Harry awoke from a nightmare at dawn. But he didn't disturb Lydia with his kicking, since he was lying on his back, and he resisted the temptation to rouse her so she might comfort him.
It was different to his usual nightmares, which almost always involved Voldemort torturing someone. Instead, his dream took place in the tent he'd shared with Hermione and Ron. Harry was trying to sleep while Hermione kept watch outside—Ron was absent—but he couldn't because he didn't feel safe. He knew somehow that the tent was full of Disillusioned enemies, and he felt the locket Horcrux around his neck. His wand was broken, which meant he was defenceless.
The Disillusioned enemies turned out to be Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, and Harry found himself inside his old cupboard, on a thin and uncomfortable mattress. He saw the illustration of the dragon and the knight, only it was a wizarding illustration and the dragon breathed real Fiendfyre. He tried to desperately to escape from the blazing cupboard, but Uncle Vernon had boarded it shut, and freedom only came when he opened his eyes.
His heart was racing, and he was scared to go back to sleep, in case the nightmare resumed. I should just get up, he thought. It's not like I need to go to practice tomorrow—I can catch up on sleep then.
He mentally summoned Kreacher, who Apparated into the corridor and silently entered the room. The elf helped him out of bed, and soon Harry was dressed and seated in his wheelchair. He suspected he still had dozens of guests, but he skipped his customary robes and wore jeans and his striped Breton shirt instead. I might as well keep people guessing, he thought.
When he left his bedroom he looked down the long corridor and wondered when the first guests would arise. Soon, he suspected, recalling his own tendency to wake up early when the setting was unfamiliar. If Kreacher and Kammy aren't too tired I should have them provide breakfast, he thought.
He wasn't hungry yet, so he settled in the sitting room and replied to fan mail. Kreacher brought him tea, and Kammy prepared breakfast for the anticipated hordes. Harry told her to serve it in the kitchen, not wanting his guests to think he always ate in the formal dining room. But what does it matter? he thought. They probably assume I take breakfast in bed every morning on a silver tray.
His guests started trickling downstairs, and they were uniformly surprised to find him there. 'Did she kick you out you because of your broken pelvis?' asked someone who looked like a Beater.
'No, I just woke up early and didn't want to disturb her.'
The Beater looked at Harry's stack of photographs and fan mail. 'You actually respond to it personally? I heard the Cannons had a staffer dedicated exclusively to your post.'
'They do, but I try to send a personal response to all the kids who write.' And to everyone who's being abused, he added internally.
'Is that a big job?' asked the Beater.
'It's not too bad. Maybe six hours a week.'
'For just the kids? Bloody hell!' he exclaimed. 'I'm Jack Burns, by the way. I play Beater for the Magpies.'
'Nice to meet you,' said Harry, shaking his hand. 'Did you have a good time at the party?'
'I'm still here, aren't I? Is there any food lying around?'
'Yeah, in the kitchen, right through there. You can bring a plate upstairs if you like.'
'You're a hell of a host, Potter,' said Burns, heading into the kitchen. But instead of going upstairs he took a seat in the sitting room. 'Is it all right if I eat here?'
'Be my guest,' said Harry. 'Your partner won't mind?'
'I'd rather she not get too attached, to be honest. She can find her own way down.'
'Fair enough. Congratulations on getting into first place, by the way.'
'Cheers. What place are the Cannons in now?'
'I'm not even sure,' replied Harry. 'Eighth maybe?'
'I heard it's arithmantically possible for the Cannons to win the cup this year.'
'Yeah, I heard that too, but I think we'd have to win all our matches by a high margin, and Puddlemere, Montrose, and the Harpies would have to lose most or all of theirs. That doesn't seem likely.'
'Maybe next year then—assuming you keep playing. Although your reserve Seeker's pretty good too.'
'Assuming I keep playing? Is this some new rumour I'm unfamiliar with?'
'Some people are saying you're just doing this for a season before moving onto something else, or retiring entirely.'
Harry rolled his eyes. 'I have no intention of leaving the Cannons, unless I pull a Barrowmaker and keep getting pounded by Bludgers.'
'I doubt it—you dodge Bludgers better than any Seeker I've seen. That was just a tough break yesterday, having to play the Tornados without your usual Beaters.'
'Which school did you attend?' asked Harry.
'Blenchervale, in Northern Ireland.'
'Do teams recruit from Blenchervale, or did you go through recruiter trials over there?'
'Are you kidding? Recruiters haven't heard of Northern Ireland, let alone Blenchervale. I had to come to England for recruiter trials, and I didn't even get picked my first year.'
'I'm impressed you stuck with it,' said Harry. 'And now you're a starting Beater?'
'Yeah, for three years now. And yes, I played during the war ... I heard you let a few of the other Seekers have it.'
'That was just taunting. I'm happy for anyone who survived the war, assuming they weren't actively helping Voldemort.'
'No, I definitely wasn't doing that. By the way, thanks for ridding us of the fucker.'
'Cheers. I couldn't have done it without Ron and Hermione, and loads of others.'
'Yeah, I know. But they couldn't have done it without you. And I'm sorry people are shitting all over you.'
Harry shrugged. 'It's nothing new. At least they're not trying to kill me.'
They were quiet for a while, as Burns ate and Harry wrote letters. 'I heard about what Gilstrap said to you,' said the Beater.
'Which time?'
'During the match, about his father.'
'Yeah, that was the turning point. One of my best friends is basically an orphan because both of his parents were tortured to insanity, at the end of the First Wizarding War. They're still at St Mungo's.'
Burns shook his head in disgust. 'What a bleeding waste. Fucking wizards.'
Harry couldn't argue, so he just nodded.
'We gave Gilstrap hell after the match. I didn't even hear what he'd said at first, but I knew it had to be bad if he got punched by the kid who used a bloody Disarming Charm on Voldemort.'
'That's an interesting way of putting it,' said Harry.
'Thanks also for cracking those wards. Eighty years! I always thought it was just the English being the English—no offence.'
'None taken. But you realise Hogwarts is in Scotland, right?'
'Yeah, but the Ministry's in London. And the old families are mostly English, even though we've had magic in Ireland forever.'
'I should also point out that Hermione figured out the wards, along with Bill Weasley and Minerva McGonagall. I just bullied a portrait and went out with a ghost.'
'When you put it that way ...' said Burns, chuckling. 'Well, I'll leave you to your fan mail. It was nice meeting you.'
'Cheers, likewise.'
Harry put his letters and photographs into a drawer and propelled his wheelchair into the kitchen. One of the guests helped him with his plate, and he returned to his previous spot at the sitting room table.
'There you are,' exclaimed Lydia, who looked lovely in a dressing gown, but only in the usual, non-Light magic way. 'Why didn't you awaken me?'
'I woke up early and didn't want to bother you. Did you get enough sleep?'
'No, but I was worried when you weren't there.'
'Sorry about that. Will you go back to sleep?'
'Yes, but I wanted to see you first.' She bent down and whispered in his ear, 'I love you.'
'I love you too,' he whispered back, and they kissed briefly before she went upstairs.
He was feeling better after his conversation with Jack Burns and the exchange with Lydia, and breakfast helped as well. He chatted with the guests who came in search of food, including George. 'How was your bedroom?' asked Harry.
'Un-bloody-believable! I'm pretty certain gravity didn't work, but it was hard to tell because it all seemed normal somehow, like in a dream. Forget the Knight Bus—if you're ever strapped for gold you should turn this place into a theme hotel.'
'Interesting,' said Harry. 'What should I call it?'
'Assuming your name is still a draw, I'd suggest something like "Harry Potter's Fucked-Up Pleasure Palace."'
'That doesn't sound family-friendly,' remarked Harry.
'Friendly for starting a family, believe you me.'
'Don't tell me you pulled an Arthur up there and skipped the charms!'
'No, we cast them in advance, before departing conventional reality.'
George went back upstairs with two plates, and Harry resumed writing letters. A couple of passing players made snide remarks, including a suggestion 'to just have your house-elf do it,' but Harry ignored them. He was nearly knocked out of his chair, however, when a scantily-clad Romilda Vane threw her arms around him.
'Harry! I still can't believe you're in a wheelchair! I wasn't at the match unfortunately—there was a problem with Darren's ticket allocation—but I was listening to the radio and screamed when I heard you'd been injured.'
'I'll be fine in a few days,' he replied. 'The only reason I'm not better already is because I didn't want to take Skele-Gro and miss the party.'
'You're so brave! Suffering for four days, for the sake of your guests.'
'Morning, Snitchbottom,' said Darren. 'How's the pelvis?'
'Still broken.'
'Something tells me Lydia didn't mind too much. She seemed pretty happy on the roof last night.'
'She's so beautiful!' exclaimed Romilda. 'And rich too! Are you sure you won't marry her? Your kids would be stunning!'
'Yes, I'm sure,' replied Harry. 'Did you enjoy the party? How did it compare to last time?'
'I'm disappointed Rita Skeeter wasn't here,' she said, pouting. 'That was so much fun. I can't wait to tell everyone at Hogwarts about that morning in your bedroom.'
'Please leave Helena out of it. You know how she values her privacy.'
'But it was so romantic!' she protested. 'You were like Romeo and Juliet!'
Didn't they kill themselves? thought Harry uncertainly. Hell if I know—I should ask Simon, or Hermione.
'She broke your heart,' continued Romilda. 'And now you've renounced love and marriage, and you're ruining innocent young pure-bloods. It's perfect, and I got to witness when it all started. May I describe it that way?'
Harry closed his eyes in exasperation. 'Why not?' he said. 'Be my guest.'
Romilda looked delighted, and asked, 'Will you sign my copy of Sorceress?' But then she noticed the stack of photographs and said, 'Or a photograph, like the one you signed for that witch!'
'What? No!' cried Harry. 'And besides, you have Darren.'
'I know I do,' she said, looking up at him affectionately. 'And he gave me a Quaffle, and a jersey. And I made him sign a photograph just like yours, for our great-grandchildren to find.'
'Our?!' exclaimed Darren in horror.
She smiled slyly and said, 'Just kidding. I wanted to see how you'd react. But I'll go upstairs and fetch my magazine.'
When she was gone, Darren sat down and said, 'Bloody hell! Do you have any Calming Draughts in the house?'
'No, just pelvis repair potions. And Veritaserum.'
'Don't let Romilda find out you still have Veritaserum. When she heard you made Lydia take it, she wanted me to take some as well, to find out if I'd always been truthful with her.'
'Like about your Cannons ticket allotment?'
'No, she fell for that hook, line, and sinker. She mostly wanted to know how she compared to my other girlfriends.'
'Favourably, I assume, considering how long you've kept her around.'
'In one respect, yes. She's first-rate in that particular category. Otherwise she's clingier than loo roll. I promised to sneak away from practice on Wednesday and make a scene when she boards the Hogwarts Express, but after that I'm changing my wards.'
'I hope you haven't misled her with promises you can't keep.'
'Not at all,' said Darren. 'I told her my Muggle grandfather made me vow not to marry until I'm thirty, on pain of losing my inheritance.'
'Your inheritance?'
'His model trains. But she doesn't know that.'
Romilda returned with her copy of Sorceress, which she placed in front of Harry. 'I bought a fresh one for you to sign, since I marked up my first one with a highlighter. I keep trying to get Darren to reenact it, but he says that's not spontaneous enough.'
'Darren's right,' said Harry. 'You can't force these things. How should I sign it?' he asked automatically, before realising his mistake.
'Dearest Romilda,' she recited. 'I only wish it had been you. Expect my owl. Yours in sweet anticipation, Harry.'
'I'm not writing that,' he said firmly. Instead he wrote: 'To Romilda, in appreciation for our long friendship. I'll always admire your courage and bold spirit—you're a true Gryffindor. Yours, Harry.'
It wasn't entirely true—they hadn't exactly been friends. But Romilda had been an enthusiastic member of the D.A., and she'd fought bravely in the Battle of Hogwarts.
'I'm a true Gryffindor!' she said exultantly. 'I'll have to show this to the Fat Lady, the next time she doesn't want to let me into Gryffindor Tower after curfew. Although I suppose I'll have it framed.'
Romilda left the magazine on the table while she and Darren went to the kitchen for breakfast, and Harry was greeted next by Oliver Wood and Phil Routledge.
'This is unexpected,' said Harry when he saw them together. 'Isn't fraternisation against team rules?'
'No,' said Phil, 'we ran into each other in the corridor. The extremely long corridor, I might add.'
'Yes, I've heard reports. How was your room?'
'You're probably not familiar with an old television series called "The Twilight Zone,"' said Phil, 'but it was like the opening titles.'
'I've actually heard of "The Twilight Zone!"' exclaimed Harry proudly. 'To Serve Man!'
'I hope your house-elves haven't read that,' said Phil. 'How are you doing?'
'Still in a wheelchair but fine otherwise. And Oliver, how was your stay in what George Weasley has dubbed Harry Potter's Fucked-Up Pleasure Palace?'
'Fucked up. And pleasurable. Thanks for throwing another party, and sorry about all the ingrates.'
'He's not kidding,' said Phil. 'You'd better get used to being called Harry Toffer, because I think it's catching on.'
Harry shrugged. 'There's always something.'
'Should I get them to call you the Heir of Slytherin instead?' proposed Oliver.
'I heard "Death Eater Eater,"' suggested Phil.
'She's not a Death Eater,' replied Harry. 'Far from it.'
'I know that, and believe me, they're just jealous,' said Phil. 'Are you sure you're not going to keep her around? I think half the men here fell in love with her last night.'
'We'll keep seeing each other after she moves out, but not exclusively.'
'Tell her that roughly a dozen different wizards asked me if I could introduce them to her. I suggested they read the instruction manual first,' said Phil, indicating the issue of Sorceress.
'I should get some breakfast,' said Oliver. 'My fiancée and I want to see how food works up there. Thanks again, Harry, and see you soon.'
Phil sat down after Oliver left and said, 'Are you all right? I heard Gilstrap got to you again.'
'He did, and I'm fine. There are always going to be people who hate me.'
'Yeah, I had to tell a few of them off. I think people are really cheesed off about those wards at Hogwarts and elsewhere. I tried pointing out that you helped get rid of them, but you know how logical wizards are.'
'Is there anything I can do to improve matters?' asked Harry. 'Obviously I don't care what people think of me, but how can I help promote equality among wizards?'
'Good question. It's definitely not enough just to get rid of those wards. As long as people from Hogwarts and two or three other schools have a stranglehold on all the power and wealth, there's still going to be a lot of resentment.'
'Which school did you attend? Were you recruited by a team, or did you have to go through recruiter trials?'
'I went to Binglingham, which is high-status, so I was recruited straight from school. And no, I don't know why I was sent there as a Muggle-born.'
'So you're part of the privileged elite?' said Harry.
'No, I'm still a Mudblood. And I didn't get my starting Seeker position after a ten-minute test with the team manager.'
Harry sighed. 'Apparently that's common knowledge now.'
'Anyone who complains is just jealous. Nobody who's seen you fly can claim you didn't deserve the job.'
'Of course they can! Haven't you been paying attention?'
Phil chuckled and said, 'Good point. But believe me, you've won, and you earned everything that's come to you—even the stuff you didn't earn. Anyone who claims otherwise is just whinging.'
Phil left to get breakfast, and Harry responded to fan mail for a while longer. Romilda returned to reclaim her magazine, and she and Darren went back upstairs with a bowl of fruit and some whipped cream. 'We'll be gone by noon,' he promised Harry.
Harry decided to check on Lydia, so he put away his correspondence and propelled himself upstairs. He stopped in the entrance hall and tossed a few treats to Padfoot and the cocker spaniel, who were enjoying a leisurely morning together in a hammock.
'Which one is your godfather?' asked Gilstrap.
You're still here? thought Harry irritably. 'The mongrel.'
'That's ironic.'
'Not at all. Sirius didn't choose his parents, any more than you or I did. His Animagus showed his true nature.'
'And your father was a prancing stag?'
'Yes. Prongs.'
'That seems appropriate, if he was the arrogant one. Are you an Animagus?' asked Gilstrap.
'No, I've never bothered. The only reason Sirius and my father became Animagi was to help their werewolf friend.'
'Yes, your third dead father.' Gilstrap was silent for a long interval. 'I'm sorry for what I said about my father.'
Harry was taken aback. 'About him being tortured?'
'Yes. My parents were safe during the war, thanks to a magical trunk provided by your old girlfriend's family. It was cramped, but they were able to stay with my sister and her husband, who doesn't have any recent Muggle relations. They had to take menial jobs in the Muggle world, but they were safe.'
'That's good.'
'The one advantage of an obscure school like Tinkerton is that it was beneath the Death Eaters' notice. Nobody bothered Imperiusing the headmaster, so as long as Muggle-borns kept a low profile, nobody came after them.'
'Unlike Hogwarts Muggle-borns, who were killed,' said Harry, thinking of Ted Tonks.
Gilstrap nodded. 'I only know a few people who died in the war. More of my relations were killed in the London Blitz than in either of the Wizarding Wars.'
'I don't know whether any of my mum's relations were killed in the Muggle wars. My aunt never said.'
There was another long silence, and then Gilstrap said, 'I don't hate you.'
'Then why do you need to tear me to pieces? Carl Wainwright is a complete arsehole above the pitch, but we get on fine the rest of the time.'
'Because you act like you're God's gift to wizardkind.'
Frustrated, Harry asked, 'Then how am I supposed to act? I'm just trying live my life, the same as anyone else. The only difference is I don't have any bloody privacy.'
'No one's forcing you to go on the radio every week. You didn't need to become a league Seeker either—heaven knows you don't need the gold.'
'I go on the radio every week to clear up misconceptions. If I didn't, people would still believe I'd given out a huge stack of my own Chocolate Frog Cards, seduced an underaged Veela, and was richer than the Queen. Oh, and they'd still be trying to harm my Muggle relations.
'As for why I became a Seeker ... I love flying. It was the only consistently good part of my life at Hogwarts. After spending years neck-deep in Dark magic trying to fight Voldemort I needed a bloody break.'
'You used Dark magic?'
'No, he did.' Harry looked around to make sure no one was listening. 'And we had to destroy it, otherwise he'd keep coming back. That's seriously classified, by the way, so don't spread it around.'
'Is that why you robbed Gringotts?'
Harry nodded. 'Again, classified.'
Gilstrap was quiet for a while. 'I'll admit your life was front-loaded with some major crap. But you've had outrageous advantages as well.'
'Yes. I'm a wizard. And a league Seeker. And a white male. Do any of these sound familiar?'
'You know what I'm talking about,' said Gilstrap.
'Yes, I know what you're talking about. I went to Hogwarts. I have a townhouse and an elf. If I didn't earn another Galleon in my life I'd be fine.'
'You have a seat on the Wizengamot,' continued Gilstrap. 'You could get a job anywhere you wanted, without sitting your N.E.W.T.s. You're a lord.'
Harry knew better than to say, Lordships are bollocks. 'What do you want from me?' he asked. 'And just disappearing isn't an option.'
'No, you've survived two Killing Curses,' said Gilstrap acidly.
'Yes, my mother's sacrifice was another outrageous advantage.' Gilstrap remained silent, and Harry said, 'I want to promote equality in wizarding Britain. It won't change overnight, or in our lifetimes necessarily, but I want to see less corruption in the Ministry. I want to bring together witches and wizards from different schools and different Blood Statuses—why do you think I'm throwing these parties?'
'For attention,' said Gilstrap. 'To show off.'
Harry rolled his eyes. 'And if I didn't throw parties, or if I only invited my mates, I'd be aloof. I can't win, so I might as well do what I believe in. I assume you had a good time, or else you wouldn't still be here. And I imagine there's someone waiting for you upstairs.'
'There is. I should bring her breakfast.'
'The kitchen's downstairs,' said Harry. 'And thank you for the apology.'
'Thanks for hosting the party.'
It wasn't the warmest exchange, and they didn't shake hands, but Harry felt slightly less tense afterwards. He hovered upstairs and returned to his room, where Lydia was eating breakfast in bed and reading the Prophet.
'Is there anything about the party?' he asked.
'Yes, in the gossip column. But no photographs.'
'There wouldn't be,' he said. 'The house was warded against them. What does it say?'
She passed him the article, which he read:
Harry Potter cemented his reputation as the leading host of young witches and wizards by opening his London townhouse to more than four hundred guests last night, including the entire Quidditch league. Although Potter, 19, was confined to a wheelchair due to a broken pelvis, he reportedly spent hours greeting guests, both with and without his current love interest, Lydia Travers, 18.
At Potter's urging, Miss Travers eventually joined the rooftop dance party, which exclusively featured Muggle music curated by Chudley Cannons star Chaser Ryan Bellamy. Miss Travers was widely admired for her 'mesmerising' and 'celestial' beauty, and numerous wizards expressed a fervent desire to pursue her. But she only had eyes for Potter, and the two lovebirds retired to his bedroom not long after midnight.
At press time, at least forty closed doors lined Potter's magically-enhanced guest corridor, suggesting that the sexually-charged atmosphere of his previous party was no fluke. It remains to be seen whether the nascent organisation Mothers Against Harry Potter will take issue with the young Seeker's style of entertaining.
Guests praised Potter's hospitality, although some criticised his aristocratic pretensions, both in dress and in manner. 'He claims lordships are bollocks,' reported one guest, 'but he looked like a sodding duke, receiving guests in his wheelchair with [Miss Travers] fawning over him.' Others, however, described Potter as a gracious and solicitous host who was equally friendly to everyone who approached him.
Bookmakers eagerly awaited the first dispatches from the party, and fortunes were undoubtedly made on the surprising revelation that the Black family tapestry now includes the name 'Harry James Black,' with a gold border indicating his status as Head of House. Late-night betting was rampant over whether Potter will officially change his name, with high uncertainty about which variant he might choose. As of press time, the favourite was 'Harry Potter Black,' with support also for 'Harry Potter-Black,' 'Harry James Black,' and 'Harry Sirius Black.'
Last night's do was less extravagant than Potter's birthday party last month, with only two house-elves and Floo access rather than portkey invitations. But there was no shortage of flowers, and the house itself sported new wallpaper. All the guests we spoke to expressed a wish that Potter host more parties, many with the hope that he'll be fully mobile next time.
'My aristocratic pretensions?' repeated Harry incredulously. 'Because I was sitting in a wheelchair and wearing robes? And you weren't fawning over me, were you?'
'No, I just told everyone how brilliant I think you are. That wasn't fawning—that was the truth.'
'At least they described you accurately,' he said. 'Your mesmerising, celestial beauty.'
'Yes, about that,' she said hesitantly. 'I received a letter this morning from my parents. Their elf Topper delivered it.' She held up a folded piece of note paper.
'Should I read it?' he asked.
'Yes, it concerns you as well.'
Harry read:
Dear Lydia,
I am not writing this morning to try to persuade you and your seducer to marry. His response last week was unequivocal, and sadly you seem to have fallen victim to his opinions, as well as to his baser needs. He has clearly ensorcelled you with his powerful methods for corrupting young witches, and your mother and I only hope you'll eventually come to your senses and return to the family fold.
The reason for this letter is to warn you of a danger far greater than the tragedy that's already befallen you. I had my suspicions on Wednesday, and I only wish I had pulled you from Potter's clutches in that very moment, because I fear the danger has already been realised. You undoubtedly recall that your grandfather and I have always warned you against the menace of so-called Light magic. As you know, the word 'Light' is a misnomer, just as 'Dark' does not accurately describe our own noble practice.
When I learnt on Wednesday afternoon about Potter's alleged reaction to the Glowpox vaccine, I foolishly dismissed the concern that something more sinister was afoot. But when I read this morning about your wanton display last night, I could no longer ignore my suspicion: I fear you have been infected with the scourge of Light magic. With a heavy heart I consulted your grandfather right away, as he is well-versed in the dangers of the Light Arts, and he agrees that the Veela-like effect you had on the low-born hordes at Potter's orgy goes far beyond your personal charms, prodigious though they may be.
Has Potter glowed in your presence? If so, why did you ignore your training and not flee at once? As I write this, I worry you may be under Potter's Imperius Curse or a Love Potion, neither of which I consider beneath him. But even if you are in your right mind, I implore you to remove yourself straight away, lest the infection take hold. Your grandfather is currently consulting a trusted associate to learn whether full recovery is even possible, but time is of the essence. Please, my dearest Lydia, remove yourself from Potter at once. My only hope is that his current injury will reduce his ability to influence you, and that you may yet regain your higher reasoning.
If you are unwilling to leave Potter, as I fear, would you at least consent to meet in a neutral location and reassure your mother and me that you aren't under the influence of his Imperius or Love Potion? As much as I abhor the thought of seeing him, I would request his presence and demand he cast a powerful Finite Incantatem. I would also ask that you take an antidote to a Love Potion.
With your leave, I'll reserve a private room at Gringotts, which I trust Potter will find acceptable.
All my love,
Daddy
'What should we do?' asked Lydia. 'Obviously I'm not leaving you.'
'I can't travel to Gringotts,' said Harry. 'Not easily, anyway. We'd have to take the Knight Bus again, or figure out how to take a Muggle taxicab. And I have to go back tonight for my meeting at Penumbra, which isn't until eight.'
'How are you getting there tonight?'
'Hermione's going to shrink the wheelchair and hover me into a taxicab—and then out of it again—as if I were walking.'
'Couldn't we just do that earlier and have dinner in Diagon Alley before your meeting?'
'We could do, and that would give Kreacher and Kammy a break. But how are you at Hovering Charms?'
'Very good. My grandfather made Esme and me practise on each other, in case we needed to manipulate an enemy that way. That was before I left off studying the Dark Arts.'
'All right. Where should we have dinner?'
'Can we go to the French restaurant you went to with Vanessa's friend?'
'Mistigri? Of course, if they can seat us.'
Lydia insisted Harry write the reply to her parents, primarily so they would see his new stationery. He wrote:
Dear Mr Travers,
I'm sorry you have such a poor opinion of me that you think I would rape your daughter, which is what you're implying. But I appreciate your concern for her well-being, and I'll do whatever I can to reassure you that she's acting of her own free will.
Due to travel complications surrounding my injury, we're unable to meet you before five o'clock. I'll trust you to make the arrangements, and unless you send a letter contradicting me we'll plan to meet you at Gringotts.
Yours sincerely,
Harry Potter
He also jotted a brief note to the restaurant asking for a reservation, and Lydia sent them with Kammy. The elf returned soon after with a terse acknowledgement from Lydia's father and confirmation of a six o'clock dinner reservation.
Lydia practised animating Harry using a Hovering Charm, but they feared his gait wasn't smooth enough to convince a Muggle. 'Perhaps if you used a cane,' she suggested. 'Do you have one?'
'There are probably some in the attic. I could ask Kreacher to check, next time I need his help. The poor fellow—he must be completely knackered.'
The last of the guests departed around noon, and Harry was unsuccessful in persuading the elves to put off cleaning until Monday. He and Lydia munched on leftovers and spent the afternoon reading and listening to records. Lydia was still deep within Pride and Prejudice, and Harry started reading Great Expectations, which Simon had particularly recommended. 'The language and situations are antiquated,' he'd told Harry, 'but I think the themes will resonate for you.'
At four o'clock, Kreacher helped prepare Harry to go out, and Lydia selected a smart Muggle outfit for him. 'Why Muggle clothes?' asked Harry, puzzled.
'Aren't we taking a Muggle taxicab?'
'Yes, you're right.' He frowned for a moment before exclaiming, 'Fancy dress! We could wear wizarding clothes and say it's for a fancy dress party.'
'That would certainly go with the cane,' she said. The only cane Kreacher had found that matched Harry's height had clearly been designed to go with the family ring. It was black, and the head was a golden snake with glittering emerald eyes. 'You can wear your new black robes with the gold-coloured buttons, and a green cravat.'
'Between the cane and the robes I'll look like a proper Slytherin,' he laughed. 'Fortunately I won't need it once I'm in the wheelchair again.'
'At least wear a lily-of-the-valley, to honour your mother. I'm certain my parents will notice it.'
Lydia successfully hovered Harry into the taxicab, and the cane disguised his lurching movements. 'Are you going to a fancy dress party?' asked the driver.
'How did you guess?' replied Harry, and the driver chuckled.
'I can see you've put some effort into it. Usually hired clothes don't fit very well, but those look like they were made for you.'
'Cheers, and yes, we did put some effort into it.'
With her wand concealed, Lydia lurched Harry from the taxicab, and once they were inside the Leaky Cauldron she was able to settle him into the wheelchair. He was finally permitted to push it himself, which felt great after his long day of inactivity.
'How's the pelvis?' called one of the patrons. 'Are you surviving so far?'
'It's improving, thank you,' said Harry, ignoring the insinuation. 'Travel is the hardest part, but I'll be cleared to Apparate on Tuesday.'
'But when will you be cleared to fornicate?' chuckled a red-faced wizard who was holding a tankard of ale.
'That's none of your business, seeing as you're not my type,' replied Harry, generating loud laughter.
'I still can't believe strangers talk to you like that,' said Lydia after they'd left the tavern. 'And that you respond!'
'It's worse if I ignore them,' he said, and he told her about his reputation for looking through people.
'Glare-y Potter? You've never looked at me like that.'
'Why would I?' he said admiringly, as they arrived at the bank.
A goblin greeted them. 'Mr Potter, Miss Travers, right this way.'
They were led to a small meeting room, which was empty. 'My parents will keep us waiting,' said Lydia. 'It's all about power.'
'I suppose it would be wrong to pass the time snogging,' he said, raising his eyebrows suggestively.
'Tempting, although it would support their Love Potion theory.'
'You're right, May I at least hold your hand?'
'Yes, but no glowing.'
'I won't. Seeker's honour,' replied Harry, and he began stroking her hand.
After ten minutes, a very handsome couple in their forties entered, along with a goblin Harry recognised. 'Trapskin,' he said, with a crisp nod. 'It's good to see you.'
'Good afternoon, Mr Potter,' replied Trapskin, with a matching nod.
'Mr Potter,' said Lydia's father. 'I'm Desmond Travers, and this is my wife Isobel.' Harry knew it was proper etiquette to wait for them to initiate a handshake, but no hands were extended.
'Oh, Lydia,' said Mrs Travers disapprovingly. 'And you!' she snarled at Harry. 'Despicable!'
Mr Travers lifted his hand and said, 'Isobel, there's no point. We discussed this.'
'Yes, dear,' she replied, dabbing her eyes with a small handkerchief.
'Mr and Mrs Travers,' began Harry, 'I know we'll never see eye-to-eye on matters, but I can assure you I'd never force myself on Lydia—or anyone else.'
'So you claim,' said Mr Travers. 'For whatever your word is worth.'
'How can you talk to Harry like that!' said Lydia indignantly. 'He's the most honourable wizard I've ever met. I love him—he's absolutely brilliant!'
Lydia's parents exchanged worried glances. 'I see we should start with the Love Potion antidote,' said her father, motioning to Trapskin.
'Miss Travers,' said the goblin, holding out a phial. 'Are you willing to take the Amortentia antidote? Gringotts will vouch for its authenticity.'
Lydia looked at Harry, who nodded. 'Yes,' she replied, and she drank it.
'How do you feel about him now?' asked Mr Travers.
'The same as before. He would never use a Love Potion on anyone!'
'Yes, I understand you weren't much of a Potions student,' said Mr Travers to Harry, 'although you knew how to obtain Veritaserum.'
'That was consensual,' replied Harry.
'Unless you'd already Imperiused her. Please perform the general counter-spell. The full version.'
'Of course. Finite omnes incantates.' As soon as Harry cast the counter-spell, the Black family ring became visible on his left hand, and both of Lydia's parents paused to examine it.
'Lydia,' said her father, 'were you under the Imperius Curse, or any other Compulsion Charm?'
'No, absolutely not. I've acted entirely from free will.'
'Or wilfulness!' said her mother.
'Isobel,' cautioned Mr Travers. 'Lydia, this has been extremely challenging for your mother and me, and for the entire family. We had no idea you were so ... dissatisfied with the life we've provided for you. Most young witches would envy your position.'
'I want to make my own life,' she said. 'To discover the world, the wider world, with a man I love.'
With those words, she looked at Harry and took his hand, and he squeezed it affectionately. No glowing, he told himself as his heart expanded.
'If you're in love, why don't you want to marry him?' said Mr Travers. In a more gentle voice he added, 'If you insisted, we'd give our consent. He's head of House Black, after all.'
'That's the least interesting thing about Harry. He's so much more than you realise,' she said. 'But I don't want to marry anyone right now, and neither does he. I'm moving into my own flat on Wednesday and I want my own life, without a husband getting in the way.'
'Lydia and I have agreed on this from the start,' said Harry. 'We'll never marry. We're too young, and we both want our freedom.'
'Your freedom,' spat Mr Travers. 'Your freedom to ruin young witches!'
'It was her choice,' said Harry.
'But what about the other ways you've corrupted her?' said her father. He narrowed his eyes and asked, 'Are you a Light Arts practitioner?'
'No. You probably know more about the Light Arts than I do.'
'Are you experiencing accidental Light magic?'
'Why is that any of your business?' asked Harry.
'Because you have our daughter in your clutches!'
'She's not in my clutches! She's of age and she's financially independent. I'm just giving her a place to stay until her flat is ready.'
'You say she's in not your clutches ... But all Britain knows about your seducer's arts, thanks to your outrageous lack of discretion.'
'My lack of discretion? I didn't talk to that magazine! Or do you mean because I don't go to portkey brothels? Those are the women you need to check for the Imperius Curse.'
Mr Travers ignored Harry's insinuation. 'You still haven't answered my question: Are you experiencing accidental Light magic?'
'I should have made myself clearer. That's none of your business,' replied Harry, glaring at him.
Mr Travers held his gaze, and Harry felt the prod of Legilimency. But instead of breaking eye contact, he looked insolently at Lydia's father, and powerful energy rose from his chest into his head.
'I learnt Occlumency the hard way, from Voldemort,' he said. 'You're not going to succeed.'
Lydia's father intensified his stare, and Harry felt a sharp jab behind his scar. But it was nothing to the old searing pain, and Harry's strong core energy easily repelled the attack. Mr Travers finally flinched and looked away.
'If I'm a Light wizard, do you really want to provoke me?' asked Harry. 'I understand Ollivander is rather choosy about who he'll sell wands to.'
'Are you threatening me?'
Harry widened his eyes innocently. 'If it's accidental Light magic, I can't control it. Anything could happen.' In a more conciliatory tone he added, 'But I don't want to hurt you, not at all. Lydia loves you, and I love Lydia.'
'Then marry her!' said Mrs Travers.
'I don't want to get married, not yet!' said Lydia. 'And not to Harry.' Sighing, she added, 'I don't feel ruined—I feel alive. And I've only just begun living.'
Harry said, 'You seem to think I've irreparably harmed Lydia, but all I've done is introduce her to a larger world.'
'You have no respect for wizarding traditions!' said Lydia's father. He pointed to Harry's ring and said, 'You've been given the opportunity to rise higher than any Muggle-raised half-blood could hope, but in your arrogance you've rejected it.'
'Harry doesn't disrespect wizarding traditions!' protested Lydia. 'Look at how he's dressed—he's brought robes back into fashion. And what could be more traditional than Quidditch?'
'But your flagrant disregard for social norms, for decency!'
'What's decent about torturing Muggles?' retorted Harry. 'What's decent about persecuting Muggle-borns like my mother? What's decent about supporting a mass-murdering psychopath?'
'The Dark Lord was protecting wizardkind from forces that would destroy it,' said Mr Travers.
'From a baby?' asked Lydia, reaching for Harry. 'You supported someone who tried to kill a baby, and who left him an orphan. The Lestranges tortured Harry's friend's parents to insanity ... how could you support that?' she asked, tears falling from her eyes.
'You don't understand,' said her father. 'It's not that simple.'
'This is why I stopped practising Dark magic,' she said. 'I didn't understand why at the time, but now I do. It would have ruined me, far more than Harry could have done.' She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. 'I love you,' she said tenderly. 'I love you, and Esme, and Jacob, and I miss you terribly.'
Harry looked at Lydia, and he knew that Light magic was rising within her. She's lucky she doesn't glow, he thought.
'I don't want to lose you,' continued Lydia. 'I want you to visit my flat, and I want Esme to come to my salon, and Jacob once he's old enough, and even Charles if he's willing.'
She's so beautiful, thought Harry. He hoped her parents already saw her that way and wouldn't realise what was happening.
'We could never willingly cut you out of our lives,' said her father. 'But Light magic—it destroys families! Romulus Wynter lost his daughter to it. She married a Muggle and lives like a vagabond.'
'Did she reject her family or did they reject her?' asked Harry.
'She married a Muggle,' said Mrs Travers. 'What choice did they have?'
'Don't reject me,' said Lydia. 'I'll never reject you.'
'Stay away from Potter,' urged her father. 'Just come home.'
'No,' said Lydia, rising from her chair. 'Harry, let's go.'
He shot her a questioning look but she fixed her jaw determinedly, so he pushed away from the table. 'Goodbye,' he said to the Traverses. 'I'm sorry we had to meet under these circumstances. And Trapskin, thank you.'
'Good evening, Mr Potter,' said the goblin with a crisp nod. 'And Miss Travers.'
'Mother?' she asked imploringly. 'Daddy?'
'Send for us once you're in your new flat,' said Lydia's father. 'And for Merlin's sake, if he starts glowing ...'
Lydia and Harry left the room and exited the bank without speaking. He led her to a secluded spot around the corner and asked, 'Are you all right?'
She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. 'I've never contradicted my parents like that, except for when I gave up the Dark Arts.'
Harry found that hard to believe—as much as he loved her, he knew she was spoilt. But maybe she never needed to contradict them before, he thought. Maybe they always caved in.
'You were very brave,' he said sincerely. 'I'm proud of you.'
She was silent for a short while and stroked his hair. 'I felt it again,' she said.
'I could tell. You're lucky you don't glow.'
'I only felt it a little this time. It wasn't like last night.'
'It varies for me as well.'
Once she regained her composure, they ambled down Diagon Alley, peeking into shop windows on the way to the restaurant. He deliberately lowered his 'Leave me alone' wards as they proceeded and tried instead to look at everyone they passed. This is hard, he thought. Not because he was scared people would talk to him—he was with Lydia after all—but because he could no longer pretend he was invisible.
Their table at Mistigri was secluded, which suited them. 'I don't need for people to see us anymore,' announced Lydia.
'Because everyone knows you're ruined?' asked Harry.
'No, because it doesn't matter whether they know or not. I've changed too much—my parents couldn't un-ruin me if they tried. I couldn't un-ruin me.'
'You have changed,' he said. 'You've hardly pouted at all in the last few days, except for when you were trying to get Stan Shunpike to make Ernie turn the bus around.'
'I don't pout!' she protested, and Harry laughed.
'Oh yes you do.'
'Well, you do that thing with your eyes, where you try to look all innocent.'
'Does it work?' he asked, widening his eyes.
'You're the real Slytherin,' she said, swatting him from across the table.
After dinner she returned to Grimmauld Place by Floo. He invited her to attend the meeting with Davina Hampton, but she decided against it. 'I'm not ready to commit to studying anything,' she said. 'I'm not glowing, so there's no need for me to learn how to control it.'
As he propelled himself to Flourish and Blotts, Harry was stopped several times by children. 'Are you feeling all right?' asked a little girl. 'Will you be able to fly on Saturday?'
'That's what the Healer says, but I'll know more tomorrow.'
'Can I please see your scar?' she asked. Harry pushed his fringe out of the way, and she traced it with her finger. 'Did you really get it from You-Know-Who, when you were a baby?'
'Yes, but I can't remember it.'
'My cousin told me about You-Know-Who, and now I have bad dreams about him sometimes. I'm scared he'll come hurt me.'
'I have bad dreams about him too,' he admitted. 'But I promise he'll never hurt you.'
'Would you protect me?' she asked. 'In my dreams?'
'Only if you promise to protect me,' he replied. 'I hear he's afraid of little girls.'
'I'm a big girl,' she said indignantly.
'I'm sorry, I meant big girls. So if he ever shows up in your dreams again, just call for me and I'll stop him. Or you can stop him yourself, since he's afraid of big girls. And if I have a nightmare about him, I'll call for you. What's your name?'
'Tessie.'
'Good, I'll ask for Tessie. Thank you, I feel much safer now.'
She smiled and turned to her parents. 'I helped Harry Potter!'
Rolling away, he thought, I never would have had that interaction if I'd been looking through her, or if I'd said I was in a hurry. He had no illusion it would stop his nightmares, but he hoped it might stop hers.
He arrived at the bookstore before Hermione did, and he cast a quick Notice-Me-Not Charm so he could collect himself before the meeting. I want to protect people, he thought. And I want to share Light magic with anyone who wants to learn it. Closing his eyes, he expressed a wordless wish that he'd meet his teacher that night.
When he opened his eyes, Hermione was waiting—with a book of course. He quickly lowered his privacy charm and said, 'I'm right here.'
'Were you hiding again?'
'Yes, but not any more. Let's go,' he said, leading her down the passage to Penumbra.
