Author's note:

Hi! I know some of you are not pleased by Harry's relationship with Fiona. This would probably be less of an issue if you could just binge through it, but that's not possible since Loose Cannon is still a work in progress.

Please know that she's here for a while (I'm not going to be more specific than that, because spoilers), so if you're impatient for Harry to hook up with someone new, you may be disappointed. But I do hope you'll trust me as an author and try to enjoy where it's all going.

Monday morning's Prophet contained six solid pages of photographs and gossip from the WORF gala, which it called, 'A triumphant return to pre-war wizarding splendour.' Harry supposed the previous year's gala had been clouded by the still-recent war and Wizengamot hearings, but this year things were back to normal—or whatever passed for normal in the wizarding world.

The gala marked Lockhart's triumphant return as well. His photo appeared more than once, always with witches, including the one who'd won him in the auction. Little was known about her, except that she'd recently divorced a wealthy Muggle and was 'thrilled' to reenter magical society. It wasn't clear from the photo whether she'd taken a youth potion, but she was certainly pretty, and Harry wondered if she'd become Lockhart's next sugar mummy.

There was a single, large photo of Harry, taken during his own auction, when he stood on the stage next to Tippleworth. The auctioneer was moving quickly, taking one bid after another, but Harry stood still, absurdly elegant in his formal robes and deploying the Look at full strength. As he examined the photo, Harry was afraid he looked arrogant, but the article never mentioned that. Instead it described how his eyeglasses, broomstick, and personal auction brought in more gold than everything else combined, and the author noted the appropriateness of 'Britain's preeminent orphan helping his own.'

The article went on to discuss his outfit, which received universal praise. Reginald Hem cleverly spotted the absence of gloves and said, 'The omission can only be deliberate, since dress robes that impeccable simply demand silk gloves. But Harry Potter-Black does not make sartorial missteps, and I'd bet my wand it's some kind of statement.' The question was posed to the usual fashion observers, who were split on what Harry was trying to communicate. Hem correctly guessed it was an egalitarian statement, while Xanthippe Codmopple thought it was a nod to his humble upbringing, and to the fact that he technically worked for a living. The unnamed author, however, saw it as a tacit message to prospective bidders: that Harry Potter-Black's famously skilled hands were an essential part of the package. Oh, Rita, thought Harry indulgently. Bless your filthy little mind.

His dance with Narcissa was noted, but no insinuations were made. Instead it was cited as proof of 'post-war healing,' and Harry was amused to be described as an exceptionally graceful dancer. I'd better start taking lessons, he thought. The author also speculated about his girlfriend, and how she must have felt about the frenzied auction: 'We can only guess, but she's either gratified by her boyfriend's popularity, or threatened by it. Let us hope for the former.'

Remarkably, there was also a photograph of Fiona, taken when she was onstage. 'The Stunning Miss Dunning,' read the title, and the caption said she was widely admired for her 'exotic good looks.' Recalling Laetitia's complaints about being called exotic, Harry suspected Fiona was equally annoyed, with a dash of mortification over being photographed at all.

He wrote her a note that morning, with a small box of sweets and a profuse apology for not offering her a foot massage the night before. 'But I confess, I've used foot massages as foreplay, and there's no way I could have stayed below your ankles. I should add that Boston is known as great city for walking, so consider yourself warned that when I offer you a foot massage, I'll have an ulterior motive. And if that makes me a scoundrel, so be it.'

Between breakfast, reading the Prophet, and writing to Fiona, Harry didn't have much time for his final task before practice. 'Kreacher!' he called.

Crack! 'Yes, Master!' said the elf, Apparating from the other side of the kitchen.

'Do you know anything about a Star Chamber? Banthora mentioned it last night.'

Kreacher stiffened. 'No, Master,' he said, not looking Harry in the eye.

'Really? You've never heard of it?'

'No, Master,' said Kreacher, and his ears began to twitch.

Certain the elf was lying, Harry studied him. 'Are you forbidden from talking about it?'

For a moment, Kreacher looked trapped, but then his eyes gleamed with cunning. 'Kreacher would never disobey Master's orders,' he said meaningfully.

Aha, thought Harry. In his sternest voice, he said, 'Kreacher, I command you to tell me about the Star Chamber.'

Kreacher instantly relaxed. 'With pleasure, Master!' He took a deep breath and said, 'There is a Star Chamber.'

Right, I knew that already, thought Harry, beginning to get annoyed. 'Who ordered you not to tell me about it?'

'Mistress, Master,' said Kreacher, and Harry needed a moment to parse it.

Walburga strikes again. 'What else do you know about it? Can you take me there?'

A heavy sigh. 'No, Master. Only Master can show the way.'

'But how is that possible? I can't show the way to a hidden magical room I've never seen.'

'Traditionally, Master shows young Master the Star Chamber. But cruel Master Sirius broke Mistress's heart.'

Suspecting that some kind of magic was still preventing Kreacher from speaking freely, Harry tried to piece things together. Master shows young Master the Star Chamber, he repeated internally. 'Do you mean the Head of House shows it to his heir?'

'Yes, Master. That is what Kreacher said.'

Right, so Sirius's grandfather Arcturus showed it to Orion, and possibly to Sirius. But Sirius never told me about it, nor did he mention it in the letter. Hoping for another hint, he asked, 'Did Sirius know about the Star Chamber?'

'Yes, Master. Until cruel Master Sirius broke Mistress's heart.'

Realisation dawned. 'She Obliviated him!' blurted Harry. 'Sirius knew about it, and when he turned out to be a blood traitor, she made him forget!' He began to pace. 'Then there's no point in asking Padfoot, even if he were sentient. But what about the other Heads of House? Surely they'd know.'

It was time to leave for practice, so Harry asked Kreacher to gather the requisite portraits before he returned that evening. Because why should my life be simple? he thought, annoyed.

His teammates congratulated him on his record-breaking auction price. 'Who could have suspected that your Night of Sweet Exhaustion would mean a windfall for orphans?' said Janet. 'Or was that your goal from the start?'

'Are you asking if I was thinking about orphans during my, er ...' He hesitated. 'That night?'

'You're allowed to say "mega-shagathon." And yes.'

'The answer is no. Not once did I think about orphans.'

'Do you know who the winning bidder was?' asked Suresh.

'No clue. But I'm told her agent will contact me this week, and we'll set something up.'

Suresh smirked and said, 'You realise, she could be anyone.'

'He's right,' blurted Janet. 'It might be the Muggle Queen.'

'Or Madonna. I hear she lives in England now,' said Suresh.

'Oh my god, it's definitely Madonna! And the winning bid would be pocket change for her.'

'I'm sure it's not Madonna,' said Harry uncertainly. 'Right?'

Janet shrugged. 'I don't know. But you'll find out!'

Tuttle gave them a stern lecture, and Gemma found Harry during their laps. '"The Stunning Miss Dunning,"' she quoted. 'We'll be hearing that again, I'm sure.'

'Mrs Dunning,' he replied. 'She was married.'

'That won't stop them. And a Galleon says they'll refer to her as a "yummy mummy."'

'Ugh, you're probably right. But how are you? I last saw you at the Spyglass, after the match.'

She smiled. 'That was brilliant. I hereby apologise for ever calling you an attention whore, because obviously I'm one too.'

'And here I thought it was an orphan thing,' mused Harry.

'Middle child,' said Gemma. 'Which is close enough, apparently.'

'We weren't satisfied with being Seekers—we had to start glowing. Not even Lydia did that.'

'Lydia developed Light magic?'

'Oops, forget I mentioned it. And yes.'

'What was her trick?' asked Gemma.

'A Veela allure.'

'Of course it was. Why couldn't I get that one?'

'Are you actually complaining?'

'A bit, yeah. Glowing's a mite inconvenient when you're Muggle-born.'

'Bugger, I hadn't thought of that!' exclaimed Harry. 'What are you going to do?'

'Good question. I guess it all depends on how well I can fly on another broom.'

He turned to look at her. 'Are you afraid the Cannons won't want you, now that you can't use the Firebolt?'

'Not really. Owen says I'll still be a good Seeker on whatever geriatric broom I settle on. But I don't know whether I'll make starter as soon as I hoped.'

'Can you afford a flat on your current salary?'

'Yeah, especially if my merchandise sales keep up. Though I was looking forward to that Snitch bonus.'

Harry felt sheepish, since they both knew he didn't need it. 'Will you get your own place?' he asked.

'It's either that, or move in with Tyler and Miles. Which would be fun, only their flat has that guy smell. I'd have thought cleaning charms would prevent it, but some things are universal.'

'Now I'm paranoid—does Grimmauld Place have that smell?'

'No, it's too big. You'd need a smaller space and two fewer house-elves.' After a pause, she said, 'Confession time: I was hoping to move in with you.'

'Sorry?'

'When my crush was at its worst. I was earning enough to get my own flat, but I was also hoping that wouldn't be necessary, and I could just move in with you.'

Harry had never had an unrequited crush, so he couldn't entirely relate, but he'd had his share of deluded fantasies after Ginny broke up with him. Like the one where she turned up on the front step of Grimmauld Place, drenched from the rain and begging forgiveness. Her hair was plastered to her face, and her shirt ...

'Are you mortified I just told you that?' asked Gemma, interrupting his reverie. 'Blast, of course you are!'

'No, I'm not. I did something similar with Ginny, and I'm doing it with Fiona as well.'

'Have you named your children yet?' she asked, grinning.

'Yeah, but that's not new.'

'Let me guess—James, Lily, and Sirius?'

'And Remus,' he added. 'But not Nymphadora.'

Gemma tested multiple brooms during the flying drills that morning, and Harry was impressed by her inexhaustible well of complaints. 'It's like flying through pea soup,' she grumbled. 'Nasty pea soup, with gristle, and the occasional hair.'

'Remind me never to eat at your new flat,' said Harry.

'Trevor Underhill actually flies this thing,' she continued, ignoring his comment. 'No wonder you beat him.'

'Not just Underhill. Aidan Kiely also likes it, and he's a great flyer.'

'Then he's cheating somehow, because this broom is hardly fit for sweeping.'

'Do you realise that if I talked like that, you'd "Harry Toffer" me to death?'

'I know, I'm as bad as you are now. But this is no joke—I need to find a broomstick I like, or else I'm fucked.'

'You didn't hate the Comet 990. You said it was surprisingly fast.'

'Fast like the runs. Stupid Light magic. I haven't even glowed since after the match.'

'Not with that attitude, you won't!' joked Harry.

She was even surlier when he beat her to the Snitch that afternoon. 'I definitely would have won on the Firebolt!' she complained. 'Owen, how did he outfly me? We were both on the Silver Arrow, but he weighs two stone more than I do!'

'I don't know,' said Owen, still reviewing the final chase in his Omnioculars. 'All I can guess is that his Light magic gave him an advantage.'

'But I have Light magic too!'

Owen looked at her sceptically. 'In theory, yeah, but how are you feeling right now?'

She made a face. 'Like a cat in a tumble dryer.'

'And you, Harry?' asked Owen. 'During the match.'

'I was fine. And I nearly always feel my Light magic during a chase—I think it's the adrenaline.'

'Gemma, there you go. Stop whinging about your broomstick and start enjoying yourself.'

She just glared at Owen. 'You'll get used to it,' said Harry, trying to help. 'The broom and the Light magic. This is just the first day—remember how much I complained when I couldn't use the Firebolt?'

'Yeah,' said Gemma dully. 'Are you saying you don't mind the Silver Arrow now?'

'I definitely prefer the Firebolt, but the Silver Arrow's still a great broomstick. Randolph Spudmore even said as much.'

'Ugh, Spudmore—don't remind me. Firebolt cancelled my contract today.'

Harry began to apologise, but Owen cut him off. 'Spudmore basically admitted the broom is defective. You two need to gang up on him and make him develop one that works properly with Light magic.'

'Didn't Bruce say that would count as an illegally-charmed object?' asked Harry.

'If it were just for you, yes. But now Gemma's having the same problem. I say give him time to sulk a bit, then approach him.'

Harry agreed it was worth a try, and Gemma perked up at last. He encountered another dour expression, however, in Mrs Thwip's office. 'You received an owl from the WORF fundraising committee,' she said, in her usual stern voice.

'Is it about the auction?'

'Yes, they forwarded a letter from the winning bidder for your ... person,' she said, gesturing towards his body.

Embarrassed, Harry said, 'It's not like that, Mrs Thwip. I have a girlfriend, and I've no intention of being disloyal.'

'You misunderstand me, Mr Potter-Black. I have only admiration for how you've supported WORF, and other organisations. I was objecting to the letter itself.'

'Oh dear,' said Harry, taking it from her. He read:

Dear Mr Potter-Black,

I represent the winning bidder from your bachelor auction at the WORF gala—a witch to whom I shall refer only as 'Madame X.' She is, needless to say, delighted to have prevailed last night, having followed your story with intense interest ever since you first defeated You-Know-Who.

Madame X is well aware of the guidelines surrounding the bachelor auction, but she nonetheless asks whether you might be persuaded to spend the entire night in her company. She can offer an opulent setting, and we would provide you a selection of photographs in advance, from which you need only choose the potential partner you find most attractive. Furthermore, Madame X is a woman of experience and well-schooled in the arts of love.

As this exceeds the bounds of the implied contract, we are willing to offer an additional two thousand Galleons to WORF, in exchange for your enthusiastic participation. Madame X is also aware that you currently have a girlfriend, and she is willing to wait for your next interim between relationships.

On a more personal note, Madame X sends her congratulations on your record-breaking auction performance and, of course, your ongoing excellence with the Chudley Cannons.

Yours sincerely,
Crispus Cadwallader, Esq.

Harry stared at the letter in disbelief. 'Sweet Merlin, what am I supposed to do?' he said aloud.

'Was that a serious question, Mr Potter-Black, or merely rhetorical?'

'I have no idea. But let's pretend it was serious.'

For the first time since Harry had met her, Mrs Thwip appeared flustered. 'I honestly don't know. Two thousand Galleons is no small sum. And you are neither prudish nor over-fastidious.'

I think she just called me a manwhore, thought Harry sourly. 'But I have a girlfriend. I don't want to be with someone else.'

'Then wait. Clearly the passage of time isn't an impediment for your admirer.'

Harry knew it was still early days with Fiona, but he couldn't anticipate their breakup. 'What if I'm never single? Fiona could be the one,' he said. 'Oh, blast—can you keep her name private?'

She assured him she could, then said, 'Perhaps you and Miss Dunning should discuss the matter. Clearly she has a stake in both outcomes.'

'Mrs Dunning,' said Harry automatically. 'She's a widow. And you're right, I should ask her. But Merlin, I can't imagine cheating on her like that!'

'Your loyalty does you credit,' said Mrs Thwip, and Harry was stunned by the rare show of approval. Only later did he realise she'd worked out that 'Fiona' referred to the newly-famous Miss Dunning. And I confirmed it, he thought, impressed yet again by his razor-sharp secretary.

He was still brooding over the letter when he returned home, which meant he jumped when Kreacher appeared with a loud crack! 'Kreacher has assembled the portraits Master requested,' he declared proudly.

'Thank you, Kreacher,' said Harry, his heart still pounding. 'Are they upstairs?'

'Yes, Master—in the drawing room.'

Harry climbed the stairs, glancing at Padfoot as he passed, and to his surprise the dog started barking. That's odd, thought Harry. He almost never barks like that. 'Padfoot, what is it? Is everything all right?'

Padfoot continued to bark urgently, as if to convey some kind of message. 'Does this have to do with the Star Chamber?' asked Harry, baffled, since Sirius had been Obliviated. Unfortunately, Padfoot's barking didn't communicate anything useful, and Harry decided simply to take it as a warning.

He was on his guard when he entered the drawing room, but all he found were roughly a dozen vacant portraits. 'Hello?' he called, approaching them. 'Are any of you there?'

After fruitlessly addressing the portraits, who were obviously avoiding him, he asked Kreacher to fetch Banthora. The elf returned moments later with her painting, and Harry asked if she'd heard anything.

'Oh dear, this is all my fault,' she said glumly.

'I doubt that,' said Harry. 'But what happened?'

'I mentioned to Genevieve Black that you were unfamiliar with the Star Chamber. Normally she's discreet, but she told Zenobia—they're practically inseparable nowadays—and now everyone's talking about it. And clearly the heads of house are trying to thwart you.'

Harry blinked. 'So they're deliberately hiding from their frames so they won't have to reveal where the Star Chamber is?'

'So it seems. How very childish of them!'

Just then, there was a loud crash from one of the portraits, and Harry heard angry whispers. 'Clumsy as always, Skippy,' chided a unseen wizard.

'The name is Scipio!' came the indignant reply.

'Whatever you say, Skippy,' said another wizard, sniggering.

Sensing an opportunity, Harry said, 'Excuse me, Scipio? Scipio Black? Might I speak with you?'

More whispers, and shuffling noises. 'He's indisposed,' said a voice, sniggering again.

Harry scanned the giant tapestry for clues, and after a moment he found one. 'Scipio Nero? Son of Pericles Apollo?' he called, trying to convey respect.

A somewhat disheveled-looking wizard stepped into the portrait. 'Yes, what is it?' he said, bending down to pick up the cauldron he'd presumably knocked over.

'I was hoping to talk to one of the former heads of house. I'm the current head of house, Harry Potter-Black.'

Sounds of derision from the edge of the portrait, where the other heads were obviously hiding. 'Harry Potter-Black,' scoffed a wizard. 'Why not Harry Babbity-Rabbity?'

'Yes, I know who you are,' said Scipio, straightening his robes. 'But I can't help you.'

'Can't, or won't?' asked Harry, hoping Skippy might be persuaded.

'Both. We swore a compact not to tell you the location of the Star Chamber. I'm magically bound.'

Harry turned to Banthora in dismay. 'Is that possible?'

'Yes, I'm afraid so,' she sighed. 'Sentient portraits are already fairly capable of keeping secrets, and when they pool their magic they can resist nearly any outside compulsion. It's a necessary protection, otherwise no one would agree to have their portrait painted, for fear of having all their secrets pulled from them.'

Puzzled, Harry said, 'But I was able to compel Phineas Nigellus to tell us about the Hogwarts wards, and he's definitely sentient.'

'He wasn't Head of House,' said one of the unseen wizards. 'You commanded him using family magic.'

'And I can't command you?'

A hand wearing the Black family ring appeared at the edge of the canvas. 'Not a chance, half-blood.' More hands appeared, also wearing the ring, and Harry saw that he wasn't the first to brandish it on his middle finger.

Wankers, thought Harry irritably. 'Cowards, the lot of you! No wonder House Black drove itself into the ground. You're a bunch of petty bastards who haven't the balls to look me in the eye.'

'Bloody Gryffindors,' muttered a wizard, and one by one they appeared in their frames.

'The old maid is right,' said one of the portraits. 'We'll never tell you.'

'Her name is Banthora,' said Harry through gritted teeth. 'And I can't believe you'd imperil the future of House Black by not giving me access to what I assume is the seat of power.'

Several of the wizards snorted derisively. 'We're not imperilling the future of House Black,' declared a wizard wearing a doublet and plumed hat. 'You don't need access to the Star Chamber to sire heirs, and we don't doubt for a moment your abilities in that regard.'

'But I mightn't marry a pure-blood,' taunted Harry.

Most of the portraits took the bait and protested, but the oldest ones were unconcerned. 'The Blacks were powerful before we were pure,' said a wizard wearing a richly adorned, medieval-looking tunic, and Harry knew he was referring to the original house motto, 'Toujours puissant.'

'Don't you consider Light magic a form of power?'

'I do. But you're squandering your potential, as surely as my descendants squandered their fortune. You'd go much farther with the Dark Arts.'

'How much farther do you want me to go?' cried Harry. 'I'm considered the league's best Seeker, I'm poised to rebuild the family assets, and I defeated the most powerful Dark wizard in a century!' He deliberately omitted his popularity at the WORF auction, but Banthora gave him a knowing look.

'That's all true,' said the medieval wizard. 'Now imagine what you could accomplish with Dark magic. You could rule England with an iron hand—or a velvet glove, if you prefer.'

'No, I couldn't. I could never be anything but a Light wizard.'

The medieval wizard, who had a round face and light colouring, didn't resemble later generations of Blacks, but his haughty expression was pure Sirius. 'Then no Star Chamber for you,' he said, closing his eyes. The other portraits did the same, and Harry knew the conversation was over.

'Wankers,' he snarled. 'Who needs your stupid chamber anyway!' Turning to Banthora, he said, 'I'm sorry you had to witness that.'

'I'm sorry they treated you with such disrespect! But you'll have the last laugh, I'm sure.'

He was still cross when Hermione arrived for dinner, prior to their Light Arts lesson. Fortunately her outrage was just what he needed. 'How dare they prevent you from accessing a room in your own house!' she cried. 'The family magic chose you, and they just need to get over it!'

'Thank you! Honestly, I'll survive without seeing the room, but I can't tell you how frustrating it was to be talked down to like that.'

She was scowling, and Harry recognised her determined expression. 'There has to be a workaround,' she muttered, mostly to herself. 'Can't Kreacher take you there?'

'No, we tried. He can enter, but when he tried Apparating me it didn't work.'

'He couldn't just fling open the door?'

Harry shook his head. 'He did, but all I could see was a blank wall.'

'Where was it?' asked Hermione, intrigued.

'In the library annexe,' he said, referring to an alcove off the library with a writing table. The furniture there was spindly and uncomfortable, and Harry did most of his correspondence in the sitting room instead.

'That makes sense ... the annexe is a very feminine space, and the head of house would surely want his own study. I wonder what other secret spaces exist.' Harry told her about the inner wardrobe, and she laughed. 'That's fortunate for your future wife—I can't imagine trying to share a wardrobe with you.'

'Oi!'

'That was a compliment, believe it or not! When have I ever criticised your new style of dress?'

He thought for a moment. 'I'm sure you've made a crack or two, but you're right—you've always been supportive.'

'More than supportive—I wish you could influence Ryan. But back to the Star Chamber ... you need a way to compel those portraits.'

'Can't be done,' said Harry. 'Otherwise no one would willingly be painted.'

'But you have the family ring—surely that counts for something.' Her eyes shot open. 'The Grimoire! I'm positive there was a charm about this very problem!'

'About the Star Chamber?'

Hermione was hurrying towards the library. 'No, for compelling a portrait.'

Following her, Harry asked, 'If it's possible to compel a portrait, why would any of the heads of house agree to be painted?'

'I think only another head of house can do it. At least, that's what the explanatory text said, but I didn't delve into the details.'

They arrived in the library, where she pulled the Grimoire from its hiding place and hefted it onto the table. It took a few minutes to find the charm, and her face fell as she read it.

'What's the matter?' asked Harry.

'You'll never perform this,' she said with disgust. 'It's hideously Dark.' She pointed out the instructions. 'Now we know why the Blacks were so fond of decapitating house-elves—the charm requires "the first spurt of lifeblood from a bonded elf."'

'For a charm?' gasped Harry.

'You have to take a potion first.' She continued to read, shaking her head in horror. 'Whoever worked this out was terribly clever,' she said with grudging respect. 'It's ghastly, of course, but I'd never have thought there could be a magical use for "the lamentations of Muggles."'

Harry was silent for a moment as the pieces slid together. 'Those bastards! This is a test!'

'A test?' said Hermione, but Harry marched next door to the drawing room, and this time Hermione hurried to follow.

'You!' he shouted at the medieval portrait. 'What's your name anyway?'

'How dare you shout at Deimos Black!' snapped the portrait, clearly displeased to be awakened.

'Right, Deimos ... this is all a setup, isn't it? You're just trying to make me perform Dark magic!'

The portrait raised an eyebrow in amusement. 'Well spotted! All you have to do is prove your mettle. You could even do it tonight; after all, you live in a Muggle district and have house-elves to spare.'

'Nice try, but I'm not killing anyone to see your stupid playpen. I was perfectly happy without access to the Star Chamber.'

'Perhaps,' said another portrait. 'But one of your descendants will surely be curious.'

'Too bad,' said Harry. 'I'll remove the instructions from the Grimoire, and no one but house-elves will ever see the room.'

'Skippy can teach them the procedure,' said a wizard. 'He was a Potions master.'

'My name is Scipio!' he said indignantly.

'Scipio, don't let them bully you like this,' said Harry, trying to win him over. 'Just tell me how to get in, and I'll ...' He hesitated, wondering what he could offer the portrait. 'I'll take you on an outing, using the miniature.'

Scipio seemed torn, and the other portraits entreated him. 'Don't help him! He's unworthy!'

'What do you mean, unworthy?' snapped Hermione. 'He's prophesied to restore the glory of House Black!'

'No one asked you, Mudblood,' retorted a portrait.

Harry was furious, but Hermione just rolled her eyes. 'Is that all you've got?'

'Hermione, he can't talk to you like that!'

'I really don't care. I'm alive, and he's just a painting, so clearly I have the upper hand.' Addressing the portrait, she said, 'You know what he did to Walburga, right?'

'All of you, stop this!' cried Harry. 'I'm not going to exile a sentient portrait. But I'm also not going to stand by and let him insult you. Kreacher!'

Crack! 'Yes, Master!'

'Please put the portraits back where you found them.' Turning to them, he said, 'If any of you change your mind, tell Banthora. As far as I'm concerned, she's the most important portrait in the house.'

The portraits scoffed again about the 'spinster' but Harry ignored them. Next, Lodie arrived to announce dinner, and the two living humans went down to the dining room. 'Your life is never boring,' said Hermione.

'No, it isn't.'

They sat down and dinner appeared. 'Do you think Bill can help find the Star Chamber?' she asked.

'I don't know, maybe,' said Harry, still brooding. 'But I want to ask Davina first.'

Hermione's eyes widened. 'Do you think there's a Light magic solution?'

'I have no idea. What do you think?'

She paused to reflect before answering. 'It's a bit like the Imperius Curse, which is usually evil but technically not Dark. I suspect that's why you were able to Imperius Travers the first time you tried, because your motivation was purely unselfish.'

Sighing, Harry said, 'But that's not the case here. I mostly want to see that room because it sounds cool. I mean, even the name is cool: Star Chamber.'

'It is. Although Merlin knows what you'll find in there. Probably more Dark artefacts.' After a pause, she said, 'Why do you suppose Kreacher didn't hide the Horcrux in there, or anything else Mundungus was trying to steal?'

'He can only enter when ordered,' said Harry. 'Otherwise he would have done. And no, he can't tell me what's in there.'

After more fruitless brainstorming, they turned to other topics. 'Did you have a good time at the gala?' she asked.

'I did, if you can believe it. Although Lockhart is clearly going to be a problem.'

'Oh?'

'Yeah, I think his humble phase has officially ended. You should have seen how witches were fawning over him.'

Hermione smirked. 'I have seen it. Only with you.'

'Surely I don't lap it up the way he does!'

'No, but what about that photograph from the auction? You were clearly turning on the charm at full blast. Which is fine—you were trying to drive up your price. But didn't you enjoy it just a bit?'

Harry wanted to protest, but he was overcome by a wave of pleasure. 'More than a bit,' he admitted. 'But be honest—did I look arrogant in that photo?'

'Honestly? Yes. Between your facial expression and the robes—which were fantastic, by the way—you were the absolute embodiment of arrogance. Outwardly, at least.'

'Yeah, that's what I thought,' sighed Harry. 'The Prophet coverage was favourable thanks to Rita, but I'm still afraid of a backlash.'

Hermione studied him. 'Are you going on the radio tomorrow?'

'That's my plan. Are you saying I shouldn't?'

'No, you should. You always come off well, particularly when Lee and George give you a hard time. But are you all right with it? You've sounded a bit annoyed lately.'

He was mid-bite and took his time swallowing. 'You're right, I have been annoyed. A few times, anyway.'

'You're allowed, you know,' said Hermione. 'Everyone is amazed by how well you tolerate their abuse.'

'It's not abuse,' he said quickly.

She looked embarrassed, and Harry knew she was thinking about the Dursleys. 'No, but they sometimes act like you don't have feelings. Which obviously isn't the case.'

'Believe me, I know. But I'd rather just grin and bear it than sound like I'm complaining, which would definitely invite a backlash.'

'That's true, but you won't fool people if you bottle up your feelings too much. It's your sincerity that makes you so likeable, in spite of everything.'

After dinner, Davina arrived and Hermione told her about the Star Chamber. 'I suspect my father has something similar,' said Davina. 'I don't think he'd require a descendant to perform Dark magic just to access it, but once inside he might subject them to endless lectures about wizarding tradition.'

'I know a charm for shutting up portraits,' said Harry brightly, thinking of Walburga. Hermione glared at him, and he added, 'Just in case.'

Davina laughed. 'I don't think he's leaving us anytime soon. His parents both lived into their hundred and twenties. But back to your problem, I assume you're wondering if it can be solved using Light magic.' Harry and Hermione nodded, and Davina paused to consider it. 'What's your motivation?' she asked.

'That's the problem,' said Harry. 'It's mostly just selfish. I want to see the room, and I don't want the portraits to win.'

'It would make Sirius happy,' suggested Hermione. 'Not that he's here, of course, but he'd have loved to see you outmanoeuvre his ancestors.'

'No, that's not the right approach,' said Davina. 'It's too adversarial.' She was silent once more and finally shook her head. 'There are non-Dark methods that might work, and your Light magic would provide an advantage, but they're still manipulative.'

Harry felt a wave of unease. 'Er, I may have manipulated people last night, at the auction.'

'Oh, really?' she said, clearly amused. 'Would you be referring to the facial expression caught by the cameras?' He nodded sheepishly, and she laughed. 'Deadly charisma. Definitely a risk with Light magic.'

'It was for the orphans!' he protested, but Davina just looked at him sceptically. 'And to beat Lockhart. But I turned it off during the final round of bidding.'

'That's fortunate. I should mention that not all Light practitioners have that ability, and almost never this early, but you're clearly a special case.' She paused, then said, 'As to your Star Chamber question, I don't have an answer. But don't be attached to current obstacles, since they aren't set in stone.'

The conversation turned next to Hermione and her decision to pursue a Mastery. She'd told Harry about it over dinner, and with great effort he persuaded her to ask Davina for supervision. But when they were all together, Hermione clearly lost her nerve, so Harry brought it up.

'Hermione wants to ask you something, only she's being unusually shy.'

'Harry!' scolded Hermione, but Davina only laughed.

'I believe I know what the question is, and I think you'll like my answer, but for form's sake I'd like to hear you say it.'

Blushing, Hermione said, 'Davina, would you please supervise my Mastery?'

'I'd be delighted to. I've been tempted to propose it myself, but I assumed you wouldn't want to leave the Ministry.'

Davina agreed that Hermione should start without a clear plan and let her intuition guide her. 'Did you hear that?' said Harry. 'You need to trust your Inner Eye, just like Trelawney always said.'

'That's unfortunate, since she called me hopelessly Mundane. Davina, I should warn you that I have absolutely no gift for Divination.'

'Except you're certain Fleur's having a girl,' noted Harry. 'Maybe this Mastery will unlock your hidden talent as a Seer.'

'Not bloody likely,' she muttered, but Davina said not to rule anything out. 'You can't be serious!' cried Hermione.

'I don't anticipate you'll end up a Seer—it's a rather woolly discipline. But you're very observant, and that's what informs intuition. Which would be very useful if you start teaching, to guide students in the right direction.'

Before leaving that night, Hermione surprised Harry with a big hug. 'Thanks for pushing me with Davina. I'd lost my nerve, as you noticed, but this feels perfect.'

The next morning he received a letter from Randall Runnion about his upcoming trip to Boston. It said:

First, congratulations on the WORF auction. I wasn't there, but I heard about the sensation you caused onstage. Bring some of that to Boston, and I know we'll have a hit.

Next, we've reserved a series of portkeys, departing the London terminal on Friday afternoon at 2:00. The portkeys are tightly sequenced, which means you'll reach Boston at 9:30 a.m. local time. You'll be met by Virginia Holloway, whom I'm sure you remember from the photo shoot, and she'll get you settled.

The radio interview is that evening at 5:00. I should warn you that American radio is a bit raucous, but you should be fine, thanks to all your practice with Lee and George. Virginia will coach you in advance, but my personal advice is to watch a Hugh Grant film before leaving. If 'Notting Hill' is still at the cinema, watch that. Otherwise, get yourself a copy of 'Four Weddings and Funeral.' And if, by chance, you can find a recording of his 1995 interview on American television after he was caught with a prostitute, it's a must-see. He absolutely nails the 'naughty but charming' vibe we'd like you to embody. But if you can't watch it, don't worry, because I'm sure you've already mastered it.

Harry couldn't exactly send Kreacher for a copy of Time Out London, but there was a Muggle newsagent's near the Leaky Cauldron, and after lunch he took a quick Floo trip there. He was used to being greeted by the regulars, but he wasn't prepared for what they said.

'Harry, are you all right?' asked a witch.

'You were robbed!' said another witch. 'I can't stand that smarmy git!'

'Yes, I'm fine,' said Harry. 'What are you talking about?'

'Haven't you seen it?' asked the first witch. 'No, you've been at practice all morning. The new Witch Weekly is out.'

Bugger! Lockhart won! thought Harry. But he feigned ignorance. 'What about it?' he asked.

The witch handed it to him. 'Sorry, love. They gave Lockhart the Most-Charming-Smile Award. But you got Honourable Mention.'

Harry looked at the cover, which showed a winking Lockhart and his trademark grin. 'He's still got it!' blared the headline, and the text below said, 'Most Charming Smile, 1999.'

'Good for him,' said Harry, a trifle weakly. 'I know how much he wanted it.'

'What about you? Didn't you want it?'

He cracked a half-smile and allowed his eyes to twinkle just a bit. 'Believe me, I'm fine.'

'Someone take a picture,' exclaimed a witch, fanning herself. 'Honourable mention my arse!'

Harry dashed out to the newsagent's, made his purchase, and returned a few minutes later. A wizard sitting near the radio asked, 'Will you be on Weasley's tonight?' Harry nodded, and the wizard said, 'That's good, because Lockhart's already lined up two interviews this afternoon. All part of his comeback, I guess.'

'Are you a fan?' asked Harry.

'I liked his books,' admitted the wizard. 'They were good adventure stories. But then it turned out he'd lied, and I can't stand a liar.'

'I know what you mean,' said Harry, with a twinge of guilt about his minor deception earlier. Leaning towards the wizard, he spoke more quietly. 'To be honest, I am a little annoyed he won. Not because I want the attention—I get plenty—but we had a bet.'

The wizard chuckled. 'I suppose you've got some competition now. But there's no comparison—just don't stoop to his level.'

'Thanks, I won't,' said Harry, and he returned to the Cannons training grounds.

Lara greeted him with the news. 'Er, Witch Weekly came out.'

'Yeah, I know. Three cheers for Lockhart. But it's fine—I've been overexposed, and people deserve a break.'

'It's a good picture of you, at least,' she said, opening the magazine to a dog-eared page. 'You're wearing team robes, so I'm guessing it was taken after a match.'

Harry looked at the photo, in which he was disheveled from flying, and a bit sweaty. Is my mind in the gutter, or does that photo look post-coital? he wondered. He was hesitant to ask Lara, but Janet removed all doubt.

'Do you always wear your Cannons robes during sex?' she asked, peering over his shoulder. 'Mine get in the way.'

'So it's not just me? The photo strikes me as kind of porno-y.'

'It is. If photos could talk, it would be saying, "Up for another round?"'

He wondered whether Fiona had seen it yet, and her afternoon letter revealed she had. She wrote:

When I saw the cover of Witch Weekly, I had a moment of panic that I'd chosen the wrong wizard. 'Those teeth! That hair! What on earth was I thinking?' I was ready to give you up entirely and throw myself at Lockhart, but out of pity I looked at your photo and ... my heart stopped. Not literally (at least, I don't think so). But it was an advance look at my very near future, and God, do I want it.

Although not tonight. I mean yes, I want it, but not in my house straight away. I'm glad we'll be in Boston because it's neutral territory, free from memories. Can we stay somewhere Muggle? Partly for anonymity, but also for the alien thrill of a telephone and electric lights. And a television, with American accents! And weird sweets, only we'll call them 'candy,' and other exotic snacks. (Note: American food is exotic. I am not.)

Anyway, I can't wait to see you tonight and console you for Witch Weekly's inexcusable error. Oh, and speaking of things inexcusable: if you send me your Patronus during the broadcast, I'm removing you from my wards.

Yours,
Fiona

As Harry walked to the joke shop that night, multiple people expressed outrage over Witch Weekly's decision. 'You're a dandy, and he's a fop,' said a stern-looking witch. 'And if they can't tell the difference, there's no use explaining it to them.'

'I appreciate your support, but really, I'm not upset. I've had more than enough attention, and Lockhart's always been their favourite.'

'Not my favourite, not after what he did to those people! He belongs in Azkaban!'

Part of Harry agreed, but he was also enjoying the rivalry. 'That's not for me to say,' he replied. 'But thanks again for your support.'

He arrived at the shop early for once, and George wasn't even waiting at the door. But the crowd greeted him, and he signed numerous photos—including the one from Witch Weekly—before entering the booth. 'So, are you ready?' asked Lee meaningfully.

'Ready for what?'

'Ready to show Witch Weekly they backed the wrong horse.'

Harry shook his head. 'No, I don't want to look like a sore loser.'

'Certainly not,' said Lee. 'But everyone loves a good rivalry, and we'd like to play this up. Is that all right?'

'Er, what do you have in mind exactly?'

George held up a notebook and said, 'Lockhart gave several interviews this afternoon, and I took down some quotes, which we're hoping you'll respond to.'

'What did he say?' asked Harry, reaching for the notebook, but George pulled it away.

'Not so fast, Potter—we're saving it for the broadcast.'

Harry frowned. 'Just how bad was he? Are we talking old Lockhart?'

'Not exactly,' said Lee. 'He's got his new persona, which is all about self-help and emotional honesty, so there's a different flavour now. But he's still full of himself, which is why George and I need to knock him down to size.'

'Right,' said Harry uneasily. 'And what's my role in all this?'

'Counterpoint. You're an actual hero, and he's a pompadoured git. In fact, you don't even need to put him down, because there's really no comparison.'

'Maybe, but I don't want to seem arrogant.'

'Of course not,' said George, glancing at Lee. 'On another note, I think it's time to announce the underwear adverts. Word is out, and we don't want anyone scooping us.'

Harry knew this was coming. 'Yeah, go ahead.'

Lee asked Harry about a few more topics, and soon it was time to begin. 'Good evening, listeners! It's time for wizarding Britain's favourite radio programme: Weasley's Wizard Wireless. I'm Lee Jordan–'

'And I'm George Weasley–'

'And together, we Imperiused our guest to join us nearly every week—free of charge—even though there are people who would pay huge sums just to watch him blow his nose.'

'And then auction off the handkerchief,' added George.

'So without further ado,' said Lee, 'let's all welcome the hottest commodity this side of Gilderoy Lockhart: Harry Potter-Black!'

After the audience settled down, Harry said, 'I no longer know how to reply to your introductions. But thanks for having me here, as always.'

'We Imperiused him to say that,' said George. 'Pretty devious, eh?'

'Is it really a good idea to publicly confess to performing Unforgivables?' asked Harry.

'It'll be fine—my brother's an Auror,' said George dismissively. 'And speaking of law enforcement, would you send that Patronus of yours to our loyal listeners in Azkaban? Unless, of course, you have someone else in mind.'

'No, my girlfriend said she'd be furious if I sent him to her.'

'The same girlfriend as last week?' asked Lee.

'None other,' said Harry, smiling, and on a wave of affection he cast his Patronus.

Prongs bounded off with Harry's message, and Lee said, 'So, this mysterious girlfriend of yours. She doesn't mind that you're going on a date with someone who will presumably do anything to get her hands on ... the head of two houses?'

Harry groaned, but George said, 'Nice one, mate!'

'Cheers! So what's the word, Harry?'

'She doesn't mind. It's for a good cause, and she trusts me.'

'I'm glad to hear it,' said George. 'And really, why wouldn't she? After all, there's no risk you'll charm anyone with your grim rictus of a smile. Or so says Witch Weekly.'

Lee explained to any uninformed listeners that Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award was announced and that Harry hadn't won it. 'Frankly,' he said, 'it was the biggest upset since a scrawny, snaggletoothed twerp defeated the most powerful Dark wizard in a century.'

'Snaggletoothed?' said Harry. 'I realise I don't have Lockhart teeth, but I didn't think mine were that bad.'

'No, they're perfectly respectable British teeth,' said George. 'Otherwise private Healers would have flooded you by now with offers to improve them. Which I assume hasn't happened?'

'Not that I'm aware of. I'm sure my secretary would have said something if they had done.'

'Actually,' said Lee, 'you'll probably start hearing from them, since it might be your only hope of beating Lockhart next year.'

'I don't need to beat Lockhart! I'm honestly fine with not winning,' said Harry. 'In fact, I should probably congratulate him.'

'Not so fast,' said George, opening his notebook. 'First you might want to hear what he had to say about you this afternoon. Let's see ... during his interview with Spinetta Musgrave, he said, "Harry Potter's a good kid—a bit of a teen idol, which is sweet, after everything he's been through.'

Harry blinked. 'A teen idol?'

'Well, strictly speaking, you're still a teenager, and that also describes some of your girlfriends. And my informal survey of schoolgirls visiting the shop suggests that, as a group, they're rather keen on you.'

'I think your marriage vow helps,' added Lee. 'By the time you're twenty-one, girls who are currently fifteen will be old enough for you. And you can't beat a fifteen-year-old witch for believing she can tame a notorious womaniser.'

'And then there's a certain fourteen-year-old part-Veela who's still mad for you,' said George. 'Sorry, mate—Lockhart's right. You're a teen idol.'

Still uneasy, Harry said, 'Would it help to point out that my girlfriend is older than me?'

'Oh, really?' said Lee. 'How much older?'

'I don't want to say, since that's her own business. But older than anyone I've dated.'

'As old as Lockhart?' asked George, intrigued.

'No, not that old. And I probably shouldn't have brought it up, so let's move on.'

'Right, to Lockhart's next quote. He also told Spinetta that you and he had a little wager on who would win the Most-Charming-Smile Award. Is that true and, if so, how much do you owe him?'

Embarrassed, Harry said, 'Yeah, it's true. His idea, not mine. And it was an honour bet, so I don't owe him anything.'

'Oh yes you do,' said Lee. 'And now's the perfect time to pay up, when everyone's listening.'

'I know—that's why I was going to congratulate him, until George so rudely interrupted.'

'My apologies!' said George. 'But here, I'll help. Repeat after me: "I, Harry Potter-Black, do hereby congratulate Gilderoy Lockhart for officially having a more charming smile than I do."'

Harry hesitated, but Lee goaded him. 'Go on, you can do it.' Harry repeated the message, and George continued.

'I also congratulate him on avoiding Azkaban, particularly during the Dementor years, which would almost certainly have eroded said smile.'

'Right, I'm not repeating that.'

'Really? Then what about this? "I should add that if it weren't for me, Lockhart would have emerged from St Mungo's into a Dark hellscape, and Voldemort would probably have won the Most-Charming-Smile Award instead."'

Before Harry could refuse, Lee chimed in. 'And also, "I may not have magically-enhanced teeth, but I have more magnetism in my little finger than Lockhart has in his entire body."'

'Er, I think you're more upset about this than I am,' said Harry. 'And yes, I was a bit disappointed to lose the bet, but I really don't mind that he won.'

'Oh, you haven't heard the worst quote yet,' said George. 'In a moment of impressive candour, he told Hester St Cloud, "I'm honestly glad to have a rival this time around, and, frankly, Harry's lucky to have me. All that attention wasn't good for me back then, and until Harry is more mature, he could be at risk of repeating my mistakes."'

Harry's jaw dropped. 'Repeating his mistakes? Did he narrow that down, or do we just have to pick and choose?'

'For example?' said George, and Lee nodded encouragingly. Harry knew they were egging him on, but he was angry enough to take the bait.

'I don't know, maybe the bit where he combed the world for legitimate heroes, Obliviated them, and took credit for what they'd done! Although Lockhart has a point, because I almost did that just yesterday. Only I remembered at the last moment that I finally have a rival and need to watch my step.'

'You'd think he forgot you have Quidditch rivals,' noted Lee.

'You call them rivals?' scoffed Harry. 'How can you compare hours of high-stakes flying, along with a full-time training schedule, to Lockhart's and my epic battle of ... smiling.'

'Spot on!' cried George. 'In fact, your titanic clash with Lockhart clearly surpasses the mere kerfuffle between you and Voldemort.'

All three of them were laughing, and Harry said, 'I should probably stop now. Although I'm sure Lockhart doesn't mind, since he said himself there's no such thing as bad publicity.'

'He's absolutely right,' said Lee. 'In fact, that's exactly what we said back in '95 when the Prophet was slagging you on a daily basis. And those "Undesirable Number One" posters? Marketing gold!'

'That's true, actually,' said George, in a more serious tone. 'Harry's eyeglasses broke the all-time auction record on Sunday night. But we'll get to that in a moment—I want to talk about your photo in Witch Weekly.'

'What about it?' asked Harry, anticipating the answer.

Lee opened the magazine and held Harry's photo to the front of the broadcasting booth. 'Listeners, I don't know if everyone saw it, but Witch Weekly included photos of several poor sods who didn't make the cut, including Harry. I'm showing it to our in-store audience, and although we can't hear them, I'm wondering if they'll be so kind as to pantomime what it looks like Harry was doing before it was taken.'

The people in the first few rows crowded forwards to look at the photo, and some of them pantomimed flying. But more of them used hand gestures or facial expressions to indicate sexual activity, and one couple actually started snogging.

'Just as I suspected,' said Lee. 'Our audience seems to agree that Harry, who for some reason is outdoors and wearing Cannons robes, clearly just finished a particularly tiring round of intercourse.'

'Oh, it's more than that,' said George. 'He's also attempting some kind of charming smile, and even though it's a miserable failure, it speaks volumes.'

'Not volumes, necessarily,' said Lee. 'I'm imagining something a bit more concise, like, "That was great, babe. What was your name again?"'

'Oi!' cried Harry. 'The photo was obviously taken after a match.'

'Perhaps,' said George, 'but it's also the closest the general public has come to seeing Harry Potter-Black in his, er, element. Although as rumour has it, that's about to change. Would you like to spill the beans or shall I?'

'Ugh, you do it.'

'I was hoping you'd say that! In fact, Lee and I had a friendly duel this afternoon for the right to announce it, and I won.' George cleared his throat and said, 'It is my great honour to reveal to our listeners that Harry Potter-Black is endorsing ... men's underwear. And posing in it.'

Harry couldn't hear the shrieks from the audience, but he saw their reaction and even felt the vibrations. 'Not in Britain,' he said hastily. 'But everywhere else.'

'And will these be Muggle-style adverts?' asked Lee. 'Just you up close, wearing nothing but your underpants?'

'Not that close up,' said Harry. 'From my head down to my thighs. And it's not a wizarding photograph, for obvious reasons.'

'Thank Merlin for that,' said George. 'But that's only half the story, right?'

'It is,' replied Harry, and he revealed his secondary endorsement of women's underwear. This led to an explanation of why Sophie was in London, and how the casting and photo shoot had coincided with Harry's celibacy vow. Lee and George, for their part, made numerous jokes, covering everything from Ophelia Black's prophecy to 'the Philosopher's Stones.'

However, one of their jokes crossed the line. 'So, Harry,' asked George. 'Was it before or after you got Sorted into Slytherin that you became shamelessly mercenary?'

Harry felt as though he'd been punched. Attempting to keep his voice steady, he said, 'Are you, George Weasley—whose name is on nearly every product in here—really calling me mercenary?'

George froze, but Lee relieved the tension. 'Of course he is,' said Lee. 'Pot meets kettle, you know. But the real question is when to tell Walburga! Should we wait until we have something to show her, or spring it on her now?'

'It has to be now,' said George, seizing the change of topic. 'Otherwise someone else will tell her.'

Lee's hand shot up, in a manner recalling Hermione. 'Me! Me! Can I do it?' he said excitedly.

Harry assented, and Lee told Walburga about the adverts, expecting outrage. But to everyone's surprise, she was pleased. 'Finally, the depraved usurper makes himself useful,' she said with plain satisfaction.

'You mean you approve?' said Harry, unable to conceal his shock.

'I most certainly do! It's lucrative, I assume?'

'Yes, very. I'm a complete sell-out,' he said, glancing at George.

For a moment she frowned. 'And you'll funnel your earnings to House Black? As opposed to squandering it on sensory indulgences?'

'Does his tailor count?' asked Lee. 'Because I'm sure he'll get a cut.'

Gesturing towards her own dress and jewellery, Walburga said, 'That's the family magic, and I don't fault the detestable half-blood for trying to make the most of his person. Although he'll never overcome his ancestry, nor his unfortunate physiognomy.'

'It's the teeth, isn't it?' said George. 'We were just talking about them earlier.'

'Oi!' cried Harry.

'Walburga,' said Lee, 'I'll have you know that Harry is widely admired. That's why they're paying him to pose in his underwear.'

She gave him an appraising look. 'Then I assume it's your physique. Young man, take off your clothes!'

'No!' snapped Harry. 'You'll just have to wait for the adverts. I'm done with stripping for this show!'

'He's right,' said George. 'Harry doesn't strip for free anymore.'

Harry's eyes shot open, and some of the audience laughed, but others looked uneasy. 'George, my patience isn't infinite,' he said coolly.

George paled, and Lee hastily silenced Walburga. 'Listeners, if you think you're hearing tension between George and our esteemed guest, allow me to reassure you that it's not your imagination. Because yes, you're definitely hearing tension. Harry, would you care to comment?'

After an uncomfortable silence, Harry laughed. 'Well played. It seems I am a bit sensitive about selling out. Which I really shouldn't admit so soon before a match, but there you go.'

'And George, what prompted you to needle Harry like that? Today of all days, when he's clearly crushed about having such a repellent smile?'

'Sorry, mate,' said George with obvious sincerity. 'You take nearly everything in stride these days, and I sometimes forget you have feelings. Really, I apologise.'

'No, it's fine,' said Harry. 'I'm getting a big head, and more than ever I need friends who can take the piss.'

Lee pressed the delay rune and spoke quietly so the in-store audience wouldn't hear. 'We were going to slag you about looking arrogant in the auction photo, but we can skip it if you prefer.'

George still looked stricken, but Harry nodded. 'It's fine. I wanted to address it anyway, so we might as well. Go ahead.'

Using his wand to reactivate the broadcast, Lee said, 'Sorry, just a momentary blip on this end—I wanted to make sure George hasn't permanently antagonised our favourite guest. And the good news is that he hasn't, and that Harry is even willing to endure a bit more mockery. Specifically about his record-breaking performance at the WORF charity auction on Sunday.'

Lee glanced at George, encouraging him to take over. 'Harry's iconic eyeglasses sold for a record price, which was remarkable enough,' said George, sounding normal again. 'But the real excitement came during the bachelor auction, when the wealthiest witches in Britain nearly broke into fisticuffs over him. And I'll note that the winning bid was more than twice what a certain toothy rival brought in. Harry, how did that make you feel?'

'Beating Lockhart? Honestly, pretty good.'

'But you didn't just beat him,' said Lee, 'you annihilated him. And according to eyewitnesses, you didn't even try courting bidders like he did. All you did was stand on stage and ... mojo everyone.'

I suppose he can't say 'eye-fuck' on the air, thought Harry. 'Yeah, about that,' he said sheepishly, 'I didn't realise until I saw the photo the next morning just how arrogant I looked.'

George leaned back. 'Well now, you've saved us the trouble of saying it. But honestly, who can blame you? In fact, I'd challenge anyone to stay humble in your position.'

Lee was nodding, but Harry shook his head. 'It's actually a problem,' he said, 'and in this respect maybe Lockhart is right. I've made some serious mistakes because I thought I was infallible, when in fact I'm anything but. And having a big ego is an impediment to Light magic, so I need people reminding me what a berk I am sometimes.'

'Now you've done it,' said Lee ominously. 'Strangers are going to start insulting you, ostensibly for your own good.'

'They already do, ever since I first got to Hogwarts. But I eventually learnt to ignore it, which means the criticism that matters is what I hear from my friends. Thank Merlin for Hermione, who will never go easy on me. And the Cannons as well—Owen Barrowmaker in particular.'

'What about witches?' asked George. 'It must be intoxicating to have women throwing themselves at you all the time.'

'My current girlfriend took some convincing, actually. And it's early days yet, but I don't think she'll be shy about puncturing my ego.'

'She sounds like a treasure!' said Lee. 'Although I notice you dodged George's question about excess attention from the ladies. Which, I might add, is bound to increase when your adverts come out—particularly if you're not smiling in them.'

'I do meet a lot of women,' he said, 'and yes, it's intoxicating sometimes. I'm a nineteen-year-old Light wizard, after all. But more than anything I crave a connection, and that's what I've felt with my girlfriend since the first time we met.'

'Interesting. Are you willing to say more?'

'I probably shouldn't, out of respect for her privacy,' said Harry, his Light magic surging. 'But with her I'm not a league Seeker, or the Boy Who Lived, or any of the other things I'm famous for. In fact, I think she likes me in spite of them.'

'Listeners,' said George, 'he has that faraway, lovestruck look we've seen before. Harry, are you seeing her tonight?'

'I am, right after this.'

'Then don't let us keep you!' said Lee. They thanked him for appearing on the broadcast, and Harry said goodbye. But George followed him outside the booth and cast a charm to give them privacy.

'Harry, I'm really sorry,' he said. 'People have warned me about going too far, and I should have listened.'

Sighing, Harry said, 'I should have said something earlier. Sorry to snap at you on the air like that.'

'I think you're failing to grasp how apologies work,' said George dryly. 'I'm the one at fault, which means you don't need to apologise back.'

'Then thank you,' said Harry. 'For apologising, that is. And also for giving me a platform. Yes, the show is a mixed bag, but I think it's been good overall.'

'It certainly has been for us. For Lee in particular—this was his dream, after all,' he said, glancing at the booth. 'You're allowed to take a break, you know. Or never come back at all, if you've had enough.'

'No, I'll be back. But maybe not for a while, if that's all right. Not because of tonight, but to give my new relationship some space.'

George looked at him appraisingly. 'You really like this one, don't you?'

'I liked all of them. But yeah, this is different. We're taking things slowly but I think there's real potential.'

Once outside the shop, Harry Apparated to Grimmauld Place, and from there he travelled by Floo to Fiona's house. She wasn't in the drawing room, but a glowing arrow hung in the air, pointing him towards the corridor. He followed it and found another arrow leading to a staircase. At first he walked quietly, not wanting to interrupt a bedtime ritual, but loud giggles suggested Matthew was wide awake.

Harry easily found his bedroom and knocked on the open door. 'Excuse me, did someone order a bedtime story?' he asked with mock gravity.

Fiona and Matthew were sitting cross-legged on the floor, each of them holding a soft toy. 'I don't know,' said Fiona in a silly voice, holding a fluffy phoenix as if it were talking. 'Did you order a bedtime story, Mister Pointy?'

Matthew shook his head, and he rotated the plush unicorn he was holding to indicate that Mister Pointy hadn't either. But he was smiling and didn't seem to mind the intrusion.

'Is it story-time yet or am I too early?' asked Harry, removing his outer robe so he could more easily join them on the floor. This led to a rambling, three-way conversation between Harry, Mister Pointy, and the phoenix, whose name was Erasmus. Harry did his best to focus on Matthew, as opposed to flirting with Fiona.

Eventually they picked out several books, and Matthew squirmed into bed. Fiona read the first book, which allowed Harry to observe her and also look around the room. There was a large painting of an enchanted house, in cross-section so the rooms were visible. It was nighttime in the painting, and the inhabitants—who were anthropomorphic rabbits—were preparing for sleep. The mummy rabbit was cradling a baby in her arms while the daddy rabbit tucked a pair of twins in their beds. Grandmother rabbit, in a rocking chair, was knitting by the fireplace, while Grandpa was smoking a pipe, and various pets roamed the house as well.

On the wall above Matthew's bed were family pictures, including multiple photos of a man who could only be Rob. In one photo, he stood over Fiona as she cradled a newborn baby, and the two parents looked adoringly at their son. Occasionally they looked at each other, and Harry was struck how deeply they were in love.

It was clear from the pictures that Rob was a devoted father, and Harry ached for what Matthew had lost. At least he has a mum, he thought, noting how Matthew curled against her as she read. And when it was Harry's turn to read, she gently stroked Matthew's curls.

Fiona read a final story, after which Harry left the room so they could finish the bedtime ritual in private. He sat at the landing and heard her sing a lullaby, which touched him to the core. She was a competent singer at best, but what she lacked in talent she made up for in tenderness. Harry idly wondered whether his own mother could sing, and he grinned at the idea of asking Snape's portrait.

After the singing, he heard murmurs, and finally Fiona extinguished the light and left the room. She closed the door and walked quietly to the landing, where she gave him a quick kiss. 'Let's go downstairs,' she said in a soft voice.

She led him into a parlour, more intimate than the drawing room, and they spoke at last. 'So that was bedtime,' she said. 'Normally he only gets two stories, but I thought I'd ease him into the "Mummy's friend" scenario.'

'How did I do?' asked Harry.

'Brilliantly. I can hardly believe you're the same person who was joking on the radio about underwear adverts less than an hour ago.'

'Oh dear, what did you think?'

'I have questions,' she said. 'But first, let me finish the transition from "mum" to "girlfriend."' She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then gave him a longing look. They kissed more slowly this time, and when they pulled apart they spent a moment just smiling at each other. 'The editors of Witch Weekly are completely daft,' she declared. 'And don't even think about altering your teeth.'

They spent a while catching up; she was still busy with gala tasks, like sending auction items to the winning bidders. 'Do you know who bought my eyeglasses?' asked Harry.

'Yes, a collector from Japan. His agent picked them up yesterday and said he was to deliver them by hand, without delay. Twelve portkeys in rapid succession, apparently.'

'Blimey! And here I'm dreading five.'

'Yes, they're ghastly,' she said. 'But I can't wait for our trip.'

'Are you sure I can't reimburse you?' She'd insisted on buying her own ticket and was returning several hours earlier, so they wouldn't been seen together.

'Positive. I may not be sugar-mummy material, but I can at least pay my own fare.'

'Ugh, that reminds me,' he said, pulling out the letter from Madame X and handing it over. 'You need to see this.'

Fiona's eyes grew wide as she read it. 'Two thousand Galleons!' she exclaimed. 'Are you sure you're worth it?' Harry's expression must have been comical, because Fiona started laughing. 'Sorry, but you said yourself that your ego needs puncturing.'

'Well played,' he replied, still unsure how to answer her question.

'I'm sure you're worth it,' she said affectionately. 'Based on my experience, anyway. So, are you doing it?'

Harry blinked. 'Are you joking? Of course not!'

'Even though she'll look like a supermodel and be skilled in the arts of love?'

'No, I can't possibly, and certainly not while you and I are together.'

'Then what about afterwards? She's clearly willing to wait.'

Is this a test? wondered Harry. 'Afterwards? I can't even conceive of that right now.'

'Neither can I,' she confessed. 'Sorry, I don't know what came over me. Scratch that, yes I do ... It's a little hard dating Desirable Number One.'

He looked at her tenderly. 'This from the stunning Miss Dunning.'

'Not the same. When you were on stage, literally every eye was on you.' She paused and said, 'But don't worry, I know you like me.'

'I do,' he replied, leaning towards her.

'And we both know there aren't any guarantees in life. So just excuse me when I get scared from time to time.'

Harry returned the letter to his pouch. 'I'll go on a date with her sometime soon—with no extras. And maybe I can make up the difference to WORF myself.'

'You'll do no such thing! You're already doing plenty.'

'Then we'll see how my underwear adverts do,' he said, and she agreed.

They sat in silence for nearly a minute, until Harry finally spoke. 'Er, I'm not sure what to do during an at-home date that's not sex. Do you have any records or something?'

Fiona burst out laughing. 'Oh my god, I was thinking the same thing! This will be much easier after Boston. And yes, I have records.'

She showed him the collection, and they spent the next hour listening to music. Unsurprisingly, it led to snogging, but they kept the pace slow, blurting 'Boston!' whenever things got too steamy.

'This is lovely,' he murmured, nuzzling her neck. 'You're lovely. And you don't need to worry about Madame X, or anyone else.'

'I know. And yes, I feel our connection as well. I felt it during the gala, whenever our eyes met. But when we're alone together ...'

Fiona didn't complete the sentence, but Harry knew exactly what she meant. Boston, he thought longingly, though he could scarcely imagine feeling any closer to her than he already did.