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Harry Potter
The Grand Ballroom announced itself long before Harry saw it—a distant hum of magic that grew stronger with each step through the Ministry's marble corridors. Ted walked beside him, occasionally tugging at his formal robes. Ted was a little overwhelmed, despite being part of the Magical world for the last twenty-six years. Looking at this place right now, Ted felt like he was stepping into Hogwarts for the first time all over again.
"Right then," Ted muttered, his voice echoing off the high ceilings, "try not to trip over anything expensive, yeah?"
"That's my line," Nymphadora protested from behind them. Her hair had settled into an elegant burgundy-brown that Andromeda had specifically requested, though pink streaks kept appearing at the edges whenever she got anxious. Which was often.
"Both of you, stop fidgeting," Andromeda said with that particular tone that meant she was in full diplomatic mode. "We represent Britain tonight, whether we like it or not."
Harry adjusted his midnight blue robes for the third time, feeling his Talisman's weight in his breast pocket. Beside him, Crystal-Harmony sat in her enchanted wheelchair—a creation that Minister Delacour had personally commissioned. The chair hovered slightly above the ground, responding to her thoughts, allowing her to move with dignity despite legs that could barely support her weight after hours of being vertical.
Her dress shifted between silver and blue as she moved. She looked every inch the princess she was, though Harry could see the tightness around her eyes, but she was doing a good job at hiding it.
"Ready?" he asked quietly.
Crystal-Harmony's fingers gripped the wheelchair's armrests. "I've faced my father's war council. Surely a ballroom can't be worse than that."
"You'd be surprised," Nymphadora muttered. "At least war councils don't judge your dress sense."
The massive doors ahead were carved from wood so dark it seemed to absorb light. Two house-elves in pristine Ministry livery stood at attention, their large eyes widening slightly as the group approached.
"Monsieur Potter's party," one announced in squeaky French, and the doors began to swing open.
Harry's breath caught.
The Grand Ballroom stretched before them like a dream someone had decided to make violently, aggressively real. The space was enormous—easily four times the size of Hogwarts' Great Hall—with a ceiling enchanted to show the Paris night sky complete with drifting clouds and a moon that cast actual silver light. Floating chandeliers drifted overhead like massive jellyfish made of crystal and gold.
"Bloody hell," Ted breathed, then quickly added at Andromeda's look, "Sorry. But bloody hell."
The floor itself was polished to such perfection that it looked liquid, reflecting the enchanted ceiling above and creating the disorienting sensation of walking through an infinite space of light and shadow. This was not Harry's first time in this place; he remembered last year, when he walked into this hall with Newt after he returned from Abyssantica, but this time, he had his whole family with him.
Harry looked around, trying to find Fleur, but then he looked upwards, and his eyes saw the flags.
High above the ballroom, suspended in mid-air through some invisible enchantment, hung the magical standards of every nation represented tonight. The silver and blue of Magical France dominated the center, flanked by Britain's crimson and gold. Further out, Harry recognized Russia's double-headed phoenix, Italy's crossed wands over a blooming olive tree, Germany's black eagle wreathed in runes, and at least a dozen others he couldn't immediately identify. They moved in a slow, stately rotation, creating patterns of colored light that danced across the crowd below.
"It's like they're showing off," Nymphadora whispered, her hair cycling through awed purple before she caught herself.
"They are," Andromeda replied simply. "The French magical community has always believed that magic should be art. This is their statement of philosophy."
Crystal-Harmony was staring upward, her expression caught between wonder and something sadder. In Abyssantica, their grand hall had been carved from living coral, lit by bioluminescent creatures that created their own natural beauty.
"It's beautiful," she said softly. "But it doesn't breathe."
Harry understood what she meant. Everything here was precisely maintained, carefully orchestrated. There was no room for the organic chaos of nature, the unpredictable beauty of things that grew rather than were made.
The ballroom itself was already filling with guests. Witches in gowns with wizards wearing uniforms or robes. A group of Italian diplomats clustered near one of the refreshment tables, their animated gestures suggesting a heated debate about something. Further away, Harry spotted what could only be the German delegation, wearing all black as if they were preparing for a funeral.
"There must be three hundred people here," Newt observed, appearing at Harry's elbow. He'd changed into formal robes that looked suspiciously similar to the ones he always wore, just slightly less wrinkled. "Representatives from every major European magical government, plus several from further abroad."
"And they're all staring at us," Nymphadora added with forced cheerfulness.
She wasn't wrong. As Harry's group entered, a ripple of awareness spread through the ballroom like a stone dropped in still water. Conversations didn't quite stop, but they shifted—voices dropping to murmurs, heads turning, looking at the new arrivals.
"Monsieur Potter," a herald's voice rang out, magically amplified to carry through the vast space without seeming loud. "Miss Nymphadora Tonks, Mr. Edward Tonks, Mrs. Andromeda Tonks, Mr. Newt Scamander, and Her Royal Highness Princess Crystal-Harmony of Abyssantica."
The formal announcement made Harry's skin prickle with awareness. He was suddenly, acutely conscious of his slightly-too-long hair that refused to lie flat, his robes that were nice but nowhere near as elaborate as most of the guests', the way his hand wanted to drift to his wand out of habit.
"Chin up," Andromeda murmured. "You've faced worse than curious aristocrats."
"Have I though?" Harry muttered back, earning a quiet snort from Ted.
Crystal-Harmony's wheelchair glided forward, and Harry moved to walk beside her. Her four guards—Reef-Shield, Tide-Swimmer, Storm-Rider, and Current-Dancer—followed in as close to formation as their still-rebellious legs would allow. They wore formal surface robes in deep blues and silvers that complemented Crystal-Harmony's dress, though Reef-Shield kept trying to salute and accidentally hitting himself in the face.
The crowd parted as they moved deeper into the ballroom, creating a pathway that felt less welcoming and more like being put on display. Harry caught fragments of conversation in French, Italian, German—languages he couldn't fully understand but whose tone was unmistakable. Curiosity. Assessment. Some skepticism.
"C'est vraiment lui? Si jeune..." (Is that really him? So young...)
"La princesse de la mer—elle est plus humaine que je pensais." (The sea princess—she's more human than I expected.)
"Did you hear about the Italian contract? Forty thousand Galleons for a child's work..."
Near one of the floating refreshment tables, Harry spotted a woman who could only be Minister Lombardi of Italy. She was striking, with dark hair pulled back in an elegant twist and robes of deep crimson. She was deep in conversation with several older wizards, but her gaze flickered toward Harry's group with obvious interest.
Further away, a cluster of stern-looking officials could only be the German contingent. One of them—a tall wizard with iron-gray hair and a monocle that was definitely judging everyone—watched Crystal-Harmony's approach with the calculating expression of someone assessing a political opportunity.
But it was the figure in the wheelchair near the far wall that made Harry's steps falter.
The man was impossible to miss despite being in a place that made it hard to notice him. His wheelchair appeared mundane—no magical enhancements that Harry could detect—but the man himself radiated something that made the hairs on Harry's neck stand up.
Long dark hair fell to his lower back, unbound and slightly wild in a way that contrasted sharply with every other carefully groomed guest. An equally long beard framed a face that was difficult to age—he could have been forty or four hundred. But it was his eyes that arrested attention: pale blue, almost white, the color of ice.
Those eyes were fixed on Crystal-Harmony.
"Harry?" Crystal-Harmony's voice was barely a whisper. "Do you see—"
"The man in the wheelchair," Harry confirmed quietly. "Yeah. I see him."
Something about the stranger felt strange. Like looking at a familiar room and finding all the furniture had been moved three inches to the left—everything appearing normal until you tried to navigate by memory and nothing was quite where it should be.
The man smiled when he realized they'd noticed him. It wasn't threatening exactly, but it wasn't reassuring either. Then he inclined his head in what might have been a greeting or acknowledgment, and turned his wheelchair slightly away as if to give them space.
"Do you know him?" Nymphadora asked, following Harry's gaze.
"No," Crystal-Harmony said, but her hands had tightened on her wheelchair's armrests. "But I feel like I should. There's something..."
"We'll worry about mysterious strangers later," Andromeda interrupted smoothly. "Right now, we have diplomatic obligations."
She was right. Already, several groups were beginning to drift in their direction—officials recognizing an opportunity when they saw one, politicians calculating the value of an introduction, curious onlookers wanting to see the "talisman prodigy" and "underwater princess" up close.
A witch in purple robes, her smile professionally warm. "Monsieur Potter? I am Adalene Dubois, Senior Researcher for the Department of Mysteries. Your work with protective runes has caused quite the stir in our theoretical enchantment division."
"Madame Dubois," Harry replied, mentally reviewing Newt's earlier briefings on proper French etiquette. "I'm honored that my work caught your attention."
"Caught our attention?" She smiled warmly. "My dear boy, you've upended three decades of established theory about material integration in protective charms. We have questions. So many questions."
Behind her, Harry could see more people gathering—a cluster of Italian officials, the stern German contingent, what looked like a group from the Russian Ministry judging by their distinctive fur-trimmed robes. Each group waiting for their turn, calculating their approach, preparing their questions and offers and subtle tests.
The Italian contingent approached first—three wizards in deep burgundy robes, led by a distinguished-looking man with silver-streaked hair who introduced himself as Sottosegretario Vittorio Marcelli.
"Monsieur Potter," he began in heavily accented English, "your integration of basilisk materials—this is not something we have seen before. The creature's inherent lethality should make such work impossible, yet you have achieved it. How?"
"Carefully," Harry replied, earning a slight smile from Marcelli. "And with significant trial and error. The basilisk skin retains some magical properties even after death, which required adapting my standard runic matrices to account for—"
"But the resonance frequencies," another Italian wizard interrupted. "They should conflict with standard protective enchantments. Unless you modified the base structure entirely?"
Harry found himself pulled into an increasingly technical discussion about magical theory that had him grateful for all those late nights in the Hogwarts library. The Italians were relentless but genuinely interested.
Meanwhile, Crystal-Harmony had her own gathering.
A tall witch in elegant grey robes approached her wheelchair. "Your Highness, if I may—there have been rumors about Abyssantica's Aqualis reserves. Given the recent... complications with the Dark RSH, many are concerned about supply stability."
Crystal-Harmony's expression remained perfectly pleasant. "Aqualis production remains stable. The Obsidian Depths may have attempted disruption, but they failed. Our crystal farms are well-protected and operating at normal capacity."
"And the price?" A German official had joined the conversation, his accent precise. "Surely recent events justify an increase in value?"
"Aqualis pricing is determined by the Crown in consultation with our trade councils," Crystal-Harmony replied smoothly. "King Anden has no intention of exploiting recent difficulties for profit. Our agreements with surface nations remain unchanged."
"Even if certain parties offered... premium rates for exclusive access?"
Crystal-Harmony's smile could have frozen the Mediterranean. "Abyssantica does not engage in exclusive agreements that would disadvantage our long-standing allies. We value consistency over short-term profit."
The German official nodded, seeming satisfied, but Harry noticed how others in the growing circle exchanged glances. Aqualis was one of the rarest magical materials in the world—capable of enhancing nearly any enchantment, healing resistant curses, even extending the life of dying spells. Its value was almost incalculable, and with only underwater cities like Abyssantica producing it, supply was perpetually limited.
"Your Highness," a French witch interjected, "is it true that Aqualis can stabilize transformation magic? There are theories about its potential applications in long-term transfiguration work—"
"The theories are sound," Crystal-Harmony confirmed. "Though practical applications remain limited by the crystal's scarcity and the complexity of integrating it into standard spellwork."
Harry extracted himself from the Italian contingent with promises to discuss his work further at a less crowded time, only to be immediately intercepted by a Russian wizard whose fur-trimmed robes suggested both wealth and significant political connections.
"Mr. Potter," the man began in perfect English with only the slightest accent, "Leonid Gromserdov, representing the Russian Ministry's Department of Magical Innovation. Your talismans—they are impressive, yes, but tell me: who funds your research? Surely such sophisticated work requires significant financial backing?"
And there it was. The question everyone wanted to ask, but most dressed up in more subtle language.
"I fund my own research," Harry replied carefully. "Through sales of completed talismans to various Ministry departments and private clients."
"No Foundation support? No noble House backing?" Volkov's expression suggested he found this difficult to believe. "Unusual for one so young."
"I prefer independence."
"Independence." The man said the word as if it were the strangest word he had ever said. "An admirable sentiment. Also, potentially limiting. The Russian magical community values those who achieve through their own merit, but we also understand the practicalities of resource allocation."
Before Harry could respond, Leonid continued: "My niece, Ekaterina, will be attending this evening. She oversees our Ministry's international acquisition programs. Perhaps you might speak with her? She has... appreciation for independent thinkers."
The way he said it made Harry suspect this was less suggestion and more polite command, but he nodded anyway. "I'd be happy to meet her."
"Excellent." Leonid clapped him on the shoulder with surprising warmth. "You will find her more pleasant than these old bureaucrats, I think. And much prettier."
He departed with a booming laugh, leaving Harry slightly bewildered.
Across the way, Crystal-Harmony was fielding increasingly pointed questions about Aqualis availability and pricing structures. Her patience was clearly wearing thin, though she maintained her diplomatic facade admirably. Her guards hovered nearby, clearly uncomfortable with so many people crowding their princess but unwilling to cause a scene.
Harry caught Reef-Shield's eye and saw his own exhaustion reflected there. They'd both been on display for less than an hour, and already it felt like days.
A lull in the conversations gave Harry an opportunity to survey the ballroom properly. The orchestra was preparing for the evening's first dance, couples beginning to drift toward the open floor space. The magical flags overhead continued their stately rotation, and somewhere nearby, he could hear Nymphadora's distinctive laugh—probably at something Ted had said.
And there, near the floating refreshment tables, he finally spotted them.
Cassiopeia Greengrass was exactly as Harry remembered from their brief meeting in his house—elegant in deep emerald robes that probably cost more than most people's annual income, her posture perfect, her expression pleasant, and her natural beauty helped sell that message. Beside her stood a man Harry had never met but immediately recognized as her husband: tall, handsome in a way that looked expensive, with silver-blonde hair.
But it was the two girls flanking them that made Harry smile.
Daphne looked different out of her Hogwarts uniform—her ice-blue robes brought out the color of her eyes, and someone had talked her into letting her hair down instead of the usual severe bun she favored during term time. She was scanning the crowd with the slightly bored expression she wore whenever forced to attend formal functions, but when her gaze landed on Harry, her entire face lit up.
Beside her, Astoria Greengrass practically vibrated like a ball of energy. She was smaller than her sister, with the same platinum hair but rounder features that still held the softness of childhood. Her robes were a paler blue, and she kept bouncing on the balls of her feet despite what were clearly multiple warnings from her mother to stand still.
"Is that—" Crystal-Harmony started, following Harry's gaze. It seemed the Princess had escaped her adoring fans.
"Daphne Greengrass," Harry confirmed. "From Hogwarts. We're in the same House."
"The one whose mother wants to trap you in a gilded cage?" Crystal asked, remembering what Andromeda had told her.
"That's the one." Harry straightened his robes. "Though Daphne herself is actually brilliant. Top of our year in Potions, and she once hexed a seventh-year who tried to bully a first-year so badly he couldn't sit down for a week."
"I like her already," Crystal-Harmony murmured.
Daphne had clearly spotted them as well because she was already moving in their direction, gracefully navigating the crowd. In a way, it reminded Harry of Fleur. Did all blonde girls walk like that? Like they were gliding through the floor and not simply walking like normal people would. Astoria followed like an overexcited puppy, and behind them, Cassiopeia and Charles Greengrass exchanged a look before moving to follow at a more measured pace.
"Potter," Daphne greeted him with a slight smile as she approached, her voice carrying that particular mix of warmth and formality that meant she was being watched by her parents. "I didn't expect to see you here. Though I suppose I should have—you do have a talent for appearing at significant political events."
"Greengrass," Harry replied, matching her tone. "You're looking significantly less stressed than during our last Potions exam."
Her smile widened fractionally. "That's because Snape isn't hovering over my shoulder waiting for me to melt my cauldron."
"Harry!" Astoria burst out before anyone could stop her, her voice loud enough to draw glances from nearby guests. "Luna sent me a letter last week and she said to tell you that the Nargles in the Astronomy Tower miss you terribly!"
"Astoria," Daphne hissed, grabbing her sister's arm. "Indoor voice. Diplomatic setting. Remember what Mother said about—"
"But it's important!" Astoria protested, though she did lower her volume slightly. "Luna also said something about Wrackspurts infesting the Divination classroom and that you should warn Professor Trelawney, except I'm not sure if that was serious or if Luna was being Luna."
Harry felt his ears heat, though he couldn't help smiling. "Knowing Luna, probably both. How is she? I haven't heard from her since term ended."
"She's brilliant as always," Astoria said enthusiastically. "Her father took her to Sweden to look for Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. She sent me a postcard with a drawing of one—at least, what she thinks they look like. It had purple spots."
"Of course it did," Daphne muttered, shaking her head.
"Luna's the best," Astoria continued, completely undeterred by her sister's exasperation. "She said you helped her feel welcome at Hogwarts when everyone else thought she was weird. That was really nice of you, Harry."
"Luna's not weird," Harry said firmly. "She just sees things differently than most people. That's not a bad thing."
Astoria beamed at him. "That's exactly what I said! See, Daphne? I told you Harry understood."
Before Harry could respond, Cassiopeia and Charles Greengrass arrived, and the temperature seemed to drop several degrees despite the ballroom's warming charms.
"Mr. Potter," Cassiopeia's voice was silk over steel. "How delightful to see you again. And in such distinguished company." Her gaze flickered to Crystal-Harmony with obvious interest, then to the Tonks family with considerably less warmth.
"Lady Greengrass," Harry replied, executing a careful bow. "Lord Greengrass. May I present Her Royal Highness Princess Crystal-Harmony of Abyssantica."
Crystal-Harmony straightened in her wheelchair, and suddenly she wasn't the girl who'd been struggling with breakfast toast that morning. She was every inch the daughter of King Anden, raised in a palace four miles beneath the sea.
"Lord and Lady Greengrass," she said, her voice carrying that particular cadence Harry had heard her use during formal council meetings. "It is an honor to meet representatives of such a distinguished British magical family. My father, King Anden, has spoken of the importance of strong alliances between our peoples."
Charles Greengrass's eyebrows rose slightly—whether impressed by her diplomacy or surprised she could speak so formally, Harry couldn't tell. "Your Highness. The pleasure is entirely ours. It's not every day one meets royalty from the deep."
"And I am sure you already know my family," Harry continued, gesturing to the Tonks family. "Edward, Andromeda, and Nymphadora Tonks."
The air somehow grew colder.
Cassiopeia's smile remained perfectly pleasant, but something sharp flickered in her eyes as they landed on Andromeda. "Ah. Mrs. Tonks. It's been quite some time since we've moved in the same circles."
"Only a week unfourtantly," Andromeda replied with equally false warmth. "I see you're still collecting promising young wizards for your Foundation. How entrepreneurial."
Ted coughed to hide what was definitely a laugh. Nymphadora's hair flickered through alarmed orange before settling back to burgundy-brown.
"Mother," Daphne interrupted smoothly, "perhaps we could discuss business matters later? I was hoping to introduce Astoria to the Princess properly. She's been asking about underwater cities all week."
"Oh! Yes!" Astoria's eyes were enormous as she stared at Crystal-Harmony. "Are you really a mermaid princess? Do you have a tail? Can you talk to fish? Daphne said you live in a palace made of coral and that's the most amazing thing I've ever heard!"
Crystal-Harmony looked at the girl with a smile. "I'm a Royal Sea Horse, actually, which is different from a mermaid. But yes, I do have a tail—when I'm underwater. Right now, I have legs, though they don't work very well yet."
"That's so cool," Astoria breathed. "I wish I could turn my legs into a tail. Walking is boring."
"Astoria," Charles Greengrass said with mild exasperation. "Perhaps save the anatomical questions for a less public setting."
"But Father—"
"Your sister is right," Cassiopeia interjected smoothly. "This is a wonderful opportunity for cultural exchange. Princess, if you'll forgive my daughter's enthusiasm—she's at that age where everything magical fascinates her."
"I don't find it offensive at all," Crystal-Harmony replied. "Curiosity is how we learn to understand each other better."
"Quite right," Charles agreed, and now his gaze shifted to Harryn. "Mr. Potter, I believe we haven't been formally introduced. Charles Greengrass. I've been following your talisman work with considerable interest."
His handshake was firm, and Harry got the distinct impression he was being evaluated like a potential business acquisition.
"Lord Greengrass," Harry replied carefully. "I hope the reports have been favorable."
"More than favorable. Revolutionary, some are calling it." Charles's smile was charming but his eyes were sharp. "Though I understand you've been taking an independent approach to distribution and development. Bold choice for someone so young."
And there it was. Harry had been waiting for this conversation since he'd learned the Greengrass family would be attending.
"I prefer to build my own reputation," Harry said, keeping his voice pleasant. "Rather than trading on someone else's foundation."
Cassiopeia's expression didn't change, if anything she seemed like she had been expecting that answer. "How admirably principled. Though I wonder, Mr. Potter, if you've considered the practical difficulties of maintaining such independence? The magical world can be... challenging for those without established support structures."
"I've managed so far," Harry replied.
"At twelve, nearly thirteen," Charles observed. "With relatively simple distribution channels and modest international contracts. But as your work expands—and it will expand, I have no doubt—you'll find the political landscape considerably more complex."
"Harry has excellent advisors," Andromeda interjected coolly. "And a strong moral compass."
"I'm sure he does," Cassiopeia said smoothly. "Though moral compasses, however admirable, don't navigate Ministry bureaucracies or negotiate international trade agreements." She turned back to Harry. "The Greengrass Foundation exists precisely to provide support to talented young wizards who might otherwise be... overwhelmed by such complexities."
"For a price," Nymphadora muttered.
"Everything has a price, Miss Tonks," Charles replied, having heard anyway. "The question is whether that price is worth paying for the security and resources provided."
"I appreciate the offer," Harry said carefully, aware that Daphne was watching him with an expression he couldn't quite read. "But I've seen what happens when talented people sign away their independence for security. They stop being creators and become assets."
"How poetic," Cassiopeia murmured. "Also rather naive."
Harry didn't know why, but the way she said it felt like a threat, and he still remembered her comment about Voldemort. He knew without a doubt that House Greengrass had supported Voldemort financially during the war, so they would not get their hands dirty and Voldemort would leave them alone.
"Mother," Daphne said sharply.
"I'm simply observing," Cassiopeia continued, her voice still perfectly pleasant, "that Mr. Potter's idealism, while admirable, may not account for certain... realities. The magical world rewards those who understand how to navigate its systems. Those who don't often find themselves isolated, their innovations stolen by less scrupulous parties, their reputations undermined by whisper campaigns they lack the connections to combat."
"That sounds suspiciously like a threat," Ted observed mildly.
"Not at all," Charles said quickly. "Simply a frank assessment of the challenges independent craftsmen face. We've seen too many talented individuals crushed by the very system they hoped to work within."
"And your Foundation prevents this out of pure altruism?" Andromeda's voice could have frosted glass.
"We provide structure, protection, and resources," Cassiopeia replied. "In exchange for a partnership that benefits all parties involved. Hardly altruism, but certainly mutually beneficial."
Crystal-Harmony, who had been silent throughout this exchange, spoke up suddenly. "In Abyssantica, we have a saying: 'The deepest pressure either crushes you or teaches you to become stronger.' It seems to me that Harry has already survived considerable pressure without outside assistance."
Cassiopeia's gaze sharpened as she reassessed Crystal-Harmony. "A wise saying, Your Highness. Though I would point out that even the strongest swimmers occasionally need allies in dangerous waters."
"True," Crystal-Harmony agreed. "The question is whether those allies are partners or those who would clip your fins and call it protection."
A brief silence fell. Cassiopeia Greengrass looked at the Princess with a look of annoyance.
Charles cleared his throat. "Well. This has been an enlightening conversation. Mr. Potter, our offer remains open should you reconsider. In the meantime—" he glanced at his daughters "—perhaps the young people might enjoy some less business-focused discussion?"
"Please," Daphne said immediately. "Before Mother starts negotiating profit-sharing percentages."
"Daphne," Cassiopeia's voice carried a warning.
"She's not wrong," Charles said with surprising humor. "We do have a tendency to turn every conversation into a business negotiation. A professional hazard." He nodded to Harry. "It was a pleasure meeting you properly, Mr. Potter. I hope we'll have opportunities to speak again—perhaps under less formal circumstances."
"Likewise, Lord Greengrass," Harry replied, meaning it. Charles was calculating, yes, but at least he was honest about it.
Cassiopeia studied Harry for another moment, and he got the distinct impression she was filing away everything about this conversation for future reference. "Remember what I said, Mr. Potter. Independence is admirable until you need allies. I would hate to see someone with your talent learn that lesson the hard way."
She swept away with Charles in tow, leaving the younger generation and the Tonks family in their wake.
Daphne let out a long breath. "Well. That was exactly as awkward as I feared it would be."
"Your mother is terrifying," Nymphadora said with something approaching respect. "In an elegant, sophisticated, 'I could destroy you with a smile' kind of way."
"She gets that a lot," Daphne replied dryly. "Harry, I'm sorry about—" she gestured vaguely "—all of that. Mother means well, in her own...way."
"She wants what's best for the family," Astoria added, then amended, "And also what's most profitable. But she really does think you're brilliant, Harry. She talks about your talismans all the time."
Harry held up a hand. "Right, we're officially done talking about business and politics for at least the next ten minutes. I've had enough of that for one evening." He turned to Astoria. "So, Luna's hunting Crumple-Horned Snorkacks in Sweden? Did she say if she'd found any evidence?"
Astoria's face lit up, clearly relieved at the change of subject. "She said she found footprints! Though they might have been from a moose. She wasn't entirely sure."
"Definitely a moose," Daphne said dryly.
"You don't know that," Astoria protested. "Luna's very good at spotting things other people miss."
"She is," Harry agreed, remembering how Luna had been the one to notice the pattern in the Chamber of Secrets attacks before anyone else. "She sees connections that aren't obvious."
Crystal-Harmony looked intrigued. "This Luna sounds fascinating. Is she the one you mentioned who can see magical creatures that are usually invisible?"
"That's her," Harry confirmed. "Luna Lovegood. She's in Ravenclaw, but she and Astoria are friends despite being in different Houses."
"Luna doesn't care about House differences," Astoria said proudly. "She says they're just arbitrary divisions created by people who were probably infested with Wrackspurts."
Daphne pinched the bridge of her nose. "Please don't start explaining Wrackspurts to a visiting princess. We're supposed to be making a good impression."
"I think it sounds delightful," Crystal-Harmony said. "In Abyssantica, we have similar concepts—creatures that exist in the spaces between perception and reality. My people call them Current-Whispers."
Astoria gasped. "Really? Luna would love to know about those! Can I write to her about it?"
"Of course," Crystal-Harmony replied, clearly charmed by Astoria's enthusiasm. "Though I should warn you, the translations between our languages can be imprecise. Current-Whispers might not be exactly what Luna's describing."
"That's okay," Astoria said happily. "Luna says the best conversations are the ones where you're not entirely sure what you're talking about but you learn something anyway."
Nymphadora snorted. "I like this Luna already."
"Everyone does," Astoria said with a fond smile. "Even when she's being completely barmy. She has this way of making you question whether you're the strange one for not believing in invisible creatures."
"Sounds like someone else I know," Harry said, glancing at Crystal-Harmony.
The princess raised an eyebrow. "Are you comparing me to your eccentric friend?"
"I'm saying you both make people reconsider what they think is impossible," Harry replied. "That's a compliment."
Crystal-Harmony's expression softened. "Then I accept it as one."
Astoria then suddenly asked, "Can I see your ice magic? Please? Daphne said you can make ice sculptures and I love ice and—"
"Tori," Daphne warned.
"It's alright," Crystal-Harmony said, and held out her palm. A moment later, a small ice flower began forming, delicate petals unfurling, catching the ballroom's light and refracting it into tiny rainbows.
Astoria gasped. "That's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
"Keep it," Crystal-Harmony said, handing her the flower. "It won't melt. Consider it a gift from Abyssantica."
Astoria cradled the ice flower like it was made of actual diamonds, her eyes huge. "Thank you," she breathed. "I'm going to keep this forever."
"You've made a friend for life," Daphne told Crystal-Harmony. "Astoria collects magical curiosities like some people collect chocolate frog cards."
"Then I'm honored to contribute to her collection," Crystal-Harmony replied.
Ted, who had been watching this entire exchange with amusement, finally spoke up. "Right then. I'm going to find some wine before the next round of political maneuvering begins. Anyone else need fortification?"
"Desperately," Andromeda muttered. "Though I should probably stay alert in case Cassiopeia decides to make another pass."
"She won't," Daphne said with certainty. "She's made her point. Now she'll watch and wait to see what Harry does next."
"Comforting," Harry said dryly.
Daphne's expression softened. "For what it's worth, I think you made the right choice. About the Foundation. You'd hate being tied to something you didn't control."
"You're not angry? That I turned down your mother's offer?"
"Angry?" Daphne looked genuinely surprised. "Harry, I'm relieved. If you'd accepted, you'd have stopped being Harry Potter and become the Greengrass Foundation's newest asset. I like you better as a person than as a business acquisition."
"High praise," Harry replied, but he felt something warm settle in his chest. Daphne understood. Of course she did—she'd spent her entire life watching her mother turn relationships into transactions.
"Besides," Daphne continued with a slight smirk, "watching Mother's face when the Princess called her out was worth the price of admission alone."
"I was not calling her out," Crystal-Harmony protested. "I was simply making an observation."
"An observation that compared the Greengrass Foundation to someone who clips fins," Daphne countered. "That's absolutely calling her out."
Crystal-Harmony's smile turned slightly wicked. "I may be new to the surface, but I understand predators. Your mother is simply a very elegant shark."
"And you just told her you noticed her teeth," Daphne said with obvious approval. "Welcome to high society, Princess. You're going to fit in perfectly."
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