#obtstarter

He'd told Ginny that he was too busy with work to attend Daphne Greengrass' party thing as her date. Not to mention he was never given an invitation. It had been the truth and still is. With the Blood Moon upon them, it's imperative that the risk of uncontrolled werewolves such as the elusive pack of French wolves be apprehended before too many innocent lives fall prey to their vicious pursuits. Harry has been doggedly tracking word of Les Loups de Justes for several days now and despite his claim of not being anywhere near the Greengrass soirée, the former Gryffindor now finds himself on the outskirts of the very family's estate, greatly underdressed and unprepared to mingle with strangers.

But his tracking has lead him here and Harry isn't going to sacrifice the progress he's made simply because a host of his former classmates are in the area. If anything, he is more determined to put a halt to this terrorist pack's plans, whatever they may be, before people he cares for end up harmed in the crossfire.

Harry stands on the lawn, staring at the opulent manor and tugging at the hem of his ill-fitting yet comfortable shirt. He'd already shed his auror robes before entering the property. There's no reason to disturb the rest of the guests by storming in wearing his robes. Besides, there's every chance that his trail to this soirée will all be for naught; the wolves may be nowhere on the premises.

A heavy sigh escapes Harry's lips before he strides around back to find a secondary entrance to Daphne Greengrass' manor. Chances are the front will be attended by servants waiting for him to hand over an invitation he doesn't have. Thankfully the door to the kitchens is accessible and easily freed with a swift spell. The help in the kitchens stare at him as he enters but Harry just casts a small apologetic smile and rushes through until he's out. He's unable to miss how they all begin to whisper his name to one another. He only hopes word doesn't travel too quickly.

Harry stops just before entering the main attraction. He'll stick out like a sore thumb in his current sagging jeans and shirt. Though his proficiency at Transfiguration is lacking, Harry points his wand at his chest and hopes he doesn't accidentally magic himself a second skin instead of a dress shirt.

The resulting attire doesn't quite fit him. tight in too many places. The dress shirt is missing a few buttons and the sleeves are of decidedly different lengths. However, it works well enough so long as no one has time to look at him too closely. The trousers aren't much better but again, he wants to blend in long enough to confirm whether Romain or one of his pack members are in attendance.

It's a rare day off for Harry and he does his best to appreciate that. Ginny's at training and that's a safe place for her to be. There's no need to worry himself over it. Yet despite his attempts at fully relaxing, there's an edge of tension lining his muscles. Teddy is cheerful, despite his godfather's tension and as long as Harry doesn't have too long to slip into his thoughts, it's not terrible. The Blood Moon, the werewolves still not accounted for, namely Romain and his French pack remaining too elusive; it all lingers at the back of his thoughts as he engages Teddy in a game of make-believe with his toys.

Harry had nearly forgotten about his agreed upon plans with Ginny for the evening. It's when Molly stops by to pick Teddy up that he's freshly reminded of the alone time he's about to have with his girlfriend.

"Thanks for taking him," Harry says with a gentle smile as he passes Teddy into Molly Weasley's waiting arms.

"It's no trouble at all, Harry. You know that," she admonishes with a wide smile. "You just enjoy your time with Ginny, dear. Thank you for always keeping her safe for us."

Harry nods and smiles. It's what he does. Keeping people safe. Even now with the war behind them, he's committed to it, whether he always enjoys doing so or not. Ginny is another person in his life he needs to protect and he would be letting down more than just himself if he failed to do just that.

Ginny had tried to contact Blaise Zabini several times over the past few days, without any luck. It had been several days since their run-in with the werewolf from Les Loupes Justes. Several days since Zabini had been bitten, and had run off before she could get him the help he so desperately needed. Had run off after suffering a werewolf bite that should have been lethal. For almost a full day, Ginny had blamed herself for what had happened, had felt that she was somehow responsible for Zabini's fate. But after playing the events in her head over and over again, she had come to the conclusion that none of it had been her fault. They had simply been at the same place at the same time, and if she had not been there, Zabini might still have been attacked. If anything, she had saved him from dying; she had, after all, apparated him away from a blood-thirsty werewolf. And therefore, she felt like she deserved to know what the hell had happened. 

Between long work shifts at the joke shop, watching the ever-energetic Teddy Lupin, and avoiding the one person who would never ever in a thousand years hear an apology tumble from his lips, Ron was looking for more excuses to stay away from Grimmauld Place -- at least until curfew arrived. The chances to be caught by Aurors seemed impossibly low anyway, given the sheer size of the territory of the Ministry's jurisdiction, but his illegal operation begged to err on the side of caution. Besides, Ginny already ruined it with her arrest; it wasn't like Harry could keep bailing them out without reaping the consequences of doing so. Ron had to get creative, at any rate. The Leaky Cauldron was still a sworn off haunt, as well as the rest of the desolate alley, so Muggle London it was. Thinking back to the conversation with Percy, the one where he promised he would show him the anonymity of Muggle pubs with loud banter and hearty laughs, it would be a perfect opportunity to take advantage of this week. Pig was more than happy to deliver the request, so the feathery git could annoy his brother for the time being. If his brother managed to pull himself away from work in a timely fashion, of course. The Ministry seemed like it was in utter chaos, so Ron could let it slide this time -- so long as Percy accepted the offer.

The sun chased away the shadows for now; curfew was plenty of hours away, even with the tardiness of the get-together. The Leaky Cauldron was usually patronized in the mid-to-late afternoon, since an after-work pint did loads to pep him up. Additionally, he was tempted to raid the cabinets for something to eat before going out (Ron was absolutely famished) but filling up on greasy Muggle food was a much more exciting prospect. For this, and the opportunity to loosen up his tightly-wound brother, Ron was sitting on the curb (closer to 13 Grimmauld Place than 11) at the very punctual time that was arranged between the two of them. London's weather was decent, as it was pleasantly warm and not a drop of rain in sight. He donned the appropriate attire, both weather and Muggle-wise: his Muggle garb consisted of blue jeans, a t-shirt with a Union Jack design on it, and black Converse shoes. He blended, he thought, though Percy was the one that stood out. Reserved, prudent, and bookish, he was more like Hermione than he or Ginny -- making Percy a good target when the twins got bored of playing tricks on him. But it was a good sort of different, though it made all the more difficult to extract details of certain subjects.

After she'd gotten Blaise to his place, Daphne had gone home and taken a bath. A long, luxurious bath with perfumed bubbly foam scented with eucalyptus and mint - they were known to relieve stress and with the Zabini heir's latest misadventures the brunette was in dire need of the relief. All those damned letters to the editor weren't written frivolously - the Greengrass girl genuinely believed her words. Werewolves were threats to society; and now it seemed she'd lost her friend to the sickness.

Once the fleshy pads of her fingers had turned wrinkly - nothing proper moisturizing lotion wouldn't fix - the pureblood stepped out of the bath, calling out for her elf and ordering the creature to clean the tub and floor. Her hair was still damp, so while waiting for her tresses to dry, Daphne wore her favorite soft, cotton nightie and situated herself at her desk to pen a note to the only person she trusted with Blaise's rather delicate situation. Then, after brushing her locks and braiding them, she settled herself into her large four poster bed and turned out the lights. The letter would be sent in the morning (though she was mildly annoyed that the turmoil Zabini had caused wasn't allowing her to fall asleep as quickly as she normally did.

When she woke, rolling her shoulders in frustration because it had been a fitful sleep, Daphne knew exactly what to do next. Her motions were mechanic: Send Theo the letter. Inform Pere of the plan to host a party on the Summer Solstice. Slip in a comment about picking up wines from Italy. Sigh and agree to take an appropriate companion to ensure the safety of her pure blood. Dress in a summery, loose fitting dress, those shades she liked so much and a summer hat. And finally apparate the brief distance to Malfoy Manor, trendy purse on her shoulder, and knock on the door.