Harry awoke on his back, his pelvis still immobilised. Turning his head, he saw Lydia was still asleep, with her hair in a delightful tangle across the pillow. Who has untidy hair now? he thought triumphantly. But he was reluctant to delay his recovery by reaching for her, so he cultivated Light magic instead.

It flowed through him almost instantly, and Lydia groggily peeled off her nightie and draped it over her eyes to block the light. His thoughts were largely nonverbal, expressed only by the word 'love,' and he lay quietly for a while. But then he recalled Davina's advice to look for any resistance to the experience.

It appeared like an ugly wound. 'You're not allowed,' it said. 'That's not for you. You shouldn't even get the partial experience.' He felt his pleasure recede, and his light began to dim. But I want it, he thought hungrily. Why not me? His pleading was fruitless, however, and the Light magic began to disappear entirely. He tried cultivating it again, and it wouldn't come, which bolstered the parts of his mind that believed he didn't deserve it.

Hang on, I can allow the thoughts of resistance to exist. All Davina said was not to analyse them, and to let them be. He expanded into broad awareness, as he did while flying, and from there he noticed a subtle tug of war between the parts of him that resisted Light magic and the parts that desperately grasped to it. Just let them exist, he reminded himself. All of them.

The tug of war settled into a stalemate and relaxed entirely, but then a new emotion arose: sadness. It's been here all along, he thought mournfully. He knew Davina would tell him just to allow it, but he didn't want to. Why won't Lydia wake up? he thought impatiently.

He was tempted to poke her, and after a minute he did just that. 'Lydia,' he murmured. 'Are you awake?'

She pulled her nightdress off her head and looked at him blearily. 'Did you just wake me on purpose?'

'Yes, can you forgive me?'

She scooted closer and rested her head next to his. 'Yes, but only because you're perfect and I love you.'

'I'm glad your parents made us verify you weren't Love Potioned, because I'm starting to wonder.'

'You're perfectly horrid,' she said affectionately. 'You woke me from a sound sleep, and your hair is appalling, and you ruined me and no decent wizard will have me. And now I'm polluted with Light magic and they'll probably send me to St Mungo's, or maybe a Dark Arts hospital on the Continent.'

'Are there really Dark hospitals?' he asked. 'How would that even work?'

'No, I made that up. But there's a spa in the Alps somewhere that uses blood magic and illegal charms to help witches and wizards look younger. I don't know the details, but I've heard rumours it involves kidnapped Muggle children.'

Harry was aghast. 'Don't tell me your family goes there!'

'No, they all scorn it, at least publicly. But my great-aunt Lydia—I was named for her—disappeared for several weeks last winter and returned looking radiant and with a much younger companion from some Eastern European country. Her grown children ended up paying him off, for fear she'd marry him and leave them without a Knut.'

'Listening to you describe your relations almost makes me grateful I haven't any,' said Harry. 'But I shouldn't have awakened you ... do you want to go back to sleep?'

'No, I have a million things to do before moving into my flat on Wednesday.'

'Can you still come to Claridge's with me for tea this afternoon? I need to prepare for my visit to Malfoy Manor on Sunday, and today's my only day off.'

'Of course I'll come,' she reassured him. 'Didn't I say I would?'

He summoned Kreacher to help him out of bed. 'Good morning, Master,' said the elf brightly, but Harry was concerned by how tired he looked.

'Are you all right? You're looking a bit peaky.'

'Kreacher is perfectly fine,' he protested. 'Kreacher is deliriously happy to serve Master in his hour of need.'

'You've been a tremendous help—I'd be lost without you. But you deserve rest as well.'

'Is Master threatening to punish Kreacher?'

Here we go again, thought Harry. 'Yes,' he said firmly. 'After you help me get dressed, I'm confining you to your attic for the rest of the morning. You've been very naughty!'

'Cruel, cruel master!' cried Kreacher ecstatically, and Harry and Lydia both clamped their mouths shut to keep from laughing. 'But who will cook Master's breakfast?' said the elf.

'Kammy will,' said Lydia. 'And lunch as well.'

Kreacher's eyes bulged with alarm, and he looked desperately at Harry. 'Lydia, that's very generous, but I require lunch from Kreacher.'

Mollified, Kreacher helped Harry from bed and brought him to the bathroom. After his shower, Harry tried to forbid Kreacher from shaving him, insisting he rest as soon as possible, but the elf wailed until Harry consented. Would it be wrong to let him continue as my valet once I'm healed? he wondered afterwards. Not the showering, of course—just the shave.

Harry had wizarding business that afternoon so he opted for robes, and Lydia declared him a remarkably dashing invalid. 'Your interior designer is liable to fall in love with you,' she said playfully.

'The interior designer and his assistant are both male, so I don't think I'm likely to return their affections.' Harry was taking advantage of his unplanned day off to meet with the decorator whose assistance he'd negotiated in his contract with the furniture store.

'Are you sure you don't want my help?' asked Lydia.

'I do want your help with the final decisions, but if you're here today, the designer will only talk to you and bypass me completely.'

'That's true,' she said. 'And you seem to like how gloomy the house is, which of course I'd never tolerate.'

'Yet another reason we shouldn't marry,' he said affectionately.

His florist had sent an array of boutonnières relating to his injury, including yarrow for healing, a light pink rose for gratitude, and another bachelor's button for celibacy. 'Whoever selects the flowers is very cheeky,' observed Harry. 'I should probably owl my thanks.'

'You need to owl Lee and George about the broadcast,' Lydia reminded him.

'You're right,' he replied, and he wrote a quick note.

Dear Lee and George,

I hope this isn't a problem, but I'd like to take a break from the radio show for the next couple of weeks. Hermione pointed out that I'm risking overexposure, and I agree. I also have a match against the Harpies the weekend after next, and I'd rather not give Allie Hobbs more ammunition.

I may change my mind at the last minute if some new horror appears in the Prophet, but otherwise you should plan on doing the show without me. I promise to return once my life settles down a bit, which I'm told might actually happen someday.

Best wishes,
Harry

Lydia posted the letter with Lysander, and they ate breakfast together in the dining room. 'Kammy cried when I asked her to serve us in the kitchen,' said Lydia. 'You and Kreacher were in the bathroom, and she admitted she served me in the kitchen all last week only because you insisted, and that she had to punish herself afterwards.'

'No!' cried Harry. 'That's terrible! Do you know what she did?'

'She wore a soiled tea towel. It was charmed so we wouldn't see it, but she knew, and she said it was mortifying.'

That's better than anything Dobby came up with, thought Harry with relief, but he was sorry Kammy had made herself suffer.

They read the Prophet over breakfast. Harry was mentioned in the Quidditch news as usual, and there was an item in the gossip column:

Potter's Mysterious Meeting: Not even a broken pelvis could keep Harry Potter away from Penumbra last night, but Lydia Travers probably needn't worry her randy Seeker is straying. The devoted pair dined together at Mistigri, dazzling onlookers with their obvious mutual affection, and afterwards he joined his fellow Order of Merlin recipient Hermione Granger for a closed-door meeting at Penumbra with an unidentified older witch. The meeting lasted an hour, and Potter and Granger were spotted leaving the Leaky Cauldron by Muggle taxicab, presumably to accommodate his injury. On the remote possibility, however, that Potter and Granger are renewing their long-rumoured romance, we invite Miss Travers and Cannons Chaser Ryan Bellamy to console each other, if only for the pleasure of photographing them together.

'Really?' said Harry with exasperation. 'They still think Hermione and I have a secret past?'

'Ryan's awfully good-looking,' mused Lydia. 'But I wouldn't dream of coming between him and Hermione—they're madly in love.'

'They are, aren't they? It's so different to how she and Ron were as a couple.'

'I can't even picture them together! They really have nothing in common, except for you.'

'That's not true. We were all in Gryffindor, for one thing.'

'Fine. What else?'

'We fought Voldemort together.'

'And?'

Harry paused. What did they have in common? he wondered. 'None of us liked Umbridge.'

'Dolores Umbridge? I don't know anyone who liked her. My grandfather called her "an odious necessity."'

'I wouldn't call her a necessity, but it's nice to know your grandfather and I agree on something. I'll keep that in mind the next time we're trapped in a lift together.'

'Can you really not think of anything else Hermione and Ron had in common, besides you and your mates?'

'Honestly, no. I never quite understood why they fancied each other, but that's just how it was.'

They were interrupted by Kammy, who was carrying an envelope. 'For Mr Harry Potter,' she said, and she handed it to him with a curtsy.

He thanked her and opened it. 'It's from Rita Skeeter,' he said, frowning. It read:

Dear Harry,

Please accept my wishes for a swift and complete recovery. The entire wizarding world is figuratively draped in black over the injury to what can only be described as a national treasure.

I'm writing in response to the intriguing statement you made on Saturday afternoon, regarding your ambition to prevent the next war. Obviously you were under the influence of Healing potions, so I'd never accuse you of violating our agreement by revealing something important without consulting me first.

If you wish to dissolve our partnership and discuss it with other reporters, please let me know so I may pursue other research opportunities. But I'd much rather preserve our alliance, wouldn't you?

I understand if you're not ready to discuss the topic further, which is your prerogative and would leave our relationship intact. But if you wish to discuss it publicly, please either ask for my assistance or notify me that our contract is void.

Admiringly yours,
Rita

'Ugh, I forgot I was supposed to give her right of first refusal,' grumbled Harry. 'Fortunately I barely said anything about it at the time.'

'You should probably owl her,' said Lydia. 'You don't want to get onto her bad side again.'

'Good idea—and I need to owl Lara as well, about tickets for Saturday's match.' Sighing, he said, 'I really need another owl. And don't tell me to send Kreacher, because he's sleeping.'

"I wasn't going to say that. You definitely need another owl—something better than your current one.'

'What's wrong with Lysander?' he asked, anticipating her reply.

'He's so common. You should really have something more distinctive, like a black owl.'

'Are there black owls? I don't think I've ever seen one.'

'They're rare,' she said. 'But that's what you need. You're head of House Black, after all.'

Harry grimaced. 'I can't decide if having a rare black owl would be pretentious or not. My instinct says it is.' After a pause, he said, 'On the other hand, Hedwig was snow white. So it would almost be a tribute to her if I had a black owl. I could certainly never replace her.'

'We should go to Diagon Alley this afternoon before we get tea at that Muggle hotel,' proposed Lydia.

'Good idea,' said Harry. 'Will you be off now?'

'Yes, I need to go to Gringotts to discuss wards for my flat, and then establish the Floo connection and a thousand other things. But I'll be home by three, and we can go out together.'

Lydia left, and Harry went upstairs to write letters. The note to Lara was simple—he asked her to send fourteen tickets to Fiona for the residents of the WORF group home. But he put careful thought into his letter to Rita:

Dear Rita,

Thank you for your good wishes, and also for reminding me about our contract, which I value highly. I'm not yet ready to discuss my goal of preventing the next wizarding war, but I believe it dovetails with my other upcoming announcements. We already discussed one on Wednesday, when I reacted to the Glowpox vaccine, and you've undoubtedly guessed what the other one is. I promise you'll be the person I contact when the time comes.

Yours sincerely,
Harry

Everyone in wizarding Britain knew he was likely to change his name, but Harry wanted to wait at least until after his visit to Malfoy Manor on Sunday. Lydia would have moved out by then, and perhaps he would manage to go a week without some new scandal. Not that I want to, he thought wickedly. Scandals are fun.

He didn't think it was because he craved attention, at least not primarily. But everything I do attracts attention, so I may as well do as I please, as long as I'm not hurting anyone. Lydia had given him permission to date other witches after she moved out, and he was keen to get started. He loved Lydia but he didn't want to grow attached to her, so he was already thinking about whom to pursue next.

Harry's first choice would have been Fiona, but Owen had warned him not to toy with her. And he'd met several other appealing witches at the party, including a couple of Quidditch players, but he was unwilling to date someone else in the league. Too much taunting potential if we break up, he thought. The last thing he needed was a rival Seeker taunting him about his frequent nightmares.

His train of thought was interrupted by Lysander's tap at the window. Harry wheeled over to let him in, and the owl perched on his arm as he read Lee's reply: 'Not to worry—we have heaps of material and can fill the time easily. But of course you're always welcome should you change your mind, even at the last minute.'

Harry gave Lysander the letter to Rita, and then he waited for Healer MacAlister to arrive. I've actually finished my team correspondence, he thought with satisfaction. I can't decide whether to send it back with MacAlister or to hand-deliver it to Mrs Thwip tomorrow, just to see her shocked expression.

'Harry, how are you feeling?' asked the Healer when he arrived, after the Cannons had all gone to lunch. With a more stern expression, he added, 'Have you been following my instructions?'

'Yes, to the letter! My house-elf has been tremendously helpful.' MacAlister looked at him uncertainly, and Harry said, 'Oh dear, that came out wrong.'

They both laughed, and after a short conversation the Healer hovered Harry to the sofa for an exam. He performed diagnostic charms and said, 'You're healing well. A little ahead of schedule even, so you're free to start walking with a cane.'

'What about magical transport?' asked Harry hopefully.

'Not until tomorrow morning.'

'Oh well. I suppose Muggle taxicabs will be easier now that I no longer need a wheelchair.'

MacAlister showed Harry how to use the cane, and he gave him several more potions from his bag. 'Take these tonight, no later than midnight. And try to stay in bed as late as possible tomorrow morning, other than going to the toilet and such. But then feel free to Apparate to practice, and you can stop using the cane.'

'That sounds great,' replied Harry, knowing how happy Lydia would be to eat breakfast in bed. 'Could you deliver this to Lara when you return?' he asked, holding out the letter. He'd decided to deliver his completed fan mail in person on Tuesday.

'Yes, or course. And thanks for reminding me ... Mrs Thwip sent this for you,' said MacAlister, pulling a thick sheaf of papers from his bag.

Harry's shoulders slumped. 'More post?' he groaned. 'I'd finally caught up.'

'Well-wishers,' replied MacAlister. 'Apparently you received a lot of baked goods as well, but Mrs Thwip had to Vanish them.'

After the Healer left, Harry practised walking with the cane, mostly for the pleasure of using his legs again. He ate lunch in the kitchen and noted with relief that Kreacher was looking less tired, although he seemed disappointed Harry no longer required a wheelchair.

At half past one, Harry went to the reception hall to greet the interior designer. The fireplace flared green, and a very well-dressed man in his fifties stepped out. 'You must be Mr Finial,' said Harry, extending his hand.

'Yes, but let's make room for my assistant, Alex,' replied the designer, moving away from the hearth.

'Of course,' said Harry, carefully stepping backwards.

To Harry's surprise, Alex was a young woman. An attractive young woman, he noted with interest, and he unconsciously ran a hand through his hair. She was perhaps an inch taller than he was, with remarkably good posture, and he'd never seen anyone with such long and thick eyelashes. Her features were unusual, and she wasn't conventionally pretty, but she took his breath away.

Don't glow, he warned himself, and he paused to regain his composure. 'Thank you for coming on short notice,' he said. 'It's rare for me to have a weekday at home.'

'Of course, Mr Potter,' said Finial. 'I'm Stephen Finial, and this is Alex Barrington.'

'Please, call me Harry,' he replied, belatedly tearing his eyes away from the striking young witch. 'I can tolerate being called Mr Potter in public but not at home.'

After everyone agreed to use their given names, Stephen and Alex started looking around.

'I love how gloomy it is,' declared Stephen. 'So much character. But don't let me bias you; what are you hoping to accomplish?'

'Not very much, to be honest,' said Harry. 'I rather like the house as it is, but I have new wallpaper thanks to my over-enthusiastic house-elf, and I'd like to make sure everything still goes together. And it would be nice to add a few touches to make the house more comfortable. My girlfriend Lydia bought a throw blanket for the sitting room and some pillows for the master bedroom, and I'm certain the rest of the house could use other details like that to warm it up.'

'That's where Alex can help,' said Stephen as they walked into the dining room. 'She's a Transfiguration expert, and she can temporarily conjure items and change colours, so you can preview what I have in mind.'

'I'm not an expert yet,' corrected Alex. 'I'm still working on my Mastery—this job is an internship.'

'Trust me, you're an expert,' said Stephen. He looked at the large chandelier hanging above the midpoint of the table and said, 'Harry, how do you feel about that chandelier?'

'I almost like it?' he replied uncertainly.

'Yes, exactly,' agreed Stephen. 'Alex, can you remove the facets from all but the central teardrop? And make the scallops on the collars around the candles look less like fingernails?'

She pulled out her wand, which was as dark as ebony and exceptionally long and slender. Harry watched her as she wordlessly transfigured the light fixture, more interested in her look of concentration than in the chandelier itself. Judging from her satisfied expression, he could tell she'd done a good job.

He examined her handiwork. 'Wow! If I didn't know you'd changed it, I'd think it was the same chandelier as always. Only now I actually like it.'

'It's not permanent,' replied Alex. 'You'll need your house-elf to prevent it from changing back.'

'That's fine, he'll be delighted. How long will it stay like this?'

'Twenty-four hours, maybe longer.'

'Marvellous, thank you.'

Stephen, who was still looking around, said, 'Would I be correct to assume you'd like more changes along these lines, preserving the character of the house but making it a hint more modern and slightly less ... creepy?'

'That sounds like a good slogan for my tenure as Head of House,' joked Harry. '"A hint more modern, and slightly less creepy." At least I hope so,' he added.

Stephen and Alex both laughed, and they continued exploring the house. Stephen asked Alex to perform more transfigurations, nearly all of which Harry liked. The only one he rejected was an attempt to stabilise a hatstand that Tonks had consistently knocked over.

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'An old friend used to always bump into it, during the war, and she'd invariably start swearing. She's gone now, but whenever someone knocks it over I think of her.'

'That's a perfect reason not to change it,' said Stephen, and Alex smiled warmly. She squints a little when she smiles, he thought admiringly, and he automatically smiled back at her.

She raised a single eyebrow at him, as if to say, 'Are you really flirting with me when everyone knows you have a girlfriend?' Chastened, he assumed a serious expression and followed Stephen up the stairs.

How do I convey that Lydia and I won't be exclusive after Wednesday? he wondered. The more he watched her perform complicated transfigurations, the more taken he was with her. She's so unusual looking, and clever to boot.

Calm down, Gryffindor, he told himself. This is probably just the Light magic talking.

They went through the entire house, and Alex transfigured and conjured according to Stephen's suggestions. The conjured items corresponded to products available for purchase at Wendell's shop—mainly pillows and poufs to make the house more friendly.

'Is it still gloomy enough?' asked Harry. 'I've grown quite fond of what my mates and I call "pure-blood decorating," and I don't want to dilute it too much.'

'You needn't worry,' said Stephen. 'This is still what I'd call traditional Dark decor. Ironically, you'll no longer find it in the Darkest family manors, except in the study or a private inner sanctum where Dark rituals are performed. For example, I've never seen Malfoy Manor, but I'm told it's surprisingly cheerful.'

'I was there at night, and mostly in the cellar, so it was anything but cheerful,' said Harry. 'But the drawing room had large windows, and I'm certain it gets more natural light than this house does. And Lydia is accustomed to a much more cheerful house than this one—she's always complaining about how dreary it is.'

'Then she'll be a good litmus test. If she still thinks it's dreary, that'll mean we haven't changed it too much,' said Alex. 'But will she be disappointed?'

'She's moving into her own flat on Wednesday, and I doubt she'll be here often after that,' said Harry, who was grateful for the opportunity to convey he'd be single again soon. 'It was never a serious relationship.'

He realised he might have been looking at Alex a bit too meaningfully, because Stephen coughed and Alex blushed and looked away. Does that mean she's interested? Harry wondered. Or did I just sound like a creep? Oh bugger, we're in the master bedroom! Of course I sounded like a creep!

'Which wallpaper do you prefer in here?' asked Stephen. 'I see you had your house-elf install several options.'

'The dragon was a joke,' explained Harry, who was also blushing. 'And Hermione called the peacock feather pattern "sybaritic" and said it either belongs in the entrance hall or a brothel.'

'No,' replied Stephen. 'It's perfect up here. The botanical print is lovely, but the peacock feathers are classic pure-blood decor. Alex, what do you think?'

She levelled her gaze at Harry and addressed him directly, her tone deliberate. 'I agree with Stephen. It's absolutely perfect up here.'

Well now, thought Harry. There's my answer! He couldn't help smiling, and Alex's lips curled upwards as well, which told Harry everything he wanted to know.

They walked downstairs to the formal fireplace, and Harry thanked them for their help. 'I'll owl the shop about which items I'd like to purchase,' he said. 'And then Wendell can arrange a time to photograph everything—I won't need to be home for that.'

'It's been a pleasure to work on such an historic property,' replied Stephen. He handed Harry his card and said, 'Please let me know if you need any other advice about the place.'

They shook hands, and Stephen disappeared through the fireplace. But then Alex handed Harry a card as well. 'If you ever need help with Transfiguration,' she said evenly. 'Or anything else around the house.'

'Cheers,' murmured Harry, never breaking eye contact with her. She blushed again and turned away, tossing Floo powder into the fireplace and vanishing. Mischief managed, he thought, and he carefully placed her card into his pouch.

He went back upstairs to change into Muggle clothing, in anticipation of his visit with Lydia to Claridge's, and she arrived just as he was straightening his necktie.

'You're standing!' she exclaimed joyfully, and she wrapped her arms around him. But after they kissed she started scolding him. 'I hoped the house would be more cheerful, but other than a few pillows it's as gloomy as ever.'

'Good, that means we didn't ruin it. I assume your flat is the complete opposite?'

'Yes, you'll hate it.'

'I don't hate cheerful spaces,' he protested. 'I just like my house this way. For Merlin's sake, it's called Grimmauld Place—I can't change it too much.'

He and Lydia took a Muggle taxicab to Diagon Alley, in search of an owl. They'd intended to poke into Weasley's Wizard Wheezes on their way to Eeylops Owl Emporium, but the store was packed. 'Blast, school starts on Wednesday,' he said to Lydia. 'Or is it just Hogwarts?'

'No, all wizarding schools start on the first of September, or the Monday after.'

'Ugh, do you think they'll have anything left at Eeylops?'

'I don't know,' she said. 'But we might as well look.'

When they entered the store, Harry's heart sank—there were far fewer than the normal amount of owls, and none of them looked interesting enough to satisfy Lydia. Several families were there, trying to choose among the remaining owls, and the only reason Harry didn't leave was so he could ask when they expected to restock.

'It'll be a few weeks at least,' said the white-haired, bespectacled clerk, who Harry thought might be the owner. 'Are you looking for something in particular?'

'I need a second owl,' said Harry. 'And Lydia was hoping for something a bit more distinctive than the one I have now, which is a common tawny owl.'

'Do you ever have black owls?' she asked.

'Oh, no,' said the shopkeeper. 'Not only are they rare in nature, but they're not inclined to deliver post. I've only seen a few in my entire career.'

Harry sighed. 'Then I suppose I'm just looking for an owl that's fast, and who can handle long distances.'

The shopkeeper looked around the store and shook his head. 'No, we're too picked over by now. Unless ...' he trailed off.

'Unless what?' asked Lydia.

'I've been keeping them as pets—I didn't think anyone would want them—but I have a pair of jackdaws who are remarkably fast and capable.'

'A pair of them?' asked Harry.

'Yes, they mate for life.'

'Why didn't you think anyone would want them?'

'They won't tolerate a cage, for one thing. They require an aviary.'

'I have an owlery,' said Harry. 'It's probably about ten feet square.'

'That'll do,' said the shopkeeper. 'But they also prefer an urban environment—I couldn't sell them to a country wizard.'

'I live in London.'

'Are there a lot of bins nearby? They prefer a bit of squalor.'

'You've described my neighbourhood perfectly,' replied Harry.

'Indeed! Perhaps we should see if they like you. Follow me.' He led them to the back of the store and up several flights of stairs to a large aviary on the roof. 'Orsino, Viola, come here!'

Two medium-sized black birds flapped towards them. 'They're black!' whispered Lydia. 'I wasn't sure what jackdaws looked like.'

'Neither was I,' admitted Harry.

'What do you think of this young fellow?' the shopkeeper asked the birds, who had perched on each of his thumbs. He moved his hands in front of Harry to give the birds a closer look.

They peered at Harry in curiosity, their heads moving jerkily. 'Lift your hand,' instructed their keeper, and Harry cautiously raised his left hand. One of the birds perched on his thumb and immediately bent towards his middle finger, where the Black family ring was concealed. The other bird, which was still on the keeper's hand, did the same.

'They seem to like my ring,' observed Harry. 'Can they see it?'

'Jackdaws are kin to magpies, which means they love shiny objects. And they probably can see it, otherwise they wouldn't be good at delivering post.'

'They look like you,' remarked Lydia. 'They match your hair.'

'Would you be willing to deliver post for the lad?' asked the keeper, and the birds chirruped agreeably.

'They're a bit small for post birds,' observed Harry. 'How large a parcel can they deliver?'

'As large as you need,' said the keeper. 'They're a bonded pair, so they'll happily fly together. I reckon they'd deliver a parcel to America, if you asked them.'

'Would they get along with my current owl?'

'Look around,' said the shopkeeper, indicating the other owls in the aviary. 'They're used to owls. They might fight a bit at first, but maybe not, since your owl is nocturnal and jackdaws aren't.'

'And they're fast?'

'Nearly as fast as an express owl, only they don't require charmed feed.'

Harry was growing suspicious. 'If jackdaws are such good post birds, why aren't they more popular?'

'As I said, they prefer the city and you can't cage them, which doesn't work for most city dwellers, and they want a mate. And some people think they're bad luck because their plumage is black.'

Lydia ran her hand over Harry's head. 'You have black plumage, and you're not bad luck.'

'It all depends who you ask,' said Harry, and the shopkeeper laughed.

'That's true, you were definitely bad luck for You-Know-Who,' he guffawed. 'Speaking of which, I'll give you a good price.' He quoted Harry an amount that was more than a single premium owl would cost, but less than the cost of two.

'Will they mind being separated if I send them on different deliveries?' asked Harry.

'As long as it's not more than a couple of days, they'll be fine.'

'That sounds good,' said Harry, who was still holding one of the birds. 'I'd shake your hand, but then I'd have to let go of my cane.'

'No, we can't have that. But just tell them your address, and you can send them home directly.'

'I will, but first tell me which one's which.'

'It's hard to tell with jackdaws, but Viola's a bit bigger than Orsino.'

'Should I recognise those names?' asked Harry.

'Shakespeare, Twelfth Night,' replied the shopkeeper.

'Oh, perfect! Hermione named my owl Lysander, from A Midsummer Night's Dream.'

Harry told the birds his private address and sent them off, and the three humans went downstairs to complete the purchase. As he and Lydia walked back to the Leaky Cauldron, Harry expressed his satisfaction. 'Helena used to tease me about getting a raven, but jackdaws are perfect. They're distinctive but not as pretentious.'

'I can't fathom why anyone would think you're pretentious,' said Lydia.

'Of course you would say that. But actually, you're the perfect person to identify everything I'm doing that's pretentious.'

'How?'

'You just need to list everything I'm doing that you wouldn't describe as hopelessly common.'

She thought for a moment. 'Are you saying the stationery I bought you is pretentious? Because your old stationery was hopelessly common.'

'Exactly. What could be more pretentious than my initials and a stag watermark?'

Lydia looked insulted. 'Then by your definition, nearly everything I do is pretentious, except for the habits I've picked up from you, like eating pizza.'

'No, you're not pretentious, because you've always done things that way. Whereas I look like I'm trying to be something I'm not.'

'I still don't think you're pretentious, but I'll try to come up with all the ways you're not hopelessly common.' She looked at him as they walked and said, 'Your clothing. It's far from common, especially with the flowers.'

'Completely pretentious. I look like a sodding duke.'

'That cane. Your house. Kreacher.'

'Those all belong to the Blacks. I'm just an upstart.'

'No you're not, you're on the tapestry.'

'Sirius must have Confunded it. I'm just the worthless son of a Mudblood and a middle-class blood-traitor.'

'True, but you attended Hogwarts. Even I didn't attend Hogwarts.'

'You're right—I'm pretentious simply for going to Hogwarts, even though it wasn't my decision. Those bloody wards ...' he grumbled. 'Hang on, did you know about the other schools? You must have done, since you attended one of them.'

'I knew about them but I couldn't keep them straight. Only a handful of schools mattered ... the rest were an insignificant jumble.'

'Didn't you think it was odd that your Hogwarts relations kept asking which house you were Sorted into?'

'Nobody even asked ... they just assumed we were Slytherins.'

They exited Diagon Alley through the Leaky Cauldron and took a taxicab to Claridge's. Harry took Lydia's hand before they entered the hotel and said, 'Thanks for accompanying me. I know you think it's silly that I need your help with this.'

'I don't think it's silly. You were patient with me when I was afraid of your tutor.'

They hadn't walked in yet, but his heart was already racing. 'We were only at Malfoy Manor for several hours, but it was a nightmare. Hermione deliberately hit me with a Stinging Hex in the face, so I wouldn't be recognised. But they knew it had to be me, since I was with Ron and Hermione. Lucius Malfoy wanted to call Voldemort right away, but Bellatrix freaked out when she saw we had Gryffindor's sword.'

'Why?'

'I can't tell you, it's classified.' What he didn't say was, Because that would have meant we'd been inside her vault and had taken the Horcrux.

'They locked Ron and me in the cellar, with the other prisoners, but we could hear Bellatrix torturing Hermione. She was screaming ...'

'Shh,' murmured Lydia. 'You're safe now, and so is Hermione. You all escaped.'

'Dobby didn't escape,' said Harry raggedly, and he knew he was about to cry. He was embarrassed because they were still standing in front of the hotel in full view of passers-by. 'I should have cast a Notice-Me-Not,' he choked, and his tears began to flow.

Lydia held him and he started weeping openly. Pedestrians were watching, and a concerned-looking woman asked Lydia, 'Is he all right?'

'No, his parents died,' she explained, and Harry began to sob. Whispering, she said, 'We don't need to go inside. We can just go home.'

He shook his head, which was on her shoulder as she held him. 'No, I need to do it. I was able to enter a few weeks ago.' He took several deep breaths and slowly pulled away from her. 'I'm sorry,' he said to the onlookers. 'That was unexpected. I was here with my parents, and it all came flooding back.'

For some reason the lie calmed his nerves, and his breathing became steady again. The woman who'd spoken earlier said, 'I'm so sorry. You're far too young to have lost your parents.' He nodded mutely, afraid he'd start crying again.

'Are you ready to go inside?' asked Lydia, taking his hand again. 'I'll be right next to you.' He nodded again, and they crowded into a single compartment of the revolving door.

Once Harry was inside the hotel, his memories of Penelope returned and he felt more grounded. 'I can handle this,' he said. 'I think the anticipation was the hardest part.'

They had time to kill before their reservation for afternoon tea, so they walked through the public areas of the hotel. 'This does look like Malfoy Manor,' said Lydia.

'Really, you were there? I forgot to ask.'

'Yes, but not since I was a little girl. They held a party for Draco's eleventh birthday, and all the children from Dark families were invited. It was June, so we were mostly outside in the garden, but Esme and I went inside to explore. Esme was convinced I'd eventually marry Draco, and we wanted to see where I'd live.'

'What did you think of your future home?' asked Harry.

'Oh, it was lovely. As bright and elegant as my parents' house, and with grounds as vast as my grandfather's. I was very pleased at the prospect of living there one day.'

'And yet you threw it all away,' chided Harry. 'You wicked, naughty girl.'

'Don't blame me ... I fell victim to your seducer's arts.' In a whisper she added, 'And it was worth it.'

It took all of Harry's willpower not to snog her then and there, but he just kissed her lightly and said, 'It's time for tea.'

They walked into the foyer, and the hostess led them to a table in the middle of the room. 'This is lovely,' said Lydia once they were seated. 'I don't think even my mother could find anything to criticise here.'

'Except for me,' smirked Harry. 'The despicable half-blood who cost you Malfoy Manor.'

'I thought about that, you know. When I was deciding whether to be ruined, I had to accept the possibility I'd never live in a manor house.'

Harry stifled the urge to snigger. 'And was that hard for you?'

'It gave me pause,' she admitted. 'But then I remembered the kinds of wizards who usually own manor houses, which made it easier.'

'Wizards like Draco,' noted Harry. 'Did you interact with him at his party?'

'No, he's a year older than I am, so I was just a little girl as far as he and his mates were concerned—they spent most of the party on broomsticks. But the girls all talked about what a catch he was, as the heir to the Malfoys and the Blacks.'

'They were half right,' observed Harry. 'I suppose they all thought they'd marry him.'

'I'm certain they did, but none of us admitted it. Except for Pansy Parkinson, who described her plans to ensnare him at Hogwarts. I actually cried after the party because I knew I was probably headed for Stodgings, which meant I'd miss my chance with him. But my mother assured me that it was an advantage to go to a different school, since I'd retain an air of mystery and catch his eye at a ball during the holidays. That's how she caught my father, after all.'

'Did you ever see him at a ball? And by the way, I can't even believe I'm talking about balls in 1999. Although I suppose we had a Yule Ball at Hogwarts.'

'No, I wasn't old enough for a ball until the final year of the war, and the Malfoys didn't attend the Ministry's New Year's Ball that year. Nor last year, of course.'

'Oh right, that. I was invited last year, but Ginny and I declined and spent the evening with our mates. Did you attend?'

'Yes, but we left early because my mother wasn't happy with our table. She was convinced someone had magically altered the layout of the ballroom to put all the Dark families near the kitchen and the orchestra, simultaneously.'

'Your suitors must have been crushed when you disappeared,' remarked Harry.

'They were, and I was disappointed as well. Not because I fancied any of them, but I wanted to be acknowledged the belle and asked to start the dancing, although I knew it was unlikely because of my surname. I daresay they'd have chosen Ginny Weasley if you and she had attended.'

Harry laughed out loud. 'That's really not Ginny's style. Merlin knows she's pretty enough, but she's a tomboy at heart.'

'Yes, I could never figure her out,' said Lydia. 'Everyone used to speculate about her, you know.'

'Who do you mean by everybody?'

'Everyone I knew at Stodgings. My girlfriends and I thought she was common, but I overheard some wizards saying they could fancy a crack at her. Blood-traitor witches have a reputation, after all.'

'Let me guess,' said Harry. 'For being easy?'

'Exactly. But they're still pure-bloods, so you can see the temptation.'

Harry was still a little insulted she'd called Ginny 'common,' but he didn't want to press her on it. 'Did you reach any other conclusions about her?'

'We admitted she was pretty, in spite of all those freckles. And the Potters were blood traitors, so it was an obvious match—that's before it came out you were head of House Black.' Lydia sighed and added, 'But there was a photograph from your Order of Merlin ceremony that showed only the two of you. Neither of you were facing the camera, and you were just looking at each other. She didn't care that your robes were ordinary and your hair and eyeglasses were appalling. And you didn't care that she had a million freckles and looked uncomfortable in her dress. You were just in love with each other, and that was obviously more important than the new medal on your robes, or anything else.'

Harry had liked that photograph, mostly because it captured Ginny so perfectly. But he could see that Lydia was getting emotional, so he looked at her affectionately.

A tear rolled down her cheek and she said, 'Seeing that photograph made me question whether Dark wizards were as clever as I'd been led to believe. Because you and Ginny looked so happy together, even though she didn't have a dowry and your children would be half-bloods. And meanwhile, my family wasn't even invited to the ceremony, even though Wizengamot families are always invited to that sort of thing.'

She continued, 'There were two whole pages of photographs from your ceremony, and you weren't even trying to appear in any of them. It was subtle, but I could see you were pushing Ron and Hermione towards the front—Ron in particular. And meanwhile, my mother was complaining about how much of the newspaper was devoted to you, and grumbling that they mightn't print even a single photo when I got married.'

'Little did she know that you'd appear in the Prophet loads of times this year,' he remarked. 'And they'll probably have a special section when you do marry, eventually.'

'You may be right ... but if my father hasn't forgiven me by then, you'll have to give me away.'

'That sounds tacky,' replied Harry. 'Like I'm supposed to walk you down the aisle, pat you on the arse, and tell the groom, "I broke her in for you."'

Lydia was sipping tea at the wrong moment and started to laugh. After she stopped coughing, she said, 'Merlin, that would be appalling! And hilarious!'

'Let's hope your family forgives you by then,' he said. 'But I have a feeling they will—it was dead obvious how much they love you.'

She shook her head sadly. 'How is it possible that they're able to love me—and Esme and Jacob—but they don't think it was wrong for the Dark Lord to try to kill a baby, or that the Lestranges tortured Neville's parents?'

'I don't know,' said Harry. 'But people aren't all good or all bad. I think we're more like a garden, with some flowers, but also weeds and poisonous plants. I'm certain I have my share of them.' He furrowed his brow and added, 'And love is the key. The reason Narcissa Malfoy told Voldemort I was dead when I wasn't was because she loved Draco and wanted to know if he was alive.'

'But do you think she's actually improved?' asked Lydia. 'Or was that just a one-time occurrence?'

'Good question—I have no idea. I suppose I can ask her on Sunday,' he added with a smirk.

By this point they'd been served finger sandwiches, which Harry was devouring. 'How are you so hungry?' asked Lydia. 'You didn't even go to practice.'

'Habit,' he replied between bites. 'And besides, I'm healing.'

Lydia was still daintily nibbling at her sandwiches after Harry had finished his. 'You're doing that thing with your eyes again,' she said.

'What thing?' he asked innocently, looking at her uneaten sandwiches.

'You're trying to play on my sympathies by looking like a neglected little orphan.'

'Strictly speaking, I am a neglected little orphan.'

'I don't think the word "neglected" applies to you anymore, considering you can't go anywhere without attracting attention. Even the Muggles are looking at you! How do you do that?'

'They're probably wondering why I didn't comb my hair, even though I did. So their next puzzle is why someone like you is here with me.'

She looked around and said, 'Actually, I think you're right. But I assume it's because of my appearance and not my Blood Status.'

This time Harry choked on his tea. 'They definitely don't care about your Blood Status. No, it's undoubtedly because you're the aristocrat and I'm the commoner. So now they're trying to work out if I'm rich, and whether I got that way legitimately or through the criminal underworld. Or maybe they think I'm poor, and that I scrimped and saved for a month working at a chip shop to impress you on our first and last date.'

'But what about your clothing?' asked Lydia. 'It looks high quality—for Muggle clothes.'

'Oh right, I bought this on Savile Row. So now we're back to the criminal underworld.'

'Maybe you should move your cane so it's visible,' she suggested. 'That's bound to confuse them.'

'Good idea,' he replied, and he repositioned the cane so the gold and emerald head was visible. 'But don't make me reveal the ring, or they'll definitely think I'm some kind of lowlife.'

She motioned towards her plate and said, 'You can have the rest. I want to save room for the pastries.'

Harry made short work of Lydia's remaining sandwiches, and soon their scones arrived, which he bolted down as well. When Lydia raised one eyebrow at him, he said, 'I'm healing! I'm certain MacAlister would encourage me to eat this much.'

His appetite finally slowed down when the pastries arrived, to Lydia's relief. 'The frightening part is that you'll probably be ready for dinner in two hours,' she said.

'I'm not that bad,' he replied indignantly. 'You should have seen Ron while he was still growing, or even now.'

'I can scarcely imagine how you survived for months on mushrooms and whatever else you could forage.'

'That was the easy part,' he muttered. Suddenly emotional, he added, 'I still can't believe we survived ... that I survived, and that I'm here now with you.'

'I'm just as surprised to be here with you,' she said, reaching for his hand. 'But grateful.'

'Even though it cost you Malfoy Manor? Draco definitely won't have you now.'

'Pansy Parkinson can have him,' she said. 'And manor houses are overrated.'

After he paid the bill, Harry stood and looked around one last time. He closed his eyes and recalled that terrible night during the war, when Hermione was tortured and Dobby died. Then he opened his eyes and looked at Lydia, who was standing with the bag containing their leftover pastries. They walked together to the main entrance, and this time he was able to go through the revolving door on his own.