CHAPTER 7

Father keeps his sex books in the hollow beneath his window seat. I found them when I was eight. I didn't understand, so I put them back. He has new magazines now, on the top.

I thumb through Witches and Wands: Hard Wood Action!, but it's just pictures. Witch Virgin is the same, as is Wow! Witches (Volume 3). The latter has dog-eared pages and a stain on the cover, though. Inside, naked women do strange things with their fingers. And a butterbeer bottle.

I compare the marked, crinkled pages with the clean, flat ones.

Perhaps you need to be an adult to tell the difference.

Further down, I find Wonders for the Wizard Willy. It's pictures also, but has men. You mostly can't see their willies though because of what the witches are doing to them. That's good because the ones you can see make your throat feel tight.

Re-Enchanting Your Witch: Conjure Back the Magic catches my eye because it doesn't start with a W. It's an actual book and has chapters like Romance for Morons and Have You Complimented Her Charms Lately? Father's used a newspaper advert for a marriage counsellor to mark Chapter 22: When to Give up All Hope.

It gets black on my fingertips.

I wipe them on my robes, but they won't quite come clean.

At the bottom of the hollow lies a book the size of a pamphlet. A snitch is stamped on the leather cover. On the title page, I read, Broom Brothers: Quidditch off the Pitch.

It's old, and the pages creak as I turn them. Someone has written notes in the margins. Faded ink in an elegant hand. The strategy diagrams make me stare.

If the Score is Unfavourable and your Seeker does not yet Wish to Catch the Snitch, the Chaser may Initiate Manoeuvre 4.7a. as Follows: Grasp your Seeker's Broom near the Tail (diag. f), applying sufficient Pressure to Steady but not Drive him off Course. Your Seeker should Keep the Snitch in Sight, as it may be Difficult to Locate if Lost. Remember: proper Communication is the Key to Success, and the Team Captain should Call all Manoeuvres (cf. pg.23) previous to their--

I shut the book.

Al said it was dirty with men, that you don't do it with just anyone. It doesn't seem dirty to me.

It seems like sport.

I place the books back in their hollow. I hope Father won't notice I've lined up all the spines.

* * * * *

Rose taps her fingers against her Arithmancy text. I stretch my legs across the aisle and rest them on the seat beside her. I wiggle my toes. My socks are new. Al twists and untwists his carmine. I gave it to him today so it wouldn't be confiscated during holiday. Twist: long-short, long-short; in-out, in-out.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Rose says.

"Look, being normal isn't all that great," Al tells her, examining the clean, bevelled edge of the lipstick. He hasn't used it yet. "James is like the most normal person ever, and he's a total berk."

"He's a little preoccupied, is all," Rose says.

Al snorts. "Yeah, right. He wouldn't spit on you to put out Fiendfyre if it made him look uncool. All he cares about is Quidditch and being popular."

"That's not true, and you know it," Rose tells him. "He cares a lot about you. Just because he doesn't purposefully do weird things--"

"They're not weird, they're different. Okay, so maybe they are a little weird. But why should I be like everyone else?" Al asks. "Ever since I was little, all anybody ever said was, Oh, you look just like your father! They think because I look like him, I'm going to be like him, and that's rubbish."

"I think you are like him," I say.

He stares.

"You only have egg and sperm as options," I point out.

Rose raises her eyebrows. "What's wrong with being like Uncle Harry? You do realise he's basically the most important person in the entire Wizarding world. And Auntie Ginnie is really very sweet when she's not hexing anyone. Honestly, I think it may just be perimenopause. Or Empty Nest Syndrome. She should go on medication, and they could put the whole misunderstanding behind them."

Al rolls his eyes. "Spare me. And Score, even if you do give awesome presents, you are so not on the cool list right now."

"Is there a list?" I say. "Who's on it?"

Al scowls. "No one."

"So tell me what sort of benefits friendship with the two of you will bring," Rose says. "I'm thinking I'll make a catalogue of pros and cons. Or possibly a pie chart."

"Okay, now she's on it," Al says. "A friendship pie chart! How cool is that?"

"That's probably relative," I say. "But how are we supposed to talk about my research when she's here?"

He frowns. He twists his carmine down and puts the cap on. Into his pocket.

"What research?" Rose asks.

"Oh, the trolley!" Al says. Throws open the door. "Who wants pumpkin pasties?"

"Don't try to distract me, Albus. What research?" Rose asks. She lays her hands on her book like class is about to start.

"Liquorice wand, please," I say.

"It's secret research, Rose," Al tells her. Tosses me a liquorice, and the trolley squeaks its way down the corridor. "You can only know if you're friends with us. And you have to promise to never, ever tell anyone. Or we'll hex your tongue out of your mouth."

"You don't know any hexes like that, Albus, and you know it," she says.

"I do," I tell her.

She purses her lips. "Okay. Alright, fine, let's be friends. Not like I'm going to alienate my other friends, considering I don't have any. Though limiting friendship to certain days is rather silly. What if I'm feeling particularly friendly on a Tuesday afternoon?"

"We need our alone time," I tell her. I bite the end of the wand. If real wands tasted like this, Ollivander's would turn quite a profit.

She rolls her eyes. "Whatever. Now what are you researching? Is it for extra credit?"

"Since you promise not to tell anyone," Al says.

"I do!" she insists.

"It's sex," I say.

She blinks. "Sex?"

"Sex," I say. "Sex, sex, sex."

Al laughs and says it once more for good measure.

"I-- well… where's the point in that?" she says. Her tone is like Grandfather's, but her cheeks are pink. "It's not like you get graded on it!"

"Maybe this is hard for your super scholar mind to comprehend, but sometimes people want to know things for other reasons than getting top marks," Al tells her.

"Albus, people do not research," she stresses the word, "sex. They just do it. It's like flying, you know, it's not something you can-- god, why are we talking about this?"

Al frowns at his pasties. He has seven in his lap. "Well, that's the thing though, isn't it? Nobody who's done it talks about it. Like, after you've done your cherry, you go mum. And that's total elitist crap. The proletariat deserves to know, Rose!"

"Sometimes I wish you didn't take Muggle Studies," she tells him.

"Father has sex books," I say.

"Wow, really?" Al asks. "What kind?"

"Look, if you two are just going to talk dirty, I'm leaving," Rose says.

"But it's not dirty!" Al insists. "Well, his dad's books probably are, but… anyway, what I'm saying is, I want to be in the know. I don't want to, like, fumble through it for my entire life and get divorced because I suck at it. It's a life skill, Rose!"

"People don't get divorced for things like that," Rose says. Pauses. "Do they?"

"They might," he tells her.

"His father never went to Knockturn Alley," I say.

"For what?" she asks.

"Oh honestly, Score, give it up already! Look, it's completely insane. He thinks Dad's going to buy me a hooker when I turn seventeen. Like it's some ancient Wizarding rite or something. Don't listen to him," Al says.

Rose frowns. "Well, I always did think purebloods would have strange and arcane rituals…"

"They don't," Al insists.

I shake my head. "You're wrong. I know because I'm invisible."

"Invisible?" she asks.

I explain.

She rolls her eyes. "You're not invisible. You just sneak up on people when they don't expect it and catch them saying things."

"Doesn't do much good when they do expect it," Al tells her.

"A watched cauldron never boils," I add.

"That makes no sense," she says.

"You've never met Grandfather," I inform her.

Al says, "Look, it's a matter of pride for us, okay? If you can't satisfy your partner, you're not a real man. Also, we don't want to end up with a ton of SUV's like Lara."

"Lara Leigh Lupin," I say. "Absolutely atrocious alliteration."

"I hope Teddy breaks up with her before his bits turn orange," Al says.

Rose clears her throat. "I am going to check on Hugo and Lily. When I get back, I'm going have forgot this conversation ever took place. I advise my friends to do the same."

I take another bite of my wand. Her hair sweeps out the door like an auburn storm. She'd be a hit in Egypt. A shame I only have two eyelids.

"So your dad really has sex books?" Al asks.

"Dozens," I tell him. "Hidden in his room. And a Quidditch manual."

Al frowns. "What, naked witches on brooms or something? Like the Holyhead Harpies keeper? Did you see she showed her knickers?"

"No, a strategy guide," I tell him. "Quidditch off the Pitch."

"Oh," he says. "Well… what about the rest?"

I shrug. "Mostly just pictures. And a marriage counsellor advert."

"Whoa," says Al. His eyes go wide. "That's not good."

"It's old. Under a bunch of magazines," I tell him. "They had a fight over holiday."

"Oh. Brilliant, then," he says. "Did you, um. Did you find any, like, man books? Like, blokes diddling each other or anything?"

"Just the Quidditch," I say. "Lots of diagrams. But I'll check back over Easter. Maybe he'll buy more."

"Cool," he says, and opens a pasty. "So tell me about the naked girl stuff. In graphic detail."

Half an hour later, he tells me I'm back on the cool list. Though he'll never look at butterbeer the same again.

* * * * *

Al swings his feet out the window of the Owlery. A tawny flies over his head. He leans against the stone and sighs, letter in his hand.

"You're sitting in owl shit," I tell him.

He blinks. "Hey, Score. Didn't see you." Turns back to look out across the grounds.

"Has the Minister cancelled Quidditch?" I ask.

"Not… that I know of," he says. "Why?"

"You look unsettled," I tell him.

He fusses with the letter. Folds and unfolds it. "Unsettled, huh?"

I'm not good at judging what other people think, or how they feel. People don't make much sense, sometimes. They yell when you're wrong, then they ask why you don't yell back. Best not to assume. "Maybe," I say. Though Al would never yell.

"I wish Mum would just die already," he tells me.

"Funerals are terribly expensive," I say.

"She wants to like, steal me," he says. "They're having a custody hearing. Can you believe it? I can't live with her!"

"Seems greedy," I tell him. "She already has the other two."

"Well, technically, she doesn't have any of us," he says. "Dad has full custody, but you know, he's always super busy with his job and stuff, and he didn't know what to do with us. Lily and James wanted to live with Mum, so he just ended up letting them. I used to spend time with her, but I told Dad I didn't want to go anymore. She couldn't make me because she wasn't really supposed to have me anyway."

"So she wants to make you now?" I ask.

He shrugs. "Maybe. I mean, she has to pay Dad, too. Child Support and… Alley Money, they call it. She wrote all those exclusive articles on the last World Cup and made buckets of Galleons, and Dad took a pay cut so he could hire Uncle Percy and Professor Snape. The Wizengamot says you've got to have it all equal after the divorce. She was really angry. She wanted the house."

"It's magically bound to Potter blood," I say. "Even if he died and willed it to her, she couldn't have it whilst a male heir still lives."

"Yeah. How did you know that?" he asks. "Oh right, invisible, forgot for a minute. So yeah, basically Mum got the shaft. I don't think she really wants me, she just wants to make Dad angry. You'd think he was the one who divorced her."

"I think he should've done," I tell him. "Father says she has pyromaniacal tendencies."

He snorts. "Yeah. And if I have to live with her… she'd never let me see you. Ever. I'd have to… I'd run away."

"Your father could arrest her," I suggest. "She couldn't have custody in Azkaban."

"Dad? Step a toe outside the line? Right," he says.

"Can they take away your children after you've saved the world?" I ask.

He sighs. "That was a long time ago. He's got grey hair now. At his temples, have you seen? You can't be the Boy Who Lived when you've got grey hair. People don't like it."

"We could run away together," I suggest. "To Turkmenistan. Grandmother says they have excellent caviar. You could open a restaurant."

"Yeah, maybe," he says. Stuffs the letter into his pocket. His feet kick against the stone. "Hogwarts looks cool from this high up, doesn't it?" he asks.

"If you fall, you'll have a long time to contemplate the foolishness of sitting on windowsills," I say.

He tells me, "They say if you've got to go, drowning is really pretty painless. Like, dreamy sort of because your brain loses oxygen."

"Wouldn't it be impossible to compare?" I ask. "You can only die once."

"Dunno," he says. He swings his legs around and slides down onto the floor. Owl pellets by his feet. "It's like, ironic, right? I mean, how the divorce is all Mum's fault, but if she hadn't done it, we wouldn't be friends. I don't know what I'd do without you as a friend."

"Wear less makeup," I tell him.

He snorts. He's not wearing any today. "Honestly, though. You're the best ever. And Dad seems really happy-- I saw his picture in the Prophet the other day, and he looks like he's even a bit of lost weight."

"I hope so," I tell him.

He sticks out his tongue. Smiles. "Your dad's cool too, I like him. Slytherin and a bit nasty, and I can respect that. And they don't ever seem to get sick of each other, him and Dad. And it's like, them being together is all because of Mum, but I'm still angry at her. It's this ache in my insides. Do you think it'll ever go away?"

"Probably not," I say.

"You know, you're allowed to lie at times like these if it makes me feel better," he tells me. Rolls his eyes.

I shrug. "Father says only lie when you can't get caught."

He sighs, then nods. "Your dad's pretty clever. If they moved in together, would he be my dad too? Step-father or something? Do you think he'd let me call him Dad?" he asks.

"Dad is low class, you'd have to call him Father. And I think he'd have to be divorced first," I say.

"Right, right, one step at a time, I know. But how cool would that be? And then we'd both have, like, a real family. Two parents, everyone in the same house, eating dinner together every night… and maybe we could go camping. I'd really love to go camping."

"Malfoys don't camp," I tell him.

"Look, why don't you just rip all my dreams apart, okay?" he asks. "What about hotels? Do Malfoys do hotels?"

I nod. "Really expensive ones."

"Cool," he says. "I bet we could even get room service. And those little mints on our pillows, I love those. And if Lily wises up, we could bring her-- she could sleep on the couch or something, and you could do her hair. She could babble to you about nothing all day. Not James though, he's not allowed. No stupid-faced tosspots. He'll have to stay with Mum."

"Maybe your mother should date," I say.

"He'd be eating her stupid mince pies, and we'd be having Duck Ooh-La-La or something that's like mouth orgasms. I love this idea. What did you say?"

"Your mother. She should date," I repeat, "and maybe she'd forget to be vindictive for a while."

He pauses. Shakes his head. "Sorry, Score. She's still my Mum, I don't want random guys banging her. Just not on, you know?"

"Maybe they already do," I point out.

"Ugh, stop! That's so sick! Does your mum do that?" He makes a face. "Like, wiggle out of her knickers for some bloke she picks up at the pub or something? Or, not the pub, but whatever they have in… where is she now? Turkey?"

"Mummy doesn't wiggle," I say. "It's undignified."

"Bet she does," he tells me. "Bet she's a total whore. Bet she has a secret name, and she puts on strip shows. The men hoot and throw Galleons!"

"Anathema," I say. "She should call herself Anathema."

"No, no," he says. "Something sexy. Like… Sheena. Or… Porsche!"

"That is sexy," I agree.

He grins. "Why do you always make me feel better, Score?"

"She has a fake nose ring," I tell him, "and she does belly dances dressed like a Nubian princess." I raise my hands and demonstrate the dance.

He laughs so hard, the owls start scolding him. One of them defecates on his leg.

"That will ruin your robes," I tell him.

When he can talk again, he says, "Your dad's a queer, and your mum does striptease for money! That-- ha! That's awesome. I mean, I know she really doesn't, but still. Awesome! Makes my family seem almost normal."

"I like when you say ha," I say.

He stands up. "Come on then, I'm fine now. Completely cured! Let's get to the library, Muggle Studies essay due tomorrow, right? Micro-wives, here we come!"