Author's note:

First, an overdue shout-out to my Britpicker, RayvenQ. He is not to blame for any of the errors you may have encountered so far, since I wrote all of that before meeting him, but now I have someone I can run things past. (Recent question: "Is the term 'booty call' hopelessly American?" Answer: yes.)

On a related topic, several people online and IRL have urged me to produce a podfic. I've wanted to do this from the start, but the obstacle has always been my American accent. I take pains to write in British English, and reading it in my dulcet Midwestern tones would ruin it. I have therefore begun taking online lessons in British Received Pronunciation (well, modern RP), which is the first step on a loooong journey towards podfic-hood. Stay tuned!

-––—––—––-

On Sunday morning, Hermione wriggled her fingers, and they wriggled back at her from across the room, next to the bed curtain. But I'm in bed, she thought. Shouldn't the bed curtain be right here? Not to mention my hand.

Ryan was still asleep on the ceiling, and also next to her on the bed. She stroked his hair with her fingers, which were still across the room somehow, and he purred contentedly from outside the window. But why's the window on the floor? If that is the floor.

She put her foot on the alleged floor, and the room shifted ... into her hand. Hang on, she thought. If the room's in my hand, where am I?

There was a door, but she was undressed, so she looked first for the wardrobe. At first she only saw it in her hand, so she poked it, which caused a full-sized wardrobe to wobble behind her.

'There you are!' she whispered, opening it. It was full of strange clothing, some of which seemed to have too many sleeves, but a dressing gown hung from a hook. She put it on and tentatively tried the lone door.

'Oh my!' she exclaimed, looking inside. It was a disconcertingly normal and perfectly functional bathroom, which had the effect of making the rest of the suite seem even weirder. Not finding any other doors, she decided to ask for help.

'Excuse me,' she said, tapping the sleeping portrait with her wand. 'I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm a bit disorientated.'

The portrait, which was simultaneously in her hand and on the wall, said, 'As am I, young miss. We're awfully far down the corridor.'

Ryan was still asleep, so she stepped closer to the portrait, noticing she too was in her own hand. 'Yes, the corridor—I remember it now. What's your name?'

'I'm Typhon Black. I was Head of House from 1510 until 1542.'

'Really? Those were the glory days of House Black, weren't they?'

'Our glory is eternal,' he said stiffly. 'But yes, our wealth and power were unmatched during my reign.'

Hermione tried not to snigger. 'Your reign? That's a bit grandiose, don't you think?'

'Not even slightly. In those days, House Black was revered above all others. Not only did we dominate wizarding society, but we were the power behind the Muggle throne.'

'The Muggle throne?' she whispered. 'Henry the Eighth, you mean?'

'Yes. I guided his wars and oversaw the dissolution of the monasteries. It was a highly profitable time for House Black.'

Hermione's eyes shot open. 'You mean when Henry the Eighth broke from the Catholic Church and seized all their assets?'

'I see you are unusually well informed, young miss. Although Henry didn't get all their assets. We Blacks levied a price.'

Historical details stirred from her memory. 'Didn't the Crown sell most of the seized property to pay for wars?'

'They did. And I Imperiused the Royal Treasurer to divert a percentage of those payments to House Black. Furthermore, I brokered many of the land sales, taking a healthy portion as well. I was an exceedingly influential wizard, and I quadrupled the family fortune.'

Hermione was simultaneously horrified and impressed. Stealing from the Catholic Church and the British Crown was a brilliant way to make money, if you haven't any scruples. 'That was quite a feat,' she whispered, still mindful of the sleeping Ryan. 'But what did you think when subsequent generations squandered it all?'

'I was disgusted. For a century after my death, my descendants revered me and sought my guidance on all matters. But in time they grew weary of my advice, which required more hard work than they cared to do. They opted instead for idiot schemes, presented by more enterprising witches and wizards who drained the fortune I so laboriously built. Their idleness was a source of constant shame.'

'Yes, and their profligacy as well,' said Hermione quietly.

'That I do not fault,' said Typhon. 'A house such as ours must distinguish itself in all respects. But without initiative and ingenuity—and the creation of new wealth—grand display is but a fire that consumes itself.'

Hermione couldn't resist asking him about Harry. 'What do you think of the current Head of House?'

Typhon furrowed his brow. 'I am of two minds. He is a Light wizard, which deprives him of the family's true source of power. Furthermore, he lacks the boldness to fully profit from all the opportunities within his reach.'

'Such as?'

'My portrait hangs in various halls of power, both wizarding and Muggle, and I see numerous ways he could increase the family wealth. For example, he could leverage his status as a war hero—which is known to certain highly-placed Muggles—and thereby gain access to the highest tiers of Muggle society. From there, he need only Imperius and Obliviate his way to untold riches.'

'Are you proposing he become a cat burglar?' whispered Hermione, aghast.

'Spare me your Muggle pejoratives. All the Noble Houses were founded on reappropriated assets—it is our birthright as magical beings. But if hands-on acquisition is beneath him, I suggest he explore the stock market or foreign currency exchange. A magical nudge in one direction or the other can cause a temporary swing, yielding enormous profits to the investor. I could be of great assistance, should he desire.'

'Er, I'll pass that along,' said Hermione, knowing Harry wouldn't be interested.

'As for our young Head of House,' continued Typhon, 'my opinion is nonetheless favourable. He's poised to earn far more than he spends—which is the highest virtue—and yet he is no puritan. I explored the house last night and saw much to be proud of. Though he should really replace the silver.'

'Right, he'll never do that,' said Hermione. 'But you explored the house? Does that mean I can get out of here? The only door I saw goes to the loo, which was very strange indeed.'

'No, there's another door up there,' said the portrait, pointing to the corner of the ceiling. 'It will take you to the corridor, where all will become clear.'

The door was barely larger than a deck of cards. 'Isn't it a bit small?' she asked.

'That's just perspective. You'll be the same size when you reach it.'

'I see. Thank you, and it was very nice meeting you. I'm Hermione Granger, by the way.'

'Yes, I know. You're a Light witch, are you not?'

'That's right. I study with Harry.'

'So unfortunate, and such a waste of talent. Won't you reconsider?'

'No, Light magic is brilliant. But thanks for your concern.'

She walked towards the tiny door, effortlessly traversing the air. I suppose I'm flying, but it feels normal, she thought with a shrug. The door was Hermione-sized by the time she arrived, and she tentatively turned the handle.

The room gently ejected her, and she found herself barefoot in the absurdly long corridor. Following a hunch, she reached into the pocket of her dressing gown and found her wand, which she used to conjure slippers. Mischief managed, she thought, and she went in search of food.

Harry's door was closed, and she wondered who he'd gone to bed with. He'd disappeared relatively early, presumably to maximise his time with whoever had accompanied him. Time is of the essence if you're not going to see her again, she mused, but she mostly felt indulgent towards her old friend.

She passed Ron on the staircase. 'Hermione!' he exclaimed. 'What are you doing here?'

'Same thing you are, I assume.' He was carrying a tray with two plates of food, two mugs, and a pot of tea. 'Did you find those in the dining room?'

'Yeah, the house-elves put out a buffet, and the tray is feather-light. There's even a stack of Prophets,' he said, indicating the rolled-up newspaper under his arm.

'Oh dear. Is Harry on the cover?'

'No, but there's a huge section inside with Pensieve drawings. You and Ryan are in there, along with heaps of other people. Malfoy, even.'

'And you, I assume?'

Ron grimaced. 'Yeah. But Janet looks good at least. Did you have a good time?'

'I did, although our room is seriously weird. How about yours?'

'Completely mental,' said Ron. 'I swear, there was more than one of me in there, and Janet too. Fun, though.'

Hermione nodded, and she refrained from saying something similar about Ryan. 'You two seem like a good match,' she said. 'I'm glad you realised we weren't suited to one another.'

Ron's ears turned pink. 'Er, yeah. Though I still feel bad about blindsiding you like that.'

'I was oblivious, so there was no way around it. And everything you said was true. I did treat you like a child, and you deserve far better.'

'You helped me grow up,' he admitted. 'If it weren't for you, I'd probably still talk with my mouth full and be jealous of Harry. Not to mention I'd be dead.'

'I still can't believe we survived,' she said. 'And that Harry is ... well, you know.' She gestured vaguely, indicating the house.

'I know, right? Talk about buried personality traits! Turns out there was a lot hiding behind that scar of his.'

'Is he downstairs?' asked Hermione. 'Do you know who he slept with?'

'Yeah, he's downstairs, and the answer is "no one."'

'What!' she exclaimed, causing the other guests to turn. 'Are you serious?'

'Unless she left early and he's covering it up, Harry found a new way to shock everyone.'

'By not being promiscuous,' said Hermione, shaking her head in disbelief. 'Did he say why?'

'Just that there's someone he fancies, and he wants to go about things properly. But mind you, keep that under your hat.'

'Understood. Well, don't let me keep you. And ... it was nice talking.'

'Likewise,' he replied. In a quieter voice he said, 'I've missed you.'

'I've missed you too. Do you think we can be friends yet?'

He chuckled. 'Today is Sunday—how about dinner at the Burrow? Ryan can come too, if he likes.'

'Tempting,' she said. 'He's not free tonight—he's meeting with his old Charms professor—but I'm available. Maybe we can even lure Harry, if he's not off wooing this mysterious new witch.'

She said goodbye and continued towards the dining room. Other guests were milling about and eating, but there was no sign of Harry, so she grabbed a croissant and went down to the sitting room. 'Good morning,' she said, and he looked up.

'Hermione! What a nice surprise. Is Ryan here as well?' Harry was at the writing table responding to fan mail, wearing jeans and his striped French jersey.

'No, he's still asleep. Have you been up long?'

'Yes, for ages. Did you have a good time? How was your guest room?'

'Surreal. Uncanny. We were planning to go home, but Ryan insisted we take a peek, and I think it swallowed us.' She told him about the room, and also about her conversation with Typhon Black. 'It turns out the Blacks stole from the Catholic Church and the British Crown during the reign of Henry the Eighth.'

Harry sighed. 'Why am I not surprised? This house was stolen too, you know. Why exactly did I take their name?'

'To rehabilitate it.'

'Right, by flogging underwear. Want to see the photos?'

'You have them?' exclaimed Hermione.

'Yeah, they arrived by owl this morning. Luckily no one else was around, although the secret's already out. Rita knows, and so does everyone in the modelling community.'

'Enough talk, Potter-Black. Let's see what you've got.'

Harry pressed his thumb to a drawer, which slid open. 'I can't believe I'm showing you this, but I'm supposed to send back my approval, and I could use your advice,' he said, pulling an envelope from the drawer.

'Will you also ask Lisa and Gemma?'

'Er, probably not. Although maybe I should get Janet to weigh in, or even Ginny.'

'Shouldn't you ask some wizards as well?' said Hermione, opening the envelope. 'They're the target audience, after all.'

'Good point. I'll see if Suresh and Darren are around.'

She pulled out the small stack of photos and examined the one on top, which depicted only Harry. To her relief it was a Muggle photograph, and it showed Harry against a neutral background wearing white boxer briefs. He was looking directly at the camera and running a hand through his hair, but not blocking his scar. He wore a cheeky half-smile, and his eyes radiated love.

'You were experiencing Light magic, weren't you?'

'Is it that obvious?'

'To me, yes, but maybe not to a layperson. It's a great photograph, though,' she said, and she meant it. Harry looked compassionate, clever, and incredibly sexy, and his Seeker/Auror physique would surely inspire wizards to start exercising. Maybe I should start teaching Spinning, she thought, amused by the mental image of a roomful of wizards on stationary bicycles.

'Are you sure it's not too smarmy?' he asked.

'No, it's good.' She flipped to the next photo, depicting him and Sophie, and her jaw dropped. As in the other photograph, Harry's torso was in full view, and Sophie was turned towards him, her bra and knickers in profile. She was gazing into his eyes, but he was unmistakably looking at her lips, and Hermione could almost feel his longing. Sophie's thumb tugged at the waistband of his boxer shorts, and there was no question what would happen next. Yet there was a deep tenderness between them, which lent grace to their otherwise raw sexuality.

'Oh, Harry,' she exclaimed. 'That's lovely. It's obvious you and Sophie care about each other. But did you really have to pose during your celibacy vow?'

'Yes, and it was hours before we were able to actually kiss. My look of desperation is entirely authentic.'

'You're a hero,' she said, looking at the other photos. 'And these are all good. Do you need to choose, or just approve them?'

'The latter. These are the photos they'll provide to the distribution partners, assuming I don't reject any of them first. But they look fine to me.'

More than fine, thought Hermione, and she was keen to see if Ryan was awake. 'So that's it? Do you need to do any more work, or it is just pay cheques from now on?'

'They want me to do some publicity in America, including a radio broadcast, but other than that I'm done. And yes, this is what selling out looks like.'

With a chuckle, she said, 'At least you didn't bankrupt the Royal Exchequer.'

'Or starve the Irish,' he said. 'I can only hope that by the nineteenth century the Blacks were too busy squandering gold to actively abet the Irish Famine.'

Hermione sighed. 'The Goyles were in India,' she said glumly. 'I researched them, and it turns out they made a fortune plundering the subcontinent. They were actually clever a few centuries ago, if you can believe it. Immoral, but clever.'

Harry looked at her sympathetically. 'I suppose we should be grateful your ancestor was a Squib, because obviously you're nothing like them. And I hope you'll tell me if you ever find any dirt on the Potters.'

'No, I looked into them and they were fine. Prosperous, and occasionally influential, but otherwise innocuous. There's a reason they never ascended to the wizarding elite.'

'Until now,' muttered Harry. 'Do you think I'm pretentious? Be honest.'

Hermione took a bite of her croissant before answering. 'Maybe a little, but it's understandable, given the circumstances.'

'And which circumstances are you referring to?'

'House Black. You never asked to inherit, and the only reason you even identify with the Blacks is because Sirius asked you to. Furthermore, your most pretentious behaviour has been to dress well and entertain in style, which are actually very gracious, if you think about it.'

Harry looked puzzled. 'Er, can you walk me through it?'

She drew herself up before answering. 'On the one hand, someone could say you're dressing well to get attention. But you get attention regardless, so what you're really doing is making an offering. After all, it's much pleasanter to look at someone who's well dressed, as opposed to someone who's slovenly. Assuming your goal isn't to make people feel inferior, which I'm sure it isn't.'

'Good lord no! Although that's the impression I got from Lucius Malfoy, which in hindsight may have been unjust.'

'He used to insult people to their faces!' said Hermione. 'Don't you remember how he treated the Weasleys at Flourish and Blotts, back before second year?'

'Right, good point. But he was probably also a dandy, which I really can't hold against him.'

Hermione was unconvinced but let it drop. 'Anyway, your other pretentious behaviour is the way you entertain, which you've made as egalitarian as possible. I can't tell you how many people I met last night from schools like Wipperham, North Squiffing, and Tinkerton. And none of them complained about how pretentious you are, unless you count Andrew Gilstrap.'

'Did you talk to him?' asked Harry.

'Yes, early on. He came to the roof, and I gave him an earful.'

'Interesting. Are there any highlights I should know about?'

'Let's see ... there was the bit where he said I'm not a real Muggle-born because I went to Hogwarts and jumped straight to the apex of wizarding society. Ryan pointed out that being a Muggle-born at Hogwarts not only got me petrified by a Basilisk, but it also made me a bigger target for Death Eaters than I would have been otherwise.'

'Did Gilstrap buy it?'

'Not initially. He said obscurity is a fundamental part of the Muggle-born experience, and that I lost any claim to obscurity as soon as you and I became friends.'

'That's complete bollocks,' said Harry. 'You lost any claim to obscurity on the first day of classes, when you started earning points for Gryffindor. And next time he complains about obscurity, point out that it kept his parents safe during the war.'

'Ryan already did. He got a little emotional, to be honest—I think he's more upset about my scars than I am.'

Harry was silent a moment. 'You didn't show Gilstrap the scar from Bellatrix, did you?'

'Yes, actually. Ryan was mortified, but Gilstrap needed a lesson, and obviously I have nothing to be ashamed of. So I cancelled the glamour on my arm and showed it to him.'

'How did he take it?'

'He was dumbstruck—he clearly didn't expect to see the word "Mudblood" carved into my arm. Honestly, I was reminded of when you punched him; he's so convinced he's right, that he's completely bewildered whenever he finds out he's wrong.'

'I'm sorry,' said Harry. 'I hope that wasn't too painful for you.'

'It was fine. What's the use of having a scar like that if I can't make a point with it every now and then?'

Harry glanced up towards his own scar. 'Whereas they charmed my scar darker before the photo shoot to ensure it showed up on film,' he said with a grimace.

'If they had any idea what it really signified,' said Hermione, shaking her head.

'I know, right? Anyway, was there anything else from your conversation with Gilstrap? The reason I'm asking is because he apologised to me last night, and he said my friends convinced him he'd treated me unfairly.'

'Interesting. At one point he said you were showing off with the ice sculptures and so forth, and I told him what Davina said, about how you were actually striking a blow against the Dark Arts with your decor.'

'You told him you're studying Light magic?'

'I didn't say I was experiencing it, but yes. And as I said, I'm ready to go public.'

'Right, about that,' began Harry. 'Would you be willing to sign some of the books we've purified, to auction off for charity?' He told her about the WORF gala, and Hermione noticed he mentioned someone named Fiona several times.

'Have I met this Fiona?' she asked.

'I don't think so, but you might have seen us dancing last night. Dark hair, mixed-race, I think. Very pretty.'

Is this his new love interest? she wondered. 'No, but I hope I'll meet her. And yes, I'd be glad to sign those books.'

'There you are!' came Ryan's voice, and Hermione turned around.

She burst out laughing. 'Oh my god, what are you wearing? You look like Hugh Hefner!''

He looked down at the silk dressing gown with the Black Family crest. 'I found it in the wardrobe,' he said sheepishly. 'What happened to our clothes?'

'I'm not sure, but we can try Summoning them later. Do you have your wand?'

'Yes, it was in the pocket, oddly enough. But do you mind if I get breakfast first?'

'I'll join you,' she said, amused by his unfailing need for food. 'Harry, can I bring you something, or would you rather we let you alone?'

'No, please come back. I'd enjoy company—just not a million more strangers to greet. And I could fancy a pain au chocolat.'

'Well done! Obviously Sophie is teaching you French pronunciation.'

'Actually, Lodie is. She has a habit of repeating back any French words I mangle too badly. I don't think she realises she's doing it, and I'm just hoping Kreacher doesn't catch on.'

Hermione and Ryan went up to the dining room, which was positively crowded. When they returned with their food, Ryan told Harry, 'I saw Darren and invited him down. He was just waiting for his partner to arrive.'

'It's past ten o'clock and he's not trying to ditch her?' exclaimed Harry. 'Remarkable! Perhaps he's found love at last.'

'Don't count on it—he couldn't remember her name. He asked me to get it out of her, but I'm sorely tempted not to.'

They chatted whilst eating, and Hermione perused the Daily Prophet. 'I can't believe how many drawings they included!' she said. 'Those artists must have been at it all night.'

The drawing of Harry was largest, of course, faithfully depicting his eye makeup, dress, and platform boots. Other drawings were clearly done more hastily, the level of detail in direct proportion to the subject's fame or social standing. She and Ryan, for example, were faithfully drawn, although their picture wasn't as large as Harry's, and anyone with a Wizengamot surname was prominently featured as well. Charles and Esme Selwyn were portrayed to advantage, as were Lydia and Marcus.

But the largest non-Harry drawing depicted Draco Malfoy and Catherine White. 'Are they really engaged?' asked Hermione. The caption said, "We note Miss White's diamond and emerald earrings and expect she will soon grace these pages under a different name."

'Yes, unofficially,' said Harry. 'They'll announce it next week.' Hermione thought she detected a note of disapproval in his voice, or even resignation, but he was signing photographs so she couldn't read his expression.

'What do you think of her?'

'I can't say I know her very well, but Draco's mad about her. Did you talk to them?'

'Yes. Draco congratulated me for upgrading from Ron to Ryan, and he kindly pointed out that I'm probably more comfortable around Ryan's family anyway.' Imitating Malfoy's drawl, she said, 'Shared culture, you know.'

'Er, forgive me for pointing this out, but you do prefer Ryan's parents to Molly and Arthur.'

'I know,' she said guiltily. 'But there was no way I was going to tell him that. As for Catherine, she struck me as very well-bred. I don't think she'll have any trouble adapting to life at Malfoy Manor, except perhaps for power struggles with Narcissa.'

Harry looked past her. 'Darren!' he called. 'Come in!'

Hermione turned and saw the Cannons Chaser poking his head into the sitting room. 'Hold on, let me fetch Lila. She keeps wandering off somehow. Oh wait, here she is.'

To everyone's astonishment, in walked Luna Lovegood. She was no longer dressed as Dumbledore but instead wore a sort of toga fashioned from what looked like a bedsheet. It didn't cover her very well, but her long blonde hair filled in the gaps, along with a garland of flowers.

'Luna!' exclaimed Harry. 'Er, how are you? Are you here with Darren?'

'Is that your name?' she asked Darren dreamily. 'I thought it was Darwin. May I call you that instead?'

'Call me anything you like,' murmured Darren, staring at her precariously placed garland. 'But you didn't say you knew Harry.'

'You didn't ask,' replied Luna. 'Besides, I enjoyed hearing your stories about him. I almost got the sense you were trying to impress me, though I can't imagine why.'

'We went to Hogwarts together,' said Harry. 'She's one of my closest friends, and she was with us at the battle in the Ministry.'

'You were in battle?' said Darren admiringly. 'A wee thing like yourself?'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Of course she was, and size makes no difference.'

'Oh yes it does,' said Luna, looking up at Darren. 'The entire social hierarchy of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack is determined by horn size.'

'Which one is that again?' he asked.

'The one with the mating ritual I told you about.'

'Showed me, more like,' said Darren suggestively. 'Perhaps you could remind me after we eat.'

'No, I told Daddy I'd help him with the new issue. He needs me home by eleven.'

Turning to Harry, he said, 'She calls her father "Daddy." Usually that makes my skin crawl, but not when Lila does it.'

'Her name is Luna!' snapped Hermione.

'I don't mind,' she said, her eyes still twinkling from the potion she'd taken to look like Dumbledore. 'Names can be so confining, don't you think?'

'I agree entirely,' said Darren. 'Harry, where have you been hiding this treasure?'

'Oh, for Merlin's sake,' muttered Hermione, spearing her potatoes more vehemently than before.

'Ahem, that'll be three Sickles,' said Ryan.

'I spent the night in an impossible bedroom in an impossible house,' she argued. 'I think I get a free pass.'

They continued eating, and Harry showed the underwear photographs to Darren, Ryan, and Luna. 'I think they're lovely,' said Luna. 'But I'm surprised you'd endorse something like that.'

'Because it's indecent?' asked Harry.

'No, because brassieres are a magnet for Nargles. That's why I never wear one.'

'I heartily approve,' said Darren. 'And yes, Snitchbottom, the photos are brilliant. You'll have no trouble hitting triple figures now.'

'I don't want to hit triple figures!' said Harry. 'I hope I never come close.'

'Never say never. By the way, who did you wind up with last night?'

'No one.'

'No one what?' asked Darren, confused.

'No one at all. There's someone I fancy, and I can't very well win her over while I'm hooking up right and left.'

'Harry, that's wonderful!' said Hermione. 'Who is it?'

'Er, I'd rather not say. Not that I don't trust you, but I have hardly any secrets, and I'd prefer this not get out yet.'

'Like that prophecy?' smirked Darren. 'Your world-renowned manhood ... priceless! How long have you known about it?'

Harry turned pale. 'What?' he rasped.

'Surely you've heard it! Otherwise you wouldn't have flung it at Draco Malfoy last night.'

'Of course I've heard it, but how do you know what it says?'

Hermione didn't have a high opinion of Darren, but his look of remorse was unmistakable. 'I'm sorry, I thought you realised,' he said. 'Everyone upstairs is talking about it—several people asked the portraits, who all seem to know it by heart.'

'I should have known,' sighed Harry, running a hand through his hair. 'I first heard about it from Banthora, maybe a fortnight ago. I never wanted it made public, but what else is new?'

'I didn't hear it,' said Luna. 'What does it say?'

Harry recited the prophecy in a dull voice. '"The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black will choose the scion of a lesser branch. Son of purity, son of sacrifice, his manhood will be of world renown. House Black will be reborn, greater than before.'"

Luna examined the topmost photograph. 'Yes, I can definitely make out your manhood. It looks fine to me, from what I can tell. Darwin, have you seen it?'

'I'm sure Harry doesn't want us talking about this,' blurted Hermione. 'Harry, I'm so sorry the prophecy got out. Is there any way Ryan or I can help?'

Harry shrugged. 'Thanks, but I doubt it. I suppose Lee and George will trot it out on the radio, and I'll do my best to explain, same as always.'

Everyone else seemed to accept Harry's response, but Hermione suspected he was more upset than he was letting on. If only I could control my Light magic, she thought, wishing she could direct it towards him somehow.

'Are you at least pleased about the content?' asked Ryan. '"House Black will be reborn, greater than before," sounds pretty good to me.'

'Right, but couldn't that just mean it's even more grandiose?' said Harry.

'Good point,' said Darren. 'Not only will your offspring belong to a noble house and inherit a shit-ton of gold—they'll also be descendants of the great Harry Potter, who killed Voldemort, flew for England, and shagged a hundred witches.'

'Oi!'

'Don't blame me, it's right there in the prophecy!' said Darren.

'No, I think it's about his cock,' said Luna, scrutinising another photograph. 'Do you have any idea how it compares to Voldemort's?'

'Luna, Harry doesn't want to talk about this!' said Hermione.

Harry shot her a grateful look, and Ryan said, 'There's no way your offspring could be more grandiose than the Blacks were already. I talked to the portrait in our room, and he claimed his grandson—Pomponius Black—deserved the credit for defeating the Spanish Armada. So I'm sure the prophecy refers to Light magic, or being a force for good.'

The lines on Harry's forehead smoothed, and Hermione was proud of Ryan for saying just the right thing. 'Harry, don't forget your offspring will be Potters as well,' she said. 'And for centuries the Potters have been an honourable family, for the most part.'

'For the most part?' asked Harry, frowning again.

She smirked. 'Apparently there was a bank robber with a ten-thousand Galleon price on his head. But he was the exception.'

Luna didn't sit down to eat, but instead stood transfixed by the dust motes in a lone sunbeam near the window. She occasionally Summoned a piece of food from her plate but was otherwise silent.

'I've never met anyone like her,' said Darren. 'Did you see her outfit last night?'

'Wasn't she dressed as Albus Dumbledore?' asked Ryan. 'I never realised he was your type.'

'No, later on,' said Darren. 'Her robes were too long for dancing, so she shortened them, and she was wearing these shiny boots she'd transfigured to look like Dumbledore's.'

'They're my wellingtons,' said Luna from the window. 'They go up past my knees, and they're perfect for tracking bog creatures. I just made them more narrow and added a heel and buckle.'

Lowering his voice, Darren said, 'They looked like go-go boots. And the way she danced ... it was like she didn't even care who was watching.'

'That's because she didn't,' said Harry.

'I know! I could almost imagine I was watching her through her bedroom window.'

'Like a peeping Tom?' said Hermione.

'Exactly! I got a pair of Omnioculars for my twelfth birthday, and for one blessed week Holly Reynolds didn't close her bedroom curtains,' he said reverently. 'She also had long blonde hair.'

Hermione was starting to wonder if she should warn Luna about Darren. She nudged the conversation towards Quidditch, which predictably ensnared the three Cannons, and even Ryan didn't notice when she joined Luna at the window.

'Luna, are you all right?' she asked.

'Thank you for asking,' said Luna, still entranced by the sunbeam. 'Yes, I'm fine. How are you?'

'Er, I'm fine too. But I have to admit, I'm surprised to see you and Darren together.'

'Because he plays league Quidditch?'

'No, I'm obviously the last person to cast judgment about that. But Darren isn't very ...' Hermione struggled to find the right words. 'He's not keen on monogamy, as far as I know.'

'Yes, I got that impression as well. After all, I was wearing Spectrespecs last night. Half-moon, of course.'

'And those revealed his character?' said Hermione sceptically.

'No, just his Wrackspurts. But they were quite unusual—normally they gather up here,' she said, touching her forehead, 'but his are deeper, and a bit lower. Which would almost certainly affect his appetites.'

Does Harry have them? Hermione wondered. 'And you don't mind?' she asked.

'Of course not,' said Luna. 'In fact, I was curious to observe him up close. Naturally I'd rather he were free of Wrackspurts, but I've occasionally wondered if they can be redirected or even harnessed for some kind of benefit.'

'And here I assumed last night was just physical,' said Hermione wryly.

'Oh, it was. I needn't have hooked up with him to observe his Wrackspurts. But he's very fit.'

'Will you keep seeing him?'

Luna turned to look at Darren. 'I might just. Or not ... we'll see.'

She resumed observing the sunbeam, and Hermione said, 'I guess you know what you're doing. And it sounds like you had a good time.'

Luna only nodded, and Hermione returned to where Ryan and the others were sitting. 'Do you have any big plans for this afternoon?' she asked Harry.

'None at all. It's been ages since I had a day off, and I intend to enjoy it.'

She suddenly remembered Ron's invitation to Sunday dinner. 'I'm reluctant to suggest it, but Ron invited me to the Burrow tonight, and you as well—if you're interested.'

'Really, you're ready for that?' blurted Harry, before looking embarrassed. 'Er, that probably came out wrong.'

'No, it's fine, and yes, I'm ready. Long since, really ... Ron was absolutely right to break things off, and he wasn't a bit unkind or insensitive.'

'And you started dating Ryan a week later,' said Harry, chuckling.

Hermione smiled, but she knew that wasn't the full explanation—she'd begun feeling better the night before their first date, when Luna had somehow pushed her mind to expand. She looked over at Luna, who had moved on from the sunbeam and was gently stroking the soft blanket on Harry's favourite sofa.

Darren was also watching her. 'Harry, do you have a camera?' he said quietly. 'I need to capture this.'

'Yes, but the house is still warded not to allow photographs. Sorry about that.'

Still riveted, Darren said, 'Then I'll just have to remember it. God, she's like no one I've ever met before!'

'Not even Romilda?' said Harry.

Darren grimaced and said, 'You're joking, right? What on earth possessed me to keep her around for so long?'

Hermione had a theory, but she didn't share it. 'So Harry, what about dinner tonight?'

'Yeah, count me in. I've missed hanging out with you and Ron at the same time.'

They finished eating, and Hermione and Ryan made their way back upstairs. Ryan had cleverly charmed their door to glow when he passed it, so they were able to find the room with minimal difficulty. A Summoning Charm reunited them with their clothing, and they returned to Ryan's flat in short order.

He set down the crate of albums he'd retrieved from Harry's roof. 'Mischief managed,' he said, and Hermione laughed in surprise.

'Did you learn that expression from me or from Harry?'

'From you, I think. Although you raise a good point—Harry says it too. Is it Hogwarts slang?'

'No, it's much more specific,' she said, and she told him about the Marauders' Map.

'Extraordinary! And Harry's dad and his mates created it as students?'

'They did, and I'm envious. Competitive, rather—Harry, Ron, and I could never have crafted something like that.'

'Maybe not Harry and Ron, but surely you could have worked it out, with enough free time.'

'Perhaps, but they really were extraordinary wizards. They became Animagi as well,' she said, a little forlorn.

Ryan looked at her tenderly. 'Are you really afraid you aren't as talented as they were?'

Hermione was about to dismiss his concern, but she realised she couldn't. 'Maybe not less talented, but I definitely haven't accomplished as much as I would have liked.'

'You haven't accomplished enough?' exclaimed Ryan. 'You defeated a Dark Lord! You were awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class!'

'I mean magically. Other than my Light Arts training, I'm hardly doing anything out of the ordinary with my wand. And I can't even control my Light magic yet.'

'Hermione, you're being too hard on yourself. You're learning an entire new discipline, so of course you haven't mastered it yet.'

'Harry has. He can control his glowing perfectly now, including summoning it whenever he likes. But mine is still completely accidental.'

Ryan led her to the sofa and put his arm around her. 'I understand your impatience, but if you're going to compare yourself to Harry, you should really look at the big picture.'

'What's that supposed to mean?' she asked, worried Ryan was going to start criticising him.

'You and Harry are two separate people, with different talents and abilities. Do you beat yourself up for not being a league Seeker?'

'No.'

'Does Harry beat himself up for not having ten N.E.W.T.s?'

She snorted. 'Definitely not.'

'I didn't think so. Are you upset you're not in the Prophet as often as he is?'

'No, I'm thrilled not to be. But these are silly examples ... I'm talking about Light magic, and the way he sometimes wins Quidditch matches by going into a fugue state.'

'Hermione, have you ever seen yourself with a book? You lose all track of time, and I have to remind you to eat. And when you're doing research, your quill seems to move on its own. Every time we go out you stop to buy another notebook!'

'Not every time,' she said, already starting to feel better.

'True—you bought a three-pack last week. But seriously, you mustn't compare yourself to Harry or anyone else. Not least because we'd all look like underachievers next to you.'

Something in Ryan's tone made Hermione worry. 'Do you feel that way?' she asked.

'No, I'm proud of you. Although I sometimes feel like your "dumb jock" boyfriend.'

Hermione sighed, remembering how Rita Skeeter had addressed him the night before: 'So, Ryan,' said Rita with excess familiarity. 'How does it feel to be dating a war hero?'

'It feels great,' he replied. 'Hermione is brilliant and I love her.'

'Really? So soon?'

'So it seems,' said Hermione. 'And I feel the same way.'

Rita's eyes gleamed with interest. 'Won't you let me write an article about the two of you? I could call it "The Brain and the Brawn."'

'I didn't realise I was brawny,' said Hermione. 'Although I have been exercising more.'

'Don't be silly,' said Rita. 'I was referring to your hunky Chaser—surely you're the brains of the couple. You certainly were with Ronald Weasley, and with Harry as well.'

Hermione was tempted to walk away, but Ryan said, 'That's unfair to Ron, and there's never been anything between her and Harry. Admittedly I'm not on Hermione's level—hardly anyone is—but I like to think I can hold my own on certain subjects.'

'You're certainly her cheerleader,' said Rita, indicating Ryan's costume. 'And yes, perhaps you're more clever than you look. You never did run around with C-squareds, as far as I know.'

That was when Hermione took Ryan's hand and walked away, not wanting Rita to ask why he wasn't the typical promiscuous Quidditch player. Sitting in his flat the next day, Hermione said, 'You're definitely not a dumb jock, although we should probably dress you in men's clothing again.'

Ryan looked down at his outfit. 'You mean we shouldn't go straight to my parents' house? Don't you think they want to see me dressed like this?'

'They already have done, if they saw today's Prophet.'

After showering and changing, they Apparated to the shed in his parents' back garden. The flame burned red, meaning Muggles were present, and Ryan peered out the window.

'I see people at the dining table. So if we Disillusion ourselves to get through the garden, we can ring the front doorbell.'

They did exactly that, and when the door opened Lucifer jumped at them. Walter, struggling to control him, said, 'I'm sorry—only your mum can subdue him. But she's showing Zoe how to knead dough.'

Hermione cowered in place, recalling Hagrid's boarhound, Fang. But Ryan very kindly took the brunt of Lucifer's greeting. 'Hello there, little brother,' he said affectionately. 'That's right, only Mummy can control you. But I'll show you how to handle her—I know her weaknesses.'

'Are you threatening to steal his allegiance?' called Lucinda from the kitchen. 'Lucifer, off!' The bloodhound immediately backed down and trotted towards his master. 'No, not in here—into the dining room, by the window. Good boy!'

Zoe, who was kneading dough, greeted them enthusiastically. 'Have you been to any more raves lately?'

'We were at a party last night, but there wasn't any glitter,' said Hermione, referring to their excuse when her hair started sparking.

'A university party? Or with Ryan's mates?'

Hermione wasn't sure how to answer, fearing a cascade of lies. But Ryan said, 'It was hosted by the friend who introduced us, who I work with. He had the house to himself so he put on a big do.'

Zoe didn't ask for details, and the conversation moved to safer ground. This is hard, thought Hermione. I mostly avoided anyone I had to lie to, but Ryan won't do that. She admired his family relationships but occasionally wondered how she'd keep them up indefinitely. I didn't last one afternoon with my cousins before torpedoing the Statute of Secrecy.

They joined Walter and the rest of Zoe's family in the dining room, and Hermione mostly observed the conversation. Ryan's the upstanding cousin, and Lucinda's the eccentric aunt. But who will I be? I'll never be able to talk about my work, and if we have kids I'll have to lie about their lives as well. She recalled the alienation she'd felt with her own family before telling them the truth.

Eventually Ryan's cousins left, with Zoe taking away a bowl of rising dough. Lucinda switched the house back to wizarding mode, and they sat together around the newly-cluttered table. 'It looks like everyone had a good time last night,' said Walter, indicating the Daily Prophet.

'It was fun,' said Hermione. 'And I hate to admit it, but I'm glad the drag secret got out.'

'So am I,' said Lucinda, opening to their picture. 'This definitely belongs in the scrapbook, and possibly the Christmas letter. Although Ryan would have made a splendid Brünnhilde—next time let me help you.'

'There won't be a next time!' said Ryan. 'And I think I'm past the age where my mum chooses my costume.'

'No, that's what Hermione is for. But I'd love to make an elaborate helmet sometime; I found a book of metallurgy charms and I'm itching to try them out.'

'And now you know why there are so many unfinished projects lying around,' said Ryan.

Hermione was offended on his mother's behalf, but Lucinda just laughed. 'He's absolutely right. When a new idea grabs me, I drop everything else. Except for my Healer training, of course—I'm too attached to Walter to let that go.'

'How is it going?' asked Hermione.

'Brilliantly. I'm only sorry you don't have more relations I can experiment on, although your grandparents are a goldmine. Your grandmum in particular, since she lacks a magical gene, or whatever it is your grandfather passed along.'

'Does that make a difference?'

'I wish I knew,' said Lucinda. 'Sometimes I'm tempted to tell Walter's family the truth, just for a larger sample size. But we're not allowed to, right?' she asked her husband.

'Don't start this again,' he said. 'The answer is no.'

'You're right, of course. And they'd never forgive us for lying all these years, to say nothing of what happened to your parents. I'll just have to tinker with them on the sly.'

'Have you treated anyone without their knowledge?' asked Hermione.

'Yes, Walter's aunt Ethel, last spring. She was complaining about her eyesight, and how she didn't want to go to the oculist—she's always had a phobia around people touching her eyes. After a good deal of dithering, I invited her round and gave her a strong Calming Draught, which allowed me to examine her. It was cataracts, as I suspected, so I gave her eyedrops and a bit of sleeping potion, along with a Memory Charm. When she woke up I told her she'd taken a wee nap, and we finished the visit.'

'And?' prompted Hermione.

'No mention of her eyesight. But I asked her about it the next time I saw her, and she said it had cleared up.'

Hermione couldn't read Lucinda's expression. 'How was it for you? I know how much you hate Memory Charms.'

'Honestly, I needed a drink afterwards. I felt like one of those ghastly researchers who experimented on minority populations without their consent.'

'That's ridiculous and you know it,' said Walter sharply. 'It's not as if you casually watched her die from syphilis—you cured her cataracts. And she never would have done it on her own.'

'But to treat your aunt like an ignorant child! I understand why secrecy is in place, but it's perfectly maddening sometimes.'

'So are you, my dear. But I wouldn't change a thing about you.'

'Hogwash,' said Lucinda. 'Surely you wish I were less stubborn.'

'On occasion, yes. But overall, no. For one thing, you'd never have married me if you weren't impossibly stubborn.'

'Good point. Although my stubbornness means I'll keep listing my faults until you admit there's one you'd rather be rid of.'

Hermione came away from the visit with her usual admiration for Ryan's parents, particularly their equal partnership. I didn't treat Ron as an equal, she thought sadly. But she hoped to do better now that they were resuming their friendship, and she was excited to see him and Harry that night.

She deliberately showed up late to the Burrow, not wanting to be alone with Molly, but her plan backfired. 'Hermione, dear—it's so good to see you,' said Molly when she arrived. 'Everyone else is in the shed looking at some Muggle nonsense of Arthur's, but this way I get you to myself.'

'Er, how are you doing? And may I help with anything?'

'No, I have everything sorted,' she said, using her wand to set the table. 'As for how I'm doing, I'm over the moon! I assume you've heard about Bill and Fleur.'

'Yes, congratulations. They're very excited, and I know they'll be wonderful parents.'

'Do you think so?' asked Molly. 'Obviously I'm not worried about Bill, but what about Fleur? I'd have expected her to be more enthusiastic about pregnancy, but she doesn't seem to want to talk about it.'

'I think she's just reserved, but I know she'll be a terrific mum. She took such good care of us during the war, after we escaped Malfoy Manor.'

'Yes, of course. I'd forgotten about that,' said Molly. 'I suppose she'd rather talk about her pregnancy with people her own age. Although you'd think she'd want advice from someone who's been through it more than once.'

'I'm sure she'll have more questions later on,' said Hermione, wondering what could be so fascinating in Arthur's shed.

'I hope so. But tell me, did you enjoy Harry's party last night?'

'I did, thanks. Did you see the drawings in this morning's Prophet?'

Molly's eyes lit up. 'Oh yes! The family was so well represented—even Percy! Next time Harry throws a party we'll have to get Charlie there.' With a sniffle, she said, 'Perhaps he'd meet a nice witch at last. I'm afraid the situation in Romania is hopeless.'

Hermione had no desire to point out that Charlie probably didn't fancy witches, so she asked about the drawings instead. 'What did you think of Harry's outfit?'

'I still don't know what to make of that boy. I love him to pieces, but I sometimes worry Dumbledore scrambled him beyond hope.'

'Scrambled beyond hope?' exclaimed Hermione. 'For throwing a drag party?'

'No, I understand that wasn't his idea. But ... everything else. He's so wild now, and so promiscuous! I'm almost relieved he and Ginny are no longer together, since I wonder whether he'd have been faithful.'

'Harry never even looked at another witch when he and Ginny were together!'

'Perhaps, but now he has a taste for variety. The article said witches were throwing themselves at him right and left, and that he didn't seem to mind. Do you really think he'll settle for one witch when he could have a harem?'

Hermione was sorely tempted to tell Molly about Ginny's Hogwarts shenanigans during the war, which were far from monogamous. 'Harry's very romantic, actually, and he'd like nothing more than to settle down with one witch.'

'I'll believe it when I see it,' scoffed Molly. 'In the meantime, he's associating with blood purists! Not to mention allowing Rita Skeeter into the house, after everything she's done.'

'He and Rita have an alliance,' said Hermione, who nevertheless agreed with Molly on that topic. 'As for blood purists, he's trying to prevent the next war, and I think he's on the right track.'

'Draco Malfoy's just using him,' said Molly darkly. 'Mark my words, he'll stab Harry in the back.'

Hermione wasn't sure how to respond, since she was also suspicious of Malfoy. After a silence, she said, 'Harry claims they have a lot in common, oddly enough. He says that even though they were on opposite sides of the war, their experiences weren't totally dissimilar.'

'Stuff and nonsense!' said Molly. 'Draco Malfoy spent the war at Hogwarts, or at home in the lap of luxury. He should never have been released from house arrest, but of course that's water under the bridge.'

The front door swung open and there was a clatter of noise as people returned from the shed. 'I'm sorry, Molly,' called Arthur. 'It's taking longer than I intended, because everyone wants a go. But it looks like you're not ready yet. Do you need help setting up?'

'No, I've got Ginny,' she said. 'Ginny! Come here and help!'

Ginny scowled. 'Mum, this is my one day off!'

'Nonsense, you didn't fly yesterday,' said Molly. 'And you already know what to do.'

Trudging to the kitchen, Ginny said, 'Because you didn't teach any of the boys. Sexist much?'

'Are you sure I can't help?' asked Hermione.

'No,' ordered Ginny. 'Save yourself while you can!'

Hermione went to the lounge, where she saw Bill and Fleur. 'Fleur, how are you?' she asked.

'I am very happy to see you here,' said Fleur, kissing her on both cheeks. 'I have missed you terribly at Sunday dinner. But where is your beau mec Chaser?'

Hermione told her about Ryan's independent study, and Fleur said, 'I was perhaps wrong when I said he is not for you, and that you are meant for Harry.'

Bill feigned shock. 'Hermione, did you hear that? Fleur admitted she was wrong about something. Could this be some new pregnancy symptom?'

'You are horrible,' said Fleur to her husband. 'And I am never wrong about you. But Hermione and Harry have changed very much since the summer, and I cannot say that they are destined for one another.'

'Does this mean Gabrielle is back in the running?' asked Hermione, amused.

'No, Harry is impatient to fall in love, and she is too young. And someone must stay in France with our parents.'

They chatted until the others returned from the shed and sat to eat. But before serving, Molly paused to beam at the assembled group. 'It does my heart good to see Harry and Hermione here again. Although it puts me in mind of Fred,' she said, sniffling.

Arthur was at the opposite end of the table, and he looked at her with a mixture of affection and alarm, clearly afraid she'd start crying. Hermione glanced at George, whose high spirits vanished, and his features looked like a hollow mask.

She was wondering whether to speak when Harry said, 'Thank you for including us. Ginny in particular, since I'm undoubtedly a thorn in her side.'

The tension eased, and Ginny made a joke about how there was probably a prophecy to that effect. Arthur began talking, presumably to steer the conversation into safer waters, but George remained silent. Hermione saw the haunted look he'd worn for much of the previous year, and from the corner of her eye she saw that Harry had noticed it too.

Her Light magic stirred, and an instinct told her Harry's had as well. He didn't glow, but he was sufficiently rapt that he didn't react when Ginny passed him the vegetables. 'Harry, are you with us?' she said, nudging him again.

'Er, yes, of course,' he replied, scooping food onto his plate and passing the bowl to Ron. He caught Hermione's eye and gestured with his finger, indicating a ringlet. Are you experiencing Light magic too? was the unspoken question, and she nodded. He closed his eyes for a long moment, and her experience deepened. My twin brother, she thought fondly.

Her heart ached for George, whose twin was missing, and she wished to ease his burden somehow. She imagined a circuit of Light magic between the three of them, but George was still a ghost, mechanically putting food onto his plate. Why can't we help? she wondered. We can remove harmful intent from a book—why can't we remove grief from a human heart?

'George, did you hear about Harry's latest prophecy?' asked Ron, and Hermione smiled at his cluelessly perfect question.

'No, is there a new one?' was George's automatic reply.

'Is there ever! And loads of people were talking about it this morning, so you're free to mention it on the radio. Right, Harry?'

Harry was clearly experiencing too much bliss to be upset, and he said, 'Yeah, several people asked the portraits, so it's common knowledge.'

'Another prophecy?' said Arthur, concerned. 'Not about You-Know-Who, I hope!'

'No, this one's completely free from mortal peril. Hang on, I had it earlier,' said Ron, digging through his pocket. 'Blast, it was in my dress. Harry, how did it go?'

Harry glanced at Hermione, who was able to recite it from memory. Ginny spit out her drink from laughing, and George instantly came back to life. 'Your world-renowned manhood?' he said incredulously.

'You don't even know the best part,' said Ron, grinning. 'It's not just talking about Sorceress. Please, Harry, can I tell them?'

'Sweet Merlin, it's about the underwear adverts, isn't it?' blurted George. 'It's literally talking about your penis!'

'George!' cried Molly. 'Not at the table!'

Weeping with laughter, Ginny said, 'You're modelling underwear? In England?'

'No, everywhere else,' said Ron. 'They're paying him a fortune—he'll get a cut of sales and everything.'

'It's to pay for dowries,' stammered Harry, whose Light magic was clearly receding. 'I made a blunder with the Whites—the disinherited cousins who changed their names—and now I'm on the hook for more than a dozen dowries.'

Molly was aghast. 'You're paying a dowry for Catherine White? To marry Draco Malfoy?'

'Er, yeah. Not my choice exactly, but that's how it goes sometimes.'

Arthur frowned and said, 'Harry, you really should have consulted me about this. I'm sure there was another solution to the problem.'

'Yeah, because you can't beat Dad for financial advice,' said Ginny. 'By the way, how's my dowry coming along?'

'Ginny!' scolded Molly. 'Don't insult your father!'

'My father's brilliant,' she said affectionately. 'He's just useless when it comes to money, and you can't claim otherwise.'

'It was a sound financial decision,' said Percy. 'Harry discussed it with the goblins, who not only thought it was a good opportunity, but also considered it a healthy repudiation of what they feel is wizarding hypocrisy around sex.'

Bill said, 'This is all news to me, but Percy's right. Goblins routinely slag wizards for being uptight.'

'Dad, if only you and Mum had known that being sex maniacs would endear you to the goblins,' said Ginny. 'Our lives might have been completely different.'

Molly turned scarlet, but George had fully snapped out of his funk. 'Harry, do you think Walburga would know about this prophecy?'

'She's bound to know. She was born a Black, after all.'

George paused to load more food onto his plate, since he'd only taken the bare minimum earlier. 'And how long before your adverts come out?'

'Sometime in November, I think.'

'That's all right. We can start with the Sorceress angle, and then come back with the manhood bit next month.' Looking at Harry again, he said, 'Have I thanked you lately for appearing on the radio every week?'

Before Harry could reply, Molly said, 'George, stop encouraging him! Harry, can't Arthur and I convince you to stop doing the broadcast? You say you want privacy, but I don't see how you'll get it this way.'

'I'd say that broom has flown, Underwear Boy,' said Ginny. 'Mum, he'll never have privacy, so he might as well go on the radio and tell his side of the story.'

'He had privacy with you!' argued Molly. 'Harry, your life was nothing like this a year ago.'

'Yes, and I had a job I hated, and a girlfriend who was gradually getting sick of me.'

'And you dressed horribly,' said Fleur. 'It is much better like this.'

Ginny turned to Hermione and said, 'Did you miss Sunday dinners at the Burrow?'

Hermione was speechless, and Molly took advantage of the silence to plead with Harry again. 'And how can you possibly trust Rita Skeeter, after everything she's written about you?'

'I understand your concern,' said Harry. 'She's printed horrible lies and invaded my privacy repeatedly. But we've had a contract for nearly two months, and all my press since then has been favourable. Which is a bloody miracle, considering everything that's happened.'

Ginny, Ron, and George took turns pretending to cough. 'Pure-blood princess,' said Ginny.

'Public groping,' said Ron.

'Fake wedding,' coughed George.

'Tart armour,' added Ginny. 'Although it really looked good. For a moment there I regretted breaking up with you.'

'It's not too late!' blurted Molly, but Ginny and Harry both shook their heads.

'No, she's much happier with Wendy than she was with me,' said Harry. 'I can tell.'

In an instant, Ginny went from boisterous to emotional. 'Really? You can tell?'

'Yes, definitely,' said Harry, and Hermione was struck by his complete focus on Ginny, to the exclusion of everyone else. 'You always had to protect me around other people, and I don't see that when you're with Wendy. You can just relax and be yourself.'

Ginny was silent, and Hermione could feel her relief. Is she crying? she wondered, noticing Ginny's eyes were suspiciously bright.

'Get a room,' scoffed George.

'No, that's the whole point,' said Bill. 'They'll never get back together.'

'It's true—we won't,' said Harry, looking emotional as well. 'And that's fine.'

Molly was crying openly. 'But Harry, you were supposed to be part of the family.'

'He is family,' said Bill. 'It was an adjustment when he and Ginny split up. Same with Ron and Hermione. But now they're back, and it feels right.'

'Yes, it does,' said Arthur. 'You'll always be family—both of you. And you'll bring your spouses over someday, and your children, and we'll love them all.'

'And they'll play with our little girl,' announced Fleur.

Molly looked at her in shock. 'How do you know it's a girl?'

'Hermione told me. And she was certain.'

Everyone turned to Hermione, who wanted to protest. It's just a hunch, she thought, but her deeper mind knew better. 'I just know,' she said simply.

Molly wiped away a tear and said, 'Fleur, please don't name her after Aunt Muriel. She wanted me to name Ginny after her, but I just couldn't.'

This time Fleur looked overwhelmed. 'No, belle mère. I will not name her Muriel. She will have a beautiful name all her own.'

Molly reached across the table, and Fleur took her hand and squeezed it. Bill and Arthur looked at each other in relief, and there was a shared silence, full of emotion.

'Harry, could you pass the potatoes?' said Ron. 'Mum, these are really good.'

Ginny, who was drinking, started to laugh—which led to loud coughing—and the mood was broken. But Hermione was deeply moved, and she felt hopeful about what she'd just witnessed. First Harry and Ginny, now Molly and Fleur. All it takes is time, truth, and love.

Part of her wished Ryan were there, but he wouldn't have caught all the nuances, since he lacked her long history with the Weasleys. This is my other family, she realised, recalling the years she'd spent more time with Molly and Arthur than with her own parents.

She turned to Ginny, who was no longer coughing, and said, 'In answer to your question ... yes, I missed Sunday dinners at the Burrow. Very much.'

More than I realised, she thought, overjoyed to be back.