It was a short hop from Grimmauld Place to Hyde Park, and Harry found himself in a small wood. Several others appeared nearby, also dressed to the nines, and they noted him with interest. But he politely avoided conversation, choosing instead to pull Banthora's miniature from his pocket.

'Nature!' she exclaimed, her eyes wide. The trees were illuminated by the twilight and by strings of fairy lights, but she gasped when she saw the glass structure. 'Great Salazar! It's nothing but windows!'

'And the scale of it!' said Harry. 'It's completely absurd.' When they entered, however, it was somehow more intimate. Still enormous, but like a grand ballroom rather than an exhibition hall. 'Magic,' he murmured, shaking his head. 'I'll never stop being amazed.'

A young witch greeted him. 'Good evening, Mr Potter-Black,' she said, carefully not using his given name. 'You'll find your place card over there. But you're at table three, right up front.'

'Do I have an assigned seat at the table?' he asked, wondering whether Fiona had stuck him next to Lockhart, just for kicks.

'No, you can sit wherever you like. And people will circulate—you'll see.'

He took his place card, knowing Fiona had spent hours casting calligraphy charms. Harry Potter-Black, it read, and close inspection revealed a tiny heart amidst the swirling lines.

Tucking it into his pocket, he looked around. At the centre was a multi-tiered crystal fountain—at least twenty-five feet tall—and numerous guests were gathered there. If he'd been alone, he might have avoided it for fear of being accosted. But Banthora wanted to see it, and he did too, so he held up the miniature and they approached.

'Don't tell me you brought Walburga,' said a grinning older wizard.

'No, this is Banthora Black. Banthora, this is Oscar Abbott—he's one of the heads of the Light political faction.'

'Yes, of course,' said Banthora. 'I went to school with your ancestor, Polonius Abbott. Ravenclaw, if memory serves.'

'I know him well! He hangs in my study,' said Abbott. He introduced his wife, and thus began Harry's odyssey of introductions. Better to get it over with, he thought, knowing he'd enjoy himself more later on. But where's Fiona?

Half an hour later, whilst chatting with Augusta Longbottom, he finally spotted her. She was walking briskly, holding a clipboard and no longer tottering on high heels. 'If you'll excuse me,' said Harry, barely taking his eyes off Fiona. 'There's someone I need to see.'

If Augusta read his meaning, she hid it well, and Harry hurried after Fiona. But she was too quick—she found whoever she was looking for and showed him something on her clipboard.

For a moment Harry just stared, before realising he should be more discreet. 'That's nothing like the dress she wore last year,' said Lucy, the WORF caseworker who'd accompanied them to lunch.

'Oh?' said Harry, admiring Fiona's close-fitting satin gown, which came to the floor and had a high halter top, revealing bare shoulders.

'Last year I think she borrowed something from her mum. It was perfectly appropriate but didn't show her to advantage.'

'That dress certainly does,' he murmured, noting it looked just as good from the back. 'She said her co-workers are getting suspicious.'

'They are,' said Lucy. 'She's never been good at hiding her feelings, and now that she's happy, it's unmistakable.'

'But they haven't guessed it's me?'

'No, because of your age. I'm impatient for it all to come out, but she's enjoying having a secret.'

'That's a good point,' said Harry, finally looking at Lucy. 'I'd thought her main concern was the publicity, but you're right—it's fun keeping a secret.'

'Great Merlin, has Harry Potter finally learnt the value of discretion?'

'Perhaps I have.' His eyes followed Fiona as she walked towards the silent auction displays, which lined a long gallery. 'Do you know how the gala is going, as far as fundraising is concerned?'

'Based on the remote bids we've received, your eyeglasses are going to break the WORF record for a single item, which is currently held by a phial containing Godric Gryffindor's nail clippings.'

Voldemort could have made a Horcrux out of those, thought Harry with amusement. 'I'm just glad they'll be of benefit.'

'That they will, and so will the bachelor auction. Have you talked to any of your rivals yet?'

'No, but apparently I'm seated with them.'

'Oh right, table three,' she chuckled. 'We call that "The Stable."' He looked at her questioningly, and she said, 'Because that's where the stallions are.'

Harry heard laughter from his pocket, where he'd tucked Banthora. She'd insisted he stop holding up the miniature, and as long as he didn't close it completely she could still hear. 'Do you have an editorial comment?' he asked Banthora, pulling her out.

'None at all. But I'll remind you to prop me up where I can see. And don't introduce me to the other stallions—I'd rather they forget I'm there.'

After introducing her to Lucy, Harry returned her to his pocket and perused the silent auction, hoping to talk to Fiona. Only the less-expensive items were auctioned silently—there was a sheet of paper in front of each, where bidders could write down a price. Harry's signed merchandise was there, along with the books he and Hermione had purified.

He was examining a record album signed by the Weird Sisters when Fiona approached him. 'Are you considering placing a bid?' she asked innocently.

'Yes, I have half a mind to bid on the custom hair potion from Capelli & Sons.'

In a fierce whisper she said, 'Don't you dare! I told you I like your hair as it is. And those robes are fantastic.'

'So is that dress,' he said, still looking at the Weird Sisters album. 'And I noticed you're wearing an orchid in your hair.'

'Yes, it's a cattleya, which apparently means "mature charm." Did you send that on purpose?'

'What? No!' he exclaimed, and several people turned. 'I'm so sorry!' he said more quietly.

'Don't be—Jill and I thought it was hilarious.'

'Did she help you get ready?'

'She did, and that's all the conversation you get right now. Thanks again, and have a good time tonight!' she said brightly, before approaching another prospective bidder.

It was nearly time for dinner, so Harry made his way to the table, but he was waylaid yet again. 'Harry!' cried Professor Slughorn. 'I was hoping I'd run into you.'

'Professor Slughorn,' he said warmly. 'How's life at Hogwarts?'

'It suits me perfectly. Professor Krausen is teaching the younger years, and I get to teach the fifth years and up. Far enough along to show any talent, but still early enough for me to nurture it.'

'That was always your strength,' said Harry, omitting the part where Slughorn lavished attention on his favourites whilst ignoring everyone else.

'Why thank you! I must say, you've exceeded my wildest expectations. And I always had high expectations for Lily Evans's son, even before the business with You-Know-Who.'

Harry felt sheepish when Slughorn mentioned his mother, whom he seldom thought about except when joking about dead-mum trauma. 'I'm glad you remember her,' he said. 'I don't really, and hardly anyone still living does either.'

'I'll never forget her,' said Slughorn, with obvious emotion. 'She'd have been so proud of you; you've turned out every bit as cheeky as your dad, only with your mother's heart. And she'd have been thrilled by your Light magic.'

'Was she familiar with the Light Arts?' asked Harry, surprised.

'A clever witch like your mum? I'll wager she was!'

'Don't tell me she was a Light witch!' exclaimed Harry. Silently, he added, Otherwise she might still be alive.

'Not to my knowledge, although her final act was unquestionably Light magic.'

The noise of the gala seemed to fade around them. 'So she knew what she was doing?' asked Harry, in awed tones.

Slughorn shook his head. 'I doubt she had time to strategise, not with your father dying as well. But her sacrifice was born of instinct, from a lifetime of looking out for others—a short lifetime, alas. Most of us make poor decisions in the moment, but not Lily. And I know she'd have made the exact same decision if she'd had more time to consider it.'

Harry was silent for a long moment. 'I get more credit than I deserve,' he said. 'She's why I defeated Voldemort. She's where I got my Light magic.'

'That's not true either. I mean yes, she did her part, but so did you. And Light magic isn't hereditary the way regular magic is—you earned it, same as she did.'

A low gong sounded, indicating the start of dinner, and the crowd flowed towards the tables. 'Are you free Thursday night?' asked Harry. 'I have one ticket left for the Cannons match, against Ballycastle.'

Slughorn's eyes lit up. 'I'd love to attend! One of the benefits of being the senior Potions master is that my classes are at a more civilised hour.'

After wrapping up with Slughorn, Harry went in search of his table. The Stable, he recalled, looking for Lockhart's presumably garish robes. But Lockhart proved hard to find, due to the throng of witches around him. Talk about mature charm, thought Harry, noting the average age of Lockhart's admirers.

'Harry!' cried Lockhart, waving him over. 'Splendid to see you again!'

He's acting like we're mates. 'Hello, Lockhart,' said Harry coolly. 'You're looking well.'

Several of the witches laughed, as if Harry had stated the obvious. 'And so are you,' boomed Lockhart. 'Finally a glimpse of the famous Potter style!'

'Gilderoy, I'm sure you inspired him,' said one of the witches. 'He got to see you every day back at Hogwarts.'

Harry refrained from announcing that Lucius Malfoy had actually inspired him. 'I didn't really notice his clothes, except when we had to write essays about them,' he said acidly. 'Which was fairly often, come to think of it.'

In an instant, Lockhart's expression changed to one of deep remorse. 'I'm afraid he's right,' he told the witches. 'Poor Harry needed a qualified Defence professor, but instead he got me at my low point. Before my accident, that is.'

The witches nodded sympathetically, and one let out a heavy sigh. 'He's so raw now,' she told Harry. 'He speaks straight from the heart.'

'Er, yeah,' said Harry, extricating himself from the group. 'I'm going to find my seat.'

The Stable was indeed right up front, near the steps leading to the stage, and Harry suddenly realised what the auction would entail. Sweet Merlin, I'm going to have to stand there while people bid on me! He stared at the stage in horror, until a voice said, 'Relax, you'll be plastered by then.'

Harry turned and saw Carl Wainwright with his fellow Tutshill Tornado, Morgan Maddox. 'I hadn't planned on it,' said Harry. 'I have practice tomorrow, same as you.'

The other players at the table told him to get pissed regardless, but Phil Routledge said, 'He can't, not in public like this. Remember, he's held to a higher standard.'

'A higher standard?' scoffed Andrew Gilstrap. 'He gets away with everything!'

'I wouldn't get away with revealing my girlfriend's identity,' said Harry, taking the seat next to Phil and discreetly propping open Banthora. 'The press might forgive me, but she wouldn't.'

'Is she embarrassed?' asked Gilstrap.

'No, we're just enjoying this phase. And I expect to be with her for a while, so there's no rush.'

'And she didn't mind that you shagged Gemma Rees?'

Harry glared at him. 'Gemma and I are just friends—always have been.'

'I know that,' said Gilstrap. 'But good luck convincing everyone else.'

Their table was filling up, but Lockhart never arrived, leaving an empty seat. 'What happened to Lockhart?' he asked Phil, looking around.

'Your new best mate? He's over there,' said Phil, pointing to a table nearby. Lockhart was with a pair of witches, who seemed to be vying for his attention.

Harry studied them, trying to decide if they were attractive. They're well put-together, certainly, he thought, noting their exquisite gowns and perfectly-coiffed hair. They were pretty, and their skin was flawless—radiant, even. But for some reason Harry found them off-putting.

'What's going on with those women?' he asked. 'They look ... odd.'

'Youth potions,' said Phil. 'It's not obvious up close, but from a distance it's a bit uncanny.'

'Are you saying that if I walked right up to them, they'd look more appealing?'

'That's been my experience. But you'll see for yourself, after the auction.'

'She'll look great up close,' said Maddox. 'Entrancing, even—you'll definitely enjoy sitting across from her, or whatever you end up doing. But put her next to a woman who's actually young, and the illusion breaks down. That's why they don't all take youth potions.'

Harry looked around the table. 'Have all of you participated in the auction before?'

Nearly everyone nodded, and they swapped stories. 'Last year, my date sent me advance instructions,' said Wainwright. 'It was her social secretary, actually, so the instructions were all in the third person, which made it even funnier. Stuff like, "She enjoys being caressed on the small of her back when led through the restaurant." And, "Insist on paying for dinner, only to discover you haven't enough gold. Look very embarrassed when she has to pay instead."'

'A few years ago, my date owled me to ask what I was wearing,' said another wizard. 'I wrote back with a description, and I guess she didn't approve, because she sent me to a tailor who'd been given strict instructions. She also told me not to shave for two days prior, and to whisper into her ear a lot and tickle her with stubble.'

'Were you expected to sleep with her?' asked Harry, growing increasingly uneasy.

'It's definitely not required,' said Wainwright. 'WORF guidelines are very strict, and bidders aren't allowed to coerce us in any way. But there's no rule against consensual sex, and half the reason they're bidding on us is because they hope we're indiscriminately randy.'

Harry blinked. 'I'm completely fucked, aren't I? And no, that's not how I meant it.'

'You are indeed fucked,' said Phil. 'In whichever sense of the word you prefer. Anyone who bids on you is hoping you'll reenact Sorceress.'

'But I have a girlfriend,' stammered Harry. 'I announced it on the radio.'

Gilstrap smirked and said, 'Didn't you have a girlfriend when you hooked up with those two C-squareds?'

'That was different,' said Harry hoarsely.

'Relax, they can't force you to do anything,' said Wainwright. 'They'll drop hints, but just act like you're tempted, only you can't cheat on whatshername. And brush up on pure-blood courtesies like kissing her hand and so forth.'

'And think of the orphans,' said Gilstrap. 'All this is for them.'

Their conversation was punctuated by a series of speeches, welcoming everyone to the gala and praising WORF. First was the chair-witch of the board, then the WORF director, and finally the chair of the fundraising committee, who urged the guests to bid generously. 'Your donation tonight has the power to change the life of someone in need. So please, open your hearts and your purses, and let's take care of our extended wizarding family.'

With this, the orchestra started playing, and between courses the dance floor filled with couples. Harry was relieved, however, that Fiona didn't expect him to dance, since he didn't know how. For next year's gala, I'll have to learn, he thought. Meanwhile, there was an abundance of alcohol: the servers constantly topped off people's wine glasses, and there were bottles on every table. Furthermore, several bars throughout the room served mixed drinks, and nearly everyone but Harry indulged freely.

A steady stream of witches visited their table, and the wizards shamelessly flirted with them. 'Are you here to sample the wares?' asked Brad Spinstreet, Keeper for Pride of Portree. He was addressing a sultry witch of indeterminate age who glittered with diamond jewellery.

'I still can't decide who to bid on,' she said, sipping a cocktail. 'Everyone wants Potter or Lockhart, but you're all simply divine. So delightfully fit, unlike most wizards.'

'You're rather fit yourself,' said Maddox, looking squarely at her chest. 'Could you fancy a Beater, or would I be too much for you?'

'There's no such thing,' she purred. 'In fact, a great hunk of wizard might be just what the Healer ordered.'

'Maddox isn't the only Beater present,' said Rufus McDowell, who played for the Arrows. 'And someone as gorgeous as yourself shouldn't limit her options.'

She was obviously eating up the attention, and she left undecided. 'Nice try, McDowell,' said Maddox when she was gone, 'but I'm still going to fetch the higher price.'

McDowell begged to differ, but Wainwright interrupted. 'Great Merlin, who's that? Please tell me she's one of the bidders.'

Harry couldn't see who he was referring to, but Maddox said, 'No, she works for WORF. Her name's Fiona, and she's a war widow. And something of a cold fish, sad to say.'

'What a waste,' said Wainwright. 'Potter, what do you think?'

'I've met her, actually—she's a friend of Owen's,' he said, affecting nonchalance. 'And yes, she is pretty.'

'A bit old for you, surely,' said Maddox. 'I actually took her on a date once, but she barely cracked a smile. Her heart's in the grave, apparently.'

Wainwright raised his eyebrows. 'That sounds like a challenge. Gilstrap, what say you? Are you up for a wager?'

Fiona was now in plain view, talking with a wizard at the main podium. 'Five Galleons?' said Gilstrap, watching her intently.

'You're on,' replied Wainwright, straightening his necktie. 'I'm ready for some actual youth after an hour of the brewed variety.'

Harry couldn't decide whether he was horrified or amused, but he knew he needed to watch. 'Bring her here,' he said. 'I have to witness this.'

Wainwright stood up to get her attention, then waved her over. 'Excuse me, miss—I'm told you work for WORF.'

'That's right, I helped organise the gala,' she said, obviously frazzled. 'May I help you with something?'

'Quite the opposite—you've done a tremendous job, and I suspect you could use a break,' he said, indicating a chair.

'Oh! That does sound nice,' she replied, sitting down. 'For a moment, anyway. Is there any food left?'

'Just some dinner rolls,' said Gilstrap. 'But I think pudding is coming next—won't you join us?'

'You have no idea how good a plate heaped with pudding sounds, but now's not the time,' she said, catching Harry's eye. He'd explained his private meaning for 'pudding' during their date on Thursday, and he had to expand into awareness to keep from laughing.

Meanwhile, Gilstrap and Wainwright attempted to charm her, to little avail. 'Save it for the bidders,' she said, hastily eating a buttered roll. 'Although I hear you're doing a fine job already. My supervisor was afraid Potter and Lockhart would dominate, but I said not every woman goes for the obvious choice.'

'Oi, Potter—did you hear that,' said Maddox. 'She called you "obvious" and lumped you with Captain Hair-Potion over there.'

'No, not at all,' said Fiona, laughing. 'It's just he's a bit overexposed compared to the rest of you.' She caught Harry's eye again, and he recalled Friday's exchange of letters, which included some very saucy wordplay around his alleged overexposure.

'He really is,' said Gilstrap. 'I'm just waiting for him to pose in his underwear for some reason or other. It's the next logical step.'

Fiona bit her lip, then said, 'Maybe all of you can, and WORF can sell a calendar. I'm sure it would be a success.'

The players clamoured to participate, although Harry said nothing. Gilstrap took note and said, 'Clearly Potter's already done it, otherwise he'd be first in line.'

'Is that your secret endorsement?' exclaimed Wainwright. Turning to Fiona, he said, 'Last month he told the Seekers he'd signed an unusual, worldwide, and highly-lucrative new contract. This has to be it!'

Fiona drained Lockhart's untouched water goblet. 'Fascinating,' she said coolly, standing up. 'But I need to get back to work.'

The wizards bade her goodbye, and as soon as she was out of earshot, Maddox said, 'I told you so. A looker, but ice-cold.'

Several wizards said she seemed nice, but they agreed she wasn't flirtatious. 'She definitely gave off a "taken" vibe,' said Routledge.

'By a ghost, apparently,' said Wainwright. 'Pity.'

Harry excused himself and looked for people he ought to talk to. He saw several Dark wizards he'd met at Pratt's, and none of them were friendly. Reginald Baxter and Pontius Flint barely acknowledged him, and Magnus Travers actually sneered. Lydia's parents saw him as well, and he couldn't help giving them his cheekiest smile. She played all of us, he thought with amusement.

He also spotted Romulus Wynter, with a witch who was probably his wife. Davina's mother, he thought, and he wondered if she was equally unwilling to reconcile. He nodded politely to both of them, and for a moment Davina's mother went rigid. But then she nodded back.

Harry was tempted to introduce himself, but Lord Wynter shot him a warning glare. All right, then, maybe not. He stood awkwardly for a moment but was rescued by Narcissa Malfoy, of all people. 'Harry, come here,' she called. 'I need to talk to you.'

He was by her side in an instant. 'Yes, what is it?' he asked.

'Nothing—you simply looked trapped. And it was the least I could do after you freed Draco.'

She's been drinking, he thought. 'And how are you? Are you enjoying the gala?'

'I am. Violetta Greengrass invited me, even though I upset the numbers at her table. It would be one thing if I were a widow—or a divorcée, Merlin forbid. But I'm not quite anything, thanks to Lucius's unfortunate circumstances.'

Harry realised she must be lonely. 'I'm glad you're here,' he said. 'But word to the wise: the bachelor auction will almost certainly get raucous, and my participation might embarrass you. I have no idea why I agreed to it.'

'I know all about the auction—I've been here before,' she said dismissively. 'Daisy Parkinson even wants me to bid.'

'You can't be serious!'

'Not on you, of course. But one of the other players.'

Recalling the conversation at his table, Harry shook his head. 'No, I've been sitting with them all evening, and you should hear what they say about the bidders.'

'I can imagine. And don't worry, I'm not doing it. I'm still married, after all.'

Harry had wondered about her relationship with Lucius, and how it would survive his life sentence to Azkaban. The prison was far less harsh than before, but maximum-security inmates weren't permitted conjugal visits. 'True, but you hardly get to see him.'

Sighing, she said, 'The hardest part right now is not getting to dance.' She looked wistfully at the dance floor, full of waltzing couples. 'I can't persuade you, can I?'

That has to be the wine talking, thought Harry. 'Sorry, but I never learnt how to dance.'

She rolled her eyes. 'Your upbringing was a scandal. But no matter, I can show you, if you're willing to submit to a mild Compulsion Charm. It's how I taught Draco, and with your Occlumency you won't be at the slightest risk.'

Her tone was casual, but Harry saw the yearning in her eyes. Not for me, but just to dance again. 'Yes, all right. Although you might attract attention, casting the charm.'

'I can do it wandlessly. We Blacks were taught such things from an early age, in case of Muggle encounters.' She cast the charm, and Harry felt a physical pull to follow her, but nothing mental. Extending her hand, she said, 'Come now—to the dance floor.'

It was pleasant to take her hand and be led there. He could have easily walked away, but he hoped dancing with her would lead to more revelations.

'You'll hold me like this,' she instructed, adjusting his arms around her, 'and onlookers will think you're leading. But just follow my moves instead. It's a perfect way to develop the muscle memory for proper dancing.'

She began, and Harry followed effortlessly. For the better part of a minute she was silent, then said, 'Oh, how I missed this! And I'm grateful you're here, since you're my only acceptable partner, ironically.'

'Couldn't you dance with some other wizard?'

'No. I'm too obvious a candidate for adultery. My unique marital status has already drawn wizards looking for "discreet companionship." Which means no witch wants me dancing with her husband.'

'What about unmarried wizards?'

She sniffed derisively. 'Also looking for discreet companionship. Only they're twenty years older than I am.'

Feeling bold, Harry asked, 'And what do you want?'

For a long moment she was silent. 'Lucius. Or at least a version of him who's not obsessed with revenge.'

This time Harry was silent, knowing that he was the primary target of Lucius's revenge fantasies. Narcissa clearly knew that as well, because she said, 'In some ways it's easier he's in prison. He'd never accept you.'

'No, I don't imagine he would.'

After another pause, she said, 'For years I didn't have a family, other than Lucius and Draco, and my Rosier cousins. Bella was in Azkaban, and Andromeda was shunned. Regulus was dead, and Sirius ...'

She trailed off, and Harry knew she was thinking about his death, and her role in it. 'I didn't mean for him to die,' she said. 'We just needed to lure you to the Ministry. The Dark Lord was desperate for the prophecy, and we hoped it would prevent a war.'

'It didn't,' said Harry sullenly.

'I know. And I'm sorry. Truly, I am.'

Harry noted how odd it was to have this conversation while waltzing. 'Thank you for the apology,' he said, still following her effortlessly around the dance floor.

Another long silence, then Narcissa said, 'It's ironic that, thanks to you, the Blacks are a family again. I don't think I realised how much I missed that.'

'It's not the same family,' said Harry. 'It never will be.'

'No, it isn't. And neither are the Malfoys.'

They danced without further conversation, and the waltz ended. 'That was lovely,' she said. 'Thank you.'

'It was my pleasure. I should learn how to dance properly one of these days.'

She cancelled the charm, and Harry chatted with more acquaintances before returning to his table. 'Interesting strategy, Snitchbottom,' said Gilstrap.

Startled by hearing his team nickname from such an unlikely source, Harry asked what he meant. 'Dancing with a woman of a certain age,' he replied. 'You haven't flirted much tonight, but showing interest in a more mature specimen probably fired up your potential bidders.'

'That was Narcissa Malfoy, you git. She wanted to dance, and I was a safe choice, since there's obviously nothing between us.'

'I know who she is, and it's not as obvious as you might think. The witch who just left was scandalised when she saw you dancing together. She even thought Mrs Malfoy might be your secret girlfriend.'

'Are you kidding me?' exclaimed Harry.

'No,' said Wainwright. 'And it fits your statement on the radio, about how life's too short and that you decided to throw caution to the wind.'

Harry was mute with horror. 'She's not bad looking,' said Maddox. 'But obviously you're not dating her. I mean, really—these bidders are just fooling themselves.'

'Didn't you say you shagged yours last year?'

'Yes, but she was using a youth potion. And like I said, they work great up close.'

Harry ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. Why can't Fiona and I just go public? he wondered again.

Noticing his frustration, Routledge poured him another glass of wine. 'Clearly you need to take the edge off,' he said. 'Go on—one more glass won't kill you.'

'You're right,' said Harry, taking a sip. 'When does the auction start?'

'As soon as pudding is served.' And sure enough, platters of sweets appeared on the table, along with individual slices of cake.

Moments later, the chair of the fundraising committee introduced the auctioneer, a silver-haired wizard named Chester Tippleworth, who had apparently been calling the auction since the fifties. 'Although I can't recall a more eagerly anticipated set of items,' he announced, with a Dumbledorish twinkle in his eye.

They started with the smaller items, and Harry was surprised to see Fiona bring them onstage, using a cart. 'May I present the lovely Miss Dunning!' said Tippleworth, and Harry winced on her behalf.

The first item was a goblin-made bracelet, which Fiona actually modelled. Did she lose a bet? he wondered, sensing her discomfort. He was close enough that he caught her eye, and her fake smile momentarily turned into a real one.

'Miss Dunning, who helped organise the gala, is wearing a goblin-made silver bracelet bequeathed to WORF by the late Georgiana Fawley,' announced Tippleworth. 'You'll find a photograph on page six of your catalogue, revealing the exquisite craftsmanship of this one-of-a-kind heirloom. Where would you like to start the bidding for this absolutely magnificent bracelet. Would you like to give me fifty Galleons? Thank you, fifty Galleons. And I'll take fifty-five Galleons,' he said, indicating a wizard at the table behind Harry. 'Fifty-five Galleons ... sixty, sixty Galleons,' he continued, accepting bid after bid.

Fiona seemed to relax once she was no longer the centre of attention. She looks terribly elegant, thought Harry, using the auction as an excuse to stare at her. He scarcely noticed when the bracelet sold, and he hoped the WORF fundraising committee would be happy with the price.

She held up item after item, using her wand to Levitate those that were too bulky. 'Turning now to page eighteen,' announced Tippleworth, 'we have a unique item donated by Harry Potter-Black, Seeker for the Chudley Cannons. Specifically, the broken Silver Arrow broomstick from his match against the Tutshill Tornados, in which he was struck by a Bludger and incurred a broken pelvis.'

Morgan Maddox, the Tornados Beater, pumped his fist and cried, 'That was me, baby!' drawing laughter from the crowd, and the bidding commenced. Competition was fierce, and it sold for what Harry thought was an absurd amount, well over the cost of the original broomstick. But the real frenzy was over the final item: his eyeglasses.

'And now, a truly remarkable item,' said Tippleworth, his tone reverent. 'Including a certificate of authenticity, signed at Gringotts by the original owner, the iconic eyeglasses formerly belonging to the young hero then known as ... Harry Potter.'

Harry felt all eyes on him, and he looked down at Banthora to reduce his embarrassment. 'These are the same eyeglasses he wore from age fourteen on,' continued Tippleworth. 'He wore them whilst evading a Hungarian Horntail, during the Triwizard Tournament. He wore them during his dramatic graveyard duel against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He wore them as he clung desperately to the back of a dragon, in his bold escape from Gringotts. And he wore them in the final confrontation against You-Know-Who, as the sun rose over Hogwarts.'

'This guy's almost as good a showman as you are, Potter,' said Gilstrap.

'He wore them while wanking to his first issue of Busty and Bewitched,' said Wainwright, imitating the auctioneer, who had begun taking bids.

'He wore them the first time he saw Ginny Weasley's tits,' said Maddox.

'He wore them when Albus Dumbledore took him aside and said, "There's a prophecy about you, and you're totally fucked."'

Harry laughed and said, 'Yeah, more or less.' He appreciated the distraction from the feverish bidding, and from the memories surrounding his old glasses. They had replaced his previous pair, which he'd had since he was nine. He'd outgrown those glasses years earlier but had been reluctant to ask for a new pair, recalling how Aunt Petunia had grumbled about having to replace his original pair, which he'd got when he first started school. At the time he didn't realise they were free, provided by the NHS, and that her complaints were motivated entirely by spite. And by the Horcrux, he thought sourly.

Lydia had once asked why he'd never bought decent glasses in Diagon Alley. 'Surely you had enough gold,' she said, pressing him on the topic. But he didn't answer, knowing she wouldn't understand his reasons. One was probably the Horcrux, which had dampened his spirit in myriad ways, but he couldn't tell her that. The other reason wasn't classified, but she still wouldn't have understood it; no one as petted as Lydia could comprehend how the Dursleys had eroded his self-worth, to the point where he didn't bother replacing an otherwise functional pair of glasses simply because they were ugly. If Ginny had complained, he'd have done it, but she never did.

The bidding raged on, and his table-mates expressed amazement. 'Blimey, you could have bought your own Quidditch team for what they're going for,' said Spinstreet.

'No, people are bidding this much because it's for charity,' said Routledge. 'If he'd sold them for his own benefit, at best he could buy a Quodpot team.'

'Are there any British Quodpot teams?' asked Harry, still grateful for the distraction.

'Yes, but only one,' said Routledge. 'Which is problematic, as you can imagine.'

The bidding finally ended, and the winner was an unnamed foreign collector, working through an agent. 'And that's a WORF auction record!' announced Tippleworth, to great applause. 'Many thanks again to Harry Potter-Black for generously providing this historic artefact.'

'What other artefacts can you provide?' asked Maddox. 'Because you're going to have to surpass that next year.'

'Impossible,' said Wainwright. 'But at least save your nail trimmings like Godric Gryffindor did.'

There was another break for dancing, and presumably more drinking, before the bachelor auction began. Fiona, looking much more at ease, approached the table and said, 'So, boys, are you ready?'

'What are you proposing?' asked Wainwright, waggling his eyebrows.

'I'm referring to the bachelor auction,' she said, with a saucy half-smile. 'But nice try.'

'At this point, those orphans are just being greedy,' said one of the players. 'Potter's glasses brought in enough just now to buy them their own Greek island.'

'Perhaps, but now we have to pay for portkeys back and forth,' she countered. 'So strut your stuff up there, got it? Except for Potter,' she added. 'You've been strutting nonstop for months now.'

'Oi!' cried Harry, and the other players laughed. 'What did I ever do to you?'

'You went out of your way to seduce every witch in Britain, in that photo accompanying your Light magic article,' she smirked. 'Am I wrong?'

'She's got your number, Potter,' said Routledge, laughing.

'I was trying to promote the Light Arts,' insisted Harry. 'And I think I deserve a little respect after surpassing Godric Gryffindor's toenails.'

'You're right, I'm sorry,' she said. 'All you have to do now is surpass Gilderoy Lockhart. He's coming over, by the way.'

Lockhart arrived moments later and pulled out his unused seat. 'Are you sitting here, Miss Dunning, or may I?'

'It's Mrs Dunning, and I'm just leaving.'

His face fell. 'That is a terrible loss indeed. I'd have loved to get to know you better tonight, but I did my best to cultivate prospective bidders. For the orphans, you know.'

'Yes, we mustn't forget the orphans,' she said, with a glance at Harry. 'And thank you. On behalf of WORF, we're terribly grateful for your contribution—every one of you.'

She left, and Lockhart sat down. 'Talk about a sight for sore eyes!' he said when Fiona was out of earshot. 'And the rear view is almost as good as the front.'

Harry's most defiant form of Light magic arose, insulating him from the urge to punch Lockhart. Still, he couldn't resist baiting him. 'Isn't she a bit young for you?' he asked innocently.

'What is she, twenty-five? No, certainly not! Harry, you're young yet, but men have a tremendous advantage in this department. Admittedly, I've reversed things by dating older witches, at least for now, but we wizards need never settle for someone our own age. All the more so if you're rich,' he added slyly, 'which I'm working on.'

'Did you hear that, Potter?' said Routledge. 'As long as you don't pull a Black and squander your assets, by the time you're twenty-one and ready to marry, you can pick out a nice schoolgirl.'

Harry raised two fingers at him, at which point the orchestra stopped playing and Chester Tippleworth was again at the podium. 'And now, the most thrilling part of our evening: the bachelor auction! I don't know how many first-timers are in the audience tonight, but this is when the cream of British society misbehaves a little—or a lot. But it's all for a good cause! So let's have a cheer for our first bachelor, the starting Keeper for Pride of Portree, Brad Spinstreet!'

Raucous applause as Spinstreet strode up to the stage, and more than one wolf-whistle. Harry watched in horror as Tippleworth talked him up, describing the Keeper as 'a tall drink of water' who 'promises to keep those long, quick arms on his side of the table, unless you both agree otherwise!'

Spinstreet did his part, loosening his necktie and giving what Harry assumed was his version of the Look. And it worked—his price climbed higher, and when Tippleworth cried, 'Sold!' and banged the gavel, Spinstreet looked pleased.

He returned to the table, and a WORF staffer approached the winning bidder to collect her information. So I won't have to meet her tonight, thought Harry with relief.

Next was Rufus McDowell, the Arrows Beater, who seemed to attract a different set of witches. 'You'll feel positively dainty with a big strong Beater squiring you about,' said Tippleworth. 'I know some of you are dying to feel those muscles of his. Rufus, can you give us a peek?'

McDowell eagerly obliged, removing his outer cloak and flexing his biceps. 'Oh dear,' said Tippleworth, 'was that a ripping sound just now? It looks like someone's shirt needs a Reparo!'

His auction was followed by Gilstrap's, and clearly another set of witches fancied Seekers. 'Ladies, he's lithe and compact, which I know some of you love. And I'll remind you there's no correlation between height and ... well, you know.'

Mortified, Harry glanced at Banthora, who was laughing uproariously. Next he looked at Fiona, unexpectedly catching her eye. She hadn't yet seen him without his trousers, and her amused smirk spoke volumes. Remember the orphans, thought Harry.

Gilstrap returned to the table wearing a smug expression. 'More than last year,' he said with satisfaction. 'Your turn, Routledge.'

Montrose and Puddlemere were still in contention for the cup, which Tippleworth mentioned during Phil's auction. 'Puddlemere fans, are you going to let the Magpies win? Show them who you think the league's best Seeker is tonight!'

'It's Potter,' shouted a wizard, which unleashed a chorus of replies from fans of the various teams. Harry was tempted to shout, 'Singh,' when Tippleworth banged his gavel to restore order, as if he were a judge.

To Harry's annoyance, Routledge's price fell slightly short of Gilstrap's, and he felt unwholesomely pleased that his own price would be far higher. I am the worst Light wizard ever, he thought guiltily, but then shrugged. Orphans, he reminded himself, finishing his glass of wine.

Morgan Maddox proved popular, and soon there was no one left but Harry and Lockhart. Harry felt oddly competitive about who they'd call last; Surely I'm the bigger draw, came the thought. And he was right, because they called Lockhart next.

'Ladies, you've been waiting years for this,' said Tippleworth to the hushed ballroom. 'He's older and wiser, but every bit as charming as you remember. So let's give a huge WORF welcome and raise your paddles for Gilderoy Lockhart!'

Lockhart didn't receive universal applause like the Quidditch players did, but the hoots and whistles more than made up for it. Resplendent in deep violet robes, Lockhart ascended the steps with the same swagger he'd had at Hogwarts.

'That is truly a charming smile,' remarked Gilstrap. 'But Potter, have you really forgiven him?'

'I accepted his apology, which seemed sincere. But no, I'll probably never forgive his former self.'

'Crush him,' said Routledge, with surprising venom. 'I may slag you, Harry, but you still saved my life. And that blow-dried git nearly got you killed.'

Harry was both astonished and touched. His relationship with Phil was complicated, since they were friends but also professional rivals. 'You don't know the half of it,' he said, thinking of Ginny, and as Lockhart's auction price climbed higher, Harry resolved to beat it.

Alas, the final number was stratospheric. I should have flirted more, thought Harry, and for a moment he regretted announcing he had a girlfriend. Lockhart sauntered back to the table, wearing a look of smug superiority. 'I've still got it,' he said, not bothering to lower his voice. Narrowing his eyes at Harry, he added, 'Do your worst.'

The other Quidditch players turned to Harry as well, and he felt a wave of support, even from Gilstrap. 'One bachelor remains,' announced Tippleworth, his voice low and dramatic. 'But he's no ordinary bachelor. From infancy he's been a living legend—emphasis on "living." He's the subject of prophecy ... a Lord of the Wizengamot ... a radio sensation ... and, according to a lot of you, the league's best Seeker. And to quote to an unnamed witch—you know the one—he's famous for the wrong reason. So let's hear it for the all-time youngest winner of the Order of Merlin, First Class, the Light Lord himself, Harry Potter-Black!'

A smattering of Dark wizards in the audience may not have applauded, but their silence was masked by everyone else's raucous response. Harry felt his Light magic surge, and he allowed it to fill his entire body as he ascended the steps. Just how powerful can I make the Look? he wondered, and he knew his eyes were twinkling.

Tippleworth started taking bids, and Harry's price quickly soared. But he wasn't listening—instead he revelled in some of the most profound Light magic he'd ever experienced. He didn't glow, which was fortunate, since all London might have seen him through the glass roof, but his bliss and sense of presence were extraordinary. Everyone needs to experience this, he thought, and a deep wish arose to one day teach the Light Arts to anyone who wanted.

When he looked out at the crowd, he was overwhelmed by a strange but intensely pleasurable mixture of love and arrogance. 'Harry Potter's got it, and you can get it,' he thought, recalling the headline from Rita's Light magic article. Tippleworth seemed to sense it, because he egged on the bidders by saying, 'Remember ladies, Light magic is contagious, so this could be your big chance!'

There were still too many bidders for Harry to follow, so he kept his gaze broad. But he spotted Fiona, and for a long moment their eyes met. How can anyone think she's cold? he marvelled, and he was only able to tear his eyes away after she did.

'Not only is he Britain's best-dressed wizard, he's also the most romantic! And you'll have all his attention for one unforgettable night,' continued Tippleworth. 'Those famous green eyes, looking right into yours from across the table ... do I have another bid?'

He did, in fact, have another bid, and another. Harry's price had smashed beyond Lockhart's, and the competition eventually narrowed to three determined bidders. One was a buxom blonde who'd visited their table—according to Routledge, she'd divorced a rich American several years prior but didn't return to England until after the war. 'I'd be shocked if she doesn't bid on you,' Phil had said. 'Deep pockets, Light leanings, and a raging hard-on for Seekers.'

The next witch had clearly taken a youth potion, but Spinstreet confirmed she was stunning up close. 'She was an it-girl ages ago—I hear she dated Mick Jagger back in the day. Mountains of gold, and word is she's determined to get a piece of you. Wants to prove she's still got it.'

'She knows I have a girlfriend, right?'

'I doubt she cares. Your relationships never last long, and I'm sure she can wait for a break.'

The final bidder was a proxy, who'd also bid on some of the other big-ticket items. It was unclear whether he represented several buyers or just one, but he obviously had plenty of gold at his disposal. Did the Blacks squander money at auctions? Harry wondered, and he resolved to ask Banthora about it later.

The bidding slowed during the final phase, and Harry was tense on the bidders' behalf. Several times it looked like the proxy was going to win, until one of the witches came in even higher. The former it-girl finally quit, letting out a cry of frustration before downing a glass of wine.

The blonde and the proxy remained, and Harry stopped deploying the Look, knowing it wouldn't affect the proxy but could potentially manipulate the witch. And indeed, she didn't counter the proxy's final staggering bid, and the auction ended at last.

'Unbelievable!' cried Tippleworth. 'It's been a record-shattering night all around for WORF, and let me be the first to thank all of you for your astounding generosity.' The fundraising chair echoed his sentiments, and the WORF director said goodnight but invited the guests to keep dancing.

'Well done, Snitchbottom,' said Routledge when Harry sat down. 'You've secured a date with Persons Unknown and deflated Lockhart's ego. The next trick will be deflating your own.'

Harry didn't protest, since he was still drunk on the experience. 'That was incredible,' he admitted to Phil. 'I suspect you'll feel this way when you win the League Cup.'

Phil laughed and said, 'Have you forgotten who I'll be playing?'

'Oh, right. I'm supposed to beat you, aren't I?'

'Yes, and hand the cup to the Magpies or the Harpies—take your pick.'

'Bloody league Quidditch,' grumbled Harry. 'Maybe next year the Cannons can win.'

They were interrupted by Fiona, who visited their table one last time. 'Well done, lads! Your shameless flirting paid off, and it'll make an enormous difference to the people we serve.' With a cheeky grin, she added, 'And I'm serious about that calendar, so look for my owl.'

She changed the subject before Lockhart could ask what she meant, and before leaving she said, 'Excuse me, Harry? The buyer of your broomstick has a question. Could you follow me?'

He did, and Fiona led him towards a gallery. 'I was fibbing,' she said quietly, still looking ahead. 'I need to stay a bit longer—maybe half an hour—but can I see you afterwards?'

'Of course,' he replied, looking ahead as well. 'Your house or mine?'

'Yours. Can I Apparate?'

'Yes, to the back garden. Will you stay the night?' he asked hopefully.

'Tempting, but no. I told Matthew I'd look in on him when I got home, and that I'd be there at breakfast.'

'It's just as well,' he admitted. 'Quidditch practice, after all. But I can't wait to see you.'

She made a show of shaking his hand and thanking him again, and Harry returned to the still-crowded ballroom. Charles Selwyn found him, and he was drunk enough to abandon his public veneer. 'Well done, Potter! You eye-fucked an entire room for the sake of your fellow orphans. Nott nearly ejaculated under the table—if he had more gold I'd suspect he was your anonymous bidder.'

'What did Esme think?'

'She wasn't scandalised, if that's what you're asking. The bachelor auction has been around for generations—the only thing that's changed is Tippleworth's patter. But she thought the witches were terribly common, and she's dying to find out who actually won. Do you know?'

'No, and I assume she wants it kept secret. But I suppose I'll find out eventually.'

Harry gave Banthora one last tour of the building before Apparating home and returning her to her portrait. 'What a splendid evening!' she exclaimed, back to her usual size. 'And what a triumph for you, my dear.'

'I hope I didn't make an arse of myself,' he said. 'I never intended to show off like that, but I couldn't stand losing to Lockhart. Did you see him?'

'I did indeed. He struck me as a preening popinjay, and a coxcomb as well.'

Harry frowned. 'Those are fancy words for "fop," right?'

'They are. Compared to you, he is like gilt to gold.'

After reviewing the evening with her, Harry went to the kitchen to wait for Fiona. Looking around the large, unromantic room with the beat-up table, he decided it was too great a contrast from the glittering ballroom, so he went to the back garden and cast a Warming Charm. At Harry's request, Lodie provided multiple candelabras—none of them silver—and when Fiona arrived she gasped in delight.

'Oh! How perfectly lovely!'

'Yes, you are,' he said, drawing her into his arms at last.

It was a while before they separated, and he led her to the bench, where she immediately kicked off her shoes. 'I can happily go another year without wearing high heels—thank Merlin you're short.'

Harry laughed out loud. 'Thanks for that—I needed to be taken down a notch after that auction.'

'You certainly did! When you looked out at everyone, I thought the whole room would moan with desire. I nearly did.'

'I only wanted you,' he said truthfully. 'It was hard not to stare.'

'I wasn't standing still long enough—what a relief that's over!'

'I assume it was successful?'

'We haven't tallied the silent auction yet, but yes, immensely. I'm sure there'll be a meeting tomorrow about how to spend it.'

'Brilliant. But how did you get stuck showing the auction items?'

'They ganged up on me! Normally we rely on the catalogue, and someone levitates the items from off-stage. But when I turned up in that dress, the fundraising chair got the idea to make me the "spokesmodel," even though I didn't utter a word. Everyone else thought it was a great idea, including Lucy. I was furious, and the only reason I did it was out of fairness to you.'

'Fairness to me?'

'Yes, since you had to go on stage as well. So it's all your fault!'

He could tell she was joking, but he apologised nonetheless. 'How can I possibly make it up to you?' he murmured, drawing near her again.

'Any number of ways ... but not tonight.' She kissed him and said, 'You were unbelievable during the auction. Was that Light magic?' He nodded, and she said, 'How soon until I get it? I hear it's contagious.'

He was suddenly sheepish. 'You know Gemma and I are just friends, right?'

She knew, and they snogged a while longer, until the bench became too uncomfortable. 'I should go home,' she finally said.

'When can I see you? Unfortunately I'll be in Boston this weekend, promoting underwear. You won't come with me, will you?'

'No—if I disappear while you're away, everyone will know we're together.'

'Surely you can come for a single night without causing suspicion. You can even bring Matthew—I'm sure there are heaps of museums.'

For a moment she didn't answer, clearly considering his suggestion. 'We won't get a minute alone if he's with us. But I can come for one night, and we can even go out in public—somewhere Muggle.'

'Yes!' he cried, louder than he intended. 'And what about before then? Can I see you on Tuesday, after the broadcast?'

'You most certainly can, now that you've singlehandedly paid for WORF's shiny new headquarters.' He stared at her in shock, and she said, 'Just kidding. It'll almost certainly be more housing.'

Harry led her inside to the fireplace, and he didn't turn on the kitchen light, since the candles still flickered outside. 'It's nice having a secret,' he said, in a low voice. 'I've never had a good one before.'

'It is. And this is a very good secret.'

One last kiss and she left through the fireplace, her gown shimmering in the bright green flames.