Why is it so bright? thought Harry, reaching for the bed curtain. He never normally bothered with it, since his bedroom was nearly as gloomy as the rest of the house, but the sun was apparently at the perfect angle that morning.

His eyes were screwed shut against the light, so it took him a moment to discover there was no curtain where he expected it, and only an expanse of bed. I can't have scooted all the way across, he thought, and he reluctantly opened his eyes.

'Arrgh,' he moaned aloud, bright sunlight piercing his skull. Where am I? he thought, and the pieces slowly fell into place. I'm in a bedroom at Malfoy Manor, he realised, but he had no idea how he got there. Nitta must have found me on the sofa, or Kreacher tipped her off.

A clock on the night table told him it wasn't yet seven. Need more sleep, he thought, and he closed the bed curtains and tried to ignore his urgent need to visit the loo. But he was parched as well, and sleep wasn't happening, so he opened the curtain and hoisted himself out of bed.

And fell down. Bloody hell! he thought, lying on the floor, wondering what had happened. His vantage point revealed that the bed was nearly a foot higher up than his bed at home, which was already very high. Do they use a broom to get up here? he wondered, and he suspected Draco told Nitta to bring him to that room on purpose.

He might have remained on the carpet, since it was oddly comfortable, but the toilet beckoned, so he made his way to the en-suite. What am I wearing? he thought, looking down at a pair of grey silk pyjamas. Please tell me these don't belong to Draco.

A hangover potion awaited him on the bathroom counter, and on the night table as well, so Harry's worst symptoms were soon relieved. Still knackered, he returned to bed, but sleep eluded him and he decided he needed breakfast more than anything.

His plan was to change back into his clothes and Floo home, but Nitta ambushed him in the corridor. 'Mr Potter-Black,' she said with a curtsy. 'Mistress awaits you in the breakfast room.'

Bugger! thought Harry. 'Thank you, Nitta,' he said, and she led him there. It was a long way, through several wide corridors and down a grand staircase, which Nitta called 'the back stairs.' They rounded a corner, and there he found Narcissa, drinking tea and reading the Daily Prophet.

'Er, good morning,' he said awkwardly.

'Yes, Harry. Please sit down. Do you take tea or coffee?'

'Tea, thanks,' he said, and without further information she prepared it just as he liked. I suppose that's part of being a superlative hostess, he thought, and he wondered if she'd had many guests since the war. Other than Draco's filles de joie, that is.

'Is Draco awake?' he asked.

'No, not yet. But I'm glad to get you alone. How was he last night?'

Without betraying any confidences, he said Draco was disappointed but seemed likely to recover. 'I don't think there's much risk he'll elope, and we have plans next Saturday night.'

'I'm glad to hear it. Your friendship means a lot to him.'

'Did he say that?'

'No, but I'm his mother. He sees you as an equal, and he's never had that before.'

'Blaise said the same thing,' replied Harry, helping himself to what the elves had set out. 'And I think I get it. There are things he understands about me better than Ron and Hermione do.'

If Narcissa was annoyed to hear him mention a blood traitor and a Muggle-born, her expression didn't reveal it. 'Lucius always saw you as Draco's counterpart,' she said. 'Not socially, of course—no one dreamed Sirius would make you his heir. But you were the same age, and we assumed Dumbledore was grooming you as his successor. Naturally we didn't believe those children's stories to about your upbringing, but Lucius thought Dumbledore might have sent you to France, to be raised by Flamel. Which would have made far more sense than what he actually did.'

Harry couldn't argue, and he listened intently as he ate.

'Lucius was hoping you'd be Sorted into Slytherin, so Draco might befriend you. He told Draco to cultivate you on the Hogwarts Express, but it was a lost cause. I always warned Lucius not to talk about you too much, lest Draco become jealous, but it was no use. So of course you became enemies.'

'It wasn't just that,' said Harry. 'Snape pitted us against each other.'

She sniffed and said, 'I'll never understand that man. With all due respect to your mother, he had other options. Admittedly he wasn't much to look at, but he was highly accomplished and, with our patronage, he could have married into a respectable family. Surely that would have been preferable to the life he lived.' After a pause, she said, 'But I was talking about you and Draco, and how you've been an oddly good influence on him.'

I wonder if she'd feel that way if she knew about Operation Shag-A-Muggle. 'Does this mean you'll join Mothers for Harry Potter?' he joked.

To Harry's surprise, she actually laughed. 'I'll leave that to Andromeda. But as you may recall, I was worried you had an ulterior motive.'

Harry remembered her suspicions after he healed Draco's Dark Mark. 'Does this mean I've earned your trust?'

She nodded. 'You have done. But in my defence, I was afraid you shared Dumbledore's fondness for manipulation—and your uncanny ability to sway public opinion seemed to prove it. Lucius is still convinced of it, and he thinks you've hoodwinked me.'

'I'm really not that subtle, for all that I'm a Slytherin now.'

'No, you aren't. And neither is Draco, truth be told.' She sighed and said, 'I only wish he had an occupation. That's the problem with gentlemen of leisure: they get into mischief. With Lucius it was politics, and the Dark Lord, of course. With Draco it's been courting Catherine White, and Merlin only knows what he'll get up to next. I wish he had a more active role in the enterprise with you and George Weasley, but he doesn't know the first thing about Muggle business.'

'He knows his Quidditch,' said Harry. 'More than once he's pointed out something I hadn't heard elsewhere.'

'Perhaps, and I was grateful for Quidditch during his house arrest. But the season ends next month, and he'll be at loose ends. Last winter he was lost without it.'

'Couldn't he go abroad? My teammate Suresh said they play in India during the winter months rather than summer. Same with Australia.'

She shook her head vehemently. 'No, I'd only worry if he were gone that long. And he needs to learn how to be an adult, which won't work if he's always running away.'

It's a fair point, thought Harry, although he wondered if Draco mightn't enjoy the World Quidditch Conference in Chicago. He could definitely get his wand polished over there.

'He's not good enough to play professionally, is he?' asked Narcissa.

Harry stifled the urge to laugh—not at her suggestion, but at how the other players would react. If they think I'm entitled, just wait until they meet Malfoy, he thought. 'He's a good flyer, and one of my better adversaries at Hogwarts, but he's too tall for a Seeker. He'd never win in a chase.'

'What about the other positions?'

He shook his head. 'He's tall enough for Keeper, but it's a waste of his flying ability, and I don't think he's ever played it before. Playing Chaser takes years of practice, and he's not built like a Beater.'

'I wouldn't want him near Bludgers,' said Narcissa, mostly to herself. 'No, I suppose you're right.' After a pause she said, 'What about the Department of Magical Games and Sports?'

'A Ministry job?' said Harry sceptically. 'Personally, I'd be bored stiff in that Department. From what I hear, it's just scheduling and maintaining anti-Muggle security. I'd sooner be a referee than work there.'

'He can't be a referee!' she said, aghast. 'Don't tell me that's what you're planning to do when you retire!'

No, I'm going to drive the Knight Bus, he thought with amusement. 'Honestly, I have no idea what I'll do after I retire, but hopefully that's a long way off.'

She looked at him appraisingly. 'What about politics? I've heard talk.'

'So have I. But believe me, I have no desire for public office. And besides, what's the point in trying to predict what's next, when I definitely wouldn't have predicted what's happening now?'

'You're right,' she said, with a note of finality. 'I couldn't have predicted any of this.'

She offered Harry the Prophet, which fortunately didn't mention him anywhere except the sport news, and he was just leaving when Draco turned up.

'Potter, what are you still doing here?' he said accusingly.

'I passed out in the drawing room. Oh, sorry about the Floo powder,' he said to Narcissa.

'That's fine,' she said, a hint of mirth in her eyes.

Harry excused himself, but Draco followed him. 'What did you tell her?' he asked in the corridor.

'Not much. Just that you seemed likely to recover, and that we have plans this Saturday.'

'You didn't tell her what those plans are, I hope!'

'God, no!' said Harry. 'But does this mean you're still interested?'

'Yes. And let me know where we're going, so I can find a decent hotel.' Harry raised one eyebrow, and Draco said, 'I'll ask our solicitor. He can arrange anything.'

'What about clothes?'

Draco frowned. 'I can't go to my tailor—either I need to go to yours, or to a Muggle shop. I'd pass unnoticed in a shirt and trousers, right?'

'You could go to Harrods, which would be good practice. But everything's ready made, so you'd have to try on multiple sizes to find out what fits you.'

'Multiple sizes?' said Draco. 'That sounds too complicated—I'll just go to your tailor. Benedict Thimble, right?'

'Er, I have several,' admitted Harry. He told Draco about a tailor with a particularly good Muggle selection and returned home through the fireplace.

Kreacher fussed over him when he arrived. 'Is Master all right? Kreacher sent Nitta to look after him!'

'Was that you? Thank you, Kreacher—I slept surprisingly well.'

'Kreacher is pleased to see that Nitta did not shave Master,' said the elf brightly.

So is Master, thought Harry, truly alarmed at the idea of Nitta shaving him. Does she shave Draco? he wondered.

There wasn't time for a shave before practice, and Harry hurried upstairs to change clothes. But passing the library door reminded him of Gemma, and he felt a wave of unease at the prospect of seeing her. I should probably tell Owen, he thought glumly, knowing this could only worsen Owen's opinion of him.

Neither Owen nor Gemma was in sight when he arrived, but Darren was there. 'Harry!' he called. 'You need to invite me and Luna over.'

'I'm sorry?'

'She hasn't replied to my owl yet, even though she said she's willing to see me again. So can you invite us to dinner tomorrow, maybe before the broadcast? I'm sure she'd reply to you.'

'Not necessarily. Written communication has never been her strong point, and she's been known to use unusual post animals.'

'Don't you mean post birds?' asked Darren.

'No, she once used a wallaby.'

Darren stared at him for a moment. 'Does Britain even have wallabies? I thought they were Australian.'

'They are, but apparently there are a few odd colonies here and there. Luna uncovered one and thought they might make good post animals, on account of the pouch. Owls carrying letters stand out, after all.'

'True,' said Darren. 'But no one would look twice at a wallaby. Oh wait, yes they would.'

'Yes, that was one problem. Another was that wallabies are dead slow compared to owls. But otherwise they're not bad, and it actually delivered the letter she sent me. It came in through the owlery and everything—Luna said she probably travelled over the rooftops.'

Darren looked thoughtful. 'So you're saying she might have written back, but it's taking a while because she sent it by wallaby?'

'Come to think of it, probably not. According to Kreacher, her last letter came by puffin.'

'Right,' said Darren. 'So now we're back to her ignoring me.'

'I doubt it. If she says she'll see you, I'm sure she meant it. She just operates on her own schedule.'

Harry dashed to his locker to drop off his clothes, arriving at the benches moments before Tuttle. He stole a glance at Gemma to see how she was doing, but she was looking away.

Darren joined him again when they started running. 'What about later in the week, then? I'll give her a few more days, but if she hasn't replied by Wednesday, maybe you can invite us out.'

'Er, why would I want to be a third wheel on your date?'

'Couldn't you bring that witch you fancy?'

'On a first date? Not bloody likely! But relax, I'm sure you'll hear from Luna.'

'I hope so,' said Darren. 'She's like no one I've ever met.'

'I don't doubt it,' said Harry over the sound of their footfalls. 'But I would never have guessed she was your type.'

'Because she's not a C-squared?'

'Yes, but more than that. Didn't you describe your type as "high-maintenance?"'

'I did, and it is. I like a woman who puts in some effort, and that describes Luna to a tee. I watched her spend a quarter hour turning the bedsheet into a toga and making a garland of flowers, and it was like poetry. She wasn't the least bit modest or inhibited, and it was ...' He paused. 'It was like watching Eve in the Garden of Eden.'

Harry turned to look at him. 'If I didn't know better, I'd think you were falling for her.'

'I can see where you'd get that impression,' said Darren. 'But so far I think I'm just fascinated. I've never met anyone like her.'

'Yeah, you said that already,' said Harry, sprinting ahead. He wanted to catch a glimpse of Gemma, but he couldn't see her face without being intrusive. At the same time, he didn't want her to think he was ignoring her. Bugger, there's no good way to handle this.

He was therefore surprised when she approached him after they finished running. 'Did Lodie give you the tiara?' she asked.

'Yes, thanks. I should probably bring it back to Gringotts, unless you have another occasion for it.'

'My uncle turns fifty next week, and my aunt is throwing a big do. They hired a hall and there'll even be a band, so I could wear it there. Or maybe not—they already think I'm weird enough.'

'Do they still think you work at a restaurant?'

'Yeah, and it's awkward now that the twins are at uni. I've been meaning to come up with something better, which I'll probably debut at the party. Any suggestions?'

'You're asking the wrong person—my only cover story was that I attended St Brutus's Secure Centre For Incurably Criminal Boys. But I bet Ryan can help.'

'Good idea,' she said, and she went to talk to him.

That was inconclusive, thought Harry, but he was relieved Gemma seemed all right. I should probably tell Owen regardless.

Owen found Harry before the flying drills started. 'Harry, can I steal you away for lunch?' he asked.

'Yes, of course,' said Harry, and they agreed to eat at Grimmauld Place. Is this about Fiona or Gemma? he wondered, and he hoped Owen wouldn't berate him too much.

After morning practice, Harry showered and looked for Owen, but Lara said he was running late. 'He and Tuttle are in Darius's office—it shouldn't be more than ten minutes.'

Harry momentarily feared his night of drinking had been evident, but the only comments he'd heard that morning were about his stubble. 'Did you give Kreacher the day off?' Janet had asked. 'Or is this a new look you're debuting?' They were in the middle of a drill, so he only said he had no plans to grow a beard. 'Who said anything about a beard?' she continued. 'I'm talking about reprobate stubble, which would suit you brilliantly.'

'I'm a dandy, remember? The idea is to act like a reprobate but look impeccable.'

'Good point,' said Janet. 'Save the stubble for when you're retired and all washed up.'

While waiting for Owen, Harry told Lara he'd look in on Mrs Thwip, and he headed to her office. 'Good afternoon, Mr Potter-Black. I see you found the time to reply to fan mail,' she said, indicating the thick envelope he'd pulled from his pouch.

'I did. Now that I'm hearing from children abroad, I really can't fall behind. Although perhaps they'll lose interest after my underwear adverts come out.'

'Perhaps they will,' said Mrs Thwip, opening a folder. 'On a related topic, you received a new endorsement proposal.'

'Oh? What for?'

'Muggle-style cosmetics,' she said, her face inscrutable as always.

He inhaled sharply. 'No, that's where I draw the line.' Peering at the upside-down letter, he said, 'It can't pay very much, right?'

'They claim your participation would be more inspiring than remunerative, and they cite the shockwaves from your picture in yesterday's Daily Prophet.'

'Shockwaves!' exclaimed Harry. 'Ugh, people were probably talking about it on the radio, weren't they?'

'They were indeed. Mr Thwip and I listen to Rutherford Stroop every Sunday, and he discussed you at length.'

The elusive Mr Thwip, thought Harry, who occasionally wondered about him. Do they use given names, or does she call him Mister?

'Er, what did he say? I almost never listen to the radio.' Because half the time they're talking bollocks about me, he added inwardly.

'Mr Stroop said it was an unorthodox choice, to be sure, but it's not without precedent.'

'Oh?'

'He specialises in history, and he spoke of several brief manias for cross-dressing over the centuries. And in all three cases, the central figure was a known Light Arts practitioner.'

'Really?' said Harry. 'Did he draw any conclusions?' Besides the fact that Light magic is brilliant and we're clearly having more fun than Dark wizards are.

'He said that your behaviour should be judged on the basis of whether you're hurting anyone, and not by whether you're defying social norms. And that wearing makeup is the latter rather than the former.'

Harry was astonished that Mrs Thwip listened to someone so progressive. 'But what about wizarding traditions?' he asked.

'Mr Stroop argued that Light magic is far older than the moral conventions usually described as wizarding traditions. And that we, as magical beings, must defer to magic itself as the highest tradition.'

This sounded to Harry like a bit of a stretch, and he was starting to suspect Stroop just got off on blokes wearing makeup, but he wasn't going to complain. 'Are you saying he'd give me a free pass if I endorsed this product?' asked Harry, indicating the letter.

'No, I am not. I don't know how Mr Stroop views commercial activities of that nature. Are you considering the offer?'

'Not really,' said Harry. 'I know I've trampled social norms, but endorsing makeup is probably a bridge too far.'

'As you wish. Shall I send a refusal?'

'Yes, but tell them I like the concept and wish them all the best.'

She nodded crisply and handed Harry another letter. 'You received this from the Wizarding Orphans Relief Fund, regarding their upcoming gala.'

Harry's heart leapt, but he saw that it was essentially a form letter with instructions for sending auction items to WORF headquarters. On the bottom, however, was a handwritten note:

Dear Harry,

Due to the impossibility of replacing your eyeglasses should they get lost in transit, I insist you deliver them in person. I seem to recall talk of lunch when we parted on Saturday, but perhaps my memory is fuzzy due the overwhelming kindness you showed me that night.

With kind regards,

Fiona

'Thank you, Mrs Thwip,' he said, tucking the letter into his pouch. He excused himself to meet Owen, whom he found near Lara's desk. 'I hope you weren't waiting long,' he said.

'No, I just finished with Darius and Tuttle,' said Owen, and they went outside to Apparate to Grimmauld Place. Owen arrived in the back garden, and Harry let him in, glancing at the bench where he and Fiona had sat.

'I'm afraid Kreacher insists on serving in the dining room,' said Harry. 'I wasn't home for dinner or breakfast, and he gets antsy if I go too long.'

Owen raised one eyebrow. 'Not home for breakfast?' he said, and his eyes seemed to take in Harry's stubble.

'I was at Malfoy Manor, if you can believe it. Draco and I are genuinely mates now, although our conversations mostly revolve around taunting.'

'And you stayed overnight?'

'Not on purpose.' Without providing details, he explained that Draco had broken up with his fiancée and needed a drinking partner afterwards. 'I probably shouldn't admit this, but the hangover potion his house-elf provided was first-rate. I've only taken one once before, after Ginny dumped me, and I think Sirius might have brewed it.'

'I'm going to pretend you didn't just tell me you passed out drunk on a weeknight,' said Owen as they went upstairs. 'And your flying was fine, so clearly you got away with it. But don't let it become a habit.'

'Believe me, I won't. I enjoy flying too much to let anything get in the way.'

'Glad to hear it.' They entered the dining room, and Owen said, 'No more ice sculptures and floating flowers?'

'No. The other elves went home, and Lodie can't conjure them all by herself. And I'm not quite so pretentious as to do up the house like Beauxbatons on a daily basis.' Harry tried and failed to keep the edge out of his voice.

'I know that,' said Owen. 'And I'm sorry if I sound hypercritical. That's not my intention, particularly since I'm here to apologise.'

'Oh?'

Food appeared on the table, and they began serving themselves. 'Fiona told Jill what happened at the party, how you found her crying. She said you knew exactly what she needed, and that she felt like you actually understood what she's been through, without her having to explain it.'

'Perhaps, but you told me how her husband died, remember?'

'I know, and that's what Jill said, but Fiona said it was more than that. She said, "He's lived here too," or something to that effect.'

That's because I have, thought Harry. He wanted to ask, 'Do you believe me now?' but he waited for Owen to say more.

'She said she got a glimpse of what moving on might feel like. Not with you—she saw how many witches were vying for your attention, and she's keenly aware of your age. But she said she was able to imagine dating someone else without losing what's left of Rob.'

Harry paused to absorb Owen's words. 'Does that mean she's not interested? Or does she think I'm not interested?'

'The latter, I suspect. She assumes you're just flirting with her. Not maliciously, but simply because that's your nature.'

'No one who knew me in school would say flirting was my nature,' said Harry. 'But I can see why she'd get that impression. Did Jill tell her I'm sincere?'

'No, she wouldn't interfere like that. Admittedly, she interfered by telling me what Fiona said, but I suspect she was trying to win me over.'

Another pause. 'Did she succeed?'

Owen set down his fork and took a long sip of water. 'I need to hear you say it. That she's not just another witch to you.'

'She isn't. I felt something real with her too, like she understands me, and vice versa. I wish grief didn't create such a vast gulf, but it does, and Fiona and I are on the same side of it. Admittedly that was true of Ginny as well, but I was still a wreck when we were together, and it was never going to work.'

'Not to mention she fancies witches,' smirked Owen.

'Excuse me, she's bisexual. But yes, she's much happier now with Wendy.' He told Owen about their conversation at the Burrow, and that they finally had closure. 'I didn't realise I hadn't properly forgiven her, but I guess these things take time.'

'How long has it been?'

Harry counted on his fingers. 'About five months.'

'That's really not bad, considering how serious you two were.'

'I suppose, but it feels like a lifetime ago. So much has happened since then.'

'So many witches, you mean?' retorted Owen. 'Sorry, bad habit. And I shouldn't be so hard on you, considering how restrained you've been.'

'I'm sorry, I think I misheard you. Did you just say I've been restrained and that you've been too hard on me?'

'Don't push your luck, Potter. But in answer to your question earlier, I hereby drop my objection to you and Fiona dating. I'm not convinced you'll stay together long-term, but I don't think you'd just toy with her affections.'

'I'm glad you realise I'd never do that,' Harry began, when he suddenly remembered Gemma. 'Oh, bugger—that's not true. There's something I need to tell you.'

Owen's expression immediately hardened. 'What is it?'

'It's Gemma. I swear, I never meant to lead her on, but I found out on Saturday that she has a crush on me,' said Harry. 'A serious one.'

Sighing heavily, Owen said, 'Ugh, Jill was right.'

'When did she notice it?'

'At the party. But I hoped she was wrong. How did you find out?'

Harry began describing what had happened with Gemma, omitting the part about the Catapults recruiting her, but Owen worked it out on his own. 'Fraternisation wouldn't be a problem if she were on another team,' he mused, 'and I'd be shocked if she hasn't had an offer yet.'

'She heard from the Catapults. Isla Preston wants to have another baby. She'll retire as soon as she's pregnant.' Owen nodded, and Harry said, 'Gemma asked whether I thought she should take the job, but the subtext was obvious, so I said I'd rather she stay with the Cannons. Which went over about like you'd expect.'

'Yeah, I suppose it would. But there's no good way to reject someone, and I can't fault how you handled it.'

'Anyway, an hour or so later Kreacher tells me she's crying in the owlery.' Harry didn't mention he was mid-snog with Lisa Black. 'I went to find her, and it all poured out.'

'Was she angry at you?'

'No, at herself. She kept putting herself down, saying she was stupid for thinking I could like her that way.'

Owen shook his head sadly. 'She's not stupid.'

'That's what I told her, but it didn't help.' He didn't summarise their conversation, out of respect for what remained of Gemma's privacy.

'And how did you leave things?'

'As well as could be expected, I guess. I was nervous about seeing her this morning, but when we talked she actually seemed all right. Not that we talked about what happened, of course.'

'No, although it's bound to come up during the practice match,' said Owen.

'Oh god, what if someone taunts her about me? If Jill worked it out, someone else probably did as well.'

'Maybe, although Jill has a sixth sense about that sort of thing—I really should have trusted her. But Gemma needs to be prepared regardless.'

Harry shook his head vehemently. 'You can't possibly be asking me to–' he began, but Owen cut him off.

'No, of course not.' Furrowing his brow, he was silent for a long moment. 'This is really bad timing,' he finally said.

'Why?'

'That was another thing I wanted to talk to you about ... Tuttle and I want to start her once this season. The Cannons aren't in the running for the cup, and we think it would be good for team morale.'

Harry was embarrassed he hadn't thought of it himself. 'Which match did you have in mind?'

'Saturday after next, against the Falcons. It'll be in Chudley, so Gemma could invite her entire family and still have tickets left for some of her mates.'

'Trevor Underhill's not bad,' said Harry, thinking of the Falcons Seeker. 'He'll definitely taunt her, but he's not vicious. And he's Muggle-born too, so she won't be vulnerable on that front.'

'Right. But any Seeker worth their salt would taunt her about you, even without knowing about this.'

Harry nodded soberly. 'When do you have to decide?'

'This time next week, ideally. That would give us time to publicise it, and for her to invite all her friends.' Owen looked Harry in the eye and said, 'Are you all right with this?'

'What? Yes, of course. Is Darius on board, or should I help convince him?'

'No, Tuttle will wear him down,' said Owen. 'Speaking of Tuttle, I really need to tell her.'

Another sigh from Harry. 'You're right, but I wish you wouldn't. Gemma would be mortified, for one thing.'

'And Tuttle will tear you a new one,' said Owen. 'Or not—she's hard to predict.'

Unfortunately for Harry, Tuttle was furious when they told her what happened, in her office after lunch. 'Damn you, Potter!' she cried. 'It wasn't enough for you to fuck a French model, two C-squareds, and a pure-blood princess! You also had to seduce your own fucking reserve!'

'I didn't seduce her!' said Harry. 'I never even touched her!'

'That's not what I meant, and you know it! You needed to lock her into your orbit, because god forbid you're not the centre of someone's universe.'

Harry looked desperately at Owen, hoping he'd defend him. 'Tuttle, I specifically told Harry to spend a lot of time with Gemma, so she'd feel more at home in the wizarding world. But he didn't realise what was happening until it was too late.'

'And where were you?' she snapped. 'Your entire job revolves around two people, and you didn't notice that one of them was falling in love with the other? Even though dozens of fans proposition him every week, and one of his nicknames is "Desirable Number One?"'

Owen sighed, and Harry said, 'Don't blame Owen, this is my fault. I spent far too much time with Gemma during my celibacy vow. I should have realised this might happen.'

'Your celibacy vow!' she snorted. 'Next time try going a fortnight without making a desperate bid for attention. Hell, try going ten minutes!' Harry and Owen just looked at each other, and Tuttle said, 'Bloody Seekers! Prima donnas, the lot of you! Except for Rees, miraculously enough. I've half a mind to start her on Saturday, you know.'

'No, it's too soon,' said Owen. 'If Barnwistle taunts her about Harry, she's done for.'

'Dammit, you're right,' scowled Tuttle. 'What's the fastest way to get her over the worst of it?'

Introduce her to someone else, thought Harry, but he didn't suggest it. 'She loves flying, same as me, and she'll be thrilled to bits if you tell her she's starting.'

Tuttle's scowl relaxed slightly. 'You don't mind?'

'Whatever's best for the team is fine with me,' said Harry. 'But I know Aidan Kiely wants a rematch, and same with Routledge. So I'd at least like to play them.'

'All England wants to see you play Routledge,' said Tuttle, and they agreed that Gemma should start against Falmouth. 'Darius will pitch a fit, but Susanna can publicise the shit out of it. And it'd be a damn shame never to put her in, considering the career ahead of her.'

Tuttle went to tell Darius, and Owen and Harry walked together to the pitch, stopping only to fetch Harry's broom. 'Do you want me to keep you and Gemma apart during Seeker training?' Owen asked.

'I'll be fine either way,' said Harry, 'but maybe give her the choice.'

Gemma opted to work with Bruce on her flying that afternoon, leaving Harry to practise advanced spotting techniques. Owen was keen to understand Harry's occasional fugue states and possibly replicate them, but Harry was sceptical.

'Even if I could reproduce them, I'd probably get kicked out of the league,' he argued. 'They'd make a new rule and say I was cheating.'

'You're probably right,' said Owen, 'but I'd love to know what's behind it. Not for Quidditch necessarily, but imagine living your whole life that way.'

Harry took a moment to consider it. Pure spontaneity, he thought. No mental chatter and perfect synchronicity, all day long. 'I should ask Davina about that,' he said, wondering if such a thing were possible.

When the practice match started, he was once again unsure whether to approach Gemma, but she found him first. 'Hey, Toffer! I never heard how your night ended. Did you and Lisa hook up?'

Harry couldn't hide his astonishment, and Gemma just laughed. 'I may be an idiot, but you're still Britain's randiest wizard, and I might as well rip off the plaster. So, who was it?'

'Would you believe me if I said "no one?"'

'No,' said Gemma. 'Try again.'

'Well, not exactly no one. There was snogging at one point. But I went to bed alone.'

She turned to stare at him. 'I didn't see that coming! Did you scare her off or something?'

'No, I changed my mind,' said Harry, not sure whether to mention Fiona. But Gemma pressed him for details, and she didn't seem upset, so he told her the truth. 'I realised I have strong feelings for Owen's friend Fiona, and I want to make a go of it.'

'She's the widow, right?'

'Yeah. I felt a spark the first time we met, and it's only grown since then. We have a lot in common, oddly enough.'

Gemma was silent a moment. 'Yeah, I can see that. Was she the one you hooked up with?'

'No, that was someone else. But then I realised how manwhorish it would be to spend the night with one witch after deciding to pursue a relationship with another.'

'So what's your next step?' asked Gemma, but before he could answer she shot towards the rings, and Harry followed her. She dodged the other players exceptionally well, forcing Harry to abandon the chase, and if it hadn't been a feint she would have caught the Snitch.

'Well done! Was that what you and Bruce were working on?' he asked, referring to her new dodging manoeuvre.

'Yeah, I got the idea this morning during drills, and I wanted to test it out.'

She flew brilliantly all afternoon, and she ended up making the catch. Harry was glad, knowing it would strengthen Tuttle's case for starting her against the Falcons, and Owen looked pleased as well.

He pulled Harry aside and said, 'How was she?'

'Honestly, she seems fine, and you saw how she played.'

Owen nodded. 'Her flying was unbelievable. If she plays like that against the Falcons, we're going to need a new reserve.'

After their stretches, Gemma found Harry again and asked, 'Do you have a moment?' He said he did, and she waited until everyone else was gone before continuing.

'So, something weird happened at your party,' she said. Harry failed to hide his panic, and Gemma laughed. 'Don't worry—it was good weird.'

'Oh? What was it?' he asked, wondering if she'd met someone after all.

'It was when I was hiding inside the bookcase, after we talked on the balcony. Remember how I asked you if that was what Light magic felt like?'

A wild thought crossed Harry's mind, and he tried not to get his hopes up. 'Yeah, I think so.'

'You said being inside the bookcase was pleasant enough but didn't hold a candle to the real thing.' He nodded, and she said, 'Er, I think I might have felt the real thing.'

He couldn't help grinning. 'Are you serious! What happened?'

'Well, after you left I started crying again—I was mortified on top of everything else. There I was at your townhouse, wearing Death Eater robes and a tiara from your vault, and I felt completely pathetic. The Blacks would have considered me filth, and that's how I felt.' Harry began to protest, but she waved him silent. 'I just wanted to disappear, and I wished the bookcase would swallow me up entirely,' she said. 'And it did.'

Harry blinked. 'What do you mean, it did?'

'I can't describe it. But I just ... wasn't. And then I was.'

'Was it like Disapparating?' he asked.

'No, I didn't go anywhere, or feel anything. I couldn't even say how long it lasted. Probably not long, but that hardly matters.'

'And then what?'

'I don't know. Nothing changed, but I felt better somehow. I had all the same emotions as before, including heartache, and being embarrassed. But they were just one part of the picture, and not the whole thing. And then sitting there in the bookcase ... I just felt so content. Like I've never felt in my whole life.'

'Wow,' said Harry. 'How long were you there?'

'I could have stayed for hours, honestly, but I needed to use the loo, and I didn't fancy wetting myself and just Vanishing it. Seems like that would have been poor thanks for the robes. I'll bring them back tomorrow, by the way.'

Harry was still astonished by her news. 'Did you glow or spark or anything?'

'I didn't glow, except a little when I left the bookcase. And I don't think I sparked—is that a thing?' He told her about Hermione's hair, and she said, 'No, nothing like that. But I'll keep you posted.'

He was tempted to ask if this meant she was over him, but he didn't want to sound egotistical. Oh, who am I kidding, he thought. I am egotistical, and Gemma knows it better than anyone. 'Was it all right when I talked about Fiona? I don't want to make you uncomfortable, or take advantage of our friendship.'

'Yeah, it was all right. I can't say I want detailed commentary when you get to the Sorceress phase, but Fiona seems nice, and I can see why you like her.'

'That's good to hear. But if I talk about her too much, promise you'll say something.'

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. 'I, Gemma Rees, hereby promise to tell you to shut your great flapping gob as often as necessary,' she said solemnly. Opening her eyes, she added, 'Was that good, or do you need a blood oath as well?'

'That was good, thanks. And we really need to get you onto Weasley's Wizard Wireless one of these days.'

'Lee and George said the same thing!' she exclaimed. 'When should we do it?'

After you beat the Falcons, he thought. 'Good question ... I might actually take a break for a few weeks.'

'Clever—you'll build up demand that way. With Fiona, that is.'

He sent Lee and George a letter after practice, and Hermione agreed with his decision. 'You always come off well,' she said as they ate, 'but you're still risking overexposure. Although you'd best get used to that, with your adverts coming out soon.'

'Very funny,' he said. 'You try paying for nearly twenty dowries.'

'I can't believe you have to pay one to Malfoy! After getting him out of house arrest and healing his Dark Mark ... has he even thanked you yet?'

'Er, no. He said he'd get around to it, but I'm not holding my breath.' After a pause, he said, 'But he isn't marrying Catherine White. The engagement is off.'

Hermione frowned. 'What does that mean for her? Lydia was worried they were moving too fast, and she said if they split up Catherine would take the blame.'

Harry reluctantly told Hermione what happened with Cyril White, and that he was doubling Catherine's dowry. 'And yes, I know it's sexist, but what choice do I have?'

'What do you mean, what choice do you have?' she said, outraged. 'You of all people have the power to change things, and not just by throwing gold at the problem. For heaven's sake, you're the most influential wizard in Britain!'

'Not amongst traditional pure-bloods. At best I'm a blood traitor, and that's their version of a compliment. I really had no alternative.'

For a moment she just stared at him. 'Do you really think Catherine White would die an old maid if you didn't rescue her?'

'Well, no ... I'm sure plenty of wizards would still be interested.'

'Right, but thanks to you, she's still eligible to marry a bigoted snob! What a kindness you've done her!'

'Hermione, you're being unfair! According to her father, she was raised to marry someone like Draco. I don't think he agreed with it, exactly, but he loves his wife and let her win that battle.'

'His wife who married him for love rather than ambition?' she said archly.

'Well, yes. But Catherine didn't even sleep with Draco, and this is the traditional way to defend her virtue.'

'Defend her virtue?' cried Hermione, aghast.

'Stop shouting at me,' he snapped, trying not to shout. 'I think it's a load of bollocks, same as you do. But this is part of my job as Head of House—which I didn't ask for, by the way.'

She took a deep breath. 'No, you didn't. And maybe I don't understand that world well enough. But why can't they see how confining it is?'

'I blame the inbreeding,' joked Harry, and Hermione laughed.

'I'm sorry, I shouldn't have shouted at you. Wizarding society can be so frustrating sometimes.'

'Sometimes?'

'All the time,' she scowled. 'Working at the Ministry is an ongoing exercise in frustration.'

'More than usual?' asked Harry.

'No, probably not. But it's maddening to spend months researching goblin rights and outline the exact process to bring Britain in line with the rest of the world, only to have it sit on Merrick Bode's desk. Or, more likely, in his bin,' she said, referring to the head of the DMLE.

Surely they've emptied the bin by now, thought Harry. 'What did Octavia say?'

'She thought my report was brilliant,' said Hermione, with obvious pride. 'It describes the steps the DMLE needs to take to initiate legislation, which would then go to the Wizengamot. And even though we can't share all the details with the goblins, they've indicated they're willing to make concessions as well. Again, in line with how goblins interact with wizarding governments abroad.'

'I can't help you with Bode,' said Harry. 'And obviously Draco can't either.'

Hermione sniffed and said, 'I still can't believe he's your ally. Are you sure you trust him?'

'No, I don't trust him entirely. He's still very erratic, same as me, only he's got Dark magic in the mix. For all I know, his Rosier cousins are working on him as well, and he'll cut me loose the minute he gets a new wand.'

'So you are working on him!'

'Well, yes, but not exactly on purpose. It's pretty weird, to be honest—it's all been spontaneous somehow, starting with when I removed his Dark Mark. But everything I do seems to pull him deeper into my camp ... and I can't believe I'm using terms like "my camp," but that must be the Slytherin talking.'

'It's truly ironic you're no longer a Parselmouth,' said Hermione. 'You don't think he'd go for Light magic, do you?'

'He's willing to learn the Patronus Charm, and I'm desperately hoping it'll take the form of a ferret,' said Harry. 'But I don't know if I'll have time to teach him until after the season ends.'

'In the meantime, you can sip sherry together at Pratt's,' she smirked.

'Not likely. Other than trying to drag me to the Boudoir, he doesn't want to be seen with me there—probably because wizards like Charles Selwyn are trying to court him. Which reminds me, I met Lydia's boyfriend, Marcus. Do you know him?'

'Oh yes,' said Hermione, a little too enthusiastically, and Harry laughed. She said, 'I know, he looks like a film star. Puts Ryan to shame, almost. But he's a lovely person, and he seems to appreciate Lydia's deeper qualities, and not just her looks and status.'

'I'm glad to hear that. Lydia wants us to get to know each other better, and I'm considering making him my proxy for the Wizengamot.'

Hermione's eyes lit up. 'That's a fantastic idea! According to Lydia his career is going all right, but without a powerful sponsor his status as a blood traitor might hold him back.'

'No wonder she wants us to work together,' said Harry. 'I swear, every time I decide she's a Gryffindor, she pulls a Slytherin.'

'Pot, meet kettle,' said Hermione, and Harry chuckled. 'Lydia thinks he'd make a good Minister someday, if the voters would be willing to elect someone so handsome.'

Harry narrowed his eyes. 'Are you saying he's a potential rival for Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award? Because I have a bet with Lockhart, and I'm not willing to lose.'

'It's probably too soon for Marcus, and he's not nearly as much of a flirt as you are. But he's definitely one to watch out for.'

They finished eating, and Harry pulled a diary from his pouch. 'I used to keep track of my engagements in my head, but there are getting to be too many. I need to talk to Rita this week, and I'll probably have lunch with Fiona as well. It's fortunate I'm not doing the broadcast for a while.'

'And what about Sophie?' she asked

Harry sighed. 'I haven't heard from her, but that's no surprise, since she's probably in Japan right now. I'm not sure what to do though, since I definitely don't want to break up with her by owl.'

'Can you ring her? I know it's not ideal, but it's probably better than her turning up and having to sleep in a guest room.'

'I thought maybe she could stay with Laetitia,' admitted Harry. 'But you're right—I should ring her.'

Davina arrived after dinner, and she was thrilled that Hermione was ready to go public. With her help, they purified several more books, and Harry raised Owen's question about whether it's possible to live full-time in an expanded fugue state.

'Yes, it's quite possible,' said Davina. 'In fact, I know people who experience life that way, and they say it's wonderful. They describe no sense of agency and say that life is merely unfolding around them, like a pavement that only forms when you set your foot down.'

'How do they even function?' asked Hermione. 'Are they able to hold jobs, or raise a family?'

'Yes, and often quite well. And it makes sense if you think about it. We tend to believe we're autonomous beings making rational decisions. But we still find ourselves blurting things we never planned, or engaging in activities out of instinct more than anything. The only difference for the people I'm describing is that they have no illusion of being in control.'

Hermione was frowning, but Harry said, 'This sounds almost like how I've handled Draco Malfoy. It's not a fugue state, certainly, but I seem to be leading him away from his father's footsteps, without really trying.'

Davina paused to evaluate Harry's statement. 'That's how it begins,' she said. 'But don't be overconfident, particularly with someone like Draco Malfoy, who's been groomed his entire life to practise the Dark Arts and lead the Dark faction.'

'That's a good point,' he said, resolving not to assume he'd already won Draco over.

'Davina, I'm not comfortable with what you're describing,' said Hermione. 'It sounds like the goal of Light magic is just to become some mindless automaton who's not even aware of what's happening around them.'

'I never said that was the goal, nor is that an accurate description of the phenomenon. All I said was that some people experience life as pure spontaneity, and that it's a lovely way of being. But I'm reluctant to cultivate it myself, because there are pitfalls.'

Hermione looked vindicated. 'What kind of pitfalls?'

'I've experienced that state, briefly, and it's remarkably freeing. A Muggle spiritual practitioner would be tempted to call it enlightenment. But for anyone with unresolved trauma, or even ordinary emotional baggage, such a state might allow those wounds to fester unseen. Which could result in harmful behaviour, either in the moment or down the road.'

Harry recalled the fugue state he'd experienced during the match against Jerome Wither. 'I think I know what you're talking about,' he said, a little embarrassed. 'The first time I felt it, I hadn't yet left off Seeker taunting, and I said the most appalling things. No one blamed me because all's fair above the pitch, but I'd never spoken like that in my whole life.'

'Did you verbally abuse the other player?' asked Davina.

'No, but I was incredibly arrogant. I went on about how I slew a Basilisk when I was twelve, how often I'm propositioned, and so forth.'

Chuckling, Davina said, 'That sounds pretty funny, actually. But it's a perfect example of the problem: you have unresolved trauma from both childhood and the war, specifically with regard to your own self-worth. Seeker taunting gave you the opportunity to speak freely—all's fair above the pitch, after all—and it came pouring out.'

'But I didn't do it the second time,' said Harry,. 'By then I'd given up taunting, so I no longer had permission. At least not in my own mind.'

Davina looked pleased. 'And that's why a moral code is so important. I don't like to emphasise it right away, since people often get defensive when you bring it up, but that's exactly how you train your behaviour in the long term.'

Hermione started bouncing in her seat. 'Because we don't ultimately have agency, at least not in the moment,' she blurted. 'But we have the ability to set an intention, and that ripens later into actions!'

'Sometimes much later,' said Davina. 'But that's exactly right.'

'So it's only safe to experience a fugue state once you've cleared all your trauma and can consistently generate a perfect intention?' said Harry, frowning.

'I wouldn't say that,' replied Davina. 'Those states can be very useful for resolving old trauma, since we're not so entangled in it, and we can more easily let it go. But personally I'd rather err on the side of caution, since there's plenty of progress to be made even without that advantage. And we can cultivate those states in small doses, without actually residing there full time. But that's a more advanced practice.'

Hermione had heaps of questions, and as Harry listened he recalled Alistair's moral code. I should really stop lying, he thought. 'What about white lies?' he asked. 'You know—small ones that are harmless.'

'On their own, they probably are harmless, as far as the recipient is concerned,' said Davina. 'But the problem is you're ingraining a habit, which can lead to bigger lies.'

Hermione went pale. 'What about secrecy? I'll probably have to lie to Muggles for the rest of my life.'

'So will I. My father is actually correct on this point—if I'd married a pure-blood, I wouldn't have this problem,' said Davina. 'Anyway, all I can say is that you have to be particularly careful about being honest the rest of the time. And when you have to lie to Muggles, don't embellish it.'

'Er, does this count as embellishing?' asked Harry, and he told them how he'd allowed Penelope to believe he was a faerie.

Hermione, who had never heard the full story, burst into hysterics, and Davina laughed heartily as well. 'That's a very interesting example, not to mention hilarious,' said Davina. 'All you did was say "Pass," again and again, so you didn't technically tell any lies. However, you allowed her to believe something that was false, although it was much closer to the truth than your original story. So in answer to your question ... I have no bloody idea.'

'Fair enough,' said Harry. 'And I don't anticipate repeating it, since I've decided not to, er, get involved with Muggles in the future.'

Hermione was still giggling after Davina left. 'Promise me you'll write a juicy memoir someday,' she told Harry.

My Well-Travelled Bollocks, he thought, recalling the title Draco had inadvertently suggested. 'Nice try, Granger, but I know better than to make a promise I mightn't keep. Not after tonight's lesson, anyway.'

She hugged him good night and disappeared into the fireplace, leaving Harry to read the two letters that had arrived during their lesson. One was from Lee, saying it was fine if he needed a break from the broadcast, and he included a box of condoms as a token of appreciation. 'We're finally ready to sell the product you suggested, minus the size enhancement. Just remove the wrapper, press it against the tip of Little Lord Black, and voilà! No need for Contraception Charms, and I guarantee you won't know it's there.' The box was unremarkable, and Harry could easily imagine it on a Muggle chemist's shelves. He didn't anticipate needing them, but with any luck Draco would.

The other letter was from Fiona, in reply to his lunch invitation. 'Wednesday would be perfect,' she wrote. 'Meet me at WORF headquarters, and we'll go to Gringotts and then to lunch. And yes, I'd prefer a Muggle restaurant.' Harry hoped that only meant she feared publicity, and not that she was ashamed to be seen with him. He also wondered whether this counted as a date, and if he should bring flowers. Or maybe send some to her office afterwards, he thought, and he was suddenly flooded with ideas for sweeping her off her feet.

He was midway through a fantasy about taking her to lunch at Claridge's and checking into a guest room—Quidditch practice be damned—when he realised what was happening. Slow down, Snitchbottom, he told himself. She'll almost certainly need to go slowly, and I don't want to ruin things by treating her like a C-squared.

He also wrote to Laetitia, asking if he could use her phone to ring Sophie. There was no way to ring her directly, since she was in Japan and her mobile wouldn't work there, but Laetitia could ring their agency and track her down. Harry still felt bad, and he hoped Sophie wouldn't be too badly hurt. It was almost easier getting dumped, he thought, recalling the absence of guilt.

His final activity before bed was to look in on Banthora. 'How are you doing?' he asked. 'Forgive me for not getting a painter in yet; things were just so busy leading up to the party.'

'I told you I don't require another portrait,' she said, but Harry interrupted her.

'I insist. This way you can visit the dining room—where I'll see you regularly—but you'll still have your privacy in one of the guest rooms.'

'That's terribly kind, but really, there's no need.'

Harry levelled his gaze at her. 'I seem to recall you enjoyed looking at that magazine I brought you,' he said, referring to the issue of Blood Traitor.

'I did,' she admitted. 'I just hate the expense. After telling you all the ways the family squandered gold, I can't possibly accept another portrait. They aren't cheap, you know.'

'Banthora, you are literally the closest thing I have to a grandmother, and I would be honoured to commission another portrait for you.'

'But I'm just a spinster,' she said, with a catch in her voice. 'They wouldn't have painted my portrait at all, only I asked that my dowry be used to pay for it. I had it hung in my bedroom for the final years of my life, to imbue it with as much of my personality as I could, since I knew that it was my only chance at ... continuity.'

Harry was relieved she didn't say 'immortality,' and he felt a surge of affection for the austere-looking witch. 'I'm so glad you did. I doubt I'd feel anywhere near this close to the Blacks if it weren't for you.' After a pause he said, 'I don't have portraits of my parents, nor any of my Potter relations. It'll be a few years before I have kids of my own, but I know how proud I'll be to present them to you. And you'll tell them stories, and they'll show you their drawings, and ...'

Her eyes shone with tears, and she said, 'Harry, you make me feel more alive than I ever felt as a witch.'

'Does that mean I've convinced you?' he asked cheekily.

'Yes,' she replied, and he wished he could hug her. I should introduce her to Padfoot, he thought, thinking she might enjoy some physical contact. After saying goodnight and leaving the dining room, he stopped in the entrance hall and tossed Padfoot a treat.

'You're not Sirius,' he said to the portrait, who was wagging his tail. 'You're not even sentient. But I'll thank you anyway for giving me a home and a family, even if I have to flog underwear to pay for all their sodding dowries.'

Padfoot barked in appreciation, reminding Harry of Sirius's barking laugh. It's an odd family I have, and Merlin knows I could have used it a few years earlier, he thought, climbing the stairs. But better late than never.