'Are you listening?' asked Hermione over dinner, before their Light magic lesson.

'I'm sorry? Yes, of course,' Harry lied, trying to remember what she had been on about.

'No, you aren't. But I'll forgive you, since you're completely lovesick right now.'

Harry sighed contentedly, since it was only a short mental hop from 'lovesick' to Fiona. Unlike the longer route he'd taken from 'goblin diplomacy' to Fiona, by way of Gringotts and the gold flecks in her irises.

'Wait, I remember! You were talking about work,' he blurted. 'Something about how Octavia is trying to bypass the DMLE and work instead with the Department of International Magical Cooperation.'

'Yes, five minutes ago,' she smirked. 'Would you care to explain how you got from there to Fiona?'

'Er, it involved Bartemius Crouch. Which led to Barty Junior and fake Moody, and then to Tonks. Who was a Metamorphmagus, just like Teddy. Which led to this afternoon and Fiona.'

'Q.E.D.,' said Hermione, drawing a blank stare from Harry. 'It's what you say at the end of a complicated proof,' she explained.

'But please forgive me,' said Harry. 'I should try to be a better listener.'

'Don't worry, this is fun. I'm not sure I've ever seen you like this—not even with Ginny or Helena.'

'I know, right? Do you think it's the Light magic?'

'We could ask Davina,' she said. 'Although wasn't Malfoy the same way with Catherine White?'

'You're right, he was. And he's doing it again with the Muggle he met at the nightclub last night.'

This time Hermione provided the blank stare, and Harry showed her the letter he'd received from Draco that afternoon:

Harry,

I need your advice. Obviously it's impossible to date Vicki publicly, but how might a Muggle feel about a long-term casual relationship? My thought is to rent a flat near her university and invent some faerie rubbish about how I can travel there easily. She could even live there if she likes, since her residence hall sounds ghastly.

Do you think she'd be offended if I suggested it? She didn't mind when I took her shopping this afternoon, but I think that was because you did something similar with Penelope.

I understand now why you don't bother with the Boudoir—what Vicki lacked in expertise she made up for with genuine affection. And waking up with her was like nothing I've ever experienced.

Awaiting your reply,
Draco

Hermione chuckled after reading it. 'He wants to make her a kept woman,' she said in amazement.

'I was leaning towards the term "sugar daddy,"' said Harry, 'but yes, exactly. I showed the letter to Banthora and she said he was Alphard Odysseus Black all over again, only Vicki's not an actress.'

'So what did you tell him?'

'Nothing yet. Honestly, I have no idea how she'd take it. But if she was complaining about her dormitory, maybe she'd like a free apartment. And she seemed to like Draco—enough to spend the night with him, anyway.'

'But what about secrecy? There's no way he'd manage to hide his wand that long.'

'You're right—he's bound to screw up. But otherwise I don't think it's a bad idea, as long as she doesn't get too attached.'

'Frankly, it sounds like he's the one getting attached,' said Hermione. 'It's one thing to want casual sex, but that bit about how "waking up with her was like nothing I've ever experienced" ... it sounds like something you'd say.'

Harry ran a hand through his hair. 'We really are alike, aren't we?' he said sheepishly. 'Have we always been this way, and I just couldn't see it?'

'No, he was a spoilt bully, and you were downtrodden. But the war evened things out, knocking Malfoy down a few pegs and turning you into something resembling an aristocrat. And when you risked your own freedom for him, that sealed it.'

'I guess so. And I'll write to him later tonight—I'm sure I'll think of something.'

When Davina arrived, Harry asked whether Light magic was contributing to his ardour for Fiona. 'I doubt it,' she said. 'Admittedly you skew heavily towards love—that's your dominant Light emotion—but I suspect this has more to do with the collapse of your outer walls. You're probably less driven by self-protection than before, which allows you to love more fully.'

'It's brilliant, but mostly because she likes me back.' He sighed in deep contentment, drawing laughter from the two witches.

'Can we use this somehow?' asked Hermione. 'For casting?'

'Eventually,' said Davina. 'It's a perfect state for enchanting objects, or imbuing them with protection. Harry, when you have children you can perform special charms on their cot and blankets to envelop them in extra love as they sleep.'

'What about on a letter?' he asked. 'Can I imbue a love letter with actual love?'

'If you like, but it won't have much effect, since the recipient can't wrap themselves in it.'

'A scarf, then?' asked Harry. It's nearly November, he thought hopefully.

'Will you enchant a foulard?' smirked Hermione.

'No, a winter scarf,' he said, trying to remember what he had upstairs.

Hermione was grinning. 'Gryffindor or Slytherin?'

Harry raised his wand and said, 'Accio scarf I bought with Lydia.' Hermione looked at him sceptically, but a brown herringbone scarf made of soft wool flew into the library. 'Can I charm this with love?' he asked Davina.

Amused, Davina said, 'You may recall that I said, "eventually," meaning you'll eventually experience love that's pure enough for a protection charm. Right now, however, your feelings are heavily mixed with lust.'

'She's got you there, Snitchbottom,' said Hermione.

'Oi! You don't get to call me that!' Looking at Davina again, he said, 'What would happen if I tried casting a love charm on this scarf right now, and gave it to Fiona?'

Davina paused to consider it. 'You have a strong core of love, so it would provide some protection—emotional more than anything. But the lust could go either way. She might find it arousing, or it could scare her off, if it's too strong for her right now. I know she returns your affections, but if she's conflicted the scarf could overwhelm her.'

'She's a widow and you're a nineteen-year-old Light wizard,' said Hermione. 'I say take it slowly.'

Harry rubbed the soft wool between his fingertips, wishing he could give her the scarf anyway. 'Is there some other charm I could put on it?'

After another pause, Davina said, 'Yes, I think so. Hermione, would you be willing to help?'

'Definitely! What do you have in mind?'

'Your Light magic has a different flavour to Harry's, but they make a good combination, probably because of your long history together. That's why you've been able to clear Dark objects earlier than I would have expected.'

Harry glanced at Hermione and saw the small smile she always wore when a teacher praised her. But he was also happy to hear that they were still deeply linked, even though their lives had changed so much since the summer. 'How would you characterise Hermione's Light magic?' he asked.

'Compassion,' said Davina. 'Specifically compassion towards herself.'

Hermione frowned and said, 'That doesn't sound very Light.'

Davina raised one eyebrow. 'Oh? Why not?'

'Because it's selfish. Shouldn't Light magic be selfless, like Harry's is?'

'Mine's not selfless,' he said. 'I mean, yeah, sacrificing my life was probably selfless, but now Light magic just feels good.'

'But you're feeling love too,' she argued.

'Hermione, you're making a classic mistake,' said Davina. 'There's nothing wrong with self-compassion. It's actually quite rare in its pure form—self-hatred is far more common.' Hermione asked for clarification, and Davina said, 'Surely you've encountered people who loathe others for characteristics they see in themselves.'

Pausing first to consider it, Hermione said, 'Yes, Dolores Umbridge was like that. Her mother was a Muggle, but she venerated pure-bloods ... Are you saying that self-compassion protects against hypocrisy?'

'It certainly helps, but there's more to it than that. Self-compassion is important because it's a sort of linchpin, or keystone. You can have compassion towards other people, but if you're harbouring self-hatred it'll always be limited. Furthermore, if you lack compassion towards yourself, you'll be judgmental of others.'

'But I am judgmental of others,' argued Hermione. 'And I know it's a fault of mine. So how can you say that my Light magic is primarily self-compassion?'

'You haven't mastered it, and I suspect you're overcoming a deficit. But you've had a taste of it now, I think, and it'll grow.'

Harry was impressed by Davina's assessment of Hermione. She's hard on me, and on everyone else, but she's probably even harder on herself.

For a long moment, Hermione was silent. 'I'll have to think about that,' she said. 'But we were talking about enchanting Harry's scarf. The one he bought with Lydia,' she added with a smirk.

Davina instructed Harry to lay the scarf on the table and she described the charm she wanted him to perform. Next she told them to allow their Light magic to arise, and Harry needed no further prompting—the mere thought of Fiona was enough to generate strong Light magic.

But Hermione's hair wasn't sparking yet. 'Can you glow?' she asked. 'That seems to help somehow.'

Harry lit up just as easily as if he'd cast Lumos using his wand, and Hermione's hair began to spark. 'Remarkable,' said Davina. 'You two are deeply aligned.'

'Reunited twins,' said a beaming Hermione.

'Indeed. Now Harry, I know you're probably thinking about Fiona, but allow your love for Hermione to enter the mix.'

Harry was feeling waves of energy throughout his torso, with a strong undercurrent of desire, but Davina's advice to incorporate his love for Hermione changed the experience. His chest seemed to expand, and he felt a deep well of love for his old friend. Hermione, he thought tenderly, and her familiar look of concentration made him smile.

She smiled back, and Davina said, 'Now cast the charm.'

He raised his wand and cast the Light spell she'd taught them, and the scarf rippled as if in a breeze. When it settled, Davina picked it up and cast what looked like a diagnostic charm. Then she closed her eyes, still holding the scarf in her hands.

After a moment she opened her eyes and said, 'Yes, this is well-balanced. More heart energy and less groin.'

Hermione started laughing. 'Harry, I just thought of a surefire way for you to sell more underwear: imbue it with your world-renowned groin energy.'

'Oi!'

'Underwear?' said Davina. 'Did I miss something?'

'Ugh, I mustn't have told you yet,' grimaced Harry. 'I'm endorsing underwear, which makes me a complete sell-out. The adverts will run everywhere but Britain.'

'Wizarding photographs?' she asked uneasily.

'No, Muggle. Although I do glow in several of the photos.'

Hermione insisted Harry show Davina the photographs. Flipping through them, she said, 'Whenever I decide you couldn't possibly do more to promote the Light Arts, you go and surprise me. Please give my thanks to whoever convinced you to do it.'

'That would be Narcissa Malfoy,' said Harry. 'And I somehow doubt that was her intention.'

After Davina and Hermione left, Harry reread the letter from Draco. It'll never work, he thought sadly, knowing Draco would almost certainly violate the Statute of Secrecy. He had Lodie deliver a brief message telling Draco to Floo-call him anytime before ten.

Harry went to the reception hall to wait, and he'd barely opened his book when Draco's head popped from the fireplace. 'Harry, can I just come through? I don't fancy kneeling before you.'

'Yes, that's fine,' said Harry, and Draco soon appeared. Clearing the ashes from his clothes, he said, 'So, do you think she'll go for it?'

'Whoa, slow down,' said Harry. 'Where did you leave things with her?'

Draco flopped into an armchair and said, 'I saw her off at the train station. Penelope was there too, but she gave us privacy to say goodbye.'

'Did you tell her you'd see her again?'

'I hinted at it, but she probably thought I was talking about a chance meeting, like at the nightclub. And I hadn't really formulated the idea yet—that came later. But I think she might be interested ... she said more than once she wished there were some way to stay in touch.'

'Right ...' began Harry, who'd pulled a chair opposite Draco and sat down. 'Have you talked to anyone else about this yet?'

'Surely you don't mean Mother!'

'No, and I suppose you wouldn't bother your solicitor over the weekend.'

'Of course I would—that's what we pay him for. Should I summon him now? I can call Nitta, or perhaps Kreacher can do it.'

'Again, slow down!' ordered Harry, holding up a hand to stop him. 'I can definitely see why you're tempted to keep seeing her: you like her, and it would buy you time until you're ready to marry. But it also sounds risky.'

'Risky how? I won't get her pregnant, thanks to Lee and George—I couldn't feel that thing at all. And there's no way it would get back to my parents. So, what's the problem?'

'I can think of several. First: secrecy.'

Draco sniffed and said, 'If you can keep secrecy, so can I. And your faerie cover story means I don't need to pass amongst Muggles.'

'Yes, but I only spent two nights with Penelope, and the first night I was lying. If we'd spent more time together, I'm sure I'd have revealed too much. I probably have done already.'

'But no one caught you, right? And I can always perform a Memory Charm if I need to. It isn't Dark magic, so my rubbish wand won't stop me.'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'I suppose you need to pass your time somehow until you can start casting Unforgivables again.'

'There's more to Dark magic than Unforgivables,' retorted Draco. 'But you've never cared about nuance, for all that you're a Slytherin now.'

Feeling a flash of his obnoxious Seeker persona, Harry said, 'Yes, I've been shockingly ineffectual these past few months. It's sad, really.'

Draco made a rude gesture and said, 'So, back to your objections: you said secrecy was a problem, and I said it won't be and that I can always Obliviate her in a pinch. What next?'

'I'm sorry,' said Harry. 'I clearly left out the part where only a colossal dick would Obliviate his girlfriend without her consent. And I'm being charitable by calling you a dick and not a monster.'

'You are such a hypocrite! You let Penelope believe all that faerie bollocks, but you're too noble to Obliviate anyone.'

'It's not hypocritical to have a line I won't cross. The reason I let her believe all that was so I wouldn't have to Obliviate her. How would you feel if I accidentally revealed something classified and Obliviated you?'

After a long silence, Draco surprised Harry by agreeing with him. 'You're right. If she were a random Muggle I wouldn't hesitate. But I like her too much.'

'And that's the next problem. One of you is bound to get too attached. Probably you.'

'I beg your pardon!'

'It's not an insult,' said Harry. 'I'm the same way, remember?'

'But a Muggle?' exclaimed Draco. 'Obviously I like her, and I'm attracted to her, but I don't see myself falling in love.'

'Then she might. Consider it from her perspective: you're a dashing, ambiguously magical gentleman who installs her in a swanky flat. You'll undoubtedly drop hints to how important you are and probably trot out more jewellery from the family vault. If she's at all emotionally vulnerable, she could easily concoct a fantasy where you whisk her off to your palace somewhere.'

Draco got a faraway look, and a small smile curled his lips. 'It is tempting,' he admitted. 'And Father would have a heart attack. She'd be a pariah, though, and House Malfoy would be ruined. I couldn't do that to her, or to the family.' Looking at Harry again, he said, 'But can't I explain things at the outset? Tell her I can never marry her, and that this is the best way to keep seeing each other?'

'Would she be allowed to date other men?' asked Harry. Draco froze, and Harry said, 'And what if you split up? Does she lose the flat? I don't know how easy it is to get university housing after you've given up your spot.'

'She'd still have her dormitory,' said Draco dismissively. 'She just wouldn't need to stay there. And obviously I'd never see it.'

'So she'd be at your beck and call? You'll just owl her whenever you're feeling randy? Or would you get a mobile telephone?'

'I don't know! I'm sure our solicitor could work out the details. But you haven't answered my actual question, which was whether you think she'd agree to it.'

'Honestly, I have no idea. She might jump at the chance, or be hugely offended. And you have to let her date other people. I assume you plan to do the same?'

'Yes. I still want to marry, and perhaps this way I won't be so blinded by lust.'

Harry was momentarily distracted by the words 'blinded by lust.' Sighing, he said, 'Women are brilliant, aren't they?'

'They really are,' said Draco, also sighing. 'So you think I should do it?'

'No, it's a terrible idea and will almost certainly go wrong. But yes, do it. Just be honest upfront and tell her she's free to date other people.'

'Not in my flat. She can do that in her residence hall, or at his place.'

'And one more thing,' said Harry. 'If she dumps you, or things end badly for some other reason, don't hold it against all Muggles. You haven't condemned all witches because of Catherine, have you?'

'I have, actually. That's why I want to date a Muggle.' Harry stared at him, and Draco said, 'No, I haven't given up on witches. I just like Vicki and want to play house for a while.'

'I get it—I played house with Lydia. Which ended badly, by the way.'

'Of course it did,' he drawled. 'Anyone could have predicted that.'

'Seriously, Draco, commitment-free sex is hard. The only partner I've really pulled it off with was Sophie, and that was mainly because she's French. Maybe Vicki will be different, since she's a Muggle, but don't count on it.'

Draco stood up and said, 'That's enough doom and gloom. You've told me what I wanted to hear, and I can disregard the rest.' Harry gaped at him again, and Draco said, 'Merlin, you're thick! I'm just kidding.'

This is a weird friendship, thought Harry after seeing him out the Floo. But he didn't take Draco's insults seriously, since Draco clearly valued his advice. He only hoped things wouldn't end too badly with Vicki, and he was relieved that a mere secrecy violation was unlikely to get Harry into trouble under the terms of Draco's early release.

The next morning, he wrote to Fiona first thing:

Dear Fiona,

All England knows about my enormous bed, and it's never felt more empty than it does right now. I don't know whether you'll spend the night here, or if 'Mummy's friend Harry' will become a fixture at your house, but I hope you'll occasionally visit, because I want memories of you wherever I look.

You already own the back garden, where I had my arm around you. And then you splashed your face in the kitchen sink, and I can tell you now how beautiful I thought you were, a little puffy from crying. Not that I liked that you were crying, but it was a glimpse of Complicated Fiona, and she's lovely.

I got to dance with you on the roof, but I seldom go up there, so it barely counts, and I've seen you in the library and dining room as well. But you've never set foot in my bedroom, which is where I am now, and I'm eager to bring you here. And I'm even more eager to hear you make some of the sounds you made yesterday when we were alone.

I know you're reading this at work, and I can't help wondering whether I can make you gasp with pleasure right now. To that end, I've enclosed more chocolate. Feel free to enjoy it at your desk or, better yet, somewhere completely private. And know that when I see you on Wednesday, I intend to hear more of those sounds—as much as you're willing.

I know I'm at risk of scaring you off, writing like this. But now that we've kissed, I can no longer be subtle. I promise, however, not to breathe a word on the radio tomorrow. I might refer to someone I'm seeing, but your identity will remain secret as long as you want.

Yours entirely,
Harry

P.S.: I almost forgot to include a reason I like you! I'm running late for practice, so I have to be quick about it, but your laugh is delightful. I first heard it when I announced what a 'fit bird' you were, and I haven't tired of it.

Owen was the first to greet him that morning at the Cannons training grounds. 'I suppose I needn't ask how you're doing today,' he smirked. 'When will you see her again?'

'Wednesday. Tonight is Seekers' Night Out, and tomorrow I have the radio broadcast. Furthermore, Fiona is busy preparing for the gala, and she doesn't want to neglect Matthew on top of that.'

'And how does it feel not to be the centre of her world?'

'It feels fine,' said Harry. 'It feels normal, even, and I need that.'

Owen nodded. 'Yes, I suppose you've always had either too much attention or too little. Incidentally, I want to tell Gemma today she'll be starting against the Falcons. And we'll announce it to the press as well.'

'Brilliant—I was hoping it would be public in time for tonight. Maybe this means the other Seekers won't gang up on me for once. When will you tell her?'

Looking over Harry's shoulder, he said, 'No time like the present.' He waved Gemma over, and she eyed them suspiciously.

'Right, you two are scheming about something,' she said. 'I can tell.'

'Guilty as charged,' said Owen, 'but I think you'll like it. What are you doing on Saturday?'

Her look of mistrust deepened. 'Er, watching the match, same as always.'

Harry frowned and said, 'That could be a problem, since I was also planning to watch the match. Owen, what do you think?'

'Yeah, definitely a problem,' said Owen. 'I should probably tell Tuttle we won't have a starting Seeker. Unless Gemma's willing to step up.'

Gemma's eyes shot open. 'Oh my god, you want me to start! At home, against the Falcons?' Turning towards Harry, she said, 'And you're all right with it?'

'Absolutely. Something tells me you have a long career ahead of you, and I'll have a front row seat. I just need to decide which banner to hold.'

'Will you really hold a banner for me?' she asked, a little emotional.

'Technically we're not supposed to hold banners in the skybenches,' said Owen. 'But they'll put out a press release today, so I suspect there'll be loads of others.'

Her eyes were still wide as the news sank in. 'Does this mean I'll get ten tickets instead of six?'

'Yes, and just ask Lara if you need extra portkeys for your family.'

Word travelled fast amongst the Cannons, and several of Harry's teammates asked him privately if he was upset. 'Not a bit,' he told Ryan as they ran laps. 'Owen checked with me last week, and I'm thrilled she'll get the chance to start.'

'I'm glad to hear it,' said Ryan. 'I didn't think you'd mind, but there's been a lot of hype about the national team, so I wasn't sure.'

'I've heard hype about you as well. The other night Draco Malfoy said you're on his short list—he's a Quidditch fanatic, and impressively well-informed.'

'That's flattering, although I have decidedly mixed feelings about praise from a former Death Eater. Hermione said he treated her horribly for years. Not to mention how he stood by while she was being tortured.'

'He was powerless by that point,' countered Harry. 'And there was no arguing with Bellatrix, who was completely irrational.'

'I suppose that's true. But you know he's never apologised to her. They even spoke at your party, and while he didn't quite insult her, there was a definite note of contempt.'

'Yeah, he's still learning how not to be a wanker,' said Harry. 'But was Hermione upset? She didn't say anything about it.'

'She just brushed it off,' said Ryan. 'I sometimes worry that Hogwarts warped her sense of self-worth, since she experienced so much abuse there.'

Harry couldn't dispute his point. 'I should probably lean on Draco to apologise to her. His insults don't bother me, but he really needs to stop being such a dick.' Glancing at Ryan as they ran, he said, 'But what about flying for England? You're interested, right?'

'Yes, even though it's not a World Cup year. But I'd enjoy getting to know the other players and travelling for the matches. It seems like a great opportunity to see the world and get paid for it.'

'Right, travel,' said Harry, who hadn't fully considered that aspect. 'How much travel is there?'

'A fair amount in January and February, but it's easily managed. Portkeys, and a few extra days to adjust to the time change—there's a potion, but it's not adequate for playing a match. The host committee offers tours for the visiting players, and loads of spectators turn up, so it's apparently a lot of fun.'

I'd have loved it during my manwhore phase, thought Harry, but now he didn't want to be away from Fiona. 'Wouldn't you miss Hermione?' he asked.

'Actually, I was hoping she could accompany me. We haven't talked about it, though.'

'I bet she'd like that,' mused Harry. 'She could research wizard-goblin relations first-hand.'

'Nice one, Snitchbottom! I'll use that on her. If I get the spot, that is.'

Gemma was a bundle of excitement all morning, and Harry offered her his place at lunch. 'You're a starter this week—it's time you met Candice.'

'Brilliant! Will you eat with the reserves, or will it be Pratt's?'

'The latter. I have an errand at the Ministry, and then I'll ingratiate myself to the ruling elite over lunch.'

Harry was dreading his trip to the Registrar General, but he was actually looking forward to lunch at Pratt's. The food was first-rate, and he planned to tell Oscar Abbott or some other member of the Light faction that he'd finally appointed a proxy.

After showering and changing into robes, he travelled by Floo to the Ministry, just as everyone was leaving for lunch. He hoped this meant Sylvan Burke wouldn't be there, but no such luck—Harry heard his drawling voice as he rounded the corner to the Registrar's office.

Only one person was ahead of him, and Harry half-expected Burke to concoct some reason to close up shop, just to thwart him. Indeed, the young wizard seemed to consider it, based on how he didn't call Harry when his turn first arrived. Burke glanced several times at his pocket watch and made a show of rearranging papers, even though Harry was only a few yards away and could see him clearly through the open door.

'Next,' called Burke, studiously looking at some of the papers he'd just arranged. He didn't look up until Harry entered and sat down across from him. 'Well, if it isn't Lord Snitchbottom,' said Burke, in a supercilious tone.

Harry had managed to forget that his team nickname was common knowledge. 'Snitchbottom-Black,' he said archly, and energy flowed up from his torso, curling his mouth into a sneer. 'I'm here to appoint a Wizengamot proxy.'

For a moment, Burke's Slytherin mask flickered, and Harry could see him trying to decide how to drag out the simple process. But his look of cool contempt returned, and he said, 'Shirking your sacred duty, I see.'

'Yes. I've done nothing whatever for wizarding Britain, and I thought I'd make it official. I believe the form is straightforward?'

After a stubborn silence, Burke said, 'It is.' He pulled open a drawer, which Harry couldn't see into, and using his wand he Summoned a parchment. 'Who have you selected? One of your trusted Gryffindors, or did you dredge up some nobody?'

'Neither. I'm appointing Marcus Waite.'

Burke went pale. Still hung up on Lydia, eh? thought Harry, with only a hint of sympathy. 'Was that her idea?' asked Burke, not bothering to specify who he was talking about.

'No. I mean, yes, I met him through Lydia, but I first heard about him months ago. His service during the war was extraordinary, and we see eye-to-eye on all the important issues.'

'I'm sure you do, considering everything you have in common,' he said, with heavy emphasis on the word 'common.'

What's that supposed to mean? Harry wondered. Surely Lydia isn't common.

Burke was still clutching the parchment. 'If I may,' said Harry, taking it from him.

'Yes, it's not the first thing you've pried from my grasp. Although I should probably thank you, seeing how shallow she turned out to be.'

Harry inhaled sharply, and he realised Burke's resentment was now aimed at Lydia. He recalled the large drawing the Prophet had run after his party, capturing her smouldering sexuality and Marcus's film-star looks. Even Harry had felt a pang of jealousy when he saw it, so it must have torn Sylvan Burke to bits.

'She's not shallow. And Marcus is brilliant.'

'Oh? Does he swing both ways? Is that how he got the job?'

'I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer,' said Harry, and without another word he filled out the brief form.

After signing his name, he returned it to Burke. 'Will you please inscribe this? The next Wizengamot session is on Wednesday.'

Burke took his time examining the form. 'Were you and Waite dressed in women's clothing when you discussed it?'

'No,' said Harry icily.

'So you were already in bed?'

'Burke, that's enough!' snapped Harry. 'I've been rejected too, and yes, it hurts. But I bloody well moved on, and you should too. I've also had quite enough enemies for one lifetime, so I'd just as soon not include you.'

Glowering, Burke said, 'You can't hurt me. If you tried turning the goblins against me or my family, word would get out they're your lapdogs, and no one would vote on their behalf.'

He's right, thought Harry, recalling how he'd threatened Burke with goblin retaliation. For a moment Harry was silent, unsure how to reply, until inspiration struck. 'How old are you?' he asked innocently.

'I'm sorry?'

'Were you one year ahead of me at Hogwarts or two?'

'One,' replied Burke, clearly unsure where Harry was going.

'That makes you twenty, right? Or are you already twenty-one?'

Burke stiffened. 'I turn twenty-one next month,' he said, with a catch in his voice.

'That's an important birthday in a wizard's life, isn't it?' said Harry. 'For a pure-blood Hogwarts wizard, that is.'

He had no doubt that Burke knew he'd joined Pratt's. Harry didn't think he had any influence over the membership committee, but Burke didn't know that. Or if he did, he wasn't willing to take the risk.

Burke touched his wand to the parchment, and two copies appeared. The original and one of the duplicates flew into two separate file drawers, and he returned the other duplicate to Harry. 'This is your copy—do with it as you will.'

'Thank you,' said Harry, rising. 'And seriously, move on. There are heaps of brilliant witches out there, particularly if you look beyond the usual families.'

'Yes, your father set quite the example,' muttered Burke, before realising his mistake and clamping his mouth shut.

'I know, I'm the wrong kind of half-blood,' drawled Harry. 'It's the cross I bear. See you next time!'

He rounded the corner and leaned against the wall for a moment. Merlin, what a wanker! And I was nearly as bad, he realised. If that was Light magic, clearly something's gone wrong.

Resolving to ask Davina about it, he returned to the Atrium and travelled by Floo to Pratt's. 'Good afternoon, Mr Potter-Black,' said the young clerk at the front desk. 'You have a letter.'

'Oh?' said Harry, taking it from him.

'We received it this morning—if you hadn't visited today, we would have owled it to your house.'

'Can anyone write to me in care of Pratt's?' he asked, concerned.

The clerk looked affronted. 'Merlin, no! It's from another member. This way members can correspond even if their home wards prevent it. But if you prefer not to receive letters this way, or to bar specific members from contacting you, please say the word.'

'No, this is fine. I've come to appreciate how Pratt's brings wizards together, and clearly this is an important part of it.'

The clerk nodded respectfully, and after signing the register Harry stepped into the library to read his letter. Skipping to the bottom, he was surprised to see it was from Charles Selwyn. It read:

Dear Harry,

Forgive me for using your given name, but I can't quite bring myself to call you "Mr Potter-Black," and I assume calling you "Lord Black" would merely irk you.

When you first joined Pratt's, I had my doubts whether you'd fully accept the degree to which Dark and Light wizards intermingle. Gryffindors are notoriously self-righteous, and I feared you'd continue in that mould. But clearly the Sorting Hat knew what it was doing, since you've proven yourself more flexible than I dared hope.

Before continuing, Harry nervously scanned the letter to make sure Selwyn wasn't propositioning him, but he wasn't. That's fortunate, he thought. A pure-blood princess was one thing, but I don't think I'll ever go for a pure-blood prince.

The letter went on:

You must therefore excuse my delay in inviting you to join a secret society within Pratt's, consisting of wizards like ourselves with a taste for the finer things in life. Some would argue that this describes every Pratt's member, but we both know that not everyone is as discerning as you and I. (If you doubt this, merely cast a glance at the appalling robes some of our fellow members turn up in.)

We call ourselves the Order of Volupta, in tribute to the Roman goddess of sensual pleasures. But don't let the name fool you—we don't spend all our time at the Boudoir. On the contrary, during a typical gathering we might simply sip liqueur whilst admiring portraits of exquisite witches and wizards of yore. For some members, our meetings are an opportunity to dress as they dare not in public. Indeed, I was the object of extreme jealousy for being invited to your party, particularly since cross-dressing is not my particular predilection. But you'll be encouraged to wear your most outré robes, and if your current wardrobe is too tame we'll gladly recommend some discreet tailors.

We meet every other Thursday at eight o'clock, in private room number six. The tradition is to arrive wearing a cloak and reveal your outfit in front of the group. I realise this Thursday is short notice, so no one will mind if you wear something you've already been seen in, such as the dress you wore to your party. And it should go without saying that we value discretion second only to beauty itself. My wife doesn't know about the Order, and I'm trusting you to show the same restraint.

I do hope you'll join us, if not this week then in a fortnight. We may never agree on politics, but surely we can both appreciate the more refined pleasures of the senses.

Yours sincerely,
Charles Selwyn

Harry's first thought was, Holy fuck, that sounds creepy! And his second thought was, I definitely need to see this! But he also felt trepidation; Selwyn didn't say how long the Order had existed or whether the members were all young, but Harry feared seeing things he could never unsee. Like Romulus Wynter in a sequinned ballgown, or Magnus Travers in bondage gear.

Then again, Selwyn might be insulted if he didn't attend, which could have negative repercussions. Selwyn was offering him access to wizards whose help he might need, either in the Wizengamot or for his larger goal of preventing the next war. And I really don't have anything to lose, he thought. Everyone knows I'm debauched, so I'd mainly find out who else is too.

The hardest part would be keeping his mouth shut. He'd already told too many people about Pratt's, and this was even juicier. Note to self: Do not even hint about this to Hermione. And if Gemma finds out, Obliviate her.

Realising he'd decided to attend, Harry thought next about what to wear. His Robert de Montesquiou robes were the most formal, but he was wearing them to the WORF gala on Sunday. He resolved instead to wear his dove-grey robes and floral waistcoat, which he'd only been photographed in once. If there were ever an occasion to wear the silk gloves Lydia gave me, this would be it, he thought, but he refused on general principle.

He tucked the letter into his pocket and proceeded to the dining room. As usual, multiple wizards invited him to join them, and Harry paused to consider his options. He realised he didn't need to sit with members of the Light faction, since news of his proxy would spread quickly regardless. But he didn't fancy sitting with a known adversary like Lydia's father, whose companion had waved Harry over.

Harry made his excuses and sat with a pair of wizards he didn't recognise. One appeared to be in his fifties and the other a decade older. 'Potter, welcome,' said the junior wizard.

'Potter-Black,' corrected his friend. 'I'm Rutherford Stroop, and this is Barnabas Cuffe.' Harry vaguely recognised the first name, but he did a double-take when he heard the second one.

'You're the editor of the Prophet, right?' he said, trying to hide a flurry of emotions.

'Editor-in-chief,' said Cuffe. 'It's a pleasure to meet you, Potter-Black. And long overdue.'

Harry's mind reeled as he recalled the years of abuse he'd taken from the Prophet, starting with the Triwizard Tournament and reaching a fever pitch after Voldemort's return, when they'd called him a deluded, attention-seeking liar. 'Yes, long overdue,' he said, shaking Cuffe's hand. 'And Stroop, your name is familiar but I can't place it.'

'I'm a radio host,' he said. 'I provide commentary during the week, and I have a two-hour broadcast on Sundays.'

'Yes, of course,' said Harry, recalling that Mrs Thwip had mentioned him. 'My secretary and her husband are big fans. I'm afraid I haven't heard you myself, but you mustn't take it personally—I never picked up the habit of listening to wizarding radio.'

'That's ironic, considering you're Britain's leading radio personality,' said Cuffe. 'I'm sure Stroop would give his eyeteeth for your ratings.'

'My ratings are fine, thank you very much,' said Stroop. 'I don't claim to have so broad an appeal as Potter-Black. And meanwhile, he's done us both a tremendous service by giving us so much to talk about.'

'Hear hear!' said Cuffe. 'My wife named our new summer cottage after you.'

'What?' gasped Harry.

'Just a joke, young man! And I daresay you're profiting more than anyone. Between Quidditch and your endorsements, you'll probably build an enormous fortune, even without your inheritances.'

'What endorsements?' said Harry innocently. 'I've only endorsed my florist and a home decor shop.'

'Come now, Potter-Black. Just because we haven't printed anything, that doesn't mean we don't know about your next venture.'

'His next venture?' asked Stroop. 'What is it?'

An elf arrived to take their order, which gave Harry a moment to recover from the alarming conversation thus far. At what point can I stop being civil? he wondered.

After the elf left, Harry said, 'I'd prefer not to talk about my business dealings until they're public. Particularly with members of the press—I'm sure you understand.'

'Of course,' said Cuffe, 'but you needn't worry we'd reveal anything you say here—the Pratt's bond is sacred. And believe me, there's no reason to be embarrassed about your new endorsement, as I'm sure the numbers will be staggering. Runnion was a genius to propose it.'

'This is cruel,' said Stroop, clearly frustrated not to know what they were talking about. 'Potter-Black, be a sport, will you?'

Harry sighed heavily. 'I'm endorsing underwear. The adverts will run everywhere but Britain.'

The radio host's eyes shot open. 'Great Godric, are you serious?'

Encouraged by Stroop's choice of expletive, Harry said, 'I am. I've been tasked with replenishing the Black family vault, and this is an efficient way to do it.'

'Bravo,' said Stroop. 'Anyone else's reputation might suffer, but yours is unassailable.'

Not for lack of trying by Cuffe, thought Harry bitterly. 'Cheers,' he replied. 'And I appreciate what you said on the radio, about the connection between cross-dressing and Light magic. I didn't hear it myself, but my secretary told me about it.'

'It was my pleasure to inform the masses. I specialise in the historical perspective on current events, and you've enabled me to delve into eras when the Light Arts were more widely practised. I can provide any number of precedents from Light practitioners of generations past.'

'Really? Anything good?'

'Persephone Figg, for example,' said Stroop. 'She presided over the Wizengamot for several years during the sixteenth century and was a Light witch. Her Light magic deepened significantly during her tenure, starting with accidental glowing, much like your own. But it eventually grew into prolonged ecstatic states, often during Wizengamot sessions.'

'During sessions?' exclaimed Harry, trying to imagine what that would be like.

'Yes. During political debates she often entered a sort of trance, which somehow affected the opposing parties. She'd begin to hum involuntarily, and their disagreements would inexplicably melt away. It was a tremendous period for passing legislation, but her rivals feared things were changing too quickly, so they poisoned her.' Harry gaped at him, and Stroop added, 'But it didn't work. The poison didn't affect her, leading her assassin to believe he'd given her the wrong glass, so he switched it with his own. And promptly died.'

'Why didn't it affect her? Did her Light magic somehow neutralise it?'

'No. By a startling coincidence, the house-elf had accidentally garnished the mashed turnips with powdered bezoar, which was only in the kitchen because of a mixup. And her assassin loathed turnips, which meant he hadn't eaten any and was unprotected.'

'That is a very weird coincidence,' said Harry. 'How did she react, when she discovered they'd tried to assassinate her?'

'She was heartsick and gave up her post voluntarily. Until then, she hadn't realised she was upsetting anyone, since people got on so well in her presence. Naturally, strife resumed after she left, but oddly enough, no one moved to overturn the laws they'd passed, and nearly all of them stand to this day.'

'What kind of laws?'

'All sorts, but the most radical were laws preventing Muggle-born children from being forcibly taken from their parents. Prior to that, children displaying accidental magic were often kidnapped during the night and replaced with a simulacrum—it was common for Muggle families to sleep in the same bed back then, and the wizards didn't want to attract notice. But by morning, the simulacrum turned back into a bundle of sticks, or whatever had been transfigured for the purpose. Which served as the basis for Muggle legends about faerie changelings. Nothing like real fairies, of course.'

Harry was fascinated and asked Stroop to go on, but Cuffe grew impatient. 'Just because I won't print what Potter-Black reveals this afternoon, that doesn't mean I want to squander a meal with Britain's most enthralling wizard.'

'That may well describe Stroop,' said Harry sincerely, and he resolved to listen to his radio programme. 'But actually there is something I'd like to reveal, and feel free to make it public. I've appointed a proxy in the Wizengamot.'

'Oh? Who is it?'

'Marcus Waite.'

Cuffe, who was eating his starter, set down his fork. 'He's awfully young, isn't he?'

'He's older than I am.'

'Yes, but you inherited your seat. Appointees are never that young.'

'Then this will be a first,' said Harry. 'And not the only first: he didn't attend Hogwarts.'

This time Stroop set down his fork. 'Really? That's extraordinary! Which school did he attend?'

Harry was once again pleased that the Pratt's executive committee had agreed to remove Phineas Nigellus's wards. 'Stodgings.'

'That's not so bad,' said Cuffe, starting to eat again. 'Better than some of those schools. West Upper Underarm and so forth.'

'I beg your pardon!' blurted Harry. 'I've seen no evidence that the other schools are inferior. Indeed, they were almost all better than Hogwarts this past decade.'

'Dumbledore,' said Cuffe disapprovingly, and Stroop nodded in agreement.

Harry felt slightly betrayed, and Stroop said, 'You said it yourself—he ran the school poorly during his final years. I don't deny he was powerful and well-intentioned, and largely on the right side of history. But he made one mistake after another, and you in particular paid the price.'

Sighing, Harry said, 'You're right, I have done. But I don't want to talk about Dumbledore. Perhaps I'll argue with his portrait one of these days, but for now there's no point.'

'Understood,' said Stroop. 'But who is this Marcus Waite?'

Harry began describing Marcus's service during the war, but Cuffe cut him off. 'He's sleeping with Lydia Travers. Handsome fellow. Disinherited, though.'

'His relationship with Lydia had nothing to do with my decision, and obviously his appearance didn't either.'

'Nonsense, of course they did,' said Cuffe. 'His looks in particular. And thanks, by the way—we were hoping to run his picture again.'

'Sorry, young man, but Cuffe's right,' said Stroop. 'No one can beat you for charisma, but if he's that good-looking and representing House Black, he'll draw nearly as much attention as you do. And you say he has a good mind?'

'He does, and a strong moral compass. I'm thrilled he agreed to be my proxy.'

'Then well done. Everyone understands why you can't attend sessions yourself, at least during Quidditch season, and appointing a strong proxy was savvy indeed. You're truly your grandfather all over again.'

'Did you know him?' asked Harry.

'Not really—he was a generation older than I am. But my father was his classmate and fellow Gryffindor, and he always spoke highly of him.'

'But wasn't he duped by Dumbledore?' challenged Harry. 'I understand he bankrolled him during the First Wizarding War.'

'He did, and during Grindelwald's War as well. But I refuse to make the classic historian's mistake of judging people based on perfect hindsight. Monty Potter used the available information to make some very fine decisions—decisions that saved dozens of lives, if you consider everyone he sheltered during Grindelwald's War. He also turned a relatively modest inheritance into a fortune, and gave much of it away to help others. When I compare you to him, you should take it as a compliment.'

Harry was overwhelmed, and he blinked to prevent a tear from forming. 'But would he have modelled underwear?' he asked sheepishly.

'Not when I knew him,' said Stroop, laughing. 'But mostly because no one would have asked—he was rather old by then. And he wasn't too proud to give his product a name like "Sleekeazy's," which isn't classy but flew off the shelves.' With a grave look at Harry, he said, 'Don't lose your middle-class common sense. Here at Pratt's we're surrounded by aristocrats, and you've been offered a seat at the table. Take it, by all means, but keep that fighting spirit alive. That's how a house stays great. I could give you examples, but you probably have to return to practice soon.'

'I do,' said Harry, between bites of his main course. 'But I'll definitely take you up on that.'

Harry was mostly quiet the rest of the meal, since he was in a hurry to eat, and his two companions discussed current events. Stroop made several notes on a small pad, using a Muggle biro of all things. 'Thank you, Cuffe—you're always a source of good ideas for my show.' Looking at Harry, he said, 'That's why I put up with him. You did an admirable job not cursing him when you found out who he was.'

'Pratt's brings wizards together,' said Harry dryly. 'And we seem to be allies for now.'

'Cuffe, keep it that way,' said Stroop sternly. 'History won't judge you kindly for abetting the Ministry like that. And yes, I know they were blackmailing you, but nevertheless.'

'They were blackmailing you?' exclaimed Harry.

Embarrassed, Cuffe said, 'Never mind that. I'm sorry we treated you so poorly. Rita's articles are one thing, but after You-Know-Who returned ...' He trailed off.

Harry took a deep breath. 'Thank you for the apology,' he said, a trifle coldly. 'And Stroop, I appreciate your historical perspective. But why aren't you teaching History of Magic somewhere? You'd be good at it.'

Cuffe guffawed and said, 'He's too fond of Pratt's, and a teacher can't afford the dues.'

Stroop laughed as well. 'He's right. We both have expensive tastes, and a teacher's salary wouldn't do.'

Expensive tastes, eh? thought Harry, and he wondered if he'd see them again on Thursday night. Their robes are rather smart, he observed.

After eating, he passed Charles Selwyn in the corridor. He was with an older wizard—his father perhaps—and Harry had no time to talk. But Selwyn shot him a questioning look, and Harry nodded discreetly in reply. You can't beat Pratt's for bringing wizards together, he thought again, making haste towards the exit.

During the practice match, Gemma chattered excitedly about her lunch with the starters. 'I know it's lame to get so excited about eating with them, but without you there it really hit home that I'm starting on Saturday. I rang my mum on the payphone, and she'll tell my siblings as well.'

'This is your future,' said Harry warmly. 'Not necessarily with the Cannons, if I can help it, but with whatever team snaps you up.'

Beaming, she said, 'And I can't wait for Seeker's Night Out! I know I need to be careful and not reveal any weak spots, but I'm just so excited.'

'Underhill's not bad,' said Harry, referring to the Falcons Seeker. 'Has Owen been preparing you?'

'Yeah, and it's definitely easier now. This time I won't fall for the "you're nobody" bollocks Wainwright tried on me. And Owen warned me they'll taunt me about you, but even that's all right.'

'Is it?'

'It is. My crush isn't over, and that's not fun, but I got Light magic out of it so I can't complain. And it's really bloody pleasant, not feeling so paranoid all the time. Well, not paranoid exactly, but always afraid of being rejected. Which makes it kind of ironic that it only kicked in after you rejected me.'

Harry wasn't sure how to reply, and he was tempted to feint just to avoid it, but Gemma laughed. 'God, it's fun making you squirm! Someone should really tell Fiona that.'

'I'm sure she'll figure it out, if she hasn't done already,' said Harry, feeling better just thinking about her. 'But do me a favour and don't mention her tonight, since we're not ready to go public.'

'That's fine—I'm not ready to go public yet as a Light witch. Although there's no need, since I don't have any tricks yet.'

'Mutual discretion, got it,' said Harry. 'Looking forward to it.'

He arrived at her house several hours later, and they travelled together to the designated pub. This time the Seekers had a private room, which had multiple small tables rather than one or two large ones. Harry was pleased to see Ekantika Singh, and he asked to sit with her.

'Of course,' she said fondly. 'Your energy is simply lovely tonight. Much less guarded than usual.'

'Probably because Gilstrap and Hobbs aren't here yet. And also because Gemma will be in the spotlight, not me.'

Gemma stifled a grin as she sat down, and the other Seekers offered their congratulations. 'You've clearly arrived, Rees, if they're putting you in ahead of Potter,' said Sarah Trent. 'I'm not sure any of us started during our first season.'

'I did,' said Selden Puttick. 'But only because Jerry Canterworth got Bludgered the week before.'

'How'd you do?' asked Trent.

'Miserably. We lost 270-40, and I didn't start for another two seasons. But I'm sure Rees will do better.'

'Cheers,' said Gemma dryly.

'Of course you'll do better,' said Isla Preston. 'You beat Potter on the regular, right?'

'Don't you mean "Snitchbottom?"' asked Routledge, who had just arrived.

'Yes, I have a mortifying team nickname,' retorted Harry. 'And I bet all of you do as well.'

Preston grimaced. 'Too right,' she said. 'When I was still nursing, my teammates started calling me "Bludgerboobs," and it stuck.'

'I don't have a nickname, but as of today I'm trying to get my teammates to call me "Quafflebollocks,"' said Jerome Wither. 'I'm optimistic.'

'No, it's too clunky,' argued Gemma.

'The nickname or the bollocks?' asked Trevor Underhill. 'Because frankly that sounds unpleasant, especially on a broom.'

Allie Hobbs and Andrew Gilstrap had both arrived, and they sat far from each other. 'You don't want to know about Harpies nicknames,' said Hobbs.

'Oh yes we do,' said Wainwright. 'What's yours?'

'I'm not saying. But if you tell me yours, I'll reveal one of my teammates' nicknames.'

Wainwright looked pleased. 'I'd have told you regardless—it's Loverboy.'

'No, that one's Potter too,' said Hobbs. 'Or is it "Manwhore?"'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Don't waste your time—it doesn't bother me anymore,' he said truthfully, knowing Fiona had seen past his promiscuity. 'But what's Ginny's nickname?'

Hobbs turned to Wainwright, who nodded. 'Firecrotch,' she said, looking Harry in the eye.

He spit out his beer laughing. 'Was that based on deductive logic, or was there a locker room incident?'

'The latter. The Harpies aren't shy.'

Neither is Ginny, thought Harry, and he sat back as everyone else swapped nicknames. The evening was surprisingly pleasant, and Gilstrap kept his snark to a minimum. Is this because of our truce, or because Gemma is starting on Saturday? he wondered, but it didn't matter.

Multiple conversations formed, and Harry was largely content to listen. But at one point Ekantika leaned close to him and said, 'You're in love, aren't you?'

'Is it that obvious?'

'Maybe not to everyone else. But I have my little trick, as I'm sure you recall, and you're no longer vulnerable like you were a few weeks ago.'

Harry was thrilled that Ekantika had noticed the difference. 'Don't tell anyone,' he said. 'We're trying for discretion.'

'Do I know her?'

'I doubt it. And we'll probably go public in a week or so, Merlin willing.'

Ekantika closed her eyes. 'Yes, I can feel her there. It's very new, isn't it?'

'It is. And she's nothing like my previous girlfriends.'

'I'm sensing that. But Harry, be careful—she feels divided to me, and that could hurt you in the long run.'

Frowning, he asked, 'Is that a prophecy?'

'No, not at all. I told you, I'm not a Seer. But she's not all yours yet.' Her eyes shot open. 'She's not married, is she?'

Harry was impressed. 'No, but she's a widow.'

'That explains it,' said Ekantika, relaxing. 'She'll need time, and she may never let go completely.'

'I don't want that—he'll always be a part of her. And her son as well.'

She raised one eyebrow. 'I hope you go public, because this'll throw everyone for a loop.'

'That's not my intention,' he began, but she interrupted him.

'No, you're obviously sincere. And I'm glad that more people will see it.'

There was no need for him to debrief with Gemma afterwards, as they'd done the month before. The other Seekers hadn't ganged up on him, and Gemma had clearly basked in all the attention. But before he went to sleep, he reread Fiona's most recent letter:

Dear Harry,

I'll leave you in suspense about whether I gasped with pleasure when I read your letter and ate the chocolate. Because something tells me you've grown accustomed to praise, and even though I've agreed to date you, I'm not ready to deprive you of the thrill of the chase.

That said, I have every intention of visiting your infamous bed. Widowed mums don't get many chances to be naughty, and I don't dare turn it down. When it will happen is anyone's guess—I don't plan to foist Matthew on Jill or my parents whenever I'm in the mood. But as you've already discovered, stolen moments of pleasure have a distinct charm, and what they lack in leisure they make up for in urgency.

Gala preparations are endless, and you can expect an article in tomorrow's Prophet about the auction, which I demand you promote on the radio. And yes, I'll be listening, probably whilst preparing place cards. By the way, this is your last chance to say if you're bringing a guest, otherwise I'm seating you with Gilderoy Lockhart, or perhaps with a bevy of dowagers in the hopes they drive your price into the stratosphere. And before you protest, just think of the orphans, with their big, pleading eyes.

I know I do. One particular orphan, anyway.

Yours,
Fiona