Harry appreciated how chaotic dinner was at the Burrow that night, since it allowed him to process his exchange with Ginny. I forgave her just now, he thought. I didn't realise I hadn't yet, at least in her mind, but it's dead obvious she's felt bad this whole time.

Largely ignoring the boisterous dinner conversation, he recalled the morning Ginny had broken up with him. It was a Saturday, and as usual they'd commandeered the Room of Requirement. Her N.E.W.T.s were imminent, but he'd wheedled her into letting him visit, in spite of her stated wish to study all weekend.

They had a quick shag on Friday night, in what he hoped was the first in a series, but she slid to the edge of the bed and went to sleep. Or feigned sleep, she admitted later—she was actually working up the nerve to end things that night. And he lay awake as well, resisting the urge to engage with her in some way.

He didn't know why, but he always felt safe by her side, particularly when he had all her attention. This must be love, he thought at the time. She makes me feel complete. He was hard pressed to identify his favourite moments with her—sex was brilliant, but their tiny intimacies were sublime. He particularly loved waking up to see her watching him, her brown eyes full of affection.

But when he awoke that morning, they were pink from crying. He instantly tried to comfort her, not realising what was wrong, but she rolled onto her back, as if the sight of his eyes were too much to bear.

She haltingly told him she couldn't be with him any longer, and Harry's world collapsed. But I need her, he thought repeatedly. I need her. And she was completely gutted, which made him hope she'd realise she was making a horrible mistake. But she was adamant, even through her tears, and they had intercourse one last time. For Harry it was an attempt to win her back, and her intense shudders made him think he'd succeeded. But he hadn't, and later he learnt about the peculiar magic of break-up sex, during a bawdy conversation with the Cannons.

He'd pleaded with her that morning, and he was embarrassed by the memory. 'But I'm who you always wanted,' he said through tears. 'What changed?'

She told him they'd grown apart, and that the war had changed them too much, which was another punch in the gut. Whose death was it? he wondered. Fred? Tonks? Lupin? And he felt sick, knowing he could have prevented them all, if he'd just surrendered a few hours earlier.

Several times that morning she flinched from his gaze. 'Can't you turn it off, even for a moment?' she blurted. 'No wonder Snape went mad.' And her words stung, because the only power he had left was to make her feel bad about dumping him. She's dumping me! his mind screamed, and his facial expression became even more pitiful.

Later, in his darkest moments, he wondered if she'd ever loved him at all. Maybe it was just the Horcrux. She called me her first love, but we both know it was really Tom Riddle. Maybe she stopped loving me because the Horcrux was gone.

He left directly from the Room of Requirement that morning, rejecting Ginny's offer to fetch Hermione. 'No, she'd never forgive me for distracting her before her N.E.W.T.s,' he said, but the truth was he didn't want to talk to her. He didn't want to talk to anyone, and he spent the rest of the day trudging through Muggle London. He got pissed that night in a neighbourhood bar, and his 'Leave me the fuck alone' wards ensured his privacy.

Ron, sent by Hermione, was waiting for him at Grimmauld Place, but all he did that night was help Harry upstairs and force him to drink water before going to sleep. The bed was spinning when he awoke, and he groggily sent Kreacher for a hangover cure. Ron spent the day with him, and they even went to the cinema that afternoon, but Harry never opened up.

Neville proved a friendly ear later on, but otherwise Harry kept his emotions to himself. He longed for Sirius or Remus, and one bleak night he actually considered retrieving the Resurrection Stone. But his good sense prevailed, and he decided simply to throw himself into work.

At the time, it never occurred to him that the other Auror trainees could be a resource. He'd unconsciously classified them as 'people who wouldn't understand,' due to their comparative lack of suffering during the war, and his relationship with them was solely professional. In hindsight, he realised they were probably a major source for his reputation for being aloof, and he was relieved he'd at least been polite.

So he spent his free time with Ron, who barely saw Hermione during her N.E.W.T.s, and most nights he was in bed before nine. He sincerely wanted to be a good Auror, particularly since everyone had such high expectations of him, but he only excelled at protecting others. I was a Light wizard even then, he later realised.

By the time he regained access to his vault, Harry had mostly papered over his heartbreak. He no longer actively fantasised about Ginny taking him back, but his romantic future was hazy at best. He'd always assumed he'd marry his first love, as his parents had done, but that hope was gone.

And then I went to the Twisted Niffler with George, he recalled. They both considered themselves unfit for romance, but their jokes about commitment-free dating had planted a seed. And a week later, Janet and Darren brought him to Penumbra, where a manwhore was born.

'Do you fancy another go on the pinball machine?' asked Ron.

'I'm sorry, what?' said Harry, jarred back to the present.

'Hermione hasn't seen it yet, and your turn got cut short.'

They had finished eating, and Fleur began helping Molly with the washing up. Ginny said, 'Come on, Harry—you've been in a fog for the last half hour.'

'So I have,' he said, pushing back from the table. He and Ginny went outside, while Ron waited for Hermione to finish talking with Bill.

They were initially silent as they walked to the shed, until Ginny took his arm and said, 'Let's sit in the garden a moment, if that's all right.'

'Of course. Do you want a Warming Charm?' She nodded, and when they sat on the bench he cast one.

After another silence, Ginny said, 'Thanks. For what you said earlier.'

'It was long overdue. I only wish I'd said something sooner.'

She shook her head. 'No, it's fine. At least, I thought it was. But I didn't realise until tonight how much I needed to hear it.'

After hesitating, he put an arm around her. 'You were right to end things. I was a drain on you, and nothing was going to change that.'

'You didn't mean to be. I swear, you have the world's biggest heart ... I felt like a monster for breaking it.' She leaned into him and said, 'I was afraid I was making the biggest mistake of my life, and hurting you as well. When you gave me that look, I thought I'd shatter into pieces.'

He turned to face her, his eyes wide with emotion. 'This look?'

She shoved him playfully. 'Yes, you bastard. The Ministry really needs to restrict it somehow.'

Harry smiled, and she did as well. 'I've really enjoyed becoming friends again,' he said. 'And I love seeing you this happy.'

'I love seeing everything you've become, which never would have happened if we'd stayed together.' After a pause, she said, 'I only wish you had something like what I have with Wendy. Assuming that's what you want.'

'It is, actually. No one believes me, of course.'

'Anyone who knows you does,' she said. 'But how are things with Sophie? Will she be back soon?'

'Later this week, most likely. But there's actually someone else.'

'You devil!' she laughed, but he shook his head.

'No, it's not like that. She's a war widow with a child, and I really feel a connection with her. But we haven't even kissed yet.'

'Does she know how you feel?'

'She knows I'm attracted to her—I blurted it out when we first met. But I'm sure she thinks I'm just flirting and not someone she could rely on.'

Ginny smiled slyly at him. 'Then prove her wrong. I know better than anyone how devoted you are.'

They chatted a little longer, until they heard pinball noises from the shed. 'Do you reckon we should go in?' he asked.

'Yeah, they're probably not deep in conversation right now. Pinball is brilliant, by the way—this was probably Dad's best find since the Ford Anglia.'

'Don't tell me he stole it!'

'"Stole" is a strong word. No, according to Bill the car had been in a wreck and he bought it at auction. Only no one else turned up for the auction, on account of a huge flock of geese blocking the entrance until after the first car was sold.'

Laughing, Harry said, 'Was that going to be his suggestion for paying for all those dowries?'

'Yes, because manipulating geese is far more lucrative than flogging underwear. By the way, I demand a signed photograph.'

They entered the shed and found Hermione playing pinball, with Ron watching. 'Harry, she's freakishly good at this,' said Ron. 'I suspect she's using magic, but I haven't worked out how yet.'

'Is she a pinball wizard?' joked Harry, but only Hermione laughed. 'Sorry, Muggle humour.'

They took turns playing, bantering all the while, and Ginny said, 'Why couldn't we have had this much fun last year?'

'Do you really need to ask?' said Hermione.

'Obviously I know why, but we really needed this a year ago. Whereas tonight we could all have a shitty evening but go home and be fine.'

'You are home,' said Ron. 'Because someone's too cheap to find their own flat.'

'I get free home-cooked meals, and Mum turns a blind eye when I stay at Wendy's, for fear I'll move out entirely. And in the meantime, I can save up for a posh wardrobe like Harry's. Although that could take years.'

'Oi!'

'Get over it, Potter,' retorted Ginny. 'Either I get credit for unleashing your inner dandy, or I deserve recompense for not getting to enjoy it while we were together.'

'Recompense?' said Harry. 'What are you proposing?'

Ron was playing pinball, so Ginny was free to give Harry a long look. 'We never caused a scandal, did we?'

Harry laughed and said, 'Nice try, Weasley, but I have enough scandals in the works. Underwear adverts, remember?'

'Fine,' she huffed, feigning annoyance. 'But what about a night on the town? You, me, Wendy, and a fourth of your choosing.'

He thought immediately of Fiona, but that felt premature, and he wasn't sure Sophie was the right choice either. Not if I'm ending things, he thought guiltily. 'You're on,' he said. 'Wizarding or Muggle?'

'Muggle. And there has to be dancing—we didn't have a fair go of it last time.'

Harry winced, recalling the only time he and Ginny had gone to a nightclub. It was to celebrate her seventeenth birthday, the summer after the war, but Harry was too knackered from Auror training to be much fun. 'You're right, we can definitely do better.'

They made tentative plans for the following Saturday, leaving open the question of who Harry would invite. Meanwhile, he was struck by how comfortable it was to be with Ginny, Ron, and Hermione again, and how much he'd missed their camaraderie. Their respective breakups were a shock, but the group bond had survived, and he treasured it.

After saying goodbye to the rest of the Weasleys, Harry returned to Grimmauld Place, but he'd barely stepped past the hearth when he was startled by a loud crack.

'Master received several letters!' cried Kreacher. 'One is from Mistress Narcissa!'

Harry's heart was racing from Kreacher's abrupt appearance, and he took the handful of letters. He began reading the return addresses, but Kreacher grew more insistent.

'Mistress Narcissa!' repeated the elf, frantically pointing at the topmost letter.

This must be family magic at work, Harry supposed, opening the envelope. He read:

Dear Harry,

The disaster with Catherine White is averted, at least temporarily. I understand you helped open Draco's eyes, and you have all my gratitude, but the danger is far from past. She has completely bewitched him, and even though he broke off their engagement, he's clearly wavering and I fear he'll do something rash.

I beseech you in the name of House Black to do everything in your power to prevent their marriage, which we both know would be disastrous. Can you distract Draco somehow? I know you've sworn off brothels, but if you accompanied him to one tonight I'd be forever in your debt.

Furthermore, you'll almost certainly hear from Catherine White's parents, or even the witch herself. She's ruined, thanks to Draco's carelessness and her own folly, but as sponsor of House White you may be able to salvage her prospects. Know that you'll have my support, both moral and financial.

Sincerely,
Narcissa

Harry wasn't surprised to see who the other letters were from. Draco wrote:

Potter,

It's over with Catherine. Need imbibing partner. I have hangover potions, so don't give me your usual rubbish about early Quidditch practice. Find me in the smoking room.

Malfoy

And the third letter was from Catherine's father, Cyril:

Dear Harry,

I humbly request a meeting at your earliest possible convenience, to discuss a grave family crisis. My daughter Catherine has been compromised—most unjustly, I should add—and her entire future hangs in the balance. I know you're busy, but I hope you can find the time to intervene, both as sponsor of House White and as the wizard who introduced her to Draco Malfoy.

Yours gratefully,
Cyril White

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He wants me to change Draco's mind, but I can't do that in good conscience. He wondered whether he needed to talk to Cyril that night, or if it could wait until Monday. I should probably talk to him first, so I'm more fully informed when I see Draco, he decided, and he wrote a note proposing they meet at once.

Kreacher left to deliver it, and Harry went upstairs to the reception hall, assuming Cyril would arrive straight away. Glancing down at his blue jeans and Breton shirt, Harry wondered whether Cyril would disapprove; they'd only met once, at the reunion, and some of the Whites had been warmer than others. Although none of them are in Molly Weasley's league, he mused.

Cyril arrived several minutes later, wearing robes and an anxious expression. 'Thank you for seeing me tonight,' he said without preamble.

'Of course, and I'm sorry for the delay. I only just got home from dinner.' The reception hall had a sitting area, where Lodie had set out tea and biscuits, and Harry invited him to sit down.

'How much do you know about the situation,' asked Cyril.

'I know that Draco and Catherine all but announced their engagement last night, and by extension in this morning's Prophet, but that they broke it off.'

'Yes, those are the essentials. And it was Draco's decision.'

Harry nodded. 'How is she doing?'

'She's heartbroken, of course. But that's not even the biggest problem. I know you're not a traditional wizard, but I assume you know what this means for her reputation.'

'I do, although obviously I don't agree with it. There's no such thing as a ruined witch, as far as I'm concerned,' said Harry. Unless she made a Horcrux, he added inwardly.

'But that's just it—she's not ruined. Catherine swears on her life and magic she's still innocent.'

Harry tried not to groan at the pure-blood obsession with virginity. 'I know she is. But you say she's heartbroken?'

'Yes, she'd set her hopes on marrying him and beginning their life together. Malfoy invited her into an entirely new world, only to slam the door shut again.'

But did she fancy him? Harry wondered. 'I'm so sorry,' he said. 'I'm sure she's very disappointed. But leaving out the reputation part, do you think she'll recover emotionally? I know how painful it is to be rejected by someone you love.'

Cyril sighed. 'I confess I'm not privy to her inner emotions. She's always been more guarded than her younger sisters. But my wife tells me she's scared her life is over, poor thing.'

Harry was touched by Cyril's affection for his daughter. 'What did you think of her dating Draco?' he asked, wanting to understand him better.

'I can't say I liked that he was a Death Eater. I know he was young when he took the Dark Mark, and that he redeemed himself somewhat, but it still gave me pause. Frankly, I'd never have allowed him to court her if you hadn't advocated for him. But he so admired Catherine, and there's hardly a more prominent family in all England.' After a pause, he said, 'My wife always had high hopes for our girls.'

'Oh?' said Harry, hoping he'd say more.

'Aurelia was cast from her family when she married me. They're very traditional, and she was betrothed as a girl to Xavier Bulstrode. But she didn't want to marry him, in spite of his social standing. We were mad for each other, so we eloped to Scotland and were married in a Muggle registry office—we sent our marriage notice in advance. We spent the weekend in seclusion, and as soon as word got out, the Bulstrodes nullified the contract—resulting in a feud—and Aurelia was disinherited.'

Harry wondered if that was Millicent's father, but he didn't ask. He also didn't ask whether she regretted eloping, although he was dead curious.

Anticipating Harry's question, Cyril said, 'She never regretted it—we're still in love—but she sank considerably in the world. She was raised in a manor house, and I've never been able to provide for her in the same way. Our home is respectable but not grand, and same with our social circle. Our girls, however ...' Looking embarrassed, Cyril said, 'We never supported Voldemort—that would be a betrayal of Grandfather's highest ideals, and our own. But Aurelia recognised that in a society obsessed with blood purity, our daughters would be highly valued, in spite of my lack of wealth. She was always after me to save for their dowries, although I can't say I made much progress. Nevertheless, she taught them everything she learnt as a Baxter, ensuring they'd look the part even without the accompanying vault.'

She succeeded, thought Harry. Not even Daphne could fault Catherine's manners.

'Aurelia recently reconciled with her family, hoping they'd provide dowries, and they're on tolerably good terms now. But you'll never part gold from a Baxter, and as far as they're concerned our daughters are Whites. And before you argue that they're actually Blacks, which my in-laws ought to respect, remember how bad the family's reputation is. And no, you haven't improved it.'

Harry recalled Reginald Baxter, whom he'd met at Pratt's, and he felt the sting of hurt pride. Get over it, Snitchbottom. What else did you expect?

'They at least arranged introductions for Catherine—my other daughters are still in school—and several young wizards seemed interested. But then she met Draco Malfoy, and you offered to sponsor House White, which changed everything. That was terribly generous, by the way.'

I probably shouldn't mention how I'll be paying for it, thought Harry. 'I'm glad to help,' he said, mindful of the time but also hoping Cyril would keep talking.

'Malfoy swept Catherine off her feet. After I permitted him to start courting, he sent her flowers every morning and tried to see her as often as possible. Catherine loved the attention, as would any young witch, and she was eager to accept his invitations. But her mother urged caution and explained that courtship is slow for a reason.'

'Did you know he was so close to proposing?' asked Harry, recalling Draco's impulsive decision to fetch jewellery from the family vault.

'I didn't doubt his intentions, certainly. And we knew they were attending your party together. My wife wasn't thrilled, but Catherine said even Daphne Greengrass was going, so we assented as long as she came home by midnight. But we definitely didn't know about the earrings.' Cyril took a deep breath and said, 'When Aurelia saw the Prophet this morning she nearly had a heart attack. She called Catherine at once, and our daughter assured us it was fine, and that Draco had proposed. My wife wasn't pleased—it was too soon—but I was prepared to give my consent for a Yule wedding.'

'And?'

'I did. He came over this morning and asked for permission. But then this afternoon he returned and told Catherine he'd changed his mind, and it was over.'

'Did he give a reason?'

'He said he'd acted in haste, and he didn't think they'd make a good couple after all. It was all very quick—he was gone within minutes.'

And now Catherine is ruined, thought Harry. 'I'm sorry,' he said sincerely. As much as he thought Draco had made the right decision, he felt bad that Catherine would pay the price. 'How can I help?' he asked, knowing the mere question was a commitment to act.

'Aurelia wants you to change Malfoy's mind.'

'And you?'

Cyril's face clouded over. 'I don't want him anywhere near her. He's obviously unstable, and if he was that impulsive with Catherine he'd probably keep at it after they were married. Once a skirt-chaser, always a skirt-chaser.'

Harry decided not to take the statement personally. 'And your wife doesn't share your concern?'

'She would if she thought about it, but I think she's in a panic. Not only are Catherine's prospects ruined—in her mind, anyway—but she's also afraid her family won't make introductions for our younger daughters. So in answer to your question about how you can help ...' Cyril hesitated, even though it was clear what he wanted to say.

Sensing his embarrassment, Harry said it for him. 'A larger dowry.'

Cyril nodded, not making eye contact. 'Support from the family is the only sure way through.'

Harry could imagine Hermione's reaction. Maybe you should let her be ruined! Not that she would be, of course, but the entire system is a farce. She won't have trouble finding someone else, certainly—just not a pure-blood snob!

'I'm not objecting,' said Harry, 'but does my support even count? Everyone knows I couldn't care less about virginity. For Merlin's sake, I ruined Lydia Travers!'

'Your gold would count. And it would almost certainly convince my in-laws to back her up as well.'

'But isn't doubling her dowry just an admission she's done something wrong? You wouldn't pay money to fix something that wasn't broken.'

Cyril shook his head. 'No, quite the opposite. It shows that the family believes her and is willing to prove it.'

Bloody wizarding logic, thought Harry irritably. 'Can't she take Veritaserum?' he blurted. Cyril just raised one eyebrow, and Harry said, 'And what's to stop an enterprising young witch from cooking up a scandal deliberately? If her Head of House was a soft touch, it'd be like free gold!'

'Surely you're not accusing Catherine of that!'

'No, of course not. But you have to admit, it's bollocks from start to finish. Draco Malfoy can literally take the Dark Mark and attempt to kill Albus Dumbledore, but Catherine wears earrings a few weeks too early and now your in-laws won't acknowledge their grandchildren anymore. Do you really want to be part of that world?'

Cyril was silent for a long moment. 'I don't, and neither did Grandfather. But my wife gave up a lot to marry me, and she doesn't want our daughters to pay the price.'

Harry sighed. 'All right. I assume doubling it is sufficient?'

Cyril closed his eyes and nodded. 'Yes. And thank you—that's terribly generous.'

No complaints out of you when my underwear adverts come out, thought Harry, although he suspected Narcissa would pay the difference. 'Are we done here, or is there anything else?'

'No, that's it,' said Cyril, rising from his chair. 'And I'm sorry about the circumstances, but I admit I've enjoyed getting to know you better.'

'Likewise,' said Harry sincerely, walking him to the fireplace. After Cyril left, Harry paused to clear his head. That's one job done, he thought, steeling himself for a visit with Draco. He momentarily considered changing into robes, but he realised he wouldn't be allowed into Pratt's wearing Muggle clothes, which would be good insurance. Grimacing, he tossed a pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace and went to Malfoy Manor.

To his surprise, Narcissa was waiting for him. 'What are you wearing?' she exclaimed, without even saying hello.

'Er, this,' said Harry. 'Do you object?'

She frowned. 'I was hoping you'd accompany him ... abroad.'

'No. I'll get drunk with him, but there's no way I'm going to the Boudoir.'

'Then stay until he passes out. The last thing we need is for him to owl her in the middle of the night or—Merlin forbid—go visit. I've already ordered the elves not to deliver her anything.'

'You needn't worry. I just talked to her father, and I doubt he'd give his approval a second time.'

'Does this mean ...' she began.

'Yes, I've doubled her dowry. I assume that was the right amount?'

She nodded. 'I'll pay the difference. But the danger isn't past—they might still elope.'

'Isn't there a waiting period before you can marry?'

'Muggle officials are easily Confunded. They could marry first thing tomorrow if they were sufficiently motivated. But don't let me keep you—join him at once.'

You're welcome, he thought irritably, heading for the smoking room. It wasn't yet nine o'clock, and he hoped Draco would make short work of getting plastered. If I play my cards right, we'll both pass out by eleven.

Draco's reaction upon seeing Harry was identical to Narcissa's. 'What are you wearing?' he sneered.

'They're called "Muggle clothes,"' retorted Harry, making inverted commas with his fingers. 'I've been wearing them all day, and I couldn't be arsed to change.'

'Whatever,' shrugged Draco. 'Do you at least agree to drink with me?'

'Yes, but hand over the potion now. Tuttle will kill me if I'm not in perfect shape, particularly after throwing a party.'

Draco called for Nitta, who brought Harry a small phial. 'Drink it when you wake up,' he said. 'There's no point taking it in advance.'

'You're the expert,' said Harry, tucking the phial into his pouch. 'What are we drinking anyway?' he asked, hoping for something potent.

'Wine. Catherine hates the smell of Firewhisky, and I want to keep my options open.'

Bugger, he's wavering already. 'What makes you think she'd take you back?'

Draco sighed. 'You didn't see her. Oh my god, when I told her—I thought my heart would break. It took all my resolve not to Obliviate her and reverse what I'd done.'

Harry took the glass of wine Draco offered him and sniffed it tentatively. 'It's the good stuff,' said Draco. 'From our estate in France, 1959.'

The year Sirius was born, mused Harry, taking a sip. It's good, but no more than any other elf-made wine. 'Were you saving it for a special occasion?' he asked.

'Yes and no. We still have cases of it—they were in France, which kept the leeches from draining them during the war. But I intended to use it for Catherine's and my marriage bond.' Draco closed his eyes, and his face contorted with pain. 'It's the most sacred ritual in a wizard's life. You're probably ignorant of it, unless your werewolf tutor filled you in.'

'He hasn't,' said Harry, who was curious what the ritual entailed.

'Most families do it after the wedding, but Malfoys always do it first. Once when Father was drunk he told me about it, and how delicious it was to know that he and Mother were already married, even before the public ceremony. I was horrified at the time, not wanting to hear about my parents that way, but when I pictured myself and Catherine ... I understood what he meant.'

'Do you know what actually happens during the ritual?'

'Father didn't provide the details—he said it's better to be surprised. But he told me that the actual bond is formed after the officiant leaves the room, and the bride and groom drink alone from the same chalice. Every family has one, although Merlin only knows what Mudbloods use when they marry.' He paused. 'Sorry, Muggle-borns. I am trying, you know.'

'Carry on,' said Harry, impressed by Draco's self-correction.

'Father said his entire world shifted in that moment, with Mother at the centre. And when he looked in her eyes, he knew she felt the same.' Draco began to hyperventilate. 'What was I thinking?' he rasped. 'If Catherine and I took the bond, I'd become everything she wants! Father said no other woman existed for him after that.'

Recalling what he knew about marriage bonds, Harry said, 'Yes, but for how long?'

Draco narrowed his eyes. 'What are you implying?'

'Nothing about your father. From what I can tell, they were a good match, all things considered. But I've heard that marriage bonds don't guarantee a happy marriage, or even fidelity. Otherwise the Boudoir would go out of business.'

'You're right,' said Draco, breathing normally again. 'It's not permanent. But it can shift the momentum, particularly in an arranged marriage. I'm told the experience of total devotion can become a sort of habit, which endures long past the honeymoon.'

'Do you reckon Blaise's mum goes through that every time she marries?'

Draco sniffed and said, 'She must be immune to it by now.' But his eyes filled with anguish. 'I wish I'd never met her,' he said. 'Blaise's mum, that is. That was the comparison that killed me—Catherine looked just like her in your memory.'

Harry didn't know what to say, so he took a long sip of wine. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'But it gets easier.'

'What would you know about it?' snapped Draco. 'You may have been dumped, but you never fell in love with someone who only saw you as ...' He trailed off.

After a silence, Harry said, 'I haven't had this particular experience, but I do know hearts mend. I saw Ginny tonight, along with Ron and Hermione, and we were all fine around one another. Which I wouldn't have thought possible a few months ago.'

Draco raised one eyebrow. 'Yes, why did the Weasley dump you?'

'I was too needy. I was draining the life out of her.'

'Is that what she told you?'

'Not at the time. Back then it was "We've grown apart" and "The war changed us." But I worked it out eventually. Dead obvious, in hindsight.'

'Yes, you're even more fucked up than I am, and that's saying something.' Draco raised his glass in salute.

'Oi, I'm not the one who proposed marriage in a rush. Oh, wait, scratch that. Are you sure you don't want to take that vow?'

'No. More than ever, I want what I thought I had with Catherine.'

Harry sighed. 'I get it. But is it really impossible to date someone without officially courting?'

'Not as a Malfoy, unless I go full blood-traitor.'

'So go full blood-traitor,' said Harry. 'What do you have to lose?'

Draco just stared at him. 'What kind of question is that?'

'It's a sensible question. Seriously, what will you lose if you date like a blood-traitor?'

Draco furrowed his brow, and Harry could see he was considering it. 'I won't lose any gold,' he mused. 'And there's no one to disown me. Mother would be horrified, but she is already.'

'Right,' said Harry encouragingly.

'What about the witches? Wouldn't I just be ruining them?' The blood drained from his face and he said, 'Great Salazar, I forgot to ask—what's going to happen to Catherine?'

'She'll be fine,' said Harry. 'I've doubled her dowry and the Baxters will vouch for her. And don't bother trying to reconcile, because her father won't give his consent.'

Draco finished his glass and flopped back into the sofa. 'Her mother was disinherited, you know. She was betrothed to Millicent's father, so it's no wonder—he looks like a troll.' His face suddenly lit up, and he said, 'But if Catherine and I eloped, it would almost reverse the damage. Her father mightn't approve, but he can't very well disinherit her.'

'Then I would,' said Harry firmly. 'Do not elope with Catherine White.'

'Are you telling me what to do?' challenged Draco.

'Yes. I'm a Seer and I have a message from your future self. He says, '"For the love of Merlin, don't marry the witch who's only interested because you're rich and you flattered her ego. Yes, she's pretty—really pretty, in fact—but so's the one you're going to marry. Only she'll actually love you, and maybe even help you get your head screwed on straight. Sincerely, Future Draco. P.S.: Shag a Muggle."'

Draco laughed out loud. 'Is that your advice?'

'Yes. What are you doing next Saturday?' He told Draco about the plan to go to a Muggle nightclub with Ginny and Wendy. 'And you won't even have to compete with me, since I'm trying to clean up my act.'

'You're just scared of losing,' said Draco imperiously. 'You'll have no advantage in that setting.'

'Untrue. You may be taller, but I'm far more experienced at pulling. And I have this,' he said, giving Draco a heavy dose of the Look.

For a moment Draco was transfixed. 'Is that what happened to Snape?' he said, unable to look away. 'And you claim you don't practise the Dark Arts!'

Harry turned it off and refilled both their glasses. 'Alex taught me how to harness it. But I'm sure you can come up with something of your own, probably of the Posh Wanker variety.'

'Don't call me that,' snapped Draco.

'Sorry, I should have said Upper-Class Wanker,' said Harry, and Draco raised two fingers at him.

'I'll admit I'm intrigued. Although I can't imagine even touching a Muggle, much less shagging one.'

'Why not? Do you require your partners to cast Performance Charms? I've heard they can help,' said Harry with a smirk.

'No, we don't use charms! But what about ... you know, Squibs?'

Harry snorted and said, 'Do you really think that's where Squibs come from?'

Draco took a long sip of wine. 'No, I suppose not. But can you really see me chatting up a Muggle?'

'Yes, and it's hilarious. We'd have Obliviators on us within half a minute. In fact, forget I ever mentioned it, because there's no way you could pull it off.'

Narrowing his eyes, Draco said, 'I know what you're doing. And yes, I could pull it off. I'm a Malfoy, after all.'

'That's the first problem,' said Harry, who was definitely feeling the wine. What's in this elf-made stuff anyway, he wondered. 'Your name. She'll fall down laughing when you say, "The name's Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."'

'What's so funny about my name?' said Draco indignantly.

'For one thing, I'd never heard the name "Draco" before I met you. But plenty of Muggles our age will remember a crap film called "Rocky IV," where the villain was called Ivan Drago. So you can expect a crack about that.' He took another sip of wine and said, 'Next there's the "Malfoy" part. When Sophie heard it she started laughing and said it means "Bad faith," so if your Muggle speaks French you can expect that as well.'

'I've been to France, and no one has ever laughed at my name.'

'Maybe not in front of you, but believe me, Sophie thought it was hilarious. And finally there's the presentation. One of the all-time best-known film quotes is from a British spy called James Bond, who always says, "The name's Bond. James Bond."'

'That sounds to me like a conversation starter,' said Draco, adjusting the cuff of his robes. 'But the real question is what to wear. I don't have any Muggle clothes, and I refuse to go out looking anything less than impeccable.'

'You've come to the right person,' declared Harry, causing Draco to laugh. 'The first question is how formally to dress. A three-piece suit is fine for dinner—brilliant, in fact—but if you turn up like that to a nightclub you'll look like a complete twat. So I recommend jeans and a button-down shirt. Or if you want to really mix things up you could wear a leather jacket, but you'd probably need a Cooling Charm inside the club. Only no one will know you're using one, so they'll just think you're some sweltering git trying to look like the Fonz.'

Draco was lost. 'What in Merlin's name is the Fonz?'

'He's an American television character, and forget the leather jacket, because it was a terrible idea. But then there's the Merlin problem.'

'The Merlin problem?'

'Yeah, Muggles almost never talk about him, and they definitely don't use him as an expletive. But that's fine—you can just say "heaven." Or "fuck."'

'Interchangeably?'

'Well, no, but I'm sure you can work it out.' Harry paused to refill his glass and said, 'God, I have no idea how you'll pull it off. You really don't know a thing about Muggle culture, do you?'

'Of course not. Why would I?'

'Because it's brilliant, and they outnumber us by like a million to one. Less than that, actually, but elf-made wine,' he said, taking another sip. 'Are you good at foreign accents? Maybe you can pretend you're from another country.'

'But I thought you said my accent would work in my favour.'

'You're right, scratch the foreigner scheme. But if the girl's sufficiently middle class or, better yet, working class, she might just think you're a public school ponce who literally doesn't know how a cash register works.'

'Working class!' exclaimed Draco. 'What do you take me for?'

'For someone who's keen to get his wand polished without having to sign a bank draught. But go ahead and rule someone out based on her accent—it just improves my chances.'

Draco leaned forwards. 'So this is a contest!'

'No, because I'll win. And besides, I'll just snog her in an alcove and head home—I really am trying to clean up my act.'

'That'll last for about a minute,' scoffed Draco. 'And what's the point? You get away with everything nowadays.'

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 'Because there's someone I fancy.'

Draco made a show of consulting his pocket watch. 'Yes, it's been entire hours since you last fell in love. But haven't you shagged her yet?'

'No, although I had my arm around her last night.'

'On the dance floor?' Draco's eyes shot open. 'Not Daphne!'

'What? No! Her name's Fiona, and she's lovely. I doubt you've met her.'

'Did she attend Hogwarts?'

'No, Blockhurst, and she's twenty-six.'

'A spinster?' said Draco, appalled. 'Really, Potter ... I thought you had higher standards than that.'

'She's not a spinster, she's a widow. Her husband was an Unspeakable and he died a few months before the war ended.'

'What was his name?'

Harry shot him a suspicious look. 'Why, do you know someone who killed an Unspeakable?'

'I doubt it—we were practically prisoners ourselves by then, so I didn't hear much.'

'Right,' said Harry. 'Anyway, his name was Rob Dunning.'

'Like the restaurant?'

'Er, maybe. Owen said he was from an old pure-blood family.'

'Then it must be them. The Dunnings are a very old family, only they're all educated at home rather than Hogwarts.'

Harry looked at Draco sceptically. 'Do you want to try that again?'

'Bugger!' he cried. 'Phineas fucking Nigellus!'

'Phineas fucking Nigellus,' echoed Harry, making a rude gesture. 'Owen told me Blockhurst was founded by several families who didn't want to send their children to a boarding school, after Floo powder was first invented. Stodgings was founded around the same time, and for the same reason, only they didn't admit Muggle-borns.'

'Yes, yes—there are heaps of other schools,' he said dismissively. 'But back to your widow ... does she know you like her?'

'Yes, but she probably thinks I'm just flirting. So I decided last night to be less of a manwhore.'

'Starting this morning, no doubt,' scoffed Draco.

'No, last night. I went to bed alone.'

Draco raised his eyebrows. 'Does that mean you'd be game for a trip to France?'

Harry pointed to his shirt. 'Sorry, Muggle clothes.'

'Then tell Kreacher to send something. You can even help yourself to some flowers,' said Draco, indicating a vase full of blooms.

'Not interested. But don't let me stop you.'

Draco refilled his wine glass and said, 'No, I won't go alone. And I've already cost the family enough for one day ... I assume Mother offered to cover the dowry increase.'

'Yes, which is fortunate, because the Whites have no end of daughters. Stay away from them, by the way.'

'Believe me, I will,' said Draco. 'And I'm intrigued by this Muggle plan. Just imagine Mother's reaction when I bring her to the Manor.'

'Are you daft?' cried Harry. 'You can't bring her to the Manor!'

'Surely I won't go to her house!' said Draco. 'I assumed I'd bring her here, shag her brains out, and then Obliviate her.'

Harry's jaw dropped. 'Like a rapist? Excuse me, but your Death Eater is showing.'

'I wouldn't rape her, you Gryffindor git. I'd just use a mild Confundus to help her cope with magic, and then tidy things up afterwards with a Memory Charm.'

'You've given this some thought!' exclaimed Harry, horrified.

'No, I haven't. The other members of the Slytherin Quidditch team used to talk about it.'

'And what an upstanding lot they were! No, you aren't allowed to use charms on her, except for contraception. As a backup, mind you.'

This time Draco wore a look of horror. 'Great Salazar! You're suggesting I use a condom!'

'Of course I am.' Grinning, Harry said, 'I'm sure George would give you some samples if you ask nicely.'

'Very funny, Potter. And fuck you for getting me going on this Muggle idea but then pulling the rug out from under me.'

'Fuck you too, and no I didn't.'

'Then how is it supposed to work?'

'There's a crazy Muggle invention called a "hotel,"' said Harry. 'Oh wait, wizards have them too, only you probably have a castle wherever you want to visit.'

'Not in Paris,' said Draco. 'It's just a very large flat.'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Anyway, you'll need to rent a hotel room for the night. I don't know where we're going, but if it's London I can recommend Claridge's.'

'A Muggle hotel? What do they cost?' Harry told him, and Draco said, 'I could go to the Boudoir for that! Which is sounding like a better idea with each passing moment.'

'There's no challenge at the Boudoir,' argued Harry. 'Yes, it's brilliant, but don't you want to find out whether you can pull birds on your own?'

Draco was silent. He reached for the bottle for another refill, but it was empty. Without a word, he pulled out his wand and Summoned a bottle of Firewhisky and two tumblers. 'I'm not visiting her tonight, nor any other night,' he grumbled. After pouring a glass and taking a swig, he said, 'Dammit, Potter—how do you do it?'

'Do what?' asked Harry, puzzled.

Draco filled the other glass and pushed it across the table. 'You're as fucked up as I am. I haven't forgotten—you were a sobbing wreck.'

Harry felt a wave of shame as he recalled the panic attack Draco had witnessed. Provoked. He deliberately provoked it. 'What's your point?'

'You're three-deep in witches—I saw you last night—but how many of them know what you're really like? What's going on inside your head.'

Taking a sip of whisky, Harry said, 'Ginny knew. Helena and Lydia caught a glimpse. Same with Sophie.'

'And they were still interested? Not just out of pity?'

'Ginny dumped me, and definitely because I'm fucked up. But I don't think she thought less of me for it.'

'Meanwhile, everyone else sees you as a war hero/Quidditch star who's the head of a noble house.'

'Again, what's your point?'

'Aren't you afraid they'll find out? That they'll realise how weak you are?'

Harry was solidly drunk, but he could tell Draco was also talking about himself. 'I don't really think about it like that,' he said. 'When I'm at my weakest, like after a nightmare, and she comforts me ... it's like everything else is stripped away. I mean, maybe I've just been lucky, and everyone's been unusually supportive, but if anything it brings us closer.'

After another long silence, Draco said, 'I wanted that with Catherine. I got a taste of it yesterday, when she saw my scars ... she ran her fingers along them, and I told her about how I almost died. She looked so sympathetic—adoring even—and I could imagine really opening up to her one day.' His expression grew hard, and he said, 'But when I saw your memory, and how her face changed ...'

Draco trailed off, and Harry didn't reply. In the silence, his thoughts drifted to Fiona, and he longed not only to confide in her but also to comfort her. He recalled their conversation in the back garden and transported it to his bedroom, where he could merge with her completely. Should I owl her tonight? he wondered. No, I should wait until I'm sober. Merlin, she's pretty!

'Is that your lovesick expression?' asked Draco. 'If so, I'm not interested.'

Harry couldn't resist provoking him. 'Why not?' he asked, batting his eyelashes. 'We're both Slytherins, after all. I can show you my embroidered boxers.'

'Please tell me you're joking!'

'I'd never joke about this,' he said in a low voice, trying not to laugh. 'You're so fair and I'm so dark ... we'd make a striking couple.'

'Nice try, Potter, but you said under Veritaserum that you don't fancy blokes.'

Harry flopped back on the sofa. 'Fine, you're right. But imagine the interview with Rita Skeeter ... oh bugger, I promised to talk to her this week. What should I tell her?'

'Work it out yourself,' said Draco. 'You always do.'

Their conversation rambled freely, with a long detour through Quidditch. 'Give me one good reason Quidditch shouldn't have a clock,' said Harry, who was well into his second glass of whisky.

'Because only Muggle sports use clocks,' said Draco, drinking straight from the bottle.

'I said a good reason.'

Draco's forehead wrinkled in deep thought. 'Where would they put it?' he asked.

'The clock?'

'Yes. I've been to all the British stadiums, and several abroad, and none of them have clocks.'

'Bugger, you're right,' said Harry. 'If only we had some means of changing physical matter.'

'Quidditch doesn't have clocks. That's just how it is.'

'So when the Cannons' match against Portree ended after a quarter hour, was it a consolation to know you were part of a centuries-old shitty tradition? Did you feel a deep well of pride knowing that dozens of your ancestors preceded you, leaving the stadium in disgust after a pathetic fart of a match?'

'Don't be vulgar. And for every ten-minute match, there's one that lasts six hours or more.'

'Yeah, and those matches are almost never decided by the Snitch. So you're just sitting in the stands, waiting for one of the Seekers to put everyone out of their misery. I wonder if that's why the Cannons sell Exploding Snap decks.'

'I thought you wanted to make the Snitch worth even less,' said Draco. 'When the whole reason for the hundred-and-fifty-point Snitch is that it leaves the outcome in doubt until the very end.'

'Try telling that to a trio of Chasers,' replied Harry. 'They just love working their arses off just to have some prima donna render it irrelevant.'

'Seeker is the glamour position—it always has been. God, you're good at it ... you're up there with Krum, and it's only your first season.'

'That's it, Malfoy, no more whisky for you,' said Harry, reaching for the bottle.

'Hands off, Potter! I broke off my engagement today, remember?'

'Oh, right, that's why I came over. Didn't you have anyone better to get trolleyed with?'

Draco just glared at him, and despite his inebriation Harry realised he'd struck a nerve. 'I suppose Pansy's no good, since she'd "I told you so" you to death,' he said, trying to smooth things over. 'And I reckon Blaise looks too much like his mum. Daphne's not the booze-soaked-oblivion type, and Goyle's in Azkaban. But have you met Theo's flatmates? They're pretty cool, and they'll drink anything.'

'Mustn't let commoners too close,' mumbled Draco. 'They always want something.' He reached for the bottle again, but Harry kept it from him. 'I should never have courted someone poor,' he said bitterly.

'Fuck that. Just learn how to identify real affection.'

'You really don't get it,' said Draco. 'I can't just marry anyone. My wife needs to be raised for all this. She needs impeccable manners, aristocratic bearing, and so forth.'

'It's a shame Lydia wasn't available,' said Harry. 'She'd have been perfect.'

Draco made a rude gesture and said, 'What if you fell for someone who didn't like throwing parties? And she just wore the same robes every day and had potion stains on her fingers?'

'If I fell for her, clearly I'd be all right with it. And I don't exactly plan to throw orgies my entire life. Once my future wife and I start sprogging, it'll probably just be friends at the kitchen table.'

'This is why you'll never be a real Head of House,' sneered Draco. 'It's not all rings and Wizengamot robes. It's living up to everyone else's expectations, and keeping traditions intact for the next generation. What would people say if House Malfoy turned into whatever House Black is now?'

Harry smirked and said, 'They'd probably beg to get invited to your parties, same as mine.'

'They'd say we were irretrievably lost,' replied Draco, stumbling on the word irretrievably.

'One generation won't derail anything,' scoffed Harry. 'And I've never suggested you marry a Muggle-born, or the wrong kind of half-blood.'

Draco seemed to have given up on the Firewhisky, and he stretched out on the sofa. 'What I wouldn't do for the kind of freedom you have,' he said, looking at the ceiling. 'It's like I'm still under house arrest sometimes. And then there's Father.'

'Oh?' said Harry, his tone neutral.

'He wants me to form alliances with the other Dark wizards our age. People like Charles Selwyn.'

'Did you talk to Selwyn last night?'

'Yes, but only briefly. We'll have lunch at Pratt's this week. I've been putting it off.'

'Why? He should be your natural ally.'

'He didn't fight in the war. None of his crowd did. Bloody cowards, the lot of them.'

'Cowards?'

'They all supported the Dark Lord,' said Draco, his words slurring. 'Hated you. But couldn't be arsed to do anything about it.'

Harry was curious to hear more, but Draco seemed to have reached the stupor phase of intoxication, and he lapsed into silence.

I don't think he'll visit Catherine, thought Harry, which meant he was free to leave. 'I should get going,' he said. 'I'll owl you about Saturday.'

Draco only grunted, and Harry rose on unsteady legs. The room lurched beneath him, and he felt considerably more incapacitated than before. To the drawing room, he told himself, ignoring the urge to lie down.

The walk was endless, and he had to lean against the wall to stay upright. The part of his mind that still functioned noted that he was following a well-trod path, stumbling drunkenly through Malfoy Manor. 'Look at me, I'm a traditional wizard!' he said to no one, laughing out loud.

He tried opening every door he passed, in search of a loo, and to his great relief he found one. After using the toilet, he wasted several minutes trying to conjure a glass before giving up and drinking straight from the tap. Why can't I just sleep here? he wondered. These towels are fluffy enough, and I'd have everything I need.

But he soldiered on, finally reaching the drawing room fireplace. He accidentally knocked over the jar of Floo powder, which made him laugh uncontrollably. I'd better leave a couple Galleons, he thought, digging the coins from his pouch and placing them on the mantlepiece. He took a pinch from the floor and threw it into the fireplace, but the surge of green flames triggered memories of actual Floo travel, which he realised would be a Grave Mistake.

Kreacher? he called silently. Can you hear me?

Yes, Master! said the elf in his mind. Does Master need assistance?

I seem to be stuck at Malfoy Manor, he thought, hoping Kreacher could propose a solution that didn't involve Floo travel or Apparition.

Is Master a prisoner? cried Kreacher in terror, causing Harry to clutch his head and slump to the floor.

No, I'm fine. Completely legless, but fine.

Kreacher's panic receded, but his tone was still urgent. Kreacher can send Nitta to help Master!

No, don't bother her. I'll just sleep here. Harry had to spend a minute consoling Kreacher for his perceived failure, and the elf left him to his barely-coherent thoughts.

With great effort, Harry stood up and stumbled to the sofa. Unfortunately there was no soft blanket like the one Lydia had bought for Grimmauld Place, but he was too knackered to care. It's not the worst bed I've slept on, he thought dimly, before slipping into sweet unconsciousness.