Sirius Black breathed deeply as he found a good vantage point to observe the proceedings, his eyes sharp and attentive. As the Head of the DOJ, he had long since perfected the art of blending in, his stance casual but ready. Technically, he shouldn't be here, but the times dictated that he should at least know for himself as to what was happening and not just what was printed in the papers.
The French Muggle Prime Minister's press conference was held in the grandiose Salle des Fêtes of the Élysée Palace, its gilded walls and crystal chandeliers a stark contrast to the tension simmering beneath the surface.
The Prime Minister, a tall man with iron-grey hair and a severe expression, approached the podium, the soft tap of his polished shoes swallowed by the buzz of murmured conversations and the flurry of camera flashes. He cleared his throat, the microphones crackling slightly.
"Mesdames et Messieurs," he began, voice smooth and authoritative. It was a good thing Sirius had taken the effort to be fluent in multiple languages as being with the DOJ needed those skills a bit too often than he cared. "France remains committed to the principles of European unity and cooperation. However, recent events have tested these bonds."
Sirius noted the ripple of discomfort that swept through the crowd, a subtle shifting of bodies, a tension in shoulders. The Prime Minister's hand rested lightly on the podium as he looked around.
"The incident at the Menen border crossing, where Belgian police were denied entry into French territory during a pursuit, has been a point of contention. France acknowledges the concerns raised by our Belgian counterparts and is working diligently to resolve the matter in accordance with the Schengen Agreement."
Sirius's mind worked quickly, dissecting the words. The Menen Incident had been more than just a border skirmish; whispers in the magical underground spoke of rogue magic signatures flaring near the crossing, covered up swiftly and brutally by French magical authorities.
The Prime Minister's tone grew more resolute, his eyes narrowing. "Let me be clear: France will not compromise its sovereignty. While we value our partnerships, we must also ensure the safety and security of our citizens. We are prepared to take necessary measures to defend our borders, our interests, and our people."
A few scattered claps erupted from the French delegation, more out of obligation than agreement. Sirius caught a British Muggle attaché nearby, her brows furrowing in disbelief.
The Prime Minister leaned forward, his grip on the podium tightening. "We cannot ignore the growing instability across Europe. Belgium's recent incursions are just one symptom of a larger issue—an issue of respect, of sovereignty, and of strength."
Sirius stiffened slightly. This was new. The incident was a border dispute, barely worth more than a mention in the international news cycle. Yet here was the Prime Minister, inflating its significance, almost weaponizing the narrative.
"Our intelligence has confirmed," the Prime Minister continued, "that certain factions within Belgium have been conspiring with external influences to undermine French authority. We will not stand for this. As of this week, our borders will be reinforced. Our patrols will double. And I assure you," his voice dropped an octave, sending a shiver through the room, "any further breaches will be met with the full force of the Republic."
A stunned silence blanketed the audience. Sirius clenched his jaw. That didn't sound like a statement, more like a promise.
The Prime Minister's gaze swept across the room, almost daring someone to challenge him. "We urge the international community to respect our position. This is not just a matter of national security, but a matter of principle. France will not be strong-armed, not by neighbours, and certainly not by distant powers who think they can dictate our affairs."
The words distant powers hung in the air like smoke, acrid and suffocating. Sirius could almost feel the ripple of understanding settle over the room. He knew that phrase was no mere flourish of political bravado. It was a direct jab at NATO, and if the Muggle knew about the existence of the ICW, then perhaps, it was more than a subtle jab at the British Ministry itself.
Shaking his head, he wished he had the authority to do something, anything other than make the relevant parties aware in the ICW.
Not that they would do anything but waste time in pointless posturing and arguments.
~~ .
The Greengrass Manor was a curious mix of class and comfort.
It looked luxurious without being an eyesore, and expansive without being gaudy; a rare balance that spoke of old money and careful taste.
The estate sprawled over rolling hills, with immaculate lawns that stretched as far as the eye could see. Delicate, enchantment-woven flowerbeds framed the winding cobblestone path leading up to the grand entrance. Lavender and heather grew in carefully plotted bursts of colour, filling the air with a sweet, lingering fragrance. Ancient willows arched gracefully over small ponds, their leaves brushing the water like fingers skimming the surface of silk.
As he neared the entrance to the foyer, the floo going back to normal again, a house-elf popped into existence.
"Mr. Potter sir!" the elf bowed and greeted, voice smooth and unhurried, "Welcome to Greengrass Manor. Miss Daphne be expecting you."
Harry handed off his coat, nodding in thanks, and stepped into the foyer. The entrance hall was magnificent, with polished marble floors and a chandelier that shimmered with what looked like suspended stardust. The walls were adorned with framed portraits of Greengrass ancestors, each looking more refined and more judgemental than the last. Magic thrummed beneath the surface, subtle and ancient, as if the very stones had been imbued with it over centuries.
Before Harry could take in much more, the sound of footsteps echoed from the staircase that curved elegantly to the second floor. Harry's vision was filled with elegance personified as Daphne descended, seemingly in a hurry, her blonde hair catching the light in strands of gold, eyes the shade of a summer sky. She wore a simple yet elegant dress of pale yellow, one that complimented her hair nicely and was neither too modest nor too scandalous. It was just perfect and Harry appreciated it all the more as he beheld her. She held her hands clasped neatly in front of her as she came up to him.
"Harry," she greeted politely, her voice measured. "Welcome to our home." He could detect the undercurrent of nervousness in her tone and decided to make her relax.
"Thanks for inviting me," Harry replied with an easy smile, offering her a nod. "You have a beautiful home."
A smile flickered at the edges of her mouth and her shoulders sagged just a fraction. "Thank you," she said lightly. Her hands twisted slightly before she stilled them, her eyes meeting his. "Would you...would you like to come through? Mother and Astoria are waiting."
Harry nodded, and she turned slowly, leading him through a series of archways and down a long corridor where sunlight streamed in from tall windows, casting geometric patterns onto the polished floors. They passed a ballroom with glittering floors and a library whose towering shelves made Harry pause for just a moment longer than necessary.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her regard him and even open her mouth to say something but then stop as if her courage died on the tip of her tongue. It was a far cry from the arrogant and cunning Daphne Greengrass he'd met only in the beginning of the summer, and for some reason, he didn't like this kind of hesitation from her.
But then again, he'd done a lot to temper that arrogance in her, and the rest was done by her late father.
"This way," she guided him through a pair of heavy oak double doors into a massive drawing room.
It was beyond lavishly decorated but still managed to feel lived-in. Sunlight poured through wide windows, draping the cream-coloured sofas and plush rugs in warmth. A tea set was arranged on a low table, complete with delicately spun silver spoons and porcelain cups.
But the china or the decor didn't keep Harry's attention for long. Standing gracefully beside one of the comfortable sofas was who he recalled to be Lavinia Greengrass, a vision of beauty eclipsing everything else in the room.
Her golden blonde hair, the exact shade of Daphne's or even slightly richer, drooped down to her chest in elegant curls and draped around her throat like a string of pearls. She looked up at him with a smile that was as sharp as it was warm, and her pale blue halter-neck sleeveless dress bared just enough of her milky, unblemished skin to be classy but also subtly dared to promise a hint of scandal.
"Mr. Potter," Lavinia greeted. "What a pleasure it is to have you join us."
She gestured to a sofa next to her and then turned to attend to the tea and snacks, the movement providing his eyes a feast of her bared shoulders and naked back. Harry hid his smile, because suddenly, Daphne's nervousness had begun to make sense.
Beside his seat sat Astoria, Daphne's little sister from two years behind her and Harry, perched on the edge of the seat, her dark hair tied back with a velvet ribbon. She looked younger than Harry expected, her grey eyes wide with curiosity as she regarded him. Even in his old world, he didn't have much, if any, interaction with the elder Greengrass sister, let alone the younger one, so he didn't have a reference point to understand their disposition better.
At least, Daphne was well within control. At the school, she was the one that mattered.
"The pleasure is mine, Lady Greengrass," Harry returned, his voice respectful as he took her hand briefly. He turned to Astoria, offering her a smile. "And you must be Astoria."
Astoria flushed prettily but dipped her head a little, looking nervous but not enough to be impolite. "Hello, Mr. Potter."
"Harry, please," he corrected gently, and she smiled at him unreservedly, and already, he liked the youngest Greengrass better than the older, stiff ones.
Or maybe, that was the result of Astoria being shielded from everything bad by her elder sister? He knew he would do that himself for Rose and Dorea to keep their innocence intact.
"I have wanted to do this for a while, Mr. Potter," Lavinia broke in as she handed him a cup of tea, "I wanted to invite your family as well but Daphne convinced me that with your father being busy with the Ministry, it would be more than satisfactory to invite you, especially in the light of recent happenings."
"I completely understand," Harry said without hesitation, offering a smile. By now, he had a little idea of how these games were played. Inviting him was a move that Daphne had suggested, but it was only because he was seen as the front runner of the conflict that awaited their country in the near future. And after his performance at the World Cup, purebloods pandering to get close to him was the least he could expect.
"Good," Lavinia replied, her blood red lips morphing a brilliant grin. "I had hoped that the singular invitation didn't appear rude to your family."
If he'd been an uninformed fourteen year old, he'd be easily taken in by the saccharine words from the beautiful woman before him. But fortunately, he had his parents with him, especially his Mum who was much too competent in identifying people for who they are.
The conversation flowed quite easily, and unsurprisingly, Lavinia was a good host. Harry ate and drank everything he was offered, and never failed to be polite and easy-going. Daphne relaxed even more and disappeared for a few moments while they talked, but then reappeared later to say that lunch was served. Even little Astoria pitched in a few words when the conversation shifted to school.
"—and I'm friends with them too, so it helps a lot!" she was saying as they were seated and the obedient house elf began to fill their plates with some aromatic courses.
"What about the Gryffindors?" he asked.
Astoria clucked her tongue. "They're very unpredictable so I don't bother."
Harry laughed, and he could notice that Daphne's eyes crinkled in surprise.
"That's true," he said conspiringly, "I don't get along with them too." he finished in a whisper.
Astoria giggled. Harry was suddenly reminded of a more extroverted and outgoing Dorea and he couldn't help but reach out and pat her affectionately on the head. Unlike her parents or her sister, she was just an innocent twelve year old who went to the same school as him.
Turning back to her mother, Harry let her engage him again, knowing full well what the topic was being steered subtly towards.
The lunch was delicious and just like his Mum had taught him, he escaped almost all of her attempts to get him to commit to providing numerous generous allowances to the Greengrass family for their fealty to the Potters.
"—oh, but Daphne is so keen on becoming a healer since she was little! I'm sure St. Mungos would be lucky to have her when she graduates."
To which he replied diplomatically, "Of course, Daphne can do anything she puts her mind to."
"My husband, he'd always wanted to keep us away from any conflict, you know? He even talked about taking us away to a better, more peaceful place, until the tension dies down."
To which Harry simply smiled and shrugged. "I'm sure he did, Lavinia." He deliberately addressed her by her name, making her remember her place, "Daphne told me he was a wonderful father."
And so continued her attempts to rope him in to one of her fanciful plans and he resisted her webs strategically and deftly, the woman showing more and more of her hand with each passing minute.
By the end of the dinner, she was almost fidgeting in her seat, her restlessness far more pronounced than before. Harry almost snorted when he realized that during the course of the meal, Daphne's anxiety had now transferred fully to her mother.
When the plates were cleared and Astoria went to her room to see to her packing, Harry found a more sharper side to Lavinia appear.
Turning to her eldest, she said in a knowing, instructive tongue, "Daphne, I'll be discussing some Greengrass House business with Mr. Potter in your father's office."
Daphne simply nodded in compliance, looking resigned to the conversation. Harry knew that the time for subtlety was over and the Lady Greengrass was going to abandon all pretence of dancing around the topic.
After Daphne left, her gaze downcast and her demeanour demure, he followed Lavinia into what was her late husband's office.
The office of the late Lord Greengrass was a masterclass in old-world opulence. Dark walnut shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, filled with tomes bound in dragonhide and rich, marbled leather, their spines gleaming with runes of preservation. An enormous bay window behind the mahogany desk spilled sunlight across the room, casting golden light over thick Persian rugs and chairs upholstered in deep emerald velvet. The desk itself was vast, polished to a mirror shine, with brass inlays running along its edges that shimmered faintly with protective charms.
Harry couldn't help but notice the small, personal touches that lingered in the room: a crystal decanter half-filled with aged Firewhisky, a silver-framed photograph of a younger Daphne and Astoria laughing by a lake, and a cane mounted above the fireplace, its handle carved with the Greengrass sigil. For all its grandeur, the room still managed to feel...lived in.
Lady Greengrass moved with a deliberate grace as she crossed to the other side of the desk, gesturing for him to take a seat. Harry followed her motion, lowering himself into the plush leather chair opposite her. For a moment, silence stretched between them, the only sound the faint ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner.
Lavinia settled behind the desk, crossing her legs with an elegance that spoke of years of social mastery. Her dress shimmered slightly in the sunlight as she watched him with sharp, calculating eyes that contrasted with her serene smile. He couldn't wait to see what she was gonna do.
"Tea?" she offered with a smile that was all politeness, her manicured hands gesturing to the enchanted tea set that poured itself.
"No, thank you," Harry replied, his gaze steady. "I'd rather get straight to it."
He must've sounded a little too direct because a flicker of worry crossed her eyes before it was shadowed by amusement. "Of course. I suppose there's no need for pretence, is there?"
Harry leaned back, fingers tented, looking at her in interest. The one who spoke first, lost, after all.
She sighed, almost theatrically, her eyes dropping to her polished nails as if considering their hue. "My, my, how the Potters have grown assertive." Her gaze flicked back up to him, sharper now. "I remember when your father would come here, you know. He was quite the charmer, always so eager to please. Such a pity that those manners seem to have skipped a generation."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "I'm afraid you might be mistaking my directness for a lack of manners, Lavinia."
She chuckled, a throaty, knowing sound that slipped from her lips like smoke. "Perhaps," she allowed, leaning back in her chair, crossing her legs in a fluid motion that made her dress slip slightly, revealing more of her smooth, pale thigh. "But I suspect you already know why I've asked you here."
Harry didn't respond immediately, instead letting the silence stretch just a moment longer than comfortable. He noted how her fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the desk, the flicker of annoyance masked almost instantly with another smooth smile.
"I was under the impression this was a lunch invitation," he replied finally, his tone polite and smooth.
Her eyes sparkled with something sharper. "Let's not play games, Mr. Potter," she said, her voice dropping a fraction, silky and low. "The Greengrass family has been neutral and independent for generations. We swore our fealty to you because we wanted to stay as we are, not because we wanted change."
Harry leaned back, crossing his arms. "Is that so?"
"Yes," she purred, "We want to stay away from the conflict."
He hummed, deliberately looking thoughtful for a moment. "I'm afraid the oath you've sworn on your magic will not allow you to do that."
"Yes," she purred, a flicker of annoyance crossing her features. Leaning forward just enough to command his attention, her voice grew softer, "But oaths require nurturing, you see. For a relationship to remain beneficial, both parties must contribute."
He didn't flinch under her gaze. "And you're suggesting the Potters haven't held up their end of the arrangement?"
Lavinia smiled, slow and predatory. "Not quite. I'm suggesting that there's room for improvement. Concessions, perhaps. Little things that ensure the Greengrass family is properly compensated for our loyalty."
Harry's jaw tightened, but he let his expression remain neutral. He stretched out his senses, feeling the familiar hum of magic that he'd been practicing to perceive. Her aura shimmered faintly, bringing with it a feeling of coldness. More than that though, there was a shroud around her, something thick and occluded, like delicate secrets held beneath a cold exterior. He exhaled noisily, letting his magic fill the room.
Lavinia flinched.
~~ .
Lavinia Greengrass was a proud woman. She was proud of her heritage, her family, and her upbringing, but fortunately and unfortunately, also painfully aware of her own shortcomings.
Growing up, she'd had enough experience with the worst kind of wizards and witches to know how and whether to ignore them or manipulate them. When she'd come to know from Daphne that Harry Potter was an up and coming duelling champion, she'd felt both amused and irritated. Amused because it was the first notable thing that the boy had done in his life, and irritated because it was yet another feather in the cap of The Family. When her husband had been killed, she'd been thrown into the deep end of navigating how to weather the threat of the looming Dark Lord. Thankfully, her daughter had taken after both herself and her father and brought themselves a protector. When Harry Potter had emerged as the hero of the Wizarding world, Lavinia had felt both shocked and excited. Shocked because she knew that the boy had been estranged from his family for most of his childhood, and knowing that chink in his armour was a good thing for her. And excited because she'd thought that dealing with a fourteen year old boy would be a thousand times easier than dealing with Lily Potter herself. Or worse, Bellatrix Black. Still thinking of the purple eyed witch brought a shiver up her spine.
If you went against her, Lily Potter would at least outwit you first and then cut you down with cold hard logic and brutal facts that will end up with you feeling inferior and unworthy. On the other hand, Bellatrix Black would simply curse you until you couldn't remember the name of the day, let alone the argument you'd made against her family.
Yes, by comparison, Lavinia had thought that dealing with Harry Potter would be much easier.
But she had been dreadfully wrong. And now, it could end up becoming one of the worst mistakes of her life.
Sitting under the dense and oppressive aura of his magic, she knew she'd miscalculated, and done so quite heavily.
She tried to school her features once more, knowing and hating the fact that he'd already seen become vulnerable. She met his bright, penetrating emerald eyes, swallowing a lump in her throat.
He straightened. "It's a little early for you to be making demands, isn't it? I already said I'll protect you and your daughters. For that alone, I think that it is you who owes me some compensation."
She looked away for a second and then back at him to see him still staring at her face. She hadn't even caught him looking down her dress once in so long.
"And how will you do that, Mr. Potter?" she'd wanted to address him by his name but somehow, her courage always seemed to fail her. Or was it the magic of the oath that was influencing her? She will never know.
"I will have your home under a Fidelius charm soon. As for your businesses, I'm sure suitable managers will take care of running them smoothly while you and your family is safe within the four walls of your home or Hogwarts. Is there anything else?"
"I was hoping that we could be allowed to hide in one of our other homes overseas, perhaps in France or…"
"The world has suddenly become a very dangerous place, Lavinia," Potter had sharply, his eyes hiding secrets unknown, "France, believe it or not, is more unstable than Britain right now."
"What do you mean by that?" she asked quickly.
He smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. "You'll probably know in the next few days' papers."
He shifted in his seat and she flinched again and stood up, suddenly afraid that he was leaving. She sighed in relief when he didn't seem to want to go, and her fingers drummed themselves on the desk as she tried to get her brain to think properly.
"What about other countries? Like Spain or Germany or even—" she began but he cut her off.
"Do you really want to run off to a foreign nation when your daughters are here in Hogwarts?"
"NO!" she exclaimed a little too loudly and then composed herself, her cheeks heating up. "I meant for us to go together, of course."
He had the audacity to snort. "I'm sure that will go over well with Daphne."
"What?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Do you really know your daughter at all?"
She felt a flash of anger. "Of course I do! I'm just saying that—"
"Then call your eldest and tell her your plan right now. Let's see what she says." He challenged.
Lavinia let out a shuddering breath. "I wanted to get your assurances first."
"Assurances for what? I already told you Britain is safer than every other country out there."
She nodded, both frustrated and a little flustered at being unable to hold herself together in conversation with a boy less than half her age.
But then, he wasn't just any boy, was he? He may be young in age but he was much more of a wizard than most who could care to boast.
As if magically sensing the torrent of emotions within her, she suddenly felt a hand over her own, patting her, comforting her. She swallowed and instinctively moved a step closer to him.
"I get it, alright?" he said softly, "I know you don't know me and therefore, you don't know if you can trust me. I know you're worried about the safety of your family. However, be patient and let me do what I need to do to keep all of you safe, alright?"
She nodded, his words more than assuaging her fears and appeasing her desires. But there was still something else to know. She was a Slytherin, and she knew that nothing in life was free. Everything was a transaction.
"In exchange for what?"
He clucked his tongue, looking her in the eyes. "I want to study your family magic."
She was floored. Her brain struggled to comprehend what she'd just heard. "That's it?" she exclaimed incredulously. "Our family magic is nothing impressive!"
Potter laughed. And it was a full-blown throaty laughter, making her suddenly relax and release a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.
How the hell did he have a way to make her so comfortable so easily?
"What?!"
His amused eyes found hers after more than half a minute of her staring at him in shocked silence. "It's not impressive to you because you've never been able to learn it. You married into the Greengrass family, so you cannot know the depths of the secrets held within the generational magic of a Sacred 28 family. I'm sure that Daphne knows more about it than you, because her father taught her a little before he passed."
His answer both made sense to her and made her a little angry.
She folded her arms at her chest. "Right. I've been a bit ignorant in that regard."
And then, as if on cue, he stood up.
"It's okay," he said with a smile. "So now that we've had that conversation, I must go."
In the next few years, Lavinia will think back to this day and still wonder what it was that made herself so anxious at seeing him leave so soon. She will wonder at what made her body react automatically and move closer to him, gripping his arm in an effort to make him stay. Stay here and close to her.
"Lavinia?" he said softly, his eyes reflecting confusion and before she could even know what she was doing, she'd put a hand on his chest in reflex, turning herself fully to him so that her heaving chest was barely inches from his.
"Please…" her mouth formed the words but she had no idea what she wanted, only that she didn't want him to leave her alone. She'd been afraid for far too long, lost the respect of her husband and her eldest, darling daughter while she did what she had to do protect her family. And now that she was back from the brink of unraveling completely from guilt, shame, and a mixture of anxiety and fear, she didn't ever want to feel that way again.
She wanted to feel the comfort of his magic again. Be amazed and excited by his power again. To feel him stare deeply into her soul again and then make her—
His eyes suddenly took on a knowing glint and before her mind could even register what she wanted, he had cut her off with a kiss.