"Are you sure about this?" Harry asked uncertainly.
Thomas nodded.
"The rich covet exclusivity," he explained. "If you invite the upper echelons of society and make it known that it is limited to a select few, they will come. They won't turn down a free meal; whatever the rich have, the regular folk want a taste of it, too. Trust me, Sir, this will work."
Harry wouldn't profess to understand how such things worked, but Thomas seemed certain it was the approach to take.
"Alright, we will give it a go," he agreed, eliciting a brilliant smile from the man.
"Thank you, Sir. I promise you won't regret it. Would you like to try some of the menu I've put together?"
Thomas was excited for the venture, and Harry couldn't bring himself to curb the enthusiasm.
What was supposed to be a simple bar had become a restaurant and one of rather high class, something that was lacking, according to his manager.
"I'll be right back with some appetisers," Thomas informed him excitedly, all but skipping to his recently finished kitchen.
Harry chuckled to himself as he took in the décor.
The floor was of hard, dark wood, and the table covers were pristine white, topped with more knives and forks than Harry knew existed, along with an assortment of glassware.
The chairs were of very high-quality leather, and the walls were white with various photos of places of interest in wizarding Britain.
For Harry, the chandelier was a little gaudy, but it fit with the feel of business, so he'd not pass comment on it.
"Here we go, Sir, a French onion soup with gruyere and freshly baked croutons," Thomas explained, placing a bowl of piping hot broth in front of him. "And then we have a Tuna Niçoise salad. How would you like your steak?"
"My steak?"
Harry had never eaten a steak.
In truth, his culinary experiences had been limited to what Mrs Weasley had cooked him and the limited fare offered at Hogwarts. When he'd graduated, he lived mostly on convenience food, having never enjoyed cooking.
"Most say medium rare is best," Thomas replied.
He vanished into the kitchen once more, and Harry helped himself to some of the soup.
The decadent and rich flavour took him aback, and Harry could not think of a time he'd enjoyed food so much. The tuna salad was equally enjoyable, and he'd cleared both the bowl and plate by the time Thomas returned.
"What do you think?" the man asked nervously.
"Honestly, this is probably the best food I've ever tasted."
Thomas beamed with pride.
"Thank you, Sir," he replied emotionally, placing another plate in front of Harry before taking the empty ones away.
Cutting into the steak, Harry tentatively took a bite, unsure if it had been cooked fully with how pink it was in the centre.
His concern, however, proved to be unfounded.
Once more, Thomas had provided something rather splendid.
"And a Mille-feuille for dessert."
Harry finished off his steak, potatoes, and vegetables hungrily, tucking into the dessert when he was done.
Thomas stood by nervously, fidgeting with a tea-towel in his hands.
"Well, you've definitely convinced me," Harry chuckled, patting his stomach.
He couldn't remember when he'd last felt so full, but if such food was available to him now, he didn't think he'd ever be hungry again.
"Shall I send the invitations?"
Harry nodded.
"I will leave it in your capable hands," he replied with a satisfied smile. "Have you managed to hire enough staff?"
"Eight waitresses, five kitchen staff, and a host. I'm interviewing for bar staff this afternoon."
"You've done very well, Thomas," Harry praised. "What am I paying you?"
The man rubbed the back of his neck nervously.
"Well, it's not something we've really discussed, Sir."
"What does a manager usually make?"
Thomas shrugged.
"Around fifty galleons a month."
"I will pay you seventy-five, and the flat above is yours, rent-free. Make this place a success, and we can discuss pay increases and bonuses moving forward."
"That's very generous, Sir. I don't know what to say."
"Then don't say anything," Harry urged. "Don't you have invitations to write?"
"Yes, Sir," Thomas replied, offering Harry a salute.
He laughed once more at the excitement of the man, having no doubts that he'd chosen wisely.
With a shake of his head, Harry decided he would make sure he was present for the opening night.
Even if it were to enjoy some more of the food Thomas would prepare.
Perhaps he could even find a way to address the problem that was irking him.
He'd not seen the redheaded Auror around recently, much to his relief, but he had no doubt she was looking out for him.
It made him paranoid whenever he needed to be somewhere in public, and it was almost as though he could feel her keen eyes on him.
It was no wonder Amelia Bones had garnered the reputation for herself she had, but Harry could do without her focus being on him, even if it were sporadic.
(Break)
"Come in, Alastor," Albus called as the familiar knock sounded at the door to his office.
The tired Auror entered and flopped himself down in the seat on the opposite side of the desk.
"Apologies for the delay, Albus," he sighed. "These bloody protests have kept us at it all hours."
Albus waved the apology off.
"I have heard of them," he murmured. "Have they gotten ugly?"
Alastor shook his head.
"No, but it's gotten close a few times. They're trying to stop people from conducting business, and even the goblins are growing tired of them. If Leach doesn't do something about it soon, we could have a problem with them on our hands."
"I will raise it with him as a matter of urgency," Albus assured him. "I expect he knows, but you know what he's like."
"A spineless git who can't wipe his own nose?" Alastor returned.
"Perhaps a little harsh," Albus chuckled, "but I fear you're not far off the mark. Now, I have spoken with an associate of mine pertaining to your other problem."
"Aye, Bones still won't let it go," Alastor huffed. "She almost caught up with him the other day, but he vanished into thin air again."
Albus frowned before releasing a deep sigh.
"Well, I have it on good authority that he is not an Unspeakable," he informed the man. "With that being said, it is paramount that Amelia does not put herself in danger. If what you've told me of him is indeed true, he is not bound to the rules of the Department of Mysteries. He could be a very unpleasant person, or he wishes to retain his privacy. Regardless, it would be best if she left him. Has he broken any laws?"
Moody shook his head.
"No."
"Then my advice stands," Albus replied firmly. "Some things are best left alone unless they are unavoidable. I fear Amelia could be picking a poor battle."
"Aye," Moody agreed. "I will relay that to her for what good it will do."
Albus nodded his approval.
"Good, now, do you have time to join me a drink?"
"That's the best offer I've had all week," Alastor chuckled.
(Break)
"Long day?" Edgar asked amusedly as Amelia sunk into the sofa in his study.
"Long week," she groaned. "Hopefully, that's it for the blood protests."
Edgar chuckled as he shook his head.
"I doubt it."
Amelia released a deep breath.
"I don't understand their problem. Most of them come from rich families who have no need of loans from Gringotts."
"True, but I expect the ones that are protesting are those who have a prominent name but are not connected closely enough with the Lord of the family to benefit from the wealth. They do take out loans to keep up the façade of being an important member of the family. It's mostly about principle. They want preferential treatment for muggleborns. To them, lowering interest rates is a slap in the face."
"Well, it's doing my head in," Amelia grumbled.
Edgar chuckled once more and shook his head.
"You chose this life," he pointed out. "You are one of the fortunate ones who have no need to work if you don't want to. Did you really expect being an Auror would be fast-paced, catching murderers, and duelling with criminals?"
Amelia glared at her brother.
"No," she huffed, "but I didn't expect to be standing outside Gringotts for a week stopping people making prats of themselves."
"It sounds to me as though you could do with some cheering up," Edgar declared as he stood and handed Amelia two rather expensive-looking tickets. "It just so happens that I received these today."
"I've never heard of this place," she murmured.
"It's new," Edgar explained. "Funnily enough, it used to be the pub you were attacked in. Apparently, it has a new owner, and the place has been revamped. Come on, it's got to be better than eating a sandwich at your desk."
Amelia nodded.
"What about Eliza?"
"She is busy. Besides, it's been too long since we spent some time together without you rushing off or being too tired to talk."
"Fine," Amelia sighed. "I'll go with you."
"There's a good girl," Edgar said with a grin, ruffling her hair.
"Don't do that again," Amelia warned. "I might be your little sister, but I haven't been sitting behind a desk for the past few years."
"Oh, you think you can take me?" Edgar teased.
"I know I can."
Edgar quirked an eyebrow at her, snapping his wand into his hand only to duck as a spell was fired towards him.
Throwing himself through the open door of his study, he rolled behind the wall into the next corridor for cover.
"Bloody hell, she's quick," he groaned, wincing as he heard the footsteps of his stalking sister approaching. "I'm too old for this shit."
"Too slow, more like," Amelia countered, hurling another string of spells towards him.
Edgar barely managed to avoid them, and as he ran for all he was worth, he vowed to spend some time getting fitter and working on his duelling.
It wouldn't do to be bested by his younger sister.
He didn't think his ego could handle that.
(Break)
Harry cursed under his breath as he took his leave from Gringotts. With the protesters having disbanded, for now, he'd taken the opportunity to finally open an account.
As ever, the goblins had proven to be perhaps the most unpleasant creatures Harry had encountered, even more so than the basilisk that had injected him with deadly venom.
Nonetheless, the account was now active, so he had a legitimate paper trail for some of his income.
It wasn't as though he would be declaring what gold he made from his finds, not when the Ministry would somehow take it from him.
He'd like to see them try.
He'd never been in the goods books of the wizarding government. Even when he'd defeated Voldemort, the goodwill hadn't lasted when it was discovered what he'd done during his venture into Gringotts.
That incident alone had almost caused a war, and Kingsley had chosen to side with the goblins instead of Harry.
As such, Harry had no intention of having anything to do with the government if it could be avoided. He was much happier owning businesses and having more experienced people run them on his behalf.
It gave him something he'd never had before, freedom.
He could walk the streets as he pleased, visit any shop without being accosted, and do anything he wished with the gold he earned or took for himself.
Harry grinned at the memory of relieving Corvus Lestrange of his gold. It had gone a long way in funding the refurbishment of the restaurant, hiring staff, and purchasing the needed produce.
The next thing it would pay for was some suitable robes for himself.
He didn't enjoy dressing up as such. He'd not worn dress robes since he'd been awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class, for his defeat of Voldemort, but the occasion called for it, and he'd only stand out if he weren't dressed appropriately.
As such, he made his way towards Madame Malkin's, a shop he was pleased to see.
The familiar tinkling of the bell announced his arrival, and Harry remembered his very first visit here, where he'd made the acquaintance of one Draco Malfoy.
He snorted at the thought of the man.
Draco's crimes had been mostly forgiven after the war. He'd spent only one year in Azkaban, much less than he deserved.
Many seemed to forget he'd been responsible for Dumbledore's death. He may not have cast the curse that had killed the headmaster, but it was Draco's actions that had led to it.
"I'll be just one moment," a friendly voice called.
Harry waited patiently, offering the young woman who greeted him a smile as she stepped onto the shop floor.
"What can I do for you, my dear?" she asked.
Were it not for the familiar way she'd addressed him, Harry wouldn't be able to tell that this was Madam Malkin herself, the woman he remembered much older.
"I need some dress robes," he answered.
The woman hummed as she walked around him, scrutinising his frame and taking in his features.
"Do you have a preference for colour?"
"Black, please."
Madam Malkin nodded.
"Please, come this way, and I will measure you."
Harry did so, only to find he wasn't the only one in the shop.
Another man, considerably older than him, was also being fitted for robes, and when Harry caught sight of his steely grey eyes, high cheekbones, and refined features, he couldn't help but think he'd seen him before.
It took a moment for him to realise that this man somewhat resembled his godfather.
This wasn't Sirius, however.
"If you could stand here for me," Madam Malkin instructed, placing Harry in front of a mirror.
Taking in his reflection, he realised he needed to shave and properly have his haircut.
That would have to wait.
For now, he needed his robes.
"Slim waist, broader shoulders," Madam Malkin commented. "Stand up straight, dear, I cannot stand someone who slouches."
"Ah, you would have hated my friend. He always slouched," Harry replied. "His shoes were always neatly tied, but his buttocks tended to be on show. It was certainly enough to put you off your breakfast when you could almost see what he'd eaten the day before."
Madam Malkin tutted, but the man next to him chuckled amusedly.
"I'll be right back with a portfolio of designs you can choose from," the woman declared, shooting him a pointed look.
"Wow, she didn't even grin," Harry muttered. "Maybe groping people's legs for a living isn't all it's cracked up to be."
"I don't expect so," the man snorted. "Goyle was in here before us. Touching his leg would be enough to sour anyone's mood. Poor woman, I don't think she anticipated handling a part troll today."
"He's part troll?" Harry asked curiously.
The man shrugged.
"I have no idea, but the argument can be made. He's certainly as dumb as one and has the table manners to match. It's just a shame I have to be within fifty feet of the wally when I'm eating tonight."
"Ah, the restaurant opening."
The man nodded.
"My wife is insisting we go," he sighed. "Are you married?"
"No, I've not met anyone I could tolerate to spend so much time with."
The man laughed.
"Well, it will happen, and when you least expect it. You're not a pureblood, then?"
"Half," Harry answered.
"The best of both worlds," the man commented thoughtfully. "I'm not so prejudiced, not anymore. I've met some good muggleborns and half-bloods over the years. Between you and me, most were better than the purebloods I know."
"Here we go," Madam Malkin said as she arrived, handing Harry a booklet to thumb through. "Lord Black, if you give me thirty minutes, your robes will be ready."
Lord Black?
Was this Sirius's father?
No, Harry had seen a portrait of Orion Black, and this was not him, though when he cast his mind back to the time he'd spent in Grimmauld Place, he remembered only one man who looked like this one.
Arcturus Black, Sirius's grandfather.
Sirius had not been so flattering when speaking of anyone in his family, but he'd only mentioned Arcturus in passing once or twice.
The man nodded appreciatively.
"Thank you, Madam Malkin. Your service is most appreciated. Enjoy the rest of your day, and you, young man."
"You too," Harry replied as Arcturus took his leave of the shop.
It had certainly been a surreal moment meeting Sirius's grandfather, and the encounter made him once more consider what his life would've been like had his godfather survived.
Sirius wouldn't have allowed Harry to be treated the way he had, and maybe he would've had a lasting relationship of substance with someone who had no interest in his fame or money.
Still, as much as Harry often pondered it, nothing would change, other than he'd be living a much more different life than he'd anticipated.
He shook his head at the maudlin thoughts.
"Nothing to your liking, dear?" Madam Malkin asked.
"I'm afraid I have poor taste in clothing. What would you recommend?"
She hummed thoughtfully as she took the portfolio, flipping through the pages and sometimes pausing, evidently envisioning what Harry would look like in a particular set of robes.
"I think these will suit you best," she declared after several minutes. "Yes, these will be perfect for you."
"Then I will trust your judgement," Harry replied with a smile.
"A wise move," Madam Malkin praised. "Your robes will take around forty minutes to finish. You may return then to collect them."
"Thank you," Harry said gratefully, deciding that he would indeed use the time to get his hair cut for the first time in a few months.
He certainly needed it.
(Break)
She couldn't remember the last time she'd worn a dress. Perhaps it had been for her parent's funeral, but it was not something Amelia did often. Much of her time was spent in her red Auror robes, and even when she wore her own clothes, she usually opted for a similar garb, just of a different colour.
"What do you think?" she asked Edgar as she entered his study.
"I'm thinking, what the hell happened to my sister," the man snorted.
Amelia rolled her eyes at him.
"Will it do for the dinner?"
Edgar offered her a smile as he nodded.
"It will do."
"Good because I wasn't going to change anyway," Amelia replied with a smirk.
Edgar shook his head amusedly.
"So, why ask?"
She shrugged.
"Sometimes it's nice to be complimented."
"If you want compliments, maybe you should consider dating."
"I have dated!"
"One French idiot who could barely string a sentence together in his own language," Edgar retorted. "How he ever became an Auror, I'll never know."
"Claude wasn't so bad."
Edgar quirked an eyebrow at her.
"If that is your taste in men, maybe you should stay single," he urged. "Honestly, if I had to hear his phlegmy, snooty voice once more, I would have put my foot up his arse."
"Now you're being dramatic," Amelia huffed. "Who would you have me date?"
"Someone who hasn't got shit between his ears for a start," Edgar answered immediately, "and someone who cares for you and don't want to change you."
"You think there's a man who wants to date an Auror who could kick his arse?"
"Some people are sadists," Edgar said thoughtfully.
"Don't be vulgar."
"I'm being honest. Anyway, enough about your dating history. I'd like to keep my appetite intact. Are you ready?"
Amelia nodded, holding up the black bag she'd chosen to keep her essentials in; Auror identification, wand, and purse.
"Good, then let's go before Crabbe gets there and eats everything."
Amelia grimaced at the thought of the large man.
She'd only ever shared one meal with him for a business opportunity he was discussing with Edgar, and that one occasion was enough to put her off doing so again.
He was slovenly, rude, and lacked even the most basic of manners.
Hopefully, they would not be seated near him.
Amelia vividly remembered that being within ten feet of him when he was chewing was hazardous for one's health.
(Break)
Harry watched nervously as the first of the guests began to arrive. Much of the restaurant was comprised for tables of two, but there were some for larger parties who would wish to dine together.
Not that such a thing was a problem. Adjustments could be made with little more than a flick of a wand if necessary.
"Your plan seems to be working," he commented to Thomas as the building began to fill.
"I know these people," Thomas murmured. "They wouldn't turn down a free meal, and if you run the place right, they will return, even if it's just to show off to their peers."
Harry nodded thoughtfully as his gaze drifted over the guests, pausing on many that were familiar, even if he did not know them personally.
Amongst them, he could see who was undoubtedly a Malfoy, Arcturus Black, whom he'd met earlier in the day, and even someone with a familiar crop of messy, black hair, just as his had been before it had been cut.
Harry's own was much shorter now, textured, but tidier.
He didn't know how he felt about it, but little could be done now.
His hair would always grow back.
"It looks as though everyone accepted the invitation," Thomas observed as each seat was occupied. "I shall check to see how the first courses are coming along."
He sounded nervous, but Harry had every confidence in the man.
If the food was of the same quality he'd sampled, Thomas had nothing to concern himself with.
The same couldn't be said for Harry, however. As he once more looked around the room, he caught sight of a redheaded woman, and though he had to look twice to be certain it was the Auror that had been attempting to follow him, there was no doubt in his mind it was indeed her.
Casting a simple notice-me-not charm on himself, he began circulating the room to listen in on the thoughts of the guests.
"It is certainly an improvement on what it was before," one man commented.
Harry noticed the resemblance to a fellow student during his own time at Hogwarts, and Lord Boot sounded strikingly similar to Terry in the way he spoke.
"I'll say," his wife agreed. "It's just what Knockturn Alley needs to take away from the usual dreariness. It's a bold move to open here, but it could pay off."
"Well, that depends on the food, doesn't it? That remains to be seen, after all."
It was only a moment later that the waiters and waitresses began serving the starter, and the two barmen Thomas had hired were levitating trays of drinks to the tables.
The serving was completed quickly and efficiently, and Harry circled the room to hear any comments made.
"This is very good," a man Harry did not recognise declared as he scrutinised the soup.
"It's just like we had in Paris on our honeymoon!" Augusta Longbottom gushed.
It was strange to see the stern woman he'd met on a few occasions so relaxed and, thankfully, without a stuffed vulture resting atop her head.
Harry nodded satisfactorily, though he frowned as one of the tables seating a group grew steadily more raucous as the main course was served.
"Who are those people, Thomas?" he asked, nodding subtly towards them.
"I don't know, Sir," he answered, scanning the room. "Lord Yaxley is not here, so I suspect he gave his tickets away, as well as Lord Lestrange."
Harry hummed as he watched the group of eight.
"Would you like me to have them removed?"
Harry shook his head.
"I'll keep an eye on them. You just focus on the food. It's going down rather well with most," he added with another frown towards the table.
He hoped they wouldn't cause trouble, but given his luck, it was possible they would.
"Here we go," he muttered as the group was served, and some of them simply could not exercise simple politeness. "Here we bloody go."
(Break)
"What do you think?" Edgar asked.
Amelia nodded, swallowing a mouthful of the steak she'd been working on.
Not that she'd had to chew it much. It was as though it melted in her mouth.
"It's fantastic," she declared.
"It is," Edgar agreed. "I just wish it wasn't being ruined by that lot," he grumbled, nodding towards where Stan Yaxley was sitting with his friends.
Amelia remembered the man from school.
He was a year above her in Slytherin and had always been something of a lout. Stan was the nephew of Lord Yaxley, though the way he spoke, you'd think he himself was head of the family.
"Idiot," she sighed, looking on as he leered at the young waitress who was pouring him a refill of wine.
Amelia watched as he purposely knocked her elbow, and the girl spilled wine all over the table.
The group laughed, but Yaxley looked to be rather furious.
"You stupid, clumsy cow!" he berated as he stood. "You spilled wine all over my robes."
"I'm so sorry," the girl replied fearfully.
"You're sorry? That doesn't fix my robes, and our meal is bloody ruined because of you."
"Is there a problem here?"
Amelia gasped as the man seemingly appeared from nowhere, and though his hair was shorter now and he was clean-shaven, she recognised him immediately.
"Yeah, there is a problem!" Yaxley snarled, prodding the man in the chest. "Your stupid bint of a waitress has ruined my robes."
"Oh, this could get ugly," Edgar sighed.
Everyone in the restaurant was looking on to see how this would play out.
"You have no idea," Amelia said worriedly.
Edgar shot her a questioning look.
"That's the man who helped me," she whispered.
"Is that so?" the man questioned, seemingly unfazed by Yaxley. "Well, then let me remedy that. How much were your robes, Sir?"
"Twenty galleons. Only the best."
"Then allow me to compensate you adequately," the man offered, counting out some coins from a small bag he carried. "There we go, no harm done."
Yaxley nodded as he took his seat once more.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" the man asked.
"Excuse me?"
"The robes," the man replied. "I just paid for them, so they are my property. I'm asking you kindly to hand them over."
Yaxley was taken aback by the request.
"Are you taking the piss?"
"I can assure you, I am not," the man replied. "I paid for the robes; they are my property."
Yaxley blinked as a few snickers sounded around the room.
"You must be a simpleton," he snorted, shaking his head. "Do you have any idea who I am?"
"Honestly, I couldn't care less," the man replied. "You have come into my restaurant, free of charge, I might add, and you have been deeply rude to one of my waitresses. Now, you are trying to rescind a deal. We can always discuss it in my office if you prefer. Let us not ruin the evening of the other guests."
Yaxley quickly became aware that everyone was watching him.
"He's going to make a prat of himself," Amelia murmured.
"Maybe I will send for my uncle," Yaxley threatened.
"Excellent," the man declared. "Perhaps he will be interested to hear of how you have comported yourself in front of many other prominent members of society. Send for him, I am happy to wait, but I will tell your uncle the very same thing. Now, we can either discuss this like gentlemen, or we can make a simple situation much worse. It is your choice."
He did not flinch, and Yaxley was once more taken aback by how unaffected he was by the threat he'd made.
"For Merlin's sake, Yaxley, if you spoil my dinner any more than you already have, you'll get my foot up your arse," Arcturus Black broke in irritably. "Either give him your robes or get out of here and discuss it."
Any amusement that was felt around the room suddenly dissipated, and the atmosphere became tense.
None wished to find themselves on the wrong side of Lord Black, a man known for his ruthlessness both politically and in his personal life.
His wife placed a calming hand on his forearm, but his glare aimed at Yaxley remained.
"We can discuss it," Yaxley murmured, his demeanour suddenly changing as he was led from the room.
"He soon changed his mind," Edgar snorted when the conversation picked up again.
Amelia nodded, though she was distracted by the unexpected appearance of the man.
From what he'd said, he owned the restaurant, which was odd in itself as he'd been the one to destroy the premises the night he'd assisted her.
To Amelia, it didn't add up, but even stranger was when Yaxley returned from the discussion wearing a white apron in lieu of his robes.
Snickering could be heard around the room as the man approached Arcturus Black, his cheeks red from the embarrassment he was experiencing.
"Lord Black, I would like to apologise for interrupting your meal and would like to assure you it won't happen again," Yaxley declared.
The corner of Lord Black's lips twitched in amusement as he nodded, and the cowed, apron-clad man shuffled back to his table and retook his seat.
"What do you think he said to him?" Edgar chuckled.
Amelia shook her head.
"I don't know, but I'm going to find out," she murmured as the man entered the dining area once more and shot her a pointed look.
He held up his hand to stall her as he approached Yaxley.
"Your bill, Mr Yaxley," he announced, snapping his fingers and placing a piece of parchment in front of the man. "I hope that if you grace us with your presence again, you will do so politely and respectfully. Oh, and you will apologise to Matilda before you leave."
Yaxley merely nodded, shaking his head at the friends who seemed so willing to defend him.
The man's stony gaze drifted over them before he left the room once more, and Amelia followed shortly after, keen to speak with him, the conversations she caught snippets of revolving around what had just occurred.
(Break)
He released a deep breath as he threw the robes into the fireplace.
This was not how he'd hoped the evening would go, but Harry couldn't change what had been done. Still, he'd resolved the issue in a way that he'd been polite enough whilst making an example of Yaxley.
It seemed that the other guests did not disapprove, and he was appreciative of Arcturus Black intervening.
"Come in," he called as a knock sounded at the door.
He didn't even need to turn to greet the person who entered. Amelia Bones had not taken her eyes off him the moment she realised who he was.
"Auror Bones," he addressed her.
"Usually," the woman returned. "I'm not on duty."
"So, you're not going to attempt to arrest me?"
"Arrest you?"
Harry nodded.
"You've taken a rather keen interest in me recently."
"You helped me."
Harry shook his head.
"I did what was right, nothing more, and I'd rather what happened didn't become known outside of these four walls."
She was frowning when he did turn to look at her.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"Harry Jameson, owner of this fine establishment," Harry replied with a smile.
"You're a restauranteur?"
"I am."
"I've never met a restauranteur who can take down an entire bar full of people, nor one who can treat a pureblood the way you did and get away with it."
Harry shrugged indifferently.
"What can I say? I have a knack for people skills."
An amused grin tugged at the corner of her lips.
"And for dealing with them if necessary."
Harry shook his head as Amelia smiled.
"Not really," he said dismissively, "but you should smile more. You're quite beautiful when you do."
The woman blushed slightly before scowling at him.
"Are you trying to disarm me?"
"An Auror? I would never dream of it," Harry denied.
She hummed.
"Well, for what it is worth, I'd like to thank you for helping me that night."
"You're very welcome," Harry replied. "Do try to avoid those situations. You won't always have me around to get you out of them."
She quirked an eyebrow at him.
"What makes you think I would need you? I am capable."
"I didn't think for one moment you aren't," Harry assured her, "but you were not prepared for what could have happened."
"I won't be caught out again."
"Good," Harry declared. "It means that you learned from that experience."
"You speak as though you've experienced that kind of thing more than once."
"Working in the restaurant business can be hazardous."
"That's your story?"
Harry nodded.
"And I'm sticking to it."
"Of course you are," Amelia sighed. "I'm going to choose not to believe you. Even when you were dealing with Yaxley, you were ready to defend yourself. If I didn't know any better, I would say you've trained as an Auror yourself. I did think you might have been an Unspeakable."
Harry didn't even wince at the mention of his former role in life.
"You are or were," Amelia mused aloud, trying to catch him out.
"Nothing of the sort."
"It's not as though you would tell me, is it?"
"I'm just a business owner," Harry pointed out. "Nothing more and nothing less."
Amelia eyed him speculatively for a moment before shaking her head.
"Fine, you're a business owner."
"That's better. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to make sure we don't have any more unpleasantness."
"How did you convince Yaxley to come back like that?" Amelia asked curiously.
"I appealed to his better nature."
"He doesn't have a better nature."
"Well, what you can find when you peek below the surface is surprising. I don't expect you're just a stuffy, boring Auror."
"Excuse me? What makes you think I'm a stuffy, boring Auror?"
"All you do is work," Harry pointed out. "I take an interest in those that take an interest in me," he added conspiratorially. "I must say, you're rather dull. Not even a fine for drunken, lewd behaviour."
"And you have?"
Harry shrugged.
"I don't remember."
Amelia narrowed her eyes at him as he grinned, and she took her leave of the room without saying another word.
Harry followed only a moment later and was pleased to see that the desserts had been served.
Soon enough, the night would come to an end, but not before he spoke to a few other guests to receive feedback on the food and service they'd received.
(Break)
"How did your conversation go?" Edgar asked airily as Amelia returned.
He stared at his dessert, but she did not miss the smirk gracing his lips.
"What's that look for?" she demanded.
Edgar merely held up his hands, and Amelia narrowed her eyes at him.
"I don't know what you're insinuating, but it did not go how you think."
"Was it him?"
"It was," Amelia confirmed, "but he was just dismissive of the entire thing."
"Maybe he just doesn't want to make a big deal of it."
"Maybe," Amelia murmured. "Do you think I'm boring?"
"Very."
"Edgar!" Amelia huffed. "Do you think I'm just a dull Auror?"
"Why are you asking?" Edgar inquired, placing his spoon in his bowl.
Amelia shrugged.
"That's what he said."
Edgar released a deep breath.
"Well, he's not wrong," he said apologetically. "I wouldn't say dull, but all you do is work and sleep. I always say myself that you lack fun."
"I have fun!"
"When?"
Amelia frowned as she pondered the question.
"I don't know, but I'm never bored."
Edgar offered her a smile.
"You live for your job, Amelia. There's nothing wrong with that as long as you're happy."
She nodded.
"How did he say it?"
"What do you mean?"
"How did he say you're boring? Did he say it in an insulting way?"
Amelia shook her head.
"No, he was teasing me."
"Or flirting with you."
"I don't think so," Amelia snorted. "Was he?"
"Maybe," Edgar said with a shrug. "I wasn't there, but if he was joking, he was probably flirting. Merlin, you can't even tell when someone is flirting."
"He wasn't flirting," Amelia denied. "He was mocking me but not in a way to offend me. He was polite enough."
"But?"
"But there's just something about him I can't put my finger on," Amelia murmured. "He denied being an Unspeakable, but I don't quite believe him. He can't be any older than me, and he managed to open this place. That couldn't have been cheap."
"Maybe he took out a loan."
"No, I don't think so," Amelia mused aloud. "There's something familiar about him. I'm not sure what, but so many things just aren't adding up."
She stilled as Edgar placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Amelia, I think you should leave it be," he urged. "You know it was him that helped you, and to me, it sounds as though he prefers his privacy. Don't push it. He did you a favour. Let it go."
Amelia deflated as she watched Harry Jameson sharing a brief conversation with Lord Black.
Maybe Edgar was right. Perhaps she should just let it go, but Amelia had never been good at doing such, not when she was either baffled by something or intrigued.
His gaze flickered to hers before he left the room, and Amelia decided that she would continue to unearth the mystery surrounding Harry Jameson.
She would just need to be more careful doing so.