A small private house in one of the German suburbs was unremarkable among its neighbours, though the design details of each differed, as did the degree of magical protection. These three dozen houses were, in essence, a small business run by a single wizard — simply rental properties. Those who wished to live in comfort among "their own kind" for a modest sum, or visitors unburdened by poverty or other complications — anyone could live in these houses, provided they had the money and the basic decency not to leave the place an absolute wreck after their stay.
In the dining room of one such house — bright and spacious, if not particularly large, meant for a family — Mrs Greengrass sat at the table with her daughter, Astoria. The girl, though it was more accurate to say young woman, a vivid blonde, was cheerfully telling her mother about her latest discoveries in the field of magic; the conference yesterday had yielded several fascinating works by prominent wizards, and the conference itself had managed to capture the interest of even young beginning witches and wizards, not just the adults.
On the table before them sat a plate of pastries and cups of tea on their saucers — breakfast itself had long since concluded, but when had that ever stopped anyone who wanted a cup of tea?
"Are you worried about something?" Astoria noticed the traces of concern on her attentively listening mother's face.
"Just a little."
"Is it because of Herr Hafner's letter?"
"More because of your father than the letter and its contents."
"What has he done this time?"
"This time?" Mrs Greengrass asked with a smile and a meaningful look, while a strand of black hair escaped from her bun and now framed one side of her face.
"Well, it is Dad," Astoria shrugged. "And he did go to that evening with Daphne. And Daphne has really not been fond of evenings like that lately."
"And why am I hearing this from you and not from her?"
"Don't ask me…"
The door opened and Mr Greengrass walked purposefully into the dining room — visibly dishevelled, visibly having been drinking, though comprehensively hammered would have been the more accurate description. Under general silence, he approached the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down, shifting his gaze from his wife to his daughter and back again.
"He's arrived," Mrs Greengrass stated the fact.
"Evidently."
"Something's about to happen," Astoria smirked. "Dad, Dad, where's Daphne?"
Mrs Greengrass snapped her fingers, and the house-elf — loyal not to the family but to the contract, and keeper of every guest's secrets in this house — invisibly set breakfast on the table before Mr Greengrass.
"Well, Dad is going to tell us right now," Mrs Greengrass said with rather pointed pleasantness, smiling in precisely the same way her eldest daughter so liked to do, "just where Daphne is. But does Dad want to eat first?"
With a single glance and a raise of her eyebrows, Mrs Greengrass directed her husband's attention to the burnt scrambled eggs, the bacon undercooked to any semblance of caramelisation, the raw beans, the stale roll, the bagged tea, and the cup of hot water.
"Everything you hate. Unpleasant eating."
"It'll do," said Mr Greengrass, not so much as blinking — he dropped the tea bag into the cup and set to work on his breakfast.
Were Astoria and her mother surprised? More than a little.
"Talk. How exactly has it come about that Daphne is now somewhere unknown with her young man?"
"I'll do better — I'll show you."
Mr Greengrass produced a small phial from his pocket, a glowing blue thread drifting inside it, and set it on the table. After the rather singular breakfast, Mr Greengrass fetched the Pensieve from his room, and the whole family watched his memories of what had occurred.
When they surfaced from the Pensieve, Mrs Greengrass was thoughtful, Astoria was visibly energised by something but keeping up a stern expression for appearances, and Mr Greengrass... He was upset.
"There you have it. I'm an idiot, I'll grant you that," Mr Greengrass began, "but that insolent—"
"Calm down, and let's hope they have the sense not to make us grandparents any time soon."
"Oh, something is definitely going to happen!" Astoria pressed her palms to her reddening face.
"How do you mean, grandparents?" Mr Greengrass asked, rather spectacularly baffled, which made him look thoroughly ridiculous.
"Don't tell me you don't know how that works," Mrs Greengrass snorted.
"Oh, something is going to happen!"
. . . . . .
Morning came too early. That was, perhaps, the only thought to visit my head upon waking.
Through the open window I could see the blue morning sky, the rooftops of neighbouring houses in the amber light of the rising sun. A pleasant morning coolness — very slight, promising a warm sunny day — wandered through the room.
A feeling of closeness, long forgotten and happily consigned to the back of my mind, drew attention to itself without insisting, even though I couldn't see anything of the sort beneath the covers. The thought was abstract and surreal, but there was Daphne — half-draped over me, her arm holding me firmly even in sleep, one leg thrown over me with proprietary ease, breathing softly right into my neck. Those sensations were more than real. As was the velvet of her skin beneath my right hand. Incidentally, that was the same side she had slept on when I'd unconsciously transported myself to the girls' dormitory in fourth year.
Turning various memories over in my mind, I was in no hurry to leave the bed, though I really should have been — I'd woken later than usual, missed the training I could have done on the roof under a concealment charm, and was, I suspected, now at risk of missing breakfast as well. If I hadn't already.
An attempt to stir only resulted in Daphne — whether still half-asleep or not, who could say — pressing closer, conjuring vivid images of the night just past, preserved in every detail down to the smallest particulars. And there was certainly no shortage of things to remember.
It seemed my stirring had woken Daphne after all. Or perhaps she hadn't been sleeping. She lifted her head, looked at me with a smile, and stretched slowly under the covers, narrowing her eyes with a sort of contented happiness.
"Good morning," she said, with that same smile, rising slightly on one elbow, which caused the light coverlet to slip just a little lower, revealing a rather spectacular view.
"Very good indeed," I smiled back and leaned in for a kiss.
Things might have progressed further, but what was always going to happen in one form or another duly happened — someone came to wake me, given that sleeping this late was decidedly out of character.
The moment the door opened, Daphne pressed herself against me, and I pulled the slipped coverlet back up to her shoulders.
"Hector," Hermione said loudly, striding briskly into the room, "are you still asleep?"
The room had almost no proper entrance hall — just a short corridor leading straight from the door into the room itself, with a bathroom and a separate WC off to the side. Hermione strode briskly in, noticed the items of clothing scattered here and there — mine and Daphne's alike — and seemed to walk into an invisible wall, stopping dead and shifting her gaze to us.
"Um…" Hermione was in complete shock, which clearly amused Daphne.
Daphne, still lying on top of me, apparently decided — out of pure feminine mischief — to aggravate Hermione a little further. She sat up on me, keeping the coverlet wrapped around herself, and turned to face Hermione.
"Is something bothering you, Miss Granger?"
"Bothering me?" Hermione repeated. "How? When?.. What even… Oh, never mind!"
Hermione spun sharply a hundred and eighty degrees, turning away from us, her face entirely crimson.
"I came to wake Hector and tell him he was about to miss breakfast…" Her gaze, apparently, had landed on the black lace bra lying on the table. "How vulgar!"
A very erotic bra, as it happened — as was everything else. And for that matter, undressing Daphne the previous night had been a thoroughly engrossing and mutually igniting affair, drawn out somewhat, which had only fanned the flames for both of us.
Hermione hurried out of my room, and I drew Daphne — only marginally less embarrassed — back to me. Embarrassed, but doing her best to conceal it.
"Don't torment my sister," I said, smiling, and kissed her briefly, momentarily mesmerised by the cascade of her black hair. "She's complicated enough as it is. Who knows what these situations will add to the mix."
"As if your own character is simple," Daphne said, and kissed me briefly in return.
Self-control or not, the situation was exceedingly conducive to continuing the proceedings, so it was with a considerable act of will that Daphne got up from the bed, wrapped the coverlet around herself, and — breathing somewhat faster than usual — headed for the bathroom.
"So," I said, propping my head on one hand, "you can leave me without cover?"
Daphne slowed slightly, glanced back at me, and went several shades more crimson than before.
"I won't say I'm sorry about it… And I'm first in the shower."
Collecting her small bag, Daphne disappeared quickly into the bathroom. I watched the empty space for a couple of seconds, exhaled, and got out of bed. Taking my wand from the nightstand — beside two empty potion phials — I began tidying myself up with magic, though I never much like doing things that way. The feeling isn't right. Not right at all.
Over the sound of the shower starting up, I heard a rather loud "Yahoo! Yes!" followed by a laugh, and then, considerably quieter and sheepish: "Oops." After that, any extraneous noise from the bathroom ceased entirely. What on earth was she so pleased about? My ego would no doubt have been gratified by the thought that Daphne was celebrating the night we'd shared… but that felt too straightforward, even if I had performed admirably.
Shrugging, I continued getting ready, collecting Daphne's belongings into one place while I was at it.
Daphne was done fairly quickly — and when she emerged, she looked stunning: a light dress below the knee, clearly comfortable low-heeled shoes, and the rest to match.
"I thought you'd gone for a shower. Turns out it was more of a wardrobe change."
"Everything's with me," Daphne said with a light gesture toward the bag, and came over to the bed where I'd laid out her things.
She seemed to go slightly pink again on realising I was seeing that lovely set of lingerie for the second time — and handling it at that — and she began folding everything quickly but carefully into the bag, including the dress and robes. Hm. Or perhaps she was embarrassed about having worn such lingerie yesterday in the first place? That, incidentally, confirms once again an eternal truth: if, while undressing a girl, you discover a matching set of lingerie, the decision that tonight there would be sex was never yours to make.
"May I ask," I said, once Daphne had packed everything away, "what exactly was all that triumphant shouting about?"
"That's a secret," she smiled, drawing closer.
"Do you need to be somewhere? Or are you staying with me?"
"You are my unscrupulous abductor," Daphne said, winding her arms around my neck with a smile. "Take responsibility."
"Then we're going to meet the parents."
A shadow of uncertainty crossed her face.
"That wasn't quite how I'd pictured this. Not quite at all…"
Slinging my rucksack over my shoulder, I took Daphne's hand and together we left my room, heading down to the restaurant for breakfast.
A gentle hum of everyday life filled the restaurant — the clink of cutlery against crockery, conversations — a fair number of people, though nowhere near full. Spotting my parents at one of the tables was, frankly, impossible to miss. Had they actually chosen that spot on purpose? They'd even seated themselves to face in one direction — the entrance. And Hermione had done exactly the same. And judging by the number of place settings, Hermione had already given them a full and vivid account. Further evidence for this theory: my parents' expressions, filled with thoroughly unhealthy curiosity and that particular brand of formal, parental sternness. Or perhaps not entirely formal — perhaps entirely genuine.
Daphne and I made our way purposefully toward the table, accompanied by the gazes of my family and a couple of excessively attentive diners who had read the situation at a glance — the sort of people who always materialise exactly where they're not needed.
"Hector, son," my father spoke first. "Won't you introduce this charming young lady?"
"Hmph," Hermione snorted, clearly having expected a rather different opening.
"Of course. Dad, Mum — allow me to introduce my girlfriend. Daphne Greengrass. Daphne, this is my father," I indicated Dad, who half-rose from his seat, "Robert Granger, and my mother, Emma Granger."
"A pleasure to meet you," said Daphne, politely but with evident sincerity, with a small curtsy.
"Likewise, young lady," my father nodded, sitting back down, while my mother simply smiled politely. "Won't you join us for breakfast?"
"Thank you for the invitation — I'd be delighted."
"Wonderful," Mum smiled, already clearly having appraised Daphne's appearance and now tracking her every movement.
"Are you serious?" Hermione asked, surprised, while I helped Daphne to her seat and took my own place.
"Etiquette is a useful thing," Mum said, glancing at Hermione. "It's always better to observe it, at least at the start of an acquaintance."
"I know, it's just…"
"What?" Mum asked, tilting her head slightly, still smiling.
"No, nothing."
The waitress brought dishes. We ate. Briefly — but that brevity describes the situation with perfect accuracy. Daphne presented herself well, though without the excessive refinements one might expect from a young lady of the upper wizarding world, and took the opportunity to assess my parents — their expressions, their reactions, and so forth. And Hermione along the way — my little sister was sulking about something, though precisely what was unclear. My parents were doing much the same in reverse, observing Daphne and the dynamic between us — which was very much in evidence. For instance, Daphne twice spooned extra food onto my plate, saying:
"You need to restore your strength, darling."
"You're right," I agreed the first time. "It was quite a demanding night."
Hermione turned scarlet at the speed of a heating filament; Daphne and I were openly enjoying her reaction, while my parents... observed, and drew their own conclusions.
"Quite," Hermione couldn't stay silent. "What with all that…"
"Complex spellwork?" I finished for her. "You're right, little sister. Last night I performed some truly powerful magic."
"I don't doubt it," Hermione said, quite unable to get her reddening cheeks and ears under control.
"Your brother, Hermione…" Daphne began, smiling slyly. "He astonished me to my very core with his nocturnal spellwork."
"Did he really? And are we on first-name terms now?"
My parents had caught the double meaning in our words, as well as the purpose behind them — winding up the little sister. Pure mischief. But they'd also understood that the most obvious double meaning might be entirely mistaken — or at least not the only one. In any case, my parents were doing what they loved most: watching their children's lives unfold and being quietly moved by them. Quietly, as the occasion demanded.
"Certainly," Daphne nodded. "And yes — it was simply extraordinary. If I told anyone, they'd never believe it. It's generally considered impossible."
Was there any possibility of not rising to that? Of course not.
"Glad to have been of service. And could I really have disappointed my girlfriend?"
"Indeed not," Daphne smiled back. "Intercontinental Apparition…"
Hermione choked on her juice and stared at us with total incomprehension. My parents, broadly familiar with the concept from various accounts but unaware of the limitations most wizards considered standard, expressed some surprise.
"…my boyfriend is full of surprises."
"You're… talking about Apparition?" Hermione asked quietly.
"Yes," I nodded. "What did you think we meant?"
"Oh, nothing. Nothing at all."
Breakfast concluded, and we simply sat and drank — tea! Remarkable, perhaps, but can an Englishman, even abroad, go a single day without tea? Utterly impossible.
"I can see," Mum said, "that you get along very well. And you understand each other beautifully."
"It didn't happen overnight," Daphne said, hiding her smile behind her teacup. "Hector turned out to be rather… persistent. And consistent."
"Don't exaggerate," I shook my head. "I still don't fully understand what drove me on the day we met, if I'm honest."
"You mean that wonderful flower?"
"That's the one."
"And the words."
"And the words. And since we've mentioned the flower — how is it getting on?"
"Spreading into ice roses."
Mum looked at Dad.
"Don't you want to say something?"
"Me? Say something?" Dad scratched his greying temple thoughtfully. "I could, I suppose, but what would be the point?"
"Are you really," Hermione decided to add her tuppence, "not at all concerned about all of... this?"
"Should we be?" Dad shrugged, to the visible disapproval of the female contingent of our family. "I mean… personally, I've seen quite enough today. My son — the best, the strongest, the most intelligent, the most handsome and so on down the list — has a girlfriend. A very beautiful one, clearly intelligent, well-mannered, and most importantly — they understand each other. And they look wonderful together."
"Thank you, that's very kind," Daphne smiled warmly, with a small nod.
"Well, that's my point exactly," Dad looked from Mum to Hermione, then to me. "They even share certain habits, if you hadn't noticed. On that score I have absolutely no questions. Just the one…"
"Let me guess," Mum shifted her gaze from Dad to Daphne. "How do your parents feel about the relationship, young lady? Given the particular worldview of old families of hereditary wizarding blood."
"You mean a certain intolerance toward wizards from Muggle families?" Daphne asked, without any smile.
"Precisely. I understand that conflict between parents and children on one matter or another is inevitable. I'd like to know how well or badly things stand in that regard."
"I'll be honest," Daphne set her cup on its saucer. "My mother is understanding about my choice. My godfather approves. I even have the impression that he, in some measure, nudged events toward our relationship through his own decisions. My father… is more complicated. Though the complication isn't so much about Hector's background…"
Daphne was clearly searching for the right words. My father came to the rescue.
"As about the simple fact of his daughter having a boyfriend at all," he said, with a knowing nod.
"Yes, most likely," Daphne smiled in return. "And the background is just a pretext. If that one didn't exist, he'd have found another. But please don't worry. Hector and I will sort it out."
"So," Hermione looked at Dad, "if I brought home a boyfriend, you wouldn't approve of him either, whoever he was?"
"Naturally," Dad said with great dignity. "I would be sincerely outraged that some dubious character was sniffing around my precious princess."
"I'd second that," I agreed with a nod.
"Dreadful."
"Well," Mum took a couple of sips of tea. "If you're confident in yourselves and in each other — then it's your choice to make. Just one question remaining. How did you end up together here in Rome?"
"It's not a complicated story," I shrugged. "Daphne asked for help, and I helped. I told Mr Greengrass — Daphne's father — that his petty whims and scheming could lead to consequences both absurd in their senselessness and deeply troubling in their moral dimension. Said my piece, and took Daphne with me."
Hermione choked again — this time on the last of the tea in her cup — while my parents were surprised, and considerably so.
"You just took her? Just like that?" Mum asked.
"Mr Greengrass didn't say a word against it," I said, catching the matching smile at the corner of Daphne's mouth.
"That's rather strange, but if you consider it normal in your world…"
"It's not normal anywhere," Hermione objected. "It's not normal anywhere at all."
"That's a very debatable claim," Daphne said, simply ignoring the comment. "I don't know when or what exactly Hector decided for himself, but I knew that something of the sort was more than likely, and I had made up my own mind long ago. And truly, no one was against it. Long ago this sort of thing was even customary."
"Like bride-kidnapping in certain cultures?" Dad asked, out of curiosity.
"Something along those lines," Daphne agreed.
"I've never read about anything like that in books," Hermione shook her head, and immediately pre-emptively swept a glance over all of us. "And don't anyone mention me and books. I haven't heard of it either. Or seen it."
"Hermione, dear," Daphne said, looking at my little sister with something resembling a parental smile. "You've barely seen anything outside of school, and you've never really lived in the magical world. It's hardly my place to tell you that the world is considerably larger than it appears."
"Oh, by all means, do teach me to see the world without prejudice," Hermione said drily.
"Sweetheart, really," Dad shook his head. "That's not even what we're talking about. Just be happy for your brother — everything's going well for him, he has a girlfriend, and it looks like it's serious."
"I'll remind you of those words when I bring a boyfriend home."
"Speaking of introductions and such," Mum said, cutting off the developing argument before it could gain momentum, "how are you planning to proceed from here? What I mean is — Daphne, you don't mind if I call you by your first name?"
"Of course not, Mrs Granger."
"What are you going to do next? Only we hadn't accounted for an additional person in our travels. Don't misunderstand — you won't be in the least bit unwelcome, but do you need to be somewhere? It seems Hector can deliver you anywhere on earth in a matter of seconds."
"I don't need to be anywhere. I can reach my mother at any moment, as she can reach me. And my father…" Daphne smiled, and it had an edge to it. "I imagine corrective measures are being applied to him at home as we speak. And my parents know Hector's strength and abilities perfectly well. I think they understand: with Hector, I'm completely safe."
"It's all rather strange, of course," Mum shook her head. "But before me I see two remarkably level-headed young people. Even if I worry about all of this — about you — you're confident that you can handle things yourselves."
"Let them handle it," Dad said, in full agreement with Mum. "Sad as it is, our son is no longer a small boy."
Hermione went pink again, and so did Daphne. Simply charming — everyone had understood entirely, each according to the depths of their imagination.
"Then, Daphne," Mum said, "would you like to travel with us?"
"I'd love that. If my company won't be a burden."
"I rather think," Hermione said, still rather flushed, "that a Muggle trip might be what's burdensome to you."
And that, in essence, was breakfast — after which we met up with Mr and Mrs Paradi. They were, to put it mildly, surprised by the addition to our group, but took it as a matter of course — a son of acquaintances had brought his girlfriend along; these things happen. Particularly since the day's plans were purely for leisure and sightseeing, rather than historical sites and monuments. So no one saw any problem with it.
As for Daphne — perfectly happy, which was visible even to Hermione, unaccustomed as she was to the subtleties of Daphne's behaviour and composure — she did her best not to let go of my hand for a single moment. I was, in all honesty, entirely glad of it, while details of the night kept surfacing in my mind at intervals.
A good day.
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