Harry was cooking breakfast when Ron emerged from the fireplace. 'I see you've returned to your humble origins,' he said, wiping the ashes from his clothes.
'Mostly, although Kreacher shaved me this morning, and he's currently polishing all my shoes. That was the only way he'd let me cook my own breakfast. Can I make you something?'
'Cheers, yeah. Same as you're having.'
Harry's breakfast was nearly ready, so he served it to Ron and then set to making a new one.
'Sorry,' said Ron after swallowing, 'I didn't mean to take food out of your mouth. Especially before a match—the other fans would kill me if they found out.'
'No worries, I enjoy cooking. How have you been? I feel like it's been ages since I last saw you, but it's only been a week. Did I even see you at the party?'
Ron looked a little sheepish. 'No. I actually made a point of avoiding the library, in case you forced me to greet people. And I think I was downstairs when you were on the roof, and after that you were gone.'
'Fair enough. I don't blame you for not wanting to be stuck greeting people—next time I throw a party I should Polyjuice myself, so I can actually have a good time. Who do you reckon I should go as?'
'Good question. Hagrid's probably too conspicuous. What about Malfoy?'
'That doesn't seem like the best way to mend fences,' said Harry. 'But how are you? How's Auror training going—what are you working on now?'
'Are you actually interested, or are you just trying to steer the conversation away from yourself?' asked Ron suspiciously.
Harry sighed, 'I take it Janet told you about Vampire John Lennon?'
'Yeah, and that Lydia dumped you. She didn't know the details, except that you cheated on her.'
'That's all I told most of my teammates. Only Owen and Gemma know the whole story. And Blaise Zabini, oddly enough.'
Ron's jaw dropped. 'You cheated on Lydia with Blaise Zabini?'
'God, no! Although Lydia might have forgiven me if I'd done that.'
'Then who was it?'
Harry took a deep breath and said, 'You have to keep this secret—you can't tell Janet. And for Merlin's sake, don't tell Hermione.'
'I barely even talk to Hermione—we just say hi in passing. But don't worry, I won't tell anyone.'
Closing his eyes, Harry said, 'Have you heard of a private club called Pratt's?'
'Holy shit! Did they invite you to join?'
'So you know about it?'
'Yeah, but obviously I've never been. It's way too expensive for most Weasleys, although I think some of the Prewetts belong. Did you go there?'
'Yeah. They invited me to join, and I'd never heard of it, so I asked Lydia what she knew. She said I'd hate it but insisted I go anyway, so I could report back to her.'
'But isn't it for men only? How did you cheat on her?' asked Ron, puzzled, until his eyes shot open in comprehension. 'You went to a portkey brothel!'
'It didn't require a portkey—something about ley lines. But it was in France, and definitely a brothel.'
'How did Lydia find out? You weren't daft enough to tell her, were you?'
'I'd have told her regardless, but I didn't need to. I turned up at her flat more than an hour late, with my robes buttoned wrong.'
Ron sniggered. 'When you blow it, you really go all in. What happened exactly?' he asked. 'Mind you, I don't need the bedroom details—I learnt quite enough about you from Sorceress. But feel free to describe the overall experience.'
Harry told Ron what had happened, and how he'd foolishly thought he could visit the Boudoir without going upstairs. 'I have no idea how Charles Selwyn can go there and leave empty-handed, so to speak.'
'Didn't you say he took a blood oath? That would prevent him from going upstairs, even if he wanted to.'
Harry, who was still preparing breakfast, turned towards Ron in irritation. 'How was I supposed to know that? It's like they went out of their way not to teach us anything useful at Hogwarts!'
'Sorry, mate. I'd have told you, but it never came up.'
Shaking his head, Harry resumed cooking, and he remained silent even after joining Ron at the table.
'Did you at least have a good time?' asked Ron. 'In France?'
'I did,' admitted Harry. 'But I feel horrible about how I treated Lydia. She didn't deserve that.'
'Maybe not, but she's partly to blame for insisting you go there. It's not all your fault.'
'She says her only mistake was forgetting what a lecherous cad I am.'
Ron sniggered again. 'That sounds like something Walburga would say. You'd better hope they don't get together and start talking about you.'
'Now there's a horrifying thought,' said Harry. 'And you probably understand why I don't want Hermione to know.'
'Merlin, she'd send you another Howler! Every day, for the rest of your life. And she'd invent new charms to keep you from destroying them without listening.' Ron paled and added, 'If she ever does find out, be sure to hide the Grimoire. There's bound to be a punishment in there for ...' He trailed off and gestured vaguely towards Harry's lap.
'She'll never find out,' said Harry emphatically.
'Of course not. But that reminds me, I need a favour.'
Harry frowned. 'Are you implying that you'll only keep this a secret if I do something for you?'
'I wouldn't phrase it like that. More like, this is what mates do for each other.'
'All right, what is it?'
'I need you to come to Sunday dinner at the Burrow. Don't worry, Ginny won't be there. Nor Bill and Fleur. In fact, that's the problem—I need someone else for Mum to pick on.'
'And you thought of me,' said Harry dryly. 'Does this have something to do with Janet's first visit?'
'Yeah. If we had a full house it might be all right, but it's just going to be me, George, and Percy. And Mum and Dad, of course. Normally I can count on Ginny to pick a fight, or for Mum to start criticising Fleur, but Bill and Fleur are in France, and Ginny's on holiday.'
'Ginny's on holiday? What about the Harpies?'
'They played the Arrows on Thursday night. Don't you even follow the rest of the league?'
'Not really,' admitted Harry. 'It's not as if the Cannons have a chance this season.'
'No, they were officially eliminated when the Harpies won on Thursday. But no one's complaining—you've already given the Cannons their longest winning streak in a century.'
'Gemma and Owen won two of those matches.'
'Yeah, but everyone knows you made it happen. Janet says they started playing better as soon as you turned up.' Harry shrugged, and Ron said, 'So can I count on you for Sunday?'
'Yes, but I might be in bits by the time I arrive—I'm visiting Malfoy Manor that afternoon.'
'Perfect! After a day with the Malfoys you'll need a calm, restorative evening with the Weasleys.'
'Maybe so,' replied Harry. 'But please, come to my defence every now and then.'
'Definitely, and you can count on George as well, seeing as your last broadcast set an all-time ratings record. But I should warn you Mum is cross, because the previous record belonged to Celestina Warbeck.'
'I assume you were listening on Tuesday?'
'Yes, and I was scared shitless the entire time.'
'Didn't you trust Lee and George?' asked Harry.
'Lee maybe, but not George! He'll do anything for a laugh.'
'Well, I trusted him, and it worked out all right.'
'True, and I should thank you for finally clearing up that rumour about the two of us.'
'You're just lucky I didn't say anything about you and Seamus.'
'That didn't count! We were playing Truth or Dare!' cried Ron. 'For Merlin's sake, I was dating Lavender at the time.'
'Even so, you should never have let her give you a dare.'
'That was your fault! As you may recall, she threatened to ask whether I fancied Hermione, and you and Ginny both blurted, "Dare."'
'Oh right. Did Hermione ever find out about that?'
'Not from me!'
Harry was still eating when an owl tapped at the kitchen window, so Ron fetched the letter for him. 'Theodore Nott?' he asked, looking at the return address.
'Yeah, I owled him yesterday proposing we get together,' replied Harry, taking the letter and opening it. It said:
Thank you for writing, and yes, I'd enjoy seeing you as well. Tonight my flatmates and I are playing poker, and you're more than welcome to join us. We're all apprentices, so the stakes aren't high (in other words, bring plenty of Knuts), and dinner will be takeaway. But if that doesn't sound too pedestrian for a Saturday night, please turn up anytime after seven. Otherwise I can be available any of the other nights you suggested.
'It looks like I'll be playing poker tonight with Theo and his mates,' he told Ron. 'Do you have any idea how to play?'
'Yeah, Hermione's dad taught me, but it wasn't much fun, since he was trying to assert dominance or something. At least that's what Hermione said afterwards—she was pretty hacked off. But I can show you how to play.'
Kreacher managed to find a deck of cards among Regulus's things. 'I never would have expected Regulus to have Muggle playing cards with a naked woman on the back,' remarked Harry. 'They were probably a gift from Sirius, which explains why they appear to have never been used.'
'I'll bet Regulus spent his seventeenth birthday at Pratt's—or at the Boudoir, rather,' said Ron. 'And if he was anything like Sirius, he probably got free access after that.'
'Do you think? I don't know anything about Sirius's private life, other than what I saw Padfoot doing before we got the dog trainer in.'
'He must have had girlfriends,' said Ron. 'He was a good-looking bloke—before Azkaban, anyway.'
'I honestly don't know. When I saw him at Hogwarts in Snape's memory, there were clearly witches interested in him, but he didn't seem to care. Frankly, he seemed more interested in my dad.'
'Do you reckon Rita Skeeter got it wrong, and Sirius fancied your dad rather than your mum?'
'I doubt it. I think he mistook me for my dad pretty often, and even if I never noticed a pervy vibe, Hermione would have done.'
'Or my mum,' replied Ron. 'Or Ginny—she'd have bat-bogeyed the hell out of him.'
Harry sighed. 'It feels like a million years ago that Ginny fancied me. I wish I'd realised my own feelings earlier, back at Hogwarts, although maybe she'd just have dumped me sooner.'
'Don't get all maudlin on me, Potter. We both know you'll fall in love with someone new by the end of the week.'
'Yeah, you're probably right,' admitted Harry. 'So how does poker work?'
Ron taught Harry what he knew, but it wasn't easy to play with only two people, so they enlisted Kreacher. 'Are you familiar with poker,' Ron asked the elf, 'or do I need to explain the rules again?'
'Kreacher knows how to play poker and other Muggle card games,' replied the elf. 'Master Sirius Apollo used to visit Muggle casinos.'
'You helped him cheat?' exclaimed Harry.
'Yes, Master! Would Master like Kreacher's assistance this evening?'
'God, no!' cried Harry, before noticing Kreacher's crestfallen expression. 'Er, it sounds like that was a unique bond you shared with Sirius Apollo. But you and I have our own special relationship, and I'd rather develop that.'
Kreacher widened his eyes and blinked several times, in what Harry feared was an imitation of his own pleading expression. But he knew what he had to do. Kreacher, he said silently.
Yes, Master! replied the elf brightly, within Harry's mind.
You mustn't help me cheat at cards. Do you understand?
Yes, Master! Kreacher mustn't help Master cheat at cards.
All right, thought Harry. You may go. But stay here, so we can play poker.
Harry felt the elf disappear from his mind with a pop. 'Did you just communicate telepathically with Kreacher?' asked Ron.
'Yeah.'
'You know, he's right. You could make a killing at Muggle casinos—you could probably rebuild the Black fortune if you wanted. Kreacher could be invisible and report to you what cards the other players are holding.'
'Are you kidding? How is that different from using magic to rob a Muggle bank?'
'Because it's gambling! When someone goes to a casino they're taking a risk, which isn't the same as just locking up their money in a vault.'
'But that doesn't mean it's all right for me to flagrantly cheat. I could ruin someone's life that way!'
'I'm not suggesting you cheat against some poor bugger who's gambling away his pension. I was thinking more like a posh casino, where oil billionaires go. Janet was telling me about them—they wager half a million pounds on a single hand.'
'Yeah, and it wouldn't be at all suspicious when some kid turns up out of nowhere and beats them, even though I barely know how to play.'
'You'd learn first,' argued Ron. 'I'm not suggesting you go there tonight.'
Harry couldn't believe what Ron was saying. 'Do you realise you're proposing I break any number of wizarding laws and potentially risk secrecy, just to get money I don't actually need?'
'You could give it away,' suggested Ron. 'Or leave it to your descendants. The Blacks aren't nearly as rich as they used to be—you could turn them into a fabulously wealthy Light family.'
'Yeah, and my descendants would probably turn out like Malfoy, only without a Dark Mark. They'd be a bunch of spoilt wankers who join Pratt's and bribe Ministry officials.'
'Wouldn't the Light magic protect them?'
'I doubt it. It certainly didn't prevent me from treating Lydia badly. And besides, Light magic isn't hereditary, at least not as far as I know.'
'Look, I'm just saying ... you have a unique opportunity, having a telepathic bond with Kreacher.'
'It can't be that unique, if Sirius Apollo took him to casinos.'
'There's one way to find out,' replied Ron. 'Kreacher, how exactly did you help Sirius Apollo at casinos?'
Kreacher sat up proudly. 'Kreacher helped Master Sirius Apollo by rearranging the cards while they were still in the deck. And by stopping the roulette wheel and making the dice land as Master instructed.'
'See, it's not a unique opportunity,' said Harry. 'Thank you, Kreacher.'
'But it didn't work,' added Kreacher. 'All the casinos Master Sirius went to had wards preventing magical interference. Master Sirius later learnt that Gringotts has a Muggle subsidiary, which maintains an interest in numerous casinos.'
'Then how did Ludo Bagman make back his money at Muggle casinos?' asked Harry. He turned to Ron and said, 'That's the rumour I heard.'
'The goblins can't possibly control every casino in the world. There have to be some dodgy casinos or underground clubs out there.'
'I suppose you're right. But why are we even talking about this? I need to practise so I don't look like a complete idiot tonight.'
'Fine,' grumbled Ron, and he dealt the first round.
Harry looked at his cards. 'Bloody hell! Kreacher!'
'Yes, Master,' replied Kreacher innocently.
Harry revealed his hand to Ron. 'These are good cards, aren't they.'
Ron burst out laughing. 'It's a royal flush.'
'Kreacher,' said Harry sternly, 'I distinctly told you not to help me cheat at cards.'
'Kreacher didn't help Master cheat. Kreacher cheated entirely without Master's participation.'
Bewildered, Harry squeezed his eyes shut. 'What?'
'Master instructed Kreacher not to help him cheat. Master was not cheating, which meant Kreacher was not helping. Instead Kreacher cheated independently.'
'Don't do that!' ordered Harry. 'Ron, can you deal another round?'
'Yeah, sure,' he said, gathering the cards and shuffling the deck. Harry looked at his hand and was satisfied they were random.
'Oh, for Merlin's sake!' cried Ron. He showed Harry his cards.
Harry looked at Kreacher accusingly. 'Two Jokers, the three of clubs, the card with the rules for poker, and a Chocolate Frog Card? Really?'
'Hey, this is Agrippa!' exclaimed Ron. 'I've been trying to find him for years!'
'I don't think it counts,' argued Harry. 'There's a naked woman on the back.'
'I'm still keeping it,' said Ron, slipping the card into his pocket.
'Kreacher, you are not to interfere with the cards. I want to play poker strictly according to chance, as if I were a Muggle.'
Kreacher's ears drooped. 'Yes, Master.'
Ron dealt a third round, which appeared to be normal. Harry drew three cards and wound up with a pair of threes and a pair of sixes. This is a decent hand, he thought, so he added several Knuts to the pot.
It was Kreacher's turn, and the elf was holding his cards very close to his nose. Harry had given him a pile of Knuts for betting, and the elf slid several coins forwards. 'Kreacher will see Master's bet and raise it by one severed head.'
'What!?' exclaimed Harry.
'One of the severed elf heads in Kreacher's attic,' replied Kreacher.
'No!' protested Harry. 'Those are yours. I really, really don't want them.'
Kreacher lowered his head in dismay. 'Kreacher has nothing to offer Master.'
Trying to hide his exasperation, Harry said, 'That's not true. You're a tremendous help to me, all the time. You cook most of my meals, and you keep the house tidy, and you polished my shoes this morning.'
'Don't forget the shaving,' said Ron. 'That's above and beyond.'
'Master only allows Kreacher to shave his face,' moaned the elf.
Ron laughed and looked at Harry. 'You know where this is headed, mate. What's it going to be? Your legs? Your chest? I could keep going.'
'No!' cried Harry. 'Face only.' He looked squarely at Kreacher. 'You're being very disobedient. Do I need to punish you?'
'Here we go,' said Ron, leaning back in his chair.
'Kreacher is very naughty,' said the elf. 'Kreacher will never improve without being punished.'
'Ron, can you help me out?' asked Harry. 'Do you need laundry done or something?'
'That is no punishment,' grumbled Kreacher.
'My mum is always after me to do chores around the Burrow, even though I don't live there anymore.'
'Now there's an idea ... Kreacher, I hereby punish you to spend the day helping Ron's mum for as long as she needs, until bedtime. Is that clear?'
'But who will cook for Master?'
'I'm going out tonight. I don't require anything until morning.'
Kreacher's expression was hard to decipher. He was clearly mortified by Harry's proposal, but his eyes gleamed with something resembling triumph. 'If Master insists,' he said evenly.
'Ron, can you pop over to the Burrow and make sure it's all right with your parents?'
Ron was already walking towards the fireplace. 'I'll ask, but I'm sure Mum'll be thrilled. Should I tell her you're coming to dinner tomorrow?'
'Yeah, go ahead.'
Within minutes, Ron returned and gave Harry a thumbs-up. 'She nearly fainted when I told her about Kreacher, but yes, send him over. And when I said you were coming to dinner, she asked if you were bringing Lydia. I almost told her you were, just to see her reaction, but I decided that would be cruel.'
Harry ordered Kreacher to leave for the Burrow at once. 'The good news is that we've found a new way to keep Kreacher happy. The bad news is that we lost our third for poker.'
Ron shrugged and said, 'You get the idea, and I'm sure Theo and his mates will enjoy beating you.'
They spent the rest of the morning as usual, talking Quidditch while Harry replied to fan mail. Ron asked about Gemma, and Harry told him about Bruce's suggestion he switch to a faster broom.
'But you hated the Firebolt Ultra!'
'Bruce wants me to give it another try. He's already taught me a technique for squeezing some extra speed from my Silver Arrow, and next week I'll practise the tweaks he says will work with the Firebolt.'
'It's a good thing you didn't endorse the Silver Arrow, or else you might be in breach of contract or something.'
'I'll probably still recommend it regardless. If it takes weird little adjustments just to fly the Firebolt without wanting to throw it, then it's clearly not for everyone.'
Harry also told Ron about his intention to stop taunting. 'Does this mean your obnoxious Seeker phase is coming to an end?' asked Ron.
'I hope so. I made Gemma cry on Wednesday, and several other things this week made me realise I'm at risk of becoming a seriously smug bastard. I just need to find some other way to win matches.'
'You win matches with your flying,' said Ron. 'And your spotting is uncanny—I still can't get over what happened against Wimbourne.'
'Maybe, but I'm up against Allie Hobbs next week, and I'm sure she'll tear into me. She's been less than friendly the two times I've met her, and something tells me she's going to taunt me about the Dursleys.'
Ron took a deep breath. 'There's already a lot of hype around the match. You and Hobbs both beat Routledge, but she couldn't beat Gilstrap, and you did, in a sense.'
'You mean I beat him up?'
'No, but you shook him so thoroughly that he didn't catch the Snitch when he had five minutes to himself and it was in plain sight.'
'Don't thank me—thank the Dursleys,' said Harry ruefully. 'He was convinced I'd been spoilt, but I really showed him.'
'It's probably just as well you're dropping the arrogance,' observed Ron. 'I don't think you've acted that way in public yet, but you've been treading a fine line, between the robes and dating Lydia.'
'I'm not giving up the robes.'
'I should hope not, after spending all that money! And besides, it would be more embarrassing if you wore them for a couple of months but then never again.'
'What, like some kind of mortifying phase?'
'Exactly. Remember when Percy tried getting everyone to call him by his middle name?'
Harry rolled his eyes. 'Poor Ignatius. It didn't help that Fred and George charmed the back of his robes to blink, "Call me Percy, no matter what." But no, I reckon my robes are here to stay, although I might wear Muggle clothes more often, just to keep from being too predictable.'
'Fine, but be sure to wear robes to the Burrow tomorrow, and flowers too. Mum initially approved of them, but then she was scandalised when you wore those innocence flowers after deflowering Lydia.'
Harry smiled at the memory. 'That was her idea,' he said fondly. 'But I already ordered a satin-flower boutonnière—meaning sincerity—and a bouquet for when I meet with the Malfoys tomorrow. I should probably write to my florist and order a bouquet for your mum as well.' He pulled out his personal stationery and started writing, first to his florist and then to Theo Nott, confirming their evening plans.
Ron followed Harry upstairs to the owlery. 'Are those ravens?' he exclaimed.
'No, jackdaws. I needed another owl, but Eeylops was cleaned out, and the owner offered these instead—they're a bonded pair. So far they're great.'
'You're just allergic to being normal, aren't you?' observed Ron.
'I've tried,' replied Harry. 'It doesn't work.'
It was nearly eleven, so Ron wished Harry luck and they went their separate ways. When Harry turned up at the Cannons training grounds, Ryan approached him and asked, 'Did you really give all your tickets this week to the residents of a group home?'
'Yeah. They're all kids—mostly Squibs. I thought they'd enjoy attending a match.'
'I wish you'd said something,' replied Ryan. 'I'd gladly have given you some of my tickets, and I'm sure the other players also would have done.'
'It's fine. But come to think of it, there's something you could do ... apparently Squibs can fly as long as there's a witch or wizard flying next to them. So if we bring enough extra brooms, and most of the Cannons are willing to hang around after the match, we could fly around the stadium with them for a while.'
'That's a great idea! We should tell Lara right away, and maybe bring a photographer.'
Harry groaned. 'I really wasn't trying to generate publicity, at least not for myself.'
'Of course not. But I'm sure the kids would like a souvenir, and if we have our own photographer we needn't rely on journalists.'
'That's a good point,' said Harry, and they went inside to find Lara.
'I already engaged Amanda to take photographs,' she told them. 'But that's a great idea about the brooms. I'm sure we have plenty in the shed.'
'Not the Pegasus Ten,' warned Harry. 'You don't want to traumatise anyone.'
The players spent the next hour warming up for the match, and after lunch they travelled by Floo to Chudley Stadium. 'I wish you were flying out at the beginning of the match,' Harry told Gemma. 'I'm certain the fans would want to thank you for catching the Snitch last week.'
'Are you sure you won't get ejected?' she asked playfully.
'Against Kieran Sheppard? I doubt it. And besides, I'm all about love now.'
They changed into their uniforms, and Harry went through the usual routine of revealing his ring. 'You're certain you won't display it in public?' asked Janet. 'I bet you could start a trend of wearing gaudy rings ironically.'
'There's an idea,' said Darren. 'We could all wear copies at the same time, when there are reporters present.'
'Not a chance,' said Suresh. 'You'll have to cut off my hand first.'
'Then what about a horrible cravat pin?' suggested Janet. 'Or an incredibly thick watch fob?'
'Incredibly thick?' repeated Suresh. 'That has potential.'
'I am not displaying the ring in public,' declared Harry.
'Oh, come on,' goaded Janet. 'Everyone knows you're wearing it—you might as well give them a show.'
Renée said, 'Have you already forgotten our little conversation yesterday about Vampire John Lennon? Harry doesn't want to stand out.'
'Give it up, Snitchbottom. It's never going to happen.'
'Are you trying to depress me before a match?' he asked.
'No, sir,' replied Janet. 'I wouldn't dream of rattling you when we're about to win eight in a row. Feel free to hide that ring up your arse if that's what you want.'
'Er, thanks?' said Harry uncertainly.
Tuttle delivered her pep talk, and the reserves proceeded to the skybenches. Owen hung back and pulled Harry aside. 'Trust your instincts out there,' he said. 'Your instinct not to taunt Gemma was spot on, but don't force yourself into a certain behaviour today if it doesn't feel natural.'
'Are you saying I should taunt Sheppard?'
'Not necessarily. But you're allowed to defend yourself if he comes out swinging. And have fun! You're tremendously powerful when you forget about what you ought to be doing and just follow your instincts.'
'I'm fairly certain that's why Lydia dumped me, but I get your point.'
One by one the Cannons were announced, until finally it was Harry's turn. 'It's my pleasure to welcome the Cannons starting Seeker ... fully recovered from his broken pelvis ... wearing number three ... Harry Potter!'
Harry flew out to deafening cheers. The stands were a mass of orange, punctuated by Ballycastle red and black, and also by Harry's emblem against its midnight blue background. He surveyed the banners, first noticing the hostile ones. There was no evidence of Mothers Against Harry Potter, but several banners urged him to clean up his act. 'Your parents would be ashamed of you, Potter,' claimed one sign, and another said, 'Harry Potter needs a Mind Healer.'
Harry rolled his eyes. How do you know what my parents would think? And maybe you need to see a Mind Healer about your compulsion to lecture strangers.
He was also criticised for his vow to postpone marriage. 'If you're not going to marry the witch, don't dally with her,' said one sign, which prompted Harry to wonder if wizards had always used such old-fashioned vocabulary or if Walburga had started a trend. And another sign was more blunt: 'Keep your wand to yourself, Potter.' Harry shook his head in disbelief. It's not as if I'm dropping my trousers in public and chasing people with it, he thought irritably.
There were also signs deriding Harry Toffer, and one banner even referred to Harry Toffer-Blatch. Gemma should hold one of those signs, he thought with amusement, and he was tempted to suggest it to her. Absurdly enough, there was a banner accusing him of turning into a Dark wizard, presumably because of his Black connection. Don't make me come over there and glow at you, thought Harry with mock sternness.
The vast majority of banners, however, were friendly. There were numerous references to his broken pelvis, including one held by a pair of comely witches that said, 'Harry, we'd love to help you test your pelvis.'
Now that's tempting, he thought. He knew he oughtn't, but Harry flew close to them and said, 'Owl me in care of the Cannons,' before flying off. Sweet Merlin, I just responded to a public proposition! For a moment he was mortified, but then he shrugged and thought, Light magic strikes again. I should probably talk to Rita soon.
There was also a long banner held by a group of kids, which said, 'Thank you, Harry! From everyone at Grace House,' and it was decorated with a flower border. They were the kids he'd invited, and Harry flew nearby and shouted, 'See you after the match!' It's a good thing they're not within earshot of those two witches, he thought as he flew away.
The four balls were launched, and Harry began circling above the pitch. A few minutes later, Kieran Sheppard found him and said, 'Don't worry, Potter, I'm not planning to glue myself to you. But I wanted to say hello and find out whether you're in a fugue state.'
'No, although I told those two witches over there to owl me in care of the team.'
'And you've never done that before?' asked Sheppard. 'I heard the Cannons engaged a secretary just to handle all your propositions.'
'I do have a secretary, but she handles all my post, and not just propositions.'
'That makes more sense. But I'm sure you receive heaps of them—all the Seekers do.'
'Really? Have you ever ...'
'A gentleman doesn't tell,' replied Sheppard.
'Right, but I was asking you,' retorted Harry, and Sheppard laughed.
'Yeah, twice, after a break-up.'
'Really? Were they ardent Ballycastle fans, or do they just write to all the beddable public figures?'
'One was mad for Ballycastle, and several of my teammates had already had a go. The other was more of a C-squared, only with a particular fondness for Seekers. She was tall and liked having someone she could dominate.'
Recalling Claire, Harry had to acknowledge that sounded appealing. 'What did you think?' he asked. 'Would you recommend her?'
'Honestly, both times were a little dehumanising,' replied Sheppard. 'I felt more like a commodity than anything else. But maybe you're used to that, with the whole "Boy Who Lived" thing.'
'Yeah, but not as much as before. The Boy Who Lived is old news by this point.'
'I suppose it is. That must be one benefit of your non-stop notoriety of late. It's impossible to say what you're even famous for anymore, other than "everything."'
'Perhaps,' replied Harry. "But enough about me. Tell me more about you.'
Sheppard looked taken aback. 'Are you all right, Potter? All the other Seekers said you talk about yourself the entire time.'
'They started it,' argued Harry. 'But yeah, I did, and I'm trying to break the habit.'
'That's commendable,' said Sheppard. 'Let's see ... I'm a pure-blood, but not the evil kind. I attended Blockhurst.'
Harry was listening intently, and he was even looking at Sheppard, but he flicked his eyes to the right and zoomed across the rival Seeker's path to race towards an imaginary Snitch. Harry flew erratically towards the stands, knowing that Sheppard would have trouble picking out the Snitch against the bright orange backdrop. He finally wheeled around the goalposts before resuming a circling pattern and resetting his intention.
Sheppard rejoined him. 'I should have realised you weren't actually interested in someone other than yourself.'
'No, I really am,' protested Harry. 'I just thought it would be hilarious to feint just then.'
'You're right, it was,' admitted Sheppard. 'Shall I resume my life story?'
'Yes, please.'
Sheppard told Harry he'd played Quidditch with Darren back at Blockhurst, but that he'd only barely overlapped Owen and that they'd never met. 'You did him quite a favour, talking him up at every opportunity.'
'He did me quite a favour, teaching me how to spot the Snitch.'
'That's what I can't figure out about you,' said Sheppard. 'You share the credit with everyone around you, and yet you still come off as a shameless attention-whore.'
'Do you reckon the radio show is part of the problem?' asked Harry.
'That's a good question. You sound remarkably likeable with Lee and George, but afterwards I wonder whether it's really necessary for you to appear on the air every week.'
'Yes, I'm wondering that myself. But I still hardly know anything about you.'
'Then ask me a question. Command performances aren't really my style.'
'All right. What was your favourite subject in school?'
'Transfiguration. And you?'
'Defence Against the Dark Arts.'
'That makes sense. Although you must have tired of it, if you left off being an Auror.'
'I suppose I did. I've realised I don't want to practise violence any longer.'
'Make love, not war?' suggested Sheppard.
'Something like that. What was your war experience, by the way? I'm not asking so I can taunt you, but just to get a clearer picture of who you are.'
'I was reserve Seeker before the Ministry fell, but our starting Seeker—Jerry Conaway—was Muggle-born and I was promoted. Dolores Umbridge snapped his wand, and the only reason he wasn't punished more severely is because Albert Runcorn was a Ballycastle supporter. Jerry was supposed to go live as a Muggle, but my dad gave him a family wand that worked tolerably well, and he moved to Canada.'
'Is he still there?'
'Yeah. He got a job with the Ottawa Owls and married a Canadian witch. So in that respect, the war turned out well for him.'
'That's not a sentence I hear very often,' remarked Harry.
'Well, it turned out pretty well for you, didn't it?'
'Perhaps in the sense that I'm still alive and Voldemort isn't, but otherwise it was a complete disaster.'
'You don't call this a good outcome? You're probably the most popular wizard alive.'
Harry was starting to get annoyed, but he expanded into broad awareness and renewed his intentions. 'I may be popular, but trust me, I'd rather have my friends back. Take George Weasley ... did you know he had an identical twin brother?'
'No.'
'His name was Fred and they started the shop together. Lee was their mate, and he wasn't interested in running a business—his dream was to go into broadcasting. But George was a wreck after Fred died in the Battle of Hogwarts, and he nearly lost the shop because he holed himself up in his room for months. Lee dragged him back to life, and you know the rest. But even so, there's not one of us who doesn't look at George and automatically think of Fred, every bloody time.'
Harry flew off, not bothering to feint. In spite of his expanded awareness, he was agitated from thinking about Fred and the others he'd lost.
He decided to imagine Remus and Tonks in the stands, having left Teddy with his grandparents for the afternoon. Maybe Tonks would be pregnant again, and Harry found it amusing to picture an expectant Tonks, with weird food cravings and changing her form to look like a middle-aged man with an enormous beer-belly.
I'll play for them, he thought. He decided they were disguised as the stern-looking couple holding a sign that said, 'Harry Potter is a threat to wizarding traditions,' and he made a point of feinting in their direction. That was for you, Moony!
He knew it wasn't really them, but it was tremendously cheering to pretend they were alive. Tonks sent Moony to buy three boxes of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, and now she's tasting each one and spitting the flavours she doesn't like into her hand and making Moony eat them. 'But this is strawberry,' says Moony after trying one, and Tonks says, 'I know, it's vile. My favourite flavour right now is sauerkraut.' Moony shakes his head in bewilderment but continues to placidly eat the rejected beans from her hand.
Sheppard shot suddenly towards the ground, and Harry aimed in the same direction, even though the Snitch wasn't there. Tonks would be disappointed if I didn't follow, and after the match she'd call me idle and say the French prostitute had worn me out. 'You have to join Pratt's,' she'd insist, 'because then you could bring me as a guest. I'd disguise myself as a man and we'd fool the wards somehow, and then I could go the Boudoir with you and start mimicking the filles de joie. I promise I wouldn't tell Remus, and you'd never tell my mum.'
Sheppard flew next to him after feinting. 'Did I really fool you?' he asked.
'Honestly, no. But I always enjoy a good feint.'
'This really is a game to you, isn't it?'
'Of course it's a game,' replied Harry. 'Isn't that how you see it?'
'Well, yes, but it's also my livelihood, and my chance at glory. The Sheppards aren't the rich sort of pure-bloods, so this is my chance to save up for the future. But you don't need the gold or the glory.'
'Which just leaves the game,' said Harry. 'And flying of course.'
'So you work six days a week just for the game?'
'Yeah, primarily. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the gold. It's covering the cost of throwing parties, and also my unanticipated clothing addiction. But the main reason I'm doing this is because I love flying and being part of a team.'
'What if you stop winning?' asked Sheppard. 'I expect it's easy to feel enthusiastic on a seven-game streak.'
'I can't say for certain how I'll feel about it, but all my teammates say they had fun even when the Cannons were losing.'
'I have to say, the Cannons have some terrific fans. The only ones who compare are the Harpyheads, but you'll get a taste for them next week.'
'Any words of advice?' asked Harry.
'Yeah, stay home. They'll eat you alive.'
'Noted,' said Harry tersely before flying off. Which of my dead mates will attend the Harpies match? he wondered. Snape, he decided. Severus Snape. Admittedly he wasn't my mate so much as my undercover surrogate father who hated me, but he's dead and deserves to attend a match as well. He'd probably hold a sign criticising me, only he wouldn't disguise himself as Tonks and Moony are doing. Harry imagined a magically scrolling banner, which said, 'Harry Potter is mediocre, arrogant as his father, a determined rule-breaker, delighted to find himself famous, attention-seeking, and impertinent.'
He flew around the pitch for a long while, maintaining broad awareness and inviting the Snitch to appear. Ballycastle had good Chasers and an exceptional Keeper, so the score was close, which meant a Cannons victory depended entirely on Harry. Come on, Snitch, he thought. It might be ages before Tonks and Lupin are able to attend another match. And those kids I invited would like to see me win as well. Maybe I could give Celia the Snitch as a souvenir.
It was twenty more minutes before Harry saw the long-awaited flash of gold. Even though Sheppard wasn't in his field of vision, Harry knew instinctively where he was and that it was safe to rush towards the Snitch. He engaged his lower abdomen to coax a bit more speed from his broom, and he grabbed the Snitch in triumph. 'Potter has the Snitch!' cried the announcer. 'Cannons win, 260-130!'
Harry's heart soared, and he paused to acknowledge Tonks and Moony. This was for you, he thought fondly as he flew past the hostile-looking couple he'd identified, and he held the Snitch high. Next he paused before the kids he'd invited, who cheered and waved excitedly.
His teammates joined him as he flew. 'Fantastic!' exclaimed Suresh, slapping Harry on the back. 'You gave those kids a good show.'
'Cheers, and thanks for keeping the Bludgers away!'
The rest of his teammates congratulated him, and after they took their team victory lap, Harry flew to the skybenches and shouted, 'Gemma, get up here and meet the fans!' She looked uncertainly at Owen, but he urged her to her feet and onto her broom.
'It's the Cannons reserve Seeker, Gemma Rees!' called the announcer. 'Let's give her a warm welcome to Chudley Stadium and three cheers for catching the Snitch last week in her first outing!'
Gemma scowled at Harry for forcing her into the spotlight, but he could see that she was delighted. 'You earned it!' he said before flying to the ground to join his other teammates. He and the other Cannons cheered loudly as Gemma took a lap around the stadium.
Sheppard found him and said, 'Congratulations, Potter. I'm sorry I couldn't help you build character by handing you a humiliating defeat, but maybe Hobbs can take care of it next week.'
'I reckon she might,' laughed Harry. 'You were a great opponent, and it was mostly luck that I was closer to the Snitch when it appeared.'
'Maybe, but you also spotted it first. The Cannons are lucky they managed to keep Barrowmaker to themselves.'
Harry agreed, and they shook hands and parted. The other Ballycastle players congratulated him as well, and most of them thanked him for the party. 'You're a hell of a Seeker, Toffer,' said one of the Chasers, and Harry was too elated from the match to be annoyed.
When reporters were allowed on the pitch, most of them went straight for Harry. 'Is Miss Travers here this afternoon?' asked the journalist from Witch Weekly.
'No,' replied Harry, without elaborating.
'Does this mean you've split up?' she persisted.
'It was never a long-term relationship. Lydia has moved into her new flat, which is lovely, and she's beginning her new life.'
'Are you on good terms? Will you keep seeing her?'
Harry had decided in advance how to answer questions about his relationship with Lydia. 'I can't predict the future, but I hope we'll remain friends, and I wish her all the best.'
'Are you dating someone new?'
'No,' replied Harry. 'But I'd like to point out that we're on a Quidditch pitch and I'd rather answer questions about the match.'
'Is it true you told two witches in the stands to owl you?'
Bugger! thought Harry. Bloody Light magic. 'I fail to see what that has to do with today's match,' he replied breezily before turning towards a reporter he recognised from a Quidditch publication.
He managed to dodge personal questions for the rest of the session, and the invited guests arrived. Ron and Hermione congratulated him separately, and then Harry was free to greet the group of kids and their guardians. To his surprise, Fiona was with them, and a small boy held her hand.
'Harry, congratulations!' she said.
'Fiona! It's nice to see you! I assume Owen invited you?'
'He did. Or to be more accurate, I demanded two tickets on behalf of WORF so I could introduce everyone. Harry, this is Chester and Elaine Windhover, who are the resident guardians at Grace House,' said Fiona, presenting a middle-aged couple. 'Elaine, Chester, this is Harry, as you've probably figured out.'
Harry extended his hand and they exchanged warm greetings. 'I'm glad you were able to come on short notice. Did you enjoy the match?'
'Yes, tremendously,' replied Elaine. 'But for real enthusiasm you should talk to the kids.' Harry could see that the kids were bursting with excitement, and the younger ones were having trouble standing still.
He knelt to face the smallest ones, who were perhaps six years old. 'My name's Harry. Thank you for coming to the match! What's your name?'
Harry's question opened the floodgates, and all the children introduced themselves, thanking him and describing at length how much they enjoyed the match. The other Cannons had gathered, and the kids seemed dazzled to be amidst the players they'd just spent several hours watching.
'It's a pleasure to meet you face to face,' he told Celia, the girl who had written to him. 'None of this would have happened if you hadn't sent me those letters.'
Celia was blushing, and her friend Portia started giggling. 'I'm just glad I wrote to you at all,' admitted Celia. 'Last week I started my new school, which is near Grace House, and I like it. Portia goes to a different school, since she's not in sixth-form yet, but she'll go there next year.'
'You'll have to tell me which books they assign. I've been reading Great Expectations, on the advice of my tutor, and I'm keen to know what other books I should read if I want to pass for someone with a decent education.'
The girls told him their favourite books, and Portia wrote down the titles for him on a page from her sketchbook. 'Are you an artist?' he asked.
Portia shook her head, but Celia said, 'Yes, and she's brilliant. Go on, show him.'
This time Portia blushed, but she showed Harry the drawings she'd made that afternoon. They mostly depicted people on broomsticks, and he was impressed by how well she'd captured their movement even though the drawings were stationary. 'Those are fantastic!' he exclaimed. 'I was in Paris last month and went to an art museum for practically the first time in my life, and I was amazed by how the artists depicted movement with only a few brushstrokes. Honestly, those paintings were better than any wizarding artwork I've seen, although I'm partial to the portrait of my godfather's Animagus.'
'Is that the one that replaced Walburga Black?' giggled Portia.
'Yeah,' he said guiltily. 'Have you seen her?'
Portia and Celia both nodded. 'We went to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes the week before last, and the shop assistant allowed us to enter the booth together,' said Celia.
'Oh dear, just how awful was she?'
'She called us ill-begotten Squibs and said we should have been drowned at birth, and that we weren't fit to associate even with Mudbloods,' said Portia. 'But then Celia said that Harry Potter told her that Squibs have a crucial role to play in improving wizard-Muggle relations, and that human greatness has little to do with whether you can use a wand.'
'Did that convince her?' asked Harry.
'No—she said you were even worse than a Squib, and that by coupling with Muggles you ensured that House Black would be riddled with Squibs for generations to come. Celia tried to explain genetics, but Walburga kept screaming for Kreacher to throw us into a dragon pit, so we just asked the shop assistant to take our photograph in front of her and then left.'
Portia pulled a photograph from the back of her sketchbook and showed it to Harry. It was a wizarding photo, and it showed the two girls laughing uproariously while Walburga shouted at them, her face contorted with rage.
'Didn't she hurt your feelings?' asked Harry.
'No, not at all,' Celia assured him. 'Quite the opposite, actually. My family said things that were just as bad, only I believed them because they were my own family. But hearing it from Walburga Black, who everyone knows is completely off her rocker, made me realise just how stupid and wrong it all was. When Portia and I came home, we told the other Squibs they have to meet her.'
Harry said, 'I never thought I'd use "Walburga" and "heartwarming" in the same sentence, but that's ... heartwarming. I've been criticised for allowing her portrait to be displayed in public, instead of just destroying it, but you're right—she really demonstrates how laughably ignorant those opinions are. Thank you for telling me about that.'
The girls giggled again and nodded. Celia said, 'I should warn you that the other kids want signed photos as well—they're all envious of mine.'
Lara had set up a table, and Harry saw that his teammates were already signing posters and photographs. 'I reckon they'll have all the autographs they want. But I have something extra for you, Celia,' he said, taking the Snitch from his pocket and handing it to her. Its wings were flapping weakly, and he was confident it wouldn't fly off.
Celia's eyes were like saucers as she held it. 'I've never even touched a Snitch before ... is this the one you caught this afternoon?'
'Yeah. I'll sign it if you like, although I make no promises about my penmanship.' Celia nodded reverently, and they walked together to the table.
Harry and his teammates spent a while signing autographs, and Lara provided souvenir jerseys for everyone. 'There's another surprise,' she announced. 'Harry, do you want to tell them? It was your idea.'
He reddened slightly and told him they could fly around the stadium, either on the same broom as one of the Cannons, or alongside them. The kids were ecstatic—the younger ones wanted to sit with a player, but the Squibs were eager to fly on their own broomstick.
'I've always wanted to fly,' said Celia. 'Toy brooms never worked for me. I remember flying with my parents a few times, when I was little, but they stopped taking me up once they suspected I was a Squib.'
Lara and Hermione handed out broomsticks, and Ryan gave the kids a rudimentary flying lesson. 'If you fly past that platform,' said Lara, pointing into the stands, 'Amanda will take a photograph and we'll send it to you.'
Harry flew with Celia, who needed no prompting to smile when they flew past the camera. 'This is brilliant!' she cried.
'I agree,' said Harry. 'Since I joined the wizarding world, during the hardest times of my life I always felt better while flying. That was one of the things that made my fifth year at Hogwarts so hard, because Dolores Umbridge had banned me from Quidditch and confiscated my broomstick.'
They flew a while longer before Harry noticed nearly all his teammates had landed, so he led Celia towards the ground. 'Typical Seeker behaviour,' said Janet, 'making the rest of us wait around.'
'I agree,' said Darren, with mock disapproval. 'Classic Snitchbottom.'
Some of the kids giggled at the word 'snitchbottom,' prompting Janet to tell the story against Harry's protests. 'But you mustn't tell anyone else,' she cautioned them. 'Especially not reporters, or else he'll never hear the end of it. Do you promise?'
The kids all nodded solemnly, and everyone said their goodbyes. Celia threw her arms around Harry and said, 'I can't thank you enough ... not just for today, but for getting me in touch with WORF. When I wrote to you the first time I felt ashamed afterwards, and I decided you wouldn't write back. Not because I thought you were uncaring, but because you must receive heaps of letters and wouldn't even see mine.'
'I admit I don't read every letter I receive, but I have a secretary, and she makes sure I see the ones that are important. I'm sorry to say that yours wasn't the only letter I received from someone with a difficult home life, but it made a particularly strong impression on me. It wasn't easy when my story came out, but I'm glad if it meant people like you got help sooner than you might have done otherwise.'
As Celia and the other kids were leaving, Fiona approached Harry again. 'I know you've already been thanked a hundred times this afternoon, but here's another one. Thank you for suggesting this, and for actually making it happen. I've only been working for WORF for a year, and I've already lost count of how many times someone promises they'll help but never follows through. But you acted on your idea right away, and I didn't need to worry it was all talk.'
'No, I'm very impetuous,' he said. 'It usually gets me into trouble, so I'm glad when it's occasionally beneficial.'
'There's a lot to be said for action,' she replied. They were both silent for a moment before she added, 'And thanks for offering WORF your broken broomstick. Lara sent me the pieces, and after it's mounted we'll ask you to sign it, if that's all right.'
'It's the least I can do. I'm just glad you have a use for it.'
'We do. In fact, you should owl all your rubbish to WORF on a weekly basis, and we can mine it for potential auction items,' she joked.
Harry chuckled and said, 'I think it's mainly discarded boutonnières and drafts of letters.'
'Well, keep us in mind,' she said warmly.
'Where has your little boy gone?' he asked, looking around.
She pointed to what looked like a small bundle on the pitch. 'He decided he wanted a nap. I don't know how I managed it, but I have the one child in the world who actually likes sleeping, and he'll do it anywhere. But I'll bring him home presently, and it looks like your teammates are going inside.'
'So they are. I guess I'll see you next month, before the WORF auction. You promised me a trip to Gringotts to watch them magically cleanse my eyeglasses.'
'Yes, and it's fascinating,' she said dryly. 'They stick the item on the tray, touch the tray with a little seal, and then it's over. Blink and you'll miss it.'
'That sounds brilliant,' he replied in a low voice. Oh bugger! he thought. I'm trying to charm her! 'Anyway, nice to see you, and I'll be off,' he blurted, and moments later he was walking towards the lockers.
Harry was relieved that Owen was already indoors and hadn't witnessed his exchange with Fiona. He already warned me to stay away from her, and that was before my trip to the Boudoir. But at the same time, Harry sensed that Fiona was also interested, and perhaps she should be trusted to make her own decisions.
There's no rush, he supposed. And in the meantime, everyone knows I'm a lecherous cad, so she can't possibly have any illusions about me.
When he arrived in the locker room, Tuttle was already berating Janet and the Chasers for allowing Ballycastle to outscore the Cannons. 'You're lucky Potter saved your arses and handed us a win.'
'Seekers always save our arses,' grumbled Darren. 'That's the way Quidditch scoring works.'
'That's a load of bollocks and you know it,' replied Tuttle. 'The team is an organism, and when Potter or Rees catches the Snitch, all of you do it. If part of the organism decides to have a lie-in, how to you expect the Seeker to do their job?'
Harry was intrigued by what Tuttle was suggesting. She's referring to the group energy Ryan mentioned on my first day. It's what I feel during the flying drills. 'She's right,' he interjected. 'Not that you were having a lie-in—that's just Tuttle being Tuttle. But I'm not catching the Snitch on my own. The whole team is doing it, and I can't do it without you.'
He closed his eyes, and within seconds he felt Light magic rip through him. 'Blimey, he's glowing,' said Titus. 'I thought you had it under control—it's been more than a week.'
'Apparently not,' replied Harry, who had opened his eyes and was beaming at the group. 'I really need to talk to Rita Skeeter about this.'
'Have you gone daft?' asked Janet.
'No,' said Ryan. 'He made an arrangement with her. That's why he's only had good press coverage recently.'
'You sneaky bastard!' said Gary. 'You're a Light Slytherin!'
'Shut it, Hogwarts,' retorted Janet. 'Harry, do you need some private time with your wand? I know it's been nearly forty-eight hours since your last polishing.'
'I just love you, all of you,' he proclaimed. 'Tuttle, I'm sorry I interrupted—carry on.'
Tuttle actually appeared flustered. 'Er, I was going to tell Potter his feints were half-hearted and that the Chasers could have used some help, but what's the point?' Shaking her head, she muttered, 'Christ, I thought Bagman had prepared me for everything.'
The meeting dispersed, and Owen approached Harry and asked, 'How did it go with Sheppard?'
'He barely taunted me, and I didn't taunt him at all. It was perfectly friendly, for the most part.'
'Interesting. I was watching you through Omnioculars, and you were clearly having a good time, particularly while flying alone.'
Harry smiled, and he felt his glow increase. 'I pretended my godson's parents were in the stands. I decided they'd disguised themselves as a couple who were holding a sign criticising me, and I kept imagining how they were reacting to the match and passing the time.'
Owen raised his eyebrows and said, 'That's a new one, and apparently it worked. But Tuttle was right—you need to step up the feints.'
'Understood,' replied Harry. He looked at his glowing hands and said, 'I'd hoped to go to the Spyglass this afternoon. Hopefully taking a shower will settle things down.'
'Yeah, but use a Silencing Charm,' said Suresh, who was walking past. 'Nobody needs to hear that.'
'That's not how it works,' said Harry. 'But thanks for the advice.'
After showering, Harry emerged from the locker room in jeans and the floral button-down shirt he'd bought in Paris. Gemma looked at him appraisingly and said, 'That's a bold choice, Toffer. Are you certain you want to wear that to a bar full of raucous fans?'
'I just caught the Snitch,' replied Harry. 'I could probably turn up in a wedding dress and they'd approve. Besides, I've worn this in Muggle settings and nobody's batted an eye.'
Twitching her wand, she said, 'Perhaps it's time for you to add cosmetic charms to your wardrobe. Will you let me put some roses in your cheeks, to match your shirt?'
'No,' said Harry firmly.
'Come on, Toffer. Nobody's going to question your masculinity, or even your sexuality.'
Harry shook his head and grabbed her hand. 'Let's go—we've already kept the fans waiting long enough.' He insisted she go first through the fireplace, and then he waited for half a minute so she'd be the centre of attention a little longer.
When he arrived he almost bumped into her, since she had her head in the fireplace. 'There you are!' she exclaimed. 'I was afraid you'd got lost somewhere along the way.'
He couldn't reply because the fans all started shouting when he emerged. 'Potter! Potter!' they chanted, and he waved as he stepped away from the hearth. Someone shoved an overflowing pint glass at him, and he reflexively held it away from his body, to keep it from spilling on his shirt.
'Flowers!' exclaimed an older wizard. 'Are you sure you're not a poofter?'
'Get with the times, grandad,' scoffed Gemma, and everyone within earshot laughed.
'Yeah, Potter's proven six times over that he's man enough to wear flowers,' chimed a fan, prompting hoots and more laughter.
Some of the reserve players waved Gemma to their table, and Harry joined Darren, Janet, and Ron. They were unable to converse, due to a long series of toasts from the fans, but eventually Janet asked, 'Did you really tell a pair of witches to owl you?'
'Bloody Light magic,' grumbled Harry quietly. 'I need to make it public as soon as possible, so people don't just think I'm a maniac.'
'You make that sound like a bad thing,' observed Darren. 'I, for one, have accepted propositions from fans, and no one thinks the worse of me.'
Janet laughed and said, 'First, yes we do. Second, you aren't anywhere near as visible as Harry is.' Fans started approaching the table, and she handed Ron a notepad and biro. 'Weasley, do us a favour and keep a tally of whether Harry gets approached by more witches or wizards. And make a note of their clothing, body language, etc.'
'So now I'm your secretary?' he scowled.
'My private secretary. My very naughty private secretary,' she said saucily, before leaning over to kiss him.
'Because every league Keeper has an Auror for a private secretary,' remarked Darren.
Janet pulled away from Ron and said, 'Don't forget the Order of Merlin.'
Harry had already begun signing autographs, primarily for witches carrying Sorceress magazine. Some of them found a reason to touch him, and many of them played with their hair or ran a finger or even their tongue across their lips.
'Now's your chance to see how many witches will fit in your bed,' suggested Darren during a brief lull. 'I'm game to join you if you like—we can each take one side, so we won't even have to interact.'
Harry closed his eyes momentarily. 'Not before I talk to Rita Skeeter,' he replied. 'There's no way I'd get through that without glowing.'
'You are definitely preventing the next war, Snitchbottom,' remarked Janet. 'No one is going to be interested in the Dark Arts once they hear what you've been up to.'
The autograph seekers kept coming, and Harry gradually amassed a small pile of Floo addresses, none of which he'd requested. 'Is this the first time you've been here since the Sorceress article?' asked Ron.
'Yes, in fact. Are you drawing some conclusion or other?'
'I am. And it involves the prophecy.'
Janet and Darren both snapped to attention. 'Are you about to spill something classified?'
'I don't know. Harry, is the prophecy classified?'
'Not technically,' replied Harry, 'but we always kept it private to protect a certain someone. He knows about it, though—his girlfriend made the connection, But I don't want the press to find out, in case they bother him.'
'Fair enough, but that's only the first section. I was referring to the power bit.'
The power the Dark Lord knows not, recalled Harry. 'Yes, I see your point. And I may have to head home soon, in case of another vaccine incident.'
'Do you need a nurse?' asked Darren, looking at a group of young witches. 'There's no shortage here.'
'No, that's a bit indiscreet even for me.' He smiled warmly and added, 'But thanks ... I love you.'
'Code red!' cried Janet. 'Ron, get him out of here.'
Ron grabbed Harry and dragged him towards the fireplace, just as Harry's hands began to glow. Ron threw way too much Floo powder into the flames and practically shoved Harry into the fireplace. 'Grimmauld Place,' said Harry rapturously, and after being whirled through the Floo network he emerged from the fireplace in a blissful heap.
Seconds later, Ron appeared and immediately shielded his eyes. 'Blimey, is it always like this?'
'No, this is incredibly strong. Oh, Ron ... I'm so grateful I met you. Imagine if I'd become friends with Malfoy instead—I'd probably be at Voldemort's feet right now.'
'Instead you're at mine,' smirked Ron, standing over him. 'But I reckon Voldemort would have made you his second-in-command, and you'd chit-chat in Parseltongue about who you were going to torture that evening.'
Harry's glow dimmed, and he sat up. 'How can you talk about torture? This is a thousand times nicer than what Voldemort used to experience. The Dark Arts are the worst.'
'You really felt it, didn't you? Everything he felt.'
Harry nodded soberly, but his glow remained. 'Yeah. It was a weird feeling, being connected that way to another person.'
'Not a person,' corrected Ron. 'Bloody Voldemort.'
'Yeah, but he was a person too. Tom Riddle. I saw what was left of him ... it was ghastly.' Harry looked at his hands, which had dimmed significantly. 'I wanted to help, but at the same time I couldn't even go near him.' Ron seemed puzzled, and Harry said, 'In King's Cross, with Dumbledore.'
'I sometimes forget just how weird your life is,' said Ron.
'Technically speaking, I wasn't alive then. But yeah, it's pretty weird.'
Ron stood up and said, 'I should probably get back to the Spyglass. Will you be all right?'
'Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks for getting me out of there.'
After Ron left, Harry went to the kitchen for something to tide him over until dinner with Theo and his mates. I'm so fortunate, he thought, and Light magic surged through him again. If Ron hadn't befriended me, I might have been Sorted into Slytherin and become a completely different person.
He regretted his years of enmity with the Slytherins—Malfoy in particular—but he was hopeful about beginning a new chapter. Perhaps I needed to develop love first, he thought, and he decided the way it had happened was completely perfect.
