The parcel from Hermione was unmistakably book-shaped, and Harry reflexively braced for an assignment. But he was pleasantly surprised by the title: Sartorial Charms for the Well-Dressed Wizard.

The book—published in 1890—was right up his street, and Hermione's timing was perfect, since he was to attend his first meeting of the Order of Volupta that night. He hadn't the time nor the inclination to order a new outfit, but he'd at least bought a flouncy cravat, as a show of effort.

Althea had shown him how to tie it, but he was grateful for the charm he found in Hermione's book. 'Cravanouez!' he cried, in his best French accent, and the delicate fabric arranged itself around Harry's collar. He repeated the charm several times to get just the right effect and was pleased with the result. It's a bit much for everyday, but nice for a change of pace.

He omitted his usual flowers, since they were superfluous with the cravat, and instead performed charms from the book to add polish. Literally, in the case of his buttons, which now gleamed, and another charm enhanced the play of light across his grey damask robes. Well done, Hermione! he thought, admiring the result.

Harry didn't bother combing his hair, since he knew it would have no effect. All the more reason to dress impeccably, he decided, and he recalled a passage from Fiona's last letter:

'And now the part where I reveal something I like about you: your untidy hair. I'm actually grateful Sleekeazy's doesn't work on you, because I don't think I'd fancy you with well-behaved hair. The combination with your clothes would be too much, and I'm simply wild about your clothes. But your hair reflects your untameable energy, which has miraculously brought me back to life. So why wouldn't I love it?'

He pulled on a cloak and went down to the fireplace, where he paused to reflect on the evening ahead of him. I'm going to be in a confined space with a bunch of debauched elites, he thought with a grimace. He still wasn't sure why Selwyn had invited him; perhaps they were hoping his public behaviour was just the tip of the iceberg, and that he'd reveal his true depravity in private. Or maybe they wanted to lure him into sense of aristocratic fellowship, which might blunt his egalitarian fervour.

He tossed a pinch of Floo powder into the grate and soon emerged at Pratt's, where he signed the register and walked to the private room. And now, a bunch of geezers in fetishwear, he thought, opening the door.

A chime rang when he entered, and roughly a dozen wizards turned to face him. 'Well done, Selwyn—you delivered the goods,' said a wizard Harry recognised from the Ministry. His robes were flamboyant, but not more than anything Lockhart might wear. Charles Selwyn, on the other hand, was dressed like a very stylish portrait, in a velvet outer jacket buttoned close across his chest, revealing a richly embroidered waistcoat underneath. He wore tall, narrow boots, emphasising his height and slim figure, and a look of tremendous satisfaction.

'Potter, it's splendid you're here,' he drawled. 'Now let's see what you're wearing.'

Harry assessed the group before removing his cloak. Only two of the wizards wore women's clothes, which barely caught his notice, thanks to his drag party. Others were dressed in rich fabrics, and several, including Selwyn, wore rather more jewellery than was normal for wizards. Most were sipping drinks, and an elf awaited Harry's order.

But first he removed his cloak. 'Thank you for inviting me,' he said, looking down to ensure his cravat hadn't been squished. It hadn't, and Harry's audience expressed approval.

'Very nice,' said a middle-aged wizard Harry didn't recognise. 'I'm Reginald Hem, and it's an absolute pleasure to meet you.'

Harry recalled seeing Hem's name in the Prophet—he was frequently cited as a fashion observer, and he praised Harry at every opportunity. 'I'm pleased to meet you as well. Thank you for what you've said in the Prophet about me. I can't tell you how nervous I was to wear robes the first time—tailored robes—but you've given me the courage to keep taking risks.'

'And here we thought you were fearless, after defeating You-Know-Who. But white robes were clearly the next step.'

'They were ivory,' protested Harry, earning laughs from the group.

'So I suspected,' said Hem. 'But the photograph was taken at night, and it's hard to tell with a flash.'

'Reclaiming Death Eater robes was a stroke of genius,' said Rutherford Stroop, the radio host Harry had met on Monday. 'What gave you the idea?' he asked.

'I was impressed with the cut and quality of my Cannons robes,' began Harry, but Stroop cut him off.

'That's your public answer,' he said dismissively. 'But you're amongst friends. What really motivated you?'

Harry froze, unsure how to respond. Everyone knows I wore enormous cast-offs growing up, but do I really need to announce it? he wondered.

'Don't interrogate the boy!' said a wizard. 'He only just arrived, and surely he deserves some of our confidences first. And have a drink, for Merlin's sake!'

They insisted he try the nightbloom liqueur. 'It's a rare delicacy,' Stroop told him. 'They harvest the berries in the dark of winter, above the Arctic Circle. The charms for cultivating them have been passed down for centuries within a single Norwegian clan.'

'Drink it slowly,' said one of the wizards in women's clothes. 'It's like liquid sex.'

'I'll be the judge of that,' joked Harry, and everyone laughed. He accepted the tiny glass and took a sip. It is good, he acknowledged inwardly, as the flavour spread from his tastebuds and down his body. 'Yes, that's lovely,' he said. 'Is it a standard Pratt's offering?'

'If only!' said Barnabas Cuffe, editor of the Prophet. 'No, Selwyn brought it—in your honour, I think. He obviously wants to impress you.'

'I wanted to return his hospitality,' said Selwyn. 'It's unlikely we'll mix outside Pratt's, and I owe him my thanks for any number of things.'

'Like deflowering your sister-in-law?' said a wizard.

'And giving her new lover a seat on the Wizengamot?'

'I didn't give him my seat,' said Harry. 'I made him my proxy.'

'And I thank you,' said a young wizard Harry recognised as Theo's cousin, the new Lord Nott. 'He was an absolute pleasure to look at during yesterday's session.' Several wizards raised their glasses in agreement.

'As Selwyn surely told you, the Order of Volupta reveres beauty,' said Stroop. 'Conventional, and unconventional.'

'Your girlfriends have been an ongoing feast for the eyes,' said Hem. 'Sophie was probably my favourite, because of that dress, but there's a case to be made for all of them.'

A heated debate erupted, with exchanges that made Harry suspect this wasn't the first such discussion. 'Thank Merlin for your vow,' said Cuffe. 'If you'd married on schedule like a proper wizard, we'd be denied your parade of bedmates. Who are you dating now, by the way?'

'I'm attempting discretion, remember? And besides, I'm still waiting for some of your confidences,' said Harry, addressing the group.

'You'll never guess what my secret is,' said one of the wizards in women's clothes, and everyone laughed. 'If the Pratt's wards didn't exclude witches, I'd be Polyjuiced right now, in the guise of a lovely young thing. But I enjoy wearing dresses in this form as well,' he said, fluttering a lace fan. 'And the other Order members indulge me.'

Harry had to remind himself that 'Order' referred to the Order of Volupta and not the Order of the Phoenix. 'Do people outside the Order know?' he asked.

'Merlin, no!' said the wizard. 'I mean, certain individuals do, but it's not common knowledge.'

'How long has the Order existed?'

'Centuries,' said Stroop. 'Although not as long as the Brotherhood of the Wand, which is as old as Pratt's. But unless you managed to cheat Veritaserum, you probably wouldn't be interested.'

Everyone chuckled, and Harry couldn't resist asking, 'Are a lot of you members?'

'We have primary and adjunct members,' said Nott. 'I'm a primary member—although don't tell my wife,' he added, to more laughter.

Harry must not have concealed his shock, because Selwyn said, 'Don't worry, Potter—she'll be fine. She recently became mistress of Nott Manor, so at least her ambition is satisfied.'

'I'm fulfilling my wizardly duty,' said Nott loftily. 'Between performance potions and Weasley's Patented Daydream Charms, she's none the wiser.'

'I'm an adjunct member,' announced Selwyn. With a meaningful look at Harry, he said, 'Are you sure we can't recruit you?'

'He doesn't have time, let alone the inclination,' said Hem, rescuing Harry from having to answer. 'By the way, I'm a primary member as well, but that's no secret. Although Cuffe kindly refers to me an "industry observer," as opposed to a "flaming poofter."'

'I prefer "friend of Morgana,"' said Stroop. 'That was the leading euphemism at the turn of the last century. And no, I'm neither a primary nor adjunct member—I'm merely addicted to the pleasures of the flesh.'

'Does that mean I'm not Britain's randiest wizard?' joked Harry.

Loud laughter ensued, and Cuffe said, 'Almost certainly not, but Stroop isn't either. He was referring to all the sensory pleasures, and not just the specialty of the Boudoir.'

More wizards had arrived, and everyone paused to note their outfits. One brought a jewel-encrusted tortoise, which he set down on a table for the wizards to admire. 'Is he all right?' asked Harry, concerned about the creature's ability to bear the weight of its shell.

'Never fear—the jewels are charmed featherweight,' said its owner. 'He's the Order's mascot.'

'His name is Harlequin, although he doesn't answer to it,' said Selwyn, transfixed by the glittering shell. 'And Potter, why haven't you adorned yourself from the family vault? Your lapel is screaming for a brooch.'

'Not my style,' said Harry. 'Although I'm starting a lending library for my cousins.'

'To the Blacks!' cried Reginald Hem, raising his glass. 'Mad as hatters, but uncommonly good-looking. Hopefully your cousins are the latter and not the former.'

'That's been my impression. They're all half-bloods, which probably helps,' said Harry, with an arch look at Selwyn.

'Nice try provoking me,' said Selwyn, 'but you won't find any fans of inbreeding amongst the Order. The Blacks at least kept their looks, but otherwise they paid a steep price.'

'How did your family stay pure without intermarrying?'

'Careful courtship, and the occasional half-blood or foreigner. Of course Esme's a rare prize—we should really start sprogging soon, only I'm loath to sacrifice her figure.'

Thinking of Fiona's 'mummy tummy,' Harry said, 'I'm sure you'll cope.'

'Perhaps, but it won't be the same. You're fortunate to have so many options. I saw you at your party—how ever do you choose?'

Harry didn't know how to answer, but the other wizards discussed what they'd do in his position. 'I'd have a harem,' said one wizard, who'd clearly given it some thought. 'I'm sure you could find witches willing to share, and you could fill that bed of yours with a bevy of beauties. And your reputation is in tatters, so they could appear with you in public, in a blaze of silks and jewels. You'd be like a rajah.'

'You're vastly overestimating how much gold I have,' said Harry, a bit overwhelmed by what he'd just heard. 'And I suspect my performance with the Cannons would suffer.'

'Then save it for the off-season,' argued the wizard.

'Oh, he's already got plans for the off-season,' said Cuffe. 'Just ask Dominic Runnion.'

Ugh, here we go, thought Harry. 'What's that supposed to mean?' asked Selwyn.

Cuffe eagerly told the group about Harry's underwear adverts, prompting a riot of excitement. 'Thank Salazar!' exclaimed Nott. 'Now we'll finally have decent adverts in wizarding magazines. And by "decent," I mean indecent.'

'Not in Britain,' said Harry.

'No, just everywhere else,' said Cuffe. 'You'll be able to pay for that harem in no time.'

'I don't want a harem,' said Harry, and he mostly meant it. 'I have a new girlfriend, and I'm crazy about her.'

'Youth is wasted on the young,' scowled the harem enthusiast. 'You'll have plenty of time for monogamy after you're married. Too much time, frankly.'

'Tell us more about these adverts,' said Nott, looking Harry over. 'Just how much of you will be visible?'

'You're as bad as Rita Skeeter!' cried Harry, drawing more laughs. 'The answer is that they're underwear adverts, and I'm wearing the product.'

'I hereby pledge to buy heaps of new underwear, in order to encourage this sort of advertising,' declared Nott. 'And I'm sure the rest of the Brotherhood will do the same.'

'Well done, Potter,' said Selwyn. 'Once again, you've turned a scandal into a triumph.'

'You don't think this will hurt my standing in the Wizengamot?'

'If you were exposing yourself free of charge? Definitely. But getting paid for it?' Selwyn paused to sip his liqueur. 'I could never do it, nor could any other heir to a noble house. But you're a special circumstance, and everyone knows you need the gold, so you'd be a fool not to take it.'

Harry chuckled and said, 'That's not how most people describe my finances.'

'What do they know, scrabbling for their own basic needs? You're the head of two dynasties, and that's on a different scale. I don't deny you'll be criticised—mocked even—but no one will question it.'

Over the evening, smaller groups formed, leaving Harry with Selwyn, Nott, and the other young wizards. 'Why isn't Blaise Zabini here?' asked Harry. 'He'd fit in perfectly.'

'Junior member,' said Selwyn. 'Not until he's twenty-one at the earliest.'

'But he's a shoo-in,' said Troy Fawley, one of Nott's mates. 'The membership committee is a bunch of queens. They might take their time, just to be vindictive—like they did with Selwyn—but they'll never turn down high cheekbones and a good physique.'

'They made Selwyn wait out of spite?' asked Harry, still sipping liqueur.

'So it seems. Age always resents youth.' Selwyn glanced scornfully at an older wizard, who was eating grapes whilst lying on a divan. 'Look at him—does he think he's a Roman emperor?'

Nott and Fawley sniggered, but Harry felt compelled to defend him. 'I'll grant you, it's a bit naff, but why shouldn't he enjoy himself? Isn't that the whole point of these meetings?'

'It is, but really,' said Selwyn, rolling his eyes. 'He could at least show better taste.'

Over the next half-hour, Harry seriously questioned the value of hanging out with a bunch of spoilt pure-bloods, until Nott asked, 'Do you really think Light magic is more pleasurable than Dark?'

'Of course he does,' said Selwyn. 'He said it's better than Sorceress.'

'Bollocks,' said Nott. 'Potter, it may be pleasant, but there's no way it's better than the kind of sex you've been having.'

As if by instinct, the other wizards in the room stopped talking and turned to listen. 'You're right, it's not the same as a full-strength orgasm,' said Harry.

'I knew it!' cried Selwyn. 'Someone should have asked you about that under Veritaserum.'

Harry shook his head. 'First, I hadn't yet announced my Light magic when I took Veritaserum on the radio. Second, I wasn't lying—Light magic is definitely better.'

Sceptical looks surrounded him. 'Prove it,' said the harem enthusiast.

'I don't know if I can prove it, but I'll try to demonstrate what I mean.' Harry took another sip of liqueur and allowed his Light magic to fully arise. Not wanting to frighten anyone, he refrained from glowing, but otherwise he didn't hide his enjoyment. 'It's strong right now,' he told them, his eyes half-closed. 'I feel energy flowing through my body, starting down here,' he said, indicating his groin, 'and moving upwards.'

He opened his eyes to look at the wizards' rapt expressions. 'Part of me is longing for my girlfriend. A big part of me, in fact,' he said, and some of the wizards laughed. 'Sorry, that came out wrong.'

'The Sorceress witch didn't have any complaints,' said Nott. 'And I suppose we'll see for ourselves when your adverts come out.'

My world-renowned manhood, thought Harry, chuckling inwardly. 'Basically, it's like a low-grade, full-body orgasm, only it keeps going, and so does the sense of satisfaction. I'm not concealing my pleasure right now, so you can see what it's like, but I could if I wanted.' He emphasised his point with a long, contented breath.

'Are you going to declare your love for us?' asked Selwyn. He was affecting a sneer, but Harry saw yearning in his eyes.

'I could, and it would be sincere. But it's not as personal as you might think. It's more like, "I'm experiencing love, and as long as I don't despise you for some reason, you'll be the target of some of that love."'

'Forgive me for pointing this out,' said Stroop, 'but no one would blame you for despising some of the people here tonight. Cuffe, for example.'

The newspaper editor reddened. 'That's true,' said Harry. 'You printed whatever the Ministry told you to. You said I was a liar, and delusional, and any number of things. I don't even want to contemplate how many people died because of that.' His Light magic was still flowing, but it felt fierce, or even wrathful. 'I probably could snap your wand right now if I really wanted. But I don't—I just want you to experience this kind of love.' He took another long breath, and the pleasant sensations deepened. 'And I want to keep experiencing it myself,' he added.

'That has to be better than Dark magic,' murmured Nott, his cheeks flushed. 'It's completely daft, but I don't care—I want it.'

'You want Potter, more like,' said Hem with a snigger.

'Why not both?' replied Nott.

'And you're sure it's superior to Dark magic?' asked Selwyn. 'In my sixth year at Hogwarts, I was in a Dark Arts club—top secret, of course. I practised a charm based on contempt, and it was ... incredibly satisfying. I've tried to replicate it, but no luck.'

'Not for lack of trying, eh, Selwyn?' said Fawley.

'There are countless opportunities,' retorted Selwyn. 'Even at Pratt's.'

Harry wondered if this explained Selwyn's snobbery, at least in part. 'But clearly you still enjoy it,' said Harry. 'Feeling superior, that is.'

'Of course I do. Doesn't everyone?'

Several of the wizards nodded, but not Harry. 'I do sometimes, but not right now,' he said. 'When my Light magic is flowing, emotions like contempt are dissonant at best, and nauseating at worst. Compassion, on the other hand ...' Another wave of pleasure overtook him. Fiona, he thought longingly.

'Fiona?' said Nott. 'Who's that?'

'Bugger!' exclaimed Harry, sitting up. 'Did I say that out loud?'

'I think we've identified his secret girlfriend,' said Fawley. 'Did Cuffe hear?'

'No, he left in a hurry when Potter threatened to snap his wand,' said Hem. 'But who's this Fiona?'

'No one, forget I said it,' said Harry, trying to collect himself.

'You needn't worry—Pratt's code of secrecy,' said Selwyn. 'But who is she? Did she attend Hogwarts?'

With his fear of discovery alleviated, Harry's pleasure resurged. 'She's lovely. And no, she didn't attend Hogwarts, so I'm sure you don't know her. But god, I can't wait to go public, if she'll let me.'

'I can't believe she won't go to the gala with you,' grumbled Hem. 'Do scold her on my behalf.'

The conversation turned to the WORF gala, which everyone was attending. Harry's Light magic settled again, and he dodged questions about what he was planning to wear. He left around ten, somewhat stunned that he was becoming friendly with Charles Selwyn and Brandon Nott, who had been sufficiently Dark for Theo's dad to make him his heir. To say nothing of my best mate Draco, he thought sheepishly.

Fortunately, he was reminded on Saturday why Ron had nearly always held the top spot. 'Hiya, Harry,' said Ron, stumbling as usual from the fireplace. 'Are you ready for the skybenches?'

'I am, thanks! Are you ready to be blown away by Gemma?'

'Yes, though I'm sorry you won't be playing. Not because Gemma won't be good, but I know how much you enjoy it.'

'I do enjoy it,' said Harry, touched. 'But I don't mind letting Gemma have her day in the sun.'

'No sun today—Chudley weather is dreary and cold. Which hopefully means a good long match, since everyone wants to see what she's capable of.'

'They won't be disappointed,' said Harry. 'She was frustrated on Wednesday because she hadn't beaten me in nearly a week, but apparently that was what she needed, because she was amazing on Thursday and Friday.'

'Did she beat you?'

'She did. Merlin, I wish I could fly the Firebolt, because she pulls unbelievable speed out of it.'

'Sorry, mate—I guess it's the price you pay for, well, everything else.'

Harry noted with lingering amazement that Ron didn't sound jealous. 'How's work going?' he asked.

Ron described some recent triumphs. 'And you won't believe it, but Murdoch's taken a shine to me. Says I really have what it takes.'

'That's fantastic, and I'm not surprised.'

'I am,' said Ron. 'And I hate to say it, but I owe it all to Hermione and that illegal potion. Until then, I really thought I was just average.'

Ron's ears turned pink when he realised his blunder, but Harry cut off his stammering apology. 'Don't worry, I'm not offended. Yes, it was a bit of a blow to find out I wasn't a powerful wizard, but I'd been learning that by degrees ever since I got to Hogwarts.'

'But it doesn't measure Light magic,' argued Ron. 'I'm sure of it.'

'You're right, I don't think it does. So really, I don't mind—go on.'

Ron took a deep breath and continued. 'When you and I were training together, everyone expected you to be the star. And you were decent—Woodbridge certainly thought so—but nothing special. Except for protective magic, of course.'

Harry nodded, recalling an impenetrable Shield Charm that not even a coordinated attack could take down. I was a Light wizard even then, he thought.

'I definitely miss working with you,' said Ron, 'but when you left the department, and Hermione brewed that potion, it was like my constraints fell away. I don't blame you—it was all in my head—but there it was.'

'Janet probably helped,' smirked Harry.

'Too right she did,' said Ron, grinning. 'And getting to know the other Aurors as well—I can't believe how walled off we were that first year.'

'I'm sorry, that was probably my fault,' replied Harry, still embarrassed about his reputation for being aloof.

'No, it was mine too. Fred had just died, remember? I could relax with you—make jokes, even—but I couldn't listen to strangers joking around. Our mates were all right, but with anyone else it made me upset. Like, "Where do you get off, laughing so soon after a bloodbath?"'

'Yeah, exactly. Fortunately my teammates cured me of that, or time did.'

'It certainly changed your attitude about publicity! I still can't get over that photo with Lockhart.'

Harry grimaced, knowing exactly which photo Ron meant. On Friday the Prophet had run two photographs of him and Lockhart—one taken that month outside the Hog's Head, and the other when Harry was twelve, the day he'd met his new Defence professor. They were at Flourish and Blotts, and Lockhart had forced Harry into a posed photo, whispering, 'Together you and I are worth the front page.' But the Prophet never ran it, probably because Harry hid outside the frame, as he did in a photo Colin Creevey took later.

But those days had long passed. In Friday's Prophet, twelve-year-old Harry stood defiantly next to Lockhart, alternately glaring at him and facing the viewer. And grown-up Harry could see that his younger self was wielding his prepubescent cuteness as he'd never done in real life.

'It's a good thing Ginny never saw that photo,' observed Ron, 'although it would have hardly made a difference.'

'More proof that things change,' said Harry, no longer bitter about Ginny. 'And Fiona thought it was adorable.'

Her letter had said, 'I confess I had impure thoughts about a twelve-year-old, which is terribly wrong, although in my defence I was picturing myself at the same age. Which is inaccurate, of course—I was already married when that photo was taken. But your mop of hair, cheeky grin, and green, bespectacled eyes evoke the lethally sexy man you've turned into. And, incredibly, our age difference no longer matters.'

'So you're definitely a couple now?' asked Ron, interrupting Harry's reverie.

'Very definitely. But in private, for the time being.'

Ron snorted. 'Good luck with that. Five Galleons says you're public by Monday.'

'Merlin, I hope not! Fiona would kill me!'

'She's prepared, right? Anti-Howler wards and so forth?'

'Yeah, her husband worked for the DOM, and her house has weird magic that keeps the wards intact. No one's getting in there.'

'Except you, mate,' said Ron, waggling his eyebrows.

'Technically not yet, but things are looking good.'

Ron feigned shock. 'Not yet? When was the last time you had to wait this long?'

'Not since Ginny. And I was probably the hold-up, not her.' Scowling, he added, 'Bloody Horcrux.'

'Is it wrong that I'm feeling grateful to Voldemort for slowing you down?'

'I'm just relieved he was never in my head during the act. Although if he was using Legilimency he almost certainly saw her topless.'

Ron winced and covered his ears. 'That's more than I need to know. You're forgiven, since she dumped you like a sack of Flobberworms, but I still don't want to hear about it.'

'Fair enough,' said Harry, and he resumed replying to fan mail.

They chatted all morning, and when it was time to go, Ron said, 'Good luck staying off your broom this afternoon.'

'What, as opposed to forcing my way into the match? Don't worry—I'm glad for the break, since it means I won't be knackered for the Hallowe'en party tonight.'

'Take pictures!' ordered Ron. 'I'm keen to see you dressed as a Harry Potter wannabe.'

'Done—I have a camera and everything.'

Harry met his teammates for practice, where Gemma was still the centre of attention. 'My mum and all my siblings'll be in the stands,' she gushed. 'And Ingrid made them a magical banner, and she'll carry her own as well!'

'Luna made you a banner,' said Darren. 'My girlfriend,' he added.

'Yes, we know she's your girlfriend,' smirked Gemma. 'Seeing as how you mention her all time.'

'I never called Romilda my girlfriend, if I could help it. But it's different with Luna, because she's so ... ephemeral, like a rainbow.'

'Don't you mean "ethereal?"'

'That too,' said Darren. 'But also ephemeral, like she might just vanish into a cloud or a stand of trees.'

'So you don't see a future with her?' asked Gemma.

'I have no idea. I can't even predict how the weekend will unfold when we're together,' he said dreamily. 'Anyway, look out for her banner this afternoon.'

When they travelled to Chudley Stadium, Harry changed into his team robes and the referee checked him for illegal charms. 'Same as always,' said the referee, as Harry concealed the family ring. 'Funny how your Light magic doesn't show up.'

'Would that make a difference?' asked Harry.

'No, it's not against the rules. But it would be useful to know what the players have up their sleeves, so we can keep an eye out.'

Tuttle delivered a surprisingly moving pep talk. 'Some might say I've put Rees into a tough position, subbing her for the most popular Seeker in the league, if not the world. But she's made a name for herself faster than any player I've seen, first by winning just four days after being hired, and then by holding her own against the Light Lord over there. Rees, you have a huge future in league Quidditch, and I wish to hell we could keep you in Cannons robes longer.

'As for the rest of you—your job is to spoil Rees for whatever team gets her next. Because she'll never have a better pair of Beaters protecting her,' she said, indicating Gary and Suresh. 'Or a trio of Chasers who can recover from her most fucked-up feints and still score. Or a Keeper not only with lightning reflexes but also great brass bollocks. So give Rees a reason to remember her time with the Cannons as the best time of her life, except for everything that's yet to come.'

Loud cheers, and Owen clasped a beaming Gemma on the shoulder. 'You've got this,' he said. 'The crowd is fired up, and they can't wait to see you fly. Don't believe a word out of Underhill—they're here for you, and I know you'll deliver.'

'Knock 'em dead,' said Harry. 'You'll be great.'

Gemma was biting her lip with determination, but Harry could see how excited she was. 'Cheers. See you when it's over!'

'Hey Snitchbottom, are you joining us?' called Titus, who was with the other reserves.

'Yes, lead the way.' He followed them through a corridor and emerged into the packed stadium. There were shrieks and applause when he appeared, and he was approached for autographs.

'I was disappointed you wouldn't be flying,' said a wizard, 'particularly after paying for such good seats. But my mate pointed out I'd be watching practically alongside you.'

'You won't be disappointed,' replied Harry. 'Gemma's got a huge future in the league—you'll probably tell your kids about seeing her fly today.'

'I hope so! And I already have tickets for next season, so I'll see you play eventually.'

Harry sat between Lyle and Owen, ensuring he could focus on the match. The Falcons were flying into the stadium, but Harry ignored them and surveyed the stands. 'We love you, Gemma!' was a common banner, along with variants of 'Great things come in small packages.' More than one sign mentioned Harry, but not in a way that denigrated Gemma. On the contrary, they poked fun at him; one banner depicted him sunning himself on a beach, with the message, 'Thanks for the week off, Rees!' Another showed him in the stands, drinking a beer and wearing Gemma's jersey. And a third said, 'Potter can ride something else this weekend,' with a drawing of an abandoned broomstick and two pairs of feet under a blanket.

'Gemma Rees Superstar,' declared a glittering sign that shone under the grey sky. Harry blinked, wondering if the sign-maker was familiar with Jesus Christ Superstar, his new favourite album. I doubt Gemma's the messiah, thought Harry with a smirk, although maybe her hair will start sparking like Hermione's. He was doubly amused when he realised Luna Lovegood was holding it.

'And now, the Chudley Cannons!' cried the announcer. He introduced the players one by one, and a hush fell over the arena when Gemma's turn arrived. 'Making her Chudley Stadium debut ... the league's newest phenomenon, wearing number five ... Gemma Rees!'

Harry and the other reserves cheered wildly, along with the rest of the fans. Owen, who was watching through Omnioculars, said, 'She looks overwhelmed, in the best possible way. It's like how happy she was when we told her she'd got the job—times a million.'

Looking through his own Omnioculars, Harry had to agree. She's over the moon right now, he thought, and he was overjoyed on her behalf. But her expression turned serious the moment the balls were launched, and she shot into motion.

Trevor Underhill, the Falcons Seeker, quickly found her. 'He's testing her vulnerability, but it's pointless,' said Owen. 'He can't possibly convince her the fans aren't thrilled to see her.' The two Seekers verbally sparred for a while, but Gemma's confidence never wavered, as far as Harry could tell.

After about fifteen minutes she feinted, and the crowd was mesmerised as she wove through both sets of Chasers. Underhill followed her, but he was noticeably less nimble. 'She'll crush him in a chase,' said Harry, and Owen concurred.

Harry hadn't watched a Quidditch match since his Bludger accident, and it was more fun than he recalled. No wonder people pay to attend, he thought, and he half-wished Draco were there to provide commentary. Maybe we can watch an exhibition match somewhere during the off-season, he mused.

The Cannons Chasers dominated the scoring, and Janet made some spectacular saves. 'I can't tell you how much better they've played since you joined the team,' said Owen. 'And here you're not even playing, but they're still first-rate.'

'I always knew they had it in them,' said a fan who was eavesdropping. 'I've been following the Cannons since the fifties, and there's just something about this team.'

'That there is,' said Harry, beaming with pride. 'I can't imagine playing for anyone else.'

'Shame about losing Rees,' said the fan. 'The way she's flying today, some other team's bound to snatch her up.'

Harry and Owen couldn't argue—her flying was faultless, and Underhill was struggling to keep up. But the Snitch was slow in coming, and the low light didn't help. 'I'm not worried about her stamina,' said Owen quietly, 'but I hope she doesn't get discouraged it's taking this long.'

The Snitch actually appeared at one point, and Gemma saw it, but it vanished before either Seeker made the catch. 'Ooh, tough break,' said Harry. 'But hopefully that proves she can still spot.'

Her disruptive flying had given the Cannons a healthy lead, but they still needed the Snitch to win. Gemma seemed motivated to remove all doubt, however, and her feints grew wilder. The crowd was enthralled, but Owen grabbed Harry in alarm. 'Shit, she's glowing,' he whispered.

'What!' exclaimed Harry, adjusting his Omnioculars.

'Just her hands. Do you know if it's happened before?'

'I don't think so. You know she's been experiencing Light magic, right?'

'Yeah, but it sounded more like what I have,' said Owen, referring to the breakthrough he'd experienced early in his career. Between the demands of his job and parenting, Owen hadn't tried connecting it to his magic. 'Merlin, I hope she'll be all right,' he said.

'Maybe it'll stay in her hands,' said Harry. 'Although I doubt she's at risk. There's not a war on, and a Dark wizard would have to be mad to go after her.'

'That's not what I'm worried about—she's flying the Firebolt.'

'Bugger, you're right.' Harry began watching her broom more closely, in case of erratic behaviour. 'I'm not seeing a problem. Are you?'

'No. But it's only in her hands so far.'

She continued to fly brilliantly, and she didn't bother engaging with Underhill, which left him vulnerable to Bludgers. 'The Snitch is hers when the time comes,' said Harry. 'I know that state, and she's untouchable.'

'Fuck, now her face is glowing too,' muttered Owen. 'Everyone will know.'

'Oi, what's this?' said the fan behind them. 'Potter, is this your doing?'

'Nice one, Potter!' exclaimed another fan. 'You pumped her with your glow juice!'

'What? No!' cried Harry. 'We're just friends!'

'Whatever you say, loverboy,' joked a witch. 'Try hiding your tracks better next time.'

Harry lowered his Omnioculars and saw his teammates staring at him. 'I swear, it wasn't me. I mean, yes, I knew she'd developed Light magic, but not because we had sex.'

'Do you think she even knows she's glowing?' asked Owen, and moments later Gemma pulled up her sleeve.

'She does now,' said Harry. 'Oh, please let her broom behave normally.'

They were both tense, and Harry heard his name from all directions. No one's going to believe we're not sleeping together, he thought with dismay.

A magically-amplified whistle blew, causing the Quaffle and Bludgers to vanish. 'Illegally-charmed broomstick,' announced the referee. 'Rees is ejected. Two-minute Cannons penalty.' He whistled again, and the balls reappeared.

'Shit!' cried Harry, standing up. 'What happened?'

'What do you think,' said Owen. 'Firebolt weirdness. Get ready to play.'

Harry was already fastening his safety gear. Fuck! he thought, and his anguish for Gemma was extreme. But Owen seemed to anticipate his reaction and said, 'This isn't your fault. Yes, it's a hiccup for her career, but she'll recover. So set your intentions and get in there.'

He immediately expanded into awareness, and his Quidditch brain kicked in. This is your job, he thought, stepping onto the launch deck with his broom. They're paying you to win, and that's what you'll do.

Tuttle landed beside him. 'I'm not mad at you,' she blurted, and he felt a wave of relief. 'It's still another minute of penalty—you don't see the Snitch, do you?'

'No, I think we're all right. Any advice?'

'Win it for Rees,' said Tuttle. 'We'll take care of her.'

Gemma was next to arrive, and her face was streaked with tears. No longer glowing, she said, 'I fucked up! I completely fucked up!'

'No, you didn't,' said Tuttle and Owen simultaneously, but Harry didn't hear the rest. A referee quickly checked him for illegal charms, and when the whistle blew Harry launched over the pitch. With firm intentions and broad awareness, he began circling.

Underhill found him almost immediately. 'Naughty Potter-Black,' he said. 'Someone's been fraternising!'

Harry knew better than to engage. 'No, I haven't,' he said before zooming off. He didn't blame Underhill for trying—the Falcons Seeker was undoubtedly tired, and rattling Harry was his only hope. But I can finish him off, thought Harry, shooting into his first feint.

He almost felt sorry for Underhill. Through no fault of his own, his rival had been replaced by a fresh Seeker, and the Falcons head coach would surely swap him out. And like clockwork, Underhill flew out and a new Seeker entered.

But Harry never bothered meeting her. Bursting with energy, he decided to terrorise the Falcons Chasers and help the Cannons pull ahead. They needed thirty more points to lock in the win, and Harry's feints gave them the necessary boost. The other Seeker managed to keep up—she's not a bad flyer, thought Harry—but between his feints and the Bludgers, her spotting was surely impaired.

After half an hour, the Cannons had a decisive lead and the Snitch finally appeared. Harry was closer, but he still flew aggressively to make the catch. The stadium exploded with cheers, and Harry hugged his teammates mid-air.

'Someone's been poking where he oughtn't!' chided Janet.

'No, I swear it!'

'I know that, but try convincing this lot,' she said, motioning towards the stands.

He wished Fiona were there, and that he could just fly down and kiss her, but she wasn't ready to go public. He also wanted to encourage Gemma to fly out, since she deserved credit for the win as well, but he knew that would draw suspicion. So he waited to see her on the pitch.

To his vast relief, she was no longer crying. 'Well, that was exciting,' she said dryly.

'Er, congratulations,' he said. 'Welcome to Club Glow.'

'Cheers. You know what everyone's saying, right?'

'I do. How can I help?'

Twisting her mouth, she said, 'I assume dating is out of the question?' He stared at her, and she said, 'Just kidding. It was worth a try.'

'I'm glad your sense of humour is intact. That was great flying, by the way.'

'Maybe, but I'm going to need a new broomstick,' she grumbled. 'And I can kiss that trip to Chicago goodbye.'

'Bugger, you were supposed to represent Firebolt! I'm so sorry!'

'Yeah, well. You win some, you lose some.'

Owen and Tuttle came to congratulate him, and before long they were surrounded by reporters. Harry was impressed by Gemma's good grace at their intrusive questions. 'Yes, it's Light magic ... No, we're not shagging ... Yeah, I'm going to need a new broom ... Of course I'm disappointed.'

Next it was Harry's turn. 'We've only ever been friends ... That's against team rules ... Yes, I know I've broken laws before, but the situation was hardly the same ... I'm sorry you didn't get to see her catch the Snitch today, but I'm sure you'll agree it was just a matter of time ... I have a girlfriend, but we're keeping things private for now.'

'Is she listening to the match?' asked the reporter from the Wizarding Wireless Network. 'If so, what do you want to say to her?'

Harry was tempted to declare his love, but he knew Fiona would be mortified, even if he didn't identify her. 'That I respect her privacy,' he said. 'Next question?'

He went to the Spyglass that afternoon, at Gemma's request. 'If we don't turn up, they'll assume the worst,' she said. 'Better just to rip off the plaster.' And she was right—the fans started hooting when the two Seekers arrived.

'Shouldn't you two be lighting up Potter's enormous bed right now?' joked a fan.

'No, because his girlfriend would be furious,' retorted Gemma. 'He's only just convinced her he's not a complete manwhore, and shagging me would ruin that.'

'Then I hope he still has some Veritaserum lying around, because she'll probably give him the third degree.'

'I'm sure that won't be necessary,' said Harry. 'She knows I'm hers entirely.'

The fans ribbed Harry for being so romantic, and his alleged relationship with Gemma quickly became a running joke rather than an accusation. 'Does that mean you're still available?' asked a grandfatherly-looking wizard. 'Because you'll be fighting off the young men, a pretty lass like yourself.'

'They'll want to see if your boobs light up,' called another wizard, and Gemma laughed louder than anyone.

'I expect dinner first,' was her saucy reply, which earned more hoots of appreciation.

'We've created a monster,' said Janet, when Harry joined her and Ron. 'Isn't she brilliant?'

'The fans are crazy about her,' agreed Ron. 'You'd hardly know she didn't catch the Snitch, from the way they're treating her.'

Harry was thrilled, since Gemma clearly enjoyed being the centre of attention. I'm in no position to judge, he mused, and he wondered how it would feel to wear a disguise that night at the party. I'll certainly find out what people think of me, he thought with a wave of dread.

He met Lisa at Grimmauld Place to prepare for the party, and she was eager to see the jewellery he'd photographed in the family vault. 'I told Deirdre and Tina about your lending library idea,' she said, referring to more cousins, 'and they think it's brilliant. Not that any pure-bloods are courting us, mind you, but now we'll be ready.'

'I should warn you, some of it's pretty old-fashioned. And I'm not convinced it was all obtained legally.'

'I know—we're descended from the wizarding mob,' she said, flipping through the photos he'd given her. 'Is that a sceptre?'

'Yeah,' said Harry sheepishly. 'I should probably find out if any have gone missing.'

They ate dinner, then went upstairs to change. 'What should I wear?' he asked, indicating the outfits he'd never been photographed in.

She bypassed them and went straight for the ivory robes. 'These. The whole point is to look like an imitator. But Kreacher needs to make you taller first. Although it's tempting to make you shorter.'

'No, that's where I draw the line. If I'm going to be a blundering poseur, at least I get to be tall. That's the deal.'

He called for Kreacher, and they put the elf to work. 'Make him about three inches taller,' said Lisa. 'But not quite as buff.'

'Oi! I worked for that!'

'No, Harry Potter-Black worked for that—you're just some blundering poseur. Do you have a name yet?'

'Er, no. Any ideas?'

'Well, you'll need a school as well, which could get tricky. You don't want to get caught in a lie.'

He was tempted to pretend he was visiting from Chicago, but that could also backfire. 'What if I stay in character?' he asked. 'Not even give a fake name, but stick to the "I'm Harry Potter" story.'

She started to laugh. 'That is pathetic—I love it. Please get basic details about Hogwarts wrong.'

They had Kreacher make his eyes smaller, and the wrong shade of green. His face became rounder and considerably less angular, with a different mouth and a slightly snub nose. They tried making his hair messier, but it wouldn't cooperate, so they trimmed it instead. And of course his scar was several shades darker.

Lisa looked at him appraisingly. 'You're not bad-looking,' she admitted. 'That won't be why they reject you.'

'No, they'll reject me because I'm a colossal berk. Why exactly am I doing this?'

'To see how the other half lives. And to find out what people really think of you.'

'And you're sure I want to know?'

'You'll be fine,' she said. 'Remember, I hear it all the time. By the way, they think you're a slut.'

'Right, I knew that. What about the Lord Black thing?'

'Oh my god, you have to wear the ring!' she exclaimed. Harry protested, but she wouldn't take no for an answer.

'Fine, but only if you take pity on me and let me hang out in your orbit. I don't fancy being a solitary reject all night.'

'Of course not. Walburga needs a Harry to shout at. You're her raison d'être.'

They both got dressed, and Kreacher performed the necessary charms and transfigurations to make their clothes fit properly. Harry slid an over-large orchid into his buttonhole, and Kreacher assisted with Lisa's 'toilette.' He also photographed them, and his enthusiasm gave Harry an idea.

'Kreacher, would you like me to take a picture of you and Lisa together?'

The ancient elf looked at him with wide eyes. 'A photograph of Kreacher and ... Mistress?'

Lisa looked uncannily like a young Walburga, so Harry didn't correct him. 'That's right. If you like.'

Kreacher nodded solemnly, and Lisa knelt and put an arm around him. 'No!' he cried, jerking away. 'Mistress must scold Kreacher!'

Once Lisa stopped laughing, she stood over Kreacher and pretended to berate him, and the elf gleefully cowered. I will never understand him, thought Harry, but he was glad Kreacher was happy.

The plan was for Lisa to Apparate them to the party, so they walked to the owlery and she handed him the potion to change his voice. 'I'd never brewed this one before, but I read the instructions carefully, so it should be fine.'

'If you give me a squeaky voice, I'm revoking your dowry,' he said sternly before drinking it. It tasted oddly like liquorice, and for a moment his throat felt warm. 'Is this thing on? Testing ... one, two, three,' he said, and she gave him a blank look. 'Sorry, Muggle humour.'

'You sound all right. Not like yourself, but that's the whole point.'

'Well done! Shall we go?' She extended her hand, and he took it, but she snapped it away and cried, 'Filthy half-blood! How dare you touch me!'

He laughed and said, 'You're going to be thronged with admirers! Talking of which, what's your goal for tonight? I don't want to cramp your style.'

She looked sheepish. 'I wouldn't mind meeting someone, but I doubt I'd go home with him. You were the exception.'

And that worked out brilliantly, he thought with a grimace. 'I'll do my best not to crowd you,' he said.

'I'll have friends there as well, so it should be all right. May I let anyone in on your secret?'

'Yes, as long as it doesn't get around,' he said, taking her hand again.

They Apparated to a public square, presumably in a wizarding village, and she led him to a house. 'Their names are Greta and Marc,' she reminded him. 'But the place will be mobbed, and I'm sure you won't be the only plus-one.'

Harry hung back as she rang the doorbell, and a minute later the door swung open. Music was playing, and a witch dressed as some kind of tropical bird greeted them. 'Lisa, oh my god—you're Walburga Black! That is brilliant!'

Lisa motioned for her to come outside. 'I've brought a friend, and I need you to keep a secret.' Greta's eyes lit with interest, and she stepped through the door. 'Greta, this is Harry,' whispered Lisa.

'You are too funny!' exclaimed Greta. 'No, really—what's your name? And welcome.'

'Er, my name's Harry. We thought it would be fun if I came in disguise. I hope that's all right.'

Greta's eyes shot open, and she turned to Lisa. 'Is he serious?'

'Yes—this is Walburga's actual clothing and jewellery. Harry's girlfriend is busy tonight, so I invited him to tag along.'

Laughing, Greta said, 'You'll have plenty of company! Heaps of wizards came dressed as Harry Potter.' She looked him over and said, 'You definitely nailed the robes, but otherwise you're not even in the top five where likeness is concerned.'

'That was my goal. But please, don't tell anyone.'

'Can I tell Marc? Wait, scratch that—he and his brothers tapped a cask of home-brew, and he won't be able to keep his mouth shut. But I'll tell him tomorrow, if that's all right. Do you have an alias?'

His expression earnest, he said, 'I told you, my name's Harry Potter. I went to Hogwarts and killed You-Know-Who. I mean, Voldemort.'

'Perfect,' said Greta, opening the door again. 'Right this way.'

They entered, and as Greta had warned them, the room was dotted with Harry Potters. This is like my last night at the Dursleys, he thought, recalling the ill-starred Battle of the Seven Potters, in which Moody and Hedwig had died. 'This is weird,' he whispered to Lisa.

'It really is. And look, I'm not the only Walburga.'

One enterprising witch was dressed as Walburga and wearing an actual frame. But her face fell when she saw Lisa. 'How do I compete with that?' she exclaimed.

'I know how you feel,' said Harry. 'I got the robes right, but I'm pants at self-transfiguration.'

'Hang on,' said the witch. 'Degenerate half-blood! Perverted usurper!'

Lisa joined in. 'A thousand curses upon my wretched first-born for destroying House Black! Kreacher, come at once and hurl him into a dragon pit!'

One of the other Harrys turned up, wearing charcoal robes with green trim. 'How can you say that about my beloved godfather?' he asked Lisa, widening his comically large green eyes. 'It was Sirius's fondest hope that I rehabilitate House Black, one witch at a time in your former bed. Or something like that.'

'Nice,' said Harry approvingly. 'And I see you also went with orchids.'

'It was either that or a bachelor's button, which seemed inauspicious.'

Another Harry joined them, wearing a floral shirt and a foulard. 'And here I thought I was being original,' he said sourly.

'I know, me too,' said the first Harry. 'I should have known not to trust my first idea. Although it's been a great conversation starter.'

'Too right,' said foulard Harry. 'I've already used lines that would have got me hexed under normal circumstances. And more than one witch has asked me about Parseltongue.'

'Why aren't you with a witch now?' asked the real Harry.

'I'm Harry fucking Potter,' he declared, as if Harry were daft. 'Do you really think I'm going to settle this early? I told them I might see them later. Which worked brilliantly, I might add. Nothing turns off a witch like seeming too interested.'

Yeah, that didn't work at all with Fiona, thought Harry smugly. 'Nice to meet you,' he said. 'I'm sure I'll see you around.'

Lisa winked at him before he left, and one of the Harrys started chatting her up. Harry, meanwhile, decided to get a drink. 'Great Merlin, you duplicated his ring!' exclaimed a witch at the drinks table.

'What do you mean, "his ring?"' asked Harry. 'This is my ring.'

'Oh, right! Because Harry Potter-Black shows it off at every opportunity,' said the witch, who was dressed as a sort of sexy banshee: ghost-white, with long red hair.

'It's a special occasion,' he argued, holding out his left hand. 'Would you like a closer look?'

'I think you made it too large,' she said, examining it. 'There's no way the Blacks would have worn anything that gaudy.'

'Oh yes they would. Just ask Walburga over there,' he said, indicating Lisa.

Her jaw dropped. 'Is that Lisa Black? Then I wonder if he's here.'

'He?' asked Harry, suspecting who she meant.

'Harry Potter, of course. They're dating, you know.'

'I thought he was dating Gemma Rees,' said Harry.

'Not bloody likely! I mean, she's all right, but he only dates models, or women who might as well be. Except for that American.'

Irritated, Harry was tempted to take the banshee down a peg, but he wasn't sure how. 'Would you date him, given the opportunity?'

She sized him up, and for a moment Harry worried he'd blown his cover. 'Are you asking for yourself? If so, the answer is no.'

'Sorry, love, you're not my type,' he said coolly. 'It's the real Harry Potter who fancies redheads.'

'I know, but he looked right through me the one time I saw him,' she scowled. 'He's a terrible snob.'

'Really? What about on the radio?'

'He's all right on the radio, but that's because he's with his mates. He won't even consider going on another programme. My friend's brother works for the Wizarding Wireless Network, and whenever they request an interview, all they get is a form letter saying "Thanks but no thanks." Even for Quidditch shows.'

Harry recalled an early suggestion from Darius that he go on the radio, but after the entire season sold out he told Harry not to bother. 'The post-game interviews are sufficient,' he'd said, 'and we'd rather keep you happy.'

'He's probably busy,' said Harry.

'Oh, he's definitely busy. And in answer to your question, I'd go out him in a heartbeat. But it's a moot point, because he's with Lisa Black.'

'Then why is she here alone?'

The witch looked around. 'Good question ... I wonder if he's in disguise! That would be just like him.'

Harry decided this was his cue to leave, so he grabbed a bottle of porter and wandered off. Emboldened by the banshee's rejection, he approached a witch dressed as a mermaid. 'That's a very impressive costume,' he said, looking at her actual fish tail, which required her to float above the ground.

'Thanks. Yours, on the other hand, is a bit unoriginal.'

'Perhaps, but it's a good conversation starter. Which is the whole point, really.'

She seemed unconvinced. 'Maybe. Are you a Harry Potter fanboy?'

'No, I prefer Phil Routledge. But that would have been too original.'

Her expression changed, and she said, 'I'm mad for Puddlemere! And it's definitely Routledge's turn, particularly after being shunted during the war. Potter can fly for England some other time.'

'I agree entirely. Potter's not ready.'

Thus began an animated conversation about Quidditch, and eventually Harry asked her name. 'I'm Gisele.'

'Nice to meet you, Gisele. I'm Harry.'

She looked sceptical. 'Really?'

'Absolutely. I'd have thought it was obvious.'

'Well played,' she said, smiling. 'Silly me!'

Sweet Merlin, I think she likes me, he thought with alarm, and he decided to wreck it. 'So, do you ever read Sorceress?' he asked, waggling his eyebrows.

She burst out laughing. 'I do, in fact. What are you proposing?'

Bugger, she's interested! 'Nothing, actually. I was just curious,' he said, hastily excusing himself.

In his rush to another room, he ran across Lisa. 'Look, there's another one,' said her friend Michelle, whom he'd met at the drag party. 'Go on, Lisa, tell him off.'

'No, I already got that one,' said Lisa. 'Although it's hard to keep track—they're everywhere.'

Michelle levelled her gaze at him. 'All right, then. Show us what you've got.'

Glancing first at Lisa, Harry turned towards Michelle. 'What's your name?' he asked.

'Michelle. And you?'

'My name's Harry. I went to Hogwarts. And this is my adopted grandmum, Walburga.'

Michelle sniffed. 'That's not very interesting. Try again.'

'You're right, give me a moment.' He rolled his shoulders to loosen up, then said, 'Hi, Michelle. Did you listen to the Cannons match this afternoon?'

'No, but I heard about it. Apparently you're shagging your teammate.'

'Perhaps I am. But I don't see her anywhere,' he said, looking about. 'Do you?'

'No,' she smirked. 'What are you getting at?'

'What I'm getting at,' he said, leaning closer to her, 'is that I'm as good as single tonight.'

'Lisa, what do you think? Does he really talk like that?'

Harry feigned surprise. 'Hang on, you actually know him?'

'Of course she does,' said Michelle. 'She's Lisa Black.'

'I just thought that was a really good transfiguration job!' he exclaimed. 'Wow, you're really pretty. And so are you,' he told Michelle. 'My bed's enormous, you know.'

Both witches laughed. 'He's as cheeky as Harry—I'll give him that,' said Lisa. 'But keep going.'

He ran a hand through his hair and gave Michelle his best approximation of the the Look, not knowing if it would still work. 'Do you want to know what I find most attractive about you?' he asked in a low voice.

Michelle's cheeks flushed. 'Yes,' she said, drawing nearer.

'Your long, straight hair,' he murmured. 'It's just the type that fans across a pillow, or falls in my face when you're on top. It tickles my cheek, even, like Ginny's did. Same with Lydia.'

That can't possibly work, he thought, expecting her to slap him. But instead she glanced at Lisa. 'He's good,' she said. 'What else?'

Fuck, this is too easy! he thought. Lisa was frowning, and she made an obscene gesture only he could see, involving her index finger and a loose fist. Try harder, she seemed to be saying.

'I bet you taste amazing,' he purred, looking Michelle over and simultaneously cringing inside. Lisa started coughing, but her friend's eyes darkened with desire.

'Michelle, this can't possibly be working!' exclaimed Lisa.

'No, of course not,' she said hastily. 'He's unbelievably smarmy.'

'I'm just that confident,' he said, flooding her with the Look. 'I did it six times in one night, after all.'

Michelle finally snapped out of it. 'No you didn't—Harry Potter did. And go take a cold shower.'

Lisa applauded, and Harry took a bow. 'He gets a three for likeness, but a nine for deportment,' she said. 'You should offer lessons to that Potter over there.'

He followed her gaze and did a double-take. Blimey, that's me! he thought. 'You're right—I should go talk to him. Nice to meet both of you.'

The other Harry was across the room talking to a witch dressed in something resembling Healers' robes, only they were form-fitting and low-cut. Harry stood back to observe him, astounded by the resemblance. Did he use Polyjuice? he wondered. The wizard wore dove-grey robes, with a floral waistcoat identical to Harry's. Either he's a Transfiguration master or some kind of thief.

After a few minutes, the other Harry pulled out a small notebook and pencil, and the witch jotted something down. Her address, Harry supposed, with grudging respect. After she left, the wizard tucked the items back into a pocket and conspicuously ran a hand through his hair.

Harry approached him. 'Well done,' he said. 'That is an amazing likeness.'

The other Harry looked bemused. 'It's not a likeness,' he said in Harry's own voice and accent. 'I actually am Harry Potter-Black.' Harry looked sceptically at him, and the wizard said, 'I know, it was bad form to turn up without a costume, but I was invited at the last minute.'

'Was that your girlfriend?' asked Harry, indicating the witch, who was still looking at them and whispering to a friend.

'I don't have a girlfriend,' he said with a grimace. 'Not anymore—she was furious about Gemma and dumped me after the match.'

'Gemma Rees?' asked Harry, and the wizard nodded.

'The thing is, I never touched her. I mean really, I can do better. But Miranda didn't believe me, so here I am, not wearing a costume to a Hallowe'en party.'

Harry studied the wizard, looking for dissimilarities to himself, and to his relief he found some. His hands aren't like mine, he thought, noting his round fingernails. And he's missing the scar from Umbridge, which Polyjuice would have included. 'Er, no offence, mate, but you're obviously not the real Harry Potter,' he said.

'Excuse me? I think I know who I am. And it's Potter-Black.'

You bastard, thought Harry, wishing he knew how to prove the wizard was lying without outing himself. 'Did you come here with Lisa?' he asked.

'Yes—she was at the house earlier, to borrow Walburga's clothes and jewellery, and I told her what happened with Miranda. So she insisted I accompany her.'

'Then I'm sure she'll corroborate that,' said Harry. 'Lisa!' he called. 'Excuse me, Lisa Black?'

She didn't turn, and Harry realised she might not recognise his voice. Meanwhile, the fake Harry looked annoyed. 'Would you mind not hassling my cousin? And me, for that matter,' he said, turning to walk away.

Oh, hell no. 'Lisa,' he called more loudly, and this time she heard him. She started to approach, and the other Harry froze.

'Look, mate. I'm just having a lark, same as you,' he said, in a different voice and accent. 'I'm just really good at Transfiguration. And voices.'

'Apparently,' said Harry, glad he'd finally dropped the ruse. 'But I don't think the real Harry Potter would appreciate what you're doing.'

Before he could reply, Lisa arrived. 'Well now, look at this! Have you been training him?' she asked Harry.

He turned to the pretender and said, 'She gave me a nine for deportment a few minutes ago. Said my likeness was crap, but I knew that already, and she suggested I show you a thing or two.'

'Yes, he clearly has the nuances down,' said the other wizard, using Harry's voice again.

Lisa beamed at him. 'Unbelievable. Like I said earlier, you look and sound just like him. I wish he could meet you.'

'Yeah,' said Harry, 'I understand he has a lot of time on his hands now that Miranda dumped him.'

'Who's Miranda?' asked Lisa.

'His girlfriend. Well, former girlfriend—she was furious about the Gemma Rees thing.'

'Oh my god, poor Harry! I can't believe he didn't say anything when I saw him earlier.'

The wizard watched them interact, and with dawning horror he seemed to put the pieces together. 'Oh, shit' he said, in his own voice. 'You're him, aren't you?'

'Shh,' said Lisa, holding a finger to his lips. 'He's incognito.'

'Seriously, mate, I'm sorry. I was just having some fun.'

'And telling lies about me. And insulting Gemma.' The wizard stammered, and Harry said, 'Look, I don't mind the costume. You did an absolutely brilliant job—I thought it was Polyjuice at first. But I don't need more rumours swirling about. Got it?'

The wizard nodded, his eyes still wide with alarm.

'What about glowing?' asked Lisa. 'Can you do that?'

'Yeah, I'm wearing an amulet. Want to see?'

She looked at Harry. 'What do you think? Do you fancy a glow-off?'

The tense confrontation had already provoked his Light magic. 'Yeah, why not?' he said, allowing himself to glow. Fake Harry followed suit, and another Harry across the room did the same.

Laughter and comments from the crowd, along with threats to take pictures. 'There's no telling what you'll do,' joked a witch. Eventually Harry let his glow subside, and the other Harrys did as well.

'Again, I'm really sorry,' said the wizard. 'My name's Thomas, by the way. Thomas McArdle.'

'Right, speaking of names ... how many did you collect?' asked Harry, indicating the pocket where he'd stashed his notebook.

Thomas inhaled sharply. 'Er, a few.'

Lisa made a face. 'How was that going to work? Surely they'd want to see the house.'

'Doxies?' he shrugged. 'Bad infestation? I really hadn't got that far.'

Harry recalled with amusement how he'd told Penelope the house was being fumigated. 'Look, Thomas, I'm in no position to judge anyone for pulling, but don't even think about duping those women. I'm pretty sure there are laws about that, and I know a few Aurors.'

Thomas got the message and beat a hasty retreat. 'That bastard,' said Lisa after he left. 'You were too easy on him.'

'I know, but I didn't want to duel him either.' Harry ran a hand through his too-short hair and said, 'God, I wonder how many people think they've slept with me. As if my reputation weren't bad enough.'

She shook her head. 'Probably no one. Any witch with half a brain would demand your Patronus, or some other proof.'

'Right, good point. But I should say something on the radio, or have Lee and George do it.'

Lisa bit her lips in hesitation. 'He looked like you, but he wasn't the same.' Harry frowned, and she added, 'I mean, he could probably fool someone who'd never met you, but he didn't have your ... je ne sais quoi.'

A Horcrux? thought Harry wryly, but he knew what she meant. 'If you say so.'

'I know so. You saw what happened with Michelle—you were an absolute scumbag, but she was ready to go home with you. Has anyone rejected you yet?'

'One witch did,' he said, thinking of the banshee. 'But that was preemptive—I never actually tried seducing her.'

'That doesn't count.' She chuckled and said, 'Your world-renowned mojo ... I almost feel sorry for Voldemort.'

'Don't. And I'm pretty sure he had it too.'

She raised one eyebrow. 'Maybe he should have flogged underwear.'

'Shh, it's still secret. And I'm incognito, remember?'

'Good point! And you're almost certainly cramping my style.' she said, shooing him away. 'Foul imp! Lecherous abomination! Leave my sight at once!'

Laughing, Harry left, and several wizards hastened to take his place. Next, he wandered into the kitchen, where platters of sweets were laid out. He filled a small dish, and while eating he observed the various costumes. That makes three sexy Kneazles, he thought, watching an attractive witch pass by. And that's an impressive Centaur costume, although rather cumbersome. Some people were dressed as Muggles, including a firefighter, an astronaut, and even a cowboy, which must have baffled any pure-bloods present.

But nearly a dozen wizards—and several witches—were dressed as him. Wizarding Britain needs more celebrities, he thought yet again, and he considered dressing as Lockhart the following year. One of the Harrys wore ivory robes and was accompanied by a blurry-looking witch—a clear reference to Helena, who'd turned away from the camera when they were photographed together. Another one also wore ivory, only his companion was a wizard in obvious drag, with long blond hair and a flask labelled 'Veritaserum.'

Harry wished he'd brought a camera, although he suspected neither Lydia nor Helena would be amused. He approached the male couple, however, and told them he liked their outfits. 'It was his idea,' said the wizard dressed as Harry, pointing to his companion. 'He's obsessed with Lydia Travers and wanted to pay tribute.'

'You're obsessed with Lydia Travers?' said Harry, surprised.

'Yes, and so is every other gay man,' said the wizard dressed as Lydia. 'Or they should be.'

'I'm not arguing, but why?'

'Where do I start? One: she's beautiful. I don't want to fuck her, but I could look at her all day. Two: she's rebellious. Every gay man knows what it's like to feel trapped by family expectations, and Lydia told her Death Eater family to shove their dowry up their collective arse. Three: she went after Harry Potter, who's a gay icon as well—he deserves another Order of Merlin for making fitted robes and tight trousers so popular. And four: her new boyfriend, who's simply divine.'

His companion sighed in agreement. 'I'd have dressed as him tonight, but his clothes aren't interesting, and if either of us were that good at human transfiguration we'd never leave the house. Ergo, Harry Potter-Black,' he said, indicating his untidy black hair and fake scar.

'I'd sell my soul for an invitation to her salon,' said the wizard dressed as Lydia. 'If you have any idea how to meet her, I'm all ears.'

Harry was unsure how to reply, but inspiration struck. 'Of course I know how to meet her—I'm Harry Potter, after all. Just give me your name and address, and I'll pass it along.'

The wizards laughed and introduced themselves—the one dressed as Lydia was named Douglas, and his companion was named Brett. They'd attended the same school as Helena but were several years older, and they'd recently opened an antiques shop in Edinburgh. Douglas was Muggle-born, as were both of Brett's parents, so they'd spent the final year of the war abroad.

They didn't press Harry for his real name, playing along with his fake identity. Harry made a few deliberate errors, which his new friends corrected. 'Really,' said Brett, 'you of all people should know your house-elf is called Kreacher, and not Treacher. And Gryffindor colours are red and gold, not red and black.'

'Whatever,' said Harry dismissively. 'I was too busy fighting You-Know-Who to keep track of details. And besides, that's what Hermione was for.'

'Hermione Granger!' exclaimed Douglas. 'There's another one I'd love to meet.'

'You just want to meet Ryan Bellamy,' smirked Brett.

'That too. But Granger ... she's truly the patron saint of British Muggle-borns,' said Douglas. 'And on top of that, she's a Light witch. Harry, promise you'll never take her for granted.'

'Believe me, I don't,' said Harry earnestly, and Douglas did a double-take. Bugger, did I just give myself away? In an attempt at misdirection, he said, 'I have no idea why she and Potter never dated.'

Brett took the bait. 'He met her too young—she was mousy and awkward back then. And he needed her help to stay alive, so he probably knew unconsciously not to get involved.'

'I think you mean me,' joked Harry. 'And I'm sure you're right.'

They chatted a while longer, and Harry took their address with a promise to pass it to Lydia. 'Because we have tea every Sunday, after all.'

'Quite so!' replied Douglas. 'Harry, it's been a pleasure to meet you, and I hope we meet again.'

'How will we know it's him?' asked Brett. 'He'll just be some random stranger.'

'We'll give him a code word,' said Douglas. 'Harry, the next time you see us, say "glockenspiel."'

After a moment of puzzlement, Harry remembered the small, metal xylophone from primary school. 'Done. And I enjoyed meeting you as well. See you at the salon!'

He found Lisa one last time before leaving. 'Walburga, I'm off. Thanks for bringing Sirius into the world.'

She was talking with a young wizard dressed as Robin Hood. 'How dare you remind me of my greatest disappointment!' she shrieked, followed by a look of embarrassment. 'I swear, it's just coming out automatically now.'

'Blood will tell,' said Harry ominously. 'Have a good night!'

Robin Hood studied him for a moment, then turned his attention back to Lisa, who seemed rather taken with him. I've been replaced, thought Harry, only a little put out.

When he got home, he showed Banthora his disguise. 'I was born in the wrong era,' she said wistfully. 'As a spinster, I was never permitted to attend such diversions. But your party last week was delightful, and I enjoy hearing what you're up to. I do hope you'll tell me about tomorrow's gala.'

He had a mad urge to bring her with him, but it would be impractical, if not impossible. And the new portrait he'd commissioned was also too large, and incomplete. 'I should have asked the artist for a small painting, so I could take you out sometime,' he said with regret.

'A miniature!' she exclaimed. 'But I would never presume!'

'Hang on, is that a thing?'

'Of course it is. But Harry, I refuse,' she said, embarrassed. 'Only important portraits travel by miniature.'

'Do we need to go through this again? You're important to me, and I'd love to show you around. You could even see me fly sometime!' Frowning, he added, 'I only wish I'd known to ask the artist—obviously I can't get one in time for the gala.'

Banthora looked sheepish and said, 'That isn't true. In my day, you could get a sort of blank, and if a living witch or wizard held it to up to a portrait, the subject could enter. I'm sure the family used to have one, but that lowlife probably stole it.'

Good old Mundungus, thought Harry fondly. He cost us the locket, but at least he stole the silver. 'Do you reckon they're still available somewhere?' he asked.

'I should think so. But really, you mustn't.'

'Rubbish—I'd love to have company. I won't have a date, since Fiona and I aren't public yet, and I could introduce you to loads of people. You could even meet Lockhart, since Merlin knows I'll never have him at the house.'

She couldn't dissuade him, and Harry resolved to visit the pair of antiques dealers he'd met that evening. That should come as a surprise, he thought with anticipation.

But he was most excited about seeing Fiona at the gala. He didn't know how much he'd be permitted to interact with her, but the mental image of her in evening clothes was overwhelming. And then, seeing her out of evening clothes, he thought breathlessly, hoping he'd have time alone with her afterwards.

Recalling the fake Harry who claimed he'd been dumped by his jealous girlfriend that afternoon, the real Harry noted that Fiona hadn't expressed the slightest worry. If she'd been upset about Gemma, she could have notified him by Floo, since he'd given her unrestricted access. But her letter that evening was unambiguously affectionate:

Darling Harry,

You're probably surprised by my salutation, but hearing you on the radio this afternoon increased my ardour tenfold. When the reporter asked if you wanted to tell me anything, I braced myself for a gooey declaration, like in your letters. But your simple statement—that you respect my privacy—was like a spark to tinder.

I know you're eager to go public, but your respect for my wishes is as powerfully seductive as your smuttiest letters. (By the way, this morning's letter set a new low. Or high, depending on how you look at it. In short: I loved it.)

I can't promise you time alone tomorrow night, but know that behind every passing glance will be a cauldron of longing. And make no mistake—it will be satisfied.

Yours in sweet privacy,
Fiona