowing words in fire appeared.

‘I am Lord Voldemort’ Harry waved his wand and the letters rearranged into

‘Tom Marvolo Riddle.’ Delphini was visibly confused.

“Your grandmother was the last Gaunt – Merope, she ran off with Tom Riddle, the squire’s son. Died giving birth to your father on his birthday – December thirty-first. She was cruelly ripped off by Borgin and Burkes, all she had was the family locket to sell – she shouldn't have, but she was penniless once Tom Riddle fled.” Harry sighed “Your gran used amortentia on your grandfather. It’s technically muggle baiting, your dad grew up in an orphanage… and we both know that’s no life at all.”

“My… father was a half-blood?” said Delphini. “He can’t be.”

“He was,” said Harry, feeling tired. “It’s a long time ago, and you’re too young to let that stuff rule your life.”

Delphini’s hair tips went red.

“Oh,” said Harry “You’ve got a little of the family magic in you. Good. Ted’s got it all… shame you missed out on being able to make pig-noses and stuff, it’s a family tradition.”

Professor McGonagall glared at Harry. Harry realised she’d had Tonks as a student. That must have been wild. He glanced over at Srpout, who was looking ashen. Harry didn’t know why. So she was the darkest witch to graduate Hogwarts’s child, and a dark Lord. She wasn’t a bad kid, clearly.

“Hmm... any moment now?” said Harry.

Someone banged on the door.

“My children, and Scorpius Malfoy,” said Harry “Delphini’s real family.”

Professor Sprout gave Harry a glare, and opened the anteroom door. Al had his hand up, waiting to bang again.

“What’s going on?” asked Al. “Why are you talking to Diggory?”

“Why am I here!” complained Scorpius Malfoy. “My father will hear of this!”

“Shut your face Malfoy,” snapped James.

“Get in here all of you. Family meeting,” said Harry “Professors? May I have some privacy?”

The Professors shook their heads in unison, and Professor Sprout even had her wand out.

Harry shut the door.

“Right. The short version. Delphini Diggory’s not a Diggory. She’s family. And your cousin, Scorpius. Delphini’s … well she’s a cousin of mine, heir to an old family. The LeStrange’s.”

“So you’re Delphini LeStrange,” asked Scorpius, bowing.

“Scorpius she’s not a LeStrange. A… born out of wedlock,” said Harry “To my cousin. Not cousin Dudley, thank god.”

Harry looked over at Delphini and she looked surprised.

“So the Diggory’s have been um… fostering her,” said Harry “And I just found out from my lawyer about her, so I came straight to Hogwarts to see her, and you lot.”

“He just told me I’m rich,” said Delphini.

“What’s your middle name then?” asked Scorpius.

“Druella, after my grandmother,” said Delphini “My Other grandmother…. I don’t know about anyone ever mentioning her.

Harry shrugged “It’s up to you, they're your family, your secrets, not mine to tell.”

“His are in the daily prophet,” said James snidely. “We haven’t read about a new girlfriend? Changed yet dad?”

“No,” said Harry. “I’m going to visit the Malfoys – see who knew what, as Mrs Malfoy – your gran knew about Delphini and left her with a – “

“Mrs Rowle,” said Delphini coldly. “There was porridge, I had one robe. There was one book.”

Scorpius Malfoy stood up and puffed out his pigeon chest “I’m going write grandmother a strongly worded letter!” he said. James looked sideways at him.

“Um hi,” said Al. “I’m Al – you won a strange name too. Do you want to be called Del?”

“My name,” said Delphini primly. “Means Dolphin.”

“Uh,” grunted Al “Do you swim?”

“Um,” said Delphini. That sounded like a no to Harry.

“We’ve got a pool, Father will arrange tutors,” said Scorpius “Well… auntie will… Fathers’ not well.”

“Malfoy’s old man’s a drunk” said James.

“James,” said Harry. “I’m sorry Scorpius, I didn’t realise how badly your mothers' death affected your father.”

Scorpius Malfoy looked up at Harry, his big eyes brimming with tears, looking like a grey-eyed kitten. “My mother meant everything to father. He worshipped the ground she walked on.” He did, thought Harry, have dark eyelashes. He mentally gave Rose worse than fifty-fifty odds.

“Right,” said Harry, blinking to break the Malfoy mind control beam. “You’re cousins, and Delphini’s probably staying … somewhere. Scorpius will know soonest what’s going on at Malfoy Manor – it’s the roomiest, and there’s a pool. Though… we have got a spare room, and spare houses… not particularly livable but we do have a place in London if a townhouse would be of interest to a young witch finished Hogwarts?”

“She gets to stay at Grimmauld?” asked James indignantly.

“She’s a Black. That’ll help with some of the curses on the things there,” said Harry. “Teddy’s um… I’m probably going to suggest he can have rooms there… to um….”

“Teddy’s with Victiore Weasley,” said Al. “They’re shagging, and Vic’s part Veela, so Teddy’s got his hands full.”

“Thank you for that Al,” said Harry tightly. “Vic and Al are a couple. Andromeda – your Aunt Andromeda – that’s you Scorpius, and you Delphini,” Delphini looked surprised to be lumped in a group. “Andromeda was cast out of the family for marrying Grandpa Ted. Delphini’s gran had the same thing happen to her.”

“Oh,” said James. “Sorry, that pureblood shit’s toxic.”

Delphini blinked repeatedly and looked about in confusion.

“It’s called a family,” said Professor McGonagall. “The unconditional acceptance bit’s the defining characteristic.”

James pointed at Scorpius, “We are not cousins with him.”

“Delphini is your cousin, and his. You’re cousins with him – and you can’t discount my being the nominated head of the Black family. Oh… yeah. I should tell you all that Mister Edward Remus Lupin inherits the Black family. So there's actually one cousin for each of the Black sisters... weird isn't it,” said Harry.

“Teddy’s the head of the Ancient and most noble house of Black?” asked Scorpius.

“When I die,” said Harry “I’ll hand it over if he wants it once he’s, I dunno, Scorpius, what age does that sort of pureblood wankery usually happen?” Harry ignored the sound of McGonagall inhaling.

“Um,” said Scorpius. “Um… Father took over once Grandfather was incarcerated.”

“Well I’ll try not to do that,” said Harry. “But it’s in the will anyway – oh and our lawyers are Viridian.”

“Auntie Daphne?” asked Scorpius. “ Auntie Daphne’s your lawyer? You keep away from my aunt… you… womaniser!” Harry looked at Scopious, trying to look threatening. He looked like a fluffier young Draco, so he really was quite kitten-like.

“Well you’ve been told,” said Professor McGonagall drily.

“I assure you that my relationship with your … auntie is strictly professional,” said Harry.

Scorpius's ruffled feathers settled. Harry briefly imagined dropping another bag of gems on Daphne Greengrass’s desk and keeping a lawyer on a leash instead of a retainer, and had to hastily imagine Umbridge naked to prevent his mind wandering. His stomach roiled.

“Right I’m off to see the Malfoy, then Delphini’s aunt Andromeda. Tell Teddy.”

“And Mr Lupin was not called because?”

“He’s a cousin, but I want to talk to Andromeda first before I talk to Teddy,” said Harry.

“In case she hexes you,” said Al. Harry glared at the disappointment briefly.

“This Hogsmeade weekend,” said James. “Bring Lily and … Aunt Andromeda,” he added in posh tones.

“Are you making fun of me,” blustered Scorpius.

“The mirror does that,” said James.

“Right I’m done. .. shoo,” said Harry. “And Delphini – anything at all, write. If It’s urgent can you send a patronus?”

She shook her head.

“James – teach Delphini a Patronus and make sure she can make it talk. It will pose no problem, she’s got scads of power.”

“Scads?” asked Al. “You don’t know her.”

“Her mum and dad were powerful sorcerers. Her dad was absolutely amazing. Terrifying, but amazing,” said Harry and he winked to Delphini, who smiled weakly, confused.

Harry left, to be grabbed by Professor McGonagall just outside the doors of the castle.

“And you seek to add Delphini Riddle to your family’s penchant for destruction? I have a school to run.”

Harry whispered, “Worst case, she’s being groomed to do something stupid to try to bring Back Tom Riddle. I suspect something fatal to her, as she’s been fed lies and kept in the dark. Takes one to know one,” he added.

“There is no way she could – ” said Professor McGonagall, “Is there?”

“Short of history being different – no,” said Harry. “And the Unspeakables claim it’s not possible to make large scale changes in time. Though, Hermione found a reference to someone travelling centuries and dying, so I know they’re lying. And they have a room to study time in the Department of Mysteries… so that’s my working assumption. My plan, if you missed it… is family. And pulling the people behind it into the light… and then sending them to Azkaban.”

“You’re actually quite good at being the head of the DMLE,” said Professor McGonagall.

“And you sound shocked” said Harry sarcastically.

--==0==--

Harry got out the front gate, and apparated to the gates of Malfoy Manor. It was time to express his displeasure.

The manor was partly obscured by fog. A peacock cried out.

Harry banged on the gate, and after a short wait, the gate swing open. Harry walked up the gravel drive, and got to the front doors under a wide marble porch – big enough for coaches, he supposed.

Harry thumped the door knocker, which was in the shape of a bloody peacock.

The door opened much later, to reveal Mrs Malfoy, in a white shawl over off-grey robes and Harry noticed, slippers. Harry hadn’t seen her in years; she looked gaunt and stared at him listlessly, then blinked “You robbed me,” she said, Harry was tempted to call for a check for the imperious curse.

“My lawyer got the dowries returned for both Black sisters,” said Harry politely. “For acting against the will of the head of the family – Sirius, then I. Bellatrix was the one that killed him – blasted him through the veil of death.”

Mrs Malfoy was either a fabulous actor, or surprised, “What?” she said. “Bellatrix never mentioned that!”

“I was there, rather conveniently, as his heir,” said Harry. “Ruined my life, I’m just spreading it around.”

Mrs Malfoy summoned up a remnant of the old Malfoy glare at Harry. “It wasn’t my fault. I defended you against the dark lord. In Person!”

“And that’s why you’re under house arrest, and Lucius did fifteen years in Azkaban,” said Harry “How is Lucy?” he asked rudely.

“He isn’t well,” said Mrs Malfoy hollowly, “You should not see him. He would not cope.”

“And you didn’t feel like telling me about Bellatrix’s bastard?” asked Harry.

Mrs Malfoy froze like a startled deer.

“So you knew,” said Harry. “Great.”

“I left her with a wet-nurse, made sure she had sufficient funds” said Mrs Malfoy.

“One thing” said Harry, rage boiling in his blood “One thing really gets my blood up – and that’s poor treatment of children. She is your NIECE!” Mrs Malfoy recoiled at Harry last shouted word.

“Lucius took care of it – Roddy was dead, it’s the husbands job to care for bastards” lied Mrs Malfoy pretty transparently.

“Right,” said Harry, walking past her into the hall. “SHOP!” he called out, “DRACO MALFOY!”

Malfoy came out of an archway moments later, he’d likely been hiding where he could observe.

Harry pushed Draco Malfoy against the wall and seized his skinny pale neck “You little prick,” said Harry. “You let your mother and father cook up a scheme, another stupid resurrect Voldemort scheme!”
“What?” asked Malfoy.

Harry explained, holding Malfoy gasping the wall by his throat.

“I didn’t know” said Malfoy… and Harry suspected he was telling the truth. Again.

“Is she all right?” asked Malfoy.

“I talked to her, told her about her family. And got my kids – her cousins, and your boy, also her cousin. I have to talk to Andromeda yet, they’re going to introduce Delphini to Teddy later. Knowing Al – they probably have done that by now.

“You’re her cousin?”

“On her fathers side.” said Harry.

“Who?” asked Draco Malfoy, and he really sounded as clueless as in second year, when he didn’t know who was the heir of Slytherin.

Harry let Malfoy go, and adjusted his robes.

“You know who,” said Harry “Ten-to-one odds on human sacrifice, girl with a head full of lies.”

“And the rest?” asked Draco Malfoy.

“Long range time travel. Which is supposed to be impossible, but the ministry missed some references in the books on time at Hogwarts.” said Harry.

“You know … anything?” asked Malfoy, sounding honestly surprised. And being a rude dick.

“Long range time travel is possible but return is often fatal,” said Harry. “The Unspeakables study time but claim long range travel is impossible. I suspect they police it. Or at least detect it, and tell the head of DMLE under some secrecy constraints.”

“And you know that … why?” asked Draco.

“Educated guesses,” said Harry. “Delphini needs somewhere to live that’s not memory charmed ‘aunts and uncles’. You’ve got the rooms but a nasty case of, I know your mum put her in a shit place with a wet nurse and never told you, and I suspect from some things the girls let slip that your father heard of this years ago. And you may have overheard your mother mentioning that your father was taking care of things.

“Fuck,” said Malfoy. “That fucking idiot.”

“Yes, that one” said Harry. “Did you realise the basilisk he let out in second year might have killed you?”

“HWHAT!” screeched Mrs Malfoy, swooping across the front hall like demented white bat. “HE DID WHAT!”

“Second year. Lucius gave a young pureblood witch a cursed diary that possessed her, it had a chunk of your lord Voldemort in it, and made her let out the Basilisk from the chamber of secrets. By luck… and I suspect hard work by the little girl, it didn’t actually kill anyone. I killed the basilisk, and along the way Lucius freed a house elf. He took the book back with a sock in it – threw the sock to Dobby.”

“Are you saying,” said Narcissa Malfoy, suddenly looking quite clear-eyed and utterly enraged – her nostrils were flaring in and out, Harry gazed in amazement. “That Lucius endangered my SON’S LIFE?”

“Well yes,” said Harry with a nod. “That.”

“Could you please leave, Director Potter” said Mrs Malfoy coldly “I believe we’re about to have a domestic incident, and I wouldn’t want you to perjure yourself.”

“Mother!” exclaimed Draco.

“I nearly died having you, and he risked your life for that… charlatan!” said Narcissa, her head quivering with rage.

“You could just divorce him, and give testimony to say… a plan to use Bellatrix’s daughter to I don’t know…. Resurrect Voldemort?” said Harry.

“You are the most terrifying head of the DMLE ever,” said Draco honestly.

Harry nodded, “Sorry about the neck… I thought you were with Lucius.”

“I don’t speak to him,” said Draco. “He derides my wife.” Harry looked at Draco, who, well he was killing himself with grief, and tried to imagine what an arse you’d have to be to deride his dead wife. Apart from her shitty taste in husbands.

Harry got to the doors and without turning said, “Now… divorce and testimony is recommended… but I certainly didn't hear anyone mention a premeditated domestic accident.”

--==0==--

The Daily prophet featured a picture of Lucius Malfoy, his head in bandages, his neck in a splint, the banner caption “Lucius Malfoy – unreformed Death Eater.”

Harry put his feet up on his desk. Life, he mused, had its good points.

Chapter Text

Harry Potter ate breakfast, watching Hermione distractedly eating toast while reading a report with one hand. He eyed her tea-cup, and hit it with a warming charm. She turned the page, intent on the report.

“Hermione?” asked Harry.

“Mmm?” she said, still reading.

“I um. Sort of got another niece. Daughter… ish,” said Harry.

She looked up at him, and frowned “Don’t be ridiculous.” she said. “Nobody could be both. And you certainly didn’t have another child I didn’t know about, did you?” she said, and the silence filled the room. Loaded, magically charged silence. Vine wand flavoured silence.

Harry wished the wizarding wireless was on.

“Um,” said Harry. “My lawyer was checking out what assets I’ve got.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him at this point. “Yes,” she said coldly, “I did notice.”

“So, she found there was a LeStrange heir,” said Harry. Hermione blinked slowly twice.

“And well, the goblins nearly banned her from access to the LeStrange vault for being somehow blood-related to me.” Harry thought about that for a little bit. “Becuase Voldemort’s body, the one he died in, that one he used my blood to make,” he said “That’s my working theory anyway.”

“Where is the report?” asked Hermione in a ‘Minister of magic’ sort of tone.

“Look, I’m just telling you, so I met Delphini – she’s seventeen I think, at Hogwarts. I’ve got the kids and Malfoy’s spawn taking care of her. All her cousins. From what I found out, she was raised by a nanny, and Lucius Malfoy was paying, and of course dear Lucy got out didn’t he, and went to see the girl, and has been telling her bullshit. Anyway, she’s probably going to be at Malfoy Manor – they’ve got more rooms, and a pool, and Draco’s obviously furious with his parents. Even though Narcissa knew, she did nothing ‘bastards are the husbands problem’, god. What a cow, Anyway, Scorpius has taken to having a big sister like a kitten to wool, and wrote his grandmother a strongly worded letter. James and Al are being pretty good about it, and Lily’s stoked, obviously.”

“An official report, from the head of the DMLE, Harry,” said Hermione “She represents a threat to the safety of magical Britain.”

“She’s just a kid,” said Harry. “Orphan, brought up by people who hated her, told a bunch of lies. She just needs family.”

“Harry. That is exactly how you killed Voldemort,” said Hermione, no longer reading the report or eating. Glaring at him instead.

“I expect a proper report on my desk by noon. We’ll send a squad to take her into protective custody, of course.”

“We what?” said Harry. “Protective custody? Where?”

“Azkaban, of course,” said Hermione “If she’s his daughter, she’ll be powerful enough to wreak havoc, and the remaining Death Eaters will rally around her. We’ll have a third war, Harry. A third blood war, and you’re casually joking about having another daughter!”

“She’s not a bad kid,” said Harry, feeling a little like his skin didn’t fit, like his skeleton was too tall for his body.

Harry resorted to going to see his lawyer first thing. He had a horrible feeling he needed legal advice.

The outer door to his lawyer’s office was locked, so he banged on it. For a bit. Till someone answered, you know.

There was a loud crack behind the door as if someone had apparated.

The door opened on a chain, and Daphne Greengrass peered out at him, her hair up in a bun, in a short brown coat. And possibly trousers and boots. He ignored that.

“I need legal advice,” he said. “The minister wants… I’m not all comfortable. She wants to put Delphini in ‘protective custody.’”

The door closed, and reopened without the chain.

“Come in then.” she said, quietly, and led off to her office. She was wearing weirdly tight cream trousers and boots under a short, tightly fitted black coat, and Harry really wondered what on earth that was about. And wanted a photo, but he had priorities. She sat down at her desk, and pointed to the door. Harry closed it and put the privacy bar across.

“Tell me what’s going on,” she said, taking up a quill.

Harry explained about getting the kids to take Delphini on as a cousin, and the weird way Hermione had over-reacted. Greengrass took notes.

“She wants to … put a seventeen-year-old girl in Azkaban, because of her parents?” asked Greengrass. “Has she been taking jurisprudence lessons from the Fudge years?”

“Lucius knows what’s going on” said Harry. “I’d like to pull him in and fill him with veritaserum. But Hermione wants a report by lunchtime and a squad of Aurors to go get Delphini.”

“It could be worse. She could take a Dementor,” said Greengrass sarcastically. “You have a direct order you don’t want to obey, and need a search warrant for Lucius. I suggest you… fill in the paperwork yourself.”

“You’re here to help me,” said Harry, “Not tell me to get stuffed.” She had a soft white scarf round her neck tucked into her jacket. He really had no idea why she wasn’t wearing her grey outfit.

“Why are you dressed like that?” asked Harry.

“I was riding my horse, obviously,” said Greengrass, “Having read your handwriting for months, if you were to fill in the paperwork for organising a squad, it could be stuck being sent back for explanation for a while. During which time you could explain to the Minister how you need to interrogate Lucius Malfoy, because he’s…”

“He’s the ringleader, in this case,” said Harry. “Fairly sure.”

“Would she sign a warrant like that?”

“Yesterday, I thought she wouldn’t order a kid into Azkaban,” said Harry, “I have no fucking idea.”

“Potter, this may be hard to imagine, but nobody alive could fight him except you. People assume his daughter would be as dangerous.”

Harry snorted, “Not a chance. Tom spent sixty years learning magic. At seventeen, he was a creepy one-trick pony. I fought a sixteen-year old copy of him… he was truly evil, but I won. I was only twelve. He was evil and dumb.”

“How was there a copy of him, how could that work?”

“All that is state secrets,” said Harry bluntly, “And your advice is use messy handwriting?”

“And complain about Lucius. Hell, blame him for the paperwork delays perhaps. Use her fear for good.” said Greengrass.

“You are very cynical person,” said Harry.

“Lawyer,” said Greengrass. “Are we done? I’ve got a horse to curry, and then I need a shower.” She sniffed her coat and grimaced.

“You’re… going to eat a horse?”

“Curry, as in brush down,” said Greengrass, “God! I love my horse. I wouldn’t eat her.”

“Why do you need a shower?” asked Harry.

“Because I had a ride after breakfast.” said Greengrass. “As one does.” she added. “When one has a lack of male companionship.” she added more suggestively.

Harry fled, and she called out “We’ll invoice you!” as the door closed behind him.

Her plan, fortunately, worked. Lucius was interrogated at Azkaban, and the notes Harry took were so dangerous Harry hand-carried them to Hermione’s office, and barged in recklessly before lunch.

“We can’t go to Hogwarts today,” he announced. Hermione looked up from her desk, frowning “Why not?” she asked.

“Because I need everyone for a raid on Nott Hall, that’s where the time-travel device is being held” said Harry.

Hermione’s mouth dropped open.

“Before you ask, longer duration than a time-turner. Years. They’ve worked out a way to change the past, in some way so that I lose. Yes, that’s not how time-turners work.” Harry stopped and waited.

“How? You?” she asked.

“Head of DMLE, literally my job,” said Harry. “I would also say, as a reminder that taking Aurors or even Dementors to arrest a teenage girl for having parents we didn’t like is … it makes us worse than them. Makes the whole sodding war pointless if we’re going to be like that.”

Hermione, logical, sensible, sometimes pyromaniac Hermione, burst into tears at this point. Harry left rather than deal with a crying woman. But at least he’d prevented the Ministry from doing something awful, so there was that.

--==0==--

Harry was asleep in bed, significantly alone, when a Silvery Tabby cat woke him up.

“Harry Potter. You are needed urgently at Hogwarts. Use the Hogwarts infirmary floo address” said the cat in Minerva McGonagall’s voice, over and over. Harry batted at the glowing cat and it stopped talking, licked one paw and vanished.

Panic accelerated Harry’s pulse. He imagined where his good boots were, his trousers from yesterday would do... any shirt from the wardrobe, His hand found his glasses, he pushed them on, and slid out of bed. He glared at his wand, and it started glowing, enough to see by.

Harry dressed quickly and silently, pulled on his old Auror boots, clipped them shut, and headed downstairs. His children’s portraits on the wall shone in the half moon-light.

At least it couldn’t be werewolf related, he thought. He grabbed a cloak from the pegs by the door, and went to the front room. A jab from his wand lit the fireplace, and he gathered up a pinch of floo powder. He entered the green flames called out “Hogwarts infirmary” and tumbled uncontrollably every which way for a minute, finally being ejected onto a stone floor. The thick cloak’s padding saved him from serious injury, and he stood up, next to a wall with a desk. Madam Pomfrey’s office, he assumed, as there was a view out into the infirmary, lit by several glowing orbs on chains.

Harry inhaled – the disinfectant smell was so familiar, and he was instantly in a worse mood. Fear and Loathing.

He walked into the infirmary ward, his old Auror issue boots scrunching on the flagstones.

“Ah, Mr Potter,” said Madam Pomfrey, she’d turned her head, she was bent over a small figure in a bed, “ask Minerva.”

Over by a pair of beds, Professor McGonagall stood, in her distinctive night-hat and bathrobe. Harry peered in the dim light, ‘was she wearing fluffy slippers?’ he wondered.

He walked over.

“Mister Potter,” said Professor McGonagall, “It’s Albus. Well, Albus and Scorpius.” she gestured to two beds with boys in them. “They were found in dorms, frothing at the mouth and having fits.”

“Poison,” said Harry.

“Well unless they both had taken Billywig venom – Albus has inherited your intolerance of it.” said Professor McGonagall.

Harry considered, for a second that Al and that boy had been taking illegal drugs. And discarded it – Al could not be that stupid.

“So,” said Harry, “I take it they’re stable.”

“Poppy would be fussing over them, but Miss Meeks has come down with a nasty case of vanishing sickness. Her parents saw fit to send her to Hogwarts unvaccinated,” said Professor McGonagall, looking like she was in actual pain from the thought, “That’s going to be a very annoying conversation.”

Harry sighed, “So Al is okay?” he asked.

“He’s in a coma, Potter. Poppy will of course save him, but no, he is not ‘okay,’” said Professor McGonagall, and Harry found himself leaping to the bed with the non-blond boy in it, bending down and listening to his breath, Al’s nose tickling his ear. Al was breathing. A little raggedly, but breathing.

“Potter, I did say they were going to live,” said Professor McGonagall, “There’s no need to panic.”

Harry unbent a little, resting one hand on the metal bead-head and stared at Al. He was very pale, with purple marks on his neck like his veins had gone wrong. Harry wondered, groggily, who would poison his boy. And when he found them, he’d boil their blood in their veins. And then get properly nasty.

A voice rang out – nearly deafening Harry “WHERE IS MY NEPHEW!” Harry winced in pain– he suspected he’d just cracked a tooth. He turned, and silhouetted in the door to Madam Pomfrey’s office was a Valkyrie with a halo of white-blonde hair.

“I really wish Filius wouldn’t teach them to voice-project,” said Professor McGonagall tiredly. “Miss Greengrass, over here. If you’d keep your voice down, I believe some of the other students in the castle are still asleep.”

Daphne Greengrass, (apparently) dashed closer making an odd soft thudding noise, and then she got closer in the dim light, Harry saw that she wasn’t dressed as a Valkyrie. She was in a lime green terry-towelling dressing gown hastily pulled on over a yellowy-white nightgown, and she was wearing.... yellow wellies. Harry tried not to snort. Greengrass’s hair was actually a dishevelled mess, and her face was far more human-looking than Harry had ever seen, but her eyes were fixed on the little blond boy on the bed next to him. She got to the boy and bent over, stroking Scorpius's cheek. Harry still felt the kid looked a bit ferrety.

“What’s going on?” she asked, not taking her eyes off Scorpius.

“These two are in a coma. They’ll live, but Poppy’s a little busy keeping Miss Meeks from vanishing. When she’s stable, doubtless Poppy will come and explain, quietly, what is going on. Poisoning is suspected, unless the boy has an intolerance to something, for example,” Professor McGonagall paused, her accent as sharp as a buzz-saw, “Billywig venom. They were found fitting and foaming at the mouth in bed in dorms,” Professor McGonagall paused and referred to her wristwatch, “Approximately two hours ago.”

“Whoever did this is doing to pay,” said Daphne Greengrass, and Harry couldn’t help noticing that she had lines around her eyes, and were those freckles? Daphne Greengrass had freckles… Huh.

“Well I’m sure the head of the DMLE will make their names available to a lawyer,” said Professor McGonagall tiredly.

“You misunderstand me,” said Daphne Greengrass, standing up and inhaling. Harry accidentally caught a glimpse of a very bust-shaped pair of nice bulges in the night-gown, and he tried not to stare – the cool night air had made one nipple quite pointy. Harry looked at Professor McGonagall instead.

“His grandmother will want vengeance on the perpetrator, then to throw them into Azkaban,” said Daphne Greengrass, rearranging her deranged dressing-gown.

“Well, I’m sure the head of the DMLE can do that without, perhaps, assaulting them first,” said Professor McGonagall.

“Don’t bet on it,” said Harry slowly, his skin itching, feeling like the room was crushing him and everything needed to be exploded.

“And, I have to ask,” said Professor McGonagall, “Am I about to have a surprise visit by Ms Weasley and the press?”

“I didn’t tell her,” said Harry.

“Well, given her predilections, I’ll put some tea on,” said Professor McGonagall. “But still, ten points to Gryffindor.”

“That’s totally unfair!” said Daphne Greengrass, crossing her arms over her chest. “He’s not even a student any more! That’s blatant pro-Gryffindor bias.”

“Ten points from Slytherin for that dreadful racket, Miss Greengrass,” said Professor McGonagall, and she smiled a tiny smile, “I have discovered an exciting loophole in the school rules, helpful for dealing with parents, and obviously, aunts who have to act as parents due to their sister’s poor choices in husbands.”

“You’re a bitter spiteful old woman,” said Daphne Greengrass.

“Lucius Malfoy literally endangered every person at Hogwarts in your second year, Miss Greengrass, Draco did the same in your sixth year, as an actual Death Eater. At that time, Potter was almost our only hope,” said Professor McGonagall.

“That’s nineteen years ago!” said Daphne Greengrass indignantly.

“Yet, here we are, with Potter asking politely, and quietly, whereas you instead demonstrated your ability to break windows. Should we need a Banshee cowed, you will be my first choice,” said Professor McGonagall. “Oddly, I find being woken in the middle of the night to send parents an emergency message rather stressful. Control yourself, young lady.”

“I’m not the adulterer,” said Daphne Greengrass. Harry glared at his lawyer.

“Yes he is quite flawed,” said Professor McGonagall, “Whereas you’re a spinster with control issues.”

“I’m actually divorced,” said Daphne Greengrass, and Harry tried not to react. Greengrass had … married someone? She never mentioned that. And it annoyed him. The secret keeping, obviously.

“Oh,” said Professor McGonagall, “I suppose you can learn from your mistakes.”

Daphne Greengrass sighed, “I was seventeen, there was a war on, and my boyfriend was a chaser with the Alsace Angels.”

“Oh, the French boy,” said Professor McGonagall, “I take it you were with him at Beauxbatons.”

“After we fled the country in ninety-six, yes,” said Daphne Greengrass.

Harry tried to remember Greengrass in sixth year, and realized he hadn’t seen her. She’d been in potions and Defence against the Dark arts with him in fifth year – because Slytherin, then he had, he hadn’t seen her after OWLs, he realised. Not after that Charms practical.

Daphne Greengrass turned her head slightly to catch his eyes, “Yes Potter, my family all fled to France once I had OWLs, and I did sixth and seventh year at Beauxbatons. There were decidedly less monsters and dark lords, and I had Jean-Claude,” she paused, “I met him in fourth year, we danced the Yule ball.”

“And divorced him,” said Professor McGonagall, “I could make a snide observation about people that marry straight out of school.”

Harry glanced away from Al to look at McGonagall, she had a thin smile on her face.

“Jean-Claude liked the whole ‘wives and girlfriends’ thing,” said Daphne Greengrass “Liked having both, in fact.”

“Oh I’m sorry,” said Professor McGonagall, “And you came back to Britain, in time to look after the boy.”

“In time to watch my sister dying, actually,” said Daphne Greengrass bitterly. “But at least there was our family law firm to rescue from bankruptcy, so there was that.”

“Your father was… not a determined man,” said Professor McGonagall. “Very in love with your mother, and they did also marry straight out of Hogwarts.”

“Mother said, repeatedly,” said Daphne Greengrass, sounding rather irritated.

“How is Erzabet?” asked Professor McGonagall.

“Dead, experimental potions accident in ninety-seven,” said Daphne Greengrass.

“And your father?” asked McGonagall, croakily.

“Killed in a skirmish with the Order of the Phoenix. He was a very low-level Death Eater because grandfather told him to be one,” said Daphne Greengrass, “Grandfather died choking on a peacock bone one Christmas, and I suddenly had a law firm to run.”

“Hang on,” said Harry, “your family fled to France, and your father became a Death Eater.”

“Grandfather called and father came running,” said Greengrass, “Mummy was convinced that if she was … let’s just say the potion that killed her was a beauty treatment.”

Harry swallowed awkwardly. Sheesh. Her family were mental. Well, and all dead.

Madam Pomfrey did, as promised, get around to properly treating the boys, and they would apparently wake in the morning, possibly well enough to leave. Harry’s finely tuned sense for Madam Pomfrey’s mood told him that was a lie. They’d spend at least a day in bed. But they weren’t going to die, and that was the important thing.

Harry checked his watch; the same battered one Mrs Weasley had given him all those years ago. It was nearly two, and he had work starting at eight. He sighed, today was going to be awful.

“Potter?” asked Greengrass “are you going to drag yourself to work today?”

“Um,” said Harry, hesitating.

“You could send a letter to the office, and nap here, waiting for your son to wake. Oh, but this is the one you dislike, isn’t it?” asked Greengrass pointedly.

Harry gave her a half-hearted glare – how dare his lawyer give him advice, after all, and he proceeded over to Madam Pomfrey, and basically repeated what Greengrass had said.

“I can send a medical certificate, if your employer requires one” said Madam Pomfrey. Harry had to stop and think about that, and realized, with some dismay, that Madam Pomfrey was being sarcastic.

But he did take the clipboard and scrawl out a letter to Steven, telling him that Harry had a family emergency, child near death, and would only be reachable by Patronus and in person, at Hogwarts Infirmary.

Madam Pomfrey took the clipboard, nodded minutely at his letter, and left the room; her office floo flared green.

“You staying as well?” asked Harry. Greengrass lifted one eyebrow sarcastically.

“I’m only the mere next of kin,” said Greengrass, “And I believe Scorpious’s adoptive cousin is on site…”

“You can’t,” said Harry. “Its… He’s Malfoy’s boy.”

“Well, I will try to rouse Draco later,” said Greengrass, and she sounded unconvincing.

“The boy’s practically yours. Kip out and see him wake up okay,” said Harry.

Greengrass shook her head “Unfortunately, I am self-employed, so I must open the shop.”

“You could put up a sign” said Harry.

“At three in the morning, in my nightgown?”

“I… I could go stick a sign up,” said Harry. “Al’s not waking in the next hour.”

Greengrass went to see Madam Pomfrey, hung about at the door till the floo flared green, and then lingered in her privacy charmed office for some time. A sign, probably transfigured from parchment floated over to Harry, and the fireplace flared green. The sign read ‘Closed for family emergency. Please Owl.’

Harry carried the sign back, and Madam Pomfrey was writing in a ledger.

She covered the ledger when he walked into her office.

“Yes?”

“I … I’m going to put Greengrass’s sign up” said Harry.

“Going how?”

“I could... floo home, apparate to Diagon, apparate home and floo back?” asked Harry.

“Bring yourself a wash-bag, and you won’t get food.” Madam Pomfrey paused “Hogwarts is not made of money.”

Harry made a mental note to bring a bag, rearranged his cloak, and flooed home.

He landed badly, but the padded cloak helped.

Going to put the sign up was easy enough; Diagon Alley was dead as a grave at half past two. Faint strains of music came from the direction of Knockturn Alley.

Harry used a sticking charm, and apparated directly home. He took a bag he’d used often enough for day trips, and jammed in a towel, his razor, soap, flannel and clean pants and socks. The bare minimum; and he apparated into the kitchen and jammed the heel of bread from the bread bin back into it’s paper bag, and looked in the fridge. There wasn’t that much cheese left, so that went in with the bread; On the window-sill, the stainless steel tea-thermos Hermione had given them years ago glinted.

Tea included, he flooed back to Hogwarts, and Madam Pomfrey, drinking tea, led him to the bed next to Al, and Harry lay down, dreading a long night waiting for Al to wake. Except he fell asleep, to dream of Skele-Grow instead. He woke up as the sun rose. In the bed next to him Al slept, looking fine. But the orb lights hanging from the ceiling brightened as he moved, and Al stopped looking so well; that vein-swelling was still there, if not as black and deadly looking.

Harry nicked off to the Infirmary bathroom before anyone woke up. It was just situational awareness to look over at a sleeping Daphne Greengrass; she’d changed into a sensible warm dress and ribbed Jersey. Asleep, she looked less prickly. Harry felt his step hesitating, and he hastened to the bathroom before he got caught staring at his lawyer in her sleep.

Chapter Text

After going to the bathroom for a shave, Harry walked as quietly as he could in Auror-issue boots back to Al’s bed and watched his son some more, and felt the urge to yawn. He checked the time – it was still very early, and he dossed down on ‘his’ bed. Something occurred to Harry, and he checked behind the pillow, on the headboard. A little blue oval plaque read ‘Harry Potter’s official Hogwarts Infirmary Bed.’

He felt his mouth dropping open. He hadn’t thought about it. He’d just… gone to the right bed.

He went back to sleep, confident that he was going to get no rest today, so he might as well.

Harry dozed, and while ribbed jumpers outlining pleasant bulges featured, but he woke every time a trolley-wheel squeaked, looking around and only seeing a flicker of a house-elf cleaning.

‘You just have to wait,’ he reminded himself, and using skills he’d honed as an Auror, went back to sleep; you slept when you could. And he felt quite prepared; he even had his lawyer handy.

Harry woke up with a start, and instantly knew he was in the Hogwarts infirmary. Nothing else smelled like it, although he’d never been woken by being poked with a stick there before.

He opened his eyes, to see a small blurry gaggle of familiar-looking children eyeing him. He squinted and groped for his glasses simultaneously.

“Dad,” said James, who was closest. Hmm, so a finger then.

Delphini was hanging back, as the tallest and oldest.

Lily was a few beds away, perched on the edge of Al’s bed, staring at Al.

Harry sat up, and fruitlessly smoothed his hair.

“Right,” he said. “You’re all here. Al and Scorpius were poisoned. Madam Pomfrey’s got them stable, and I suspect they won’t be out of bed today. Scorpius’s aunt Daphne came to see him, as she’s basically the parent there.”

“I got that impression from her letters,” said Delphini, still hanging back. “When will you know more?”

Harry got out of the bed and stretched. “Probably once Madam Pomfrey’s done some tests.” he said. “Oh, and all of you, do keep away from the other patients, one may be infectious.” He paused to think about that “Delphini? Did you get vaccinations?”

“Vaccinations?” she asked. “Whatever for?”

“Oh crap,” said Harry, and he grimaced. “Madam Pomfrey!” he called out.

Madam Pomfrey came out of her office looking very tired.

“Yes, Potter – senior?” she said.

“Vaccinations for vanishing sickness?” he asked. “Can you check if someone’s had them?”

“Whom?”

“Delphini,” said Harry.

Madam Pomfrey gave him a very tired look, and drawing her wand, walked over to Delphini.

“Hold out your arm dear,” she said, and Delphini rolled her sleeve up.

A charm cast on her bare arm, and Madam Pomfrey groaned. “No,” she said. “This is a problem.”

“What about other childhood diseases?” asked Lily. “Like Dragonpox and stuff.”

“For Merlins sake,” muttered Madam Pomfrey, “Dig – Delphini, I’m going to need to give you some antiviral potions, and vaccines. There will be some discomfort and swelling at the injection site.”

“Lily?” asked Harry, “How did you get here?”

“Well, you weren’t home, and James sent a talking patronus, so I took the floo,” said Lily.

“You’re eleven,” said Harry.

“Yes, but I can make toast for myself,” said Lily. “It was that or go visit grandma, and didn’t fancy having to muck out the chicken coop.”

“Ew,” said Delphini, grimacing.

“Oh, gran’s cross that mum and dad divorced, but thankfully mum’s snogging Fernando Garcias so she can’t pretend dad’s totally awful,” said Lily bluntly. “And given the number of grandkids gran’s got, there’s never that much poop in the coop. But instead; Hogwarts.”

“I would like to say I was surprised to see your daughter coming out of my floo,” said Madam Pomfrey “But she is your daughter, and Miss Weasleys’, so I am merely pleased she has not made a mess.”

“Thanks Pops,” said Lily casually. Madam Pomfrey glowered at Lily.

“Young lady, hold out your arm. I will have to check you’re up-to-date with your vaccinations,” said Madam Pomfrey.

“She is,” said Harry tiredly.

“Hmm, I think she looks like she needs some potion,” said Madam Pomfrey “Pops indeed,” she added, and she bustled to a trolley, and poured out a cup of something greenish blue.

“Miss Potter… potion,” she said pointedly.

“Daad!” complained Lily.

“Take your potion Lily,” said Harry, “Um, isn’t Delphini not being vaccinated more important?” he asked.

“Someone is underage for Hogwarts, and the child of two celebrities,” said Madam Pomfrey “Many children’s vaccines only take full effect with time.” She looked over at Delphini “Which is why you’ll have some rather nasty potions today.” she added.

Lily choked down the clearly icky-tasting potion, and sat on a chair, looking green-ish. Delphini walked over and gave her a tentative pat on the back. “Nobody gives Madam Pomfrey cheek,” she said quietly. “Or you get the icky-tasting potion.”

“Hogwarts isn’t what I hoped,” muttered Lily. Delphini stood up straight, and marched over to Madam Pomfrey.

“I’m ready for my vaccinations, Madam Pomfrey,” she said valiantly.

“You will experience quite significant swelling,” said Madam Pomfrey. “Come along, you’ll need to take your robe off.”

“Woo hoo,” said James.

Delphini gave him a poisonous glare. “Poor Survival skills, Potter,” she said.

“Oh, she sounds just like her mother,” said Madam Pomfrey “Please don’t hospitalise your cousin.” she added rather casually.

Madam Pomfrey took Delphini off to her office, and returned shortly thereafter, alone, to wake Greengrass.

“Miss Greengrass,” she said politely.

Daphne Greengrass yawned in the bed, and Harry wondered how you missed that she had an absolutely massive gob. Well… and her chest had moved in a very appealing way. He looked over and saw James staring towards Greengrass like he’d been imperious cursed. Harry turned James to face the other way; he complied but not enthusiastically.

“James don’t stare, it’s rude… and risky with witches,” said Harry.

“Why aren’t you dating her, not aunty Hermione?” asked James “I mean. Cor,” he added.

Harry closed his eyes briefly. “James, Daphne’s my lawyer, and she’s a very cynical person.”

“Boobs,” said James. “Almost as good as mums,” he added, somewhat disturbingly.

“And she’s divorced, and don’t stare at witches chests,” said Harry.

“So… I should go muggle then?” asked James quietly.

Harry sighed. “Just try not to be awful,” he said weakly.

“Well, ya know, dad’s a philanderer, it’s probably genetic,” said James snidely. Harry’s hand itched to give him a clip around the ear. But he had sworn he was going to be better than Uncle Vernon; which left a lot of wiggle room really.

For some reason, Madam Pomfrey had cast some sort of privacy charm and was having a clearly private discussion with Daphne Greengrass. Which Harry wanted to know about, because Al was in a bed just over there. Then Madam Pomfrey pointed to her office, and Daphne Greengrass started walking over there, and Harry watched, purely to see if she was going to floo off. The long skirt didn’t give much away about Greengrass’s shape, but she was tall, and that was… he couldn’t help imagining how long those legs were.

“So staring at their bums is okay?” asked James quietly. Harry pulled his boy into a one-armed hug, and kissed the top of his head.

“Safer,” he admitted quietly.

“Still not as good-looking as mum,” said James. “Before you get weird, dad, Popular vote in dorms, mum’s photo in Harpies chaser strip, most popular single female player photo, in the entire school.”

Greengrass disappeared into Madam Pomfrey’s office.

Harry had to mentally concede that Ginny had looked quite delicious in at least one publicity photo. She’d joked about all the lesbians in the team forming a queue for her.

That had been in her twenties, when she’d had a six-pack. Harry remembered that fondly; she’d been extraordinarily fit, and on off-days that had coincided with his days off they’d spent nearly the entire day getting sweaty. But no longer. Now she was a sports journalist, with a steady thing with Fernando Garcias, of the Spanish national team.

“Is Al going to be okay?” asked James. Harry pointed at Al, comatose, and Madam Pomfrey, who was casting charms on Scorpius.

“We just have to wait,” said Harry.

“But Al has to be okay,” said James. “Slytherins are like cockroaches, they always survive.”

“Scorpius’s mother didn’t,” said Harry quietly. “Or your great-great-aunt Dorea, or great-great uncle Charlus.”

For some reason, Greengrass came out of Madam Pomfrey’s office and pointed straight at Harry, then herself.

“Ruddy hell dad,” quipped James.

Harry walked over to find out. She cast a privacy charm with a mutter of Latin.

“What?” asked Harry. “Is Delphini okay?”

“Can I act as her aunt,” she asked, then complained “gods, I’m collecting children. At this rate I’ll have a zoo-full by Christmas.”

“Why?” asked Harry.

“I’m her cousin by adoption, and I’m older. Old enough to take a girl who’s been raised with horrible clothes shopping,” said Daphne. “Acknowledging that you are her nearest relative that’s not a criminal, or a drunk.”

“Her robe is okay,” said Harry.

“Her underwear is not,” said Daphne, “Atrocious. How the poor girl can hold her head up in dorms.”

Harry had a bit of a flashback to having rubbish things at school, and remembered always getting changed in the shower cubicles, or in his bed. Those were not experiences he cherished.

“Will you need money?” he asked.

“She has a lot at Gringotts,” said Daphne Greengrass bluntly. “Though symbolically, tossing her aunt some gems so she can take the poor girl out on a weekend for … gods. Essential wardrobe makeover. Ugh. I’ve become Pansy.”

“You’re miles taller,” said Harry. “And not a bitch,” he added.

“Debatable,” said Daphne, and she sighed.

“So, for maximum therapeutic effect, you’d hand over money in front of the poor girl,” said Daphne. “Not a single nice pair of shoes!” she added indignantly.

“Oh I was more worried about her pants,” said Harry thoughtlessly.

“Trust me Potter, her pants are dire,” said Greengrass. “The Carrow twins had that sort of poverty-knickers thing going on. Poor dears.”

“They’re not our year,” asked Harry, wondering if all the Slytherin girls walked around in their knickers, and feeling a slight doubt about his choice of Hogwarts house.

“My sister was in dorms with them for seven years Potter,” said Daphne Greengrass. “God alone knows what they do for a living now.”

Harry considered his banking options, and thought flooing off to get it would be a bit sad looking, so he simply called out “KREACHER!” and waited.

With a pop, Kreacher appeared, his back crooked, his ears droopy, but holding a polishing cloth.

“Master called,” croaked Kreacher like a bullfrog.

“Kreacher, a fistful of gems from the vault. Now if you please,” asked Harry.

Kreacher looked around and nodded, and vanished with a pop.

“Taciturn,” said Greengrass.

“Moody,” Harry replied.

Kreacher reappeared with a double-handful of gems, and held them up to Harry. “This one is much less ugly,” Kreacher croaked, rudely.

Harry pocketed the gems and dismissed Kreacher, who vanished with a pop.

“Did your house elf just imply that you’re in the habit of handing witches piles of treasure for services?” asked Daphne Greengrass snidely.

“More that you’re better looking that Hermione,” said Harry tiredly. Greengrass, somewhat unexpectedly lifted her nose and smiled smugly.

Harry tried to ignore her preening, and got his wand out, dispelled the privacy charm, and started for Madam Pomfrey’s office.

Delphini was sitting in a chair in Madam Pomfrey’s office, staring at a nearby rack of potions vials. She had her robe off, laying on her lap, and her undershirt looked… well grey. And not some soft dove-gray, the familiarly terrible, uneven, stained grey you got when white was washed over and over again. She cringed when Harry walked in, and twitched, clearly unsure if she wanted to pull her robe up.

“Delphini, your aunt Daphne tells me your supplies have been sorely neglected,” said Harry, trying to sound serious and adult. “I had rubbish clothes at Hogwarts too,” he added. “Greengrass,” he said, and Daphne walked closer to Delphini. Harry reached into his pocket and pulled a fistful of gems out, and held them out. Greengrass made a bowl with her hands, and Harry handed over three fistfuls of gems.

“That’s for Delphini’s things,” he said. He hesitated “And get yourself something nice, my treat,” he added.

Greengrass turned and gave him a very old-fashioned look which absolutely should not have made his bits tingle.

“That is rather a lot,” said Greengrass.

“Well, get her everything, and get yourself something that’s not that grey dress for work,” said Harry.

“I couldn’t possibly,” said Greengrass. “I have work.”

“There’s a sign up. Delphini? What’s your first class today?”

“History, but not till fourth period,” said Delphini. “And to be blunt, Binns is useless.”

“We both attended Hogwarts, we know,” said Daphne.

“But have you any idea how hard it was to get an O in OWL History?” asked Delphini indignantly.

“An O?” asked Harry. “Gosh.” He re-evaluated her brainpower upwards.

“So, Potter, way I take your apparently nerdy niece shopping?” asked Daphne.

“Twifitt and Tattings?” asked Delphini tentatively.

“Oh lord no. We’re going muggle,” said Daphne. “Mass-production, combined with exchange-rates, and you can get an absolute ton for very little.”

“But… you’ve got two-hands full of gems!” said Delphini.

“Have you not heard of the phrase shopping spree?” asked Daphne.

“But… muggle!” said Delphini.

“We’ll go to my house; you’ll fit my clothes,” said Daphne, tilting her head and looking at Delphini speculatively.

“I insist you get something that isn’t grey,” said Harry. “Apart from that, Delphini, try to enjoy it, and don’t hex anyone.”

“Your uncle is the head of the DMLE, it would look quite bad,” said Daphne snidely.

“Why her?” asked Delphini.

“Well, she’s Scorpius's aunt, and your second cousin or something by marriage, and importantly, the only member of your mother’s family who isn’t part of the conspiracy, or a drunk,” said Harry. And he had to concede also. “There is your mother’s sister Andromeda, who was disowned for marrying a muggle. She’s a grandmother, and I’m her grandson Teddy’s godfather. But Teddy –”

“Has purportedly his hands full of Veela,” interrupted Delphini sarcastically.

“Part Veela, but also, Teddy has a job. He’s a junior Auror. His mother was an Auror.”

“Oh, nepotism,” said Delphini. “How very cultural of you.”

“Bring her back with a new wardrobe and an attitude adjustment, won’t you Greengrass?” asked Harry.

“My time,” said Greengrass. Harry poked a sapphire in pile of gems in her hands “That one’s for your time,” he said, “I’ll um. Keep an eye on the little Malfoy.”

“Fine,” Daphne conceded.

“And get something nice for yourself,” said Harry, and he hesitated “In fact, Delphini, be a dear, and make sure aunt Daphne gets something nice for herself. She lives in this dire grey dress.”

“I’m in mourning,” said Daphne automatically.

“Even Mr Malfoy isn’t in mourning clothes,” said Delphini. “It’s been more than a year.”

“Yes, not grey,” said Harry “Delphini, just think of it as a treat, to make up for having to guzzle those potions.”

“Ugh,” said Delphini, giving the rack a glance.

“There are worse potions,” said Daphne blandly. “Just pace yourself, one a minute.”

“And my arm hurts” complained Delphini, who had a red bump on her left shoulder.

“People die of Dragonpox” said Daphne gently. “And we can have lunch somewhere nice.”

“You do that,” said Harry. “I’ll keep an eye on the boys.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t,” said Daphne.

“I’ve already paid you to,” said Harry. “And Madam Pomfrey loves me, so I can be a real pain in the arse.”

“She always said you were her best patient,” conceded Daphne.

“Dubious honour,” said Delphini, gagging down another potion.

“Geeengrass, do try to make sure she has a lot of fun,” said Harry. “You could do with having some fun too,” he added, and went back into the ward, to check on Al, who had Madam Pomfrey dosing him with something.

“He likes you,” said Delphini.

“He’s a very annoying client,” said Daphne. “And he cheated on his wife,” she added.

“So he’s not perfect. I mean, he is quite old,” said Delphini.

“He’s your uncle,” said Daphne, “or possibly your parent, depending on how you measure it.”

“Oh god no. Ew! He’s old,” said Delphini. “Perfect age for you. It’s not like you’re not miles prettier than Hermione Granger.”

“Drink your potions,” said Daphne pensively.

“Oh.” said Delphini “Are you gay?”

“I’m not gay,” snapped Daphne. “It’s just since my divorce, I have been very busy, and then my little sister died.”

“Sorry,” said Delphini. “I suppose him being a cheater is a red flag for you.”

“Him having no paperwork for his entire estate and expecting me to find everything he owned from legal limbo was a red flag for me,” said Daphne.

“So you got paid a lot, to fix his problems,” said Delphini. “He is good-looking for an old person.”

“He’s not that bloody old!” snapped Daphne. “He’s my age!”

“So you do fancy him them,” said Delphini, swigging a potion casually, but gagging, and spoiling the effect.

“For the purposes of this trip,” said Daphne firmly. “I am your aunt Daphne. You will not draw your wand in non-magical areas. We will be apparating from my house to Diagon Alley, and then from my office to central London.”

“Why your office?”

“Because we can apparate freely out, and nobody will see us dressed extremely muggle, and comment. The gutter press is always ready to ridicule people, especially those, like you, descended from families that made poor decisions in the war,” said Daphne.

“Really?” asked Delphini, downing two potions in quick succession, and swallowing with burping up a rainbow-coloured bubble to show for it.

“Don’t mix potions, pace yourself” said Daphne.

“I’m in the Slytherin women's tea society, I know about pacing myself,” said Delphini. “Are you embarrassed to wear muggle clothes in public?”

“Not on the muggle side,” conceded Daphne. “I have a hard-earned reputation as a serious lawyer,” she added.

Delphini eyed the potions rack and her putative aunt “And hypothetically, as a lawyer who appeals to more traditionalist families?”

“They get in more trouble with the ministry and have to pay someone to get them off,” said Daphne drily. “It’s just like why one finds ones horse in the clover.”

“I don’t have a horse. Or decent clothes,” said Delphini tightly.

“Well, you won’t get a horse today,” conceded Daphne. “If Malfoy sobers up he could agree to a mount for you. Ask for an Abraxan, you can always concede a down-size to a pegasi.”

“A flying horse?” asked Delphini.

“Well of course,” said Daphne blandly. “They’ve got suitable stables and loads of money, why not.”

Delphini drank her second-to-last potion with a grimace. “Do you have a flying horse?”

“My father sold mother’s mounts in the war, to pay for bribes,” said Daphne. “And I have not made enough money, and don’t have enough passive income to support the expense.”

“Was she very angry?”

“She’d died,” said Daphne, and she hesitated till Delphini had swallowed her last potion. “My mother was doing potions research. She thought she had invented a cure for ageing in witches.”

“Wouldn’t that be an incredible breakthrough? Was she stupid?” asked Delphini.

“She’d invented a potion that kept her looking like she was in her late thirties already,” said Daphne bitterly “So she wanted to just push on to looking twenty-something forever.”

“Oh. That. She was genius then?” asked Delphini.

Daphne nodded “A very obsessive woman, but obviously, brilliant. Her last potion did actually make her look twenty-something.”

“Oh wow!” said Delphini.

“It’s just that she was also dead,” said Daphne drily. “Father had to be dragged off her coffin. I think his mind went a bit, and he was always the sort of man who did what he was told.”

“Is that true?” asked Delphini, conjuring a goblet and filling it with water, and washing her mouth out.

“Clever girl,” commented Daphne. “Yes, and then grandfather called father back to England to support the cause of pure-blood supremacy.”

“Oh no,” said Delphini.

“Yes. He wasn’t even good a fighting,” said Daphne drily. “So my sister and I were at Beauxbatons and grandmama’s crummy castle till the war ended. My sister went back to England, and decided your uncle Draco was a romantically-troubled hero.”

“Uhuh,” said Delphini, nodding and looking horrified.

“And I married Jean-Claude after graduation,” said Daphne. “By the time we divorced, grandfather was about to die, leaving the family law firm teetering on collapse… so I came home.”

“Sorry,” said Delphini.

“Well, he was very handsome athlete,” said Daphne nostalgically. “It’s just he believed in wives and girlfriends. Both at once, or at least, on afternoons and evenings.”

“Did he remarry?”

“He was holding her hand when he signed the papers,” said Daphne somewhat bitterly. “She only lasted three years. He’s on wife six, I think.”

“Very handsome?” asked Delphini.

“Jean-Claude Gershwillett, captain of the Alsace Angels,” said Daphne.

“Gershwillett?” asked Delphini, blushing. “The blond one?”

“Oh, you’ve seen the topless publicity photo. Yes. Him,” said Daphne, with the ghost of a smile.

“So… you think Uncle Harry is too ugly?” asked Delphini.

“Not to breach lawyer-client confidentiality, but his finances are a mares nest.”

“Oh, the divorce,” nodded Delphini.

“Well, Ginny Weasley got some money out of it,” conceded Daphne. “But I did my best to safeguard his children’s futures.”

“Are you a crook, Aunt Daphne?”

“Officially no,” said Daphne. “Come on, the address is Greengrass Easting. Do not be put off by the talking paintings, or the views out the windows.” And with that, she threw some of the floo-powder in the little bowl on the mantle into the fire and departed in green flames.

Delphini stood up, pulled her school robe back on, twitched it back into position, did up her collar and flooed off to… go shopping.

Chapter Text

The front hall was wood-panelled, and the floor wooden. The fireplace had been large and roomy to leave. Delphini’s ‘Aunt Daphne’ was waiting, hand on hips.

“Come along. Upstairs,” she said, and set off briskly.

The house seemed to be quite new, it looked barely two centuries old, and there were a lot of portraits on the walls. But it was warm, and smelt, rather tantalisingly of something baking. Something they weren’t stopping for, to Delphini’s regret.

The stairs up to the first floor described a square, which seemed quite rustic to Delphini, who had rather grown to expect circular staircases, in semi-detached round towers.

She caught a glimpse out of a stairwell window as the went up, of a green field dotted with stone mausoleums, all be-ringed with spiked iron fences, presumably to keep the sheep out. But Aunt Daphne was power-walking now, and Delphini found herself struggling to keep up with the tall, evidently annoyed witch. She swept along the upstairs hall and into a large bedroom with three mismatched wardrobes, and a commode around a four-poster bed. Aunt Daphne pulled the doors of one wardrobe open and rummaged, throwing a blue dress with a pattern of small flowers onto the queen-sized bed.

Delphini eyed the dress; it looked a bit dorky. Aunt Daphne found a white cardigan in a drawer, and she knelt into the wardrobe, tossing footwear about. She emerged, holding a pair of white trainers.

“I’m not wearing those,” said Delphini.

Daphne frowned “Of course not. These are for me,” she said. And then, in a display of clearly Hogwarts-inspired immodesty, she took off her ribbed jumper and skirt and put on the dress and the trainers, started doing up the dress’s zipper. Delphini tried not to dwell on the horrific granny-pants and the horrifically functional bra that she’d seen. Aunt Daphne was struggling with the top of the zipper, and the cause was clearly that she had grown. Or less kindly, gone up a bra size since she’d worn….

“When did you last wear this lot?” asked Delphini, not dwelling on how her aunt clearly exercised a lot to fight the onslaught of middle-age.

“I um, was at school,” said Aunt Daphne, tugging at the zip behind her back. She was so clearly pushing forty. Delphini eyed the dress, which while an unflattering pattern and cut, showed that Aunt Daphne had kept her weight down… mostly.

“Oh it’s awfully tight round my bum too,” muttered Aunt Daphne.

Delphini seriously wondered how Daphne Greengrass ever pulled a gorgeous quidditch player dressing like this.

“What did you have in mind for me?” asked Delphini.

“I um,” said Daphne.

“I’m not wearing another one of that, if you’ve got it,” said Delphini. “I can cast a sizing charm; I am over seventeen you know.”

“Oh be a dear,” said Aunt Daphne, looking slightly flustered still tugging on the zipper.

Delphini used her most practically useful, if not magically impressive spell, to resize Aunt Daphne’s old dress, till it did up at the back, at least. She was lowering her wand when Aunt Daphne said sharply “I can hardly breathe. It’s supposed to be comfy.”

Delphini let out the side-seams an inch and ‘Aunt Daphne’ breathed a sigh of relief, then in a second crime against fashion, put in the cardigan, and started looking in her jewellery box.

“You’re not seriously putting pearls on are you?” asked Delphini cynically.

Aunt Daphne froze, and turned to face her. “And why not?” she asked.

“We’re going shopping. Pearls would be a hassle,” said Delphini. “And you’re getting a new outfit. In fact, I’ll buy you a new one today as well. Two outfits at least – something more stylish.”

“For all you know, this is stylish to muggles,” said Daphne.

Delphini shook her head. “I might have fell for that at ten, but I’ve seen the muggleborn seventh-years. You could wear denim trousers.”

“I’m not wearing trousers,” said Daphne firmly.

“Well, what have you got for me?” asked Delphini “I’m not wearing the stuff you just took off,” she added.

“I was thinking, this cute little playsuit” said Daphne “I’m sure it’s in the back of my wardrobe somewhere…”

“I’m not twelve.” said Delphini sternly. “I’m seventeen. We’re shopping, something simple, and I concede I might need to wear muggle shoes.”

“Well I’ve only got the one pair of trainers” said Daphne apologetically. “I’ve got some boots.”

“Not boots. I’m going to be trying on outfits. You must have shoes?”

Why Aunt Daphne had a pair of goat-hair covered brown crepe-soled shoes, Delphini was afraid to ask. But they nearly fit, and Aunt Daphne conceded that she would not wear them again, so Delphini resized them a little, then hair-loss cursed them, and banished the loose hairs. It was a marked improvement.

“Oh. That is an improvement,” said Aunt Daphne “I’ll have them back later.”

“Sure,” said Delphini, who was already imagining burning them.

Aunt Daphne found a black pleated skirt, a white blouse, and a black cardigan. It was, thought Delphini, a distinctly Hufflepuff vibe, but she looked muggle-enough in the mirror.

“Right,” said aunt Daphne “We’ll just pop on some travelling cloaks, and go to Gringotts.”

“Gringotts?”

“Muggles don’t take gems for payment. We’ll change it for muggle money,” said Daphne confidently.

“Won’t we need a bag?” asked Delphini.

‘Oh yes – I’ve got just the thing!” said Daphne, and she found, in the back of another wardrobe, a soft black leather handbag.

“It’s only a little bit space-expanded, and featherlight,” said Daphne, popping the bag over her shoulder, and scooping up gems.

“What house were you in, Aunt Daphne?” asked Delphini.

“Oh Slytherin,” said Daphne dismissively. Delphini really wondered how.

But, in hooded travelling cloaks (blue and green) they flooed to Gringotts, and Daphne emptied the handbag onto the money-changing desk, in front of a grumpy looking goblin.

“In pounds sterling,” said Daphne firmly. “And I’ll be taking a receipt, including all fees and charges.”

The goblin scowled performatively, and proceeded to rapidly sort the gems by colour using a multi-pocket tray, and then weigh each type, and then pulled a piece of parchment from under their desk, sighed loudly and started writing down calculations.

Delphini could see the parchment, and the sums involved seemed large.

“There are five pounds to the galleon,” said Aunt Daphne helpfully. “It makes the numbers a lot bigger.”

The way the goblin banker stacking up four paper-wrapped piles of purple paper notes seemed to confirm ‘Aunt Daphne’s’ description.

“Twenty three thousand, eight hundred and forty pounds, less fees and charges,” said the goblin. The four and a bit piles of paper notes seemed quite a lot to Delphini.

“Can I get a volume discount?” asked Aunt Daphne.

“That is including the volume discount,” said the goblin sulkily.

“Never hurts to ask,” said Daphne, loading her handbag with the bound wads of bills.

“Right,” said Daphne. “Let’s go shopping!”

Well, they visited her office first – which were over a silversmith on Diagon Alley and the interior looked very boring and lawyer-ish.

The actual office, even more so, and Aunt Daphne took off the cloak “We won’t need these” she said, hanging it on a peg. The wall featured a painting of a brown horse. Delphini was beginning to suspect things about Aunt Daphne.

Once Aunt Daphne had apparated them into Central London, they left the dingy little alleyway she’d apparated them into, and entered a busy street, with so many muggles headed in both directions, all… totally ignoring Delphini and Daphne.

“Wand in my bag,” said Aunt Daphne.

Which was more practical, Delphini supposed than trying to keep it up her cardigan sleeve. She hoped she didn’t see anyone she knew, as she slipped it into the bag.

“Where are we going?”

“I was thinking just Harvey Nichols,” said Daphne. “It’s a department store.”

“Have you shopped there before?” asked Delphini.

“Not, exactly,” said Daphne. “I was a bit skint.”

The crowds were loud, and the passing vehicles smelled bad. People bustled about, and stopped at the street-corners waiting for lamps to tell them to walk.

They arrived eventually at a multi-story brick building that had an large illuminated sign confirming that it was, in fact Harvey Nichols, and more importantly, to Delphini’s mind, the women going in and out of the store were dressed in something approximating a similar style, and strode about like wealthy pureblood witches. There were, as far as she could tell no women dressed in the soft, shapeless clothes and caps that made up a small, noisy part of the crowds. (And nobody was going in there was wearing long dresses and cardigans either.)

Womens-wear was an entire massive floor of the building, which had ‘escalators’. Delphini wondered how muggles had enchanted the stairs to move so, but despite that, an entire floor of women’s clothes.

They wandered aimlessly, finally stopping to both stare at a statute of a woman, painted to look mostly realistic, dressed only in skimpy white undergarments; she was evidently advertising the nearby racks of undergarments. And long socks, evidently.

“You’re not getting that,” said Aunt Daphne. Delphini mentally agreed. Even if some hypothetical future boyfriend would get the surprise of his life once she took off her school robes.

“Should get you a set,” said Delphini cheekily.

“White doesn’t suit me,” said Daphne.

“Well, black then,” said Delphini.

A saleswitch – no sales-muggle – sales woman sidled over in what looked like a uniform dress, with a small glossy black badge.

Delphini saw an opportunity.

“Hello,” she said, “I’m Delphini, this is my aunt Daphne. I’ve had a wardrobe accident at boarding school, someone burnt all my things. Uncle Harry tossed money at us and sent us off.”

The woman’s name was probably Sue, going from the badge. And technically, Delphini’s old things were _going_ to get burnt, once she got back to Hogwarts.

“We don’t do school uniforms,” said Sue.

“Oh, my Uniforms are fine,” said Delphini “all my other things.” She tilted her head at the statute.

“That might be a little… adult for you,” said Sue. Who could only be twenty-eight, tops.

“Oh, not for me, for Aunt Daphne. Uncle Harry was most insistent that she get some new things.”

Sue looked over at a horrified Daphne, and looked her up and down. “That seems like a fashion emergency,” said Sue.

“I left all my sexy stuff with my ex when I divorced his cheating arse,” said Aunt Daphne forcefully. Delphini was a little shocked.

“Mmm,” said Sue, clearly not believing a word of it.

“So that lot, but in black for Aunt Daphne; she says white doesn’t suit her.”

“Well no it wouldn’t. But we have ivory and powder blue, both of which would flatter her skin-tone.” said Sue.

Aunt Daphne seemed surprised, thought Delphini. “Powder blue?” she asked.

Delphini, who’d had six years in Hufflepuff slid over to Sue. “She’s a fashion disaster. Wears Grey dresses at work. Oh – she’s a lawyer.”

“Dresses?” said Sue, in much the same way someone might say ‘fart cushions?’

Delphini nodded, with the power of teenage arrogance.

“We have quite a good range of designer workwear, flattering and businesslike,” said Sue, pitching at Daphne “Especially for someone who is quite tall. How tall exactly?”

“Um. I’m five foot nine,” said Daphne.

“But… are you in trainers?” asked Sue.

“Um Yes,” said Daphne.

“We can get you something you can stomp your opponents into the floor with, don’t worry,” said Sue, smiling brightly. “How much, in approximate terms, are you two planning to spend today?”

“Well, not more than twenty-three thousand,” said Delphini. “That’s all Uncle Harry gave us. Oh – and aunty do remember he did pay you for this morning.”

“I kept that in the pocket of my other things,” said Daphne a little forcefully.

Sue, for some reason, had gone quite pale.

Delphini, who was feeling a little odd from all the medicinal potions and vaccines, added “Oh, and Uncle Harry quite specifically said she had to get a new outfit. And I’m giving her another outfit, because she’s coming shopping with me.” And she leaned closer to sue “You have to help her. She’s in granny pants!”

“Dear god,” said Sue quietly. “Well, now will we be getting Del – ”

“Del will do” said Delphini.

“Del underwear.”

“Yes. But nothing too explicit,” said Daphne.

“We don’t sell that sort of thing here,” said Sue. “This is a respectable store.”

Delphini felt her eyes drawn to Daphne’s. They exchanged a worried stare; some of these things seemed quite explicit to two pureblood withces.

Sue power-walked off and came back with a wardrobe-sized trolley bearing a coat-hanger rail; Delphini had no idea why. It slid about on castors, so at least it moved easily, she supposed.

Ten minutes later, Delphini was in a changing room, discarding her old pants and top, for nice new things that were comfy, lacy and slightly stretchy.

Sue asked her through the curtain “So, that should be quite comfy?”

“It’s fantastic,” conceded Delphini. “Also, the complete set from the statue for Aunt Daphne – you can guess her sizes?” And Sue had not had cold hands, and the oddly unmagical tape measure had been a manual thing, but as Aunt Daphne had said, mass-production and the exchange rate.

Delphini got dressed, and left the stall “I’ll take seven of that in black.”

Sue suggested some slightly different colours, and Delphini was drawn to the purple bras.

“Purple,” she said, fingering the lacy fabric. It was a revelation.

“Don’t go overboard on purple, but it’s fun,” said Sue. And Sue started hanging things on the rolling wardrobe – which Delphini supposed was all she could do; it’s not like she could charm the purchases to float, or banish them to her sales-table.

Delphini looked around and found Aunt Daphne looking at powder-blue under-things. She held in a snort.

“Sue?” asked Delphini. “Can you make sure she absolutely does not get granny pants.”

“The customer gets to choose what they buy, miss,” said Sue.

I’m buying, she’s here to supervise and carry the money,” said Delphini.

“Well… we’ll have to see about some casual-wear for you.”

“Denim trousers?” asked Delphini.

“Well, that’s a look. Is it yours?”

“I don’t think I do trousers,” said Delphini.

“I did get that impression,” said Sue conspiratorially.

Daphne rejoined them to look at shirts and jumpers. Delphini decided that yes, she would buy a needle-ribbed jumper, and threw herself on Sue’s help for colour choices.

While Sue eyed the piles of jumpers, a woman stalked past in white trousers and a white jacket, over a soft white blouse, and all the pleats looked sharp enough to cut, let alone the shoes, which clacked viciously and stabbed the floor.

“I think,” said Delphini, eyeing the retreating woman who was elevated on high heels. “You could totally wear that.”

Sue looked over “Oh, oh yes, your Aunt Daphne would rock that.”

Aunt Daphne looked at Delphini, and Delphini could not tell if Daphne was constipated or what.

Sue picked up a moss green jumper, and put it on the trolley, and led them over to business-wear, where more statues stood.

Delphini thought the grey pinstripe skirt suit on one statue might work for Aunt Daphne as well… or even, she realised, herself, if she was going to go for a job application.

And Delphini had never really thought about a job, she realized. She’d been raised to look forward to school, and then there were vague mentions from old Mr Malfoy of her ‘destiny’ and ‘special plans’ but Delphini had been sorted Hufflepuff for a reason.

She eyed the suit again, imagining striding the hallways of the Ministry doing something very important. And nearly missed Aunt Daphne being handed a black trouser-suit, that Sue quickly augmented with an ivory blouse, and a pair of high heels that seemed to have been designed more as stabbing-weapons than as shoes.

Daphne started to protest, and Sue simply said “This is what you saw, in your sizes, as far as I can tell, so try it on. I think it will suit you.”

Five minutes later, Daphne Greengrass stepped out of the changing groom in a black pant-suit looking like she was going to send someone to hell. And then bill their family for it.

“Aunt Daphne?” asked Delphini, only slightly teasingly. “Can you be my lawyer? Cos you’re going to scare people.”

“Well the ones that stop drooling,” quipped Sue. Aunt Daphne tugged at the waistband of the pants.

“They’re not working well with my… underthings” said Aunt Daphne.

“Turn around ?”asked Sue. The line of Aunt Daphne’s pants was quite clear.

“No, you need better pants,” said Sue.

“She needs a better bra,” said Delphini quietly “She yawned in a jersey this morning and Uncle Harry nearly proposed on the spot.”

“They’re not married?” Asked Sue,

“He’s my uncle, my nearest relation that’s not a drunk or a criminal,” said Delphini, “And she’s my drunk uncle’s dead wife’s sister, so she looks after my cousin Scorpius and me.”

“That’s an odd name,” said Sue kindly.

“Well it’s a family thing, it’s always stars and constellations,” said Delphini. “Made learning to spell my name a pain in the arse. Aunt Daphne’s also Uncle Harry’s lawyer – and he’s very busy with work.”

“Is she a good lawyer?” asked Sue.

“She’s a very good lawyer,” said Delphini “All the criminals in the family use her, and Uncle Harry’s … not a criminal and he’s got her on retainer.”

“Posh.”

“He got divorced this year. Aunt Daphne saved him a literal fortune,” said Delphini. Sue lifted her eyebrows.

Sue went and talked to Aunt Daphne, and headed over to the underwear racks, picked out something too tiny to be pants, and black, and brought it back, swerving at the last moment, and picking up a bright red bra. She handed both to Aunt Daphne and pointed at the changing rooms.

Aunt Daphne came back out a few minutes later, standing, Delpini was sure, a little stiffly, but… that bra certainly made more of what Aunt Daphne had. Which was evidently a lot more than she usually showed. Delphini felt a little inadequate, but Aunt Daphne looked exasperated, and crooked her finger at her. Delphini walked over, and Aunt Daphne, now a lot taller than her, looked down at her. There was no sign of the red bra through the blouse, but Aunt Daphne’s new jacket sat differently. Delphini realised that actually, yes, Aunt Daphne bloody well could have married a handsome quidditch player some years back.

“Are you finding this amusing?” asked Aunt Daphne, sounding like a scary lawyer.

“I think it suits you rather well, Aunty,” said Delphini.

“They’re not even proper pants,” said Aunt Daphne.

“Walk around the stand here, and practice glaring at people,” said Sue a little cheekly.

Delphini was not, she was quite sure, gay, but Aunt Daphne’s bum in heels and those trousers was bloody impressive.

“Aunt Daphne” said Delphini bravely “you look easily as pretty as Ginny Weasley. As the photo the boys have of her.”

“Stop trying to set me up with your uncle,” said Aunt Daphne, putting her hands on her hips. The effect, with the jacket opening up was intimidating. She looked far more confident, and hugely competent. Delphini felt the sudden urge to hire her aunt for legal purposes.

“Good grief. Why do you hide a waist like that?” said Sue, bluntly.

“I don’t hide anything. I just… wore mourning clothes,” said Aunt Daphne.

Delphini realized that Aunt Daphne had used the past tense.

“Um, do you have the pant-suit in a different colour?” asked Delphini quietly.

“Black and white,” said Sue. “Though you could mix and match.”

“I’m not sure I’m willing to wear trousers in public,” said Aunt Daphne.

“If I had an arse like that I would,” said Sue. “But don’t mind me, I just dress people for a living. What would I know.”

“The pinstripe suit-skirt?” asked Daphne tentatively.

Sue cheered right up, and fairly dashed off to get a set, and herded scowling-hot Daphne back into the changing room.

Delphini thought she would get a suit-skirt too. And found a rack of nice dresses, heavily embroidered, that would nearly pass for witches fashion. Oh -- and long comfy looking boots.

She had a big pile, and headed for the adjacent changing room when Aunt Daphne came out in the suit-skirt. The skirt of which was a lot shorter, Delphini realized than the one on the statute. Which was probably because the statue was significantly shorter than Daphne.

Aunt Daphne looked very serious, and the suit while not hiding that she was a woman, suggested that…. Well, if Delphini had been trying to lie to her, that she’d get hexed senseless at the first hint of stupidity.

“That suits you,” said Sue. “Are you comfortable with it?”

“It’s the length,” said Daphne.

“We can do shorter,” said Sue.

“You can see my knees!” said Daphne.

“You do not want a hobble skirt,” said Sue firmly.

“If I wore anything shorter, people would think I was selling something,” said Aunt Daphne a trifle prissily.

“Shorter, and warm tights” said Delphini mischievously.

Obviously, Aunt Daphne wasn’t putting warm tights on today, so the shorter skirt got tried on… and for all that Aunt Daphne was a bit prissy, she shaved her legs, and… got more exercise that you’d think a grown witch with an office job got. Not that Delphini made any sort of decisions about not just grazing the snack bowl in the Hufflepuff common room. But maybe there was room to exercise a little more… with her aunt; who should, if she played her cards right, soon have flying horses. And there was supposedly a swimming pool at the Malfoy’s.

Sue got Aunt Daphne to walk around in the shorter skirt and heels, and Delphini felt that Aunt Daphne could easily confound a magistrate just by walking in at this rate.

“That suits her,” said Sue. Delphini got changed into a suit-skirt and stepped out without heels on.

Aunt Daphne had just got out of the changing room, in her awful dress and cardigan, looking abominably frumpy. She looked Delphini up and down. “Hmm.” she said. “Turn around?”

Delphini twirled, to attempt to curry favour. “I need shoes.”

“Did you do Ballet?”

“I saw a music box once,” said Delphini.

“I hate Narcissa Malfoy,” said Aunt Daphne; apropos Delphini, supposed, her childhood. The idea that anyone cared she’d been stuck with the Diggorys or Mrs Rowle was strange. Aunt Daphne nodded. “Fine, but you’re not getting really high heels.”

Sue helped her find shoes, and her first steps in high heels were painful, but she was a witch; she could charm the hell out of them later. Her reflection in the mirror resembled nothing so much as Aunt Daphne’s daughter. And Delphini realized that yes, actually she did like the idea. Aunt Daphne could be coerced into dressing up, and was clever and determined and almost beautiful. (And, admitted a part of Delphini she wasn’t very proud of, an easy mark for shopping trips.)

Aunt Daphne was for some reason, looking at nightwear. (Delphini resolved that Aunt Daphne was not getting flannel pyjamas.)

Delphini got Aunt Daphne’s bag from the changing room, and got out one wad of bills “Can we pay for say, what we’ve got so far. I’d rather like to never wear that pleated skirt of Aunt Daphne’s again, and I’m sure dressing Aunt Daphne in a cardigan is a crime.”

Sue was staring at the wad of bills for some reason.

“I’m sure we can be accommodating,” she said, sounding confounded.

Delphini pressed the wad of money on Sue, and dashed off to save Aunt Daphne from flannels.

Aunt Daphne, however, was not looking at flannels. She was ostensibly looking at nightgowns made of cotton, with risibile slogans printed on them like ‘Born to nap’ but she kept looking over at the lace and silk nightgowns, somewhat wistfully.

“Aunt Daphne, you can have one of both you know,” said Delphini, checking the price. She wasn’t sure why prices had decimal places, but they weren’t even twenty pounds each. Which was, she thought four galleons. Cute… and cheap. Delphini decided to solve the problem by shoving herself in the way, to look at printed nightgowns. She wasn’t sure ‘Cuddles on demand’ was entirely the sort of message she wanted to send in dorms. Though it was a very Hufflepuff sentiment.

Aunt Daphne, thankfully did go look at the lacy stuff. Not that Delphini wanted a lacy nightgown; she had year in a Scottish castle to survive yet.

Aunt Daphne gasped. Delphini was at her elbow quicker than you can say ‘nosey parker.’

Why someone made a lace nightgown that was only waist-length, and that showed cleavage … oh.

“Well, it would be for um, hot weather,” said Delphini. There were long, extremely sheer bed-coats right next to the very skimpy nightgowns. Delphini immediately wanted one of the coats more than anything.

“We should get those,” she pointed at the long bed-coats.

“You can’t wear that in dorms, you’d be practically naked,” said Aunt Daphne.

“Over my sleepwear,” said Delphini.

“You’re not wearing one of those skimpy things,” said Aunt Daphne.

“Not till summer, when I’ll be somewhere else,” said Delphini. “And wearing that over the top.”

Aunt Daphne grudgingly conceded, and Delphini whispered in Sue’s ear “And get her one of the little things.”

“A teddy?”

Delphini could only grimace at the name, but nodded anyway.

“Now, as we’ve got underwear mostly sorted,” said Sue firmly “And are straying into sleepwear, Delphini raised the important point that you both need to wear more appropriate underwear before we could, for example, fully explore workwear, or leisurewear, or even evening-wear.”

“Evening wear?” asked Aunt Daphne, sounding dubious.

“Clothes to go out in. For dining and entertainment, or even, dancing,” said Sue.

“Oh. Hmm.” said Aunt Daphne “I’m not sure Delphini needs that.”

“Aunt Daphne, one evening outfit, and I’ll need casual clothes for the weekends, and riding clothes.”

“Riding clothes?”

“Well, I was hoping this summer you’d teach me to ride,” admitted Delphini.

For some reason that made Aunt Daphne blush a little, and she was gently herded back into the changing room, and back into the business pantsuit.

“Now you have to admit, you look like a powerful lawyer,” said Sue.

Aunt Daphne was eyeing her reflection and well, rearranging her hair.

“Some waves like Del’s hair and you’d look like a million dollars,” said Sue.

Aunt Daphne looked shocked, but also twisted and checked out her own bum, and was clearly satisfied. “Hmm” she said.

Having Aunt Daphne dressed sharply made her slightly vague browsing look more like she was preoccupied with something. (And in all black, that what she was preoccupied with was probably taking over Britain. Delphini felt okay with that.)

Sue managed to get Aunt Daphne to put all the money into a long black clutch, and left their wands in the shoulder-bag. “Knitting needles,” said Sue, “that explains a lot.”

Delphini watched her actually almost really Aunt browsing with the black clutch, and felt faint pride. That was her Aunt, and she was really good lawyer, and quite good-looking.

“Course, you should get a set too,” said Sue, with a twinkle in her eye.

She was, obviously a size smaller than Aunt Daphne, and Sue handed her over a pair of tiny black stretchy… pants with no bum. The feeling was very odd, but on the other hand… the trousers were somehow enchanted, because her bum looked amazing. And in heels, and the jacket, she looked … a lot like Aunt Daphne. Delphini knew she was as tall as Aunt Daphne, but in a sharp black trouser-suit she looked… like, she thought, with a sudden idea, like she was studying to be a lawyer with her Aunt. She clopped over to Aunt Daphne, who had gone back to the sleepwear and was looking at a nightgown printed with ‘It’s Nap Time’ and a cartoon bear asleep. Which was a little incongruous for such a stern-looking witch.

Delphini cleared her throat “What do you think, Aunt Daphne?” she asked. Aunt Daphne looked over at her and did a double-take.

“Oh. You look… quite serious and grown-up,” said Aunt Daphne, and she had a faint smile that made Delphini feel oddly giddy.

“Um,” said Delphini, wishing she had her wand to fidget with. “I was um wondering, if I could learn to be a lawyer?”

“Head up, don’t mumble,” said Aunt Daphne. And that sort-of implied a yes, and Delphini had to concentrate to stop her hair changing colour.

“Well, that is a serious look for you. Evening wear,” said Sue.

And this, two women in sharp black trouser-suits browsed evening-wear looking like extremely well-preserved mother, and daughter.

“Aunt Daphne?” said Delphini, holding out a peacock-blue evening dress. Daphne looked over and gaped. “Oh my,” she said, and the look on her face was desire.

“This for my Aunt,” said Delphini to Sue, handing her the dress.

“Well, you’ll have to try it on,” said Sue, checking sizes “I think you’re a size six.”

Delphini waited by the changing-room, and Daphne came out two minutes later, in the peacock dress, and the tall heels, looking intimidating, but with her bra-straps showing.

“I like this dress,” said Daphne.

“And you’re having it,” said Delphini. “After all, Uncle Harry gave us loads.”

“He’s not that rich. I’m his lawyer, I know,” said Daphne.

“But I am,” said Delphini cheerily. “And I should pay one of those retainer things to you; we can pop back to the bank and I can give you some.”

“A hundred ga – … a year,” said Daphne.

“What, to hire you for all year?”

“A retainer merely ensures that I will take your business, and not take business with anyone you are, for example, suing. As you are quite unlikely to sue your Uncle Harry, being on retainer to him is not going to represent a conflict of interest.”

“That’s a lot for basically doing nothing,” said Delphini.

“And I can be hired for minor things like taking my niece shopping,” said Daphne.

“You’re on the clock?” asked Sue. “Clever cow,” she added. Aunt Daphne smiled somewhat viciously.

“And you’re the one who told Uncle Harry you had to take me shopping too,” said Delpini.

“You needed this,” said Daphne mildly.

“Aunt Daphne needs a different bra for that dress,” said Delphini.

“Yes. I know just what she needs, I’ll add one to the haul later.” said Sue.

“No no, now!” said Delphini “I want my fun.”

Sue went to the lingerie section, came back with a black lace thing the size of a torso, and a clear bag that she threw to Delphini; inside were some squishy pink things.

“They go in your bra,” said Sue in passing, and she confronted aunt Daphne with the thing.

“I’m not wearing a corset,” said Aunt Daphne. “I’m not fat.”

“This is a bustier. It’s a bra from below, and you need this for serious evening-wear,” said Sue.

“It’s a corset,” said Daphne.

Sue resorted to showing Aunt Daphne the writing on the tag attached to the bustier.

Aunt Daphne went back into the dressing-stall, and Sue dove in after her, to help, Delphini hoped.

There was muttering, and a little later Aunt Daphne came out in the peacock blue dress, her shoulders bare, and… Delphini was quite sure Aunt Daphne really needed this outfit. She looked fantastic.

“You’re getting that,” said Delphini.

“Try the chicken fillets in your bra. Del,” said Sue. “While I get your aunt out of a bustier.”

Delphini eyed her reflection in the mirror of the dressing-stall. The chicken fillets padded out her bra very realistically. In fact – she put her blouse back on… she looked almost identical to Aunt Daphne now. She pulled on her jacket, thanked her lucky stars her hair was behaving; no sign of it changing colour, and went to see her aunt.

Who was looking at evening dresses that had shoulders now.

She looked over at Delphini, and did a double-take.

“Thought that was all it would take,” said Sue. “Aunt Daphne, meet your mysterious daughter.”

Aunt Daphne actually looked a bit pensive at that, but Delphini had just found a fantastic blue dress that was all floaty layers. She was having it.

“This,” she said, taking it off the rack and holding it to Sue.

“Make sure it’s a size six,” said Sue “And you’ll have to try it on.”

Sue pulled up the zipper of the dress for her. “Nice,” she said.

Delphini had never owned a dress she liked before, and considered that as they were on a shopping spree, she was bloody well having more than one.

Two more, in fact. Forest green, and Black, with spangles.

Aunt Daphne was staring at Delphini’s black spangly dress, so Delphini just pulled another off the rack. “And a black spangly one for my Aunt.” she said/

“You spoil me, dear,” said Aunt Daphne, but she stroked the spangles as Sue put it on the rolling rack.

“Oh don’t complain. It’s black, after all,” said Delphini cheekily.

Four pairs of fancy boots, black trainers, and a pair of glossy sandals later, Delphini felt she had shoes.

“Have you got warm slippers?” asked Aunt Daphne.

The slipper selection had some ridiculous imitation monster feet, which tempted Delphini greatly, but also a pair made to look like white rabbits, made of some soft fur fabric. She went for the bunnies.

Aunt Daphne said “I would have thought you’d want the big-three toed feet,” drily.

“And some three-toed slippers for Aunt Daphne,” said Delphini.

Aunt Daphne lost all composure, and giggled.

Delphini went back to the sleepwear, and picked out a nightgown with ‘Cuddles on demand,’ and added that to the pile on the trolley; Aunt Daphne would be getting it later as a present.

“Well, now you’ve done evening-wear, we do have a young Miss section for casual clothes for the younger set,” said Sue.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” asked Delphini, slightly annoyed.

“Because it has cool clothes in it, and you two came in looking like fashion disasters,” said Sue.

Aunt Daphne stopped in ‘young Miss’ in front of a statue of a girl in a kilt, blazer, a school shirt, but the collar undone, with a loose black and white striped tie, and black stockings with black kitten heels.

“Oh, that’s pure Pansy,” said Aunt Daphne, stopping and looking at it, with one hip cocked, her hand on her chin, and a faint smile.

“Who’s Pansy?” asked Delphini, barely avoiding mimicking Aunt Daphne.

“I was at school with her. She was a total cow to everyone,” said Daphne. “She, well, she left the country. America, New York.”

Delphini eyed the outfit. Which would be awesome for weekends at School. It would be worth it, just for the look on McGonagall’s face.

“I want it,” said Delphini.

Sue snorted. “Is she a bad girl?”

“My niece is actually a very tolerant girl, who recently lost all her nice clothes in a fire,” said Aunt Daphne, who evidently could lie with no effort at all. “So you want to look like that on weekends then?” she asked Delphini.

“I want to see the Headmistress have an aneurysm,” admitted Delphini.

Aunt Daphne laughed. Delphini realised she’d never heard Aunt Daphne laugh before, and she had a melodic laugh. And then she snorted.

Delphini started to suspect that Aunt Daphne had been a dork at school. But despite that, her aunt was having fun, and so was, Delphini realised, she.

She had even more fun putting the silly ‘St Trinians’ uniform on, and while she wasn’t entirely sure about the stockings, it was sort of an in-your face confrontation as clothing, and that felt so natural.

She admired her reflection in the mirror, and the white shirt strained over the black bra it came with. Chicken fillets were a helpful marvel, she thought. She added the tie, and Blazer, and stepped out to see her aunt.

“Oh gracious,” said Aunt Daphne, one hand to her own throat. “You look like a detention about to happen.”

“Great innit,” said Delphini.

“You should probably take the chicken fillets out,” said Sue blandly. “Unless you were on the pull.”

“Delphini?” asked Aunt Daphne, in a tone that could cut glass.
“None of your business, Aunty,” said Delphini.

“They’re just soft rubber bra pads you put in your bra underneath. She’s only one bra size smaller than you, and apart from her hair dye, you two could be mother and daughter, you know.”

“Her eyes are not blue,” said Aunt Daphne.

“Well, that would be her father then,” said Sue, with a grin. “Unless she’s wearing tinted contacts.”

“I could take my tinted contacts out,” said Delphini.

Sue rolled her eyes.

Delphini went to the changing room and stared in the mirror and really concentrated. Her eyes slowly lightened to grey-blue just like Aunt Daphne. She smirked, and pouted; A teenage Aunt Daphne pouted in the mirror. Delphini screwed her eyes shut, and concentrated hard. When she opened her eyes, she had green eyes like Uncle Harry. And a slightly longer nose, like Aunt Daphne.

She skipped back through women’s-wear in her St Trinians uniform, finding Sue and Aunt Daphne picking out stretchy white trousers and a coat.

“They have riding things,” said Aunt Daphne, and then she looked over at her, and Aunt Daphne froze, and her ears went slowly pink. Delphini mentally thanked Teddy, who’d sent her a letter at least, explaining the basics of how to change. Though she still couldn’t do a duck’s beak. Her best effort was merely duck-face, which was a horrible compromise. But her prank had worked.

“Oh my… you really look like her don’t you,” said Sue. “So your dad’s got green eyes. Mmm.”

“Uncle Harry has Green eyes,” said Delphini. “So does Lily, of course.”

“Lily?” asked Sue.

“Harry’s youngest. She’s ten,” said Aunt Daphne. “You should put you tinted contacts back in, you won’t be able to see without glasses otherwise. And you hardly want to wear glasses, so you?” she threatened.

Delphini was astonished. Aunt Daphne had blushed, of course, seeing her looking like a cross between Uncle Harry and her – it was clear she totally was into Uncle Harry. But she’d recovered so quickly. And lied like, well, a professional liar. It was like she was a lawyer or something.

She turned her back on Sue and Daphne, touched her face, and changed her eyes back, and turned to face her Aunt. An Aunt who utterly didn’t fall for her tricks, well not for long. And bloody well should be wearing these sort of clothes; she was actually quite good-looking, despite being old. And possibly a bit of a dork. She eyed her sharp-pant-suit wearing Aunt. That was the sort of Aunt a girl could look up to – at least as long as Aunt Daphne was in high heels. (And that Aunt Daphne could walk in high heels suggested that as she’d claimed, she had owned cute clothes, but left them with her ex-husband. Which was odd, because Aunt Daphne was such a good liar.)

Aunt Daphne coerced her into trying on riding things, and they were strange stretchy trousers. But Aunt Daphne had conceded to try on the things the store had, and seeing Aunt Daphne in ‘jodphurs’ reassured her that no, they weren’t just some joke outfit – the jacket and white silk scarf really suited Aunt Daphne, and she looked utterly at ease… and for an old person had great legs.

“Two sets of this,” said Delphini to Sue. And more boots; riding boots.

“You would need at least two sets, dear,” said Aunt Daphne, still in jodhpurs and coat, trying on riding hats distractedly.

Delphini motioned Sue over “Two sets for her, three for me,” she whispered.

Sue smiled and nodded. “How old is your aunt?”

“Um, oh thirty-five at least,” said Delphini.

“Gotta envy her the height,” said Sue glumly. “Does she actually ride horses?”

“Oh yes,” said Delphini “And she’s going to teach me to ride this summer.”

“Does your uncle Harry ride?” asked Sue quietly.

“I dunno” admitted Delphini. “I grew up without him.” And having said that, she felt bitterly jealous of James and Al and Lily. They’d had their dad looking out for them their whole life.

“Aunt Daphne?” Delphini asked “Does Uncle Harry ride?”

“Oh yes. Mostly bareback, of course, because he’s a show-off,” said Aunt Daphne. “He rode one of the wild horses at school, in animals class, went round the lake, came back with a big grin on his face.”

“But you could ride better than him,” said Delphini.

“Of course, but also, I wasn’t going to risk breaking my neck to show off,” said Aunt Daphne. “And the teacher, Hagrid, obviously, he was the favourite student.”

Sue was gaping a little.

“Will you teach me to ride this summer, Aunt Daphne?” asked Delphini.

Aunt Daphne put the hat she’d been playing with back on the stand, and faced her “Of course. If nothing else, to upset Narcissa. Stupid old bat,” she added.

“You don’t like her?”

“She hated my sister,” said Aunt Daphne. “Which is pretty intolerable behaviour in a mother-in-law, especially one with only the one son.”

“Why?” asked Delphini.

“Oh the usual, she has outdated political beliefs,” said Aunt Daphne. “The kind that land people in trouble with the law.”

“Would you … represent her?” asked Delphini.

“No, I can’t stand her,” said Aunt Daphne. “And Draco has the money now anyway. She’s only got a dower fund.”

“Posh arseholes then,” said Sue, who Delphini realized sounded a little common.

“Vile people,” said Aunt Daphne. “As a lawyer, who represents people with money, still too vile for me.”

“Well, you probably need to get changed out of that outfit, it’s a bit much for the street.” said Sue to Delphini.

Aunt Daphne went to investigate another hat, and Delphini whispered “A kilt for Aunt Daphne.”

“She’s a bit old for a miniskirt?”

“Well, she might want to pull sometime,” said Delphini devilishly.

“You ratbag” said Sue. “I figure a size bigger than you. She’d got more hip.”

“She’d got more everything,” said Delphini glumly.

“You’ll probably grow a bit bigger yet, you’re what?”

“Seventeen,” said Delphini.

“Yeah, bit more up top and round your arse yet, maybe,” said Sue “What does your mum look like?”

“I’ve never seen her in a good photo,” admitted Delphini. “She died when I was very small.”

“And your dad?”

“Died when I was very small,” repeated Delphini. “They weren’t missed either,” she added.

“Well, I bet lots of people miss you,” said Sue. “We’ll get you a tracksuit, but I expect your aunt would scream if you wore that in public.”

And as Sue handed Delphini a set of soft trousers and tunic, she explained about CHAVs.

“Oh – we saw some on the way here,” said Delphini.

Sue snorted, “You both from posh families then. Private school?”

“Tutors then boarding school,” said Delphini, not explaining about Mrs Rowle; who she resolved never to mention to anyone ever again.

“Very posh… let’s get you some fun stuff.”

And that translated into blue denim trousers, knit t-tops with comical slogans, and a couple of zip-fronted knit tunics. And a pair of awesome purple knee-high boots with thick soles.

She turned around from picking up some more denim trousers, because what the hell, and Aunt Daphne had just leaned closer to Sue and asked something because Sue said quite firmly “This is a respectable department store. We don’t have that sort of thing.”

Aunt Daphne asked “Well, where would I get that sort of thing… for a prank?”

Sue shook her head, and stiffly pushed the trolley back what was apparently her desk, where she started doing briskly and efficiently something with a black handle on a cord that beeped. She pointed it at every tag, and then said, sounding quite annoyed, “You will still need socks.”

Delphini was wise to ‘shoe sizes’ now, and gathered an arm-load of mostly warm socks, and Sue apparently unbent somewhat, and pulled some tall stripey socks from a rack “For your big boots.”

And added several packets of ‘stockings’ which apparently were the filmy long socks.

Sue found a large packet of cotton handkerchiefs, which was actually helpful, Delphini supposed, and those got beeped at too.

“Have you got a bag ?” asked Sue.

“What kind of bag?” asked Delphini.

“There was only this black clutch,” said Aunt Daphne.

“That was a display, madam. There is an entire bags and handbags section,” said Sue, and the was Sue said ‘madam’ felt like a curse.

“I haven’t got a handbag,” said Delphini, who rather hoped to get a purple clutch purse, and illegally undetectably space-expand it. (As did practically every witch, and notably the Minister for Magic, so the Minister had somewhat unethically slid an unrelated rider clause into a bill about International portkey taxation, that made it require the entire Wizengamot to agree before a witch could be prosecuted for undetectable expansion charms. The rider specifically called out undetectable space-expansion of handbags, purses, and pockets. She just left no evidence of it in guides for students, so that young witches could have the frisson of breaking the law. The Minister had, herself broken the law often, starting at eleven, so she assumed every other witch would also enjoy that same frisson. The MLEP appreciated not having to enforce a law that every adult witch broke, and everyone was (mostly) happy, except Percy Weasley, who disliked sneaky laws.)

Delphini, determined to mend fences with her new friend Sue, used her Hufflepuff ‘we’re all friends’ powers, to drag her aunt (who really needed little dragging towards handbags, truth be told,) to follow Sue and the trolley to Handbags.

[AN: Delphini told the hat to sort her Hufflepuff because who would look for the Heir of Slytherin in Hufflepuff?]

And for reasons that might have been related to Sue wanting more commission today; they went past fur coats.

Being at school in Scotland, Delphini took a black one immediately, and pointed out a tan fur to her now moody-looking aunt. “That would suit you, Aunt Daphne.”

“Black for the woman in the pant-suit,” said Sue.

Aunt Daphne took the black fur coat somewhat snootily from Delphini and pulled it on. Delphini had to admit that her aunt now looked like she collected something nasty. Human bones or cursed scrolls. Aunt Daphne ruined the chilling effect by pulling the coat closed, and holding the collar to her face and going “mmm,” and looking positively cute.

“I think she likes it,” said Delphini, pulling on the tan fur, which did, to give Aunt Daphne credit feel lovely. She was a proud teenaged witch, so she didn’t snuggle her new coat immediately.

“They’re sixteen hundred each,” said Sue.

Delphini wiggled, enjoying the softness for a moment, and then handed Sue her coat, which Sue hung on the semi-filled rack, and held out a hand “If madam would take the coat off till it was paid for?” she asked.

Aunt Daphne scowled, but somewhat petulantly. Philosophically three thousand pounds poorer, they and the trolley of clothes rolled into an area that was entirely purses and handbags.

Aunt Daphne, as if bewitched, headed over to a display featuring a single pretty cream and brown handbag printed entirely with her initials.

“Oh!” said Aunt Daphne.

Delphini rolled her eyes “You can have a handbag, Aunty,” she said.

“That’s Dolce Gabbana, and it’s five hundred pounds,” said Sue still sounding frigidly annoyed with Aunt Daphne.

“Definitely,” said Delphini. “It’s her initials.”

“Really?” said Sue.

Aunt Daphne was holding the bag to her chest and had a stupefied look in her face. “Oh Delphini. You shouldn’t,” she said, but also, her black trouser-suit said ‘you should.’; Technically the trouser suit said something more like ‘you should sign over all your assets to my limited liability investment fund,’ and the fur coat added ‘that does research on skinning Dalmatians,’ but Delphini was a witch she was used to it; most witches dressed like they were witches. It was effectively an occupational hazard.

“There are black bags by Dolce Gabbana also, and I believe they do a range of travel luggage,” said Sue.

Delphini leant over to Sue “I’ll be coming back to get her a black clutch with her initials for Christmas.”

“That would be a thousand pounds at least,” said Sue. Delphini divided by five; two hundred measly galleons. Easy. She nodded.

“I couldn’t possibly afford to buy an entire set,” said Aunt Daphne, clutching her new bag, and blinking at Delphini.

Delphini chalked up an entire set as her Aunt’s presents for the next several years. And she was so adorably grateful. Delphini really wondered how her aunt got sorted into Slytherin. And if Aunt Daphne wasn’t (clearly) actually a blood-bigot, her long-dead family would hate that she, the Heiress of Slytherin, was giving her auntie muggle bags and things.

“Dolce Gabbana do make jeans, of course,” said Sue.

“Denim trousers, with my initials?” asked Aunt Daphne.

“Yes,” said Sue coldly.

“I’ll take two pairs, they would be useful for cleaning in, I suppose,” said Aunt Daphne.

For some reason that made Sue sigh, and wander off, presumably to get Aunt Daphne some jeans.

Delphini pondered her aunt’s handbag. Her old one. “Aunt Daphne?” she asked “Can I have your old handbag?”

“My old black one?” Asked Aunt Daphne.

“Well, nobody’s putting DB on handbags, are they?” said Delphini.

“Well, it seems to be DG or nothing,” said Aunt Daphne, still clutching her new handbag like a loon.

“You wouldn’t be interested in adopting an orphan, would you?” asked Delphini, mostly kidding.

Aunt Daphne looked far too thoughtful about that.

Delphini looked away hastily, and looked at suitcases instead, and hoped her hair-tips hadn’t gone pink from the embarrassing feeling in her chest.

There was the dearest set of three suitcases all in pink. Not that she loved pink, or anything, but she realised that she’d never had anything pink.

“Pink?” asked Aunt Daphne a little archly. “Is pink you?”

“It could be,” said Delphini, in time for Sue to flop a couple of pairs of jeans on the trolley, and tilt her head “Pink huh? Fancy a girly outfit?”

“I’ve never had anything pink,” admitted Delphini, horribly aware that her cheeks, at least, and hopefully not her hair was currently pink.

“That’s not fair on a girl,” said Sue. “There is a suit-skirt in hot pink, but it might be a bit much for you.”

“She already dyes her hair,” said Aunt Daphne. “The blue tips.”

“Oh yes, and Daphne, just thought you ought to know, your roots are showing. Time to bleach again,” said Sue a bit bitchily. She walked over and looked at Delphini's hair. “You’ve got black roots? Neither of you is actually blonde.”

Whatever Aunt Daphne has asked Sue about, it had clearly annoyed her, thought Delphini.

Delphini sent Aunt Daphne off to try on her new jeans

“Look, she married her boyfriend from school, and he cheated on her atrociously,” said Delphini. “I think she’s gone a bit odd.”

“More than a bit,” said Sue tightly.

“Look, she’s my aunt, and my uncle’s lawyer. The day she found out I’d been born and left with… not family by my birth parents, she told Unlce Harry and he came to school, and interrupted lunch to introduce himself, and all my cousins, and just… “ Delphini felt her eyes prickling with tears.

“He just, they all just adopted me boom, just like that. Aunt Daphne did that, she saved me.”

“I saw your pants,” said Sue. “I’m worried she’s not a suitable person around children.”

“My mother was mass-murderer and my father led a death cult,” said Delphini extremely bluntly. “Aunt Daphne’s the only person on my mother’s side of the family that’s not evil or drunk.”

“Drunk?” asked Sue.

“My uncle, married Aunt Daphne’s little sister. She died trying for a second child,” said Delphini. “That woman, despite everything, is the nearest thing I’ll ever get to… a real mum.”

“And you want her to marry your uncle?” asked Sue.

“I’d settle for the two of them just shagging. When they’re in the same room it’s like standing next to a tree hit by lightning. Only to be quite fair, Uncle Harry also married straight out of school, and cheated on his wife with his boss, who he’s known his whole life. And, if you were wondering, no, the new woman’s not like a mum to me, she’s far too busy.”

“And your Aunt handled his divorce,” said Sue crossing her arms.

“She did her job, she’d bloody good at it,” said Delphini. “Though she does rag on Uncle Harry about getting a property manager; he’s um, very senior law-enforcement, and he lets everything that’s not work slide.”

“She’s not taking a girl to that sort of shop,” said Sue very firmly. Delphini had no idea what she meant.

“No, not me. After this, I’m going to the bank, paying my lawyer a retainer, paying my auntie back for a bit of over-spending today, and then going back to school. I’ll miss history, but it’s a snore-fest anyway.” said Delphini, feeling oddly protective of –

Her aunt that had just stepped out of the changing room in a white blouse and blue jeans, and high heels. She had to be over six feet tall in heels, and Delphini was quite sure that if Uncle Harry had any interest in women, he’d propose immediately he saw that outfit. That outfit that Aunt Daphne was going to use for cleaning. And Delphini imagined helping her aunt this summer, and coincidentally arranging for her aunt to be slightly dusty, and have her hair up and a little messy when her Uncle came to pick her up. – Uncle Harry would drop the Minister like a ton of bricks.

“For cleaning,” said Sue blandly.

“I see this working out beautifully,” said Delphini, and she self-consciously sucked her gut in.

It was a smell mercy that Aunt Daphne put the trouser-suit back on after finding the right size of Dolce Gabbana jeans. (Delphini and even Sue resisted making any remark about Aunt Daphne having to go a size bigger.)

When they finally paid for the entire trolley-load of clothes, shoes and handbags, they’d spent nearly eighteen thousand pounds. Delphini felt momentary guilt, but she did, in fact have pants, shoes, socks and casual-wear sufficient to hold her head high in dorms. And Sue acknowledged that their purchases – now a huge pile of Harvey Nichols branded shopping bags on a trolley, would be delivered to a taxi, by someone from ‘stores’, who turned out to be an unprepossessing young man, who took custody of the trolley.

Aunt Daphne nodded politely, “We’re going to have a spot of lunch first.”

“The restaurant is on the fifth floor,” said Sue.

“Come along Delphini,” said Aunt Daphne, still in her black-trouser-suit, and Delphini followed, deeply regretting having put the stupid pleated shirt back on. Not that she liked her trouser suit or anything. Well, a bit.

Once they got to the elevator, Aunt Daphne casually asked Delphini if she had hair-bushes and such, and Delphini had to try not to cry; her comb was wonky and missing bristles, and she hadn't thought of it.

“Quick change of plan – we need to get you all that, no time like now!” said Aunt Daphne, pivoting on one heel.

And they went back to ask Sue where to find such things, and ended up spending another five hundred pounds on brushes, combs, a bedside mirror, a makeup compact, and a bath-bag that could equip a small yacht. Sue nodded and indicated she’d have those shopping bags put with their other things.

When they finally got into the elevator, she asked Aunt Daphne what she’d asked Sue about.

Aunt Daphne simply shook her head, “nothing for your young ears, dear,” she replied. And Delphini’s heart did a swoopy; even being told no by aunt Daphne felt nice.

“Do you fancy uncle Harry?” asked Delphini.

“Whether one fancies someone scarcely matters when your uncle is sleeping with the Minister,” said Aunt Daphne. And Delphini felt that that was a ‘yes, and I’m annoyed about him and the Minister.’

The restaurant was busy, and the dark-haired woman that was the Maitre d’otel stalled them, till she got a telephone call interrupting her, while Aunt Daphne stood looking implacable, and rather hungry, and they said “Restaurant bookings?” into the telephone. Delphini recognised it from Muggle Studies class. Well… not that kind of telephone, but the anima of a telephone.

Then a pause, as presumably someone talked far away.

“Black trouser suit, daughter in a black skirt and cardigan. Yes. They’re right here,” said the Maitre ’d, rolling their eyes. “Did they forget something?”

“They spent how much? Oh.”

“We’ll have a table for you in a moment,” said the Maitre ‘d, putting the telephone back down. “Womenswear just making sure we knew you were a premium customer.”

They did something with the telephone, and lifted it “Kitchen? Premium customer needs a table.”

Aunt Daphne smiled rather blandly at that, and three staff came out of the kitchen, shooed a pair of elderly women out of a table where they were lingering over tea, cleared it, and set new china.

“Your table,” said the Maitre ‘d.

“Come along dear,” said Aunt Daphne, and she stalked across the restaurant like a white-crested black heron of doom, or at least ‘legal problems,’ and sat casually at the table. Delphini, with her aunt’s old handbag, felt woefully underdressed in comparison, and vowed never to wear Aunt Daphne’s cast-offs again. Well, maybe her Dolce Gabbana jeans.

Aunt Daphne ordered everything in French, which seemed a lot like showing off to Delphini.

“What are we getting?” she had to ask.

“Omelette, soup, some salad, and of course, tiramisu,” said Aunt Daphne.

Delphini mentally added ‘never let her order the food’ to her list of life lessons; she’d fancied the burger. She wouldn’t have eaten all the chips, but breakfast had been a long time ago, and she was a teenager.

The soup was a fish soup, and she hadn’t had many fish soups in her life – they didn’t feature often at Hogwarts, but it was okay, she felt.

She had not expected the ‘omelette’ to be about one third mixed mushrooms, one third cheeses. The salad had a lot of nuts and seeds in it, and chunks of cooked pumpkin, which enough to make her a little homesick for Pumpkin juice; Aunt Daphne had apparently ordered tea.

She looked over once she was picking at the Tiramisu, to see Aunt Daphne scraping the bowl out, in an undignified way.

“Do you like tiramisu, Aunt Daphne?” she asked.

“Obviously.”

Lunch cost nearly fifty pounds; Aunt Daphne handed over a single note from her new clutch-purse.

Back on the ground floor, presumably someone had kept an eye out for them, and the stores-man pushed the long rectangular trolley of shopping bags to a waiting row of black cars, and the leftmost car opened the back door; which was like a big metal trunk; he started loading their shopping, and Aunt Daphne got into the back of the cab, Delphini squishing in beside her.

“Where are you going?” asked the driver, a short brown-haired woman in black sunglasses. Delphini envied her coffee complexion.

Aunt Daphne gave Delphini a surprisingly confused look.

Delphini had an idea.

“Number twelve, Grimmauld place, Islington,” she said.

Aunt Daphne lifted her eyebrows.

“It’s Uncle Harry’s town-house.” she said quietly.

“I know that,” said Aunt Daphne, and a little later, the man loading the bags must have shut the back, as he came to the door opposite the driver and said “All aboard. Just barely.”

“Great,” said the Driver, and they did something that made the car click like a death-watch beetle.

After a first surge of motion, and periodic stops in traffic, the overall experience was unlike Delphini’s memory of her many trips to London by Knight Bus. There was no teleportation, no lurches, no bangs, and no music.

“Went shopping then?” said the Driver after a second smooth starting and stopping.

“Delphini’s things were burnt at boarding school, she simply had to get replacements,” said Aunt Daphne.

“Aunt Daphne’s also my guardian’s lawyer, so she was the perfect person to help me,” said Delphini.

“Someone burnt all your stuff. Savage,” said the driver, and they did something to the car’s centre-controls, and suddenly the cab was filled with music. It was a bit like the Hobgoblins, but more twangy, and the man singing was complaining melodically about how bad things were.

Delphini found it quite soothing, and looked over, to see Aunt Daphne nodding along with the song, a pleased looking smile on her face.

The rest of the trip was quite pleasant really.

The driver idled the car at Grimmauld place, and Delphini went bravely up the steps and opened the front door; the latch merely tingled.

The hallway was extremely dated, and smelled faintly of curry. It was so much nicer than Mrs Rowle’s house that she felt oddly empty.

She and Aunt Daphne lugged Harvey-Nichols store-branded bags up the stairs two at a time, finally getting the ‘trunk’ empty, and Delphini took the chance to close it. It made a gratifying click. Aunt Daphne paid the driver in a wad of fifty pound notes she counted over, and told her to keep the change.

The sounds of muggle Islington were shut out once the front door closed behind them both.

There was rather a lot of shopping, thought Delphini, eyeing the floor of the hall, practically covered in bags. And three empty suitcases. She and Aunt Daphne were both a little puffed. Aunt Daphne looked better for some exercise, she felt.

“Um,” said Delphini. She realised she had things, important things about her new family she needed her aunt for.

“First, you should pay your lawyer’s retainer,” said Aunt Daphne. “Then there’d be lawyer-client confidentiality.”

“Can’t you just keep five hundred pounds?” asked Delphini.

“We need an audit trail, dear,” said Aunt Daphne. “And you will need to label all your clothes with your name. Do decide on a surname; but wait for legal advice.”

“Okay,” Delphini conceded. “We do need to get out of here though.”

“Kreacher?” asked Aunt Daphne a little tentatively.

There was a pop, and the same elderly house-elf appeared.

“Miss Delphini, And the lawyer,” said Kreacher. “Dressed like muggles.” he added derisively.

“We’ve been shopping,” said Delphini. “Which way to the floo?”

“Down the stairs. Do not be going into the third floor bedroom, young Master Edward is there with his witch.” said Kreacher, in a confusing combination of humble servitude, and dirt-dishing, that made Delphini wonder how servile house-elves actually were. Mrs Rowle hadn’t had one; she had hardly any idea from growing up.

“Thank you Kreacher, that will be all,” said Aunt Daphne. “We’re nearly finished on a shopping trip your master ordered earlier.”

“The master is partial to the Treacle Tart, indeed,” said Kreacher, vanishing.

Aunt Daphne got her wand back from the handbag, and shrank everything, and packing-charmed it into Delphini’s black handbag. The one that had been Aunt Daphne’s old one this morning.

“Come along; we’ll get this money changed, drop it back here, and go to my office” said Aunt Daphne, putting her black clutch purse in her new Dolce Gabbana handbag.

“Changed?”

“No point putting muggle money in your uncle’s vault.”

“Why would we come back here?” asked Delphini.

“Your uncle had a problem with the goblins, and has to keep his money at home,” said Aunt Daphne. “You’re lucky you can access yours. Being a blood relation of his was almost enough to be problematic.”

“You’ve got a key for Uncle Harry’s vault?”

Aunt Daphne laughed melodically. “Oh god no. I’ll just get Kreacher to put it away.” she said. “Honestly; your Uncle didn’t give his wife the keys to his vault. Well, not to his small safe; he made a lot of money since.”

“His ex-wife?”

“Yes, the Harpy that wanted half of everything,” said Aunt Daphne. “Come on…” and she led the way downstairs.

Delphini withdrew a hundred galleons at Gringotts. Aunt Daphne did the money-changing.

After changing all the pounds back to honest galleons and sickles, with the same grumpy goblin, they left Gringotts, and went to Aunt Daphne’s office, where she took the hundred galleons from Delphini, and wrote in a ledger, and dated and even – shockingly, used a watch in the desk drawer to put the time.

“Right,” she said, smiling (she had dimples) “You’ve got lawyer-client confidentiality now.”

“Who poisoned my cousins?” Delphini asked. It was the only really important question right now.

“I don’t know, but I expect your uncle will find out relatively quickly,” said her lawyer. “My first guess would be your uncle Lucius Malfoy.”

“Why him?”

“Your uncle went to Malfoy Manor and told your aunt Narcissa how her husband had endangered her son’s life – your Uncle Draco. Coincidentally just after he left, parties unknown hexed your Uncle Lucius six ways to Wednesday, and he was taken away by the Aurors, to be sent back to Azkaban, this time, for life.”

“So… Uncle Harry did that?”

“I believe he wasn’t the one holding the wand. But he knew someone would get hexed. You will be slightly confused, if a little pleased, to know that the reason he dropped Uncle Lucius in it, was that he found out about you, came to Hogwarts, met you, and realised how badly you’d been treated. He, of course, asked me to ensure you had funds, and that was relatively easy, as you were already first in line for the LeStrange vaults.”

“Why would he bother?” asked Delphini. “My father was… well. The bad guy.”

“Your uncle wants you to have a normal life,” said Aunt Daphne. “I want you to have a normal life. No wars, no dark plots… just a normal life. Of course, if you wanted to explore Patagonia on pegasus-back or something, that would be your choice.”

“Will my uncle Draco ever sober up?” Delphini asked.

“That would be a good question to ask over summer, where you can get more access to him,” said Aunt Daphne.

“What surname should I use?” asked Delphini.

“Black, by preference. You can call yourself LeStrange, but that name’s got worse connotations than Black. There is at least one Aunt of yours on the Black side that’s nice.”

“Really?”

“Andromeda Tonks. Her grandson Edward was upstairs at Grimmauld place,” said Aunt Daphne, with a lift of her eyebrows.

“Should I stay at Malfoy Manor?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t, but I’ve got issues with the Malfoy’s, you know, being Death Eaters, killing my sister,” said Aunt Daphne drily. “But… your uncle has discussed this, and they have the most rooms, a large household operating budget, and more importantly, you can definitely get mounts this summer.”

Sometimes, thought Delphini, Aunt Daphne just sounded like a crooked rich girl. Which was, she realised, exactly what she wanted in a lawyer.

“And there’s a pool” added Delphini.

“Oh, you swim, excellent choice,” said Aunt Daphne.

“Actually, um. I don’t know how,” admitted Delphini. “Scorpius will get a tutor, and Uncle Harry’s got James teaching me the Patronus charm.”

Aunt Daphne’s only reaction to that was a raised eyebrow.

Which was totally cool, and Delphini resolved to practice it till she could do that too. Along with practising shape-shifting, using the letter from Teddy.

Aunt Daphne had the good grace to let Delphini floo to her house to get changed, and pack her bags. The downside was that she was left to apply name-labels to all her clothing, while Aunt Daphne dealt with legal business mail; she went back to her office for that.

That did also mean she could sneak all the extra stuff Sue had packed into her aunt’s drawers, and wardrobes. Aunt Daphne’s collection of Granny pants all got vanished. Delphini was already planning the fire for both her old trunk, and her old clothes.

She returned to school “Professor Sprout’s office. Hogwarts!” in the pink suit-skirt, with a cute little pink hat, and three rolling suitcases hooked together like the Hogwarts express. So much more practical than a stupid trunk.

“Diggory. Pink?” asked Professor Sprout.

“Black, from now on,” said Delphini. “Harry Potter’s my guardian. Even if I end up staying with Uncle Draco.”

“Those two cannot get along,” said Professor Sprout firmly. “Really, pink?”

“I’ve never had anything pink” said Delphini. “So why not?”

“Some people at Hogwarts still remember a very evil woman in pink,” said Professor Sprout.

“Well I’m not,” said Delphini.

“And you’ve missed classes today.”

“Only History, and that’s a waste of time at best.” said Delphini. “But rest assured Professor Sprout, I didn’t get much that was pink.”

By the weekend, in purple doc martens and jeans and a black hoodie, Professor Sprout was bemusedly proud of her new Black. (She had not yet seen a St Trinians uniform.)

“Rather reminds me of Tonks,” said Professor Sprout nostalgically at the high table.

“With less duelling,” said Professor McGonagall. “Sudden shift to Muggle casual clothes.”

“Her Aunt took her shopping – the poor dear hadn’t had any vaccinations, and had to have the absolute worst potion.” said Professor Sprout.

“Andromeda… that’s kind of her,” said Professor McGonagall.

“Daphne Greengrass. You know, the lawyer,” said Professor Sprout. “One of Severus’s. Her sister married the Malfoy boy, and now Daphne’s the only sensible adult in the family.”

“One could argue that hexing Lucius Malfoy into hospital and then into prison counted as sensible too,” said Professor McGonagall.

“That has the hand of Potter in it. The same evening he came to see Diggory, Narcissa decides to break Lucius’s bones,” said Professor Sprout.

“That’s a horrible accusation,” said Professor McGonagall.

“I remember Narcissa as a teenager,” said Professor Sprout blandly.

“Well, yes,” conceded Professor McGonagall.

Chapter Text

Whodunnit.

Harry, obviously, didn’t have Saturday off. Not really. But he ate breakfast with Lily.

“I’ve got work,” said Harry.

“Mmm,” said Lily, eating eggs. “Have you caught the person who poisoned Al yet?” she said.

Harry sighed.

“So?”

“Lily, I can’t talk about investigations in progress. I’m making sure every possible resource works on this, okay,” said Harry.

“He’s my BROTHER!” said Lily “And you’re the head Auror. Do Auror things Dad!”

“We um, caught some other people doing…. Really bad things in the fallout of finding Delphini.”

“She was at Hogwarts dad. I mean, in Hufflepuff, but at Hogwarts,” said Lily.

“Other people, obviously,” said Harry. “And what’s so bad about Hufflepuff?”

“They’re not brave, or clever, or ambitious,” said Lily, sounding a lot like her mum.

“They value teamwork. Like Susan Bones,” said Harry. “Head of DMLE prosecutions.”

“Mmm,” said Lily, putting down her cutlery with a click “And do you fancy her?”

“What?” asked Harry.

“Susan Bones?” asked Lily “Do you fancy her?”

“Um, how is that relevant?” asked Harry.

“In case I have to practice calling her aunt Susan,” said Lily bluntly.

“No,” said Harry.

“What about Miss Greengrass?” asked Lily. “She was quite tall,” she added.

“More importantly,” said Harry, trying to act like a sensible adult and not think about Daphne Greengrass as a sarcastic, fairly good-looking woman his age that wasn’t currently trying to get him to do illegal shit. “Not only did Viridian handle my divorce from your mum, they had to find all the abandoned properties and um, stuff.”

“Other houses?”

“Imagine a house that’s abandoned for a few decades, then add several centuries of cursed objects,” said Harry. “I suppose the nicest thing you can say about the Blacks is that they were consistent.”

“The Blacks?”

“I got what little they had left,” said Harry. “From Sirius Black. I was a bit busy to deal with it, what with the war.”

“But… It’s ages since the war,” said Lily. “Isn’t that stuff important?”

“Not as important as my job,” said Harry, and he hastily added, “or you kids.”

But he then followed up by taking Lily to her grandma Molly’s, and going to work, which he did not enjoy; crow was not his favourite flavour of pie.

--==0==--

And now, what’s Delphini Riddle going to do today?

By Sunday morning, Albus and Scorpius were out of the infirmary, and while pale and wan, no longer dying. Delphini stared across the great hall at the pair of them. They were her cousins, and someone (probably her great-uncle in Azkaban) had tried to kill them. She found her fingers tapping the table, and stilled them.

To her left, at the Gryffindor Table, James Potter was trying, ineffectively to keep his eyes off his little brother.

After polishing off a hearty cooked breakfast, she stood up and stomped over to the Gryffindor table, and her cousin. She was really getting to like her purple Doc Martens.

“Come on Potter,” she said. “We’re going to see my cousins at the Slytherin table.”

Boys that were presumably his friends hassled him. James shoved his plate inwards with a rattle of cutlery on china, and stood up.

“Thanks for nothing, Diggory,” he said rudely.

“Oh - It’s Black. My lawyer says that’s advisable,” said Delphini, and James frowned.

“Lawyer?” he asked.

“Aunt Daphne. The same lawyer your father uses, so she must be good,” said Delphini, with a little gleeful smirk.

James, amusingly, blushed. And he hadn’t even seen the Dolce Gabbana jeans, she thought with another smirk, and led the ‘brave Gryffindor’ over to the Slytherin table.

As usual, one of the sixth-years made a derogatory remark.

Delphini caught the eye of Emily, who was a Seventh-years, and in the Tea Society. “Emily dear, could you remind… is it Burgess? Why it is better to keep silent and risk being thought a fool?”

Emily nodded politely. There were, thought Delphini, no strangers around a teapot full of Firewhiskey.

Burgess was swiftly silenced; without recourse to visible violence. Emily and the rest of the tea society really were such dears. Aunt Narcissa had suggested she join.

She led Potter along to Potter junior and Malfoy, and cousin Scorpius had the idiocy to bristle. Which was so reminiscent of a house-cat confronting an angry dog, it almost had her smiling.

“Calm down cousin. We’re here for tea and goss,” she said. She pointed at the two nearest boys who weren't family. “Scram,” she said, and they both bolted, leaving spaces outside the pair of Malfoy and Potter.

“James, sit,” she said.

James sat next to his brother, but also complained, “honestly, adopt one sodding lost cousin, and next minute she’s acting like she’s the boss.”

“I’m older than you, and can cast nastier hexes,” said Delphini. “And at least I’ve got the guts to sit with my cousin. Or my brother.” James managed not to cower at the rebuke; pathetic cretin that he was.

Delphini sat, next to Scorpius. “Spill,” she said, and as she expected, Malfoy puffed himself up, and then gave in immediately, and spilled. (That boded extremely well for her holidays at Malfoy Manor, she thought.)

“We have to go back for checkups every night for a week, but Madam Pomfrey thinks the poisoning is treated,” said Scorpius.

“She gave us bezoars to carry,” added Al. “She said they saved Uncle Ron’s life back when dad was at school.”

“Why are you dressed like a muggle?” asked Scorpius.

“Because I went shopping with Aunt Daphne,” said Delphini. “She’s finally getting out of those grey robes.”

“Oh, thank god for that,” said Scorpius with a dramatic sigh. “Between that and grandmama in white, one never knew if one had lost all sense of colour.”

Delphini did not explain, as she felt quite sure her boy cousins were not interested in shopping, and the only bits they’d find interesting were the bits about knickers; which they were not hearing about.

“Oh, and I’m calling myself Black now, legal advice,” said Delphini.

“You could just say your aunt said to,” said James, with an eye-roll.

“Uncle Harry said to, and my lawyer agrees,” said Delphini. “I’ll be staying at Malfoy Manor this summer, for um, activities.”

“The swimming,” nodded Scorpius like a little suck-up.

“And riding. Aunt Daphne’s going to teach me,” said Delphini.

“Riding what?” said Scorpius “Some old hobby-horses from the nursery?”

“Mounts. I’m to ask your father for Abraxans.” said Delphini.

Scorpius stared at her. “But – but they’re huuge,” he said.

“Abra-what?” asked Albus.

“Flying horses as big as elephants,” said Scorpius. “My great-grandfather was named after one.”

“Elephant Malfoy. It’s got a ring to it,” said James snidely. “Why would your Aunt Daphne teach you to fly giant horses?”

“Because her mother hunted on the wing; her grandmother taught her mother, and she’s um…” said Delphini.

“Is she your real mother?” asked Albus.

“No. That woman died in the war,” said Delphini.

“Sorry,” said Albus, staring at his plate.

“I’m not. She got rid of me as soon as I was born,” said Delphini. “She was horrible.”

“Dad sort of implied that,” said James. “So Black? Competition with Teddy?”

“God no. He can have that dump,” said Delphini.

“Oh, you went there,” said James, with a smirk. “Stinks dunnit.”

“It smelt of curry,” said Delphini.

“That’s Teddy, with take-away,” said Albus, like a little brother. “An’ his room smells of shagging.” he added.

“Al no!” said Scorpius, blushing.

“Spoken like an only child,” said James blandly.

Delphini stared over at James, who was fifteen, for god’s sake. “You’re too young for broom-closets.” she said. James rolled his eyes again. “Well at least I know what one’s for,” he added.

“Did he really say that?” asked Scorpius to Albus.

“Um. Yes,” said Albus.

James Potter looked better with antlers, she felt. And she knew the curse off the top of her head.

Professor McGonagall nodded in her direction, which was a surprise. (She was not to know the important place antlers played in Potter family history until later.)

On Monday, a letter came for Delphini carried by a Ministry-badged owl. She wondered if it was from her uncle Harry, till she opened it. It was from Office of Family Services, and it told her that her adoption by Harry James Potter had been completed, as of today. She looked over at… her new little brother. And over at her other one. Ugh. They both smelled; James of terrible cologne, and Albus of aniseed with a faint undertone of snotty little brat. There was Lily as well, she supposed. That had her thinking. Lily had made her own breakfast and come to Hogwarts to find her father and brothers. For a shrimpy ginger little sister, that showed real promise. She pocketed the letter and stood up, and headed for James Potter at the Gryffindor table.

“Oy you,” she said. “With me,” she said. One of his dorm-mates wolf-whistled.

Delphini sighed. “Look, my dad’s just finished adopting me, and my new brother here needs to attend a family meeting,” she said. James Potter paled significantly.

“Come along, we’re going to the Slytherin table,” she said.

“But we always go there!” complained James.

“Gryffindor bravery. After all you’ll have to survive a group of thirteen-year olds,” said Delphini scathingly.

“They smell,” said James rather bluntly.

“You aren’t exactly as fresh as a mountain meadow yourself,” said Delphini crooking her finger. “Come on. Don’t make me have to use force.”

James muttered to himself as they crossed the great hall, and Delphini could vaguely make out snatches ‘But I’m the OLDEST. How could he.’

Of course, the susurration of whispering that them crossing the Great Hall created mostly drowned him out, which was annoying, what if he said something that merited a good hexing, totally hypothetically.

They’d got level with the Ravenclaw table when Delphini’s temper couldn’t take it any longer. She stopped, turned and poked her new brother.

“You, stop muttering to yourself. I’m not even taking a room at your house. Or any money, I inherited loads. So… get your knickers out of your butt-crack,” she said.

James goggled at her, and flushed a little.

The nearby Ravenclaw firsties giggled.

She pointed at the Slytherin table, where there was already a space by Albus and Scorpius; so evidently their friends could learn, at least.

She sat down and felt hungry. Taking an empty plate, she started serving herself sausages.

“That’s our food!” protested Albus indignantly.

“It’s all cooked by the same elves,” she said, perhaps a little sharply, and gathered fried mushrooms.

The little brats around her were staring.

“It’s called breakfast,” she said. James was staring at her sausages like a half-starved stray dog.

“Get some for yourself,” she said in his general direction.

“This is intolerable. Two … people coming and taking the fried food,” said Scorpius. “And you’re a girl.”

Delphini speared as sausage and cut it up, and chewed. It was a balm to her soul, she felt. Once she’d chewed twenty times (Mrs Rowle had hard hands) she swallowed. “Got a letter. Harry Potter, you may know him?”

“What did dad do?” asked Albus quietly.

“Adopted me,” said Delphini. “Doubtless it makes you Potters worry about inheritance; which is not going to be a problem. I’ve got my own vault, and house, as you both know. I am not using your money.”

“Oh,” said Albus. James started ladling beans onto his plate. Which explained a lot.

“And you, cousin, yes, I’m a girl,” said Delphini. “What of it?”

“But… you’re eating fried food!” protested Scorpius. “My grandmother never eats fried food.”

“Your grandmother is also a loony,” said Delphini. “And as she’s also um my great-aunt, that’s a very sad state of things. Probably on some crank diet.”

“Father calls it The Martini diet,” said Scorpius. “When he --”

Delphini ignored the rest, resolving that her drunk uncle was getting his arse kicked this summer. If there was time left over, maybe her great-aunt.

--==0==--

Harry had an ‘urgent meeting’ with Hermione, in her office, and was, actually fully clothed.

It was not that sort of meeting. And then it got worse.

“Harry?” said Hermione from behind the very large mahogany desk covered in stacks of parchment, in her big swivel chair, “When will Delphini Riddle be collected from Hogwarts?”

“Hmm,” said Harry. “I think as she’s Delphini Black now, and not, in the opinion of the DMLE, a threat, what with being a sixth-year Hufflepuff, we can better use DMLE resources elsewhere. The Nott thing is still yielding leads.”

“I want her in Azkaban,” said Hermione. “We can’t risk another war.”

“Are you going to issue a Ministerial Decree?” asked Harry quite sarcastically. “I also have to tell you I have a conflict of interest – I adopted Delphini this morning; it was in my lawyer’s opinion the best way to prevent the Malfoys getting their hands on her money, by hypothetically killing her, or even easier, letting you put her in Azkaban.”

Hermione blinked at Harry. “Harry, you’re the head of the DMLE, you can’t just go adopting Voldemort’s child!”

“Well, she’s mine now,” said Harry bluntly. “And I feel that an older sister will do my boys good.”

“Harry!” said Hermione sharply, “Not funny.”

“Who’s joking,” said Harry drily. “Also, wearing my head of the DMLE hat, before you go arresting someone, or ordering me to arrange that… what law lets you put someone in Azkaban without a trial?” He smiled toothlessly “It’s a strange coincidence, but I get quite worked up about imprisonment without trial. I take it quite siriusly.”

Hermione stared at him for a moment.

“I will have her sanctioned as a Dark lord,” said Hermione. “With her parents, it’s a certainty.”

Harry nodded. “Are you a dentist then?” he asked.

“Don’t be absurd!” she shouted.

Harry shook his head. “There is also, apparently something called a writ of Habeas Corpus; if you were to imprison someone without charge, any even faintly competent lawyer could serve the writ on the Warden of Azkaban, and he’d have to front a Magistrate, and show not just a fucking Ministerial fucking Decree, but actual paperwork that entitled him to hold a prisoner. God, we could have saved all that effort, and kept Hagrid out of Azkaban for about thirty galleons.”

“Harry, she is the child of Voldemort and Bellatrix fucking LeStrange, that’s the definition of a menace to society,” said Hermione.

“Hermione, much as it pains me to say this – Hermione, you’re being unreasonable,” said Harry.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “What?”

“Well, I’m the last person that wants to pick a fight with you, Minister Granger,” said Harry. “But you have no legal basis to put a kid in Azkaban without a trial; and nothing to charge her with.”

“Don’t be bloody silly; she’s obviously got an evil plan,” said Hermione.

“Is the Minister’s chair cursed? Does it make you progressively stupider till you’re a dumb as Fudge?” asked Harry. “I’m head of the DMLE, and I’m telling you, you can’t put a child in Azkaban because of who her birth parents were. Her birth parents are people who’ve never interacted with her, because she was dumped with random Death Eater sympathisers by Lucius, where she was underfed and treated like a house elf, which sucks, based on my personal experience, if you wanted to know.”

“Don’t you dare insult me!” spat Hermione.

“Well, you can, I’m pretty sure, legally fire me – though if you did, I would be hiring a lawyer, and the unfair dismissal lawsuit would cost the Ministry loads,” said Harry. “I have one on retainer, which is actually seeming like a better idea every day.”

“A holding cell,” said Hermione.

“Again, no cause. I know Fudge used to pull this shit, and Barty Crouch senior when he did my job did it, but also, I don’t use the Imperius curse on family members.” said Harry. “I admit, I have fed them some intentionally bad dinners once or twice.”

“She has the blood of the Black family running in her veins,” said Hermione.

“So does my godson Teddy, Andromeda, and Tonks did,” said Harry. “And Tonks was pretty fucking cool. Delphini’s also a metamorphmagus – but she can only change her hair colour, as far as I know. Which is kinda cool but mostly just dramatic. She is a teenage girl, so drama.” Harry shrugged with mock nonchalance.

Hermione growled. Harry rolled his eyes unhelpfully; it was like he was hugely irritated or something. But wait, he was.

“Director Potter, I am going to put you on gardening leave at this rate!” she said.

“Great, the garden is getting a bit out of hand,” said Harry pointedly. “Will you be resigning before or after the article in the Prophet says you’ve lost your bloody mind?”

Hermione rubbed her forearm, where her cursed scar was. “All I want is for Britain to be safe from sodding dark lords, Harry. Your sarcasm is not fucking helping.”

“My sarcasm is all that’s letting me keep my fucking temper,” said Harry. “I’m working six and half days a week, and now you want me to imprison kids?”

Hermione stared at him, and if her attempt at glaring had worked, he’d be sintered slag by now.

“Show me some evidence, any evidence that Delphini has committed any crime at all?” asked Harry. “Then cut her a little slack for the shittiest upbringing ever.”

“Harry, you had a terrible upbringing!” said Hermione.

“Which is exactly my fucking point, Minister,” spat Harry. “God damn it, you told us on the fucking train to Hogwarts, aged eleven you’d been violating the Decree for the reasonable restriction of underage sorcery, Hermione – let alone what we got up to in the war.”

“No,” said Hermione. “I want her in a holding cell by sundown.”

“No,” said Harry “And I’ll be sending your things to your flat.”

“HARRY!” shouted Hermione. “You’re making this personal.”

“She’s my fucking daughter, and if you hadn’t already worked it out, even if she wasn’t, I’m practically her nearest relative. Certainly if we call her a bastard from the Black family, she would be my problem, anyway.”

“What do you mean, nearest relative?”

“She has my blood, Hermione. A certain horrible resurrection ritual. And even without that, the Gaunt’s had the resurrection stone in their signet ring, Hermione. The three brothers had the Three Hallows. My ancestor had the cloak. She’s a cousin, through the Peverell connection, and while I haven’t exactly run a fête for a ‘Peverell descendant get together’ there can’t be many of us left after eight hundred years.”

“That’s just… relatives,” she said.

“Says the woman whose parents think their name is Wilkins,” said Harry.

“Get out of my Ministry,” said Hermione.

“Your Ministry?”

“Get out,” she said.

“Week on Gardening leave?” asked Harry quietly.

“Come back when you can do what you’re told,” she said.

Harry nodded. “Okay,” he said, and rummaged in his robe-pockets, found his Ministry ID, and threw it on her desk.

“Ministry HR will be hearing from my lawyer. I would suggest you listen very carefully to what your HR department say. Because my Lawyer eats Ministry lawyers for breakfast.”

Harry slammed the door behind him on the way out.

At her desk, Minister Hermione Granger, Order of Merlin, first class, sat very still and cried.

Harry was, of course, expelled. What could be worse, after all?

Chapter Text

Negotiations.

Harry went to see his lawyer. He felt that having been forced to resign, he probably should, if only to get the unfair dismissal lawsuit started. And he realised, as he walked Diagon Alley, trying to ignore the way people looked at him, that he didn’t actually care about the job. That, in fact, he was so angry that Hermione was being unreasonable, that… he’d dumped her. And that felt like the minimum he could do, given that she wanted to put his kid in Azkaban for nothing. He clenched his fists, felt his teeth grinding, and stormed towards the Silversmiths on Diagon Alley. It had nothing to do with having already told her that, when they had their last, titanic argument. Well, he did feel that if he had asked her over she would have been very snide, so he could live without that. And Delphini needed saving from whatever vaguely time-travel based plan the old guard of Death Eaters had been cooking up, and that felt quite important, like he was preventing some sort of catastrophic crime.

The Viridian office doorbell jingled as he stepped inside from the staircase.

He waited, huffing with annoyance, as her office door was shut. And so he sat down to wait broodingly.

The door to her office opened after he’d read two articles in Witch Weekly. He had also skimmed the one about himself, but had to stop as they implied he was some sort of bad person.

Greengrass, wearing a black pant-suit that made her look tall and pointy, was all polite smiles and nods, ushered a sixty-year old witch with red eyes out of the office, and closed the door.

“You would normally be at work,” she said. Harry mentally reviewed the last few seconds where she’d walked across the office in high heels and trousers. He would, he thought, like to see that again.

“Office,” said Harry, standing up.

“Oh really. This will be interesting,” she said, somewhat caustically, and gracefully followed Harry into her office. Harry threw himself into the visitors chair, and she shut the door and privacy-barred it.

“You look like you’ve done something drastic,” she said, and sat down at her desk, got a sheet of parchment out, dated it, and then tapped the quill with her wand, which had it hovering.

“Interview with Harry Potter,” she said, and the quill wrote it out neatly.

“Well?” she asked.

“Hermione – the Minister of Magic had a meeting with me. Pressured me over and over to arrest Delphini, to put her in Azkaban,” said Harry, closing his eyes.

“Surely your adoption paperwork should have gone through by now,” asked Greengrass.

“Today, actually,” sighed Harry.

“And the Minister did what?” she asked.

“Was prepared to back down to into a holding cell, threatened to have her sanctioned as a Dark Lord,” said Harry dully.

“And,” said Greengrass, steepling her hands and tapping her fingertips together.

“Um,” said Harry, noticing that her right eyelid was twitching.

“I take it you declined,” said Greengrass pointedly.

“I did more than that. I threw my ID on her desk and left,” said Harry.

“And was that framed as a resignation, or being fired?”

“She’d backed down to putting me on gardening leave,” said Harry.

“You didn’t!” said Greengrass, sounding disappointed. But her eyelid stopped twitching.

“Didn’t what?” asked Harry.

“Force her to fire you. That would be a very productive unfair dismissal lawsuit,” said Greengrass.

“I told her,” said Harry.

“Told her not to fire you?”

“Told her that if she did, she’d be out of the office within a week, once the Prophet got hold of it,” said Harry.

“Was there a dictaquill running?”

“No.”

“Damn,” said Greengrass. “Not ideal.”

“She said, come back when you’ll do as you’re told,” said Harry slowly.

“Fuck!” said Greengrass “And then you dropped your ID and left?”

“Yes,” said Harry, feeling very angry, with a metaphorical – big, sizzling hole in his chest where his heart should be.

“Oh, you rash, impetuous fool,” said Greengrass somewhat fondly. “You’ve got a ultimatum. Much better than it could have been. Not ideal.”

“So we’ll sue the Ministry?”

“I’ll send a letter to Ministry HR, with all these details, and frame it as a dismissal, given your unwillingness to break the appropriate laws surrounding what is are legal actions for the head of the DMLE,” said Greengrass, looking at Harry, fingertips pressed together. “Hmm. They’ll probably cave immediately, and to save face you’ll probably work for more four weeks…. But just not talk to the Minister.”

Harry sighed; it still felt like his heart was gone, and his chest burnt out.

“So, first we get the press release sorted,” she said somwhat unexpectedly.

“What press release?”

“Witch Weekly, and Daily Prophet,” said Greengrass blandly.

“For what?”

“Tell your side of the story. And as you’re clearly aware, your press release would dominate the news tomorrow. IF we released it.”

“IF?”

“I will mention that we have two press releases drafted when negotiating with Ministry HR,” said Greengrass.

“But they won’t …” said Harry, imaging the shit-storm that would produce.

“If they said no, the Minister is history, tomorrow,” said Greengrass with a thin smile. “I doubt they will be able to approve the settlement I’ll be asking for, so it’ll have to go… oh no, to the Minister.”

“But…” said Harry, staring at his lawyer. She was going to lead with that threat?

“She won’t cut her own throat,” said Greengrass levelly. “So I think, a year’s salary. If you hadn’t already have an Order of Merlin, that would have been a sweetener.”

“A year’s salary?”

“And you won’t release a press statement, and could you see yourself staying in the office for a few weeks?”

“I quit,” said Harry sulkily.

“Transitional arrangements,” said Greengrass.

I um. Did piss her off,” said Harry.

“Saying no. That really bodes poorly for your personal life,” said Greengrass, very sarcastically.

“I’m going home and throwing all her stuff through the floo,” said Harry bluntly.

“Really?” asked Greengrass lifting her eyebrows. “Do use a proper container; while biffing things through one at a time might be cathartic… it’s considered malicious.”

Harry gave her a very unimpressed glower.

“How, Director Potter, did you piss the Minister off?”

“I mentioned her parents,” said Harry.

“Did they die in the war?”

“No.”

“Well?”

“She um…. Memory-charmed them and sent them to Australia,” said Harry.

“Memory charmed?”

“They um. Don’t remember having had her, and um. Think they’re Monica and Wendell Wilkins,” said Harry.

“Drastic but effective,” said Greengrass.

“Mugglebaiting,” said Harry. “And her mum’s had a child, but thinks she hasn’t.”

“Oh dear,” said Greengrass. “Lots of potential for trauma there.”

“It would be one of the worse cases of mugglebaiting that didn’t involve physical injuries,” said Harry. He knew, from long, ugly experience that you learned things as Head of DMLE, mostly things that made you quite jaded.

“What would that normally get?” asked Greengrass “Given your position, you’d be the expert.”

“Six months in Azkaban, worst case. Probably fines, and wand restrictions,” said Harry.

Greengrass shook her head. “So… in a perfect world, the Minister goes on Gardening leave for four weeks, starting soon, and tidies up her parents.”

“Takes them to get properly healed,” said Harry.

“Yes that,” said Greengrass. “Even if it sounds like she might opt for just eliminating them, as a loose end.”

“She’s not that bad!” protested Harry.

“But she wanted to put Delphini in Azkaban,” said Greengrass. “And that is a girl who hasn’t even embarrassed her parent by hypothetically perhaps dressing like a slag at Hogwarts.”

“What?” asked Harry.

“She owns a variety of clothes now,” said Daphne.

“So do you. This thing suits you,” said Harry.

“Well, it’s a little radical, but with a cloak, I could venture to court without exciting scandal,” she said drily. “So… press releases first.”

After deciding on the wording of the press releases he felt he wasn’t making, he asked. ”So, do I just go back to the office?”

“Ideally, Yes. Do you need the ID?”
“Only for the Police Liaison office, and I suppose I’m just not going there for four weeks.”

“Part of your handover to your staff,” said Greengrass.

“I didn’t think it would come to this,” said Harry “It’s like my divorce all over again.”

“It is fucking not!” said Greengrass firmly. “Granger won’t get a knut from you.”

“Your problem is that you assumed your friend would behave the way you would,” she explained.

Harry stared at the floor.

“Well she’s not you, is she,” said Greengrass. “I’ll be she has actual financial records, for one thing.”

“Not helping,” said Harry, feeling personally attacked.

“And while this might seem hard to understand, as you are a man that can casually defeat a dark lord with a disarming charm, other people fear dark lords.”

“Delphini is just… a sixth year Hufflepuff,” said Harry.

Daphne Greengrass nodded “I had a moderately enjoyable shopping trip with her,” she said “she’s at worst, a slightly disobedient daughter. Having been a huge disappointment to my own family, I’m quite sympathetic.”

“You?”

“Well, I’m not marked, am I?” asked Greengrass. “Do you think the Malfoys were up to something?”

“Lucius Malfoy is in Azkaban, again, for life,” said Harry. “And the Auror office are investigating other leads.”

“Theodore Nott was arrested, his house searched,” said Greengrass.

Harry nodded. “I can’t comment on investigations in progress,” he said. “Who told you?”

“I was in Slytherin. People mention that Theodore got nicked, and then say something non-incriminating, like ‘about time’ or possibly ‘what a moron, he should have kept his nose clean.’”

“Very dirty nose, lots of um… troll bogies everywhere,” said Harry.

“You’re very good at that bit of your job,” she said. “But for reference, before you get involved with someone else, you need a prenuptial agreement.”

“What if I didn’t get married?”

“After long enough, a de-facto divorce would still sting,” said Greengrass.

“I just broke up with her today,” said Harry.

“Potter, you are the most famous single male wizard in the UK, You top the Hottest wizards of Britain poll in Witch Weekly every year. Which is, probably getting a little ridiculous, you’re getting on a little.” said Greengrass.

Harry gave her a wry nod at that.

“And you seem unable to ‘keep it in your pants’ to use an expression,” said Greengrass archly.

“So um, what would one of those agreements look like?” asked Harry.

“Is that a request for legal advice?”

“I … suppose so,” said Harry.

Greengrass switched out the parchment on the dicataquill, and lifted her eyebrows “We’ll roll-play making an agreement; I’m sure you’ll get a feel for it.”

“Really?” said Harry. “You’re my lawyer.”

Greengrass blew him a very sarcastic kiss, and Harry sat up.

“Residence?” asked Greengrass, with a glint in her eye.

“London?” asked Harry.

“Country. I need room for horses.”

Harry thought about that – he did now actually have a big country house, because his lawyer had sorted all the mess that was the Black family estate.

“Primary country, London townhouse?” asked Harry.

“Acceptable.”

“Surname?”

“Not changing it,” said Greengrass.

“Acceptable. My children?” asked Harry.

She shrugged.

“As available.” said Harry.

“My Nephew?”

Harry sighed. “Is that a deal-breaker?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Fine. Room with Albus or separate?”

“Separate. Bedrooms – my own with parlour.”

“Surely not.”

“You’re not always on time or in a good mood.”

“True. Acceptable.”

“In London also?” asked Daphne.

Harry paused. Oh – she meant who got bedrooms in both houses. Which really was trivial; Grimmauld place was large enough. “Not a problem.” he said.

“Holidays?” asked Daphne.

“School holidays less… nephew’s family requirements,” offered Harry.

“Put a pin in that,” she said.

“Pinned.” said Harry.

“New Niece. Her own house?” asked Daphne.

“She is affluent,” agreed Harry.

“I’d rather have rooms for her, her own parlour,” said Daphne.

“Call her daughter?”

“If she wanted to, I’m an aunt by marriage.”

“Twice over,” said Harry.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” said Daphne.

“Okay.”

“Finances – separate – because of your problems,” said Daphne.

“Acceptable,” said Harry. “Cooking?”

“House elf.”

“Mine can’t or won’t.”

“Replace.”

“Social pressure,” said Harry.

“Elf or Cook.”

“Cook works, headcount’s gone up.”

“Acceptable. Time saved.”

“Hmm. Schedules,” said Harry.

“Seven hours a day, six days a week, evenings unless by prior arrangement?”

“Acceptable.”

“Children?” asked Harry.

“One,” said Greengrass, and Harry paused. She lifted her chin slightly.

“Two?” he asked.

“One,” she said firmly.

“Hard one?”

“Hard one.”

“Acceptable. Viridian?” asked Harry.

“Mine, assets stay separate,” she stopped, and explained “Those are called pre-matrimonial assets, and they’d be called out in two, detailed, separate lists, cross-checked by both parties lawers.”

“Acceptable. Gifts?”

“Your problem,” she said.

“If you aren’t satisfied?” asked Harry.

“You get socks, then divorced,” said Daphne.

“You’ll be satisfied,” said Harry smoothly. “Granger?” he asked.

“Not on any property, not without a chaperone.”

“Chaperone?” asked Harry.

“You’ve got form. And it’s all bad,” said Daphne with a cold smile.

Harry held in a snort, barely, “Acceptable. Holidays?” asked Harry.

“Alternating at home and yours.”

“My ex?” asked Harry.

“Her parents place, your children.”

“Us?”

“We’re not going there in the first year.”

“Acceptable.”

“Swimming pool?” asked Daphne.

“Not presently.”

“Olympic length,” said Daphne.

“That large?” asked Harry, frowning.

“Yes.”

“Acceptable. Hot tub as sweetener?” asked Harry.

“Sweetener?” asked Daphne.

“Sweetener,” said Harry. Also, his back hurt a bit these days.

“Who pays for alterations?” she asked Harry.

“Half each, with dealbreakers seventy-five percent.”

“Acceptable.”

“Sexual congress?” asked Harry as casually as he felt he could, and tried not to blush at his lawyer.

“Obviously,” said Daphne.

“Schedule?”

“Adhoc. Evenings, nights as available.”

“Saturdays.” said Harry firmly.

“Saturdays?”

“Saturdays,” said Harry firmly.

“Acceptable. Standard rules of decency apply,” said Daphne.

“What’s the loading on the collar?” asked Harry. It had been one of those things that played on his mind a little at night.

“You had to ask, you can’t afford an Ottoman collar,” said Daphne. “Besides. I’m your lawyer. I know you can’t afford it,” she said with a smile that suggested this conversation cost money, on a fifteen-minute basis.

“Ongoing client-lawyer relationship?” asked Harry.

“Review in six months.”

“Explicit indecent assault by tongue in your office?” asked Harry.

“Strictly Professional,” said Daphne, with a faint hint of a smile.

“Spanking or bondage?”

“Light bondage, but only in bed.”

Harry nodded “I believe we’re done.”

“Indeed,” said Daphne.

“One last thing” said Harry.

“Last thing?”

“Underwear,” said Harry.

“Yes boxers,” said Daphne, cheerily.

“Briefs.” said Harry.

“Boxers”

“No room to move on that?”

“Hence Boxers,” said Daphne snidely.

“Boxers, but… for you no more granny pants.”

“Boxers,” said Greengrass, with a smug smirk.

“No. Lingerie.”

“Only on shared time,” she said smoothly.

“No. Commando on shared time,” said Harry.

Greengrass inhaled sharply. “That’s indecency!” She said, her throat flushing slightly.

“We covered indecency,” said Harry.

“You can’t afford the indecency package,” said Daphne, with a surprisingly fond smile.

“Can we negotiate on other items?” said Harry.

“Country stabling. Upgrade to mounts from horses,” said Daphne.

“Mounts?”

“Abraxans for hunting on the wing, and horses, and a hunting range, and the indecency package will be … eighty thousand. As your lawyer, I can tell you, you can’t afford all that,.” said Daphne.

Harry wondered what to say. He had a brainwave.”I will have to adjourn to seek financial remedies,” said Harry.

“Agreed, but as your lawyer, as paid advice, I would say you don’t have a lot of options,” said Daphne, much less jokingly. “But a draft of the in-progress agreement will be owled to you in four business days.”

Harry stood up and extended his hand “Have a nice day Miss Greengrass,” he said.

She stood and shook his hand. Harry wondered how you really got a date with her.

Harry released her hand. “Dinner tonight, my treat, restaurant of your choosing not over eighty galleons combined bill?”

“Admirable restraint,” said Daphne. “Six for six forty-five.”

“Agreed.” said Harry, and he turned and left.

Daphne Greengrass admired the retreating form of one of the most eligible, handsome, magically talented, and… confident men in Britain. He also, for his age, had a very nice figure.

--==0==--

Harry decided that, no he wasn’t going back to the office, and he apparated home, went to his room and bagged up Hermione’s things in a bag that he had used for work trips. He wasn’t doing work trips again.

He painstakingly wrote out a luggage tag on it, and true to his word, heaved it through the floo network to Hermione’s flat. She clearly hadn’t gone home and barred him from connecting to hers, so he tossed the bag into the green flames, and then wrote a note to the Floo Network Authority, listing Hermione J Granger as a blocked address. He tossed in more floo-powder, and then called out “Administration mail” and tossed the letter in; the letter zoomed off to update the firewall rules for his connection.

He rummaged in the desk drawer, and found his old divorce settlement. In the back was the list of houses his lawyer had found. He picked “Noir House” as that sounded the most important, and he got a backpack of essential supplies ready, including a bundle of old witch weeklies, a music-stand, and a spellbook or two, and flooed off to ‘Noir House’.

Harry exited the floo network, fell over onto a marble floor covered in dust, and slid to a stop next to a table with massive carved legs that had to be at least two hundred years old. He inhaled, and apart from dust, he could smell doxies, and mould. A lot like the Grimmauld place of old, really.

He stood up, cracked his neck, and went looking for a ghost. He was going to use important skills that Fred and George had taught him – namely, if you wanted to know things about a building, bribe a ghost. The invalid’s page-turning charm was quite simple, and even a ghost could use it to read books or magazines. All they had to do was say ‘next page,’ after all.

It proved to be a very fruitful afternoons work. He even started to whistle on the way back to the fireplace on the floo network.

He was about to use it, when he realised that nobody had updated this house’s fire-wall rules since, at the latest, when his Lawyer had secured his ownership of everything

He went home, and had to write another letter to the Floo Network Authority.

Hermione had, to be blunt, form for setting things on fire. And while she was cross now, she was going to be furious tomorrow when she saw the society page.

--==0==--

The front-of-house staff of Chez Philippe were surprised to see Harry Potter arriving, in a dark charcoal suit. He went over to the equally surprised Maitre d’otel and said “party of two, Greengrass?”

Phiolmena checked the list, and ‘Greengrass’ had booked a table for two, at six thirty.

“That’s a six-thirty table, we’ve got a bar to my right if you’d like to wait there?” said Philomena, trying to be seem calm, and not blurt out that she wanted his autograph.

“I’m meeting my lawyer,” said Harry Potter, “I’ll wait down the street.”

“We do offer complimentary drinks, depending on the table order,” said Philomena, wanting to say ‘Please, Please, Please, sit at our bar and make our restaurant important.’ but understood the dignity expected of her job.

“I expect it may be a light meal,” said Harry Potter. “But I’ll take my chances anyway.”

Philomena gestured grandly and Harry Potter – in a dark muggle suit and white shirt and… she sniffed – he was wearing cologne and that was terrible, as Philomena was pants at identifying perfumes for the Daily Prophet reporter who’d be coming tomorrow because this was a huge deal.

He hopped up onto a bar stool at the end of the bar, and winced, and tugged discreetly at the thighs of his suit pants.

One very weak screwdriver later, a witch came in wearing a black fur coat over a black sequinned dress, and a circlet of gold in her blonde hair that had Philomena wondering who’d just made the new season’s defining fashion move.

The witch walked casually over to Philomena, and asked “Table for Greengrass. I’m expecting a plus one.”

Philomena had no idea who the witch was – she looked imperiously cold, but she had a pretty good idea who her plus one was.

“He’s um. At the bar,” said Philomena, and she thought about Harry Potter’s Lawyer, as a concept. The man was practically the heart of the DMLE.

His Lawyer – Greengrass – nodded to Harry Potter, who slipped off his bar-stool and sauntered over, leaving a glass behind.

“Table?” said Madame Greengrass, and Philomena showed them to a table behind some partly folded screens that would be private but allow just a few glimpses to the other patrons, so they’d know they were in a very good, exclusive restaurant. The other patrons, that was.

She handed over menus to Harry actual Potter, and then, with some trepidation to the Lawyer of the head of DMLE. Who must therefore be truly terrifying. She looked it, in a ‘I’m a hot middle-aged witch, and I’m not really playing by the rules’ way.

Harry sat down once Daphne Greengrass, dressed like someone who would be an absolute nightmare to search the property of, sat down. A moment later, a thin black attaché case he’d missed that she was carrying, probably because he had been looking at her legs, swung up onto the table in her left hand, and landed softly, padded by the expensive leather With a click of the latch she achieved without moving her hand from the handle, the case opened. She pulled it open, and handed over a parchment.

“Your five best options to liquidate assets to make up the sort of shortfall you have in your merger agreement,” she said. Harry scanned the list – it was comprehensive, brutal, and accurate. He didn’t like any of the options. But the efficiency was dead sexy.

Then Daphne handed him a second sheet of parchment “Your five best options for increasing income – you’ll note the shortfall for each option. You desperately need a full-time property manager to get you out of the hole the Black assets are in.”

Harry read the list and nodded. “Very thorough,” he agreed. She’d just given him a freebie, which was promising, and He felt faintly pleased with himself. And he’d have to give George something good for Christmas. He had some spare houses, he mused. Possibly even Briar-hill. The Weasley’s had adopted it, sort of as an alternate location for things, during his marriage to Ginny.

“And valuations, based on recent movements in the market, of what exactly the proposed merger terms would cost – specifically the Ottoman purchase.” she added. Harry blinked and checked her second page. It was a big number, yes. But also. Right there in black and white. He looked over; she was in black and white also.

Harry read the summary – desperately wished he could have her brow-beat his DMLE lawyers into being this efficient, and sighed. The sum was indeed, huge. He looked over into her eyes and she smiled. Her eyes glinted, and the fur stole got shrugged down onto the chair-back. Harry admired a… well formed pair of clavicles, wrapped in skin that he felt was probably some of the nicest looking skin he’d seen in ages. The bit around her neck looked particularly delicious, and not a single wrinkle. Harry shifted uncomfortable in his chair. The dress was covering and holding up and… absolutely only displaying the notion of cleavage. Harry finally met the concept of tantalising by showing very little, and he was deeply frustrated.

Fortunately, Harry had already done work on the financial problem that afternoon.

“I have,” admitted Harry, “Done a tiny bit of research.”

“Hmm,” said Daphne non-committally.

“Your briefs are excellent, obviously,” he said. Daphne smiled coolly.

“I did take the opportunity to reconnoitre the largest property, formerly the Black family ancestral seat in the country,” he said. “The stables, based on my knowledge of Care of Magical Creatures, are probably usable for mounts as is.”

Daphne lifted her eyebrows briefly.

“There is an existing, undocumented bath-house and overgrown pool,” he added “More a water hazard than anything else right now. But in the house, which is in …. let’s say redeemable condition, I found evidence of shameful behaviour.”

“Really?” said Daphne, as sarcastically as was humanly possible, “How unlike the Blacks.”

Harry resisted making a snide remark, even though the country house was by far the worst property he had ever searched in his entire professional career. The Blacks had been entirely the sort of family that had dark, cursed objects in their houses, and had the sort of virulent, dark magical protections that put honest, hard-working Aurors in St Mungo’s for days when they tried to perform a forced search. He was forced to mentally concede that the Nott’s and Malfoys, even the Selwyns were ‘just not that bad’ compared to the Blacks. Which awkwardly was, because of Sirius, basically him, for some value of his inheritance from Sirius and the rest of his batshit crazy blood supremacist family. Never mind. He had found a solution to one of his more pressing problems, and not by switching to boxers when around his lawyer. Even if he had, and it helped a little.

“Yes,” said Harry. “In what I take to be the master suite, I found… assets not on the register, and not part of the Entail.” Greengrass’s eyebrows went up and stayed up. He’d shocked his lawyer.

With that, he reached into his pocket, and pulled out a large black necklace, which he dropped on the table on his left – where she could see the glittering pile of black pearls and silvery-grey goblin-wrought silver wire.

“Now, the last time I saw a goblin-silver necklace covered in matching anything, it was being fenced at Borgins for a worrying sum, about five thousand,” said Harry “Of course, it wasn’t black pearls … the front ones are engraved with what my ignorant arse can only call ravens.”

“Engraved pearls?” said Daphne Greengrass.

“It’s on it’s back” said Harry.

Daphne’s right hand reached out, and one elegantly red painted fingernail flipped over the necklace. Which had an entire scene of ravens; one per black pearl.

“A murder of crows,” she said, “How... very festive,” she added drolly.

“Evidently the last lady of the house did not deign to put her personal jewellery into the family records.” said Harry.

Well, and a bunch of other Class D non-tradeable, banned objects Harry would be sneaking in his pockets into the Ministry to throw into the disposal bins. Everything in the bins got destroyed utterly, so with care, nothing he’d accidentally inherited via Sirius would link him to about eighty years of mandatory imprisonment in Azkaban. And the bit where it was exactly what bloody Lucius Malfoy had done in Harry’s childhood, only not selling it to Burke was… at least Harry knew he personally wasn’t a sodding Death Eater. Malfoy Senior was such an awful man, with the law changes, and he’d been left holding several prison sentences worth of Class D non-tradeable banned objects, and what does he do: liquidates them. Harry scoffed mentally. It wasn’t like he had been angling to get a gorgeous blonde witch into bed. (And he’d never seen the attraction of Mrs Malfoy. Just because she was tall, blonde and posh, didn’t make her desirable. She was a blood bigot, and that was, as the saying went, ‘a hard no.’)

“I had people in that building, they did not find any unexpected treasure,” said Daphne. Harry wondered where the hell Viridian got quantity surveyors who could investigate a building that cursed without getting dead, and wished he had them in the DMLE as Aurors. They could just do searches; he could assign actual Aurors to looking after them. And he realised she wouldn’t tell him, without being paid. He strengthened his resolve.

Greengrass glared at him, and he realised he’d been wool-gathering.

“I’ve been finding hidden things for decades,” said Harry modestly, “Not having space-expanded pockets, all I can say is that having a jewellery cabinet built into the actual mirror that requires bleeding on a spike to open… is a little extreme.”

“A blood locked cabinet behind a mirror?” asked Greengrass.

“Behind is not as novel as inside the mirror,” said Harry. “I have seen both done, once before each – behind and inside.”

Daphne Greengrass sat and blinked at Harry Potter for nearly a minute. Harry said nothing. The middle-aged male waiter came over, sensing a pause the patrons might mean to order in.

“Are you ready to order?” asked the waiter.

“The special. Two,” said Daphne Greengrass, not breaking her stare at Harry.

“Yes,” said Harry. Also staring. Someone was going to blink first, and it wasn’t Harry Potter.

“How much undocumented jewellery?” she asked after the waiter left them.

“Not counting the several three ounce bags of emeralds in what I can only assume is the bribe safe,” said Harry “A few tens of thousands worth.”

“The bribe safe?” she asked, almost keeping her voice even. If she’d been a suspect, he’d think she was guilty. She was, as far as Harry knew, ‘merely’ a very good lawyer who had aged into her features… and was smart enough to be very interesting to a Law enforcement professional. Well; and he fancied her.

“It was not anywhere I’d ever find,” admitted Harry. “But I had help. A friendly ghost.”

“A friendly ghost?” asked Greengrass incredulously.

“I’ve been making friends with ghosts since I was twelve – they’re really helpful. Friends of mine cracked an unbreakable voice-password locked enchantment… by asking all the ghosts at Hogwarts. One ghost had seen it unlocked, they bribed the ghost… that, that was worth everything I ever helped them with,” said Harry.

“How?” asked Daphne Greengrass, her hands shaking, “Do you bribe a ghost?” she asked without raising her voice. But she was clearly wound right up.

Harry tried not to smile at her obvious frustration. She wore it well. He had plans for that nervous system.

“That’s… what’s the phrase… proprietary intellectual property. I’ll bundle it in the agreement for a notional valuation,” said Harry.

“You fuck,” she said sharply, and stared enviously.

Harry nodded, not smirking, which showed admirable restraint. “The funny thing is, one of the people who made the password locked enchantment also told me how to bribe ghosts. They had used it to find every single secret door and passage at Hogwarts, and found out how to break into the Hogwarts protections to… build a useful asset.”

“So just like that, you’ve scrounged up eighty thousand?”

“Oh god no. The bags of emeralds are about thirty thousand each,” said Harry.

“Bags?”

“I figure there’s maybe fifty thousand in liquidate-able, off books items” said Harry, not mentioning the stuff that would get him nicked, to his lawyer. The only worse person to tell was himself, as head of the DMLE, and he already knew, but had decided to … sneak all that stuff into the disposal bins instead of send himself to Azkaban for eighty years.

“Not having records makes selling that much bordering on getting it fenced,” said Daphne.

Harry nodded, “Given time and expense, I’m sure an accountant could find records of some of it being purchased. Though I have severe doubts about the bribe safe – it would have been quite foolish to have records of the bribe safe purchases.” (He was quite sure someone had simply walked into Gringotts in a cloak with a space-expanded sack of galleons and walked out with a bag of gems. The goblins would not, obviously, tell DMLE anything. Ever, the little fuckers.)

“So illiquid,” said Greengrass.

“To be held in trust,” said Harry. “Do you think that might fly?”

“That’s possible,” she said.

Some time later, in a bed, Daphne Greengrass cried out “ohhh”, the bedsheets knotted in her hands as Harry Potter did something quite indecent, very competently, for the… she wasn’t sure how many’th time. He wasn’t even out of breath yet.

Head up, on his elbows on the bed, he asked, “Now, discounting this performance as a possible outlier, does this meet your requirements for… an evening’s debauchery?”

“Fuck,” she panted, on her back, knees apart, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and nothing else.

Potter eyed her from the foot of the bed smirking.

“To be honest. I’m a little intimidated,” admitted Harry – god he can’t be forty he has a faint six-pack Potter. “I’ve never actually tried to impress a woman in bed before.”

“You’re a liar,” she said, panting. “It is far past-time you just shagged me. Don’t be an arsehole.”

“I just don’t see you as a missionary kind of a girl,” he said, but climbed up the bed, and with a little fiddling. Stopped still.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Mm? Get in,” she said.

‘You’re a bit tight,” said Harry quietly.

“Well, you may have forgotten, but I haven’t had kids, or a shag in years. And someone spent a few hours making me all tense.”

“I thought it would relax you,” said Harry smoothly.

“A shag would do that.”

Harry tooled about with one hand, resting on one arm and not lying on Daphne’s thighs.

“Are you seriously balancing on one arm?” she asked, bucking her hips slightly at his attentions.

“No I’m cheating. Featherweight charm,” said Harry. “Why do things the hard way – I’m not sixteen any more.”

Harry got energetic. Repeatedly.

“Mmm!” said Daphne loudly, her neck flushing.

“Well that’s three, so let’s try that again?” said Harry, trying not to puff.

And he moved about a little and slid fractionally up the bed.

“Oh god,” he said, stilling. “You’re unreal.”

“Stop blathering and get on with It, dammit,” said Daphne, one of her legs lifting up to wrap round his hips, making a mockery of her complaint.

He started moving back and forth.

Under three minutes later Harry Potter grunted.

“Oh!” said Daphne Greengrass. “That was… time-efficient I suppose.”

Harry moved back slightly “Hey… you need to keep a finger on it or this will always take ages.”

“I was distracted,” she said, panting.

Harry climbed down the bed and did something else indecent with his head in her ‘lap’ – and Daphne groaned a little later.

“Huh. Close,” mused Harry, his voice somewhat muffled by thighs.

“Oh. Not close,” she croaked.

“Huh,” said Harry.

“Tired. Want a shower,” said Daphne huskily.

He woke up alone hours later, and felt disappointed.

--==0==--

Harry Potter limped into the DMLE the next day, one hand to his lower back.

“You alright boss?” asked Susan Bones.

“Pain potion and coffee,” said Harry, rubbing his back. He’d managed to dump all the incriminating stuff in the disposal bins on the way in, and not fall over from lower-back pain. Just. He was not, in fact walking it off today.

“What happened?”

“Officially nothing. This can’t leak,” said Harry.

“And unofficially?”

“I had to show off a bit to get someone to talk,” he lied, honestly.

Susan Bones tried not to grimace at the thought of the (off the books) carnage that would have resulted. “The thing with your son and the Malfoy boy?”

“I didn’t say that,” said Harry. Susan nodded.

Harry limped over to see Steven, his surly, hirsute secretary. (But also, not hopeless, or a fangirl. So… Harry kept the git.)

“Director,” said Steven, scratching his beard.

“How’s my schedule?” Harry asked.

“Well, you’re two hours behind already, but everything’s just moved right,” said Steven.

“It’s eight thirty, I’m in pain. I need to see Prosecutions today,” said Harry.

“You were just talking to Madam Bones,” said Steven.

“All of Prosecutions, in a meeting room big enough,” said Harry tiredly.

Susan was heading back over holding a mug of hopefully coffee and a glinting vial of potion.

“You’re booked solid all day, sir,” said Steven.

“Today, prosecutions,” said Harry tiredly.

“I could move the Obliviators to tomorrow, and the review for St Stephen’s memorials,” said Steven.

“Do that. I’ll need an hour,” said Harry.

Susan arrived and Harry skulled the potion and swilled coffee down as a chaser. “Steven? What time today for prosecutions?”

“That would be two-thirty,” said Steven.

“Susan, two thirty, your section, meeting room for an hour. Send me a memo with which room,” said Harry, and he sighed.

“What?” asked Susan. “Is it… last night?”

“Sort of,” said Harry, sighing again, and rubbing his lower back.

“Should I come see you beforehand?” asked Susan.

“Two minutes,” said Harry.

“You don’t have time, Director,” said Steven.

“Make time, Steven, this matters.”

“Your entire day is booked solid, and we’ve already pushed things into tomorrow that won’t fit,” said Steven.

“I’ll just stay later then,” said Harry, already tired and not in his desk chair yet.

--==0==--

At two-thirty or thereabouts Harry walked into a meeting room full of lawyers armed only with his wits. Well, and a couple of wands, a cosh and a concealed bag of Peruvian instant darkness powder.

“Right. DMLE Prosecutions,” said Harry, eyeing the room. “Having dealt with private legal firms now, I have some sort of yard-stick to measure lawyering with. And frankly DMLE Prosecutions do not impress me now. You don’t win every case, and not making any mistakes isn’t the same as winning.” Susan Bones’s eyes widened, and he could see the whites of her eyes now.

He kept talking, and using examples.

Fifty minutes later, several of them were crying, and Harry suspected Susan wasn’t sending him a Christmas card ever again. She’d stopped shaking with anger ten minutes ago, having got to the same sort of contained fury Hermione had got to at the end of their marathon argument.

Susan was, had always been, a careful, angry woman. But not, Harry had to concede, a brilliant lawyer. And given that people could hire lawyers like Greengrass to get them off… Harry held in a smirk. He needed DMLE prosecutions to be better than careful. And it suddenly occurred to Harry that people he was trying to put behind bars could hire Greengrass to evade him. Even after… the merger agreement. And that further ruined his mood because there was no way he could tell her not to do something… well obviously he could say ‘no I don’t like that’ in certain contexts, but her business was, well, her own business and was going to stay that way.

And while he hadn’t made an unbreakable vow, he had the distinct feeling she’d not take kindly to trying to change the terms of the agreement after… well last night for example.

The thing, he mused, leaving the meeting room and rubbing his back, about screwing a lawyer is that well… you can’t go messing with the agreement. And he wondered if he could get some heat gel for his back before tonight. Because if she turned up expecting a repeat performance, he would be even worse tomorrow.

On the other hand, she might turn up expecting a repeat performance. Suddenly work seemed so very boring and in the way. Fortunately, he was leaving in three and a bit weeks.

Chapter Text

Harry was not expecting George to come through his kitchen fireplace at half past five that evening.

He eyed the bottle of pain potion on the kitchen table, and sighed.

George, still wearing his ridiculous purple suit, sat down at the table, fluffing his coat-tails out behind him, and pulled a bottle of butterbeer out of his coat pocket, followed by two tall glasses.

“I would have expected Firewhiskey,” said Harry.

“Do sit down, ex-brother-in-law,” said George “Mum floo called me, apparently she got a visit by a distressing maiden.”

“Um,” said Harry, pulling the opposite chair out, turning it round and sitting astride it, leaning on the chair back, and resting his chin on his arms. “Which one was it?”

“My sister is still in Spain, supposedly doing in-depth coverage of the Spanish national team,” said George. “The gossip is that once again, Fernando Garcias is graciously hosting her.”

Harry shrugged.

“Doesn’t bother you?”

“We’re divorced,” said Harry.

“It’s the other one,” said George. Harry sighed.

“Did Molly send you?” asked Harry.

“God no,” said George. “Mum is, obviously, manoeuvring to get her and Ron back together.”

“And?”

“Ron dropped by the shop, and in the back room, under two layers of secrecy charms claims she’s gone, what were his insightful comments?”

“Completely mental?” asked Harry.

“I think ‘Makes Umbridge look well adjusted’ was his best line,” said George. “So have you really resigned?”

“Yes, three weeks to go,” said Harry.

“And why?”

“She wanted me to lock a kid up in Azkaban without a trial.” said Harry.

George froze, reached into his opposite pocket, and pulled out a jar of stingers, and stung his own neck. “That would gel with Ron saying he’d signed with the Cannons then,” he said, eyes going wide and glassy.

Harry tried to ignore that George had just used a billywig stinger in his house. They were controlled substances because of the potential for abuse. Like, hypothetically, using the stings to get high, instead of to make potions.

George waited a moment, then shakily put the lid in the jar, and pocketed it.

“Ron’s quit too?” asked Harry.

“Ron has, indeed quit,” said George. “Hermione wanted Ron’s help going to Australia. Which is odd, as she’s put that off for twenty years, after all.”

“I may have mentioned it,” said Harry, grinding his teeth.

“So you and the Minister not on speaking terms right now?”

“I put all her stuff in a bag and threw it through the floo network, then updated the firewall,” admitted Harry.

“In a bag?” asked George.

“I had legal advice,” said Harry as casually as he could.

“Right,” said George. “Mind if I block the floo?”

Harry shook his head, and George tossed a tiny grey cube from his pocket behind him, that expanded in the fireplace into large rectangle of stones, mortared like a castle wall.

“Fucking HELL!” said Harry in shock. The Auror office didn’t have that sort of thing.

“Oh, that – new thing for our defensive products line,” said Ron. “Think DMLE would want it?”

Harry tiredly made a rude gesture with his right hand.

“Only one finger. Still, if the head of DMLE gives it one finger up,” said George. “Can I put that on the packaging? Harry Potter gives it a ‘Fuck you’ rating?”

Harry snorted.

George tossed a few more small cubes onto the kitchen table “Try them out anyway,” he commented.

“And?”

“Then I can put ‘as used by Harry Potter’ on the box,” said George with an insane grin.

He waited till Harry was dying for him to say something, anything, and Harry’s right knee started to jiggle.

“So, this kid, they doing rituals, murdering kittens or what?” asked George.

“They’re a Hufflepuff,” said Harry pointedly. “And a distant relation. I um. Adopted her.”

“Well, easier than talking a witch into another kid,” said George. “Why?” he asked more seroiusly.

“She um. She’s. Oh fuck,” said Harry, burying his head in his hands.

“Is she yours yours?” asked George “Did you knock up Suzy Bones at Hogwarts or something?”

“No,” said Harry quietly. “Promise you won’t be mad?”

“Harry, you’re a grown man, if the kid’s at Hogwarts, this is over ten years ago at least, and my sister has already divorced you, and tried to take you to the cleaners.”

“George?” asked Harry looking up again. “I um. You know the ghost trick?”

George nodded.

“I um. Used it at one of the old Black family houses.”

“There aren’t ghosts at Grimmauld,” said George glassily staring at the far window.

“If you weren’t high, you’d have worked this out by now,” said Harry judgementally.

George sighed, took a pen out of his coat pocket, took the cover off, and stabbed his hand with the nib, wincing. And put the cap back on, and pocketed it.

“What the hell was that?”

“Antidote,” said George.

“Fucking hell George,” said Harry. “That’s amazing.”

“Not really,” said George, blinking, and looking more sober. “I can’t get a bezoar to be injectable, so I can only make a few specific things.”

“That could be really useful.”

“Again,” said George, sounding suddenly tired and sober. “St Mungo’s.”

“Allergies,” said Harry. “You do know I’m allergic to Billywig stings, right?”

“Did not,” said George, tossing him the pen. “Spill.”

Harry cast a privacy charm, and started to explain.

“So, my lawyer, as part of the Divorce settlement, had to work out what I owned.”

“But Sirius died before you married my sister, unless you were a very naughty boy,” said George.

Harry ignored the rebuke, “So, um, bunch of abandoned houses, one’s big.”

“Grimmauld is quite big,” said George.

“Big big,” said Harry eloquently.

“Use your words, Harry,” said George.

“Forty-something rooms, stables, pool, grounds, three floors, two wings,” said Harry.

“I believe,” said George in a snide, posh accent “That is called a country estate.”

“Well, ghosts, doxies, cursed shit, imagine Grimmauld place only bigger.”

“And the other houses?”

“They were quite consistent, as a family,” said Harry.

“So you’re cornering the market on cursed, pest-ridden houses?” asked George, nodding sarcastically.

“I could literally use them as Auror training exercises, if I didn’t mind people getting hurt,” said Harry.

“Aren’t you still at work for another week or two?” asked George idly.

Harry blinked at George, who smiled maliciously.

“I was looking at curse-breakers, but um…”

“My way is cheaper, and good training?” asked George.

“I’m so glad you’re not a dark lord,” said Harry. “So as I was saying, I did the ghost thing, and I found some … valuables, so I was wondering, fancy a house?”

“A house?”

“Christmas present,” said Harry blandly.

“I’m not sure cursed manor is really a look I’m going for,” said George. “It’d take ages to change everything to custard pies and dungbombs.”

“Here,” said Harry.

“Here?” said George “This is … this place is nice, Harry. Your kids grew up here. You kept it in the divorce. My family regard it as ….” he looked at Harry. “It’s a Burrow replacement?”

“Well, your mum’s going to be cross for a long time,” said Harry, slumping.

“And you’re going where?”

“Big place – Ravenswood hall,” said Harry.

“Sounds awfully posh,” said George plummily.

“The trees are some crossbreed between a snargaluff and a wild oak,” said Harry.

“And you want to live there?” asked George, eyebrows up.

“They also die really easily from a spell,” said Harry. “And I’ve got four kids now.”

“Ten rooms each,” said George. “And who’s the girl really?”

“Bellatrix had a kid with Tom Riddle, and then immediately sent her baby away to be raised by sympathisers,” said Harry.

George looked at the antidote pen on the table. “I don’t think the pen works,” he said. “Did you say she’s Voldemort’s kid?”

“She’s mine now,” said Harry. “She’s Teddy’s cousin. And um. Delphini Black; my lawyer says because she’s not Roddy’s child, best not to call her LeStrange, let alone… it sounds bad.”

“What was she called before?”

“Diggory,” said Harry. “Which yes, is as fake as a two-galleon coin.”

“So, um, this girl, she all right?”

“Soon as I found out she existed, I went straight to Hogwarts and told her she had family,” said Harry “Also, the goblins have the shits with her because she’s partly my blood anyway.”

“Don’t tell me, because Voldy used your blood to make a new body?”

“Okay,” said Harry. “I won’t.”

“So, she look normal?”

“Tall, slightly colour-changing blondish hair, could pass for a Black,” said Harry.

“And, you know… from her dad?” asked George.

Harry shook his head, “Nothing bad.”

“How old?”

“Seventeen,” said Harry. “My boys have a big sister, and Lily thinks… what did she say ‘she’s ace?’”

“So James with a big sister? That will… interesting,” said George. “I assume my kids know and just haven’t told me.”

“They know their gran,” said Harry bluntly.

“I’m hurt,” said George, not sounding very hurt. “Why adopt her?”

“Well, she’s an orphan, and we’re her family, even discounting that she’s got my blood,” said Harry. “Mmm?” said George.

“And well, DMLE raided a manor house and found a plot she was being raised to be the patsy for.” said Harry.

“I haven’t heard about that, or seen anything much in the Newspapers,” said George.

“Everyone involved got fair trials, just not public ones,” said Harry.

“And?” said George. “That sounds… worrying.”

“It’s classified,” said Harry “But then again, Lucius Malfoy is back in Azkaban.”

“And your boy got poisoned,” said George.

“Yes, not pleased about that,” said Harry. “And Malfoy’s boy.”

“Malfoy’s boy?”

“Albus… is Scorpius Malfoy’s best friend,” said Harry, with his eyes closed.

“Did that hurt to say?” asked George flippantly.

“Less than it could,” admitted Harry “Draco Malfoy said some very interesting things under questioning.”

“Really?”

“Unofficially,” said Harry, “his – late wife was very anti the whole pureblood rhetoric thing.”

“And married that git anyway?”

“Who shut his father out completely for deriding his wife,” said Harry.

“Malfoy’s changed his tune?”

“He um. She died; he’s not doing great,” said Harry.

“Not great great, or Harry not great?” asked George.

“What’s that even supposed to mean?” asked Harry indignantly.

“Wow. Poor bastard,” said George.

“And Lily says that Scorpius Malfoy makes eyes at Rose.”

“Our Rose?” asked George.

“That one,” said Harry. “Having seen the boy’s kitten impression; fifty-fifty odds.”

“He’s a Malfoy!” said George, incredulously.

“He’s got a big library” said Harry drily “Imagine Malfoy, only fluffy hair, big eyelashes, and seemingly cross-bred with a pygmy puff.”

“Hang on, I’ve seen that kid!” said George, frowning. “He buys bundles of trick wands.”

“That one,” said Harry. “Delphini is staying with Malfoys for summer; give me time to get the new house sorted, and learn to swim.”

“She can’t swim?” asked George.

“Had a … poor childhood, primary caregiver got Azkaban for child neglect,” said Harry pointedly.

“Is she okay?” asked George not dwelling on how much ‘neglect’ was required to be in Azkaban.

“She’s a Hufflepuff, and her aunt’s going to teach her to ride this summer as well – Malfoy can afford the bloody flying horses.”

“Flying horses?”

“Her aunt’s family used to have them.”

“Her aunt?”

“Malfoy’s dead wife’s sister – she’s the only person in that family sane and sober,” Harry said drily.

“And you’re not worried about the boy?”

“His Aunt has her head screwed on,” said Harry.

“What does she do?”

“She’s a lawyer,” said Harry. “A bloody good one. Saved my arse in the divorce, at the expense of firstly money and secondly, being repeatedly told I’m a sodding idiot.”

“Right,” said George. “So the ghost trick worked?”

“Head of the family had a little bit put aside,” said Harry. “Ghosts are an under-utilized resource.” he remarked.

“To pay for rennovations?” asked George.

“And other expenses,” said Harry “I’m getting a year’s pay, and um. I’ll have to start managing the Black’s investments.”

“Sounds complicated and boring,” said George.

“Collecting rent, fixing rentals, leasing warehouses out… maybe renting out the other houses, at least till my kids are grown up,” said Harry.

“And still giving me one?”

“More than a little bit put aside, okay,” said Harry “Thought I had some… unexpected expenses.”

“Like what?”

“Sending my eldest daughter shopping. Clothes emergency,” said Harry, with a shrug.

“That skint?” asked George, suddenly still, intent, and resembling nothing so much as a short, stocky Percy Weasley.

“As in, keep this to yourself – shamefully terrible pants,” said Harry. “Which reminded me a lot of being me before … the war was over.”

“You did get clothes that sort-of-fit by the time you were fifteen or so,” said George. “You took a teenage girl shopping? God, the look on your face must have been epic.”

“I tossed some money at her aunt,” said Harry.

“Her aunt?”

“Draco’s wife’s sister,” said Harry.

“So she’s a sensible adult then?”

“And a good lawyer,” said Harry.

“Oh,” said George. “And?”

“Gave me a very serious lecture about my need for a pre-nup going forward,” said Harry sulkily. “And she’d already given me a bloody lecture about how dumb I was to get married without a contract.”

“Really?”

“That one thing apparently cost me half of my vault,” said Harry.

George shrugged. “My sister was not pleased,” he said.

“I won’t forget that any time soon,” agreed Harry.

“Good,” said George “You two were good together though,” he said.

Harry snorted. “We were terrible!” he said “We never talked.”

“You argued, and made up, and then went off to shag noisily,” said George. “Hermione wasn’t a broom cupboard girl though,” he commented.

Harry looked at the ceiling, which was very interesting.

“Huh,” said George. “Fred always said he thought she was a very bad girl under all that repression.”

“She’s just so… fucking worried about her approval ratings, about her odds of being re-elected,” said Harry indignantly.

“Politician,” said George. “I guess that’s not the kind of dirty business you like.” he added suggestively.

Harry ground his teeth. “At the point where you’re telling the head of the DMLE to put a girl in Azkaban because you think she’ll be like her parents, with no evidence,” he said.

“Well, Bellatrix did um. Leave her mark,” said George. And he frowned, “My mum killed your daughter’s mum,” he said.

“She never met either, and knows her ‘family’ sent her off to… it was enough not to kill her,” said Harry. “She’s still cross at the bitch,” he added.

“Wouldn't you be?”

“I’d fucking kill them myself,” said Harry, re-crossing his arms.

“You did kill her dad,” said George. “If that helps.”

“A bit,” conceded Harry.

“So um, who was the woman you went to the restaurant with the other night?” asked George. “The paper had speculation.”

“My layer. She had briefs,” said Harry.

“Oh. Weird – Ange said the article claimed she was gorgeous, and wearing a dress,” said George.

Harry felt his face heating up.

“You didn’t!” said George. “Have you learned nothing, my ex-brother in law and business partner?”

“There’s a prenup,” said Harry, staring at the floor.

George coughed ,“A prenup?”

“She explained how I needed a prenup, and we um, discussed it,” said Harry.

“So you shagged her at her office. Wow,” said George.

“Strictly professional at the office,” said Harry.

“As in professional or the kinky stuff?”

“As in, no messing around,” said Harry.

“Why?”

“Well, I went to see my lawyer after arguing with Herm– The Minister, and she gave me actual, serious legal advice,” said Harry.

“And?”

“So there had been some banter in the past, okay” admitted Harry. “Just banter.”

“And she what… showed you her briefs?” asked George suggestively.

“Just suggested that I pull my head out of my arse,” admitted Harry. “She’s saved me a fortune already.”

“Handy if you’re rich,” said George.

“And she had dropped everything to support her family,” said Harry “Parents were dropkicks, but she came back to England in time to watch her sister dying, and then her grandfather – who had the law firm died, and she had a new job.”

“And that just was a coincidence?”

“Her husband was a French league chaser, she married him straight out of school,” said Harry.

George nodded “You two have a lot in common then,” he said.

“McGonagall was quite snide about people who marry straight out of school last time we spoke,” said Harry. “Which was when Scorpius and Al were poisoned. We were both there for our kids.”

“And that was who?”

“Best guess is Lucius ordered it, and there is angst in the DMLE as they try to work out how he sends messages out, who’s the leak.”

“And?”

“Does the phrase ‘death-eater-hunt’ inspire confidence?” said Harry pointedly. “Anyway –”

“Anyway?” asked George.

“Bigger problems in that case, but also… Minister told me I could come back when I did what I was told.”

“Ah,” said George.

“Hence, quitting,” said Harry. “The worst part is – “

“Your best friend, who you’re shagging, turning into Umbridge?” asked George.

“That if I was Minister, and not me. I’d be tempted,” said Harry. “Still contemplating killing Lucius, the piece of shit” he added.

“But you’re not, and also, you’re not, you’re you,” said George.

Harry clenched his right fist tight, and the scar-writing ‘I must not tell lies’ started to be visible “She made an impression on me,” he said.

“That is quite mental,” said George “But leaving Umbridge to the Centaurs.”

“That was um, Hermione’s idea,” said Harry.

“It didn’t sound like one of yours,” said George. “Because it required thinking two steps ahead,” he added.

“Anyway,” said Harry, sighing, and rolling one hand in a moving things-along gesture. “Now I’m working out three more weeks… maybe with some training exercises.”

“They might break stuff,” said George.

“I might have to go crazy making any nice things imperturbable beforehand,” said Harry. “I had not thought of it as a training exercise.”

“Flick me some galleons and I can arrange for the floos to be blocked,” said George.

“The Floo Network Authority fees haven’t been paid anywhere but Ravenswood, they’re all off the network,” said Harry.

“Really give me this place?”

“Well, you’ve got kids,” said Harry.

“But… jamming everyone above the shop is…” said George.

“Reminds you of the Burrow?” asked Harry.

“Well that, yeah,” said George. “Was it a lot then?”

“I’m buying myself something I didn’t know I always wanted,” said Harry.

“Your own personal dragon?”

“God no,” said Harry. “That I do not want. But I am going to get some horses and stuff.”

“And stuff?”

“Some flying horses, stuff,” said Harry waving one hand. “My niece is learning on Malfoy’s.”

“So you going to have your kids learn?”

“My kids, something that flies?” asked Harry “There’s not much for them to learn,” he said dismissively.

“Quidditch pitch?” asked George.

“Not one presently, but why not,” said Harry. “It’s got a pool, once it’s fixed.”

“Now that’s more like it,” said George. “Who’s cooking? Not that I’m saying anything, you do a good cooked breakfast.”

“I um, think I’ll hire a cook,” conceded Harry.

“Hire a cook?”

“Well… think about it. Four kids, I’ll be busy with the ‘estate management stuff.’” said Harry.

“No more auroring?”

“No more auroring,” said Harry “I think I’m done with paperwork.”

“Estate management stuff?” asked George. “Sounds like paperwork.”

“My lawyer has already worked out most of it, and there’s no more fronting the Wizengamot” said Harry.

“So why this lawyer?”

“She knows what an arse I am, and just lays down in plain language what she expects,” said Harry.

“I’m not seeing the difference to my ex-sister-in-law here” said George.

“And when I discussed my fight with Hermione with my lawyer, she asked if Hermione had gone mad, or just wanted to be fired.” said Harry “Then proceeded to plan the blackmail campaign to ensure I got a decent settlement from the Ministry,” he added.

“Blackmail?” asked George, eyes lighting up.

Harry waved both hands dismissively. “Just making sure that the Minister knew we had two press releases ready to go to The Prophet and Witch Weekly,” said Harry. “To help her agree that I would do for weeks handover, then get a years pay, and not make a press release.”

“So… halfway between Ginny and Hermione then?” asked George.

“Doesn’t um… want the stuff Ginny wanted,” said Harry, flushing.

“Don’t ever tell me,” said George, looking away.

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t,” said Harry.

“And you and her … compatible then?” asked George piously.

“Less trouble than Hermione, and um. Stuff,” said Harry. “When it all started with Hermione, I just wanted you know… a nice thing, without… some of Ginny and my baggage. But that fucked everything up too, and – “

“Harry, you’re not responsible for Hermione being a control-freak,” said George. “And what stuff?”

Harry looked at the floor.

“Stuff?” asked George again.

“I hurt my back,” admitted Harry, flushing. George laughed uproariously, and poured them both a glass each of butterbeer.

Harry waited till George drank some, then sipped; it was the good stuff.

“S’good,” said Harry.

“And you still don’t trust me,” said George.

“Christmas two thousand; laxatives in the eggnog,” said Harry.

“An egg could have gone bad, and besides, you did drink nearly a pint of it,” said George.

The doorbell rang.

Harry got up and went off to see who the hell that was.

He was not expecting black trouser-suit wearing lawyer Daphne Greengrass, looking annoyed.

“Why was your floo blocked?” she said, lifting one eyebrow.

“Um,” said Harry.

“The next word had better not be Hermione or Ginny,” said Daphne.

“Oh my, this is the new witch!” said George from the hallway, “Do come in!” he said. “I’ve been talking to Harry.”

Daphne stalked in, closing the door before she asked “And you are?”

“George Weasley, Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes,” said George.

“So you’re a friend of Harry’s then,” she said.

“Well, and business associate,” said George. “Harry gave us the bag of gold we started the business with.”

Daphne stiffened and turned to look intently into Harry’s face “Potter, do you have stake in a business that you did not mention in your disclosure to your lawyer for your divorce?”

“Don’t worry about it,” said George cheerily. “If Ginny had gone near the business, she’d have squid tentacles for hair for a week. Strictly a me, Fred and Harry thing.”

“Just for the sake of, argument,” said Daphne firmly, turning to look at George “How much did Potter give you?”

“Well, all the tri-wizard winnings; a thousand galleons,” said George “I mean, like Harry said, Ludo Bagman was never going to pay us the money he owed us, and he felt generous.”

“You have an unpaid debt with Mister Bagman?” asked Greengrass.

“Well, we were behind the angry goblins in the queue,” said George “Though you do look somewhat terrifying yourself.”

“These are my work things,” she said. “I was going to Floo-call Potter, but the connection could not open. I feared interference.”

“Oh – that’s our new floo-be-gone cube,” said George “We were having a deep and meaningful in the kitchen.”

“Why on earth would a joke shop sell something that blocked a floo? It’s hardly funny,” said Daphne firmly.

“On the serious products to DMLE side of the business,” said George, with a casual shrug. “We’ve been selling them shield hats and bits and bobs since before the war.”

Greengrass turned and fixed Harry with a pointed glare, arms akimbo, “Potter?” she said “You not only own shares in a joke shop, but they sell serious things?”

“Well, and cosmetics,” said George “Wonder-witch.” he added “You don’t look like you need a lot of help in that regard.”

“Unblock your sodding floo,” she said “I’m going home to get changed, then I’m coming back here to get some details.”

“Well, is it really any of your business, as Harry’s girlfriend?” asked George.

“No, but as Harry’s lawyer, it’s bloody important,” she said.

They all walked back to the kitchen, Greengrass keels clcking on the floor, and George poked the stone block with his wand, twisting it on a spot on the stone block where several mortared joints met, and the large stone block shrank to a tiny cube again, and he pocketed it.

“Good god,” said Daphne incredulously.

“George, but it does start with G,” said George flippantly. “Ange does call me god a little, but I try not to let it give me a – swelled head.” he added suggestively.

Daphne flooed off to “Viridian!” and Harry tried to remember the sight of the back of those trousers.

“A fine looking woman, I suppose,” said George. “If you like pale girls,” he added.

“Um,” said Harry. “I think she’s cross,” he added, rubbing the small of his back.

“I can see why a bloke previously accustomed to Hermione Granger might strain something in company with the lovely Miss Greengrass,” said George sarcastically.

Harry tore the stopper out of the painkiller bottle and swigged an approximately measured dose.

“What makes you think she’s cross?” asked George.

“That’s her office address,” said Harry.

“Are you suggesting, dear Harry, that moi might have cock-blocked you today?” asked George, fluttering his eyelashes.

But a glass each of butterbeer later, the fireplace flared green, and Daphne Greengrass stepped out of the fire in faded blue jeans and a Green needle-cord jumper. Both were fairly form-fitting.

Harry tried not to choke. She pulled her briefcase out of the pocket of her jeans – that could not have fit a kankercheif let alone a breifcase, and that was the point he realised she was actually wearing trainers. Despite that, the jeans were very compelling as she sat down next to him at the table, clicked the briefcase open, and pulled out a pad, quill and ink.

“I’m on the clock still, Potter,” she said. “Now,” she said, arming her dictaquill with a tap of her wand.

“Weasleys wizarding wheezes and Harry Potter. Explain,” she said.

George stared at the quill.

“You see, when a specky little git – ” started George, the quill writing it down accurately.

“Please, be concise, I’m dying to clock off and sit down with Harry for some dinner,” she said. The quill did not record what she had said.

George stared pointedly at Harry.

Harry started to talk. “Weasleys Wheezes was going to be funded by betting everything Fred and George had betting on the World cup back in ninety four. But Bagman refused to pay out. At the time, I didn’t need a thousand galleons, so I gave it to them; they’d given me a family heirloom.”

“His family,” explained George. “Made an enchanted map of Hogwarts, shows everything and everyone.”

“Not everything – there are bits my father and his friends never found,” said Harry. “Anyway, they told me the ghost technique too.”

“That,” said Greengrass tightly.

George duplicated Harry’s glass, and cast a refilling charm on the bottle, and poured her some butterbeer.

“Harry said it did him some good,” said George.

Daphne Greengrass sipped the butterbeer, andHarry might have imagined she made a faint growl.

She looked at the parhchment and asked “Wheezes? The business, profitability, expansion, and the never mentioned DMLE side of it?”

George sighed, and explained, at length; two butterbeer bottle refilling charms worth.

One he was done, Daphne tapped her quill, and put it back in her briefcase. Then she said “Thank you mister Weasley. Potter, your share in this business will need to go in your will.”

She turned to George “Is there a formal document that details that Harry has some shareholding?”

“Um. Not as such,” admitted George.

“And is it in your will?” she asked, eyes narrowed.

George smiled awkwardly.

She reached into her briefcase, and handed him a business card “If you have any sort of records at all, I can make you a will fairly easily.”

“Would Ange need to come for that?” asked George. Daphne handed him a second card. “Married, or De-Facto?”

“Registry but we never told mum,” said George.

“Yes, Mister Weasley, your wife as well. Or separately, if she has other business interests,” said Daphne.

“Um,” said George. “Family discount cos you’re dating Harry?”

She shook her head.

“She’s worth it,” said Harry, which had her smile fleetingly.

“Um,” said George. “I don’t know if my bother Bill, who’s married with kids has a will either.”

Daphne handed over another business card.

“To be honest, I’m not sure mum and dad do either,” said George.

“Please, I can only cope with so many Gryffindors at once,” she said, twitching.

“I’ll um, ask dad on Sunday,” said George. “I’ll just … um. Be going?”

“Oh, bring this mysterious ‘Ange,’” said Daphne “I might as well meet his friends.”

“It’s Angelina Johnson from school Quidditch,” offered Harry.

“Oh. The tall girl with the hair,” said Daphne.

“You’re tall and have hair,” said Harry.

“Well, she’s okay, but not a patch on Ange,” said George. “I’ll um. Floo off then,” he said awkwardly. “Be back with takeways.”

“Oh, how marvellous,” said Daphne drily.

“Thai,” said Harry.

“Okay. I can do that,” said George, flooing off to “Weasleys Wheezes!”

“What if I didn’t like Thai?” she asked.

“Well then I’d have to get you something you liked,” said Harry.

“How can you people be so irresponsible!” she complained. “And that stone thing – couldn’t that be used for all sorts of things?”

“I’ve got three on the table somewhere,” said Harry casually. “His antidote injector’s bloody amazing; it’s going to make being an Auror a lot safer, and I’m getting one.”

“For what?”

“Billywig venom, obviously,” said Harry. “I’m allergic.”

“At School they seemed like such – “ said Daphne.

“Just focussed on the joke shop; the DMLE bit came out of my little adventure in the Ministry as a teenager,” said Harry.

“Are you actually close?”

“He’s like a brother,” said Harry. “Who I would definitely not snog the wife of,” he added hurriedly.

“And his brother Bill?” asked Daphne.

“Wouldn’t snog him either,” said Harry, “fair warning, Bill’s wife is part-veela, so she can be a little… intimidating in person.”

“Like that French witch in the Tri-Wizard.”

“Same girl,” said Harry.

“God, I feel like a hag,” said Daphne, slumping. Harry patted her back.

“Not green, not warty, no fangs,” said Harry, leaning over and kissing her temple.

“Hold on – He’s got an antidote to Billywig stings in a pen?”

“Yeah, you have to stick it in to make it work,” said Harry.

“That’s really advanced potion-making,” said Daphne.

“So?” said Harry “He’s um, how to say this nicely? An insane genius?”

“Insane?”

“Well, anarchist anyway,” said Harry. “One big extended family Christmas he put laxatives in the eggnog.”

“Oh god,” grimaced Daphne. “And we’re having dinner with him?”

“He’ll be on good behaviour; Ange will, um, want to meet you,” said Harry. “She wasn’t that pleased about my divorce, and very not pleased about Hermione.”

“What is she to you?”

“My um, Quiddich team-mate for years, but the girls treated me a bit like a mascot.”

“You were very small,” she said, holding one hand about two feet off the floor.

“Thank goodness I grew,” said Harry. “What are you wearing?”

“Knickers, you pervert,” said Daphne.

“Under the jersey?”

“A bra. Well… and that,” she said, pulling her jersey-collar down to expose a bronze collar for a moment.

“Ruddy hell woman!” said Harry. “How am I supposed to concentrate!”

“I can claim it’s just a necklace,” said Daphne, with a smirk.

“Knickers despite this being time together?”

“Not public indecency, and Jeans and commando do not go together; especially if one’s bits are still a little tender from someone being very indecent,” said Daphne.

Harry got up and spun his chair and sat down on properly “Are you okay?”

“I will be as long as you kiss it better tonight,” she said.

Harry blinked at her.

“I said kiss it better, not pound me senseless,” said Daphne.

“Ok. Right,” said Harry.

“I didn’t bring Dittany for one thing,” she said, just in time for the floor to go green, and George to step out carrying a plastic carrier bag, which he carefully put on the table.

Harry choked.

“Is he okay?” asked George.

“Oh. One very small dirty joke” she said. George looked at Harry incredulously.

Behind him, the fire glared green again, and Angelina Johnson stepped through, carrying another carrier bag, and wearing a set of tan overalls with ‘JOHNSON’ on the name plate.

She stopped and stared at Daphne, her dreadlocks rocking. “He wasn’t kidding,” she said, putting the bag on the table, and extending her right hand “Ange Johnson, pest-control, and George’s – ”

“Wife,” said Daphne, shaking her hand “Daphne Greengrass, lawyer, and … something with Harry that’s sort of new.”

Angelina shook Daphne’s hand. “Lawyer? George said you looked frightening – not true.”

“I was in my work things, I went back to the office for my case, and popped home to get out of my work things.” She said, standing up, and packing her parchment, quill, inkpot back into her case, and clicking it shut “Harry had not told me, as his lawyer that he owned any sort of interest in Weasleys Wheezes.”

“Hmm,” said Angelina. “Is that important, for his divorce?”

“George suggested that Ginerva could seek reparations, if she wanted to have, what was that? Octopus tentacles for hair?”

“Squid,” said George. “And um, we probably need to have a will. For the kids,” he added.

“Mister Weasely?” asked Daphne “You never finished Hogwarts, but I get the impression you’re good at potions?”

Angelina snorted “Could teach NEWT potions hanging upside down,” she said. “Ninety percent of the joke shop stuff is potions.”

“Hmm,” said Daphne. “Given a non-disclosure agreement, I might have a potion recipe for you to look at.”

“What does it do?” asked George. “I swear on – Harry will turn me inside out if I say anything – not to say.”

“I like him this way round,” said Angelina, starting to unpack the carrier bags. “I know Harry likes green curry.”

“Is there Pho?” asked Daphne.

“Course there is,“ said Ange.

“I’m sorted,” said Daphne, banishing her briefcase into depths of the house with a casual muttered spell and a flick of her wand.

“I was um,” said Harry as Ange took the lids off multiple plastic takeaway boxes “Thinking about giving George a really good Christmas present. Well, you and George.”

“The ghost thing,” said George.

“Whatever,” said Ange “Harry get some sodding plates, let’s eat” said Ange, sitting down.

Harry stood up and got plates and cutlery down, and laid the table, then opened a cupboard and pulled out some more butterbeer bottles. Ange dished up, and seperated the pho into four bowls with some tricky charms-work.

“Not that rubbish,” said George “It’s swill.”

Harry put it back, and got out a wine-bottle instead, which he opened and left on the table.

“Glasses?” asked Daphne. “What present?”

Harry opened a high cupboard and got down wine-glasses, and said “Oh – I was wondering about giving him Briar-hill.”

“What?” said Daphne “Nonsense. No potions lab. The Bath town-house has an entire basement usable for brewing, and a back yard big enough for coaches. As you have a massive grounds at Ravenswood, they can just come over. Also, your children with Ginny grew up here, one of them will want it.” Ange looked at Daphne for a moment quite specualtively.

Harry poured everyone a glass, and everyone sipped the wine experimentally.

“You know all his other properties off the top of your head?” asked George.

“Had to find them all, get them quantity surveyed, and state them in the arbitration hearing, yes, George, I do know the vaguely usable ones off the top of my head,” she said. “After Potter blind-sided me with Ravenswood having a pool and stables, I might have revised a little,” she conceded.

“You’ve got a pool?” asked Ange.

“Will have; it needs work,” said Harry.

“And spare rooms?” asked Ange, dishing up curry onto plates.

“And spare rooms” said Harry, having a forkful of green curry and smooshing it into his rice.

“So… pool party and Harry’s place all summer?” asked Ange.

“Well, between work,” said George, chewing. “People work.”

“So… hypothetically speaking, my mother did potions research, and made a beauty potion that made her look thirty-something when she was forty-eight,” said Daphne, then noisily sipped at her pho.

“No!” exclaimed Ange. “What happened to her?”

“She made one that was more powerful, that made her look twenty-three when she was fifty, only also dead,” said Daphne. “She had, in case anyone wondered, a bit of an axe to grind about magic rendering witches younger not actually requiring human sacrifices… she was nearly right. Just the one.” She sipped again.

“How old were you?” asked Ange.

“Sixteen,” said Daphne. “My father didn’t take it well, and went on to come back to Britain to serve, as grandfather desired, the new Dark Lord. He was crap at duelling, and died in a skirmish.” Daphne speared some noodles and shrugged, “My grandfather was too old for all that, and choked on his dinner after the war.” And she ate noodles.

“That’s… a lot to think about,” said Angelina, eating curry.

“Well, best to tear the band-aid off, as my bestie says,” said Daphne, drinking wine. She waved one hand dismissively. “My family fled Britain at end of my fifth year, and I got NEWTs at Beauxbatons, married my boyfriend, and managed eight years before I realised I was not his only witch.” She rolled up a big ball of noodles and vegetables, and chomped it demonstrating clear enthusiasm for pho.

“Quidditch player,” said George.

“Quite,” said Ange, eyeing Daphne. “And what are your intentions with my little buddy Harry?”

“Well, dinner, conversation, some drinks, and hopefully a snuggle tonight,” said Daphne, drinking the rest of her glass.

“A snuggle?” asked Ange.

“Still sore from last marathon session in my bed,” said Daphne bluntly. Harry covered his face with his hands.

“I like her,” said Ange. “Doesn’t seem to take any shit from you at all,” she said to Harry.

“She’s um. God, made me so much money,” conceded Harry. “I’m considering her advice in most things.”

“Most things?” asked Daphne pointedly.

“Let me keep some dignity,” said Harry.

“We already agreed; no public indecencies,” said Daphne, and George spat wine across the room.

“Just quietly,” said Harry “Ange, I’m only with the ministry for another three weeks.”

“And that’s got what to do with Ron quitting?” asked Ange.

“Some people want to get out of the Ministry,” said Daphne “And I believe Minister Granger might be implicated.”

“We might be using some of the other Black properties for some Auror training next few weeks,” said Harry. “Pest control afterwards, maybe.”

“I’ll have a list for you by noon of what you need to do they come,” said Daphne.

“Oh, I’m going to be – “ Harry hesitated – “seeding the properties with artefacts for them to find. Realistic training, to um. Improve readiness.”

“I suppose I didn’t hear that?” asked Ange.

“It’s just a training exercise,” said Harry. “Then pest control, you heard that.”

“Not at all related to a recent raid then?” asked Daphne.

“I can’t comment on investigations in progress,” said Harry. “And If I’m leaving I want everyone on their toes, not finally slacking off.”

“Now, Harry keeps talking about pest control?” asked Daphne.

“Oh, well, um” said Ange, pointing at her overalls “Me and the girls from school do a bit of pest control. We’re one of the few outfits that can control poltergeists, so we make a living.”

“And hypothetically know how to placate ghosts?”

“That’s something George might have bragged about in bed, yes,” said Ange.

George smiled smugly, and served himself more takeaway.

“Mind you don’t make a pig of yourself,” said Ange. “You’d get fat.”

“I’m big-boned,” said George.

“Well they seemed nice,” said Daphne as they left half an hour later.

“Probably have to meet Bill and Fleur before the school holidays for dinner I suppose.”

“How very boring” said Daphne.

“So did you bring things?” aksed Harry.

“Things?”

“Clean underwaer, toothbrush?” asked Harry.

“Oh, I’m not staying here” she said.

“You’re not?” asked Harry, slumping.

“My house is where all my bathroom things are, we can floo there in under a minute” said Daphne.

“Oh” said Harry.

“And besides, my bed is comfy -yours is an unknown quantity” said Daphne

“Your pillows are too soft” countered Harry.

“Then bring one you like” she said. “And a toothbrush, and suchlike. Surely you have a travel bag?”

“I um… jammed all Hermoine’s stuff in it and tossed it into the floo,” said Harry quietly.

“Surely you have more than one bag?”

“Um,” said Harry.

“Good god” she muttered “Transfigure a towel,” she said more loudly.

“Ok” conceded Harry.

“I’ll give you one for your birthday, ok?”

“For my birthday?”

“I have a bag in mind,” said Daphne, with a faint smile – giving him a Dolce Gabbana day-bag would be a suitably present.

--==0==--

True to her word, Harry Potter woke up without having exacerbated his back injury. That he did not mention having. He was being used as a body pillow, and that was, he felt, all right.

Chapter Text

Once George and Ange had left, Harry was extremely interested to see what the collar under her jersey was.

“Um, what is under that jersey?” he asked.

“Oh please,” she said dismissively, but with a glint in her eyes. “there are dishes to tidy up.”

So he was put off for a little longer, at least till the dishes were floated over to the sink, and the takeaway packaging vanished. The dish-brush started to do the dishes.

“We are alone now,” said Harry.

“Where is your daughter?” she asked.

“Lily’s at her cousins,” admitted Harry. “They were having crepes Suzette.”

“And?”

“I never quite got the knack,” admitted Harry with a shrug. “There are a lot of floo-calls and patronus messages in my family.”

Daphne rolled her eyes, and walked upstairs.

“You could apparate,” he said, walking behind her, ataring at her jeans with growing… interest.

“For all I know you have apparation barriers, I could be splinched,” she said. “Also – we’ve both had half a bottle of wine, which is far more than Ministry safe apparation guidelines.”

Which was a lie, Harry felt, it was more like a bottle each.

Harry followed her into his bedroom, closed his bedroom door behind himself, and snicked the privacy snib on the bottom of the door latch.

Somewhat unexpectedly, she opened the briefcase on his bed, and took out a filmy green thing he presumed was night-gown, and tucked it under one pillow. Harry’s somewhat drunken mood improved.

Then she took out a parchment, and self-inking quill.

“This seems oddly legalistic,” said Harry.

She closed the case, and laid the parchment on top.

“In the interest of getting control of… certain assets,” she said “You and I should sign this.”

“A contract?” asked Harry.

Daphne Greengrass laughed – again. “God, one sheet for a contract? You must be joking. This is a Ministry civil union form.”

“Civil union?”

“Marriage,” she said “you need to be married to control the entail. There is, apparently a five-year grace period in the event you previously qualified, and then no longer do, for example, divorce or death of a spouse. As you never totally qualified – you need to put a ring on my finger, and sign – it’s thirty sickles to file the form – “

“What about the contract?” interrupted Harry. “You said I needed one.”

She smiled at him, her eyes bright “You can learn!” she said, clearly at least tipsy, “congratulations, you passed my ‘is he actually that dumb but just great in bed’ test.”

Harry didn’t know if he should feel insulted or not. He chose to regard it as a positive.

Daphne took a rolled scroll as thick as a truncheon out of the briefcase, and unrolled the bottom edge, to the signature block, and handed him the self-inking quill.

“Now,” she said “While you could get another lawyer to check this, I’ll tell you honestly it’s just what we already discussed.”

“And If I wanted to get it checked?”

“You’d get points for being careful, and lose points for not signing today,” she said, cheeks a little flushed.

“And the result?”

“Your lawyer goes home tonight,” said Daphne.

“Ouch,” said Harry.

“There’s always dittany,” she said. “And I had to use quite a bit this morning.”

“Are you actually wearing a collar?” he asked.

She snorted. “Sort-of,” she said “And if your next words include the phrase ‘safe-word’ well, don’t bother signing.”

“Safe-word? What’s that?”

“Good lord, no wonder you were upset,” she said mysteriously, and she smiled ruefully. “Sign the forms, and we’re done with legal stuff, and I can get to bed.”

“Get to bed?” asked Harry, with a crooked grin.

“Not like that – I’m sore,” she said. “I am quite out-of practice at marathon shagging sessions.”

Harry lifted his eyebrows.

“If I was ever in-practise,” she conceded. “Jean-Claude – my ex – well, I used dittany, you learn things in dorms.”

Harry grimaced at the thought, and signed the contract, then Daphne signed it, and she swapped the contract with the Ministry form, and signed the bottom. Harry actually read the form before signing. He, Harry James Potter was marrying Daphne Aria Greengrass with today’s date, and an attached contract.

“Aria?” he asked.

“Mother went to a naming seer,” said Daphne. “I do actually like singing,” she said. “But I couldn’t make a living doing it.”

Harry signed. “This is a little strange,” he said.

“You have entailed assets, lots of gold, and wife with her own assets,” she said.

Harry eyed some of her assets speculatively.

“I’ll take the form in tomorrow morning, get it stamped, and take it the certified form to Dewey Screwem and Howe, who administer the entail,” she said. “That’ll ensure that you have full legal control of the entail.”

“If you don’t change your name, doesn’t that mean you don’t get to use the entail?” asked Harry.

“Our finances are separate, as per the pre-nuptial agreement, attachment one,” she said. “You can deign to lend me entailed jewellery, for example.”

“Really?” he asked drolly.

“Well, that black pearl necklace is pretty tacky,” she quipped. But she’d taken it at dinner last night.

Well, and they’d done stuff. Lots of stuff. Possibly too much stuff, thought Harry. His back was still sore.

Daphne smirked, and said “Are you not getting changed for bed?”

Harry tugged his shirt off, and she pulled her jumper off over her head, revealing a quite tasty black bra holding up a bust he was anticipating seeing more closely shortly, and a flat bronze collar around her neck.

It wasn’t quite what he expected. It was clearly made of bronze which seemed like cheap metal for such a thing, and it was engraved with a variety, at the very least of crucifixes, six-pointed-stars, cows and flames, and it locked with some very complicated little keyhole, and was clearly padded inside with velvet.

“What is that?” asked Harry, it wasn’t like anything he’d even joked about.

“Mum’s old anti-vampire collar,” said Daphne. “It’s marked with a variety of holy symbols, the key is silver and shaped like a holy symbol.”

“Why does she have – did she have one of those?” asked Harry, toeing his trainers off and taking his jeans off without breaking eye contact. He felt flattered when Greengrass looked down at his pants. They were, obviously, tented.

“Because she was from um, Eastern Romania,” she said. “You’re in boxers, good,” she added.

“Eastern Romania?” he asked.

“Grandmama used to live in Transylvania,” Daphne conceded.

“So the holy symbols?” said Harry, toeing off his socks off and leaning as casually as possible on the side of the nearby wardrobe.

“And it covers your neck arteries. Though, from reading, they’re more likely to bite a femoral artery.”

“On the thigh,” said Harry.

“Hmm. I am hoping to get some attention – gently in that general area,” said Daphne, toeing her trainers off, and starting to undo her jeans.

“huh?”

“Still sore – kiss it better.”

“Oh. How about some murtlap extract?” asked Harry. “I’ve still got a bottle I use for the kids. It heals small cuts and eases bruises.”

He summoned it from the bathroom cabinet.

The application of murtlap extract onto Daphne’s tender places got out of hand, a bit, when it turned out to work really well as both medicine; one gob was completely effective, as it were, and well, lube, with two or three gobs and a bit of fingering, and Daphne cleared her throat “Potter,” she said calmly, licking her lips. “I am no longer in any discomfort. I would … deeply like to review yesterdays… activities.”

“Review?” he asked, wanting several things, including clarification.

“Revisit,” she said, putting the cork into the top of the murtlap bottle, and putting it on the bedside table.

“Re-visit?”

“Well, they do say to get right back on the horse that bucked you,” she said, lifting her eyebrows.

“You weren’t on a bucking horse,” said Harry.

“Giddyup, dobbin,” she said cheekily.

“Oh,” said Harry, taking off his boxers, and lying down on the bed.

“You see less enthusiastic than I’d expect,” she said, taking off her bra.

Harry was momentarily distracted. She was quite interested then; he realised. Cos it wasn't cold in his room at all, but she had quite pointy nipples. And he was more interested.

Daphne got astride him on the bed. “I’ll start slowly,” she said, lowering onto his lap, one hand ensuring he went where she wanted him, and letting out a soft exhalation. Harry closed his eyes to savour the – wonderful – sensation.

“Mmm,” said Harry, being very handsy, and thumbing her nipples.

“Are you all right?” she asked, slowly rising and falling, deliciously.

“Backs’ a little stiff,” he conceded.

“Oh. Well, I can massage that for you,” she said.

“Really?”

“Yes, of course,” she said. “You’re not twenty any more,” she said.

“Just as well, you’d be a bit old for me,” said Harry. “Unless you were also twenty,” he conceded.

“And then?”

“I’m pretty sure I’d still have a sore back,” said Harry, rocking his hips gently “But we’d have used more murtlap.”

“Well,” she said, breathing deeply and slowly rising and falling “This is very nice,” she said, biting her lower lip. “Oh very nice,” she said more huskily.

Harry agreed, pulled her down for a bit of snog, and they both slowly moved together for a long time.

Quite some time later, Harry gently applied murtlap extract to, well, places that might have had some recent rubbing or bumping on Daphne, and she exhaled loudly “Ohh… that’s nice,” she said very huskily. Harry got a dollop onto his fingers and applied a bit more inside places that might have also got sore yesterday.

“Ohhh.” she moaned softly. “You beast,” she added huskily. “I’m not that sort of girl” she said, all evidence to the contrary.

“Which is how you got sore in the first place?” asked Harry.

“You manipulated me,” she said, and Harry slid some murtlap-sickened fingers around a little manipulatively, and moved down the bed to kiss it better; which ten minutes later had Daphne arching her back off the bed and gasping with pleasure.

“You can do that again,” she said, panting. Harry took her quite literally, and did.

He was feeling quite like she was enjoying what he was doing – with both hands – a bit more than he’d expect; she was up in her hands and knees, after all.

“So um, this is okay?” asked Harry, fairly sure it was from the soft moans she was making.

“I didn’t expect you to have such a persuasive tongue,” she groaned.

“Uh, and that’s why you’re pushing back on my hand?” asked Harry.

“No, no more,” she said, pushing Harry’s hand away. “We won’t get any sleep!”

Harry cleared the bed, off and Daphne rolled onto her back.

“We are stopping now!” said Daphne, pulling the covers up, and crossing her arms over the top. Harry eyed the bulges under the bedcover. They were fun bulges.

“We both have work tomorrow,” she said.

“True,” said Harry, his breath slowing, and he put his glasses on the bedside table.

The next morning, he had a warm presence in bed next to him.

He looked over, and squinted. She was still asleep. Harry rummaged blindly for his glasses, and eyed his new wife. She looked a little tired, her hair was messy, and she probably needed to clean her teeth. Harry rummaged for his old watch on the bedside table, and found it – the time was five past seven.

Harry kissed her head gently, and slid out of bed, and had to get into pyjamas to go to the loo.

He considered the bathroom, and decided to go cook some breakfast first; the thought of giving Daphne breakfast in bed seemed appropriate. After all, he was getting married in a few hours.

As he made bacon and scrambled eggs, he considered if he should go with her, at least to the Ministry Registry office to submit that form.

A sound that was probably the loo flushing upstairs stirred him to conjure a patronus, whisper in Prong’s ear ‘Cooked breakfast on tray in a minute or two’ and send it off to ‘Daphne Greengrass.’

There was a surprised yelp from upstairs a few moments later.

Harry held in a grin.

He made some toast very hastily with a carefully controlled flame from his wand, summoned the tray, and laid out breakfast for two, and took it up. The tea in the teapot would be steeped in a bit.

Daphne was sitting up in bed wearing a very nice light green lacy not-much, and had taken her collar off at some point; there were marks on her neck from it, despite the padding.

“I was washing my hands, and a Stag accosted me,” she said.

Harry offered up the tray.

“Cooked breakfast?” she said “I should have stayed the other night.”

“I missed you,” he said.

“I woke up to an empty bed this morning, and the sound of a loo flushing,” she said.

“Um – “

“Get back in bed, and don’t put cold feet on me,” she said.

Harry got back into bed, and she put the tray on his legs.

“I can’t move now,” he said.

Daphne picked up her wand, and concentrating hard, conjured another tray, put one plate on it, picked up tools, and started to eat.

“Should I come with you to the registry office?” asked Harry.

“Well, it would be easier to convince them I wasn’t just trying to defraud you,” she said between precisely stacked and cut small bites of egg, bacon and no toast.

“No toast for you?”

“It took me ten years to lose my croissants for breakfast poundage,” said Daphne.

“Have the toast – you got a lot of exercise,” said Harry, seeing no evidence of breakfast poundage. She did look like she needed a breakfast pounding, but that was a different matter.

“Yes, I’ll be needing more murtlap after my shower,” she said. That matter, thought Harry.

“Um, was coming to bed last night really contingent on getting married?” asked Harry.

“No, coming to bed tonight is contingent on getting married,” said Daphne. “It’s traditional.”

“But we um, before,” said Harry.

“Well, try before you buy,” she said, with a flirty little smile.

“And?”

“I married you didn’t I, even with your terrible track record.” she said, licking her lips.

“I could feel hurt,” said Harry.

“You’re not though.” she said, and Harry eyed her breasts briefly.

“I am determined not to ever cheat again,” said Harry.

“Admirable sentiment an hour before marrying,” she remarked drily, pouring out tea. Harry stared at her breasts.

“Not just because I think you could put me in Azkaban on trumped up charges,” said Harry.

“Oh please,” she scoffed. “I could probably use something you actually did.”

Harry ate bacon and toast, and watched her drink tea. He felt quite pleased with himself. A part of his subconscious he wasn’t proud of kept saying ‘traded up to sexier model, cor!’ The paranoid bit of his brain was gibbering in the corner, as she was definitely the sort of lawyer who would put him Azkaban if he strayed. He did not, however, feel at all inclined to stray. Not that he was thinking about wearing a collar for her. Well, not outside the bedroom anyway. And it would be something manly… and chained to hers. Her mum’s old anti-vampire collar did not count, he felt. He also felt complaining too hard could get him a holiday in Sunny Azkaban. Considering she was so filthy –

There were thuds from the stairs, and Lily tore into his room, in a dressing-gown and pyjamas.

She skidded to a stop in her slippers, and stared at him and Daphne, her mouth open.

“Miss Greengrass,” she said, eventually, and made eye-contact with him, slightly blushing, “Dad, you are going to marry her, aren’t you.” she said.

“Yes, this morning, as soon as the registry office opens,” said Harry.

“No way!” said Lily. “Just because she’s got nice boobies?”

Daphne smiled politely. Harry glanced over at the very skimpy night-gown. They were very nice boobies.

“Dad!” said Lily, “I’m in the room!”

“Yes,” said Harry. Still staring.

“Will … Miss Greengrass be called mum?” asked Lily.

“That’s up to you, Lily,” said Daphne politely

Lily ran out and pulled the door shut behind her.

Daphne Greengrass had the temerity to arch her back.

Harry cast a locking charm and a silencing charm, in both cases saying the incantations.

“Really,” she said. “You’re bolting the barn door after the horse has bolted, Harry.”

“Well, relying on kids to not come back for another interruption is a bad idea,” he said.

“Thankfully I brought a change of clothes,” she said.

“Is your briefcase space-expanded?”

“Is the DMLE asking or are you?”

He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You come first,” he said.

“Not always,” she quipped.

Chapter Text

Harry watched Daphne Greengrass, in open-fronted robes over her black trouser-suit wait for the Ministry’s registry office to open. It meant he got to look at a pretty witch, and even better, one he’d seen in the shower twenty minutes earlier. He fingered the vial of pain potion he’d put in his pocket, hopefully without her noticing. She had her briefcase with her, obviously. He had asked her not to wear the robe, to which she had said “While I’m pleased you find my arse attractive, flaunting myself on front of the same Ministry I come to hearings at is not on my to-do list.”

But he’s seen the thong getting covered by the long, tight black trousers. Almost made up for the rather scary jacket covering her blouse. He was quite sure that was a blouse, not a shirt. Blouses were softer and had – as Lily said; nice boobies – under them.

The middle-aged witch who staffed this particular Ministry office finally walked down the hall to them, unlocked the door, and went in, after stopping to look at both of them. The door loudly locked from the inside. Harry felt she could have given Aunt Petunia judgemental staring lessons.

Harry cast Snape’s old reliable privacy charm.

“It’s like she’s not seen people queue for a counter at the Ministry before,” said Harry.

Daphne turned and looked at him with half closed eyes. “And that’s your read on the situation?”

“Well, as people have said, I’m old and losing my touch,” said Harry. Her ears pinkened, as he’d hoped. Her face, and neck, slathered in foundation, stayed neutral.

“You are terrible,” she said, rather huskily.

“And yet you’re marrying me anyway,” he said.

Her lips quirked. “No innuendo in the registry,” she said. “And definitely none out here.”

“Definitely not,” nodded Harry. “We agreed, no public sex.”

“I said innuendo,” she said quietly.

“Which is apparently foreplay for my lawyer,” said Harry quietly, with a crooked grin.

“Well, I think most lawyers wouldn’t be amused,” she said, not denying it.

“Good thing I got the best one,” he replied. She closed her eyes momentarily. He rather felt she looked smug. Also – was she wearing eyeshadow? He hadn’t noticed her putting it on bit um, he was quite sure now.

Harry looked around and did not check his watch. Time was getting away on him, and there was no helping it.

She opened her eyes.

“We wait,” he said. “Even if she’s being annoying, we need to do this, right?”

“This is the fastest way,” she said.

“There are slow ways?”

“There alternatives to a registry office but they take longer and cost more,” she said quietly. “Though taking half an hour to open the door is just rude,” she added.

“Oh come on, she’s probably on the floo, telling everyone,” said Harry.

“Can’t. There are legal penalties for disclosing marriage information outside of the required Ministry records and offices,” she said. “Otherwise nobody’d trust the Ministry with registry at all, and stop using the Registry, and that way lies anarchy.”

“I can’t say I’ve ever found the Ministry very trustworthy,” said Harry.

“Says the head of DMLE.”

“Well, I fixed what I could,” said Harry.

“Which is a lot.” she said gently. “The modern DMLE is probably the least corrupt part of the Ministry – ‘specially with the recent… policy direction from the Minister,” she said politely.

“She never got over being tortured by Bellatrix,” he said quietly. “And if I thought Tom was coming back, I’d never get to sleep.”

“You got very little as it was,” she said, brushing her hair back with one hand. “You look tired.”

“I’ll drink coffee,” he said tiredly. “I wanted to be sure you were… sure.”

“I’m hardly going to forget,” she said smugly. “I will be feeling it for days, you beast.”

“Sorry,” said Harry automatically.

“In a good way dear, in a good way,” she said. “And being a lawyer, I’m superbly positioned to sue the Ministry in the event there was a breach of the privacy of marriage records. That and the Central Record office will get involved, and that dozy cow doesn’t stand a chance if she makes them angry.”

“Why are they so mean and slow?” he asked.

“They’re old, and bored,” said Daphne bluntly. “It’s where all the witches retire from departments to. Witches, on average, live longer than wizards, so we ended up with lots of old witches wanting something to do, and filing is light work.”

“When I was a new Auror, they made me wait all day for one file, and kept coming out to stare at me,” he grumbled.

“They were getting a look at you,” she said. “I can’t blame them.”

“Pity we took the long way to get here,” he said.

“We took the lift. This was the quick way.”

“I mean… not that I don’t want my children,” he said.

“You have had entirely too long to imagine things,” she said. “We could not have. I was in Europe, you were a Junior Auror.”

“Well, we could have skipped those bits, and gone from the Battle of Hogwarts to my house at Grimmauld,” said Harry.

“Which, if it was worse than now, was a tip,” she said. “And assuming I’d been locked up with the other Slytherins, what would have kept me safe for two years?”

“Point,” said Harry.

“And considering I’d have been a virgin full of … “

“What?” asked Harry.

“At the time, I thought you were a good Quidditch player and a bit of a show-off.”

“Surprising accurate,” said Harry. “Yeah. We’d have been a disaster. You weren't… sympathetic?”

“Why would I be?” she said “My family had been lying about the beneficial effects of blood purity for generations. No, father was just … weak-minded.”

“Well, your mother would have had that effect on a bloke,” said Harry charitably. “You make me weak-minded.”

“My father was a weathervane, You, on the other hand, have a spine.”

“Thank you… dear,” he said.

The door unlocked, and drew back. Daphne waited till the witch was actually behind the counter, with glasses on a chain round her neck, and walked in, put her briefcase on the counter, clicked it open with one finger on the concealed latch, and took out the form, prenup, and a bag of sickles.

“Greengrass, Daphne and Potter, Harry. Registry marriage. Thirty galleons, as per the gazetted fee.” she said, closing her briefcase with a click.

The witch behind the counter inhaled. Harry felt she might have inhaled a few too many scones at some point.

“You have to supply proof of identity,” she said.

Harry rummaged in his robe pocket, and pulled out his Auror badge. He clipped it to his top pocket.

“Potter, H, One one seven” he said. His badge was stamped with the same, and the Ministry’s overlapping M’s logo.

He tapped his badge with one finger and it whistled once.

“Potter, comms check,” he said, and tapped his badge again.

His badge whistled “Director, your message is clear and strong.” said the tinny reply.

Harry smiled at the registry witch. “Now it’s possible, technically to forge an Auror badge connection. He drew his wand, and cast a Patronus charm.

“Harry Potter’s patronus is a Stag, as everyone knows,” he said, as the silvery Stag formed breathed deeply, exhaling silvery smoke.

“We normally accept a signature, with matching ID,” said the witch, looking pained.

“Well, Ministry ID cards are pretty easy to forge,” said Daphne. “So I’ve heard, anyway,” she added.

“And how will… Daphne Greengrass be proving her identity?”

“Easily,” said Daphne. “An Auror can confirm a persons identity after such checks as satisfy them,” she said.

Harry leaned over and pecked her on the lips, then sniffed her hair.

“Yep. That’s Daphne Greengrass,” he said.

“This is most irregular,” said the witch.

“Well, she’s got a mole on – “ said Harry cheekily. “But I’m not checking that here.” Daphne frowned at hi. Instead he turned to his Patronus, twisted his wand and said “Tell Daphne Greengrass: Hello dear,” and twisted his wand in a tricky backwards yanking-twist. The patronus snorted, trotted around Harry, and opened its mouth. Harry’s voice came out of the Stag’s mouth: “Hello Dear.”

Harry flicked his wand, and the stag Patronus faded away.

“Now, the Patronus charm is very tricky, and the communication version uses soul magic to identify the recipient. So, that is Daphne Greengrass,” said Harry.

Daphne laughed, a belly-laugh. “You show-off, you,” she said fondly.

“I try,” said Harry. He fixed the Ministry witch in his gaze “So, that’s Daphne Greengrass.”

“Isn’t the form of a patronus pretty much soul magic too?” asked Daphne.

“Well, yes, but it can change if you had something major change in your life,” said Harry mildly. “Witch I knew fell in love, and her patronus changed to match her boyfriends.”

“That happen for you?” asked Daphne.

“No. Shame really, would have been romantic,” said Harry. “They actually had a pretty fraught relationship till they both died in the Battle of Hogwarts.”

“But… that was soul magic,” said the registry witch, who Harry suspected, based on the nameplate on the desk, was called Gertrude something. There was a briefcase in the way of the rest.

“Changing your soul for someone is probably a sign of something a bit obsessive,” said Harry sadly.

“Still, we’re just registering a marriage,” said Daphne. “A stamped copy, please?”

The witch duplicated the filled in form painstakingly by hand onto a blank form, slid it over to be signed again by both of them, then pulled it back and stamped it in red: ‘RECEIVED’ and under that, she filled in today’s date. Daphne poked the prenup scroll “The prenup was signed by both parties, and will be filed with my designated executors.” That had her takeing a different stamp off her little stamp-holder and stamping both copies of the form with ‘PRE-NUPTIAL-AGREEMENT’

She slid it, and the copy back to Daphne, who opened her briefcase and popped it in, and clicked her case closed, and pulled her case down off the counter.

“Thank you for that,” said Daphne, turning. Harry walked out after her.

Daphne stopped in the next unisex loo they passed, coming out with her hair up in a bun, and a pointy hat pinned on with two silver hat-pins.

“Hair up, and a Hat?”
“My great aunt thought that a married witch going about with her hair down was the height of scandal.”

“Really?” asked Harry.

“Well, she tried to teach us her idea of deportment. I dunno if it ever really was that. She was lesbian Crimean war veteran with a scrimshaw foot,” said Daphne. “She’d been a night witch.”

“So the hat?”

“I’m going to be photographed. I just know it,” she said.

“And?”

“Nobody can crop a hat from a respectable photo, so my picture gets smaller, so it’s harder to see me,” she said. “And honestly, what’s another witch in a pointy hat?”

“My wife, I believe,” he said.

“Well, I’ve got to see Dewey Screwem and Howe,” she said. “And then I get to open the office.”

“Good luck,” said Harry.

“We shall not need luck,” she said.

She stood next to him in the lift, and he tried not to stare at her. There were a lot of other passengers, after all. But his brain kept telling him she was naked underneath her clothes. Well, and wearing her mums anti-vampire collar.

She stayed in the lift, and Harry got out, on the same familiar floor he always got out on. He checked the time and picked up his pace.

He grabbed coffee as soon as he got in the main doors of the office, and drank pain potion and coffee. His deputies were running the normal morning Departmental meeting.

“Alright, listen up,” said Harry to the assembled DMLE. “Surprise! We’re doing two weeks of training, working up everyone. And before you ask, this is firstly, confidential, and secondly, yes, related to the Nott investigation.” Nobody looked like they felt it was a treat.

“But current cases – ” interrupted Susan.

“Legal are not included – these are going to be out-of-office field exercises including MLEP, Hit-wizards and Aurors. We’re going to be doing simulated breaches of old, well-protected dwellings, loaded with curses, nasty critters, and to make it actually challenging, Retired Aurors, and myself, as the simulated opposing force. Legal will be doing all the leg-work for the raids we’ll be doing once we’re worked up.”

“We’re so fucked,” muttered a young Auror. Harry ignored that, and the pain in his back.

“As I judge it, in a little over two weeks, the DMLE will be at the highest readiness, just in time to raid several real sites of interest, which might be old, well-protected dwellings, containing Death Eater sympathisers.”

“Holy crap!” said Tony Goldstein, who had come up through the DA, after all.

“Well, I don’t know about holy,” said Harry. “But I think that if we all train hard for the next few weeks, all the following actual raids will go smoothly.”

The head of MLEP – Francis Sturgeon put his hand up “Sir, we do have day jobs,” he said.

“It’s okay Francis, I’ve got enough training sites lined up that we’ll be able to have everyone in MLEP rotate through a couple of simulated manor breaches, and cleanups, with plenty of time in the middle for reviews and day-to-day patrolling.”

“Is the Ministers office involved with this?” asked Francis.

“The Minister and I are, in case anyone was speculating, not on speaking terms,” said Harry “To be blunt, she wanted me to lock up a teenager because of who her mum was.”

The room went quiet.

“Who was her mum?” asked Susan bluntly.

“Bellatrix LeStrange,” said Harry “And before anyone speculates,” he took the St Mungo’s bloodwork out of his robe pocket and handed it to Susan “Sue, read out who the kid’s parents are.”

“Bellatrix LeStrange and – “ Susan coughed “Harry Potter,” she finished and stared at him, aghast.

Harry nodded, blushing slightly “And please, nobody ask. Confidentially, I was imprisoned at Malfoy Manor, and LeStrange was torturing people.” Which was a lie, but only in a minor detail. It had been Voldys willy, but a body made with his blood. Well, and Peter Pettigrew’s hand, and Vold’ys dad’s leg-bone, so it was all kinds of weird really. St Mungo’s had ID’d him, anyway.

“Oh god,” said Susan. “The Diggory girl.”

“Who I adopted as soon as I knew,” said Harry. “Not locking my own kid up; she was left with a Mrs Rowle by Lucius Malfoy, and Mrs Rowle has gone to Azkaban.”

“Mistreatment of a child,” said Susan Bones hollowly. “And kidnapping.”

“So yeah,” said Harry to the room. “Minister Granger wanted the girl locked up, called me in to say so, the day my official, Ministry adoption paperwork went through.”

“Is that why you had a meeting with that lawyer of yours?” asked Tony.

“That meeting cost me a lot, but I had to,” said Harry. “Anyway, we’ve got a few new tools coming in from… trusted suppliers, and we’ll be training with them on these simulated raids. I think it’s going to be fun.” Several of the old-guard from the DA years tried to smile convincingly.

“How will we get buildings to use?” asked Susan.

“We know most of the abandoned building like the backs of our hands,” said Tony, who Harry felt could be Head Auror if he just stopped joking around.

“Conveniently, my lawyer dug up nearly a dozen houses all owned by the Black family,” said Harry “And as I’ve got control over the Black family entail these days,” he said. Since nine am, to be really picky. “I can let the DMLE use them for training. Obviously, no bombardment curses or gouging charms, I don’t want the properties destroyed, but anything cursed is open slather, to make the training more realistic.”

“Are you going to kick all our arses, or just the team leaders?” asked Tony.

“I’ve had a consultant develop the simulated scenarios, so you’re all in luck – it won’t be from my imagination.” said Harry, smiling.

“Is that a good thing?” asked Susan.

“More unexpected, is better training,” said Harry “And some of the old hands here know how I think too well.”

“Bugger,” muttered Tony.

After the meeting broke up, Susan barged into his office.

“And the bit where you’re leaving the Ministry after the training is over?” she said, having clearly heard about his resignation via the Minister’s office staff.

“Leaving on a high note,” said Harry calmly.

“Has Hermione lost her fucking mind?” asked Susan.

“If I was her, I’d think the same,” said Harry.

“Bullshit,” she said. “Who did the training scenarios?”

“Ron did the originals, then George may have… salted them a bit,” said Harry.

“Oh god,” she grimaced. “It’s going to be horrible, I’m so glad I’m not doing it.”

“What you are doing, Sue, is stalling Hermione,” said Harry bluntly.

“What if she threatens my job?” asked Sue, her eyes widening.

“Well, she might, she fired me,” said Harry quietly.

“Harry, you – you just told the whole DMLE about Bellatrix and you – “she said. She grimaced.

Harry signed someone’s leave form from his pile of ‘forms to sign’ and looked up “I have no memories of that, thank god.”

“And the girl?”

“Brilliant,” said Harry “You’d have heard about Tonks, being a Hufflepuff”

Susan frowned “Her name was spoken of, well, you know,” she said. Harry was pretty sure every house had an Honour roll somewhere in the common room that you ignored as a kid.

“So Delphini’s basically Tonks, only not a brawler. Sprout loves her,” said Harry.

“She’s … a Hufflepuff?”

“Blacks make the best Hufflepuffs,” said Harry firmly. “And she’s a really good influence on my boys, and Lily thinks having an older sister is awesome.”

“How do you just… cope with that?” asked Susan.

“Sue, I spent my childhood fighting Voldemort, getting possessed, tortured… a seventeen-year-old daughter who’s neither stupid, violent or boy-crazy is frankly like the best birthday present ever. I’m just peeved that it took so long to find her.”

“How?”

“My divorce,” said Harry tiredly. “My lawyer had to dig through so many records, and even get into Gringotts accounts. The fucking goblins, of all people, tipped us off – they nearly stopped Delphini getting at her vault.”

“If you say you thank them, I’ll floo-call St Mungo’s,” said Susan pointedly.

“Still little pricks, but, don’t make me say ‘on balance, I’m happier,’” said Harry, with a wry smile.

Susan huffed, blowing a stray strand of hair upwards. “Harry, maybe it is time for you to retire.”

“You think?” he asked sarcastically “Wrecked two marriages, nearly alienated my kids, all for what?”

“Twenty years of peace,” she said.

“Pretty fucking high price,” he said “But, also – Delphini was the crack that broke open the Nott case. And that’s going to give us all another decade at least.”

“Definitely time for you to retire,” she said. “Do you think I should apply for your job?”

“Dunno,” said Harry “I think it’d do you good to get out of the office a little,” he added.

“Prick,” she said without invective. “I’m still not sending you a Christmas card.”

“Could I do the job?” she asked.

“Course you could,” said Harry. “The hard part is not having it eat your life.”

Chapter Text

A week into ‘working up’ the Auror office. Harry was lying on his belly, having a back massage from a blonde in an oversized t-shirt as the Hobgoblins played in the background.

“Are you sure this whole making the entire DMLE cry thing is a good idea?” asked Daphne, from her position astride his thighs, her thumbs rubbing up both sides of his lower back.

“Aaaah,” Harry moaned.

“You’re easily pleased,” she said softly.

“I’m in good hands,” he said.

“God, marry a man and next thing he’s a soppy mess,” she said, rubbing carefully. “Considering your back wasn’t sore before, I have to take some responsibility for rehabilitation.”

“Really?”

“Well, I need you in top shape,” she said. “I’m nearly back in the swing of things. Seriously though… the rumours are you and the old hands are being really rough on the Aurors.”

“Our exercises were bloodless battles and our battles will be bloody exercises,” quoted Harry.

“Did you seriously just quote someone?” she asked.

“What?” said Harry mock indignantly, “People kept giving me worthy looking books for decades.”

“And?”

“It was on the back cover of one,” said Harry, with a chuckle. “About the Romans, of course.”

“First army with wand-carriers,” said Daphne.

“Yeah well,” said Harry, and he groaned as her thumbs massage his upper back between his shoulders. “Vastly superior to ritual magic as wielded by druids,” he groaned.

“Is it really serious?” she asked plainly.

“I want it to be a footnote in history,” said Harry. “We got the key pieces weeks ago, just need to make sure all the supporters get rounded up and put away.”

“You want your last mission with the Aurors to be a footnote?”

“My name, barring an utter fluke, would be on the Hogwarts memorial,” said Harry quite bluntly.

Daphne stopped rubbing his back, her palms resting in him “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“I was seventeen, hadn’t slept in days, and bet it all on a prophecy, and our best chance,” said Harry. “This isn’t the same calibre of threat, but I don’t want any casualties.”

“On your side.”

“On either side,” said Harry. “Everyone’s going to be casting to disable, nobody’s going to cast to risk deaths. That’s not a guarantee, but if they get faster next week, we can roll them all up, and everyone can be restrained, healed up, safely interrogated, and tried, where appropriate.”

“That sounds like almost excessive force in a glove,” she said.

“Just,” Harry sighed “Please, dear, don’t take any defence cases that will give Hermione a reason to think you’re a supporter of them.”

“She’s hardly at her most rational, firing you.”

“Well, she’s probably actually in Australia, if my gamble worked,” said Harry.

“What gamble?”

“I gave her shit about her parents. Hopefully she’s gone off to deal with that properly.”

“Define properly?”

“She memory charmed them when she was seventeen, and couldn’t get it off after the war,” said Harry. “If she took some specialists, maybe she’d have parents again.”

“Again?”

“They currently think they’re the Wilkin’s,” said Harry. “Years later, I realised her mum doesn’t remember having a child.”

“Oh shit,” said Daphne, stilling. “That’s horrible. God I’m so … how is she sane?”

“Well, like we just discussed, she’s been under a lot of stress. Even if she failed, she’d at least have tried with all the resources of the Minister for Magic.”

“Wouldn’t her parents be upset?”

“I’m not saying memory charms,” said Harry. “But honestly, what could a kid do?”

She lay on his back, which while, heavy was padded. “Memory charming people to heal them is … morally fraught,” she said.

“Yup,” said Harry “Nice blanket. Cushiony.” he quipped.

“Seriously,” she said, into his messy hair.

“Seriously, you’re lying on me” he said.

“Are you saying I’m fat?” she said.

“God no,” he said “But, there is, for really heavy sentences, or say, persons sentenced to a Dementors kiss… couldn’t we divert them to a bit of memory charming?”

“When is law enforcement just soul death with a gavel?” she asked.

“Well, Dementor’s kiss,” said Harry bluntly, rolling over, and eliciting a squeal from Daphne, who fell into his arms rather conveniently. Like she’d squealed and levitated or something. “I figure, we already sentenced them to literally have their soul eaten, couldn’t we walk that back to just some implanted memories and memory charms?”

“Implanted memories?” she asked.

“I dunno. We could go all Russian, and let them remember decades of misery in prison,” he said.

“The Russians don’t do that,” she scoffed. And kissed the tip of his nose.

“Russian Novels. Audrey and Percy go on about them,” said Harry.

“Oh.”

“We got a proposal to selectively remove memories from, particularly Blood war criminals,” said Harry “Years ago – was never going to fly.”

“And?”

“Some people, hypothetically know things so dangerous, they’re probably going to get the kiss,” sighed Harry. “I’d really rather just they got a bit memory-charmed.”

“Who?”

“Confidentially,” said Harry.

“Obviously”

“Nott,” said Harry.

“Theo Nott?”

“Yeah, I mean, I never liked him, but he was just a hanger on. And what he’s done since, has been to make a living. He’s not a ‘true believer,’ but …”

“Hanger-on,” said Daphne “Laugh at Draco’s jokes, and never do anything. Well, apart from the usual Slytherin House boy thing, of trying to date every girl in our year, the one above, below. In seventh year he even tried to date fifth years.”

“Hold on – Nott’s a womaniser?”

“Coming from you, that’s hardly credible, but more accurately, he tried to get a girl to go to Hogsmeade with him. Any girl.”

“Points for persistence,” said Harry.

“Tracey said he had sweaty hands,” said Daphne blandly.

“Sweaty hands?”

“Nothing more off-putting to a fourteen-year-old girl than a boy having sweaty hands,” she said.

“Girls are savage,” he said quietly. “So how many dates did he get anyway?”

“Just the one – word got round.”

“Oh god. I’d have died in Slytherin,” said Harry. “And from shame,” he explained.

“You were fearless though,” said Daphne.

“Not with girls.”

“You’ve got over that,” she said.

He was inclined therefore to demonstrate again that he had, indeed got over that.

It went quite well.

--==0==--

Experiment 8120 at Azkaban prison; which was trying to de-age a Death Eater and memory charm them, was, according to the report he read, ‘Not a success’

He had to wade through four more pages to find out that the ‘experimental subject’ had de-aged all right, into an egg and a sperm. The cause was, apparently, dodgy moonstones in the brew.

Harry felt faintly uncomfortable, till the last page noted that the next of kin ‘D.S.Malfoy’ had been notified of the death.

Harry had to take a few calming sips of potion for that. Apparently, operation ‘make world-threatening Death Eaters safe and not kill them’ had not, actually not killed him. But, also, Lucius Malfoy, so really, there was nobody that cared very much. (That Lucius had been responsible for the mistreatment of his eldest daughter had led Harry to take an extremely hands-off approach. Which might have been less than ideal, but he was going to to get the Dementor’s Kiss once the Nott incident played out in the courts anyway, so… He sent Draco Malfoy a card.

‘Malfoy.
Your father died testing a new, hopefully humane alternative to the Dementor’s kiss. He did not suffer, and didn’t leave a big messy mostly-dead body.

–
Harry Potter, head of DMLE.

P.S. Due to my existing issues with Lucius, I recused myself from oversight of the project. Feel free to dislike me more for that.

P.P.S. No we did not explode him. We’re not savages.’

On the other hand, Experiment 8121 at Azkaban prison went off without a hitch.

Theo Nott was moved to a holding cell, Unspeakables made sure they’d asked all of whatever the hell they asked, (Harry didn’t care if they legelimsed him, or pumped him full of veritaserum.) and he was memory-charmed not to know.

Harry had actually got copies of Hermiones’ old notes from Ron (He’d found them in a box marked ‘Australia’ Ron had accidentally taken when he moved out because it had collection of Aussie porn mags, and Surfer’s paradise-related smut.) And made sure those notes were handed off to the Unspeakable in charge. Harry chose not to wonder if twenty-year old Hermione had worn a bikini.

If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that the spells she’d used on her parents had sticking power.

The report said that afterwards, he didn’t know anything about it; even under Legelimancy.

Harry had the distinct feeling the procedure worked but was useless. Nott had the sort of mind that would work that – time-travel-thing – out. Like people in the office said Harry Potter had a mind like a corkscrew, he knew he could work out how to Defeat Voldemort again, ‘from first principles’ as the Unspeakables called it. Mostly because he’d known nearly nothing the first time, but they were not in that compartment. Harry signed a prisoner movement, to transfer Nott into a holding cell till he had an idea how to jiggle his brain without making something like scrambled egg, only grey and inedible.

--==0==--

It was the next Hogwarts Hogsmeade weekend, and Harry had gone to the Three Broomsticks and shouted all his kids and hanger-on’s that showed up a cooked lunch.

Well, James, Al, Al’s friend, who was possibly his nephew now if you were being fussy. And of course Daphne, and Lily, who had cadged an entire full-size tablet of Honeydukes gummy-slug chocolate, so was, in his opinion going to be quite sick tonight. Delphini was not with them; she had serious teenage business, and Harry wanted no part in messing up her serious teenage plans. He was quite aware how important being seventeen was, when you were seventeen.

Scorpius Malfoy felt uncomfortable in the presence of official enemies of his family. Well, Enemy. And Aunt Daphne was acting stranger. Even for her. She had a plate for brunch in front of her , for one thing.

“Aunt Daphne, do you eat sausages?” asked Scorpius.

“Only if they’re good,” she said, with a glance over at Mr Potter. Who smirked, probably because he could order alcohol at shops. Old people had all the perks.

“Bacon?” asked Scorpius.

“Again, obviously, no point in eating bad bacon,” said Aunt Daphne.

She lifted her wand, and sausages and bacon both floated off the serving platter onto her plate.

“How could bad bacon be a thing?” asked Scorpius, who had only eaten at home, and at Hogwarts.

“If you ever go live on your own, you may find out,” said Aunt Daphne rather snidely.

“My grandmother never eats fried food,” said Scorpius.

“Well she is a loony,” said Aunt Daphne.

“Delphini said that too! She’s so mean!” said Scorpius.

“Definitely my favourite relative,” said Aunt Daphne, even more hurtfully.

“Eldest Teenage child, lives at someone else’s house, eats their food, uses their things,” said Mister Potter, who, in Scorpius’s opinion, was probably evil. Father complained about him a lot, when he was sober-ish.

“Don’t brag, Potter, nobody likes a gloater,” said Aunt Daphne.

“She’s my Cousin! We have to put her up!” protested Scorpius.

“Such a cost-effective child,” said Mr Potter. “Came with her own inheritance”

“Rub it in, dad,” said Albus.

“Al, you have no idea how much I appreciate you,” said Mister Potter.

“You didn’t send me a letter when I got Sorted!”

“Well, your mum and I were, um, arguing,” said Mister Potter.

“Lily?” asked Albus.

“Arguing, not shagging,” said Lily bluntly. Scorpius felt faint with horror.

“Al, Lily, Dad,” said James. “Can we not do with with Strangers around.”

“Oh, James, Greengrass here was the lawyer for my divorce from your mum. She knows a depressing amount of detail,” said Mr Potter.

“By which, he means, If I thought about It, I’d be depressed,” said Aunt Daphne. “Nothing in my life could ever compare to Harry Potter’s fairytale marriage to Ginevra Weasley.”

Scorpius blinked at Aunt Daphne’s sarcastic jibe. Surely the Potter’s would not take this sitting down.

Lily made a thppppt noise though her lips. “Dad, can people get Sarcasm poisoning?”

“No dear,” said Mister Potter. “Anyone want the last of the lamb casserole?”

“Don’t be a pig, Potter. You’re not a teenager,” said Aunt Daphne. “Maybe James could get some meat on his bones.”

“Dad, people are saying really bad things about… Delphini’s parentage,” said James, taking the last of the lamb stew.

Albus and Scorpius watched as James served himself all the remaining tasty forequarter chops cooked to melting-point. In Scorpius’s case, in such a pining look that an Irish wolfhound, or even the late Sirius Black would have had difficulty matching.

“Well, it’s true I admitted Bellatrix was her mum,” said Mister Potter, after James had eaten half of the chops.

“And let the Auror office see her blood-test from St Mungo’s; she’s got my blood,” he added.

James dropped his fork.

“Oh, he’s full,“ said Mr Potter. “Al, Scorpius, clean the plate off will you?” he said, drawing his wand and casually levitating it over to land between them.

“That’s the rumour,” choked out James. “That when you were imprisoned at Malfoy Manor… you were…”

“Well, slight exaggeration,” said Mister Potter. “Was Tortured, but luckily, not that. Aunt Hermione was nearly tortured to death on their sitting room floor, of course.”

Scorpius went green in the face, and Albus, who had grown up with Aunt Hermione telling versions of this very story, got to eat the rest of the stew.

“Potter, I’d hate to see how you managed chickens,” said Aunt Daphne, with a chuckle.

“Oh please, my kids were looking after their gran’s chickens as soon as they were big enough to carry a bucket.” said Mister Potter.

“Still does” said Lily. “You’d think, having had chickens for decades, she’d be able to clean the coops out.”

“Lily, dear, you’re just free labour,” said Aunt Daphne.

“Well, with the amount any Weasley kid eats, they’re hardly free,” said Mr Potter.

“Does that mean there’s ice-cream?” asked Lily.

“Of course there’s going to be ice-cream,” said Aunt Daphne.

--==0==--

It was Christmas holidays, and Delphini and Scorpius had flooed over to the now quite safe Noir house, where the Potters were rattling around. Thankfully the other Malfoys stayed away, so it didn’t degenerate into extreme rudeness, or worse, Monopoly. Mr Potter had sent his father a ‘Monopoly’ set for some unknown reason, and Scorpius had already played family Monopoly twice. He was quite sure the game was cursed, and Grandmother had burst into tears when Delphini flipped the board and stormed off. His father had just looked at him and said “You still owe me four hundred galleons for landing on Gastronon-Alley.”

Noir house was not anywhere near as vast as Malfoy Manor, but still had two wings and several floors. It was, even with all Harry’s first children home, quiet, if you wanted peace and quiet.

The tides of Christmas snack gobbling children ebbed, and left Harry with Scorpius Malfoy in the kitchen. And Daphne, oddly enough.

“What on earth are you doing with my Aunt!” protested Scorpius. Who was quite sure he’d seen Mr Potter wink at his aunt over crudités.

“Um. I think you’re too young for that sort of conversation,” said Harry. “And surely you should have some idea by now.”

“But. She’s my aunt! The only responsible adult in my life! And now you’re despoiling her!”

“I was married in Europe, Scorpius, before I came back to Britain,” said his aunt Daphne.

They left for Daphne’s parlour, and some entertainment that wasn’t betting on which child would make themselves sick first. Lily seemed to have real stamina with chocolate.

Scorpius went off to find Al, and do some more complaining. He was, after all, a Malfoy.

Delphini entered the downstairs part of the Library, and Al and Scorpius were trying to do something ill-advised with locked book-cases.

Scorpius looked over, and hid the hairpin he wasn’t using as a lock pick.

“Delphini!” said Scorpius dramatically. “Mister Potter’s shagging my aunt!”

“I did say Aunt Daphne was the lawyer Mister Potter uses,” said Delphini, promising to go and do a happy dance somewhere else, where nobody would make fun of her. Poor Aunt Daphne had been miserable for so long; and her new Father was a very handsome, if jaded man. Given how jaded Aunt Daphne was, they probably got on splendidly.

Delphini glared at the boys. “The locked up ones might eat your face off, so don’t pick the locks,” she said. “They rearranged this for a reason.”

Al muttered something about wanting to know how property protections worked.

Delphini rolled her eyes, and went looking for her Aunt, and by the way her aunt’s parlour doors were locked, figured she was in there. She pushed down on the lever, and it clonked but didn’t open.

But it took her a few goes to get the lock to unlock – it was more than just a simple locking charm, or the mechanical lock. By the time she opened the door, she had more respect for locking charms.

She had, however, found her Aunt Daphne. Who was in her private parlour, with her father – Harry Potter… and they were sitting very politely on a couch, with a chess-board in front of them; a game was evidently in progress.

Her Aunt, while she had her hair down, was fully clothed, with a high formal collar on her lightweight dark green robes. The fire was blazing.

Harry Potter, on the other hand was only wearing a nice long-sleeved white shirt and trousers – well, and shoes, clearly.

He looked over at the door as she came into the parlour.

“Delphini,” he asked. “What’s up?”

“Scorpius is having vapours just because you two are kissing or something.”

“Are we?” asked Aunt Daphne sarcastically.

“I’m pretty sure we’re not,” said Harry, equally sarcastically.

“So are you?” asked Delphini, trying not to smile; they totally were, she was sure.

“I’ve taken precautions,” said Aunt Daphne.

Delphini felt her cheeks heating up.

“We have a signed prenuptial agreement,” added Aunt Daphne. “And your father understands about contraception.”

“So you are… his girlfriend?” asked Delphini.

“Well, I’m a little old to call myself a girlfriend,” said Aunt Daphne.

“Mistress, concubine, odalisque,” said Harry snidely.

“Wife,” added Aunt Daphne, with a slight smile. At her new father. In fact… she had her eyes half-closed and was pouting a bit at him.

Delphini nodded. “Great,” she said. It seemed perfect, really.

“Great?” asked Aunt Daphne, lifting one eyebrow. Which was tres-chic, really.

“Just um… once all that fuss is over. You have to marry him!” said Delphini.

“And why is that, dear?” asked Aunt Daphne.

“So I can call you mum,” said Delphini, and she might have held her own hands nervously.

Aunt Daphne tilted her head and looked Uncle Harry in the eyes. “Delphini wants to call me mum.”

“Sounds like a fair request. Registry office?” asked Harry.

“You two can’t elope!” said Delphini indignantly. She was quite sure there had to be a huge wedding.

“Your aunt Andromeda did,” said Aunt Daphne. “She’s a lovely person.”

“But… you two getting married would be the biggest news event in the history of like...news,” said Delphini.

“Well, celebrity gossip anyway,” said Aunt Daphne drily. “I say we elope today, your eldest gets to call me mum by dinner, and we tell nobody.”

“I like that,” said Harry. “We’ve got a few things for us to not tell anyone about.”

Aunt Daphne smiled at Harry, putting her fingers to the base of her neck and blushing.

“I’ll um… just be leaving,“ said Delphini feeling awkward.

She closed the door behind herself and heard her Aunt and Harry both laughing. But… they sounded happy.

She went to her suite, closed and locked her bedroom door, put on comfy slippers and did her happy dance. Nobody was watching. (She was not a natural dancer.)

--==0==--

“Lily didn’t tell her?” asked Harry, still laughing.

“Apparently not,” said Daphne.

“Or Scorpius,” said Harry. “Despoiling, indeed.”

Daphne snorted, and pulled her robe up and off, leaving only her mum’s anti-vampire collar and a skimpy set of lingerie. “Now where we?”

“You were trying to cheat at chess by being mostly naked,” said Harry, snorting.

“You did, in fact ask for commando on shared time,” said Daphne. “And I am wearing something.”

She pouted “Even if Delphini got rid of all my sensible pants, leaving me with only thongs.”

“Really only thongs? Why?”

“Granny pant related outrage,” said Daphne. “I left her at my house to label all her new clothes while I caught up on paperwork.”

She leaned back on the couch, and twisted, putting one leg either side of Harry and rotating her hips “As you can see I’m not naked”, she said smugly.

Harry looked over at her long legs and barely covered crotch. “Madam, you are not naked,” he said. “You are,“ he reached over and laid a hand on her thong “just trying to beat me at chess.” his thumb wiggled strategically.

“You’re the one trying to cheat at chess,” said Daphne, flushing, and adjusting her hips a little.

“Could go some despoiling,” mused Harry. Daphne wiggled.

“Eat me first, despoil later,” she said.

“’Course,” he said confidently, drawing his wand “little pre-cleaning.”

“I showered,“ she said.

“Is it really despoiling if I only half-eat you?” he asked. And he cast a charm on her bum.

She whimpered “Oh you beast,” she said, hastily lifting her legs and pushing down her thong with both hands.

“You are okay with this?” he asked as she slid her thong off.

“Oh Harry,” she said, “eating out makes it quite tolerable.”

Harry nodded.

“Persuasive tongue first,” she said.

Harry moved around and put his head and hands in between her thighs.

“Mmmm,” she said approvingly.

Harry paused “Rings,” he said.

“Oh… rings?” she asked, blinking distractedly. “There are loads of – “ she gasped “ – Rings in the entail. You couild wear a lot of rings” she sighed.

Harry lifted his head and caught her eye “We should probably wear rings. You know. See which kids work it out first.”

“Lily has not told anyone,” said Daphne leaning back and smiling languorously.

Harry put his head down and licking sounds resumed.

“I’m so glad you take legal advice,” said Daphne suggestively. “Mmm.” she purred.

Some time later, Harry lifted his lips from hers, lying on top of her, his bare buttocks clenched, her heels wrapped around his thighs.

“Love you,” he said.

“Not as much as I love you,” she said. “For example, you are quite welcome to bugger me. Something you are not up for.”

“Not up for – again,” said Harry.

Daphne smirked. “I’ll never tell,” she said.

“I’m not really that interested,” said Harry modestly.

“You have just come,” she said, kissing his lips again. “And you passed up on it earlier – my ex was always – “

“In the past,” said Harry firmly. “And again, rings,” he said.

“They’re free but tacky,” she said.

“A pair of ordinary wedding bands,” said Harry.

“There are so many oversized ones,“ she said, eyes half-closed.

“So, any chance of nipple rings?” asked Harry.

“What would Lily think!” she chuckled. Harry swallowed. Gosh, marrying a lawyer was a good idea.

“That you should wear a bed-jacket?” he asked.

“Quite,” she said drolly. “Rings?”

“You did say there were loads of big rings,” he said.

“No – too large. Earrings, and small ones at that,” she said “I’d show through.”

“Well, I’ll go pawn a bag-full,” he said “And you can get some nice rings.”

Daphne conjured up a copper wire ring, and put it onto her ring finger, squeezing it to fit.

“Take that and get me a nice ring” she said.

“Why’s your mum’s old collar bronze?” asked Harry.

“It’s alchemical bronze. Can’t be readily be enchanted or transfigured,” she admitted. “Nearest thing to magic-resistant.”

“Oh, cool,” he said “Muggle rings or not?”

“Whatever,” she said. “And to be clear, two matching wedding bands, and something pretty but not huge for an engagement ring.”

“Um,” said Harry. “You mentioned a lawyer on a leash?”

She shook her head. “This is as close as you’re getting,” she said with a small smile.

“What if the leash went to my collar?”

“Well that’s just plain kinky,” she said, with a twinkle in her eye.

“Fingers covered in oversized rings” said Harry.

“It’s cost-effective, using what was already in the vaults, and… ribbed,” she said, barely blushing at all.

“At least you can boil the ones from the vault in something to clean them off” he conceded.

“Obviously – the Blacks – ” she said. “All kinds of diseases. Harry – ”

“Hmm?”

“You told me about your… difference in preferences in bed,” she said.

Harry sighed.

“And don’t think that of me. It’s just … you do everything so much more… satisfyingly than my ex, that I um… like being reminded that even that, you do so much better,” she said. “But I was just hoping to erm… satisfy your urge to … be in control a bit.”

“But girl on top is great,” said Harry. “Hang on – how much better?”

“I am prepared to offer, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Is this some sort of… checklist thing for you?” he asked.

Daphne blushed.

“Oh,” said Harry. “Good god!” he said, “A checklist? Are you one of those people that can’t leave a jigsaw undone for a few days?”

“Maybe” she conceded. “But an incomplete jigsaw isn’t the same at all.”

“But you can check that off your list anyway,” said Harry.

“But you still want the collar thing?”

“It’s on the list” he said.

“Why? She said “You’re just not that controlling, even in bed?”

“Um.” said Harry, and he blushed.

“Go on, tell me?”

“Cos.. if you were wearing it, I’d know you were, um.”

“Up for it?” she said. “Ohhh,” she blushed. “You are a very attractive man, you know that?”

“I might know a bit about life with a witch,” he said slowly. “So a nice clear signal would be … nice, And the leash thing um.”

“That’s just plain old control kink,” said Daphne. “So what you really want is that… but only when I’m feeling randy?”

“Es,” Harry croaked.

“It simply can’t work, Harry,” she said, shaking her head “Your children, while Lily is going to Hogwarts next autumn, are around the manor, and they would be horrified, and worse, talk. I have to maintain a professional reputation.”

“Uh?”

“If I’m walking round the house wearing a leather collar and leash all day, every day is just not going to happen.”

“Not all day,” he said. “Everyone has… periods and stuff.” he said.

“Firstly, while a deeply cynical man, you really underestimate how attractive you are,” she said.

“No I don’t,” said Harry. “I’ve seen the blokes in Witch Weekly’s most handsome list, and when I was divorced, I didn’t exactly have witches asking me to dinner, did I?”

She nodded. “I have in the past said a witches choices are peculiar to a witch, but really, you’re forty and have six-pack, Potter. I could hardly walk the day you… had me, and you’re quite possibly the best kisser in Britain.”

“I’m sorry about that – “

“Oh for fuck’s sake, don’t apologise!” she said loudly. “I wanted to get shagged silly, and you delivered above and beyond. Neither of which are references to you having a horse-cock, because you don’t. You are as relentless in trying to please me in bed as you were as an Auror. You please me, okay. And you make me laugh, which Jean-Claude never did.”

“He didn’t?”

“He was exceedingly handsome and a good kisser,” she said dismissively. “At the time, I thought he kissed like a sex god. I have revised my opinion downwards, having acquired a vastly superior man, and husband.”

“I’m not that good,” said Harry.

“You cheated on your wife. Once or twice, and felt guilty about it. Jean-Claude kept a mistress and thought I was being unreasonable,” she said. “You have, somehow learned from that, which is actually your most attractive feature.”

“Not my dick?” asked Harry flippantly.

“Oh shut up,” she said. “Your fingers are close competition, anyway.”

“Well, that explain some things,” he said cheekily.

She blushed and snorted.

“So, Harry” she said “While I would be quite happy pandering to your … little kink, it’s not practical, because children. Sadly, impractical for married couples with children. And I can’t see them ever leaving this… mansion. There is food and lodging, and you blatantly enjoy having them around.”

“And you don’t,” he said with a crooked grin.

She shook her head coquiettishly “I admit Delphini is a delight, and Lily is so bold!” she smiled softly. “The boys… well… I can take or leave James, he’s not much more than a pretty face.”

“And Albus leads the boys?”

“Of the two, I spent years hearing carefully edited accounts of Scorpius’s friend ‘Al’. With his ability to dissemble, I could honestly see a career as a lawyer ahead for my nephew.”

“He um, fancies Rose Weasley, by the way,” said Harry. “With the kitten eye thing, I’m not giving her good odds. Specially if he actually explains how big his library is.”

Daphne sniggered. “He could do a damn sight worse. And he’s grown up with a Demented grandmother, a demented mother-in-law would be no challenge.”

“Hmm,” said Harry. “Have you ever heard of the Fidelius Charm?”

“Yes,” said Daphne, and she frowned. “Why would you, of all people, know about a little-used real-estate charm?”

“Real-estate charm?” said Harry, shaking his head. “It’s just hides a secret, any secret, in a living soul. Which does technically make it soul magic, but it’s way off the edge of the regulations.”

“Big, very expensive law firms offer it to very large customers to … moth-ball unused estates. It’s unaffordable really.”

“Grimmauld place was under one; which kept the Death eaters out of the Order’s meetings there,” said Harry “And um, my parents used it to hide from Voldemort, but they chose poorly for secret-keeper, and he betrayed them. During the war, the entire Weasley family hid under a couple.”

“Except for Ron and Ginevra; she was quite openly at Hogwarts.”

“It’s complicated,” said Harry.

“Yes. The Weasleys needed Arthur Weasley’s Ministry job’s income. It’s not advanced arithmancy,” she said. “I’d worked it out, third day back in seventh year, when Pansy sent me a letter.”

“God. If I’d had you on the team we’d have been done by Christmas,” muttered Harry.

“You wildly overestimate seventeen-year-old me,” she said “And she had smaller breasts.” she quipped.

Harry summoned a warm blanket.

“What? We could just get dressed!” she said indignantly.

“But talking to you naked is nice,” he said. “But I was getting a cold arse.”

A pair of hands swiftly moved to assess this claim.

“Mmm. It is chilly,” she said. “Would spanking help?”

“Ask yourself the same question,” said Harry drily.

“So…. Only if there was loads of innuendo, and I’d already got off?” she said brightly.

“Quite,” said Harry, leaning on his elbow. “So, my initial idea is to um… you could wear a specific ring when um… the mood strikes. The kids are clearly absolute garbage at noticing rings and suchlike.”

“To expose my libido to you?” she said, “the most intimate part of my feelings?”

“Hmm, well put. You’re really very clever,” he agreed. “Sexiest part of you.”

“It’s literally the wellspring of… sexual feelings” she said. “Of course it is.”

“And it’s in your head, which I’m not looking into with Legelimancy. Not now, not ever,” said Harry.

“The mystical art of mind-reading?” she asked “You can do that with your chosen-one powers.”

“Snape taught me in my ‘remedial potions’ lessons,” said Harry blandly. “Sixth year. Hurts like hell to learn to shield the mind, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

“And you’d just grant me a concession on privacy in my mind?”

“It’s utterly horrible to see Snape’s most private shame,” said Harry. “I might have done things I certainly don’t want you finding out about.”

“The rumour is you that you Unforgivable torture-cursed one of the Carrows.”

“Well, good thing I wasn’t sent to Azkaban for a rumour,” he said blandly.

“That excuse is as thin as my knickers,” she said “Speaking if which, where are they anyway?”

“Under my leg, I think,” he said.

“Dig them out, or clean me up. I’m dripping,” she said.

Harry smiled.

She pinched his bum. “You’re awful,” she said, and then ruined her claim by smirking. “But seriously?”

“You have memories I never want to see,” said Harry simply. “Everything with your ex-husband, for example. And that would be from your point of view, without a pensive. Nope, Nopity Nope.”

“Ohhh,” said Daphne. She snuggled up to his chest. “You’re quite nice, you know that?”

“I’m trying to make it to always nice,” said Harry.

“Don’t strain yourself past ‘never unfaithful’,” she said gently. “I’m a big girl.”

Harry nodded “How big, exactly?” he asked.

Daphne blushed “You could read the tags.”

“I’m too busy throwing them across the room,” said Harry.

“Thirty-six C,” said Daphne. “Stop throwing my bras around.”

“Work on your summoning charm,” said Harry blandly. He summoned a ring from his robe pocket.

“What’s this?”

Harry offered her up the marquise-cut emerald on a gold band. “Engagement ring.”

“Okay,” she said. “Do remember to get nice wedding bands,” she said, and put the engagement ring on her left ring finger.

“If I put this on my right hand, I’m dying for it,” she said.

“Have to swot upon the Fidelius,” he said. “What do you want to do now?”

“See what the little monkeys are up to,” she admitted. “Yours make up such ridiculous lies.”

She’d nearly finished getting dressed when she asked

“Where’s my thong?” Harry pocketed it.

“But if I’m walking around commando – ” she said.

“The merest opportunity, I could pull your hem up and and eat out” he said. Daphne blushed. Huffed, and swapped her engagement ring to her right ring finger.

“That’s for you, not something I control,” said Harry.

“And that you took my pants?”

“We agreed, commando on shared time,” he said.

Daphne nodded, and pointed at her right ring finger.

“Is this… kink?” he asked.

“Its… just want me to say it? Don’t you?”

“They say communication is the heart of a successful marriage,” said Harry cheekily.

“I find the possibility of imminent orgasm by cunnilingus … exciting,” she said.

“Well, considering you had me dying to have you in a grey mourning robe and granny pants, consider it a great feat,” he said, and handed her back her thong. Daphne nodded, and pocketed it.

“You could have put that on,” he commented.

“A witch can hope,” she said.

Harry nodded “Definitely possible,” he agreed.

“Just… not where the children can see,” she said “I saw my parents getting up to mischief one Christmas and I was horribly confused for years.”

“Really?”

“I’d gone down late on Christmas eve, to salt a present to my Uncle Corban, with iching powder, and Mum was… blowing my father by the Christmas tree.” said Daphne, red-faced. “A year or so later I twigged that what with mum’s… natural looks, supplemented by looking decades younger, my father was… “

“No wonder he was always doing what she said,” said Harry.

Chapter Text

Later, in bed, actually not naked, Harry said, “That potion your mum invented. The one that didn’t kill her. It would sell like hot cakes. Ideal first customer too.”

“Who?”

“Rita Skeeter,” said Harry “No downsides. Hermione’s been blackmailing her for years.”

“The journalist?”

“That’s my lawyer talking,” said Harry.

“Habit,” she said. “Really, Blackmail?”

“She’s an unregistered beetle animagus; that’s how she gets scoops,” said Harry. “And I expect you to treat that information with the care it deserves.”

“And Hermione’s been blackmailing her, what? Since she was in DRCMC?”

“Since fourth year, actually,” said Harry.

“What a fucking hypocrite,” said Daphne indignantly “Is that how she… got the article about you?”

“It’s complicated,” said Harry “And obviously very much in the past.”

“You’re not that good at potions,” she said.

“No, but I’m better than you think,” he agreed. “I was thinking George, under suitable vows.”

“How about a contract, and let’s not risk killing him by accident,” said Daphne.

“That’s probably just as well; Hermione’s our magical vow specialist,” said Harry.

“Was.”

“That too,” Harry agreed.
“Also, there’s something much more serious I want to talk about.”

“What?” asked Daphne.

“Hypothetically there was DMLE programme to divert people destined for the Dementors kiss. A more… humane option that involved a fair bit of memory-charming.”

“That sounds like it breaches several laws, except that prisoners condemned to death have a specific carve-out for ‘medical research,’” said Daphne. She sighed, “not your best idea.”

“Wasn't my project. I had a beef with several of the people involved so Recused myself from managing it,” he said.

“Oh my god,” said Daphne. “When you use legal terms correctly, and even ethically, it’s kinda hot!”

“Really?”

“No, I’m fucking with you,” said Daphne drily, “So what?”

“Well, test subject B can um… take the potion,” said Harry. “Compared to their last idea, it’s quite safe.”

“They’re still talking to you?”

“Um. The Ministry has close ties with Weasleys Wizarding Wheeze’s serious side.” said Harry.

“Does the explain why it’s so profitable?”

“The protective gear is sold at cost plus labour,” said Harry. “It’s about making the country safer.”

“There’s a risk mum’s good potion is lethal in the long term,” said Daphne. “Mum never lived long enough to prove it’s actually safe, like, years later.”

“Compared with government-made shrinking solution, it’s not going to kill them,” said Harry “They were aiming for a sort of… tabula-rasa thing.”

“And?”

“Sperm and an egg,” said Harry. “Still, the person in question had been sent to Azkaban multiple times, so they were going to get a kiss anyway.”

“So, why the “That’s… horrible, but anyone bad enough to get that sentence under the ‘reasonably non-corrupt DMLE’ must have been pretty bad.”

“Could have killed several hundred children. Killed several people, maimed children. Luck saved the bulk of the kids, escaped Azkaban, confirmed Death Eater,” he said.

“Ok. I can see that getting a Death Sentance,” said Daphne. “Children are … quite precious. Why tell me?”

“I was wondering if you could donate blood to the second part of the project?”

“Which is?”

“Now, don’t be mad?”

“That’s a stupid thing to ask.” said Daphne.

“We need a way to… tie the person down a bit. And the Greengrass blood curse seems like an ideal problem. Erratic magic, and fainting spells?”

“And giving birth twice would kill them,” said Daphne.

“No risk of that, they’re male,” said Harry cheerily.

“Won’t effect males. Takes effect at puberty,” she said.

“So we give them a shot of female sex hormones till the curse takes?” said Harry.

“That’s actually actual evil. Don’t do it,” she said.

“Don’t’ do it. Okay,” said Harry.

“Why does a person, presumably memory-charmed need to be cursed to die as well?” asked Daphne phatically.

“Well, they nearly ended the universe,” said Harry casually. “Nothing much.”

“Fucking hell Potter!” exclaimed Daphne.

“They’re in prison, and don’t remember anything about it,” said Harry. “The problem is contained. Everyone in the Ministry that knows is an Unspeakable, and all Aurors have consented to voluntary memory charming. With the team that did that, getting memory charmed.”

“First point – that reeks of you. Did you develop the policies for dealing with very bad things?”

“With help from Hermione, and Ron, actually .We had practical experience, and um stuff,” said Harry.

“One presumes that the crime, whatever it was, was a lot of work?” said Daphne.

“Yes. Throwing a number out there, decades,” said Harry.

“They just need a hobby – that’s not destroying the universe,” said Daphne. “My father’s hobby was doing whatever my mum asked. Till she died.”

“So you’re saying we should issue this artificially reformed criminal a wife?”

“A demanding wife,” said Daphne. “Nobody springs to mind.”

“You don’t even know how old they are,” said Harry “You can’t pick one.”

“They’re thirty-five,” said Daphne. “Test the anti-aging potion on them. If it kills then, nothing lost.”

“Days of memory charms,” said Harry drily. “Overlapping obliviations of obliviations, so much charmed paperwork.”

“A sunk cost,” she said abruptly. “And they’re not really younger, on the inside, so they’re not going to hang around forever. On average Azkaban, inmates are fifty, so they just live fifteen years less than expected. Not anything noticeable.”

“So your idea is to… replicate your father?”

“Well, he’s pretty much a cautionary tale as it is,” said Daphne. “And his death would have contributed to society. Not many people can say that of a Death-Eater.”

“I can,” said Harry.

“Contribute, not just die to make people happy they have revenge.”

Harry did not pout.

“Well, we should.. you should write a licensing agreement with Wesaleys Wheezes, and then George can make it, and you’re right –test it inside DMLE first,” said Harry.

“You don’t work there any more.”

“Exactly, but It’s just Susan.”

“Susan has threatened me before,” said Daphne.

“Creatively?”

“Not as such.”

“Pity,” said Harry.

“Pity?”

“Imagination is an important part of being a good head of the DMLE,” said Harry “Or you’re at the mercy of the Unspeakables, and their deranged problems.”

“Harry, nobody needs to be an over-achiever at that job,” she said. “And you had no idea about work-life balance.”

“I do now.”

“You don’t have a job. You are an obsessive man,” she said.

“Fancy a good tongue-lashing?” he asked.

“Snuggle.”

“Snuggle it is.” he said, snuggling up.

--==0==--

Headlines over the next several weeks featured a number of prosecutions of members of old families who had previously avoided Azkaban, although mostly not by simply claiming to be imperious-cursed.

Molly Weasley’s birthday featured an unexpected gift for her; that she only opened the next day.

George got squeezed within an inch of his life, by a mum who looked an awful lot like a sun-burnt Ginny, and told he was a very clever boy. Over mum’s shoulder, Arthur had a shell-shocked expression, and was watching his mum carefully.

“Oh, we licensed that from the family that own the potion recipe. It’s technically family magic, and um it’s only cosmetic,” said George.

“I’m wearing one of Ginny’s old robes, George,” said Molly. “And getting involved in family magic stuff – that’s dangerous. You could get sued if you made a mistake.”

“So I’m very careful, and I’ve got my best worker working hard every day, to make sure they’re happy with how we’re using it,” said George . “And mostly it’s going to the Ministry for um… research.”

“The Ministry? You still sell those shield hats then?” said Molly.

“Not just,” said George, getting mum to let him go – Dad unfortunately wrapped his arms round her and held her; her robe pulled taunt over her chest, though he could have done without a clearer impression of how much perkier mum was than before.

--==0==--

Quite a few months later, Ange came over for tea on the weekend, in Daphne’s parlour. Daphne was pouring tea, when Ange said, quite rudely; “I thought I was your friend, bitch.”

“What?” asked Daphne, spilling tea.

“Mum Weasley gets eternal youth potion and what do I get? Not so much as a fucking card,” said Ange.

“Oh that,” said Daphne. “It’s just a cosmetic change, as far as I know it doesn’t prolong life.”

“When my mother-in-law starts wearing wrap dresses and climbing poor old Arthur like a tree, it certainly seems it. Where the hell did you get that from?”

“My mother invented it. She working on an even more potent version, and it killed her,” said Daphne.

“Killed her?” asked Ange, nose wrinkled.

“Her last potion reversed enough visible signs of ageing to put a witch into her early twenties. Without any blood sacrifices,” Daphne sighed. “Unless you count that it was fatal. My grandmother, full disclosure, is a descendant of Erzabet Bathory, who was tried as a dark lord for um.” she sighed. “Bathing in virgin’s blood to look younger.”

“Sounds quite… dark-lord-ish,” said Angelina, going a bit grey.

Daphne drew her wand to clean up the spilt tea, and started pouring again.

“Well, whether she did really do it or not, mum’s family have been on an ICW watch-list since forever. Mum even transferred to Hogwarts in sixth year to get away from Dark Arts classes at Durmstrang.”

“Played on her mind then?” asked Ange.

“Well, and her overwhelming vanity, Dark Magic apparently makes your skin worse,” said Daphne “Father was… Is the word, an enabler? He liked having a wife who looked so young.”

“Hmm. Hardly surprising,” said Ange.

“And my mother was a,” Daphne sighed. “Great beauty. As in, give a daughter a complex, great beauty.”

“You’re not exactly a cracked vase, Greengrass.”

“Mum… was,” Daphne shrugged. “Gorgeous. Boys wanted to floo to see her. Not me. She had a foreign accent, and … I’ve got a photo of mum from just after Hogwarts, she’s … Sophia Zabini only blonde.”

“Oh,” said Angelina, swallowing. “I could see she might get a long way on her looks.”

“Well, and she fell in love with dad in sixth year, and both of them barely graduated,” said Daphne.

“Does not excuse that Molly got the stuff first,” said Angelina. “I’ve had kids!”

“She had seven, and we wanted to put her in our corner,” said Daphne. “And there was a concern that such a … potent potion might get her back up, so we went with option B, and gave her some.”

“You’re very cynical,” said Angelina.

“It was George’s idea,” said Daphne. “Without him we’d never have made the potion in the first place. My mother’s notes were a bit cryptic, and the potion is, obviously, an utter bastard to brew.”

“So when do I get some?” asked Angelina.

“Most of what’s left is being sold to the Ministry for a pilot-program,” said Daphne. “Which is also the extended safety test.”

“Safety test?”

“What happens if you take two doses, or just take it twice” said Daphne.

“And so far?”

“Don’t take more than a vial of it, don’t take it twice inside of one month,” said Daphne.

“And don’t as in …”

“The Ministry is testing using people sentenced to death,” said Daphne. “I personally think that it might not be lethal to take twice… as long as you waited at least seven years.”

“Seven years?”

“One of the muggleborn healers involved said something about cellular replacement taking seven years,” said Daphne. She shrugged, “I don’t understand the reactics.”

--==0==--

Harry was mentally preparing for another day of paperwork and bills in the office, and contemplating some pain potion, when Daphne handed Harry a vial of purple potion.

“What? I’m fine?” said Harry

“Your back gives you crap it surely wouldn't at thirty-five. And while crows-feet are cute, you did not spend any effort on sunscreen; you’ve got Auror-armour shaped wrinkles.”

“So you um… want me… back?” he mugged.

“I don’t know why I put up with you,” she muttered.

“Well, if I’m having some, shouldn’t you have some?”

“Are you implying I look old?”

“No. but the media are bastards about reporting a witch's appearance. And, to be blunt, you might as well. It is your mum’s legacy.”

“She was obsessed, Harry.”

“Well, mine died before she got wrinkles, but not before saving me from a dark lord, so really, Obsessive witches is where it’s at,” said Harry, in a stunning display of cockeyed of logic.

“You really think your mother would have been… intense?”

“I have… seen Voldemort’s memory of killing her. She was utterly sure of herself, and prepared to die for me. As was my dad. If that whole thing had never happened, I’d have been a social outcast at Hogwarts. First tiny scratch, and mum would have been in there hexing Dumbledore, while Dad made up an alibis.”

“Jut to humour you… what would her first embarrassing act have been?” she asked, with a wry smile.

“When she heard there was a three-headed Cerberus in the third floor corridor. She was a cat person, so my guess is the downstairs rug at the Potter cottage gets replaced,” said Harry, catually managing to say that with a straight face.

“Really?” she said, her eyebrows raised, lips quirking.

“Well, fourth year? She’d have destroyed the goblet of fire,” said Harry. “Or made the Hungarian Horntail more endangered. She stood still in front of him, said ‘No not Harry. Take me instead.’”

“That a story you share with all your wives? I’m not sure I’m that brave,” said Daphne.

“But hypothetically, the the main criticism you make about your father is that he was weak-minded,” said Harry. “I think if I publicised how to do it, there’d be more dead mums.” He grimaced. “So instead, I became an Auror… and we get here, eventually.”

“In the interest of… leverage,” said Daphne. “Granger’s parents. Assuming she gets their memories back.”

“If she can’t, I’d do it anyway and memory charm them to think they were younger. If they’re gonna live in a fiction, it might as well be a nice one, with perky breasts, and no love-handles,” said Harry.

“That’s just evil,” said Daphne, approvingly.

“Nah. They get their missing years back,” said Harry “If Hermione agrees to be be less mental, we give her some too.”

“What about Ron Weasley? Your best friend?”

“I dunno,” said Harry. “I think friends don’t let friends marry him.”

“He’s not that bad, surely?”

“Like um, us, they married too soon out of school,” said Harry

“Hmm?”

“They kept saying fighting was fun,” said Harry. “But they were always arguing.”

“I like that you listen,” said Daphne. “Even if you’re moody.”

“Am I moody?” he asked.

“Less than you were,” she said “It’s like you weren’t happy or something.”

“Is this my happy ending?” asked Harry drily.

“Are you sure you want to waste more the the potion on me?” she asked.

Harry shook his head “you deserve it.” he said, and handed her the potion.

Daphne rolled her eyes, and drank the vial of purple liquid. She grimaced. “Ugh.” she gagged.

Harry had to quickly grab her as she fainted.

“All that for a potion that makes her pass out,” he said. But he did cast a stretcher charm on her, and slide her over onto the couch in the office, and kiss her forehead.

He hastily wrote a note on a post-it and stuck it to her right palm; which he tucked against her side, and then with a sigh, he wrote ‘Medical Nap come back later’ on another post-it , and put that on her chest. She was in sensible robes, she’d be fine while he took a quick trip to George.

“See you in a bit” he said, kissed her brow, and set off for Weasleys Wheezes; he had a potion vial to return. With a hooded cloak on, because being famous rather got in the way of just going to do things.

He apparated from small yellow circle on the back porch of Noir house straight into Diagon Alley outside Weasleys Wheezes, in front of the puking pastilles display. It was still circulating grotesquely. He smiled; it was the little things. And he had iron stomach for apparation these days.

Harry went in the front door of the shop, circled around children playing with things they probably should buy first, and made it to the counter, where Verity was filing her nails.

He put the vial, with a tiny fleck of purple in it still on the counter, “I want to see George.”

“Did you take it?” asked Verity.

“I um. Gave it to Daphne.”

Verity put her nail file down, and poked him. “You were supposed to take the medicine” she said, with a distinct lack of deference. “She hardly needed it.”

She jerked her thumb at the passage to the back of the shop, “Go on then – I see I have to intervene with some little customers”

She set off for the children, who were about to do something really ill-advised with ‘gross-out gummies’, and Harry went down the passage into the back of the shop.

George was out the back, charming blocks of wood into mallets.

“George,” said Harry.

George looked over, and carefully hit his own hand with the wooden mallet. An explosion of blood and gore splattered everywhere.

He put the mallet down, and lifted his soggy but clearly uninjured hand off the bench.

“You here about the business?”

“Special stuff,” said Harry.

George finite-ed the fake gore, and opened up the secret room they made serious-products in, which was behind a shelf he opened by pulling a candle-holder with large purple candle shaped like a willy.

Inside the ‘serious products’ room were selves and a cluttered work-table with a number of half-finished shield hats, and an open box of charm necklaces.

George closed the secret door. “What’s up?”

Harry put the vial on the table.

“Was it as disgusting as everyone says?” asked George.

“I have no idea. I got Daphne to take it.”

“But she’s… not bad looking already,” said George. “Whereas you have aches and pains.”

“Some of which she claims to be responsible for,” said Harry blandly.

“Oooh kinky,” said George, “We’ve got the mayhem mallet charms on a whip, for kinky people like you.”

Harry sighed.

“So?” asked George.

Harry bit his lip, “I probably should have some.”

“Well, we’re out,” said George. “Gave your wife the last dose we had, to help you out, and what did you do? Gave it to your hot blonde.”

“They’re the same person,” said Harry. “Really out? Bugger. When’s the next batch?”

“It’s months away,” said George. “So you’ll have to keep chugging pain potions.”

“What?” said Harry “I’m not chugging pain potions.”

“Well, your wife says otherwise,” said George. “I got a job application in the post yesterday.”

“What? Who from?”

“James,” said George “It was even serious and spelled correctly. I was tempted to dismiss it out of hand. But also, he was prepared to work the back-to-school rush.”

“He was?”

“While I have long regarded your eldest as a fairly normal teenage boy, complete with terrible hair, he has… I hate to say this, but he’s growing up.” said George. “And I could use the help. I blame your eldest daughter of course – she’s set a bad example, and now James is even pretending to act responsibly.”

“Working for his uncle’s joke shop is hardly joining the Ministry as a clerk,” said Harry.

He sighed; he once again, had no idea what was going on in his eldest son’s head.

“Harry, just one more thing?” asked George solemnly.

“What?”

“Gotcha” said George, turning a wall sconce that opened a secret cupboard. A bottle inside it had purple liquid.

“You’ve got more?”

“Let’s just say, her mum’s lab notes were the most terrible thing I’ve ever read,” said George.

“Really?”

“Oh come off it, It took me months to work out how she filed things. I mean, Hungarian!”

“Well, Daphne reads – “

“Yes, obviously,” said George. “Many post-it tags died to bring you that potion, Harry. And there’s noting more disturbing than finding a paragraph detailing her mum’s sexual fantasies or maybe record-keeping – your wife blushes, by the way.”

“I was quite clear on that already, yes.” said Harry.

“So apart from the naughty and irrelevant bits,” said George, “She’d worked out her own shorthand, and it makes our lab shorthand look easy.”

“You have lab shorthand?”

“Course. Me and Fred worked on stuff for years,” said George. He sniffed “He’d be so proud of you, Harry.”

“Me? Why?”

“Well, you finally escaped our sisters dubious affections, and your Daphne, well, she’s a good-looking witch, and clever enough to make my head hurt,” said George. “The licensing agreement she wrote for me is simple, clear and I thought – ok, that’s a nice agreement.”

Harry nodded.

“The one she hit the Ministry with – Merlin’s saggy ballsack – I thought she didn’t do that lawyer-ey stuff, but the contract was wall-to-wall ‘parties of the first part’ and had enough Whereas-es in it to choke a kneazle.” said George “Also, that black suit of hers scares me.”

Harry smiled. Daphne’s pant-suit did not scare him.

“And witches should not look like that. I was scared, just having her around. Ange was very underwhelmed when she first saw Daphne in that,” said George “But as I’d just read the nasty agreement with the Ministry, I was more scared than aroused.”

Harry smiled more. He’d taken the trousers down and eaten out said scary lawyer before.

“You scare me, Harry,” said George “But then again, Daphne took Ange for a quick shopping trip and she came home with her own suit and some naughty undies, so I think I’m completely recovered.”

“Really?”

“Well, anyway,” said George, carefully refilling the vial. “How’d she take it?”

“Made her faint.”

“I did say to take it lying down,” said George.

Harry went home, and arrived in the office in time to see Daphne was now snoring. For no reason at all, he smiled. But he wrote out a second note for her, slouched into the armchair opposite the couch, and drank the potion. Which was easily on the top three for awfulness.

He woke up being poked, and opened his eyes. Daphne was poking him, looking … well rested.

“You just went out and got some more?” she said.

Harry nodded, and sat up. His back didn’t ache as he rose.

“So are you feeling better?” she said, looking at his face with a smug little smile.

“What?”

“You look nice,” she said, licking her upper lip.

Harry was out of his chair quicker than you could say Timbuktu, and had a surprised, but pleased blonde witch in his arms moments later.

“So your back’s feeling better?” she asked, after a deep kiss.

“Um,” said Harry, who couldn’t feel any back-pain. “Feels fine.” He said.

“Well, you’ve got loads of fun paperwork to do, and I do, actually have a legal firm to run,” she said, kissing his nose. “See you around dinner-time.”

Harry didn’t let her go. “But,” he said. And held her by her bum with both hands.

“Harry, sometimes you just have to delay your gratification,” she said, smugly.

After Harry didn’t let her bum go she asked, “Are you going to let me go?”

Harry shook his head, and pecked a kiss onto her lips.

“Harry, I do have work,” she said. She frowned. “Is my bum that different?”

“I feel this will requite in-depth analysis,” said Harry.

“Oh – in depth?”

“You’re a lawyer, you understand that things have to done properly, probed deeply,” he said.

“You have a pile of paperwork to do, which is blocking the desk, so you can’t shag me on it,” said Daphne, her neck flushing. “And no, I do not approve of tossing the paperwork on the floor.”

“Fine,” he sighed.

And she even swaggered as she left. Harry felt deeply disturbed – all the way to his pants.