Chapter Text
“Presenting Harry Potter,” the hostess for the gala shouts to the busy crowd below.
Heads turn; they always do. I plaster on a smile and ignore them. Someone shouts some evocative suggestions at me that has her table giggling like schoolgirls. Other guests give them expressions ranging from horror to polite agreement. Ginny used to make sure that didn’t happen. Sometimes I miss that.
I take in the room, scanning for threats first, and Hermione second. The gala is being held in one of the spare ballrooms in the ministry, and it’s a simple affair. Champagne glasses float through the room; people gather around small round tables; people dance near some live music; and a long table full of food sits off to the side. If Ron weren’t off on a mission, I would make a few jokes about him and that table.
There are no immediate threats, but it shocks me just how different the guests are than just a decade ago. Several full-blooded goblins mingle at tables. A renowned house-elf with a successful painting career has a small gathering around him. Even a centaur rests in the corner.
When Hermione and I worked together to rebuild the fountain for the Ministry, I thought it might take generations before it reflected reality. Instead, it took her a decade.
At the thought of her, I feel my magic, a roiling turning inside of me, like a boiling pot of water it spills just a little over the edge — gone. I can’t recover that magic, but I will refill it in time. So long as I don’t spend too much more time thinking about Hermione. I take a moment to refocus on my mental shields, separating the thought of Hermione from my feelings again. I have a date with a vampire tomorrow, one who isn’t too keen on the new society we find ourselves in, and I need to do the best I can to not lose so much of what I have to this cursed bargain.
Maybe I’m too distracted getting my shields back up, or maybe George Weasley is actually that good. He appears from nowhere and claps me on the back. Before I can ask him what he is doing, he discreetly presses a palm-sized box into my hand.
“A little something to part the clouds in dark times, Harry. Are you going to be at the burrow tomorrow for dinner?”
I shove the box in my pocket before anyone can see it. “So poetic, you could have just said you got me what I asked for. Yeah, assuming my date doesn’t wear me out, I will be by tomorrow. Been too long since I’ve seen Ted.”
George nods and slides back into whatever conversation he just left. The whole exchange took less than a half-dozen steps. The table George is at erupts into laughter. I shake my head and push deeper into the throng.
Parvati Patil catches my eye a moment later and waves me over. She wears a pretty dress, simple yet charming. At the table with her are Dennis Creevey, Hannah Abbott, and Luna Lovegood. A usual group for sure, sharing little in common in adult life. On the table, four gold coins glint in the light.
I consider ignoring her; I’m only here for one person after all. Still, Parvati and everyone else at that table stood beside me when it mattered. I can make small talk for a few minutes for their sake.
“Parvati, Luna, Hannah, Dennis. So good to see you all again. Dennis, have you graduated yet? Should you be allowed to have that flute of champagne?
Dennis rolls his eyes at me good-naturedly and plays along. “Who's to say? Are you going to report me, Mr Auror?”
I laugh with the table, letting just a fraction of the tension for tomorrow ease out of me. “Well, thankfully I’m no longer on the force, just a freelancer, so I guess you’re clear.”
“Well, if you do see an Auror, remind them I am 27 years old now.”
“And still look 19,” Hannah teases from behind her glass.
I smile at everyone at the table before looking down. Just as I feared, the four coins on the table are the D.A. coins from school. I’m filled with equal parts pride and concern. It was so dangerous for any of us to fight back then. Some of us didn’t make it. Now, I can’t imagine a world where I’m going to call the army in to help us fight something I, Ron, or Neville can’t handle ourselves. Almost nobody with these coins has fought anything more dangerous than a garden gnome in a decade.
“We were joking about how many of these old coins might be at this very party. I had mine clipped to my necklace,” Luna says next to me as she clatters a necklace full of loose coins, seashells, a miniature log with a mushroom, and a dozen more trinkets around her neck.
The others smile up at me, expecting something from me. I could use this moment, crush the idea. Get them to leave the coins at home. One look at each of their faces dissuades me. This is a moment of shared pride, and while I would never use the coins, I can make it feel meaningful. They deserve that.
I reach into my pocket and pull out my wallet. Magically expanded to hold the items I need to stay alive. I reach in, hiding just how deep I have to go from the table. Past the darkness powder. Past the emergency portkey. Past the gun. Ah, there it is.
“At least five,” I say as I pull out my coin and drop it on the table near everyone else’s. Everyone cheers and raises their glasses in a toast before taking a sip. Except for Dennis, who downs the whole flute before grabbing another one. He grins at me and tips the new glass in my direction.
“Do you think we will ever need to use them again?” Hannah asks.
Of everyone here, she must hear the most about the danger that some of us still face. Her husband, Neville, is one of the few good aurors, and one of the few I’m still on good terms with.
“I hope not,” I say, more somberly than I meant to.
The mood changes, all eyes going to their own coins. It doesn’t do to think of the dead at a party like this, but perhaps it’s better they are reminded.
It doesn’t last long, Dennis says something stupidly Gryffindor and everyone cheers again. My eyes drift around the party once more, locking onto the woman of the hour. It’s not hard: Hermione Granger is always surrounded for the duration of these events. Rightfully so, she has been winning and passing any law she wants since her and Ron’s divorce. I don’t know how she does it.
Looking at her now, I think it's the gala that exhausts her more than the work. Person after person keeps coming to her, shaking her hand, and trying to ask what looks like a dozen questions in a single breath. At this rate, she might burn out before the party is over.
“Go on, Harry, we all know who you are really here for,” Parvati says, and presses my coin into my hand.
I can feel heat on my cheeks and I try to defend myself before my brain can catch up. “I don’t just come to see Hermione.”
Everyone, even Luna Lovegood, gives me a look. I decide to make a hasty retreat instead of sticking around. That retreat just so happens to take me to Hermione's table.
Hermione sees me coming and seems to brighten as I get closer. She waves people away and tells them she will catch up in a moment. I slow my walk to give her time and allow myself a moment to take her in.
Exhausted and tired though she might be, Hermione looks amazing. Certain reporters might complain that she isn’t as dressed up as she used to be, and they are right in a way. Hermione used to go through all the stops for these events. Dressed up more than she did at our first ball back at Hogwarts. She still dresses up a little, but she looks more like herself. Frizzy, untamable hair. Simple but elegant dress, and shoes which are easy to move in. If she had to fight, I bet she could. Some would argue it’s not quite a black-tie outfit — some people should keep their mouths shut.
Emotion pushes back into my thoughts, and I have to will the lid back down to keep any more from boiling over. The bargain is never far away, always reminding me what moments like this cost. A warning not to linger.
“Harry, thank you for coming,” Hermione says, and pulls me into a hug.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” I say, hugging her back, holding it just a moment longer than necessary. Tomorrow I might regret it, but tonight it feels worth the risk.
“Still in uniform, I see. Do you wear anything else?”
“Just my backup uniform when this one needs a wash.”
She smiles and shakes her head at me. “I’m pretty sure I should tell you to do something besides just work, but that would be like George telling people not to pull a prank.”
We smile awkwardly at each other, neither one of us knowing what comes next in these conversations. It’s not like we have practiced in years. Instead of figuring it out, I grab one of the floating champagne glasses and scan the crowd again. Nearly everyone is here. There is Draco, shaking hands with an old school buddy of his. He gives me a nod before going back to business. Astoria, a few tables down from her husband Draco, raises her glass at me and smiles. I return the gesture.
Ginny, my ex-wife, is buried at a table, people asking her questions about the current season no doubt, wondering if the Harpies can hold tight to their championship streak. She catches my eye just for a moment and mouths “tell her” before ignoring me. She is one of the few in the room who knows I can read her lips even from so far away. Thankfully, she won’t risk giving the press a story and will ignore me for the rest of the night. Just like I plan to ignore her advice.
“Have you heard from Ron? It's been a day for me,” Hermione says, her voice a whisper.
Ron Weasley. Hermione’s ex-husband. The Auror fixer. The one they send in on jobs nobody else has a chance to solve. Alongside his team, Zoe and Isaac, they handle all the messes and issues that used to be reserved for Dumbledore. He still manages to write to most of us every bloody day.
Well, almost every day.
“No, but one day isn’t a big deal. Ron's as tough as they come, and he has Isaac and Zoe with him. He will write tomorrow.”
“I know, but it always means something has gone wrong. Sometimes I think it should be us beside him still. What if Isaac and Zoe can’t save him one day?”
I snort before I can think better of it, and Hermione gives me a wounded glare.
I raise my hands and add, “Isaac and Zoe are the best of the best. Neville says they both can beat him with their wand hand tied behind their backs. Let’s trust them.”
Hermione sags a little and furrows her brow in thought. After a moment, she says, “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. I shouldn’t worry over one day. He will be upset that he missed out on free food and drinks.”
I nod, both of us knowing that isn’t who Ron is anymore, but we still like to tease him about it. He wouldn’t have missed the gala, though, not unless he had to. I wonder if it was a dragon again. Statistically, they keep him from writing more than anything else.
“You know, the invite didn’t say, and I’ve been living under a rock,” I say, sipping my drink a little faster. I can’t help but see Hermione tense next to me — damn bargain powers. “What did you get past the old purebloods this time?”
She stares at my drink for an elongated moment before answering. “Magical races can now gain a seat in the Wizengamot. None currently hold one, and won’t for some time, but they can.” She subtly points her glass towards a table where a goblin, a house-elf, and several wizards are discussing. “That’s the goblin king’s second son. He won’t inherit the throne, so he has turned his hand towards diplomacy. In a few years, maybe a decade, they will have a voice in the society they live in.”
This Woman. First the fountain, then the house-elves, then she forced through the most audacious magical rights bill to give citizenship to all intelligent species. Now she is giving them political power. I have to clamp down again as a fraction of my magic leaves me. For a bargain that specifies love, it sure isn’t picky about what I think.
I finish my drink. It’s time to go. Another few hits like that, and I might not be able to contend with Mister Stalks the Night tomorrow.
“Well, I can’t imagine anyone more worthy of having a gala thrown in their honor. I should—”
“Harry…”
“Let you get back to it. Invite me to the next one, yeah?”
“You could stay,” she says, her hands clenched in fists at her side, before unfurling and relaxing, “We could sneak out of here and get some takeout. I know a place. It would be great to catch up.”
I turn around, not trusting my face, and desperately trying to keep my mental shields in place. “Not tonight, I have to be up early for a meeting of sorts. Rain check?”
“Yeah… sure.”
I walk towards the fireplace, intent on going back to my office. Behind me, I hear Hermione whisper, “It sure rains a lot.”