Harry had grown accustomed to waking up with Lydia, and he knew he'd miss her after she moved out. But not the way she steals the covers, he thought. And how is it even possible to hog a bed this large?
But when he looked at her that morning, her head on his pillow, he was overcome with gratitude. She'd made Grimmauld Place feel more like a home than ever, with small touches he hadn't known were lacking. His bedroom now had decorative pillows that matched the peacock feather wallpaper, and which they had to remove before they used the bed. And she'd draped an impossibly soft blanket over the back of his favourite sofa in the sitting room. She'd also gone to the Prophet and politely demanded all the photographs they had of his parents, which she assembled in a large picture frame and hung over the stairs, in one of the spots formerly occupied by a decapitated house-elf.
I'll feel her presence even after she's gone, he thought affectionately, but he resolved not to be too broody when the time came. She's brilliant, but she's hardly the only witch in England.
Lydia's eyes slowly opened, and her lips curled into a smile when she saw Harry looking at her. 'This is the best possible way to wake up,' she said, snuggling closer to him.
'You mean pushed right up to me, to the point where I'm liable to fall off the bed?'
'Exactly. But you make it sound like I did it maliciously.'
'Of course you did it maliciously—you're a Slytherin.'
'How can you say that?' she said indignantly. 'After I comforted you last night.'
'Did you? I can't remember.'
'Of course I did. You woke us both before dawn, kicking and moaning. You'd had a nightmare, and you told me about it, although it was hard to follow. And I held you for a long time and stroked your hair until you fell asleep again.'
'You did all that for me, and I don't remember it? I feel like such an ingrate.'
'I'm glad you don't remember. Does that mean you slept all right?'
'Yes, I feel great. And I apologise for accusing you of crowding me, though you'll notice you have all the covers.'
'Of course I do,' she said. 'They like me better. I gave them pillow companions, and now they're showing their gratitude.'
To Harry's surprise, Kreacher allowed him to cook breakfast that morning. The two elves were busy preparing hors d'oeuvres for the party, and Kreacher didn't want Kammy to out-produce him, so he permitted Master to prepare his own breakfast in exchange for a good hearty punishment on Monday. Lydia watched in fascination as Harry sliced mushrooms and tomatoes, prepared toast, and fried eggs and sausage without using his wand even once.
'What would your family think if they saw this?' he asked slyly. It had become a running joke for Harry to ask her that.
'They'd say you were no better than a Muggle and deserved to have your wand snapped.'
'Too late—my wand was already snapped,' he said, 'or broken, rather. And I snapped the Elder Wand as well.'
'My grandfather was outraged when he learnt you'd destroyed a Deathly Hallow, although my father grudgingly admitted it meant nobody would try coming after you for it. Do you still have the pieces?'
'Yes, in the Mokeskin pouch I carried during the war. I should probably donate it to the Museum of Broken Wands, to prove I really destroyed it.'
Harry felt triumphant when Lydia proclaimed him a good cook, and she promised to mention it in casual conversation as often as possible. 'I'm meeting with the interior designer again today and she's a terrible gossip, so I'll tell her about it. Is there anything else she should know?'
'That we're going to the cinema tonight with a werewolf,' replied Harry.
'What?' exclaimed Lydia. 'You never told me your tutor was a werewolf!'
'He's FLOOF-compliant, and it's perfectly safe. I promise, he won't hurt you.'
'But last night was the full moon! He might still be wolfish.'
'He'll just be tired,' said Harry. 'I saw Remus loads of times after the full moon and there's nothing to worry about.'
'All right,' said Lydia cautiously. 'But I'll want you next to me the entire time.'
He left for practice early as usual and dropped in on Mrs Thwip. 'All of the teams have sent their guest lists,' she told him.
'Brilliant,' said Harry, taking them from her. 'How's the post been this week?'
'Fewer Howlers than at the beginning of the week, but quadruple the normal amount of non-matrimonial propositions. Are you certain you don't want to review them?'
'Yes, go ahead and Vanish them. Was there any werewolf-related hate mail?'
'Some, but you received far more letters of thanks. Would you care to respond personally to any of them?'
'Only the ones from children.' He paused before asking, 'What about letters regarding abuse?'
'Three new ones,' she said, 'and twelve replies from last week.' She handed him two envelopes.
He looked over the replies and was touched by how people had appreciated the letters he'd written. But the new letters were just as heartbreaking as the previous week's had been. This is a part of my life now, he thought sadly, although he was grateful for the opportunity to help.
His teammates were full of excitement about the party, and none more than Gemma. She kept talking about it during their practice match that afternoon. 'I'm bringing my mate Caroline,' she gushed. 'I know I'm supposed to bring a wizard, but she's such a good friend and I knew you wouldn't mind having one more witch instead.'
'Will she be coming early to dinner?' asked Harry.
'She'd love to, but it's her sister's birthday and they're having dinner together, so she'll arrive when the party starts. But I told her to meet me next to your godfather's portrait, like you said.'
'Good, otherwise you mightn't find each other. Is she a Quidditch fan?'
'She's mad for Pride of Portree, but of course she'll start rooting for the Cannons as well. She'll be at the match on Saturday, along with my mum.'
'Do you only get two tickets?'
'Yes—two for away matches and six for home. Unless I become a Starter, but that hardly seems likely.'
'You never know,' said Harry. 'We're even for catching the Snitch in practice.'
'Practice matches maybe, but certainly not with the Launcher or a Snitch. You're a thousand times better at spotting than I am.'
Harry knew that their in-match conversations would change dramatically the following week, and he wasn't looking forward to it. How will I taunt her? he asked himself, and he didn't like any of the ideas he had. She'd already revealed some insecurities, mostly relating to feeling like an outsider in wizarding society.
'I still can't believe I'll be attending your party,' she confessed. 'Between Rita Skeeter's article and what Lee and George said on the radio, it sounded fantastic. I wasn't shocked by the sex, of course—I've been to Muggle parties—but I'm sure I've never seen anything like your townhouse, let alone gone to a party there.'
'Er, I should warn you about the tapestry,' he said.
'The Black family tapestry? I heard you're not on it.'
'I wasn't, but Ryan's mum found a spell to repair it, and now I am.'
'Cool! Though I'm surprised it didn't catch fire when it had to display "Harry Potter."'
'That's the thing ... it doesn't say Potter. It says my name's Harry Black.'
'Blimey! Is that why you've hinted at changing your name?'
'Partly, but mostly to help reinvent the Blacks as a Light family. But I promised Narcissa Malfoy I'd wait until the thing with Lydia blows over.'
'Harry Black,' she repeated. 'I suppose that might sound posh to most wizards, but it sounds pretty ordinary to me.'
'I know, me too. But I don't want to give up my father's name, so I'm planning to change it to Harry Potter-Black. With a hyphen.'
Gemma laughed and said, 'Are you going to start using the title as well? With a name like Lord Potter-Black you could attend the Royal Ascot.'
'Lordships are bollocks,' said Harry. 'And yes, I know it sounds pretentious to anyone with a Muggle background, but it doesn't sound that way to wizards. And my friend Laetitia pointed out that loads of Muggles hyphenate now, and in a generation it won't sound posh anymore.'
'She's probably right,' said Gemma. 'But I'll still take the piss, you great bloody toff. Have you decided which robes you're wearing tomorrow night? I can send Caroline to a bookmaker—we'll make a killing.'
'That's against team rules,' said Harry stiffly. 'And half our teammates already asked me for inside information.'
'Believe me, I'm not going to jeopardise my job by making seedy wagers.'
'I knew you were joking,' he said. 'I'm probably going to wear dark green robes, which Lydia helped pick out last Sunday. The necktie is black, with a faint silver pattern, and a white jasmine boutonnière. And I'm perfectly aware that wartime Harry would have fallen over laughing if he'd heard me talking like this.'
'Wartime Gemma would have thought she was hallucinating,' she replied.
Harry feinted occasionally, and Gemma glued herself to him. But the Snitch hadn't appeared yet, so they kept talking.
'Why were you working at a Muggle restaurant? I understand why you did during the war, but why didn't you find a wizarding job after you finished school.'
'I tried,' she said. "But the Ministry was hopeless—as far as they were concerned I was an uneducated hedge witch.'
'Because you attended East Kettleton?' he asked, and she nodded. 'But hang on, doesn't Elizabeth work in the Floo department?'
'Yes, because her grandfather works there. You have to know someone to get a job at the Ministry, except for the Auror training programme, which I didn't have the N.E.W.T.s for.'
'Neither did I.'
'Right, but I'd say you earned your spot regardless.'
'I was actually a fairly crap Auror, or I would have been if I hadn't quit. I'm starting to realise my strengths were uniquely matched to fighting Voldemort, and not Dark wizards in general.'
'Do you think so? It sounds like you could be really dangerous, with Light magic.'
Harry sighed. 'I don't want to be a soldier my entire life, and I never want to kill anyone again. I'd rather prevent the next war instead.'
He launched into an aggressive feint with Gemma in tow, and he zig-zagged several times to keep things interesting. They disrupted the Chasers and forced a turnover before returning to a circling pattern.
'You're a seriously fun opponent, Snitchbottom,' she said. 'Is it all right if I call you that?'
'Of course, all the Cannons do.'
'Blimey, I'm a Cannon. I still can't believe it.'
'Believe it,' he said. 'But getting back to my earlier question ... I understand why you didn't work for the Ministry, but why not some other wizarding job?'
'Simple—Muggle waitressing pays better. I already had waitressing experience from the final year of the war, but now I could use magic as well.'
'You used magic as a waitress?' asked Harry, surprised.
'In little ways, yeah. For one thing I could Apparate there, which meant I could work at a posh restaurant instead of just somewhere I could get to easily from home. And I used magic to balance my trays, or to Vanish an ingredient from a dish if the kitchen ignored a special request.' Smirking, she added, 'And I may or may not have performed Cheering Charms on pain-in-the-arse customers.'
Harry laughed. 'I'm outraged that you cast charms on unwitting Muggles for personal gain! I'm going to tell Kingsley Shacklebolt as soon as this match is over.'
''You're joking, right?' she asked nervously.
'Of course I'm joking. And Kingsley would probably think it was hilarious. The Auror Department isn't worried about wizards trying to cheer up Muggles.'
Their attention was suddenly grabbed by a loud yell and a commotion, and Tuttle blew her whistle. Harry and Gemma flew to the ground but stayed back, not wanting to get in the way.
'Gary's been injured,' said Owen. 'Bludger strike.'
Healer MacAlister rushed to Gary's side and performed diagnostic charms. He was thorough, and after a minute he said, 'Three cracked ribs, and bruising. He'll miss tomorrow's match but should be fine by Monday.' The Healer immobilised Gary and levitated him to the building.
'On your brooms,' barked Tuttle, and she ordered one of the trainers to take Gary's place.
When they were back in the air, Gemma asked, 'Is that a common occurrence?'
'No. Since I joined the Cannons, the only Bludger strike has been the Snitchbottom incident. And the only substitution was when I was ejected.'
It was another half-hour before the Snitch appeared, and Harry caught it. 'I should have known yesterday was a fluke,' grumbled Gemma.
'It wasn't a fluke,' said Harry. 'It's just I'm never going to fall again for that trick you pulled.' Gemma had flown next to Harry the day before, and just as he was about to win she squawked like a parakeet, which distracted him long enough for her to grab the Snitch. 'I still can't believe that wasn't a foul,' he added.
'Neither can I,' she admitted. 'But it was either that or losing, so I figured it was worth the risk.'
After Tuttle's notes, Harry showered and went to Gringotts, where he gave Tarnog the list of guests to temporarily add to the Floo wards. Several goblins would arrive the following morning to prepare the house for the party, including delivering the charmed goblets and adding wards against harmful curses.
Lydia was still out when Harry got home, so he spent a while responding to fan mail, starting with responses to all the people in abusive situations. He was particularly cheered by the letter from Celia, the sixteen-year-old Squib:
I'm writing from my new home, which is technically an orphanage but we refer to it as a group home. Most of the other kids are Squibs like me, although there are a few magical orphans as well. I don't have my own room but that's fine because my roommate Portia and I are already great friends—she's fifteen and ran away for the same reason I did.
Everyone here was massively impressed that I received a long letter from you—I hope you don't mind that I showed the other Squibs what you wrote. I Spellotaped your signed photograph above my desk, and you occasionally wave to Portia's poster of Ryan Bellamy on the opposite wall.
Harry spent the better part of an hour writing letters until Lydia came home. 'I bought you a present,' she said after greeting him with a long kiss.
'Another present? Lydia, you mustn't squander your inheritance.'
'Believe me, there's plenty—and the only reason I have an inheritance is because of you.' She handed him a small wrapped parcel with a ribbon around it. 'It's stationery,' she said, before he finished unwrapping it, 'and I only bought you one box, in case you change your name.'
'Thank you, I love it,' he said sincerely. The note paper was simple and masculine, with the initials 'HJP' printed on top. It was much nicer than Uncle Vernon's stationery, which said 'From the desk of Vernon R. Dursley' and had a drawing of a drill.
'Look at the watermark,' she said, and he held the paper to the light.
'It's Prongs!' he exclaimed. 'Thank you, that was incredibly thoughtful.'
'I can assure you, it was entirely selfish. After I move out next week we'll be exchanging more letters, and I can't abide your old stationery.'
'I invited you to our first date by letter,' he reminded her.
'Yes, and I had second thoughts when I saw your stationery. But then I recalled your upbringing and decided not to hold it against you.'
Simon was to arrive shortly for dinner, so they both changed into Muggle clothing, and Harry insisted on wearing his flowered shirt. 'Nobody will give me a second glance,' he assured her.
'That's good,' she said, 'because you're all mine.'
They greeted Simon in the formal reception hall, with Lydia standing nervously to the back. 'Good evening, Harry,' he said, emerging from the fireplace. 'And you must be Miss Travers.'
Lydia squeaked in reply, and Harry laughed. 'You'll have to excuse Lydia—she once had a bad experience with a werewolf.'
'I understand completely, Miss Travers. I too had a bad experience with a werewolf, so I won't be offended if you're more comfortable keeping your distance.'
She nodded appreciatively and took Harry's hand, and they walked together to the dining room. Simon had deep circles under his eyes but seemed all right otherwise. 'What did you think of the records I sent over?' he asked.
'They're fantastic,' replied Harry, and then he told Simon what they'd liked best.
'Interesting,' said Simon. 'Harry, you prefer sixties and seventies rock, including glam and early new wave. And Miss Travers favours the eighties, and pop in general. I'm sorry I couldn't provide more nineties music, but a lot of it's only on cassette and compact disc.'
'That's bad news for wizards,' observed Harry. 'Particularly for those of us in houses without electricity.'
'Yes. Unless someone Confunds the Muggle public into demanding vinyl records again, wizards are going to be out of luck. Muggles certainly won't want them otherwise—not without anti-scratch charms and the like. Did you have a chance to look at any of the books?'
'Unfortunately no,' said Harry. 'But I'll have more free time after Lydia moves out next week.' Internally he added, I hope that didn't sound like 'Sorry, I've been too busy shagging my girlfriend.'
Lydia said, 'I've started reading Pride and Prejudice. There's even a character called Lydia, but unfortunately she's not the heroine. And there's a dashing soldier named Wickham who reminds me of Harry, since he was ill-treated by the people who were supposed to look after him. I hope Lizzie gets together with him, even though neither of them has any gold. Mr Darcy sounds ghastly though—he reminds me of my brother-in-law Charles.'
'You should keep reading,' said Simon, revealing no more.
Over dinner, which was steak again, Simon told them about the film they were going to see. 'It's called "Rear Window," and it was made by a British director called Alfred Hitchcock, though all the actors are American.' He told them about Hitchcock and the lead actors, and Lydia was astonished that the leading lady eventually married a European prince.
'A prince married an American actress?' she exclaimed. 'His family must have been furious.'
'I'm pretty sure they weren't,' said Simon. 'You'll understand why.'
After eating, they Apparated from Harry's back garden to an alley near the cinema. 'I can't wait to tell Esme about this,' Lydia told Harry after he bought their tickets. 'If we start talking again, that is,' she added sadly.
'I'm sure you'll start talking again. You said she'll want to attend your salon, right?'
'Eventually,' she sighed. 'But I'm afraid Charles will try to talk her out of it.'
'Then invite her over in secret. Won't she want to see your new flat?'
'She'll be terribly envious,' said Lydia wickedly. 'Charles's mother insisted they use old furniture that belonged to the Selwyns, and it's not nearly as smart as what I've ordered.'
Harry was eager to buy popcorn. 'I only went to the cinema once during my whole childhood with the Dursleys—Dudley wanted to see "Home Alone" and nobody was available to mind me. My uncle wouldn't buy me popcorn or any sweets, even though they'd bought nearly all of them for Dudley, and I nearly went mad with craving.'
'But you can't eat popcorn tonight,' said Lydia. 'You're not allowed to eat outside food before a match.'
'Blast! You're right.' He stood there frowning until he thought of a possible solution. Kreacher! he called wordlessly.
Yes, Master! replied the house-elf in his mind.
Kreacher, I'm at a Muggle cinema, and I'd like to eat popcorn, but I can't because I've a match tomorrow. If I buy a bag of popcorn here and then go to my seat, can you replace the contents of the bag with popcorn you prepare at home?
Yes, Master, with pleasure! What is popcorn?
Harry briefly considered explaining to Kreacher how to make popcorn, but he'd only seen it done once, when Hermione had cooked it in the tent. Thanks, Kreacher ... don't worry about it. Forget I asked.
The house-elf began to wail. Kreacher has failed Master. Kreacher doesn't know what popcorn is. Does Master want to punish Kreacher by forcing him to ask the Kammy how to make popcorn?
No, Kreacher. I'm certain Kammy won't know how to make it either. We can ask Hermione to teach us. And I'm very proud of you for asking about popcorn when you didn't know what it was.
Master is proud of Kreacher! cried the elf, causing Harry to flinch. Kreacher is far superior to the Kammy!
Good night, Kreacher, thought Harry. You may go now.
Harry felt the familiar pop in his mind when Kreacher vanished. 'Lydia, it turns out Kreacher doesn't know how to make popcorn, so I can't have any, but you should try it.'
'Of course I won't! I'll try one of the sweets instead.' Harry pointed out some of his favourites, and Lydia promised to keep them out of reach.
Harry sat between Simon and Lydia, and he draped his arm over her shoulder. 'I'm glad you've put your arm around me,' she said, 'because the other girls are envious—see how they're looking at you? Their boyfriends are wearing t-shirts and trainers, but you're confident enough to wear flowers.'
'In fairness, their boyfriends are taller than I am and have hair that lies flat. And that bloke over there looks like he could be a model.'
'I don't care,' she replied. 'You're perfect and I wouldn't change anything about you.'
I could get used to this kind of praise, he thought contentedly, and the house lights dimmed. 'Now Lydia,' he whispered, 'be sure not to talk out loud during the film. If you have a question you can whisper it to me, but otherwise you should keep quiet.' She nodded gravely.
She was startled when the trailers began, and Harry squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. 'It's so big!' she whispered. 'It's like watching giants!'
'You'll get used to it.'
The film was about a photographer with a broken leg who was stuck in his apartment overlooking a courtyard, and he passed the time watching his neighbours in their apartments. There was a heat wave, so everyone left their windows open, and he even gave them nicknames. The opening shot was of all the neighbours starting their day, and it ended by showing the photographer, Jeff, with his leg in an enormous cast.
'What's on his leg?' asked Lydia.
'It's a plaster cast,' whispered Harry. 'He broke his leg, and without magic it takes weeks or even months for a broken bone to heal.' Lydia turned to Harry in disbelief, but he nodded.
When Grace Kelly's character, a socialite named Lisa, first appeared, Lydia actually gasped. 'Is she the one who married a prince?' she whispered. He nodded again, and she stared at the screen in admiration.
In the story, Jeff becomes convinced that one of his neighbours, a travelling salesman, has murdered his wife, and he and Lisa begin investigating him. Lydia punctuated the film with whispered questions, and during moments of tension or surprise she alternately leaned into Harry or grabbed his leg.
They were both agitated during the scene when Lisa enters the salesman's apartment looking for evidence. Jeff and his visiting nurse, Stella, watch helplessly from across the courtyard, unable to warn Lisa that the salesman has returned. Jeff calls the police to report an assault, and he's forced to watch the salesman grabbing her. Harry knew Lydia was scared because she was unaccustomed to watching films or television, but he was upset because it reminded him of how helpless he'd felt in Malfoy Manor when Hermione was being tortured.
After the film ended, they left the cinema together. 'What did you think?' asked Simon.
'That was brilliant,' began Harry, but Lydia interrupted him.
'I never imagined anything like that was possible,' she exclaimed. 'I knew Muggles stared at screens all day, but I never realised how engrossing it could be. I'd just been told it was because they were dim.'
'A lot of what's on screens is fairly worthless,' admitted Simon, 'but great films like "Rear Window" are absolute treasures.'
'Fancy being stuck in a cast for months, like poor Jeff,' she said. 'I don't know how Muggles can bear it.'
'Me neither,' agreed Harry. 'I probably shouldn't complain about Skele-Gro next time I need it—one night of discomfort is far better than six weeks in a cast.'
They parted company in the alley, with plans to see another film the following Friday, and Harry promised to at least look at the books Simon had sent. He Apparated Lydia back to Grimmauld Place, and they discussed their evening as they prepared for bed.
'I forgot to be frightened of Simon after a while,' she said. 'And I learnt a lot during dinner—he's awfully clever.'
With a match the next day, Harry was careful not to stay up too late. Lydia was still complaining that they hadn't yet broken their record of three times in a night, but she conceded that six times sounded tiring and that she enjoyed cuddling as well. 'At least we can dance tomorrow night,' she said. 'You never danced with that other witch, right?'
'No, never. There's no dance floor at Penumbra, and I didn't have any records then.'
'Good,' she said, snuggling closer to him. 'That means I'm special after all.'
