Harry had instructed Ron not to come to Grimmauld Place first thing on Saturday. He had an eight o'clock meeting at Gringotts, to discuss the contract with Rita Skeeter, and he'd use Prongs to notify Ron when it was time to visit.
He was assisted that morning by the same goblin who'd helped with his Cannons contract. 'Good morning, Mr Potter.'
'Good morning, Redblade,' replied Harry. 'I'm grateful for the advice you provided when I signed with the Cannons—if I hadn't demanded the right to approve all merchandise, people would be running around wearing Harry Potter knickers right now. So you've done me a tremendous service already.'
'Gringotts takes pride in offering superlative guidance on all business matters.' Redblade opened a folder to reveal a parchment and said, 'I'm certain we can help you in your dealings with Madam Skeeter. I should mention, however, that client confidentiality forbids me from revealing the details of her contract with Lucius Malfoy, but there was nothing unusual about his terms and they're exactly what I'd have advised regardless.'
'Brilliant. As long as she can't stab me in the back again.'
Redblade showed Harry the details of the proposed contract, which imposed both magical and financial penalties if Rita were to lie or misrepresent Harry. In return, Harry was to give Rita the right of first refusal regarding any non-Quidditch related story he wished to share with the press, excepting anything he chose to reveal directly on Weasley's Wizard Wireless. Harry would not be required to provide a specific number of interviews or story opportunities, but it was understood that as long as he was a public figure, he would provide her with information, which she would disseminate in a largely flattering light.
They both had the right to terminate the contract at will, but Redblade didn't anticipate the need. 'Madam Skeeter has numerous agreements of this nature, and they've proven beneficial to both parties. I shan't reveal names, but any witch or wizard who has received consistently positive coverage at her pen is very likely to have a similar contract.'
The magic powering the contract was to come from an escrow vault funded exclusively by Harry. Apparently goblins had a method for generating and sustaining magic from gold itself, and Harry's initial deposit would be sufficient to enforce years of Rita's good behaviour. If either party terminated the contract, the remaining gold would return to Harry's primary vault.
This explains why goblins are so obsessed with gold, he mused, signing the agreement. All wizards can do is spend it and look at it.
Harry was back at Grimmauld Place in short order, and he sent Prongs to tell Ron to come over whenever he liked. A minute later, Ron leapt purposefully from the fireplace with his wand raised. Assuming the posture they'd learnt in Auror training, he barked, 'Is the room secure, or should I sweep it for the Dark Mark?'
'Very funny,' replied Harry. 'She doesn't have a Dark Mark, and I haven't seen her since Thursday night.'
'Is it over already? Did her family commit her to St Mungo's, or send her to a spa in Switzerland to keep you apart?'
'No, but she owled me to say they're not at all pleased.'
'Can they actually stop her from seeing you?' asked Ron.
'Not really. She's of age, and she's financially independent. They haven't kicked her out yet, but they might do after we finish Phase Two.'
Ron waggled his eyebrows. 'Is that what you're calling it?'
'She doesn't know that, but yes. Phase Two is what you might call the point of no return. Ruination complete.'
'You bastard,' said Ron admiringly. 'I'll have you know my dad Floo-called me last night, begging me to tell you to stop seeing her.'
'What reason did he provide?' asked Harry, annoyed.
'All of them. First, that it's a trap. Second, that it's not seemly, whatever that means. And third, he's afraid she's taking advantage of you.'
'Of course she's taking advantage of me. And vice versa. It's brilliant!'
'That photograph was something else. Are you certain she didn't Love Potion you?'
'I'm certain,' said Harry. 'Quite the opposite—I demanded she take Veritaserum.'
'Are you serious? Bollocks of steel, mate! And she agreed to it?'
'Yes, she didn't even bother looking at my questions first. She's definitely on the level.'
'Don't take this the wrong way,' said Ron, 'but this is one of those cases where you're lucky you don't have parents. Mine would go mental if I started dating a Dark pure-blood.'
'Because of the inbreeding potential?' retorted Harry.
'Oi! I'm not inbred!'
'I didn't say you were. Though you have to admit, it's a little suspicious that both your parents have red hair.'
Ron frowned. 'You're not the first person to point that out. But they checked their family trees first, and even took a blood test at St Mungo's.'
'I know, that's what Ginny told me when I taunted her about it.'
'You're a brave man if you taunted my sister. I reckon Voldemort was just practice.'
'And you're one to talk,' said Harry. 'I heard what happened at that nightclub between you and Janet.'
Ron attempted to scowl, but it turned into a look of pleasure. 'That Janet, she's unbelievable. At this rate we'll need to lock our wands in a strongbox to keep from cursing each other.'
'Isn't that what a marriage bond does?' asked Harry innocently. 'Keep the happy couple from killing one another?'
'Don't even joke about that. I can't imagine marrying Janet.'
'I don't know, you're older than I am. If you were a responsible young wizard you'd be settling down right about now.'
'This from Mister "I'm not proposing until I'm twenty-one,"' scoffed Ron. 'Admit it, nobody actually forced you to make that pledge.'
'Untrue! Helena did.'
'Really? Why?'
'For exactly the reasons I said—I fall in love too easily and I need to grow up first.'
Ron shook his head in amazement. 'She did you a huge bloody favour, mate. Now you don't even have to bother with the speech about how it's just a fling.'
Harry sighed, remembering what he'd said to Helena after their first night together. 'Yes, I suppose she did. And I've certainly had fun since we split up, but I'm still sorry it didn't work out between us.'
'You do fall in love too easily,' said Ron. 'You won't catch that happening to me.'
'What, because it took you seven years with Hermione, and you still broke up with her?'
'Bloody hell, this is still the obnoxious Seeker phase, isn't it?'
'Sorry, yes. Owen can't predict how long it might last. But really, it's nothing personal, and feel free to insult me right back.'
'Cheers, you can count on it. So tell me more about your hot-blooded little Death Eater.'
'She's not a Death Eater! But she's definitely hot-blooded ... it was all I could do to slow her down on Thursday.'
'Why slow her down?' asked Ron.
'It's her first time. I want to do things properly. And pure-bloods are weird about sex—non blood-traitors that is. Have you heard of portkey brothels?'
'No ... but I can guess. Is that how posh wizards cope with having to court virgins?'
'Apparently. They just take a portkey to France and pay some witch to spread her legs.'
'I hope she does more than that,' sniggered Ron.
'I was speaking figuratively. I assume they have professional standards. Training, even.'
'Or maybe not,' mused Ron. 'In fact, this could explain why most pure-blood families have so few children. If the husband learnt what he was doing from some French prostitute who was looking at her wristwatch the entire time, and then he used those same moves on his virginal bride, I think we know why Draco Malfoy is an only child.'
Harry choked with laughter. 'I have trouble believing Lucius Malfoy wasn't a man of the world.'
'Maybe with other wizards,' said Ron. 'He put way too much effort into his clothes.'
'Oi!'
Ron held up his hands innocently. 'You told me to insult you back! And besides, it's the only way to deflate your Lockhart-sized ego.'
Harry was signing photographs and responding to fan mail throughout their conversation. 'I'm sorry,' said Harry, 'but it's the only way I can keep up. Did you ever write to the Cannons when you were a kid?'
'All the bloody time,' admitted Ron. 'Every season I used to cycle through the players to get a full set of team photos for free.'
'That was very crafty of you, Weasley. Well done.'
'Hey, not all of us had a huge pile of gold!'
'No need to get defensive—that was sincere praise. And besides, I didn't have any money as a kid, not with the Dursleys.'
'Why not?' asked Ron. 'I mean, why didn't you just exchange Galleons for pounds and shillings?'
'One, because Britain stopped using shillings before we were born. And two ... I don't know.'
'You don't know?' echoed Ron. 'You never thought, "Wow, Dudley's old trainers are total crap. Why don't I take a handful of coins from my overflowing vault and buy something decent?"'
Harry was irritated, and not just with Ron. 'First off, I usually went to Gringotts only once a year, just before leaving for Hogwarts. It's not as if I could just pop through the Dursleys' fireplace and make a withdrawal.'
'You could have taken the Knight Bus,' persisted Ron.
'Yeah, but I didn't,' snapped Harry. 'And no, I don't know why! Dumbledore probably warded the house to keep me from thinking of it, because Merlin forbid I enjoy myself as a child!'
'Sorry, mate, you're right. And I probably didn't make things easier—I'd most likely have been envious if you'd had nice shoes.'
'We were both complete gits,' said Harry. 'No wonder we were best mates. The only mystery is why Hermione put up with us.'
'True enough. For such a clever witch, she had some seriously thick friends.'
Harry chuckled. 'Lydia said something similar—not about Hermione, but about how she'd been raised to think of non-Dark wizards like us as thick.'
'I reckon that's why she wants you to deflower her,' smirked Ron, and Harry laughed again.
His expression turned sober and he added, 'She said they were waiting for me to die, during the war, so they could start shopping and having big parties again. But then she started rooting for me when we robbed Gringotts and escaped on that dragon.'
'I wonder where he is now,' mused Ron. 'He had more life in him than you'd have thought.'
'He did,' agreed Harry. 'A far sight more than we did, come to think of it.'
'True that—you looked like an Inferius when I pulled you out of that pond. What kind of moron jumps into an icy pool with a Horcrux around his neck?' Harry scowled and Ron added, 'But seriously, it's starting to feel like I dreamt it all. Do you know what I mean?'
'Yeah, sort of. I sometimes feel that way about Sirius, even though I have all the proof I could need that he existed.'
'Like the ring? Nice job with the lords, by the way.'
'Thanks, I guess I won after all. And you won't believe this, but I just formed an alliance with Rita Skeeter. That's why I was at Gringotts this morning, to work out the contract. Apparently it's the same terms Lucius Malfoy had, and loads of other high-profile wizards.'
'Are you serious? You're bribing her?'
Harry shook his head. 'No, it's not a bribe. I'll just give her stories and interviews, and she'll give me favourable and relatively accurate coverage. That's why the photo and article about the Wizengamot were so flattering.'
'Blimey! I think I finally believe you about the Sorting Hat wanting to put you into Slytherin. You really are a Black now!'
'I probably am,' admitted Harry. 'Andromeda and I are meeting with Narcissa Malfoy tomorrow, here at the house.'
'We definitely dreamt the war—that is just mental.'
'Wait 'til you hear the next step ... I'm going to visit Draco at Malfoy Manor. And I invited some Slytherins to the match today. Zabini, Nott, and Daphne Greengrass. And Lydia, of course—there's no question which house she'd have been sorted into.'
'Don't take this the wrong way, but why? Malfoy's never going to like you.'
'No, but he doesn't need to be an enemy either. Andromeda pointed out that now's the best chance to smooth things over, while I'm still on top. Because we know this isn't going to last.'
'No, probably not,' agreed Ron. 'I can't believe it, but you almost sound like Percy.'
'Ouch! There's no need for insults!' cried Harry, and they both laughed.
'So are you going to change your name?'
'Yeah, most likely. Harry Potter-Black.'
'That's not so bad. Better than Harry Black. Or Harry Slytherin,' he added with a smirk.
'Harry Gaunt,' suggested Harry. 'Or Lestrange.'
'Riddle,' announced Ron. 'Harry Marvolo Riddle.'
'Brilliant! I should go to Gringotts straight away—I'll announce it after the match.'
'Be sure to get Rita involved. She's your best mate now.'
'That's right. You're sacked!'
They talked Quidditch for the rest of the morning, until it was time for Harry to leave for the training grounds. 'Wish me luck,' he said. 'But hold a banner for Janet, because I won't thank you the way she will.'
'She's no French prostitute, that's for certain.'
'I'll tell her you said that. See you later!'
Harry met his teammates at the benches, and the trainers led them through their usual pre-match routine.
'There's rain in the forecast,' announced Gary. 'A real downpour, starting about an hour into the match. But it shouldn't last too long.'
'I'm under strict orders to catch the Snitch quickly today,' said Harry, and the other Cannons ribbed him.
'Are you going to deflower her right there, on the pitch?' asked Janet.
'That seems tacky,' said Owen. 'I recommend somewhere more dignified, like the Wizengamot chamber.'
'But then his ring would show up,' said Titus. 'And he'd have to make a statement. "I, Harry James Potter—OW!—I mean, I, Harry James Black—BUGGER!"'
Janet was laughing and said, '"I, Lord Harry James Black, intend to deflower the living daylights out of Miss Lydia Travers, right here in the Wizengamot chamber where her grandfather tried to shaft me."'
'"So I'll shaft her,"' interjected Darren. '"Repeatedly. To bring wizards together. Or something like that. The end."'
'That's perfect, cheers,' said Harry. 'Could someone write that down?'
After lunch they travelled by Floo to Chudley Stadium, and Lara took pictures when Owen stepped out of the locker room wearing his Seeker robes for the last time. 'It's a shame you won't fly out,' Harry told him. 'You deserve a final round of applause from the fans.'
'I'm not bothered,' said Owen. 'It would be one thing if I were leaving forever to go drive the Knight Bus, but I'll be here same as always next week.'
'I guess so, but it's still the end of an era.'
When the referee scanned Harry for hidden charms and enhancements, Suresh tried making him say his name to see if the ring would punish him again, but it didn't have any effect.
'No, I think it requires the magic of the Wizengamot chamber,' replied Harry. 'Or a large audience or something.'
'So your ring is a drama queen? In that case you'd think it would have better taste.'
The starters flew out and circled the stadium, and as always Harry was announced last and received huge applause. It was a home match, so the stands were a sea of orange, with occasional patches of Wimbourne yellow and black. All the usual banners were there, except with fewer marriage proposals than the previous week, and more blatant propositions.
'Take me now, Harry Potter!' said one banner, which actually made him blush, and he checked to make sure Lydia wasn't holding it. 'You don't need to marry me, Harry,' said another sign bedecked with hearts and flowers.
Several banners were in French, clearly in reference to his trip the previous weekend. 'Allez Potter!' said one, and 'Vive Harry!' said another. He understood those, but another one said, 'Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir, Harry?' which he'd have to ask Hermione about.
He flew closer to the stands than he usually did, in an attempt to see whether Lydia was holding a sign. It took a while to find his cluster of seats, but then he spotted it. 'I'm waiting, Harry. Breathlessly,' said the sign, and it featured a border of red, orange, and yellow roses, which he knew signified passionate thoughts.
Sweet Merlin, he thought, and he felt his mind expand into vast awareness. Let the Snitch appear, came the intention. Avoid Bludgers. And keep your mind on the bloody match, Snitchbottom.
'You seem to have a lot of admirers, Potter,' said Jerome Wither, flying next to him. 'How do you manage to concentrate?'
'Years of experience,' said Harry coolly. 'It's the cross I bear.'
'Last month at Seeker's night out I didn't think you were arrogant, but now I do. Has something changed, or have you just stopped trying to hide it?'
'Both, I reckon. But I didn't get much of an impression of you at all,' replied Harry. 'You were just one of the other Seekers, as far as I was concerned. You're no Phil Routledge, that's for sure.'
'Yes, he's your new best mate, isn't he? What on earth possessed you to wear his jersey in public?'
'They were all out of Andrew Gilstrap's jersey. And they didn't even carry yours.'
'I beat the Cannons twice,' replied Wither. 'You're still a fluke.'
'Five games? I don't think so.'
'Gilstrap doesn't count. And you're just a novelty. Everyone knows you'll get bored by the end of the season and find some other hobby. Something that doesn't interfere with your social life.'
'Quidditch isn't a hobby,' said Harry with a deliberate edge in his voice. 'This is how I get my aggression out, burn off pent up energy.'
'I thought you had a different method for burning off pent up energy.'
'Yes, but she's still a virgin. Not for long though.' Harry felt power rising from his abdomen into his chest.
Wither started to reply but Harry shot into a precipitous feint, which Wither had to follow. The surge of adrenaline fed Harry's sense of physical power, and he momentarily pulled back his sleeve to make sure he wasn't glowing. But this doesn't feel like glowing, he thought. This feels like captured lightning.
He barely heard himself replying to Wither as the match progressed, but he knew he was being appallingly arrogant. Snape was right, he thought, and another delicious thrill ran through him. Wither feinted occasionally, but Harry didn't bother following him—he knew instinctively the Snitch wasn't there.
Time passed, and the sky grew dark with clouds . Harry feinted from time to time, because he knew the fans wanted it. He also unveiled several new manoeuvres, which drew huge cheers, and when he caught his teammates' expressions he saw a mixture of fear and awe. This is power, he thought, and the entire stadium vibrated with it.
Fat droplets of rain began to fall, bouncing sharply off his protective gear. He didn't bother with his hood, which only would have blocked his vision, but instead revelled in the downpour. He knew he couldn't miss the Snitch in this state—his sense of awareness was so acute that he'd have noticed anything he'd set the intention for. May the Snitch appear to me, he repeated.
'Potter, are you always like this?' asked Wither. 'Because you're one serious freak this afternoon.'
Harry felt a prick of anger at the word 'freak,' but it passed through him instantly. 'No, I've never experienced this before,' he admitted. 'I'm sorry you can't. I hope you will.'
Without even intending to, Harry feinted again, past the opposing Beaters and inexplicably towards Janet, who was alone at her rings. He saw her watching him in what felt like slow motion, and when he flew past her he raised his hand to catch the Snitch, which had appeared only a second earlier.
'Potter has the Snitch! Cannons win, 230-50!' cried the announcer, and Harry's perceptions suddenly returned to normal.
'Holy shit, Snitchbottom!' yelled Janet. 'What the hell just happened?'
'I caught the bleeding Snitch!' he cried exuberantly. 'I'm going to deflower a pure-blood princess!'
He and his teammates circled the pitch to deafening applause, in the still heavy rain. Harry flew close to the stands where he'd seen Lydia earlier, and with his perfect vision he caught her eye. 'I did it,' he called, slowing down, and she gazed at him hungrily.
Before she could reply he held up the Snitch again and circled, and then pulled out his wand and pressed it to his throat. 'Sonorus,' he incanted, amplifying his voice, and then he said, 'Owen Barrowmaker, get up here!' The other reserves shoved Owen onto his broomstick, and the starters escorted him around the pitch. 'Owen's our new Seeker coach, and he's absolutely brilliant,' announced Harry before sliding his wand back into its holster.
'That was uncanny,' Owen said to him after they'd circled the stadium. 'How in hell did you find the Snitch? I didn't even see it when you started feinting—not until a moment before you grabbed it.'
'Neither did I,' confessed Harry. 'I honestly don't know what happened, but it was like nothing I've experienced.'
'And that's saying something, considering all the weird shit you've experienced.'
The rain was getting lighter, and by the time they landed it was only drizzling. The rest of Harry's teammates congratulated him, and Tuttle said, 'Nice work, Potter. That'll shut up anyone who says flying's not your priority.'
The two sides shook hands, and Harry apologised profusely when he saw Wither. 'I'm so sorry, that was strictly above-the-pitch behaviour. Feel free to curse me if I act like that on Monday.'
'Bloody hell, Potter, I've played some fucked-up matches but that was spooky. Your girlfriend isn't teaching you the Dark Arts, is she?'
'Definitely not. And sorry again—I hope we can spend time together when I'm not in a weird trance like that.'
'How did you even see the Snitch? I still can't figure out what happened.'
'Neither can I.'
'Harry!' boomed a familiar voice. 'That was absolutely amazing, I've never seen anything like it!'
With a shock of recognition, Harry said, 'Bagman? Er, Mr Bagman?'
'Call me Ludo!' he cried, grabbing Harry's hand and shaking it vigorously. 'Unbelievable flying today, and what a catch! How are you?'
'Er, I'm well. And how are you?'
Bagman's short-cropped hair was more grey than blond, and his mid-section was bigger than before. But his cheeks were still rosy and his eyes bright, and Harry could see he was back to his jovial self. 'I can't complain, not at all,' said Bagman. 'Life has been good to me, and things are always interesting. And you in particular, my boy ... talk about some big changes this summer! Next time give me some advance warning before you jump tracks, ha ha!'
'Right,' said Harry weakly, recalling that Bagman now made a living as a bookmaker.
'I should buy you dinner,' continued Bagman, 'after you earned me a sack of Galleons with that pocket square switcheroo. I knew you hadn't given up on flowers, not with your sponsorship, but nobody thought you'd be photographed wearing them the very next day. I cleaned up on that one, no mistake.'
People really placed bets on how soon I'd wear flowers again? thought Harry. Wizards really need more celebrities.
'I've enjoyed getting to know Tuttle since I joined the Cannons,' he said. 'She's a brilliant coach.'
'Good old Margie! She really had my number, no doubt about it. Has she tried the old Aguamenti on you yet? Ha ha!'
'No, it hasn't been necessary.'
'Not even Tuesday morning?' persisted Bagman. 'I'm just having a laugh … now's the time, Potter. What I wouldn't give to be nineteen again!' He lowered his voice and said, 'Have you deflowered that pure-blood yet? And can you give me an inside track ... are you going to announce it Tuesday night on the radio, or before then?'
'Er,' hesitated Harry.
'Bagman, get away from him right now!' barked Tuttle. 'Don't you go ruining my Seeker—he's enough trouble already.'
'Margie, we were just talking about old times. Those were the days, weren't they Harry?'
'You mean when Cedric died?'
'No, no, besides that. You and that Horntail ... I should have placed a long wager then and there that you'd be a league Seeker someday. Though of course we didn't know back then whether you'd survive You-Know-Who, ha ha!'
'Were there bets on that?' he asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.
'Were there ever!' boomed Bagman. 'I was at the Surly Bowtruckle that night, and when the news hit that you died I thought my goose was cooked—I was ready to scarper. But then it turned out you were alive and You-Know-Who was gone, and let's just say I owe you another dinner.'
'Er, I'm glad I could help,' said Harry, trying to get away.
'Potter, go talk to the reporters,' ordered Tuttle. 'Now.'
Harry was glad to leave, and he spoke with reporters for a while. 'Is Miss Travers here at the match?' asked a reporter from Witch Weekly.
Since when does Witch Weekly cover Quidditch matches? he wondered. Normally he would have dodged the question, but knowing Lydia's desire for publicity he said, 'Yes, I expect her on the pitch presently, and we're going out later.'
'How do you think your parents would feel if they knew you were dating someone from a Dark family?' she asked.
'I have no idea how my parents would feel—I can't remember them. But Lydia can't help what family she was born into, so I won't hold it against her. She certainly hasn't held my Blood Status against me.'
'There she is,' cried another reporter.
It's showtime, he thought, and he walked towards her. 'Oh, Harry, you were marvellous,' exclaimed Lydia as she approached. Her hair was wet, and so was the shirt she was wearing—midnight blue with Harry's lightning-bolt emblem—and it clung to her.
He caught her in an embrace, and as promised he began kissing her passionately. Her hands dug under his robes and began pulling apart the laces at his breastbone, and he allowed his hands to slide under the back of her shirt. During a brief pause between kisses, she whispered, 'Yes, perfect, keep it up,' and her hands grasped the sides of his hips before they kissed again.
Cameras snapped, and he finally pulled away from her and saw that they were surrounded not only by photographers but also most of his teammates and friends. 'Get a room!' shouted Janet, before pulling Ron into a similar embrace, and Hermione and Ryan smirked at each other before following suit.
Harry ran his hand through his wet hair and took stock of the situation. Lydia looked unbelievably sexy, and he noticed an orange lily in her dripping hair. He reached to touch it and tenderly moved a wet lock behind her ear. 'What does orange mean?' he murmured.
'I burn for you,' she said, before kissing him again.
'Is the lily for Harry's mother?' asked the reporter from Witch Weekly. 'She was Muggle-born, you know.'
'Yes, but she had the most beautiful eyes,' said Lydia, looking meaningfully at Harry. 'And she couldn't help who her parents were, any more than I can.'
'Have you been disinherited?' asked another reporter.
'I don't care,' said Lydia.
'I should probably talk to my other friends,' said Harry, who was mindful of his mates' amused expressions. He left her with the reporters and talked first with Neville and Hannah, along with a group of Hufflepuffs: Susan Bones, Ernie Macmillan, and Justin Finch-Fletchley. 'I'm glad you could make it,' he told them, 'and sorry about the sideshow. Lydia's trying to break from her family and this is the quickest way.'
'My hat's off to you,' said Ernie, 'and old Travers deserves it for voting against you on Wednesday.'
'Oh right, you're related to one of the lords, aren't you? Sorry about all that.'
'No you're not,' said Ernie. 'But don't worry about it—lordships are bollocks, and I wasn't in line for it anyway.'
Next he was greeted by the Slytherins. 'Good show, old chap!' exclaimed Blaise. 'That was quite a match!'
Good show, old chap? repeated Harry internally. Who even talks like that anymore? 'I'm glad you could make it,' he said. 'I can't say I ever expected to invite a bunch of Slytherins to a match, but times have changed—for the better, I think.'
'They've certainly changed,' said Daphne. 'And you've been more than gracious, particularly this past week, when you didn't antagonise Draco even once on the radio. Did they ward the booth to make you forget about him?'
'No, that was genuine. I sincerely regret sending my Patronus to him, and it won't happen again.'
'Fair enough. You've only just become a Black, and we can't expect good breeding to happen overnight,' she said breezily. 'So when are you changing your name? I daresay even I'd be permitted to marry you now, but I've no interest in waiting two years.'
'That was absolute genius,' said Blaise, 'telling everyone you'd been forbidden from proposing until you're twenty-one. Draco was appalled, of course—he's convinced you made it up.'
'I swear on Dumbledore's tomb, it's the absolute truth. I'm just not saying who required it of me, to protect their privacy.'
'Oh, it was Helena Strauss,' said Daphne. 'I suppose that makes sense. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone.'
'And Theo, how are you doing?' asked Harry. 'I'm pleased you could come.'
'Thanks for inviting me,' he said. 'And also for seating us with your intriguing new friend.'
'Had you met her before?'
'Of course,' said Daphne. 'Perhaps not Blaise, but Theo and I had. I must say, I never expected her to rebel so thoroughly, but she's clearly sincere—and shockingly public about it.'
'Did she try to convince you to do the same?' asked Harry.
'Merlin, no. I don't think she wants the competition—if this sort of thing happens too frequently it loses its novelty. And of course my family is neutral, not Dark.'
'Yes, and I should thank your mother for voting in my favour on Wednesday.'
'She couldn't have cared less about your complaint, but she knew how foolish the lords would look for crossing you, and of course she was right. There's a reason we've lasted this long.'
'Actually I'd like your opinion, all three of you,' said Harry. 'I'm serious about bringing young witches and wizards together, and ideally preventing the next war. But do you think there's any point, or would I just be making an arse of myself?'
'You mean reaching out to people from Dark families? And not just aspiring blood-traitors like Miss Travers?' asked Daphne.
Harry nodded, and Blaise said, 'I doubt you'll succeed with the truly Dark families, like the Lestranges or the Rosiers.'
'What about the Notts?' suggested Harry. 'Or the Blacks, for that matter?'
Theo laughed. 'I'm game, but of course I've been disowned. It's official, my cousin is Head of House now.'
'I'm sorry,' said Harry, realising Theo's father must have died in Azkaban. 'My condolences.'
'Thank you,' said Theo. 'But I appreciate friendship more, and you've offered that.'
'I meant it,' replied Harry. 'We've all lost too many friends.'
'Yes, yes,' said Blaise dismissively. 'But back to your question, and I know where you're going with it. What about Draco? Can Potter and Malfoy ever be friends? That's still your surname, right? No matter ... and honestly I have no idea. Daphne, what do you think?'
'You'll have to come crawling,' she said.
'That's not going to happen,' said Harry. 'But I'll be friendly, and sincere.'
'I say try it,' said Theo. 'I hear you've invited Narcissa over.'
'Yes, tomorrow.'
'Will Lydia be there, in a negligée?' asked Daphne.
'No, I'll send her away before then.'
'That seems wise. But Theo's right, there's no harm in trying. Literally there's no harm—Draco doesn't even have a good wand yet.'
Harry recalled how he'd disarmed Draco during the war, and he knew Ollivander wouldn't sell him one after he'd been captive at Malfoy Manor for nearly two years. 'I still have his hawthorn wand, but I doubt it would work for him anymore.'
'You could try,' said Daphne. 'That's probably your best hope.'
'Noted,' replied Harry. 'Well, I should be going.'
'Indeed you should,' said Blaise approvingly. 'Mustn't keep Miss Travers waiting!'
Harry joined Lydia just as the reporters were leaving. 'I'll only be a little while longer,' he told her. 'I need to hear the match notes from our coach, and then shower. But we can go to my house after that.'
'Couldn't you shower at home?' she asked. 'I can help.'
'If I get into a shower with you, we won't leave the house again tonight, and I know you want to be seen together.'
'Fine,' she said petulantly. 'But don't keep me waiting much longer. You saw my banner, right?'
'Yes, and I nearly fell off my broomstick.'
He ran to the lockers, and Tuttle's notes were mercifully brief. 'We mustn't keep Potter,' she said archly. 'He has an important task ahead of him.'
Ignoring everyone's ribbing, Harry dashed to the showers and was back on the pitch in record time. 'Do you need to change clothes?' he asked Lydia, looking at her damp t-shirt. 'You look fantastic, of course, but I assume you don't want to be photographed all over England like that.'
'No, bring me to your house,' she said, taking his hand, and he turned on his heel. This time he brought her straight to the bedroom, and they took things to the next level, but he didn't let her remove her blue jeans—or his trousers, for that matter. 'Have you ever worn jeans before?' he asked.
'No, I bought them this morning, at a Muggle shop. What do you think?'
'They're brilliant. But I can see why they're unsuitable for someone who's expected to remain a virgin until marriage—your suitors would go mad.'
She lay on the bed and asked, 'So where are you taking me today? You said all over, right?'
'Yes, and I need your help deciding where.' He used his wand to Summon the envelope of letters and said, 'Every tailor in Britain wants to sell me robes, and I ought to oblige at least a few of them. Can you tell me which ones I should avoid?'
She started leafing through the letters. 'You mean which ones just want a sample of your hair for nefarious purposes?'
'Exactly.'
'Let's see ... definitely avoid Twilfitt and Tattings. And Grisworth's. And for Merlin's sake, don't go anywhere near Pendermere's—that's where my brother-in-law shops. But the rest should be fine.'
They selected three shops, including the one in Manchester, and Harry sent Kreacher ahead to let them know he'd be visiting but didn't require a private fitting. 'We mustn't arrive right away,' she insisted, pulling Harry back to the bed, and twenty minutes later she changed into elegant daytime robes and they left.
'Mr Potter,' said the proprietor of the first shop. 'I'm honoured to serve you. Please, allow me to show you what I have in mind.' He led them to a dressing area in the back and Summoned a rack of robes. 'I haven't sold these to the public yet, and I wouldn't sell the same colours to anyone else. If you'll look at these fabric samples, I could use charms to approximate the final result.'
Throughout all this, a measuring tape was recording Harry's various dimensions, and Lydia looked appraisingly through the robes. 'Absolutely not,' she said in response to the first set. 'But these aren't bad. And these could work with a different lapel.'
Harry shot the tailor an apologetic glance, but he seemed unperturbed. 'Yes miss, you're absolutely right. A notch lapel would be much more suitable.'
'Actually, could you add a loop behind the lapel, for the bottom of my boutonnière?' asked Harry. 'I don't like charming them in place, for fear of damaging the fabric.'
'Yes, of course, Mr Potter. That's an excellent suggestion.'
Lydia selected colour combinations Harry wouldn't have anticipated, but he had to admit they were impeccable. 'You're good at this,' he said.
'I was raised to be the wife of a man who does nothing but buy robes. Of course I'm good at this.'
After the fitting was complete, Harry paid for the robes, and he was surprised by how reasonable they were without any markup. No wonder Thimble likes me, after everything I spent there.
They went to the second tailor and selected three more, which were quite different from the others he'd seen. Lydia's taste was daring, which Harry appreciated, and he knew he'd raise more eyebrows.
'You should really wear gloves,' she said. 'They'd complete the look.'
'I assume your father and brother-in-law wear gloves?' he asked.
'Yes, of course.'
'And why do they wear gloves?'
She thought for a moment before blushing slightly. 'To avoid touching Muggle-borns.'
He turned to the tailor, who was waiting for his decision, pen in hand. 'No gloves,' said Harry.
'Very good, Mr Potter.'
The third tailor was in Manchester, in the same complex where Harry and Laetitia had eaten dinner several weeks earlier. 'There's a good restaurant here,' he told Lydia. 'Would you like to eat there later?'
'This is where you and that black witch were photographed, right?'
'Laetitia, yes.'
'She was very pretty. Are you really just friends?'
'Yes, really. She already has a fiancé. A Muggle, in fact.'
Lydia looked shocked. 'Why would she marry a Muggle? Surely she has options.'
'They fell in love. And I've met him—he's brilliant. We were all in Paris together last weekend.'
'Thank Merlin I'm not that romantic,' she said. 'But yes, the restaurant looked lovely. Can we have a table in the middle this time?'
'I'm certain that can be arranged,' he said, and they walked over.
'Mr Potter, good afternoon,' said the host. 'Would you and your companion like a table?'
'Not right now,' said Harry, 'but perhaps at half six, if you've something available.'
'Of course,' said the host, opening the reservation book.
'Could we have that table?' asked Lydia, pointing at a well-lit table on a platform.
'I'd be delighted to reserve it for you,' said the host, inscribing Harry's name in his book. 'Am I to assume you'd like publicity?'
'Yes,' said Lydia. 'Can you arrange that as well?'
'Gladly. We benefitted greatly from Mr Potter's last visit.' He turned to Harry and said, 'May we offer you dinner on the house?'
'No, that won't be necessary. But thank you.'
As they walked away, Lydia said, 'I can't decide whether or not that was middle-class of you, turning down a free meal.'
'If I did it, then it was definitely middle-class,' he said. 'What would you have done?'
'I'd have accepted it. As a Travers I deserve special treatment.'
'You're about to be disowned,' he pointed out.
'I'll be better than a Travers once I'm disowned,' she said. 'I'll have all the mystique but none of the constraints.'
'Yes, my friend Hermione suggested you start a salon. Not a hair salon, of course—the kind French hostesses used to have.'
'She is clever,' exclaimed Lydia, with a hint of surprise. 'That's exactly what I'm planning on doing. I'll have my own flat and invite whomever I like.'
He decided to challenge her. 'Would you invite someone like Hermione?'
'I wore a lily in my hair today,' she said indignantly. 'I thought you'd understand my meaning.'
'I understood the reference, of course, but I didn't realise you were making a larger statement.'
'Of course I was. Your friend Daphne caught it right away.'
Harry shook his head in amazement. 'I don't think I'll ever understand your kind.'
'No, probably not.'
They entered the third tailors' shop, Plackett and Goodbody, and Lester Goodbody greeted them warmly. 'I'm so glad you accepted my offer, Mr Potter.'
'You're right, people do seem to expect me to have a larger than normal wardrobe. My mates gave me a hard time for wearing the same robes so quickly.'
'That's the problem with wearing anything distinctive,' said Goodbody. 'If you wore ordinary black robes all the time, nobody would even notice. But you've broken the mould.'
Harry and Lydia were both impressed by the robes he showed them, and she talked him into to buying a fourth set, even though he'd have to pay more than cost. 'It's still a good price,' she argued. 'And this dark houndstooth will be perfect for autumn and winter.'
'Whatever you say,' he replied, stealing a kiss. 'You'll have to look through my shoes and tell me if I'm missing anything. But if you tell me to get a raised shoe, I'll push you through the fireplace and not ruin you.'
She giggled. 'My brother-in-law wears a raised shoe. He's naturally five-foot nine, but he wants to be six feet.'
Harry scowled and said, 'I'm five-foot seven, and I don't wear a bloody raised shoe.'
'You don't need to be tall,' she replied. 'Only small wizards do.'
After he paid for the robes, they returned to Grimmauld Place to change into their evening clothes. 'I've been seen in all of these,' he said, showing her his wardrobe. 'But feel free to choose.'
She selected his green-trimmed robes. 'You've never been photographed in these. I know you wore them to your party, with lilies of the valley, but I haven't seen them before.'
'Is it all right that I wore them on Monday? With another witch?'
'Yes. But which flowers should I wear?' she asked, looking through the vase on his bedroom table.
He smiled wickedly. 'Freesia.'
'Innocence ... and tomorrow?'
'Anything but freesia.'
She chose a small white orchid for him, and they travelled by Floo to the restaurant. As promised, a reporter and photographer were there, and they posed together in the courtyard. She couldn't be more different to Helena, he thought. I don't see myself falling in love with her, but she's certainly interesting.
Without discussing it they both ate lightly, even though Harry had flown a match that afternoon. Kreacher can make us something later, he thought with anticipation. After sharing a tarte Tatin, which was almost as good as what he'd eaten in Paris, they returned to Grimmauld Place by Floo and raced up the stairs to his bedroom. He insisted on taking things slowly, which she grumbled about but later appreciated, and afterwards she lay in his arms, content.
'So now I'm ruined,' she announced. 'Could you send your Patronus to my parents?'
'I'll do no such thing.'
'What about to my uncle in Azkaban? Or to the Prophet?'
'Were you so miserable as a pure-blood princess that you can't wait until morning?'
'Yes. You can't imagine how awful it was, being trapped like that.'
He didn't bother correcting her, and he supposed being trapped with the Dursleys wasn't quite the same. 'Poor Lydia,' he said, stroking her gently. 'So many suitors, so little sex.'
She swatted him and said, 'It wasn't about the sex. Well, maybe a little. It was about seeing an entire world, and only being allowed to occupy one tiny corner of it. A nice corner, admittedly, but a tiny one. And since the war ended, people like you are having so much fun, but I wasn't permitted to join in.' She pouted and said, 'When I read about your party, I knew I'd never be able to attend anything like it. That's when I made up my mind.'
'And when did you decide I was to be the lucky wizard?'
'After Vanessa told me what happened. It all fell into place after that. The only remaining question was how to meet you, but your radio broadcast solved that problem.'
'And here I thought I was just setting the record straight, and helping Lee and George launch their radio empire.'
'No, and you have to keep doing it. It's brilliant—that was the perfect way to contradict Rita Skeeter.'
'Actually, I have a new way to handle Rita,' he said, and he told her about the contract he'd signed.
'You are clever! My father laughed at you for not knowing how to handle her.' She was quiet a moment and said, 'Do you think she'd write about me, under your agreement?'
'I don't know. Technically it doesn't cover you, but I suspect she'd be willing to tell the truth, since you have such a good story. But you should probably get your own contract as well.'
'That's a good point, yes. The last thing I need is Rita Skeeter tearing me apart. Can we owl her tomorrow?'
'Yes,' he replied. 'But now I need something to eat. And then we need to digest. And after that, we should really verify that you're completely ruined. It would be a shame not to do the job right.'
He ordered a light meal from Kreacher, and when it arrived she noticed at once that the trays weren't silver. 'I really am ruined,' she said, 'eating off pewter like some half-blood.'
'Welcome to your new life,' he said, and she smiled slyly.
'Believe me, Harry, I'm delighted to be here.'
