FicWad

Chapter 19 - Declared

The ballroom was as grand and elaborately decorated as was to be expected. That was the first thing Harry noticed, upon stepping through the double door threshold and onto the dark marble balcony that wrapped the expansive dance floor of the same dark marble one story below. The gold tendrils in the marble that had been used to construct not only the dance floor and balcony, but the entire room, and the enormous, five hundred candle, gold chandelier dominating the center rib vault of the lofty ceiling, lighting the room with a spectacular gold hue, were complemented by fanciful, gold hangings with the Ministry of Magic seal embroidered into their silk weave, which were draped every ten feet or so over the artistically carve banisters of the balcony, as well as complemented by rich gold banners embroidered with light gold writing, which hung on the Corinthian style columns that supported the balcony and extended up to support the series of rib vaults high overhead. The banners flashed with showers of gold sparks and read: 'Happy Birthday', 'Neville Longbottom', and 'The Boy-Who-Lived', interchangeably.

Harry had only just taken note of where the orchestra was setup in the shadows on the other side of the balcony, when the crier noticed him and looked to him with confusion.

Continuing his swift, confident stride, Harry stepped past the two aurors stationed just inside the double doors. The one on the right he recognized as John Dawlish and the other he didn't know, but thought had to be a rookie considering the young man's youthful appearance and nervous demeanor. He extended his crier's card to the gold robed crier and watched the crier's face carefully, as the man took the card from him and silently read the name embossed on its surface. He was not the least bit surprised, when the crier looked up from the card and frowned at him with uncertainty.

In response, Harry raised an eyebrow at the man, as if asking if the man was so incompetent such that he couldn't fulfill the simple task that had been assigned to him as the crier for the night. It was an intimidating, cynical look that had usually had his lieutenants in the other world jumping over each other in an effort to prove that they weren't a bunch of useless idiots and were actually capable of leading the men under their command and could, indeed, fulfill the duties that he had charged them with. Twenty-three or fourteen, the ability to convey one's meaning and intent with a single, well placed look was to conduct one's environment more effectively than any amount of flowery or heated words ever could.

The crier reddened in embarrassment under the force of Harry's silent mocking and mumbled a hasty apology, before retaking his post and motioning for the orchestra - which had begun to pick up in volume - to quiet once more.

The dancing had yet to truly begin, as greetings were still being exchanged amongst those who had most recently arrive, but the sudden decline in the volume of the orchestra was noticeable to the few who had taken up dancing and gave pause to those who had formed into socializing groups around the edges of the dance floor. As people began looking around to find the source of the interruption, their eyes locked on Harry, who had stepped up to the top of the grand, marble staircase that descended down to the dance floor.

"The Right Honorable Harold Peverell, The Baron of the Peak!" the crier intoned clearly.

Despite his insides doing an anxious twist with the sense of finality that was brought by the crier's cry, Harry retained a calm manner about his person, as he began to descend the stairs. His every step - dress shoes tapping on marble - could be heard distinctly in the quiet that had followed the crier declaring him, as a heavy tension sprung up and filled the silence that was only countered by the low whine of the orchestra.

From a brief scan of the room, Harry could see that reactions were varied. It was all too easy for him to tell those who understood the actual significance of who he was claiming to be and what he had just done, if he truly was who he had just been declared as, from those who didn't. Curious confusion marred the faces of those who didn't have a full grasp on the situation, while shock had momentarily been prevalent amongst those who did, which had transformed all to quickly into speculation, intrigue, distrust, and a few people even displayed looks of open hostility and incredulity that they subsequently quashed with masks of indifference.

Harry didn't focus on any one person or group of persons for more than a few seconds. A passing glance was all he needed to know where potential allies lie and where enemies would be met. As he had predicted, Fudge was none too happy and had a pronounced scowl set upon his pudgy face, as the man's beady eyes swept over him with skepticism and atouch of trepidation. Ever the master of retaining a benevolent, unfazed countenance, Dumbledore watched his descent with polite intrigue that hid the shock that the man had initially experienced, yet did nothing to hide the calculating way the Chief Warlock was analyzing every facet of his person. Lucius Malfoy was, naturally, watching him with a superior air that only just betrayed the fact that the man even considered his existence worth acknowledgement.

You damn well better acknowledge it, Harry thought at the pompous blond. I'll be coming for you soon enough. Whether you survive the encounter will depend entirely on your ability to acknowledge that I'm a greater threat to you and your family than the Dark Lord ever was or will be.

By the time Harry had reached the base of the stairs, he had taken specific note of several people's reactions and filed them away for future reference. With nearly all eyes still on him, following his every move, and the orchestra slowly rising back up to proper volume, he focused his attention on the Guest of Honor. Neville Longbottom, dressed in fine tailored, teal and cream dress robes, was as fit as ever and roughly an inch taller than when Harry last saw him two months ago - the blond boy's gangly frame beginning to rival Ron Weasley's in the height department. At taking note of the redness of the lightning bolt scar marring Neville's forehead, a sense of sadness coupled with determination filled Harry. If he played his part well in the coming months, Neville would never have find out what it is like to have to face Voldemort (reborn and at the height of his power) in a duel to the death. Prophecy or not, unwitting horcrux or not, Voldemort's downfall would not be a responsibility shouldered by a child. Not this time.

"Happy Birthday, Mr. Longbottom," Harry said, as he stepped up to Neville and gave the boy a friendly grin.

Neville, ever the observant one, titled his head ever so slightly to the side and looked Harry up and down with a perplexed look set upon his round face, as if he knew that he should know Harry, but couldn't quite put his finger on how Harry was familiar to him. Considering the changes that he had undergone in the last month and the fact that his hair was tame for once, as well as the fact that his choice of dress was radically different to what it had been a month ago, especially his selection of dress robes for the night, Harry wasn't at all put out that Neville didn't recognize him right away. In fact, he would have been astonished if anyone, even Albus Dumbledore, had immediately connected his persona of Harold Peverell with the shy, mentally trouble boy that he had been known to be as Harry Potter.

It wasn't until Neville met his fellow youth's emerald gaze directly that recognition seemed to dawn on him, causing amused, delighted laughter to erupt from deep within him. Harry grinned broadened in return to Neville's enthusiasm and he allowed himself to be pulled into a welcoming embrace by his teenage self's one true friend in this world who was outside of his immediate family and was of his own generation.

"You're here!" Neville exclaimed happily, as he and Harry separated from their hug that had lasted just long enough to be brotherly, yet not truly intimate.

"I am," Harry agreed.

"Wow!" Neville looked Harry up and down a second time. "When I didn't see you with your mother and Bethany, I thought... Well, I certainly didn't expect this. I mean, I heard that you'd gone to the continent, but still..." he trailed off, a look of consternation marring his brow. After a short pause, however, his face smoothed and his smile returned. "It's good that you're here."

Harry understood the true meaning of Neville's words: it's good that you're well, all too easily. That was one of the things that he had always like about this world's Neville. The blond boy refused to draw attention to the fact that he wasn't exactly normal, let alone ever refer to his nightmares as an illness. Just like the other world's Neville, this world's Neville was loyal to a fault. They had grown up together, played together long before he had ever had his first nightmare, and, over the years, the brotherly bond that had developed between them in their toddler days hadn't changed, even if they had grown apart to an extent. Neville refused to allow it to change. Even under peer pressure, the blond boy had never pushed him away or turned his back on him.

"We'll talk later," Harry leaned in and promised Neville quietly, knowing that Neville would want to know what had happened to him, before he turned his attention to Neville's parents and great-uncle. "Lord Longbottom." He bowed to Algernon Longbottom, before straightening and inclining his head in a polite gesture of acknowledgement to Frank and Alice Longbottom. "Auror Longbottom, Lady Alice."

"Lord Peverell," Algernon said, the elderly gentleman's grizzled whiskers twitching slightly, as he spoke, and his bespectacled eyes fixed upon Harry, showing not the distrust that he had displayed a few moments prior, but respect for a fellow baron. He bowed a half bow, as to not strain his frail body hidden beneath his extravagant, cream dress robes - leaning heavily on his polished ivory walking cane, while his gnarled hand gripped the bear's head that formed the cane's gold handle tightly.

Frank, his blond hair combed back neatly and dressed in his deep red Auror Formal dress robes with his Head Auror badge pinned to his breast, bowed somewhat stiffly, while Alice, her dark curls swirled atop the crown of her head and dressed in a light pink robe that complemented Frank's uniform, curtsied graciously and favored Harry with a smile.

"The summer has treated you well, my lord," Alice said, as her dark eyes swept over Harry in a mothering fashion.

"The summer has been most demanding," Harry corrected good-naturedly.

"Yet you thrive more than you ever have," Alice returned knowingly, her eyes telling him that the changes in him were far too apparent in their positive effect to argue otherwise.

"Perhaps," Harry said, conceding the point, yet knowing that he had thrived to an even greater extent in the other world. Not that anyone outside his father and godfather would ever know it.

"There is no perhaps about it, my lord," Algernon said firmly, drawing Harry's attention back to him. The elderly man was studying Harry circumspectly. "Your parents must be very proud."

"- or very foolish. I dare say very foolish indeed."

"Lord Selwyn," Algernon greeted tersely, his eyes snapping up and stilling over Harry's left shoulder.

Before Harry could even turn, a clean shaven man in his fifties, who was of average height and a somewhat portly around the middle, was beside him and looking down at him with a face scrunched up and filled contempt, as if he were in the presence of something truly horrendous. A woman of the same age, who was rail thin and vulture-esque in her appearance, had her nose up in the air, and was clearly pretending that Harry and the Longbottoms didn't exist, was on the man's arm. Both were dressed in rather ostentatious dress robes. The man's robes were of a deep blue silk and would have been normal enough, if it weren't for the silver sparks of magic that flashed here and there, somewhat giving the impression that the man was wearing the night sky. The woman's robes, however, were a cycling rainbow of color. It took Harry a moment to figure out that her robes were meant to complete the theme of her husband's robes and depict the sky during the day, as the sun passes overhead. Pink hues in the morning, brilliant blues at high noon, an orange glow as the sun sets over the horizon, and repeat, one color fading into the next.

Overcompensating, Harry thought, as he scanned his eyes over the magical robes. While the robes would have impressed a muggle or someone who couldn't charm a tea cozy, the charms used on the robes were basic and didn't even give the full impression that the Selwyns wished to give. Which left two options: the Selwyns had a tailor who was terrible at charms and couldn't afford a better one, or the Selwyns had added the charms themselves and were lacking in magical prowess. Either way, they wished to appear to be more than what they actually were. As the robes were of silk and tailored perfectly, Harry was inclined to believe that the Selwyns' tailor knew what he or she was doing and the Selwyns had added the charms to the robes themselves. Definitely overcompensating.

"Just how is it that you have come to inherit the Peverell legacy?" Lord Selwyn asked with a snide, pompous air, addressing Harry as if he were truly nothing more than a child who was attempting to play dress up and didn't understand his proper place in society. "All present, myself included, have been under the impression that that particular bloodline was dead. Yet, here you stand claiming the Peverell name and legacy as brazen as can be..."

An angry, disapproving huff to his right drew Harry's attention back to Algernon, who was now glaring daggers at Lord Selwyn and gripping his cane tight enough to turn his knuckles completely white. It was plain to see that the elderly gentleman was not incensed on his behalf. Yes, Lord Longbottom, because I am so much more susceptible to a subtle approach, Harry thought with derision. The instant that Algernon had brought up his parents, he had known the direction their conversation was headed - not that he hadn't known even before the crier had declared him that his lineage would come under question at one point or another before the night's end.

Without emotion upon his face to betray his inner thoughts, Harry returned his attention to Lord Selwyn, who was clearly expecting an articulated response, or perhaps just a bit of stammering."I imagine, Lord Selwyn," he said, looking up at the salt-and-peppered haired man and ignoring Lady Selwyn just as she was pretending to ignore him, "that the process of my inheriting the Honour of Peverell was not much different to the one you underwent to inherit the Selwyn Estate. Though, the authentication of my lineage most definitely took a considerable time longer than it had for you to prove your birthright by one generation. Seven hundred years, after all, makes for many generations between myself and the last true Baron of the Peak. Ministry Certified Solicitor and Licensed Authenticator, Mr. Dwight Earnshaw was more than up to the task, nonetheless."

Harry paused and gave Lord Selwyn a look that bored on being patronizing, judging the man to be of the blustering, self-important type, who didn't have a strong bite behind his bark- much like his muggle uncle, Vernon Dursley. "As it has been so long since my nineteenth great-grandfather, Ignotus, lived and breathed as a public figure, yours and other's misconceptions about my family's continued existence are understandable. I suppose I must not hold you're misguided convictions against you. It would be unfair of me." He moved his gaze over Lord Selwyn assessingly, giving the impression that he was considering the man's merit, though he had already formulated his opinion about the man. "I assume that your rudeness at present was conducted with the continued preservation of the Honour of Peverell- through true blood or by proper administration - in mind...that is...unless you wish for me to believe differently."

The low hiss and murmur of whispered conversations around Harry, the Longbottoms, and the Selwyns quieted no sooner than they had begun. Once more, Harry found many eyes were trained upon him. If he wasn't so used to people attempting to listen into his conversations, he might have been pissed about the blatant eavesdropping. As it was, he had come to assume that any and all conversations held in public were, by de facto, public conversations. In fact, more often than not, he counted on conversations held public being overheard. Nothing could misdirect the enemy better than false information acquired by a spy who believed that he or she had acquired the information by stealth.

Lord Selwyn held Harry's gaze for ten heartbeats, a shade of anger and apparent wariness combating his superior sense of self. He bowed his head to Harry in a grudging gesture of respect, seeming to understand that though Harry was young, he was no easy target and might possibly be a formidable enemy. "You believe correctly, my lord. Please excuse me."

Harry knew that that was probably the best that he'd get from the man and so raised no objection, when the man proceeded to turn away from him and the Longbottoms and directed his wife towards the dance floor.

"Isn't the House of Potter seven hundred years old?"

Harry looked to Neville and beamed."Why, yes, Neville! What an astute observation! Now, if you have no one else to greet, celebratory drinks and dancing with beautiful women are in order."

"Can't argue with that," Neville said, looking at Harry like he wasn't quite sure what to make of him, despite being more than agreeable to his suggestion of drinks and dancing.

The two teenagers slipped away from the crowd of high ranking, political figures without anyone trying to stop them or call them back.

"Dumbledore was looking at you as if you were a fascinating new hybrid species of Venomous Tentacula and Devil's Snare," Neville commented a bit too casually, as he and Harry headed over to the butterbeer fountain that doubled as an intricate ice sculpture of flowering vines twisting around themselves, which had been placed conveniently under the right side of the wrap around balcony and next to a long buffet style table dressed with a fancy gold table cloth bearing the Ministry of Magic seal, which held an assortment of hors d'oeuvres.

"Was he?" Harry asked, attempting to figure out if being regarded as a new hybrid species of Venomous Tentacula and Devil's Snare was beneficial to his agenda or not.

Neville was similar to Hagrid, when it came to dangerous things. Cute and fluffy in Hagrid-tongue equated to fascinating and ingenious in Neville-speak. The only difference was that one was talking about dragons, while the other was talking about a plant that could consume a man whole, if not 'breathe' flames as well. Harry hadn't been paying all that much attention to Dumbledore, as it wasn't Dumbledore's intrigue that he had been after and he hadn't wanted it to seem like it was. Spiking the Chief Warlock intrigue was unavoidable, yes. But there was a difference between spiking intrigue and purposefully generating it. So the question now was whether Dumbledore was curious or wary of him. With being regard as a new hybrid species of Venomous Tentacula and Devil's Snare according to Neville, it could go either way. Neville, at least, had the sense to know when something was dangerous and required caution, unlike Hagrid who thought that a Cerberus was a perfectly fine pet.

"Mm-hmm." Neville didn't elaborate.

"Was he curious or wary, Neville?"Harry asked. He was going to have to train Neville on how to give a helpful report.

"I told you, he was looking at you as if you were a new hybrid species of Venomous Tentacula and Devil's Snare." Neville shrugged. "You know, like a Venomous Snare or a Devil's Tentacula." He paused. "I wonder, if they can be crossed. A Devil's Snare with the Venomous Tentacula's abilities and resistance to light would be an even more effective guard plant. Great-Uncle Algie bought me a book on..."

Harry tuned out Neville's introspective ramblings, as he turned away from the blond boy to capture him and Neville each a glass of butterbeer from one of the ice flower's pouring the frothing, gold colored substance in an endless stream. He didn't like dealing with Devil's Snare or Venomous Tentacula, when they were separate. Merlin forbid, if he had to handle a hybrid of the two. Knowing Neville, though, there would be a hybrid species, as soon as his friend figured out how to accomplish it.

"Cheers, mate." Harry passed Neville a mug of butterbeer and held up his own. "Fourteen and counting!"

"Back at you," Neville said and clinked his mug with Harry's. It wasn't actually either of their birthdays, but they drank to their birthdays anyway. The 29th was close enough the 30th and the 31st.

"What do you think?" Neville asked, looking to Harry with expectation and a eager, excited light in his eyes.

"Great, I think it's great,"Harry said, not entirely sure what they were talking about but assuming that Neville's question had something do with the cultivation of a Venomous Snare or whatever Neville would name his hybrid.

"Great-Uncle Algie will probably go for it, but Dad doesn't like me spending so much time in the greenhouse, you know. I might be able to harvest the seeds this season, though, and next season I could..." Neville continued his one-sided herbology discussion.

Being sure to listen to Neville with a half ear, in case if Neville said something that required a response or asked for his opinion, Harry sipped at his butterbeer - enjoying the cool, sweet nectar and the carbonation tickling his nose and filling senses - and scanned the ballroom. A few people were still surreptitiously watching him and Neville, but most had taken up conversation with those closest to them or had taken to the dance floor, swaying and gliding to the orchestra in accordance to their dancing inclinations. A good majority of the party attendees were adults, he noted. Yet, the grouping of Hogwarts students congregated in the left hand corner of the room was difficult to miss. Amongst the privileged youths were the usual suspects: Draco Malfoy, Gavid and Dunhan Talvace, Daphne and Astoria Greengrass, Celesta Burke, Maisie and Fay Dunbar, Ernie Macmillan, Susan Bones, Zacharias Smith, Anthony Goldstein, Padma and Parvati Patil, Lavender and Daniel Brown, Cassius and Astra Warrington, Lucian Bole, Zinnia, Pansy, and Bennett Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Thorburn Urquhart...

"...and I'll use Bethany as a human incubator for the seedlings."

"Mum would never allow it,"Harry said, as he turned away from his taking of attendance and back to Neville."Neither would I."

"Just checking to see if you were listening." Neville smiled innocently.

"Where is Bethany?" Harry asked, his eyes moving to scan the room. Romilda Vane and Victoria Frobisher were among the other Hogwarts aged guests, hanging off of Zacharias Smith's every word. His sister, however, wasn't anywhere in sight.

"She's with your dad and none too happy." Neville nodded to their right.

Looking around Neville and further along the darker recesses of the balcony overhang, Harry saw his sister having a quiet, yet heated conversation with their father, who looked every inch of an Auror in his Auror Formal dress robes. Harry sighed, as he took in his sister's state. The upset flush coloring her face was clashing with her violet robes and her eye makeup appeared smudged at the corners. And if the light of the oil lamps adorning the walls every so many feet wasn't playing tricks, tear tracks stained her cheeks.

"Her and Dad are a bad combination these days," Harry said regretfully, shifting his gaze in search of his mother, who he hoped would be able to resolve the situation quietly. Upon locating his mother amongst a grouping of guests across the room and seeing that she was otherwise engaged by none other than Albus Dumbledore and Cornelius Fudge, he sighed a second time. "Pardon me." He gave Neville an apologetic look.

"I'll just get a head start on dancing," Neville said and frowned in the direction of their peers. Harry and Bethany were the only ones from Neville's usual crowd of friends in attendance of the ball. The current object on his affections, Ms. Hannah Abbott, was not in attendance, nor was Ms. Ginevra Weasley, his second closest female friend after Bethany.

"Fay's decent enough," Harry offered, unable to keep the all too knowing grin off of his face. It's always the quite ones.

"You are going to tell me what you've done with my friend, Lord Peverell," Neville said sternly, his lips twitching at the corners and amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Later," Harry promised.

"But not tonight."

"But not tonight," Harry agreed. Neville always was quick on the up take - a trait he both loved and hated about his friend in both worlds, as it meant that it was rather difficult to slip much of anything past the blond. "Now I really must go rescue my sister...or my father. I'm not entirely sure which."

Neville laughed. "My galleons are on your father."

As Neville headed over to their fellow Hogwarts aged guests with his eyes set upon The Honorable Fay Dunbar, Harry headed up the seclusion of the balcony overhang, in the direction of his father and sister.

"Not so fast," a familiar voice said, as an arm slipped over his shoulders and the scent of spirits and cigar smoke filed Harry's lungs.

"Sirius," Harry greeted, wondering just when his godfather had discarded his sobriety for the night. He cast a glance in his father and sister's direction. He and Sirius were far enough away that they remained unnoticed by the two. As he still couldn't hear what was being said between them, though he was several paces closer to them, and had develop a buzzing in his ears, he gathered that his father was using the Muffliato Charm to block their conversation from being overheard.

"You go find a lovely young lady to dance with," Sirius said, his words steady and firm, as the man leaned close to Harry in order to keep their conversation from being overheard. "I'll take care of Bethany." And before Harry could even give any sort of response, Sirius was striding off in the direction of James and Bethany.

Deciding to take his godfather's advice and leave Sirius to defuse whatever the issue was between his father and sister, Harry turn towards the dance floor and set off in the direction of his Hogwarts peers.