Gemma joined Harry during their laps on Friday morning. 'So how was it?' she asked eagerly.

Still lost in doleful thoughts, he said, 'How was what?'

'Your evening at Twatt's! Did you visit the brothel?'

'Yeah.'

'And?' prompted Gemma.

'Lydia dumped me.'

'But that's not fair! Didn't she order you to go there?'

'She didn't order me to go upstairs. And we'd basically agreed that I wouldn't.'

'But you did it anyway!' admonished Gemma. 'How are you doing? Are you all right?'

'I feel terrible,' he admitted. 'I feel like the world's biggest arsehole.'

'How did she even find out?'

'I lost track of time and turned up at her flat more than an hour late. With my robes buttoned wrong.'

Gemma couldn't help laughing. 'Did you at least shower first?'

'No, I just used charms. But I would have told her regardless—I could never lie to her.'

'No, you just cheated on her.'

'I didn't cheat—well, not exactly. We agreed we could see other people after she moved out. It was her suggestion even. But we had an understanding I wouldn't do it last night, and to make matters worse, I kept her waiting for more than an hour. She knew exactly where I was, and what I was probably doing—I'd have gone mad if she'd done the same to me.'

'You really blew it, Toffer. What's your next move?'

'My next move?' he asked. 'I haven't one. We were supposed to go to the theatre tonight but she told me to find someone else. Speaking of which, do you want to go to the theatre with me tonight?'

'Muggle or wizarding?'

'Muggle. The Importance of Being Earnest.'

'All right. I'd have turned you down if it were wizarding. Between the paparazzi and how crap the play would have been, I'd be better off at home watching the telly.'

'I'm not sure I've actually seen any wizarding plays,' mused Harry.

'Keep it that way. In fifth year I went on a class trip to see a play about Ulmer Stebbins, who was Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot in the 1600s—for about a week, until he died of Ulmer's Scourge, which was named after him. Originally it was called Stebbins's Scourge, but all the surviving Stebbinses complained so they used his given name instead. The end.'

'You took a class trip?' asked Harry, puzzled. 'How come I never went on any class trips?'

'How would I know? I didn't go to Hogwarts.'

'Then where did you go?'

'Those fuckers!' shouted Gemma. 'They warded Twatt's!' She stopped running and grabbed Harry's arm. 'Listen carefully: There are wizarding schools in Britain other than Hogwarts. I attended one called East Kettleton. Are you still with me?'

'That bloody bastard!' cried Harry. 'I knew it meant something when they said Phineas Nigellus was a member. He warded the sodding club!'

'And let me guess,' continued Gemma. 'Everyone who belongs to Twatt's attended Hogwarts.'

'I think so. Ugh, Hermione will be furious when she hears about this! And yes, now I remember East Kettleton and all the rest.'

They started running again, and Gemma asked, 'So, are you going to become a member?'

'Of Pratt's? No, the last thing I need is twenty-four hour access to French prostitutes. Furthermore, it turns out the membership dues are astronomical, and I could never justify it.'

'I like how you didn't say you can't afford it,' said Gemma slyly.

'Yes, I can afford it,' admitted Harry. 'But I could never spend that much gold on an elitist club when it could be used better elsewhere.'

'Like at your tailor's?'

'No, for charity. I've started making monthly donations to various good causes—Mrs Thwip handles it for me.'

'Well done!' replied Gemma. 'Three cheers for noblesse oblige!'

'What's noblesse oblige?' asked Harry.

Gemma rolled her eyes. 'You're truly the product of wizarding Britain's finest school. Noblesse oblige is the idea that rich and powerful people should use their advantages to help the less fortunate. In other words, you still get to be rich, but you can pat yourself on the back about how generous you are.'

'Is that what I was doing just now?'

'No, but I had to take the piss. That's why the team hired me, after all. That and my flying.'

They continued running together, and after a while Harry said, 'By the way, please don't tell anyone about the brothel.'

'Don't worry, your secret is safe with me. But you're lucky it happened after you took Veritaserum on the radio—you can no longer say you haven't paid for sex.'

'I still haven't,' said Harry. 'She didn't charge me.'

'Fantastic! Was it the Voldemort thing or the Sorceress article?'

'Both, I think.'

'And was she talented?' asked Gemma.

'Very. And that's all I'll say.'

'You're the soul of discretion. So what's with the theatre tonight? Shall I meet you there?'

'You're welcome to come to dinner first, if you trust me not to poison you before a match. My tutor is coming over, and we'll go to the theatre together. By the way, he's a werewolf.'

'Of course he is. Does that mean I get steak and veg?'

'It does indeed. And I'll be wearing a jacket and tie, but I don't think there's a dress requirement, so wear whatever you like.'

'Perfect. I'll bring my sceptre and tiara. And combat boots.'

They finished their laps, and Harry had to admit he was feeling better. He was still ashamed of how he'd treated Lydia, among other things, but he was enjoying his new friendship with Gemma.

After their morning flying drills, when the starters were walking to lunch, Darren approached Harry and asked, 'So how about tomorrow night? Shall we celebrate our freedom together?'

'Not this week,' said Harry. 'I think I'll take the night off.'

'What? No! How can you do this to me?' cried Darren. 'I trusted you!'

'I trusted me too, but look where it's got me ... Lydia broke up with me last night.'

'Are you serious? What happened?'

'I don't want to talk about it, but suffice it to say, it was my fault.'

Darren frowned. 'She didn't find out you're a half-blood, did she?'

'Did Snitchbottom get dumped?' asked Janet.

'Yes,' said Harry dully. 'Again.'

She put her arm around him and gave him a squeeze. 'I'm sorry. How are you doing?'

'I've been better. It was all my fault, and I feel awful.'

'Was your pelvis involved?' she asked. 'If you can't be trusted with it, we'll have to take it away from you.'

'Good idea. Although I might have trouble flying without it.'

'Surely we can make you a little harness,' said Janet. 'But back to your broken heart ... is there anything I can do to help?'

'You can tell me what an idiot I am on a regular basis, in the hopes I'll finally catch on.'

'Gladly! Shall I get Ron in on it as well?'

'Why not? But then again what's the point ... I'm forbidden from having an actual relationship for two years. So why do I even bother?'

'Hang on, I think you've augmented your vow just a bit. Wasn't it only that you can't propose marriage?'

'You're right, it was. But it's turned into something else, particularly since I have no self-control.'

'There there, Snitchbottom ... I think you're being too hard on yourself. Weren't you and Lydia going to break up anyway?'

'We were, but not like this. Not with me hurting her.'

'But the whole reason she chose you was because you're promiscuous. So why should she be surprised when you fulfil expectations?'

'That's one way of looking at it,' mused Harry. 'I reckon living together forced us into monogamy artificially, when she mightn't have expected it otherwise.' He sighed and added, 'But that still doesn't excuse how I treated her.'

'Perhaps not. But I'm certain you can learn something from the experience, perhaps about setting expectations.'

They arrived at the pub and sat at their usual table. 'What kind of expectations should I set?'

'Could you prepare a written statement?' she asked. 'It could start with "I, Harry James Potter."'

Harry forlornly said, 'I, Harry James Potter, am a self-centred bastard who somehow found a way to be both neglected and spoilt. I promise you'll have one hundred percent of my attention while I'm in the same room as you, but the minute you step out to the loo I'll fall in love with someone else. Because I'm a needy, fucked-up bastard." Oops, did I say bastard twice?'

Everyone at the table was looking at him. 'Did I miss something?' asked Ryan.

'Snitchbottom got dumped,' said Janet. 'And he's convinced he's to blame, because of his wandering pelvis.' She turned to Harry and added, 'Yes, you said bastard twice. But that's fine—it emphasises your point.'

'What's this about falling in love?' asked Renée. 'You've said you fall in love easily, but how easily are we talking?'

'Days. Hours even. It's just when I'm with a woman, she's everything in the world to me. Honestly, I've fallen in love with nearly everyone I've slept with.'

Renée said, 'Before we go any further, how do you define falling in love?'

Harry closed his eyes. 'I just think she's perfect, even in the ways she's not perfect. And I want to be with her, and I feel safe and content, and I want her to feel the same way. And there's an incredible tenderness ... it's hard to describe but I'm sure you've all felt it.'

'To some extent that's infatuation,' said Ryan. 'But it sounds like there's more to it as well.'

'Could it be the Light magic?' asked Suresh, mouthing the last two words.

'Maybe,' said Harry. 'The tenderness, certainly.'

'But it also sounds needy,' said Gary. 'No offence.'

'None taken,' shrugged Harry.

They paused their conversation when Candice came to take their order. 'Henry's looking a bit low,' she observed. 'Do you reckon you can cheer him up a bit?'

'We're trying,' said Janet. 'It's just he's been unlucky in love.'

'With those green eyes?' exclaimed Candice. 'You just need to bat your eyelashes and the right girl will turn up.'

'That's the problem,' said Darren. 'Too much batting.'

'Oh, you devil!' chided Candice. 'You'd best get that out of your system, otherwise you'll never keep a good woman.'

'How do I get it out of my system?' asked Harry, not really expecting an answer.

'You need to understand that you'll never find what you're looking for in another person—you need to find it in yourself. Otherwise you'll keep chasing birds thinking the next one is going to make you happy.'

'But they all make me happy,' he sighed.

'How old are you?' she asked.

Harry didn't see any reason to lie. 'Nineteen.'

Candice started laughing. 'That's your problem right there. Cheer up, you'll grow out of it. Now let me get your order in, though I reckon the cook got started as soon as you crossed the threshold.'

After Candice left, Renée said, 'She's not wrong. You're young, and probably a bit stunted here and there. But you'll straighten out eventually.'

'I hope so,' replied Harry. 'It's just that Owen and I joke about my eventual three divorces, and I'm starting to see how that might happen.'

'Don't make it a self-fulfilling prophecy,' warned Ryan.

'Good point ... the last thing I need is another sodding prophecy.'

Gary sighed. 'Harry, I hate to point this out, but this sounds like unresolved issues around losing your mum. Not that your dad didn't matter, but as a father I've witnessed how much more attached babies are to their mums. Until he stopped nursing, Aaron was far less interested in me than in Melissa, and I can't imagine how scarred he'd be if he'd lost both of us that young.'

'And was then raised unloved, with a spoilt rival,' added Renée. 'Honestly Harry, you should give yourself credit for how functional you turned out.'

'It wasn't me,' shrugged Harry, 'it was the protection in my blood, from my mother's sacrifice.'

'Maybe so, but your mother's sacrifice didn't give you cuddles or read you bedtime stories, or soothe you after a bad dream,' said Renée.

Harry was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. 'Do we really need to talk about this? I'm tired of being the conversation topic all the time—how am I supposed to become less self-centred if I'm always the bloody centre of attention?'

'That's a good question,' said Ryan. 'But you've put us in a bind, because we can't discuss it without making you the focus.'

'Sure we can,' said Suresh. 'We'll just choose someone else who's famous and talk about them.'

'As famous as Harry?' asked Darren. 'Who do you have in mind?'

There was a collective silence. 'Celestina Warbeck?' suggested Renée.

'She's like a million years old,' scoffed Darren. 'Not interested.'

'You don't need to shag her, just talk about her,' said Suresh.

'No, Darren's right,' said Janet. 'A big part of the fascination around Harry is sex appeal.'

'Even when he was a little boy?' asked Ryan. 'I hope not.'

'Back then it was the Boy-Who-Lived narrative,' said Gary. 'Celestina Warbeck never survived a Killing Curse. But what about a Muggle celebrity, like Princess Diana?'

'I honestly don't know much about her,' said Suresh.

Janet was shocked. 'How is it possible that you, a gay man, not know everything about Princess Diana?'

'I've never really followed Muggle news. I was living in India when she died, and I never leave wizarding enclaves when I'm there, so I barely heard about it.'

'Yeah, and I was in hiding by then,' said Harry, before clamping his mouth shut.

'Right, bad example,' said Janet. 'What about Mick Jagger?'

'Him I know,' said Suresh emphatically. 'I saw him on a television screen in a shop window at an impressionable age, and let's just say he made an impression.'

'On your trousers,' remarked Janet.

'I know who he is,' said Darren, 'but I don't find him fascinating the way people do with Harry.'

'Yeah, that's the problem,' agreed Ryan. 'Harry has the right blend of relatability and sheer impossibility.'

'You mean the Killing Curses?' asked Renée.

'And being a league Seeker. I mean really, what are the odds that the kid who defeated Voldemort would go on to lead the Chudley Cannons to a seven-game winning streak?'

'And be the Black heir,' added Darren.

'And a dynamo between the sheets,' said Janet. Harry couldn't help smirking, but he was careful to keep his mouth shut.

'How about Myron Wagtail, from the Weird Sisters?' suggested Darren.

'Not the Weird Sisters,' groaned Ryan. 'But what about Paul McCartney, or John Lennon?'

'Wasn't John Lennon killed?' asked Suresh.

'He was,' said Janet. 'But what if he'd come back, like Harry, and were still around?'

'Not as an Inferius, I hope,' said Gary.

'No, he'd be normal, and still young and good-looking. And no Yoko—he'd still be single,' continued Janet. She looked around the table and everyone nodded. 'All right, so let's imagine Vampire John Lennon, and all the ladies want him, and everything he does winds up in the newspapers. But then he decides he's self-centred and doesn't want to be—how does he fix it?'

'He meets Yoko,' said Ryan.

'All right then, problem solved!' announced Janet. 'Harry, you need to go to America and woo Yoko Ono.'

'But not propose until you're twenty-one,' said Darren.

'Do you think she'd be all right with that?' mused Gary. 'I've heard she's rather prudish.'

Renée interrupted them. 'This is all very entertaining, but I doubt it's helping You Know Who,' she said, indicating Harry.

'Did you just refer to Harry Potter as "You-Know-Who?"' exclaimed Suresh. 'That is priceless.'

Candice brought their food, and they continued theorising about Vampire John Lennon, but Harry didn't learn much from the conversation. He was relieved, however, not to be the centre of attention for once. That was something I liked about Lydia, he thought glumly. She was always the centre of attention. Maybe I just need to find someone more spoilt than I am.

How did I get this way? he wondered. Obviously it wasn't the Dursleys' fault, unless this is an overcorrection. He thought back to his first year at Hogwarts, when he'd apparently decided the rules didn't apply to him. It was because I was fighting Voldemort. I could justify anything that way.

And Dumbledore had abetted him. He turned a blind eye to everything we were doing, when I ought to have been kicked out. And he gave me the Invisibility Cloak, which was essentially an invitation to break the rules. Admittedly the Cloak had been Harry's rightful property, but he'd probably deserved to have it confiscated until he was of age.

He remembered one of the memories he'd seen in the Pensieve, given to him by Snape as he died. It depicted the first time Snape met James Potter, on the Hogwarts Express, and Harry had been struck by how coddled his father looked. That's probably what I look like now, he thought, recalling how haughty he'd appeared in his formal robes. Maybe I'd have turned out better if Snape had raised me. It would have been a good punishment for getting my parents killed, and he could have got revenge on my father by raising me to be completely unlike him.

'Harry?' said Janet, interrupting his train of thought. 'Pay up.'

Shaken from his reverie, he noticed the usual pile of five-pound notes and coins. He pulled the exact amount from his pocket—he always ordered the same lunch—and added it to the collection. 'Sorry,' he said. 'I got lost in my own thoughts.'

'That's unfortunate,' replied Janet. 'We decided that Vampire John Lennon should join a Franciscan monastery and devote himself to selfless acts. Only his skin might burn around all the crosses, what with being a vampire and all.'

'So I should join a Franciscan monastery?' he asked, as they rose from the table.

'I never said that,' snapped Janet. 'Really, Harry, why do you have to make everything about yourself?'

'Stop hassling him,' said Ryan. 'He's having a bad day.'

'I mostly feel ashamed,' he admitted. 'The Weasleys are right—I have gone completely off the rails lately.'

'No you haven't,' replied Ryan. 'You could have been a thousand times worse. And no one's worried you'll wind up in a gutter with a needle in your arm. Just give yourself time.'

They returned to the Cannons facility, and Harry joined Owen and Gemma for Seeker training. 'Are you all right?' Owen asked him. 'I heard Lydia broke up with you.'

'I didn't tell him why,' said Gemma. 'Nor anyone at lunch, even though they all tried to get it out of me.'

Harry was ashamed to tell Owen what he'd done, but he wanted his advice. 'I was invited to join an exclusive gentlemen's club, and even though Lydia said I'd hate it she insisted I go there, so I could tell her all about it.'

'Oh dear,' said Owen. 'I think I know where this is going.'

Harry nodded. 'I hadn't any interest in the brothel—I mean what's the point, when I have options at home? But Lydia was mad keen to hear about it, so she insisted I go there and report back afterwards. We had a clear understanding I wouldn't partake.' He sighed heavily. 'But I did. And I turned up at her flat more than an hour late. So of course she dumped me, and I feel awful about it. Not because we're breaking up—we were already planning on that—but because I hurt her so badly.'

Owen was quiet for several seconds. 'Harry, you mustn't beat yourself up about this. I've heard what those brothels are like, and even though they don't use coercion charms, the ambiance has a similar effect. There was no way you could have resisted once you were inside.'

'I realise that, but I should have known. My classmate Blaise was at the club, and when I told him I only intended to look around the brothel but not go upstairs, he laughed and said I'd have to be superhuman to resist. But I went anyway—either because I believed I was superhuman, or because I didn't care whether I cheated on Lydia. Either way I'm a self-centred git.'

'Welcome to life,' replied Owen. 'We're all self-centred gits, to some extent.'

'Right, but that's not all. Blaise also pointed out that I've shit all over the Blacks' legacy, and that I'm remaking House Black in my own image. He called it "The Harry Potter show."'

'The Blacks did all the shitting themselves,' protested Gemma. 'That bastard Phineas whatsisname who created all those wards probably caused hundreds or even thousands of deaths, not to mention making wizarding Britain hugely unequal.'

'It was already unequal,' said Owen. 'But Gemma's right—people already had a poor opinion of the Blacks.'

'Perhaps, but I didn't need to literally broadcast that they'd squandered their wealth, or turn Walburga into a laughing stock.'

'You told the truth about the Blacks' assets because they're your assets now, and they'd been blown out of proportion,' said Owen. 'As for Walburga ... I'll admit, it was in questionable taste to put her on the radio. I know she was horrid and that her portrait insulted you for years, but she was still a human, and she probably had severe mental and emotional issues.'

Harry closed his eyes in dismay. 'I just feel sick, because I've done so many things without thinking.'

'And everyone knows about them,' said Owen. 'That's your particular burden—the rest of us are just wankers in private.'

'Would it help if I acted like an entitled git in public?' suggested Gemma. 'I bet your mates would do it as well.'

Harry smiled for a moment. 'That's very kind of you to offer.'

'But it wouldn't work,' replied Owen. 'They'd just say you were a bad influence on her.'

'Good point,' agreed Gemma. 'I reckon Mothers Against Harry Potter were right.'

Harry nodded glumly, and Owen said, 'For your information, Harry, this is what growing up feels like.'

'Then count me out,' said Gemma. 'Harry looks miserable.'

'No, I'm actually feeling a little better. I've always felt abnormal, and it's nice to hear everyone else feels this way sometimes.'

'They don't, actually, and that's the problem,' said Owen. 'I've seen adults act exactly like my daughters having a tantrum, only nobody recognises how childish they're being because they're fully grown and use bigger words. Those are the people who never learnt from their mistakes—it's quite startling when you notice it.'

Furrowing his brow, Harry said, 'My Uncle Vernon is like that. He's a giant toddler, only he looks like an adult. But even Dudley is more grown up than he is.' After a brief silence, he added, 'And Dudley only improved after he'd been exposed to Dementors. I don't know what he saw, but his worst memories must have been atrocious—probably about what a bully he'd been.'

'Lucky you!' exclaimed Gemma. 'You get to feel like shit without needing Dementors to do the heavy lifting! All you needed was a French prostitute.'

'Cheers,' replied Harry. 'Can we fly now?'

Owen told Harry and Gemma to race through obstacles, in an attempt to boost Harry's speed. 'If you can shave a few milliseconds off your turns, it might make the difference in a chase for the Snitch. I'll ask Bruce to watch as well, in case he notices something I'm missing.'

Harry and Gemma started by flying the course simultaneously, but Bruce suggested having them run through it separately while he timed it. 'There's nothing like a Muggle stopwatch,' he said, showing them the digital timer on a cord around his neck.

First Gemma flew the course, and then Harry. Her time was more than two seconds faster than his, which frustrated him. 'Poor Toffer isn't the fastest flyer!' she taunted. 'Probably because you never learnt how to squeeze the last bit of speed from a crap broom.'

'That's a good point,' said Bruce. 'You've only used racing brooms, right?'

'Yeah,' replied Harry. 'I could probably count on one hand the number of times I've used anything else.'

Bruce trotted to the shed and returned with a Cleansweep Eleven. 'You call that a crap broom?' scoffed Gemma. 'I'd have given my eyeteeth for a Cleansweep Eleven back in school.'

'We don't want to torture Harry,' said Owen. 'Go on, try doing the course again.'

Bruce handed Harry the broom, and Harry tested its weight in his hand. 'Definitely a bit heavier than my Silver Arrow, but lighter than the Comet 240 I flew on Tuesday.' He kicked off and flew to the course.

Harry felt like he was running in wet clothing, or flying against the wind. But he didn't attempt to change his flying style, since he wanted a straight comparison with his regular broom.

'That was nearly three seconds slower than your previous run. But it was still hard for me to observe your technique, because you were going too fast. Do you mind if we put you on something even slower?'

'Do you have a Comet 220?' asked Gemma. 'That's what I had to fly on.'

Bruce went back to the shed, and when he returned Harry's jaw dropped. 'You can't be serious! Why does the team even still have that?'

'We use it to sweep out the shed,' said Bruce as he handed Harry the broom. 'It's a Pegasus Ten, from 1908. I'm told it was revolutionary back in its day.'

'It weighs a ton!' exclaimed Harry. 'Does it even work?'

'Yeah, I had a go on it last year, just for kicks.'

Harry reluctantly threw his leg over the broom and lifted off. It's faster than the broom I gave Teddy, he thought, but that's the best I can say about it. He flew to the course, and at Bruce's command he started. Harry felt himself willing the broom to fly faster, and he sucked in his abdomen in a nonsensical attempt to weigh less. After what seemed like forever, he finished the course and flew down.

'Eleven and a half seconds slower than the Cleansweep,' declared Bruce. 'But that's good, because I noticed one or two things you might tweak.'

Owen took Gemma elsewhere to practice with the Launcher, and Bruce described to Harry what he'd observed. 'It was as slow as I expected when you started, although it picked up a bit midway through. Did you change anything you were doing?'

'I tightened my abdomen, which I knew was absurd. But are you saying it made a difference?'

'It might have done,' replied Bruce. 'All twentieth-century broomsticks, including museum pieces like this one, rely on the same fundamental charms. One of them is a Harmonisation Charm, which allows the broomstick to draw upon the flyer's magic. That's why Muggles can't fly—they haven't any core magic. Squibs can fly, but only if a witch or wizard is flying alongside them, and that's because the brooms harmonise with each other and share the wizard's magic.'

'But there has to be a limit, right?' asked Harry. 'More powerful wizards can't fly any faster than an average wizard. Or can they?'

'No, they can't. The broomstick only requires a certain amount of magic, and adding more won't make a difference. However, you can align your magic with the broom's own charms, and then the broom can use it more efficiently.'

'And fly faster?'

'Just a bit,' said Bruce. 'But yeah.'

After a pause, Harry said, 'I also willed the broomstick to go faster. Do you think that had an effect?'

'I doubt it. You probably do that automatically during a race for the Snitch.'

'Good point. So how exactly do I refine my magic for better flying?'

Bruce showed Harry a technique for engaging his lower abdomen. 'You don't need to suck in your entire gut—not that you have one. All you need to do is very subtly engage these muscles,' said Bruce, indicating them on his own midsection. 'Eventually you'll barely engage the muscles at all, because you're doing it internally.'

Harry put his fingers on his own abdomen to try to mimic what Bruce was doing. 'Yeah, I think I can feel it. Shall I try the course again?'

'If you can stand it, take two runs—the first one without engaging those muscles, and the second one with. I'll be curious to see what kind of difference it makes.'

Harry flew to the course and went through it twice, as Bruce had instructed. But he couldn't detect a difference in his speed, so his expectations were low when he landed.

'Two seconds faster,' declared Bruce. 'And that was on a first attempt—we definitely have something we can work with here.'

'Well, I'll be damned! Thank you, I'll definitely practise it. Do you have any other advice?'

'I do, but you're not going to like it.'

'What is it?' asked Harry cautiously.

'Switch to a Firebolt Ultra.'

'Bloody hell!' cried Harry. 'Not a chance. I hated that thing—it was way too jumpy.'

'It has slightly better acceleration than the Silver Arrow,' argued Bruce.

'And no fluidity.'

'Do Gemma's turns look jumpy?'

'No,' admitted Harry. 'And Viktor Krum likes it as well. But it's not a good match for me.'

'It could be,' said Bruce. 'There's an article in this month's issue of Technical Quidditch comparing the two brooms. Of their four testers, three preferred the Silver Arrow, but the one using the Firebolt flew the fastest.'

'How does that help me?' asked Harry. 'Clearly it's only suited to a particular type of flyer.'

'I know him,' replied Bruce. 'He's a bit odd—rather obsessive about flying technique. But he does a couple of things you might try, and they could make the difference, as far as the Firebolt is concerned.'

He showed Harry the small nuances, and Harry attempted them while flying on the Pegasus Ten so Bruce could watch. 'That felt weird,' said Harry. 'Was I doing them right?'

'Not consistently,' replied Bruce, handing Harry his Omnioculars. 'You got it right on the second and third turns, but after that you overdid it—particularly the thing with your rib cage.'

Harry watched the recording. 'This is helpful, thanks. But am I at risk of messing up my flying during tomorrow's match?'

'You might be,' Bruce admitted. 'You should set this aside for the rest of the afternoon and fly as usual—we can work on this next week.'

Bruce gave Harry his Silver Arrow back, and he spent the rest of the training session practicing the abdominal tweak. He was able to shave half a second from his original time, and Bruce assured him he'd be faster than Kieran Sheppard, his next opponent.

They started the practice match, and Gemma kept to herself for a while. Harry set his intention to embody 'fierce love,' which he hoped would have more fire than his performance the day before. He was also eager to feint, to see what effect the abdominal tweak might have.

Harry shot towards the opposing rings and made it look like he was going to recreate the foul he and Tuttle had invented, which he and his teammates called 'Plocking.' But before flying through the ring he'd been aiming for, he abruptly changed direction and flew between two others. The Keeper was disorientated, and Harry's Chasers were able to profit and score a goal. But Harry maintained his speed and wheeled around before resuming a circling pattern.

Gemma flew to join him. 'I was with you most of the way, but you lost me at the end. What was that?'

'Fierce love,' replied Harry, beaming.

'Give me a break, you pretentious arse. Less than a day after cheating on your girlfriend with a prostitute, you're back to your Light wizard bollocks. Nice job pretending you're not just a self-involved prick.'

'Cheers,' replied Harry. 'I'll admit it's pleasanter than owning up to what a bastard I am.'

'Yeah, about that ... at what point do you think the public is going to catch on that you're full of shit? Soon, I reckon.'

'Do you think? I at least have Rita Skeeter under control now—she won't slander me anymore.'

'You bought her off?' cried Gemma. 'That's the last straw as far as I'm concerned—you're officially an overprivileged fraud.'

'I didn't buy her off. But I promised her first crack at any story, except for what I reveal on the radio.'

'On the radio,' repeated Gemma condescendingly. 'Now that you've cleared up rumours with your Veritaserum stunt, what'll your new excuse be for gobshiting on the air every week?'

'I won't appear next week, and possibly the week after. I'd rather not have it be a regular occurrence.'

Gemma momentarily broke character. 'Really? It's always hilarious, and you generally come off well. People will be disappointed if you don't keep at it.'

'But I'm risking overexposure,' argued Harry.

'Bad news, Toffer—you're already overexposed. The only thing left is going to be nude photographs. Please tell me you haven't taken any.'

'I haven't. And I'm thinking I should ward my bedroom, just in case. And the drawing room.'

'You do it in front of the tapestry, don't you! Do you make her call you Lord Black and pretend she's a naughty housemaid?'

'No, but that's a good idea,' replied Harry. 'How am I doing, by the way? Owen wanted me to bring more fire this afternoon.'

'You're less of a buzzkill than you were yesterday, but you're not throwing me off.'

'I don't want to throw you off,' he said, and Gemma dove sharply towards the pitch, within range of a Bludger. Harry followed her, just for sport, and when he tried to join her afterwards she evaded him.

I guess she wants to practise her spotting, he thought, and he refreshed his mental state. From his expanded awareness he revisited his terrible behaviour the night before. Owen's right—the atmosphere there was almost like being Love Potioned. But I was also delighted to have so many beautiful women pawing at me. Not to mention I was on my third glass of wine, which I shouldn't have done on a weeknight.

His musings continued. When did I become so certain I could do no wrong? I've always been impetuous, but it was downright delusional to think I could enter a magically-enhanced brothel and leave intact. Then again, why did Lydia think I could handle it? She had to have known how compelling those places are.

But she thought I was perfect, and I bought into it. And what a high it was, to have a beautiful pure-blood princess fawning over me, thought Harry, remembering the feeling. I was simultaneously sticking it to the Death Eaters, Draco Malfoy, and probably the Dursleys as well. And Doctor Niffler is right: I've been announcing right and left that I'm no longer the Boy Who Lived.

I want to be normal, he thought longingly. I need to find out what normal wizards do at the weekend, and not just skirt-chasers like Darren. He sighed, recalling that nearly all his friends were in couples, and that as much as he appreciated Luna, she was anything but normal. I should owl Theo Nott, he decided. He's not exactly normal either, but he's trying to be.

Harry celebrated his decision by feinting again, straight across the pitch towards Gemma, to see who would turn first. Fierce love, he thought, watching her get larger as they neared each other. Her intense gaze reminded him of a swooping owl, and he shot downwards at the last moment, as she flew above him in a straight path.

'You flinched, Toffer! And I thought you were brave.'

'I'm not insane,' he replied. 'Although maybe I am for flying like that in the first place.'

'Well, I took you up on it,' said Gemma. 'Let's face it—we're both adrenaline junkies.'

'I hope Healer MacAlister wasn't watching. Or Darius, for that matter. Losing both Seekers the day before a match might've been challenging.'

'They wanted crazy flyers,' she shrugged. 'When they hired me, anyway. They were just stuck with you.'

'They really were,' admitted Harry. 'Why didn't it occur to me that maybe the coach would want to see me fly?'

'Because you're accustomed to having everything handed to you on a silver platter, duh.'

'The silver was stolen during the war. I haven't any.'

Gemma burst out laughing. 'That's tragic! What kind of toff doesn't have silver? It's a good thing the Twatt's people never heard about that, or else they mightn't have invited you.'

'And I'd still have a girlfriend,' said Harry, with only a hint of bitterness.

'You'd have fucked it up sooner or later. Better to have a clean break,' advised Gemma. 'You don't think she'll tell anyone, do you?'

'I hope not. But I doubt she'll tell anyone other than her sister, partly for comfort and partly to reconcile with her family. I still feel awful, though, putting her through that.'

'Damn right you do. You're lucky she didn't curse you last night.'

On an instinct, Harry looked over his left shoulder and spotted the Snitch a ways off. It's behind us, he thought, which means I can build up a lead just by slowing down. He reduced his speed and said, 'That's a good point. But the Light magic might have protected me.'

By the time he'd finished speaking, he was several broom lengths behind her, and when she turned around and saw he'd flown off, he had a commanding lead. Gemma shot after him, but there was no way she could catch up, and he jubilantly grabbed the Snitch. 'Ha, I got it!' he cried. 'And I didn't have to act like an arsehole!'

'Until just now,' grumbled Gemma. 'You know that'll never work again.'

'Of course not. But I can add it to my arsenal for real matches.'

They flew down to Owen, who congratulated them. 'Gemma, you earned your keep just now by forcing Harry to come up with a new strategy. And Harry, great job. But what prompted you to look over your shoulder?'

'Instinct,' he said simply.

'Bloody hell! How am I supposed to compete with that?' cried Gemma.

'Practice,' said Owen. 'Don't take this the wrong way, but most Seekers spend at least a season in the reserves learning the ropes. Harry was an exception because, well, he's Harry. But there's no shame in it, and it's a great opportunity.'

'An opportunity to sit on the skybenches,' she grumbled.

'And to practise five days a week against the league's best Seeker. I hope the Cannons can hang onto you, but a year from now the other team managers are going to be clamouring to sign you.'

Gemma's scowl softened. 'That's a good point. My mum's always telling me to be more patient, and my brother says the reason I'm magical is because I can't even wait for my hair to dry.'

They gathered at the benches and Tuttle gave her notes. 'Nice move, Potter. If you can come up with a few more tricks like that, we'll be in good shape.'

Harry appreciated the praise and he was relieved to have flown well, in spite of his tumultuous night. At least my entire life isn't falling apart, he thought sadly.

After telling Gemma when to come over, Harry showered and returned to Grimmauld Place. With a heavy heart, he opened the cream-coloured envelope waiting for him.

Dear Harry,

I never learnt the proper etiquette for writing exactly this type of letter, so you mustn't take this as an example.

I am still heartsick over your betrayal last night. You claimed you loved me, and yet you jumped straight into bed with a prostitute, only hours before you were supposed to see me. Are you that unable to control your impulses, or was she simply more enticing than I am? Either way, I have no desire to see you again, and I've removed you from my Floo wards.

In hindsight, I now realise I placed too high of expectations on you. I chose you to ruin me precisely because you're a lecherous cad, so I shouldn't be surprised when you act like one. And I should make allowances for your upbringing. After all, what was I to expect from someone whose primary wizarding role model was Sirius Black?

I believe it's in both of our best interests to keep this private. I'll therefore ask you not to boast about it on the radio, or wherever else you might parade yourself.

Cordially,

Lydia Travers

Harry flopped wearily onto the sofa after reading it. How do I even reply? he wondered. She's obviously furious, and who could blame her? He was almost tempted to ask Hermione for advice, but that was too mortifying to contemplate.

After multiple drafts, he wrote to her on the note paper she had given him:

Dear Lydia,

I wish I could adequately express how sorry I am for my actions last night. I only have a feeble excuse: that I was intoxicated by the brothel ambiance, and that my vanity was flattered by having so many women vying for my attention. I should never have gone there, particularly after Blaise warned me I wouldn't be able to resist. But I was curious and overconfident, and I deeply regret that my stupidity hurt you so badly.

I wouldn't dream of talking about this on the radio or anywhere else. I'm completely mortified by my behaviour, and miserable about causing you pain. Our fortnight together was amongst the happiest times of my life, and I feel terrible about spoiling those memories for both of us.

If you can ever forgive me, I'd enjoy maintaining a friendship. I learnt volumes from you about wizarding society, and I'd enjoy watching you continue to bloom in your new surroundings. But I'll also respect your wish to cut all ties, if that's what you prefer.

Again, please accept my sincere apologies for behaving so poorly.

Yours truly,

Harry

As soon as he sealed the envelope he dispatched it with Viola, one of the jackdaws. Mischief managed, he thought dully, before going back downstairs to write another letter. The next one was more cheerful:

Dear Theo,

I'm glad you were able to attend the Cannons match a fortnight ago, but it was disappointing not to have time to exchange more than a few words. I'm therefore writing to see if we might get together sometime soon.

With typical Gryffindor impulsiveness, my first suggestion is Saturday night. But if that doesn't work, I'm also available on Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday after six o'clock. I have no specific activity in mind—I'd simply enjoy getting to know you better.

Best regards,

Harry

After posting it with Orsino, the other jackdaw, Harry changed into his jacket and tie to attend the theatre that night. At least I don't need to worry about screwing up with Gemma or Simon, he thought with relief, and he responded to fan mail until they arrived.

Gemma arrived first. 'Looking good, Toffer!' she declared as she evaluated his outfit. 'Did you get that on Savile Row?'

'Er, yeah,' admitted Harry. 'But never again—it was brutally overpriced, and the only reason I could afford it was because my friend talked the sales clerk into selling me last year's sample at a steep discount.'

'I can relate,' she said. 'The only reason I could afford this dress was because my friend distracted the clerk while I switched the price tag with something cheaper.'

'Really?'

She rolled her eyes. 'No, I'm not a thief—unlike a certain bank robber I could name.'

'We had a good reason, I swear!'

Simon was next to arrive, and he greeted Harry warmly. 'I was hoping you'd wear a jacket,' he said. 'I should have suggested it, but I only had the idea after was too late to owl you.'

'Is there a dress code after all?' asked Harry.

'No, but there's a tradition surrounding Oscar Wilde that I think you'll appreciate,' replied Simon, handing Harry a small white box.

Harry opened it to reveal a pale green carnation. 'Am I supposed to wear this?' he asked hopefully.

'You are indeed. In 1892, when his play Lady Windermere's Fan had its debut, Wilde wore a green carnation and told a dozen of his young followers to do the same. Green carnations quickly became the emblem of Wilde and his group, and it had scandalous connotations.'

Sliding the carnation into his lapel, Harry said, 'I'm all for scandal, as a rule, but what message will I be sending out?'

'According to Wilde, the green carnation means nothing whatever, but no one believed him. Some claim it was a declaration of homosexuality, since a green carnation was "unnatural," but in Wilde's time nobody would have outed themselves like that, due to the laws against indecency. I'm certain you'll see other people wearing green carnations tonight, and I didn't want you to feel left out.'

'Thank you,' replied Harry. 'I never wear flowers in Muggle settings, and I would have been disappointed to discover I could have done.'

He introduced Gemma to Simon. 'She's my fellow Seeker on the Cannons, and she agreed to join me tonight, but only after confirming it wasn't a wizarding play.'

Simon nodded knowingly. 'Yes, I once had the misfortune of attending a play about the founding of the Department of Mysteries. I'd hoped it would be interesting, but apparently the DOM was established entirely through correspondence, using parchment that was charmed to be read only by the intended recipient. Which meant that the play consisted of people sitting at writing tables sending parchments back and forth. The highlight was when the owl caught a rat running along the back of the stage.'

Gemma and Simon had a lively conversation over dinner, since she was well-versed in contemporary Muggle culture, and Simon told them all about Oscar Wilde. Harry had little to contribute, which didn't bother him, because it meant he wasn't the centre of attention. I need to find more activities like this, he resolved.

They Apparated from the back garden to an alley near the theatre, and Harry collected their tickets from the box office. 'You were right,' he told Simon. 'Other men are wearing green carnations. This is fantastic!'

'You might make some new friends in the loo,' said Gemma. 'But I'll send Simon in after you before the play starts, so you don't miss anything.'

They explored the theatre lobby, which had posters from past productions, and Simon shared what he knew about them. Meanwhile, Harry noticed that other flower-wearing men were checking him out. He quietly told Gemma, 'I think you were right about making friends in the loo. Do you mind if I act like you're my girlfriend, to prevent any misunderstandings?'

'Fine, but they'll think I'm one of those clueless birds who's dating a closet case.'

Harry took Gemma's hand and adjusted his body language so they'd look like a couple. They strolled some more after Simon finished his impromptu lesson, and Harry asked, 'What number date are we on?'

'Are you wondering whether you're getting lucky tonight?' she asked incredulously. 'It hasn't even been twenty-four hours since your trip to France.'

'No, I just wanted to know what impression I'm supposed to give off. Whether I'm trying to impress you or if we're completely accustomed to one another.'

'We have a chaperone,' she said, indicating Simon. 'So clearly I come from a strictly religious family who doesn't trust me to behave myself.'

'Or me,' replied Harry. 'Which would really be more accurate.'

'Let's say it's a first date,' she declared. 'I want to see you turn on the charm.'

'All right, hang on a moment,' he said, rotating his head and neck, as if to stretch before a performance. He widened his eyes and said, 'Thanks ever so much for coming out with me tonight. I'd have died of loneliness without you.'

'You don't really say that, do you?'

'No. It's more like "Side-along or Floo?"'

'That sounds more plausible,' she said. 'Is that what you'll use tomorrow night, after the match?'

'No, I've owled a classmate to see if he wants to get together.'

'To go pulling?'

'No, just to hang out.'

'That's positively newsworthy!' she exclaimed. 'I can just imagine the Prophet article: News flash! Harry Potter spent an evening with mates when he could have had a one-night stand. Noted Mind Healer Cassia Dexter says this reflects his deep inner trauma and that he should be immediately confined to St Mungo's with three French prostitutes for his own safety. In related news, Potter wore light grey robes with silver trim and a pink hydrangea, which sparked mayhem amongst Diagon Alley bookmakers, who had offered 100 to 1 odds against it.'

They found their seats, and the play began soon after. The plot was absurd, but the dialogue was witty and Harry could see that Gemma was enjoying herself. During intermission they stretched their legs, and Gemma disappeared to the loo.

'Harry, I meant to thank you for the referral,' said Simon.

'I'm sorry?' replied Harry.

'Miss Travers. She contacted me about tutoring her several times a week.'

Harry grimaced and said, 'I don't know when she wrote to you, but she may have changed her mind. We broke up last night, and you might be collateral damage.'

'No, I received her letter this morning, and she sent it by house-elf, so there wasn't a delay. We've already scheduled her first session.'

'I'm relieved to hear that,' said Harry. 'Things ended very poorly between us, and I was afraid she might reject everything having to do with me.'

'It would certainly be a shame if she discarded all of Muggle cinema and literature out of spite, but that seems unlikely, given how much she enjoyed Pride and Prejudice. Have you started reading anything?'

'Yes, Great Expectations. I can see why you recommended it, with Pip being an orphan—and his sister seems like a cross between my aunt and uncle. I can't say I admire Pip's behaviour, like how he's ashamed of his brother-in-law, but I still like him somehow.'

'He's an interesting character, and Estella as well. They both behave rather poorly—even appallingly so—but they're sympathetic nonetheless.'

Harry was silent for a moment, thinking about how poorly he had behaved. 'I hope that's also true in real life,' he said. 'I've made some colossal mistakes recently, and I'd hate for them to define me.'

'You're nineteen,' replied Simon. 'You're still developing, just as Pip and Estella do as the novel progresses. Great Expectations is a prime example of what's called a Bildungsroman, which is the German term for a coming-of-age novel. In a Bildungsroman, the protagonist is generally under the age of twenty and experiences both moral and psychological growth.'

'My morals could probably stand to improve,' admitted Harry. 'And my psychological state as well.'

'I didn't mean to suggest ...' began Simon, but Harry shook his head.

'I wasn't offended. And I sincerely want to improve, if it means I stop hurting people.'

'There's a lot to be said for good intentions, in spite of the old saying.' When Harry looked at him questioningly, Simon quoted, '"The road to hell is paved with good intentions."'

Harry chuckled and said, 'At this rate I'm skipping the road and just Apparating there.'

Gemma's return put an end to their conversation. 'Did anyone chat you up while I was in the loo?'

'No, I suspect all the blokes wearing flowers have paired off by now,' said Harry.

'Does that mean our little charade is no longer necessary?'

'Probably not, but you mustn't take it personally.'

They returned to their seats, and Gemma surveyed the audience. 'Nobody here recognises you,' she said. 'Does that feel weird?'

'It feels great. I don't need to bother with privacy charms or my "Stay the fuck away from me" wards. I can pretend I'm normal for a few hours.'

'Are you ever tempted to go incognito and take Polyjuice for the night?'

'Do you mean pass myself off as nobody in particular and hang out at the Leaky Cauldron?'

'Yeah. You could even start slagging off Harry Potter just to see what people say.'

'I already know what people say, thanks to you, Owen, and all the other Seekers.'

'Maybe not,' replied Gemma. 'People might come to your defence—it could be very heartwarming.'

'Yeah, I'll pass.'

'Some Gryffindor you are,' scoffed Gemma, and the house lights went down again.

The second half of the play was as entertaining as the first, and afterwards Harry thanked Gemma for coming. 'It's nice to spend time together outside of practice.'

'Because I didn't insult you as much as usual?'

'In part, but also because you're good company. You remind me a little of my friend Tonks, who died in the Battle of Hogwarts.'

'Tonks?'

'It was her surname. I'll point her out on the tapestry next time you're at the house—you'll understand.'

They parted company in an alley, and Harry Apparated straight to his bedroom. Well done, Snitchbottom, he told himself while preparing for bed. You spent the evening with a witch and didn't try to shag her. Not that he saw Gemma that way—she was his teammate, and he thought of her strictly as a friend. And I can always use more friends who know how to take the piss.