Harry dreamt of Lavender that night. 'But I thought you were dead,' he exclaimed when she arrived at his party.
'No, I was in a magical coma,' she said, examining her red-lacquered fingernails. 'I was badly injured, and they sent me to a spa in Switzerland. Didn't Ron tell you?'
'Oh, right,' said Harry, remembering it clearly. 'May I show you the roof?'
She took his arm, and they climbed the staircase, arriving beneath a familiar trap door. A silvery ladder appeared, and they ascended into Professor Trelawney's classroom. 'Do sit down,' came a voice, followed immediately by the professor herself. Trelawney glittered with innumerable chains and bangles, and Lavender looked at her with awe.
Harry sat with Ron, Lavender, and Parvati, even though they were Gryffindors and he was a Slytherin. He and Ron took turns looking into a crystal ball, and they cheated by using their first-hand knowledge of the future. 'You'll take Parvati to the Yule Ball, but you'll be a crap date and she'll ditch you for someone else,' said Ron, sniggering.
'And you'll throw a tantrum when Hermione turns up with Viktor Krum,' added Harry, writing it on a parchment. 'This is good—what else?'
'Moody will turn out to be a Polyjuiced Death Eater. He'll enter you in the Triwizard Tournament and kidnap you using a Portkey.'
'What about Cedric Diggory?' asked Harry, frowning.
'Kill the spare, mate.'
'Right, kill the spare,' he jotted down, and a blast of green light flew past him. Harry stared in shock at Cedric's lifeless face, and Wormtail bound him to a headstone.
Nightmare! thought Harry, forcing himself awake. He opened his eyes in the Divination classroom, where he'd nodded off from the heavy incense.
'Oh, my poor lad,' said Trelawney dourly. 'Death surrounds you like a caul. To someone with the Sight, it's as plain as the scar on your forehead.'
'Give it a rest,' scoffed Hermione. 'You can't even tell he's a Horcrux.'
Alone, Harry rose from the floor of Dumbledore's office, looking once more at the Pensieve containing Snape's memories. Neither can live while the other survives, he thought, and he knew what he needed to do.
Lavender joined him at the bottom of the spiral staircase, beside the gargoyle. 'You're too late,' she announced.
She was torn up by Greyback, but Harry didn't look away. 'I'm sorry, I didn't know.'
'Of course not,' she said, accompanying him towards the main staircase.
'I'll be dead soon too, if that helps,' he told her.
'Not really. But thanks.'
When they passed the Great Hall, they were joined by a group of others, including Fred, Remus, and Tonks. 'Where's Colin?' asked Harry.
'He's trying to ring his parents, to say goodbye,' said Lavender. 'Malfoy has a mobile.'
'Will it work here?'
'No, not with the wards,' said Fred. 'But there's a phone box outside. In fact, I should probably ring George.'
There was, in fact, a telephone box outside Hogwarts, and Harry felt silly for never having noticed it. I could have rung Sirius, or my parents, he thought. The dead gathered around it, but it only took Muggle coins, which no one had. 'I should go,' said Harry, glancing towards the forest.
'Yeah, see you soon,' said Fred, who was trying to transfigure a Sickle. 'Good luck.'
Harry departed alone, but Lavender hurried to follow him. 'I'll come with you. No one wants to see me this way.'
'Do you want my Cloak?' he asked, pulling it out.
'No, that's yours. And you'll need this,' she said, handing him something.
The smooth wooden oval felt warm in his hand, and he awoke from the dream as if surfacing from a pool. Lying in bed, he stroked the oval with his thumb, and it took him a moment to realise he'd Summoned it in his sleep. That's magic for you, he thought, impressed.
It was after dawn, so he dressed and went downstairs. 'Harry, good morning,' said Banthora when he entered the dining room. 'You're up early. Not a nightmare, I hope?'
'No, I'm fine. But I'm surprised to see you out and about—I would have thought you'd be exploring your new digs.'
Banthora's new portrait had arrived the day before, and although her painted form was the same, she had an entirely new wardrobe and surroundings. 'How could I neglect you, after everything you've given me? These robes, for example ... they're much more comfortable than anything from my era.'
'I still can't believe you were stuck for nearly two hundred years in a corset!'
'It wasn't a corset,' she protested.
'It had whalebone in it!'
'That was for posture. But it wasn't reducing my waistline—not at my age.'
'You said yourself this is more comfortable,' said Harry sternly.
'You're right, of course. And it's much more cheerful,' she said, looking at her pale damask robes. 'I feel ready for a garden party!'
'Did you explore the conservatory?'
'Yes, it's lovely. Louisa painted a half-dozen tea tables, so I can invite the other portraits, and there's even a house-elf to help me. Her name is Bitsy and she's a dear.'
There was a small pop in the portrait, and a painted elf appeared. 'Did Mistress need anything?' she asked with a curtsy.
'No, Bitsy, I was just saying how helpful you've been.' Addressing Harry, she said, 'Bitsy even styled my hair.'
'You look great,' he said sincerely. Banthora's grey hair was no longer pulled back, but instead framed her face softly, making her look less drawn. She'd never had much of the family beauty, but now that her severity was gone she was the image of matronly kindness. 'Brett and Douglas will flip next time they see you.'
Banthora smiled and said, 'They tried giving me their old copies of Blood Traitor, but I can wait for my own subscription to arrive.'
Although the artist had made it possible to insert a magazine into the Banthora's new portrait, Harry didn't fancy handling used porno mags, so he only too was happy to wait. 'Just let me know if there's anything else you need.'
'I'm fine, my dear. But what about you? Did your teacher have advice about accessing the Star Chamber?'
'No,' he sighed. 'She consulted a colleague and they agreed there's no way to compel a portrait using Light magic. Which means I'll have to win someone over.'
'You won me over,' said Banthora.
'That's because you're a sweetheart. And besides, most of the family treated you poorly, which isn't true for the heads of house.'
'Actually, several were murdered by their own heirs,' she noted. 'But that's not the same as being overlooked, as I was. Although truth be told, I wasn't predisposed to like you.'
'Oh?' said Harry. 'Did you dislike me?'
'I agreed with the other portraits that you weren't a true Black. We couldn't dispute your legitimacy, since both the tapestry and the ring chose you, but I worried you wouldn't uphold the family dignity.'
'You were right—I've trampled the family dignity. But how did I win you over?'
'When you asked for my help. You had just taken your celibacy vow, and you didn't trust yourself to keep it, so you sent for a portrait. It was a surprisingly humble act for a Gryffindor.'
'Excuse me, I'm a Slytherin,' said Harry, pulling out a handkerchief. 'Do I need another tattoo?'
'That's up to you, my dear. And then there were your nightmares. I'd seldom felt needed before, and certainly not as a portrait. But I finally had something to offer.'
'Your stories,' said Harry, recalling the hours she'd spent soothing him. 'I don't know if I'd have succeeded without you, and now I feel more connected to the family.'
'And I to you,' she said fondly. 'But surely you can establish a similar bond with one of the other heads of house.'
Harry was sceptical. 'Maybe. What do you know about Scipio Black? He seemed like a possibility.'
'Poor Scipio ... no one ever respected him.'
'Why not?'
'He was a younger son, and no one expected him to be Head of House. But his elder brother Iago was cursed by the feared Plutellus Burke, who practised Vermimancy.'
'Vermimancy!' exclaimed Harry. 'With worms, you mean?'
'Yes, and a foul art it is. Not inherently—there are impressive healing practices involving worms. But in the hands of a Dark wizard like Plutellus Burke, it was worse than Necromancy. When he cursed Iago Black, not only did he die, but all of his issue did as well. Which meant Scipio, who was a Potions master, was unexpectedly elevated to Head of House.'
'And people didn't respect him?'
'No. Not only was he unpleasant, but his all-consuming interest in Potions led him to neglect even basic hygiene.'
Sounds like Snape, thought Harry. 'Did he ever get married?'
'Yes, to his cousin, Vesuvia Black. But that was only after he ascended to Head of House, and it was a loveless match. She was much younger, and after bearing two sons she exiled him from the Manor to Grimmauld Place. Which he scarcely noticed, since the elves transported his laboratory, where he spent all his time.'
'What about his duties as Head of House? Did he at least take care of those?'
'No. Vesuvia's father, Hostilian Black, demanded proxy status and an enormous bride price as a condition of the marriage. He moved his entire family into the Manor and acted as though he were Head of House. And of course his grandson succeeded him, rendering Scipio a mere footnote in the family history.'
'Hmm, no wonder the other portraits looked down on him. And you don't think I can win him over somehow?'
'I don't know,' said Banthora, her expression thoughtful. 'How strong are you at Potions?'
'Not particularly. Hermione's good at them, but I assume Scipio has no use for Muggle-borns.'
'No, certainly not. One of his obsessions was to devise a poison that only affected wizards with Muggle blood. Although ...' She trailed off.
'Although what?'
'I heard a rumour that he fell in love with a Muggle-born witch at Hogwarts, and that she spurned him.'
This is way too much like Snape, thought Harry. 'It sounds like Scipio's a dead end. And besides, even if I could win him over, I'd just be manipulating him.' He scowled and said, 'Bloody Light magic and its code of honour.'
He and Banthora were silent for a while. 'I wish I could think of a Head of House who might be sympathetic,' she said, 'but I really can't. The earlier ones don't care about blood purity, but none of them respect Light magic.'
'But some of them are greedy, right?' said Harry. 'Aren't they pleased I'm rebuilding the family fortune?'
'By Jove, you're right! And they're terribly curious about the numbers.' She paused for a moment. 'Typhon Black,' she declared. 'He'll want to talk to you.'
Harry's memory stirred. 'I think Hermione met him ... was he the one who stole from the British crown during the reign of Henry the Eighth?'
'He was indeed.'
'Was he one of the portraits who told me to piss off?' asked Harry.
'No, he considers himself superior to the other heads of house. And that's exactly what you need: a contrarian. But are you willing to confide in him about your business dealings?'
'As long as he's discreet,' said Harry, not wanting anyone at the Ministry to get wind of the condom scheme. She assured him he would be, and she said she'd approach him on Harry's behalf.
When he passed through the entrance hall after eating, Harry paused to visit Padfoot. 'Did you have any idea how much of a headache House Black was going to be?' Padfoot, obedient but not sentient, merely wagged his tail. 'No, of course not,' said Harry fondly, wishing yet again that he could reach into the frame and pet him. 'You'd have set fire to the heads of house, wouldn't you? Or urinated on them.'
As soon as he said it, a fire hydrant appeared in the background, and Padfoot trotted towards it. Clearly the house magic likes me, thought Harry, and he hoped that boded well for his interaction with Typhon Black.
The family theme continued that afternoon during Seeker training, when Lodie unexpectedly appeared near the benches. 'Is that one of yours?' asked Gemma, pointing her out.
'Oh bugger, it must be a letter from the Malfoys. This needs to stop,' he said, flying down. Attempting to hide his irritation, he greeted the elf. 'Hi Lodie. Is something the matter?'
'Master!' she said urgently, waving an envelope. 'Lodie has a letter from Mistress Narcissa!'
'Can't it wait until I come home?' he asked gently. 'Remember our talk about unnecessary interruptions?'
Lodie nodded, her enormous eyes bulging. 'But this is necessary,' she insisted, poking the envelope at him. 'Mistress Narcissa!'
Sighing, he said, 'I'm sure it's not urgent. This is just the family magic forcing you. Do you feel it?'
The elf had begun to tremble, and a tear rolled down her cheek. 'Lodie needs for Master to read the letter.'
'I'm sorry, of course,' he said, taking it from her. The letter was brief, simply asking Harry to visit after practice if he had time. 'I wish to discuss family matters without Draco present.'
Blinking expectantly, Lodie asked, 'Does Master have a reply?'
'Er, yeah. You can tell her I'll come over this afternoon if I'm able. But if I don't turn up by half five, it'll have to be tomorrow.'
The elf looked disappointed, but she was no longer agitated. 'Yes, Master,' she said, before disappearing with a loud pop.
Before Harry could mount his broomstick, Tuttle blew her whistle and announced a short break before the practice match. Gemma landed next to him and asked, 'What was that all about?'
'Narcissa Malfoy wants to see me without Draco around,' said Harry as they walked to the building.
Sniggering, Gemma said, 'She knows you have a girlfriend, right?'
'Very funny. But I'm sure it's something about Draco, or maybe her sister Andromeda. She probably found out she's dating a werewolf.'
'And she immediately owls you?'
'So it seems,' said Harry. 'I don't entirely understand our relationship, to be honest. Obviously it's not romantic, but it's not exactly friendship either.'
'Sounds like family,' said Gemma dryly. 'You might not have much in common, or even agree on anything, but you're weirdly linked.'
Harry considered her words. 'You're right. And no wonder it's so unfamiliar. Although I can almost imagine having that with Dudley.'
'Your cousin the bully?'
'Yeah ... we're on good terms now, at least in theory. He wants me to take him flying sometime.'
'Has he ever seen you play?'
'Merlin, no! He's never seen the wizarding world at all.'
'He'd need a disguise,' mused Gemma. 'There are probably still wizards who'd try to attack him. But you should definitely invite him to a match ... do you have any tickets left?'
'I can't invite him to a match!' blurted Harry, his heart racing.
'Yeah, I suppose you're right. There'll be tons of banners about your underwear adverts, or maybe even the actual photographs. Although you should really send him copies, along with a note saying how much they're paying you.' Chuckling, she added, 'Be sure to tell him you and Sophie were an item until you dumped her.'
'I didn't dump her,' said Harry hoarsely, just as they arrived at the locker rooms. He went alone to the men's side, his mind still reeling. Obviously he couldn't invite Dudley to a match, particularly not when his adverts were still new. But he realised that a deeper part of him longed to rub Dudley's nose in his success.
I envied Dudley for years, and now I'm the most envied wizard in Britain, came the voice. I'm nineteen, I live in a London townhouse, and I have more gold than I'll ever need. And there's no way he pulls women as easily as I do—not even Muggles. Meanwhile, I've shagged a French supermodel, a pure-blood princess, a pair of it-girls, and now a ravishing widow. Not to mention I'm a star athlete, a war hero, and underwear model.
Harry was torn between feeling sorry for Dudley, who didn't even have magic, and wanting to crush him. But it wasn't modern-day Dudley he wanted to humiliate—it was the bullying whale who'd tormented him as a child. But what's the point? I can't go back and change things, and the real blame lies with Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and that bloody Horcrux.
Frowning, he turned his thoughts to the evening ahead with Fiona. It wasn't a date, exactly, since Owen's family would be there, but she promised him at least some privacy. The plan was for Harry to gradually spend more time at Everbrook, so Matthew could adjust to their relationship. Eventually they hoped Harry could treat it as a second home, and that Matthew might even enjoy the occasional stay at Grimmauld Place. But Fiona insisted on taking it slowly, which Harry agreed made sense.
He was nevertheless frustrated not to be able to spend more time with her. This is all Lydia's fault, he thought sourly, recalling how she'd immediately moved in with him. Admittedly, their relationship had ended in disaster, but he'd loved waking up with her every morning and having a willing partner at all hours.
Patience, Snitchbottom, he told himself, knowing he'd eventually get more time with Fiona. The next question was where and how they would spend it. The wizarding social season was in full swing, and more than one wizard at Pratt's warned him not to ignore the invitations he was likely to receive. As Oscar Abbott put it, 'No one bothered last year since you were only eighteen and Kingsley's man entirely. But between the Wizengamot, Gringotts, and your Light magic, you've emerged as a major power broker. And your mere presence at any soirée will guarantee a full writeup in the society pages, which is what some of these witches live for.'
Mrs Thwip told him something similar, although her phrasing was different. 'You can't keep turning down invitations, Mr Potter-Black. It's all right during Quidditch season, since everyone knows you're busy, but as soon as it ends you'll have no excuse. And take heed: no one is inviting you out of the goodness of their heart. Every one of them wants something.'
Struck by how much she sounded like Narcissa Malfoy, Harry asked if she knew which invitations he should accept. 'No, Mr Potter-Black—I don't live in that world. You'll need to find people you can trust.'
Can I trust Narcissa? he wondered as he circled the pitch that afternoon. On the surface the question was absurd—of course he couldn't. But the goblins had bullied Draco into helping him, and Narcissa was loyal above all to her son. It's worth a try.
He could trust Kingsley, of course, but the consensus at Pratt's was that the former Acting Minister wasn't actually much of a politician. His real talent, they said, was his combination of gravitas and good timing; he'd acted quickly after the war, before the Dark faction had time to regroup and when Neutrals were eager to clear their names. But those days were over, and everyone said Kingsley was wise to quit while he was ahead.
Harry wondered whom else he could trust. Oscar Abbott and Ernest Prewett were all right, but they didn't approve of his alliance with Draco. Furthermore, they were largely satisfied by the legislation they'd passed under Kingsley, and Harry sometimes got the sense they wished he didn't have a Wizengamot seat at all.
Realisation finally dawned. I can trust Marcus Waite, he thought, and he felt silly for not realising it sooner. But another thought followed: He'll also get invited everywhere, and so will Lydia! Which would be convenient, actually, since they could divide the social responsibilities. But they'd almost certainly have to attend some of the same events. My life is distinctly weird, he noted, returning to the present.
The practice match ended before five, which meant he had time to visit Malfoy Manor before going to Fiona's house. He wore Muggle clothes, suitable for playing with the kids, and Narcissa looked disappointed when he arrived. 'Did you come straight from practice?' she asked.
'No, but my next stop is to see Fiona, and I wanted to wear something I could move about in.' She raised one eyebrow, and he said, 'So I can play with her little boy, and my friend Owen's two daughters.'
She sniffed and said, 'Lucius always wore robes.'
'Did he get on the floor with Draco?'
'Yes, he was a devoted father. Normally he'd remove his outer robes but leave on his waistcoat—less constraining but still impeccable.'
Harry was unexpectedly touched by the mental image of Lucius playing on the floor with young Draco. 'I'll keep that in mind,' he said, claiming his usual chair opposite the sofa. 'Clothes are probably the one topic I'd be willing to take his advice on.'
'Yes, if only you'd found common ground sooner,' she drawled, before offering him tea. The conversation turned to Draco, and she said, 'He's been absent a lot lately. Do you know where he's been?'
'Didn't you ask him?'
'Yes, but he's evasive. He just says he's going out, and that he won't be home until morning.'
Harry couldn't help chuckling. 'That sounds pretty clear to me.'
'The Boudoir,' she sighed, pouring his tea. 'I suppose it's less expensive than doubling Catherine White's dowry, at least for now. But he was there three nights in a row, which seems ... excessive.'
You're clearly not nineteen, thought Harry. 'He's not at the Boudoir. But it's not my place to say where he has been.'
She handed him a whisper-thin cup and saucer. 'So you know the witch?'
Realising he was dangerously close to lying, he repeated, 'It's not my place to say.'
'He's not at risk of proposing, is he? Or getting her pregnant, Merlin forbid?'
'No to both,' said Harry, looking at her over his teacup, then taking a sip.
'But you've met her, right?'
'I have.'
Studying him, she said, 'Would I approve?'
Depends how you look at it, thought Harry. 'Er, yes and no.'
Narcissa blinked. 'Yes and no? What kind of answer is that?'
'Yes, because there's no risk of marriage. No, because you wouldn't approve of her as a daughter-in-law. Which she'll never be, so it's fine.'
'Is she one of your tarts?'
'Oi!'
'Not your current girlfriend,' said Narcissa hastily. 'She seems relatively unobjectionable. But what about those two witches?'
For a moment Harry was stuck on what Narcissa meant by 'relatively.' Next he tried to imagine Draco with Jocelyn or Maryann, and he shook his head. 'She's not one of my tarts, thank you very much. And the only other thing I'll say is that I think she's a step in the right direction.'
Harry met her eyes again, silently saying, 'That's all you'll get out of me.' She seemed to understand, and her expression softened. 'So, tell me more about Mrs Dunning.'
Well played, thought Harry, welcoming the change of topic. 'She's lovely,' he said, bursting with affection. 'She lost her husband, as you know, and I'm the first person she's dated since then. I know the Prophet depicted her as some kind of vixen, but that's not who she is at all.'
'Yes, Draco said as much. Although she made quite an impression at the WORF gala, on stage like that. That dress, after all, along with her surname.'
'Do you know any of her in-laws?' asked Harry.
'I know the restaurant, of course. And I believe Lucius is distantly related to them, although I'd describe them as respectable rather than prominent. Not unlike the Potters, actually, but less political.' She narrowed her eyes. 'I assume they're less than thrilled about you.'
He suspected she was right, but he didn't enjoy hearing it. 'They only found out we're dating yesterday morning, in the Prophet, but I don't know if they've spoken to Fiona yet.'
'They will,' said Narcissa dryly. 'Particularly because of her son—you're not exactly an ideal role model.'
Tell that to all the kids who write to me, he thought, annoyed. 'Frankly, that's their problem—certainly Fiona doesn't object. And besides, he's only five, so it's not as if I'll be taking him to Penumbra.'
'That may all be true, but you need to learn tact. You've managed without it so far, but if you want to succeed in politics you'll need to start acting like a well-brought-up wizard.'
'I'm not a well-brought-up wizard,' he grumbled. 'But I'm sure you're right. In fact, I need your advice about the upcoming social season. And yes, I know how weird it is that I'm even asking you.'
'You'll get heaps of invitations. Not from the inner circle, of course, but nearly everyone else.'
'The inner circle?' asked Harry, assuming she meant Death Eater families.
'Travers, Yaxley, Rosier, Lestrange. A few others. Selwyn could go either way—they're terribly practical. Although they're linked with the Traverses, and Charles Selwyn is courting Draco, so they'll probably invite him instead.'
He's courting me as well, thought Harry, recalling Selwyn's thinly-veiled proposition at the Order of Volupta meeting. 'Would it even make sense for me to accept invitations from families like that?'
'No, it doesn't. You'd be safe from the hosts, thanks to the laws of hospitality, but there's no predicting what a disgruntled guest might do. Obviously you have Light magic, and they'd be mad to attack you or Fiona, but it's not worth the risk. Better to cultivate them at Pratt's instead.'
'And they won't be offended if I turn them down? My secretary said their wives might like the notoriety I'd bring.'
'She's not wrong, but the same is true of the outer circle.' Her eyes gleamed, and she said, 'Let them fight over you.'
'I beg your pardon?'
Something resembling a Dark Arts sneer crossed her face, and she took a sip of tea. 'Allow me to explain the wizarding social season,' she said, setting her cup down silently. 'In most of the old Wizengamot families, it's the sons who inherit. Houses Malfoy and Black both work that way, of course, and amongst the noble houses, the sole exceptions are Greengrass and LaDue. Some of the wives engage in politics or even work at the Ministry, but it's primarily the duty of the wizard.' She gave Harry a meaningful look before continuing.
'The witch's highest duty is to provide an heir, and to raise him. The more children the better, although Lucius and I were not so fortunate,' she said, her features still a perfect mask. 'But even the most crowded nursery is emptied when the youngest leaves for Hogwarts, leaving the witch of the house at loose ends.'
Harry leaned forwards, intrigued by this side of Narcissa. He'd seen her aristocratic veneer, certainly, but this was an glimpse into her training as a daughter of House Black.
'Her next duty,' she continued, 'is within the social sphere. Before Draco started school, I took him to play with the children of other distinguished families, which brought me closer to their mothers. Some I knew from Hogwarts, of course, but others were older or younger than I, or from different houses. And naturally Lucius and I were received by the finest families, particularly since we're related in some way to nearly all of them.'
The Longbottoms? wondered Harry. What about the Gaunts? 'I assume you mean Dark families,' he said. 'And the neutrals.'
'No, Lucius is related to most of the Light families as well, although we didn't socialise with them. But that's an historical aberration—there have always been political factions, yet most pure-blood families allow or even encourage intermarriage.'
Harry resisted the urge to make a joke about the Blacks. 'Is that still true?' he asked. 'From what I've seen, if a Yaxley married a Prewett, say, they'd be disowned as a blood traitor.'
'During the war years, yes. But prior to the twentieth century, wizards were largely united against the goblins. Which meant that even a pair of political adversaries would have permitted their children to wed. And naturally there's a rebel or two in every generation—your great-grandmother, for example.'
Dorea Potter, née Black. 'Daughter of a lesser branch,' he said quietly. 'Yes, of course. But you were telling me about the wizarding social season, which I want to understand better.'
She expressed approval and continued. 'As a young mother, I hosted teas and garden parties, but until Draco left for school, I was considered part of the junior set, and it would have been presumptuous for me to host something like a Yule Ball.'
'Did you host one eventually?'
'Yes,' said Narcissa, with an unmistakable flash of pride. 'The first was during Draco's second year at Hogwarts. Normally I'd have had to wait much longer, but Gloriana Rowle withdrew from society after a severe case of Crumplewinds.' Narcissa closed her eyes in remembrance. 'It was an unqualified triumph.'
It took Harry a moment to realise she was referring to the ball she'd thrown, and not Gloriana Rowle's illness. 'Did you host it from then on?'
'Yes, four times in total. Thanks to the Malfoy name and circumstances,'—she gestured towards the surrounding grandeur—'and my gift for hospitality, we were indisputably the leaders of wizarding high society.'
Harry did the maths in his head. 'I assume things changed in '96 when Lucius was arrested.'
'They did. And after he was freed a year later, we were prisoners of the Dark Lord.' Her face clouded, and she said, 'There were no parties that year.'
Not for me either, thought Harry, but he prompted her to continue.
'There are a handful of witches vying to replace me. I'll never host another Yule Ball—not with Lucius in Azkaban. Perhaps my daughter-in-law will, if Draco marries appropriately, but otherwise I'll only host small parties. Dinner for twenty, perhaps.'
Harry was amused that dinner for twenty sounded small to him as well. 'Who hosted last year's Yule ball?'
'No one. It was too soon after the war, and the Dark faction was reluctant to attract notice while the public appetite for vengeance was still high.'
'And by "vengeance" do you mean "justice?"' asked Harry.
'Whatever you want to call it,' she said dismissively. 'This year Etta Baxter is hosting, but she's frightfully dowdy. And it's really just a sop to her husband Reginald, who's reassembled the conservative faction. Unblemished surname, you know. The only strike against him was not being a lord, but you took care of that.'
'Interesting,' said Harry, recalling Baxter's largely friendly attitude at Pratt's.
'But they probably won't keep hosting it for long—it's bound to be dreary with Etta in charge. Which means several witches are in fierce competition, and your presence at a soirée can make or break them.'
'But that's absurd! Why would Dark-leaning hostesses want to frighten their guests with a Light wizard?'
Narcissa's grey eyes darkened, and for an instant Harry was reminded of Bellatrix. 'Because it's dangerous. We may be witches, and largely ornamental, but every one of us learnt how to duel.' She lifted her wand from the table and examined it from several angles. 'None of us miss the war, and very few of us fought in it. But we're all trained, and danger can be a powerful stimulant.'
Harry tried not to grimace. So a bunch of bored housewives are going to get their rocks off by trying to Legilimise me? he wondered. 'Are you sure Fiona and I would be safe at a party like that?'
'You withstood the Dark Lord—I'm sure you can handle a flock of frustrated witches. And I can intervene with the hostess, to ensure safety wards.' With an expression he associated with his fellow Slytherins, she said, 'I may never be that witch again, but that's not the only role available to me. There are also the witches who decide.'
Oh for Merlin's sake, thought Harry. 'Do you mean the ones who decide who gets to host the Yule Ball? Is there a committee or something?'
'Nothing so formal. But there are certain witches whose opinions matter, and I used to be one of them. Not recently, though—with Lucius in Azkaban and Draco under house arrest, I only saw my closest confidants.' After a pause, she said, 'Draco wasn't the only Malfoy you freed.'
It had never occurred to Harry that she'd also felt trapped. 'How has it been, returning to that world?' he asked.
She took a sip of tea. 'In one sense, it was like coming home. But I'm also not sure I still belong.'
His eyes shot open, but she shook her head. 'I was referring to the situation with Lucius.'
There was an awkward silence, and he asked, 'Do you still practise Dark curses?'
'I do, but only for self-defence. I hope never to use them again. But you should know by now that there's more to the Dark Arts than just curses.' He nodded, even though he didn't know the details, and she said, 'That practice is second nature to me. It's in my blood. It gives me power, focus, poise ...' As if to demonstrate, her air of steely grace intensified. 'And relief.'
'Relief?'
With a droll look, she said, 'My husband is in Azkaban for life. And against all logic, I still love him. This is a special kind of pain, and Dark magic gives me the power to contain it. Why do you think Draco was so cross about what you did to his wand?'
Until recently, Harry would have assumed Draco just enjoyed cursing things. 'So ... Dark magic helps you cope?'
'It does. I know you think it's pure evil, but it's just a tool like anything else.'
Harry wanted to understand. 'How do you mean, exactly?'
'Consider my sisters. As girls we were trained to harness our emotions, in order not to embarrass ourselves or the family. Most people are a jumble of conflicting emotions, but we learnt inner restraint.'
Harry couldn't hide his scepticism, and Narcissa held up a hand. 'I know what you're thinking: that Bellatrix was the antithesis of restraint. But consider her ability to cast Dark curses. One of the reasons she was so powerful in battle was her perfect ability to suppress any emotions that might get in the way.'
'Like her humanity?'
'For example. She went too far, of course, but it's an essential skill. That's how Lucius survived his year in Azkaban when they still had Dementors. And it's how I cope with everything I've lost. Even Andromeda uses it, I suspect.'
'But how does that even work? Do you use your wand?'
'Yes, while you're learning the method, which can take years. Afterwards, no. The point of the spells isn't to charm or transfigure an object, even though that's what you're doing. The point is to use emotions to power your magic, since that helps consolidate those emotions. Anger, for example, is useless when it's just banging about inside you. But when you consolidate it, you can access it as needed. Or not.'
Harry struggled to find the Light Arts parallel. 'I suppose we do something similar in Light magic,' he said uncertainly. 'But the idea is to strengthen only positive emotions, not harmful ones. And the last thing we want to do is wall them off—we want to integrate them with the rest of the mind.'
'That's a dangerous game,' said Narcissa. 'Some emotions are better buried.'
Harry sighed and said, 'I'm afraid we'll have to agree to disagree. But this is fascinating, and I appreciate the trust you're showing me.'
Her lips curled with amusement. 'We are family, after all. And I'm shamelessly using you to advance my social career.'
'Right ... what's your plan exactly?'
'I'll tell you which invitations to accept from the outer circle, and I'll make sure they're politically advantageous. And frankly, they'll be educational—you're still new to wizarding traditions, and everyone wants to show you what we're trying to preserve. You surprised everyone this summer when you started wearing traditional robes, and they're hoping you'll embrace other customs.' She surveyed the elegant drawing room and said, 'There's a beauty and graciousness to wizarding life, along with a thrum of magic you'll never find in the Muggle world.'
'You really need to see the Sainte Chapelle,' he said. 'It was as magical as anywhere I've been.'
'So you claim. And yes, I'll have a look next time I'm in Paris.'
Harry still had ten minutes to kill, and Narcissa brought the conversation back around to Fiona. She seemed impressed by how romantic he was, and she even suggested some gifts he might send. 'Normally it would be inappropriate for you to send her personal items, but you seem to be exempt from the rules of courtship.' She pulled a handkerchief from her robes and handed it to him. 'Lucius gave this to me for our six-week anniversary. It was on my breakfast tray that morning, under a small silver dome.'
He examined the silken square and admired the finely embroidered bird that flitted across it. 'Do you know where he bought it?'
'Yes, from Madame Desjardins. You've probably never been, but something tells me you've seen her handiwork.'
Harry had, in fact, seen her handiwork, as modelled by Lydia. Some of it was distinctly impractical, but it was undeniably lovely. 'Would I be welcome there?' he asked, wondering if they only served Dark witches.
'Fear not—her sole allegiance is to the Galleon, and her work is exquisite. And as head of House Black, you should give Fiona nothing but the best.'
He smiled, recalling the 'Boston is for lovahs' mug he'd bought her. 'Are you sure you want to encourage me to squander gold on my illicit lovers? I realise I wouldn't be the first, but I thought I was supposed to replenish the family vault.'
'No one said you should live like a miser. After all, you're prophesied to restore the family glory, which surely includes outer display. And if you're going to be squiring her about this winter, she should look the part. Does she have enough dress robes?'
'I have no idea. And we haven't even discussed my social obligations. For all I know, she'd rather I go alone.'
'I hope that won't happen too often. But it's understandable, with her little boy. By the way, has he shown accidental magic yet?'
'He has done,' said Harry, hoping her next question wasn't whether he resembled his father. But it wasn't, and she asked instead about Fiona's role at WORF. Harry was pleased by Narcissa's interest in her career, until she innocently posed another question.
'Have you heard from the witch who won your auction?'
'Yes, last week,' he said with deliberate vagueness.
'Had you met her before?'
'No, and I still haven't. She contacted me through her solicitor—I may never know her name.'
'When will you meet her?'
'Unclear. She proposed waiting until I'm between girlfriends, but I warned her that could be a while. Or possibly never, if I'm lucky. So I suggested we have our date after the Quidditch season ends in a few weeks.'
'That doesn't give you much time to learn how to dance,' said Narcissa. 'And you'd best learn other traditional courtesies as well—perhaps Fiona can teach you.'
Harry was highly sceptical but said he'd raise the topic at dinner. Narcissa thanked him for his reassurances about Draco, and he was relieved she hadn't asked about Andromeda and Simon.
When he arrived at Everbrook, Fiona greeted him just as Narcissa had done: 'Did you come here straight from practice?'
He looked down at his Muggle outfit. 'No, I just thought this would be more practical for playing with the kids.'
'I'm sure it is, but you really were born to wear robes. On you, they somehow look subversive.' She drew him into a long kiss, which was only interrupted when the three kids clambered into the room.
'Is Teddy here?' asked Liza, or maybe Kate—Harry still couldn't distinguish them.
'No, I told you he wasn't coming,' said Matthew, annoyed. 'It's just Harry.'
'Matthew, mind your manners!' said Fiona, but Harry laughed. He briefly greeted the kids before they ran off again, more interested in their own company. 'I'm sorry, that was very naughty of him!' she said, clearly still upset.
'No, it wasn't. I'm just another boring grown-up, which suits me fine. But where are Owen and Jill?'
'In the kitchen, come on. And you still haven't seen the house magic in action.' She took his hand and led him down an impressively clean corridor. Grimmauld Place was still a magnet for cobwebs, which only Lodie's arrival had curbed, but at Everbrook even the wall sconces were pristine. There were portraits, as in most wizarding houses, and an unusual number of seascapes.
'Are all the seascapes part of the Dunning family magic?' he asked.
'Yes. It's too dark now to see the brook, but there's some kind of water visible in every room of the house.'
'Will Matthew be all right at Grimmauld Place? I don't think there are any depictions of water. Although the kitchen sink tends to drip if we leave it to its own devices.'
'He'll be fine—it's not as if he'll desiccate. He just finds water soothing, and I can charm a little fountain in his bedroom if necessary. But not yet … phase one is getting him used to having you here.'
They reached the kitchen, where Jill and Owen were drinking wine. 'Let the double-date commence!' said Jill, raising her glass. 'It's taken you two long enough.'
'Don't blame me, blame your overprotective husband,' said Harry. 'I've liked Fiona for months now.'
'Yes, I'm sure you cried yourself to sleep every night with Lydia Travers lying next to you,' said Fiona dryly. 'And when I saw that photo of you with the two witches, my first thought was, "Great Merlin, Harry Potter fancies me!"'
'Don't forget the wedding photo with Sophie,' said Jill. 'If you looked closely at his mouth, you could see him saying, "Oh my darling Fiona, I long for thee!"'
Harry felt sheepish, recalling how he'd broken things off with Sophie to pursue Fiona. 'Right, I never asked how you reacted to that. Did you think I'd actually got married?'
'Of course I did—for a moment, anyway,' said Fiona. 'The headline said something like "French beauty snags Harry Potter," and you were both dressed for a wedding. Well, a wedding of sorts.'
'And was that when you realised you couldn't live without me?' he asked, batting his eyes at her.
'That's when I realised you were the cheekiest wizard who ever lived.'
'And a colossal attention whore,' said Owen.
'Oi!' cried Harry. 'The wedding dress was Sophie's idea entirely. And the only reason we went to Penumbra was because I needed to talk to Alistair.'
'Of course you did,' said Fiona. 'I pop over there all the time, for tea and a chinwag. And to borrow a pint of blood—it's the secret ingredient in tonight's dinner.'
The four adults chatted while Fiona finished cooking, and the kids thudded into the adjacent lounge, engaged in some kind of noisy adventure. 'It'll all end in tears, I'm sure,' said Jill over the din. 'But I still cherish these moments when the kids entertain themselves.'
Meanwhile, Harry was fascinated by the sight of Fiona cooking. She was as deft as Mrs Weasley, although she worked in smaller quantities, and the kitchen itself seemed to cooperate. 'Can't I help?' he asked, feeling a little left out. 'I'm not completely useless in a kitchen, you know.'
'Oh? What can you make?'
'Er, breakfast. And I can do the washing up.'
'Nice try, but you're not staying to breakfast. And you're welcome to attempt the washing up, but the house might beat you to it.'
'How is that possible? I know it has to do with water and Dunning family magic, but I still don't get it.'
'Don't try to understand the Dunnings,' said Jill. 'You're lucky Fiona's only a Dunning by proxy. Although she got an earful from her in-laws, as I'm sure she told you.'
Fiona looked embarrassed. 'Actually, I was saving that for later. Harry, stop looking like that—you've done nothing wrong.'
'Other than being an attention-seeking manwhore, no,' he grumbled.
'Manwhore?' exclaimed one of the twins, still playing in the lounge. 'What's that?'
'Liza, it's nothing,' said Jill hastily. In a lower voice she added, 'God, it's like they have a sixth sense. But Fiona's right—this isn't your fault. Rob's family is studiously apolitical, and now Fiona's been linked with the Light Lord. And they're probably afraid you'll brainwash Matthew.'
'No, they aren't,' said Fiona. 'They just don't want Rob to be forgotten, which I understand. Harry, their problem with you is that you're basically the anti-Dunning. They prefer to keep a low profile, while you're the complete opposite.'
'I've never had the choice!' he began, but she interrupted him.
'I'm sorry, I misspoke. I didn't mean to say you chose all this. Rather that you're a lightning rod and always have been. And, quite reasonably, you've decided to embrace it.'
'What did they say specifically?'
'We shouldn't talk about it right now,' she said, glancing towards the children. 'But it'll blow over eventually, I'm sure.'
Harry didn't like the sound of that, but it was time to eat, so he let the subject drop. Fiona called the kids to the table, and for the next half hour the conversation revolved around them. Unfortunately, Harry sensed strong antipathy from Matthew. It wasn't overt hostility, but the boy resisted Fiona's attempts to bring them together.
'Maybe after dinner you can show him your toy Quidditch set,' she prompted. 'Harry, it's marvellous. All the little players fly, and there are stands with spectators. I'd never seen anything like it.'
'I'd love to see it,' said Harry to Matthew. 'Have you had it long?'
'Yeah, it was my dad's,' said Matthew without making eye contact.
'Then I bet it's extra cool. I didn't grow up with wizarding toys, so I'd definitely enjoy seeing yours.'
Matthew was silent, but Kate asked, 'What kind of toys did you have?'
Fiona shot Harry a look of alarm, knowing he'd never had any toys growing up, but he replied nevertheless. 'Until I was eleven, I only ever saw Muggle toys. Which are definitely fun, and often very clever, but I'd much rather have had wizarding toys.' There, that wasn't a lie, he thought.
Owen shared what he knew about Muggle toys, and Harry told them about video games, which they could scarcely comprehend. 'Daddy, why can't we have video games?' asked Liza.
'Electricity doesn't work around magic,' said Owen, and Harry began to contradict him, knowing a battery-powered Gameboy would work outdoors, but Fiona kicked him under the table. Right, got it, he realised belatedly.
Matthew remained withdrawn throughout the meal, only coming to life when pudding was served. Harry didn't try engaging with him, though, suspecting he just needed time, and Fiona didn't push either. But she expressed dismay afterwards, as Harry helped with the washing up.
'He seems to have caught on,' she said glumly, over the sound of running water.
'Clever boy you have there,' said Harry. 'Knows a rival when he sees one.'
Smiling, she said, 'You're not a rival. He wins every time.'
'I'm sure I have at least one area of supremacy. After he's gone to sleep, anyway.'
'That's true,' she said, interlacing her fingers between his in the soapy water. 'Although something tells me he's going to fight bedtime more than usual.'
'Then I'll wait up. I'm very single-minded.' Dishes slid one by one into the sink, and their hands were mostly in the way, but neither of them let go.
'Are you hand-fucking me right now?' she whispered.
'Yes, I've just invented it,' he said, massaging her palm. 'What do you think?'
'I think you're absolutely brilliant and deserve an honorary N.E.W.T.'
'In what subject? I don't think there's a N.E.W.T. for the Soapy Arts.'
'There should be,' she purred. 'Oh, I can't wait to show you the bathtub.'
'Tonight?'
'I hadn't intended to—not yet. But Privacy Charms exist for a reason, and I'm still making up for lost time.' At this point they had both hands in the sink, and Fiona looked ready to start kissing him, but she splashed him instead. 'Get out of here!' she said, grinning. 'Washing up is a one-person job at most, and you're slowing it down.'
'Fine, I'll leave you to it. But I'm not done with you yet—not even close.' They parted with a lingering look, and Harry turned to find Jill smiling at them from the table.
'Well done, bringing her back to life,' she said, saluting him with her teacup.
'Cheers. And thanks for helping convince Owen,' he said, sitting down.
Jill glanced at her husband, who was overseeing the kids. 'He's not a bad sort, in the end. And he just wants her to be happy, same as I do.'
'I understand completely. The next question is whether Matthew comes around.'
'Yes, I was wondering when the backlash would start. I hope you're not taking it personally.'
'No, not really. Although I'd somehow hoped we could skip this phase and I could immediately be the cool uncle or something.'
'It's not out of the question, but it'll take time. He's had her full attention for more than a year, after all. And he knows what it's like to lose one parent already.'
Harry let out a sigh. 'The last thing I want is to make him feel uneasy. And there's no question he'll always come first.'
'Are you all right with that? I daresay you're used to being the centre of attention.'
'I am, but it's probably not healthy. So yeah, I'm all right with Matthew coming first. In theory, anyway.'
They chatted a few more minutes until Jill rose and announced, 'Time for this lot to go home.'
'No!' wailed the children, who were busy drawing. 'We have to finish!' said Kate, and after a quarter-hour the four Barrowmakers departed.
Matthew was still drawing intently, and he resisted Fiona's efforts to lead him upstairs. 'I'm still working,' he said irritably.
'That's a huge project, and you can work on it tomorrow. Come along, it's bath time.'
'I don't want to,' he said, curling protectively over his drawing.
'Nonsense, you love bath time!'
Harry did his best to disappear from view without leaving the room entirely. But Matthew scowled and said, 'I'll take a bath later.'
After I leave, thought Harry, and his compassion stirred for the boy. He glanced questioningly at Fiona, wondering if he should leave and come back, but she shook her head minutely. 'Come on, it'll just be the two of us,' she said. 'And then we can read the monster book together.'
Harry hoped she wasn't referring to The Monster Book of Monsters. 'Can we read the Lethifold chapter?' asked Matthew. 'And the Erumpent?'
'I knew you'd say that,' said Fiona. 'And you'll have to pick one, because they're long chapters. But we can do the other one tomorrow.'
Negotiations continued, ending with mother and son heading upstairs and Harry fading into the background. Once they were safely gone, he went to the parlour, where he and Fiona had listened to records the last time he visited. He didn't play any music, not wanting to draw attention to himself, but he perused the bookcases and found something to read.
Nearly an hour later, Fiona found him. 'Merlin, that boy can be demanding!' she said, and Harry drew her into his arms.
'I'll show you demanding,' he murmured, and her entire demeanour changed.
'I bet you will,' said Fiona. 'But let me unwind first.'
They sat down, and she asked about his week so far. He told her how his teammates had ribbed him about his tattoo, and that another private Healer had offered to straighten his teeth. 'At least this one only offered me a discount, and not an endorsement deal like the first one. Can you imagine?'
Fiona laughed and said, 'That would truly be mortifying. I have no idea why it's worse than flogging underwear, but somehow it is.'
'Honestly, I can't believe I didn't take my future girlfriend into account when I agreed to do the underwear adverts. Was that one of the things your in-laws mentioned?'
Her smile vanished. 'Oh right, I was going to tell you about that. But first, remember how happy you've made me, and that nothing they say is going to change that.'
'Er, all right,' he said, bracing himself.
'I got a letter from Rob's mum last night, after putting Matthew to bed. Obviously they saw the Prophet that morning, but they wanted to discuss it with other family members before contacting me.'
'What did it say?'
'It was all very polite, but it boiled down to "We wish you'd consulted us before dragging the family name through the mud, making a spectacle of yourself, and irretrievably corrupting our grandson."'
'"Irretrievably corrupting?"' sputtered Harry. 'Even I don't work that fast!'
'I may have exaggerated that last bit,' she admitted. 'But they're definitely worried you'll dazzle Matthew to the point where he no longer remembers Rob at all.'
Harry paused to review the very few memories he had of his own parents. 'How well does he remember Rob now?'
'Less and less. It's turning into echoes of memories, which aren't the same. But I tell him stories all the time, and we have pictures, of course.'
'Have you tried using a Pensieve?'
'Once, and it was horrible. I'd hoped it would allow me to relive things, but it felt more like the experience was being taken away from me and given to the other Fiona—the one who's allowed to be happy.'
Harry pulled her close. 'I hope you don't still feel that way!'
'No, you've allowed me to be happy again. And yes, I know happiness is a choice and no one else can make it for you, blah, blah, blah, but that's easier said than done. So when Rob's parents lecture me about taking up with a notorious playboy, it feels like they don't want me to happy at all.'
'Did they really call me a playboy?'
'Not in the letter, but yes, today at lunch.'
'You had lunch with them?' he asked, picturing them in full view at Dunnings, as he and Lydia had been.
'Yes, but at their house, not the restaurant. Discretion, you know.'
She told him how they'd expressed concern she was moving too fast and that Harry was too young and fickle. They worried he'd eclipse Rob in a blaze of Quidditch and Light magic and then drop her—and Matthew—for the next witch who caught his eye.
'Did you tell them how long I've fancied you?'
'I did, and I also told them you spent weeks proving your sincerity. But they said that just was the thrill of the chase, and that you'd lose interest when you realised what dating a single mum really entails.' She cocked her head towards the ceiling and said, 'Case in point.'
'What, the part where he doesn't like me?'
'He'll get over it. Merlin knows when, but I've seen you with kids, and you do a good job.'
Harry was still processing what she'd said. 'I can't believe they'd insult you like that, implying I only like you because of the challenge!'
'Oh, they're not insulting me—they're insulting you. They don't think you're mature enough.'
Part of him wanted to launch into a tirade, but he realised that would only prove how immature he was. 'How old was Rob when you got married?'
'We were both eighteen. Which sounds absurdly young to me now, but I suppose it was for the best, considering how little time we had together.'
'My parents married young as well,' he said absently. 'And I'm sure I'd be engaged by now if Ginny hadn't chucked me. Which was fortunate, really, since we work much better as friends.'
'That sounds pretty mature to me,' said Fiona. 'I just wish more people saw the Harry I get to see.'
He smiled suggestively and said, 'That's what the underwear adverts are for,' and she laughed out loud.
'Merlin, those adverts! My co-workers were terribly disappointed they weren't in today's Witch Weekly.'
'Right, how did your co-workers react to your unveiling as a "Mum Fatale?"'
'Don't call me that!' she said, bopping him with a pillow.
'What, I thought it was brilliant! And you said in your letter you thought it was funny.'
'I did at first, since it's so absurd. But I think people are taking it seriously. One of my co-workers actually suggested I accompany you to as many society events as possible—ostensibly to solicit donations for WORF, but her subtext was plain as day. She even encouraged me to "show the world my inner goddess," whatever that means.'
'I agree entirely, although not so you can line up your next victim. And actually, it turns out I need to attend a lot of parties, particularly once the Quidditch season ends.'
She made a face. 'What do you mean by "a lot?"'
'One or two a week, I think, and even more during Yule. Apparently it all culminates with the Ministry Ball, and then things quiet down a bit.'
'And these are mostly Wizengamot families, I assume?'
'That's the idea. I'm supposed to be forging alliances.'
'Forgive me, but why exactly?' asked Fiona. 'Shouldn't people be trying to cultivate you, and not the other way around?'
Harry sighed. 'That's a good question, and I'm starting to wonder myself. But the whole reason I joined Pratt's was to redefine the political centre by normalising the Light extreme. And I can't just go it alone like Dumbledore did. Hence, alliances.'
'Right, of course. Rob would have said the same thing, but obviously he wasn't in a position to pull it off.'
'I honestly don't know if I am either. But I seem to be committed, and I have Hermione in my corner, so she'll make sure I don't say anything too ignorant.'
'Can't she accompany you instead? I don't mind being seen with you, certainly, but if I'm going to leave Matthew for the evening, stuffy parties aren't my first choice of activity.'
'Nor mine,' said Harry. 'Although I'd love to see you "vamp it up," as the Prophet suggested.'
Her cheeks flushed with unmistakable longing, followed by embarrassment. 'God, what happened to me? I was a single mum, twenty-six going on ninety, and you've turned me into a dangerous fortune hunter. My former friends can't believe it.'
'Oh dear, have you heard from them?'
'Yes, and it was just as I predicted,' she scowled. '"Fiona, you minx! How long have you been keeping this under your hat? I'm sure you'll have your hands full for the foreseeable future, ha ha, but send us an owl when you're ready to come up for air!"'
Harry wasn't sure why she was so upset by their attempt to reach out, but grief and hurt feelings weren't always logical. 'What were you hoping they'd say?' he asked gently.
'I don't know. Honestly, there's probably nothing they could say at this point that wouldn't annoy me.'
'Do you still want to be friends at all?'
'In theory,' she said, sighing. 'They were Rob's friends too. And I suppose it's nice that they're happy for me, and not just issuing dire warnings like my in-laws.'
'So let's wait. You can take their advice and, ahem, keep your hands full,' he said suggestively. 'And we can owl them when you're ready. There's no rush at all.'
Fiona relaxed again, and Harry began stroking her hand. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath through parted lips. 'No, there really isn't. We have all the time in the world.'
She brought him upstairs and showed him the famous bathtub, which was nothing like the Prefects' bathroom. It was more like a small forest pool, under an enchanted ceiling, and Harry almost felt as if he were outside. 'Please tell me those aren't actual frogs,' he said, listening to the rhythmic croaking thrum.
'No, it's all magic. During the day it's mostly birds—the frogs start at nightfall.'
He dipped a finger into the water, which was unexpectedly cold. 'Do Warming Charms work?'
'They do, unless you fancy a bracing ice bath.'
No, once was plenty, he thought, recalling the freezing forest pool where he'd nearly drowned. Fiona cast charms for warmth and privacy, and after an exceedingly pleasant half hour she led him through a hidden door into her bedroom.
Only afterwards did she acknowledge what they'd left unsaid. 'This was my bed with Rob,' she murmured as Harry lay beside her. 'Our marital bed.'
Harry wasn't feeling particularly verbal, so he just watched her intently through half-lidded eyes. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair, still damp from the bath, was forming a riot of curls.
'This is it,' she continued. 'He's never coming back. And I've moved on.'
He recalled Carl Wainwright's complaints about how Cho Chang had wept over Cedric while they were in bed together. But as a tear rolled down Fiona's cheek, Harry felt only love and compassion. 'Is that all right?' he asked, knowing the pain of truly saying goodbye.
'It is. It's a relief, even. It's terrible, but it's also the truth.'
He responded with words of love, and although they'd agreed he wouldn't stay the night, she didn't press him to leave. But he eventually dragged himself from the bed, picking up the Muggle clothes he'd tossed on the floor when they'd come from the bath.
I'm glad I didn't wear robes, he thought, pulling on his shirt and jumper in a single motion. They kissed one last time, then he crept past Matthew's closed bedroom door and down the stairs. The Floo journey was long, and as he whirled through the series of fireplaces his mind spun as well.
On the one hand, he felt like a naughty schoolboy, sneaking back to his dormitory after curfew. But he also felt more like a man than ever before, setting aside his own desires to help a little boy feel safe. And when he emerged into the gloomy reception hall at Grimmauld Place, he still felt close to Fiona, even though she was hundreds of miles away.
Amazingly he felt no rivalry with Rob. Quite the opposite—he felt a sort of kinship with him for loving the same witch. Along with gratitude, as if both Rob and the house had granted their blessing that night.
And there was no need for rivalry, considering Rob was dead and he wasn't. The Boy Who Lived, thought Harry, with renewed appreciation for what that really meant.
