It was the first time he'd appeared at a semi-public event rather than the more exclusive 'invite only' gatherings of the past three years, so this wasn't at all surprising.
An enterprising man wearing a quirky hat and a nervous grin held out a hand-full of three small and golden balls as he walked past. "Snitch shooting, milord? Hit three snitches in ten spells and win a prize? Only six knuts?"
The crowd held its breath.
Harry smiled under his mask. The man looked like he enjoyed his breakfasts as much as Uncle Vernon, although the effect on him was more red jolly dwarf than red angry star.
"Sure, why not?"
The crowd let out its collective breath. He handed over the money. The special, short range snitches were released, and Harry picked all three clean out of the air with his first three shots.
Nervous clapping broke out among the watchers — the kind of clapping which believes that the future of its originators could well depend on being seen to be clapping this particular wizard at this particular time.
"Y-y-yes," the jolly man "W-w-well done. Pick a prize?"
squeaked.
Harry nonchalantly picked out a large, fluffy plush-toy snake in green, red, and purple, which proceeded to curl its way up and around his body before resting its head on his shoulder.
"It looks… err… good on you."
Harry tickled the snake under its jaw eliciting a kind of happy hissing sound. He could feel his parsel magics reaching out to the toy, coiling around it, making it more snake-like, more real. A slight femininity seeped into the hiss. He smiled. "I do believe, that this one is a she."
"Umm… Right… yes, milord."
Harry walked away, leaving a staring crowd and one nervous wreck of a stall keeper. He turned the next corner, saw the path running to a dead-end, and was just about to turn back, when a slight, short, and distracted figure, dressed all in black, stalked around another corner and stopped, wide-eyed in front of him.
He smiled. "Ah. Good afternoon, Heiress Black."
"Not like that, like this."
"I do know how to do it. I took riding lessons when I was younger."
"Not with magical riding gear, you didn't." "It looks the same."
"Look, just put your foot here…. No. Here!" "I don't know… Ack!"
"You see! That's why I said, 'here'!"
"Are you getting up, or not?" "Yes, just scoot down."
"What? I thought I was going in front."
"No. You're going to concentrate on the spell work."
"Fair enough."
"Watch out."
"Argh! Warn me first next time!"
"I did!"
"A split second before your boot almost took my head off."
"Quit whining and hold on — Eep! — Not there!" "Then where?"
"The saddle handle!"
"What? You mean this bit that looks like a boy's thing?! I'm not grabbing that!"
"Fine, then! Around the waist, if you must."
Moments later, the stable door opened by magic and a beautiful white horse clopped out carrying a mildly ticked Daphne Greengrass, being held around the waist by a slightly frazzled Hermione Granger.
The pair of witches bumped and rocked their way out of the stables, past the line of portable horse boxes, through the crowded gardens, all the way being cheered and waved at by the festival goers, and down to the edge of the Greengrass forests, where close to forty other witches and wizards — mostly wizards — milled around astride horses of every breed and size.
Daphne cast her gaze across the gathering. There was her father, sitting in the front of the pack and carrying a large horn. There were Lords Malfoy, and Nott, sitting astride Arabian horses of fairest chestnut-gold. There was Lord Lovegood, and Lord Woodcroft, two of the Gray's staunchest allies. And in the middle of the pack, dressed in full dragon hide and still wearing her monocle, was Regent Amelia Bones, head of the DMLE, riding next to one of the few non-nobles present, Lyndsea Morwenna, the founder of Witch Weekly. The two stood out for being the only other witches, apart from herself and Hermione, in a sea of testosterone.
Daphne briefly wondered what the monocled witch thought of their being allowed to use their wands for the event. Regent Bones was well known to be as straight as an arrow and she couldn't imagine a privileged exemption like this sitting well with the incorruptible woman.
She was jolted out of her wonderings by a most unwelcome voice.
"What is she doing here?"
Daphne turned to see Draco Malfoy trotting over, waving his hand towards them, and glaring daggers at Hermione.
"Heir Malfoy," Hermione called out from right behind her, "A pleasure, as always."
Daphne smiled.
Draco wheeled his horse back to the pack, saw no one was objecting, scowled, and turned back. "Well, I hope you can both keep up. This is a wizard's game."
Daphne sniffed. "I'm sure we will do just fine."
"Indeed." Zacharias Smith rode up, also wearing full riding robes, but accentuated in places with what could only be described as actual steel armour. By his side, hung a long, ornate war hammer. He reined in what looked like a Morgan, causing Malfoy's own Friesian to take a startled step to the side. "I'm sure the ladies will more than hold their own."
"Well spoken," said a recognisable male voice from behind her.
Daphne smiled, turned, opened her mouth to reply, saw what she saw, closed her mouth again, and gawked.
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