Chapter Two

"Please sit down, Harry. Lemon drop?"

Harry shook his head and settled into one of the large easy chairs in the living room of 12 Grimmauld Place, across from Professor Dumbledore. The ancient wizard's eyes twinkled in the firelight as he studied Harry and nodded approvingly. "You look well—Professor McGonagall told me you were putting the time to good use, but she apparently understated matters."

Harry nodded absently. The hour long daily workout he had incorporated into his routine had combined with the meals sent by Molly Weasley and produced visible changes in his appearance in less than a month. He had grown an inch in height and put on fifteen pounds of lean muscle. A trip to Diagon Alley with Tonks and Remus had allowed him to update his wardrobe—he wore a T-shirt and athletic shorts that fit him far better than Dudley's hand-me-downs ever had. He had left the Dursleys that morning without fanfare, leaving a laconic note on the kitchen table: "See you in June—H.P." He was less than happy to be setting foot in Sirius' house again—his memories of it were both painful and fresh. It was only two pieces of news passed on by Remus that had caused him to consent to come back: Mrs. Black's portrait had been reduced to ashes with carefully administered Incendio hexes, and Kreacher had taken his own life two days after Harry had returned to Privet Drive, under circumstances that no one was willing to elaborate about. The house had been thoroughly renovated by a team of house elves led by Dobby and Winky, and was a far more cheerful environment than Harry remembered it as being. Sirius would have liked it this way—I wish he could see it. He looked back at Professor Dumbledore and quietly asked, "What news is there of Voldemort?"

"Nothing new—he's apparently gone to ground for the time being. Most of his most loyal and powerful remaining supporters were captured in the attack on the Ministry, Harry—he will need time to gather new followers." Harry nodded again, his mouth twitching at the unwanted reminder of the tragedy. Dumbledore sighed and added, "We paid a dear price for that night, Harry—but Voldemort suffered dearly as well. He remains a deadly threat, but we will have some time to prepare our defenses before he can strike. We must use the time wisely."

"I know," whispered Harry, turning to look at the fire for a moment. Dumbledore waited patiently as Harry stared into the flames for some time, then turned back to him. "You asked for this meeting, Professor—what did you want to talk about?"

"I wanted to help you plan the rest of your summer, Harry. I have been quite busy since your return to Privet Drive, but you certainly deserve as much of my undivided attention as I can spare." Dumbledore smiled at Harry, who relaxed visibly as the ancient wizard continued, "The next few weeks will hopefully be a time of rest and reflection for you, Harry—you will be training for the Quidditch match, which should serve as well as your new training regime for keeping you physically fit. You have been devoting yourself to studies, and I urge you to continue—I have a strong belief that when you receive your O.W.L. grades next week, you will be quite pleased with the results, and ready to plan your future. The extra studying you have been doing will help that end greatly. However, I am going to make certain you have time to spend on activities other than study or sport, Harry. You will be staying at Hogwarts until after the game, and I have invited Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Neville, and Luna Lovegood to join you for the duration of your stay. Several Aurors will also be staying at the castle, and will be available to allow you to take day trips to Hogsmeade." Harry brightened, and Dumbledore looked at him fondly and concluded, "I expect you to work hard, Harry—but I also insist that you enjoy yourself. I fear that the coming months may be hard on all of us, and on you most of all. Consider this upcoming time as an escape from those troubles."

Harry looked back at Dumbledore with a solemn expression and replied, "I'll do my best, Professor—was there anything else you wanted to discuss with me?"

Dumbledore nodded. "I was able to demonstrate to the satisfaction of Minister Fudge that Sirius was innocent of the charges against him, and that Peter Pettigrew was alive and had been your parents' Secret Keeper. He has signed a proclamation acknowledging this, which will be published in the Daily Prophet tomorrow." Harry's eyes flashed angrily, and Dumbledore nodded in response. "Yes, I know it is a cold comfort, but it has one beneficial effect. Now that he has been cleared, Sirius' estate has been freed from the control of the Ministry, and Sirius' will—which he executed last year with myself, Arabella Figg, and Professor McGonagall as witnesses—will go into full effect. He left substantial funds to his favorite cousin Andromeda and to her daughter Nymphadora—" Harry winced, knowing how annoying Tonks found her given name, and Dumbledore noted the reaction with a twinkle of his eyes as he continued, "—but he left the bulk of his estate to you, Harry—including this house and one of the largest fortunes to be found in the wizarding world."

Harry's eyes went cold. "I don't want it—any of it. Why didn't he leave it to Remus? Thanks to those stupid laws and the way people treat werewolves, he can't find steady work. He deserves it more than I do."

"Unfortunately, Harry, those laws which you correctly describe as stupid made it impossible for Sirius to leave Remus anything in his will." Harry scowled, and Dumbledore explained, "If Sirius had no living blood relatives, then he could have freely distributed his estate as he saw fit; however, since he does have such relatives, the only way any of them can be wholly disinherited is if the assets are distributed to certain alternative beneficiaries. As a non relative and a half-breed in the eyes of the law, Remus is not such an individual. If you were to refuse your inheritance, it would automatically be distributed among Sirius' closest blood relatives: Andromeda Tonks and—"

"Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange," spat Harry.

"Yes," Dumbledore replied grimly. "As Sirius' godson, you are an unimpeachable heir to his fortune. Narcissa Malfoy may wish to challenge the will, but she will lose—and the attempt will drain a pleasingly large amount of her personal wealth, since the Ministry has frozen the Malfoy fortune now that Lucius Malfoy has been implicated as a Death Eater. Bellatrix is even less well situated to challenge the will, being wanted for murder and as an escapee from Azkaban. My advice to you is to accept Sirius' generosity, knowing that doing so will fulfill his wishes and strike another blow against Voldemort's supporters. Furthermore, there is nothing stopping you from being extremely generous to your friends and to worthy causes once you have accepted your inheritance, Harry—and I suspect that Sirius knew you would behave accordingly."

"You're right," admitted Harry, shaking his head and looking at Dumbledore with an exasperated expression. "It just feels wrong to inherit a pile of money because I made a mistake that helped get Sirius killed."

"Harry, few of us are fortunate enough to go through life without making any mistakes that cause harm to those we love. All we can do is do our best to keep those mistakes to a minimum, and to do what we can to make amends as best as possible afterwards." Dumbledore smiled sadly at Harry, but there was a note of satisfaction in his voice as he added, "And making sure that Voldemort and his supporters never see a thin Knut of the Black fortune is a great gift that Sirius has arranged for us. We should help preserve it." Harry nodded again, and Dumbledore smiled and announced, "Now that we have taken care of that business, we have a meeting to attend in my office. The planning of a major Quidditch match is a formidable task, and the owners of Puddlemere United and the Vrasta Vultures will be there in fifteen minutes to complete the arrangements. We have a busy afternoon ahead of us, Harry."

Harry fidgeted as he sat in the unfamiliar comfort of one of the professor's chairs at the head table in the Great Hall of Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall sat next to him, smiling softly at Harry's visible impatience. On her other side, Professor Dumbledore stood in silence, looking at a spot ten feet in front of him. Abruptly, five figures popped into view on that very spot, and Dumbledore smiled as the new arrivals visibly gathered themselves after the shock of the portkey and looked up at the head table with relief. Dumbledore spread his arms in a greeting gesture and said simply:

"Welcome back to Hogwarts. Come up and sit down—I fear Harry's stomach will deafen all of us with its growling if we delay the feast any longer."

Harry scowled in mild annoyance at Professor Dumbledore, but he was already rising to meet his friends. Ron reached him first and caught him in a bearhug, already in mid-sentence as he did so: "Bloody hell, Harry—you're going to be playing with some of the best Quidditch players in the world! The only way it could be better is if the Cannons were in the game!"

Harry laughed and replied, "Who knows—maybe the Cannons will want to do this after we play this game." Ron grinned and released him, and Ginny quickly took his place, hugging him firmly until Harry chuckled and commented, "Careful, Ginny—I wouldn't want to give Dean a justification for beating me senseless."

Ginny stepped back, and Harry took an instant to objectively appreciate the changes that the last few years had wrought in her before she smirked and commented, "Ha! As if you'd try anything, Harry!" Harry assumed an affronted expression, and Ginny snickered before adding, "Besides, it's been three whole days since he's owled me—a spot of jealousy might get his attention."

Harry shuddered inwardly—Heaven save me from vindictive redheads—before winking at Ginny and stepping forward to clasp hands with Neville: "Thanks for coming—was your grandmother brassed off about your dad's wand being broken?"

"Never came up—she couldn't stop crying and hugging me when she met me at the station. We went to Diagon Alley last week and stopped by Ollivander's for a new wand." Neville pulled out a dark-colored wand and swished it for effect before continuing in a fair imitation of Ollivander's voice: "Ten inches, maple, heartstring of a dragon." Harry laughed, and Neville added, "It's a lot more comfortable than I ever felt with Dad's wand—I can't wait to try new spells with it."

"We'll have time before the game—let me know if you need a moving target." Harry was amazed at this newly confident Neville. Maybe he can finally show all the people who have made his life miserable over the years that there's more there than they could have imagined. He nodded at Neville, and turned to the young blonde woman in front of him and smiled as he called out, "I didn't get in the way of any of your plans with your father this summer, did I?"

"Father is dedicated to finding the Crumple Horned Snorkack—as am I—but we both agree that some things are more important in the short run: he's just going to have to do without me." Luna smiled at Harry and reached out to squeeze his hand as she whispered, "Harry—you need to look at the familiar to find the new. I'll help as best I can, but you're going to have to know what to do when the time is right."

Harry blinked in confusion, and it was a long moment before he managed a nervous cough and replied, "Thanks, Luna—I'll keep that in mind." Luna smiled at him again and stepped away as Harry turned to the last new arrival and said simply: "It's good to see you, Hermione."

The bushy-haired young woman in front of Harry blinked, then took three quick steps and hugged him fiercely, whispering, "Oh God, Harry—I'm so glad that you're feeling better than you were the last time we saw you. I was worried that going back to those miserable people who raised you would make you worse and I—" Hermione pulled back, and Harry saw her eyes were full of tears as she continued, "I just couldn't bear it if—"

"Shh—I'm all right, Hermione. Don't ever doubt it." Harry felt something relax inside him as he registered that Hermione was completely recovered and back to her old self again—and he waited a moment to let that sink in before he drew her back into a hug, and he felt her shiver as he added, "Sirius would want us to keep fighting to beat that bastard Voldemort—and he deserves everything he might have wanted, considering what he went through. I don't suppose you'd like to help?"

Hermione pulled away from Harry again, and Harry saw raw determination in the eyes of his best friend as she whispered, "Absolutely." Harry met her eyes and nodded appreciatively, and waited for her to react. Hermione looked back at him with an expression that Harry was completely unable to interpret, then grinned wickedly before saying simply:

"Let's tuck in—shall we?"

Harry just stood and stared at the sight in front of him. Ron frowned in concern, and was about to step forward to see what was wrong when he felt a hand fall on his shoulder. He turned and saw his Head of House shaking her head at him. "Give him a few moments, Mr. Weasley." Professor McGonagall's eyes were on Harry, and Ron could see the affection in them as she added: "He's been away for a long time."

The pitch itself looked as it always had: the long, lush oval of grass with three elevated hoops on each end. The surrounding area looked decidedly different, and Harry knew that it would change further before the game actually took place. He turned around just in time to hear Hermione ask, "It took a year for five hundred Ministry wizards to prepare the grounds for the last Quidditch World Cup—how in the world will the Hogwarts grounds be ready in time? How will you find room to put in all the seats that will be needed?"

"Most of the time and effort involved in preparing the World Cup site was expended by casting the anti-Muggle charms, Miss Granger. Hogwarts already has those in abundance, and the pitch will remain within the boundaries of our wards even after its expansion." Professor Dumbledore spoke softly, and Harry—though he had already heard the explanation in his meeting with Dumbledore and the Quidditch officials—listened with interest as he continued, "As you can see, the trees within a fifty-yard radius of the edges of the field have been removed temporarily with Vanishing Charms—the Charms were timed to allow all of the trees to return three days after the day of the game. Professor McGonagall has coordinated the efforts of a small team of gifted Transfiguration artists to create the steel bracework you can see above, beside and behind the existing stands. Two days before the game, I will assist that same team by helping them to Conjure stands and facilities which meet the specifications agreed on by myself and the team owners. The magic will be strong enough to keep the stand in existence for forty-eight hours after the scheduled beginning of the game—long enough to clean up the considerable amount of refuse that is bound to be left by such a large crowd, so that it does not come tumbling down into our forest. The Transfiguration team will then remove the bracework, the trees will reappear the next day, and our Quidditch pitch will be as it was, as will the forest."

Hermione's eyes sparkled, and Harry had the feeling that she was itching to get in on some of the spellwork involved. He had a thought, and asked, "Professor Dumbledore—why didn't they just do something like this for the World Cup? Wouldn't it have been a lot less expensive?"

"Yes, but the Ministry has always taken some pride in running these events itself, particularly since it's an opportunity to spend taxpayer money that they don't object to." Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling. "Also, the longest World Cup final game in history lasted for two weeks, Harry—it wouldn't do to have the stands vanishing in mid-game. As you know, this charity game will end after six hours even if the Snitch has not yet been caught. Knowing that in advance makes planning quite a bit easier."

Harry nodded—he knew that Conjured objects only lasted for a short period of time, and that producing stands that would even last four days would require an extraordinary amount of magic. His eyes moved back to the pitch, and he noticed a number of figures flying above it. He pointed and commented, "Looks like we're not the first ones here."

"No, we are not." Professor Dumbledore led the others out onto the pitch, and the flying figures quickly began to descend. They wore blue Quidditch robes, and as they landed, Harry could see the crossed gold bulrushes on the backs of the robes. Professor Dumbledore smiled at Harry's obvious expression of recognition and elaborated, "Your new teammates wished to meet you."

"Ah, there you are, Potter. Don't be cross with Dumbledore—we told him to make it a surprise." A man of medium height with the build of a wrestler stepped forward and offered his hand to Harry. "David Robinson—Keeper and team captain of Puddlemere United."

Harry gathered his composure enough to shake the offered hand firmly, and gave Robinson his full attention as he introduced his teammates: "Danielle Adams, Gary Samuelson, and Robert Walters—our Chasers. John Colton and Ryan Morton—our Beaters. And Amanda Davis—soon to be Amanda Talbot—our Seeker."

Harry shook hands with the starting members of Puddlemere United, ending with Amanda Davis. He coughed self-consciously—fully aware that he was expected to be in this player's shoes for the match—and commented, "I didn't expect to be meeting you—I heard you had a wedding to plan."

Amanda Davis was a tiny woman with short blonde hair and vivid blue eyes that sparkled at him as she replied, "When we heard where the team was going to be today, Roland and I flipped a Knut to see who would stay and supervise the wedding plans." She grinned wickedly and added, "Roland lost." Harry laughed politely, and Amanda commented, "It might make him feel better if you could autograph this for him, Harry." She held out a copy of the Daily Prophet, on the front page of which was a huge article about the game, accompanied by a picture of Harry's Cup-winning Snitch catch during his third year. Harry's eyes flashed with a touch of malice as he noticed the photo showed Malfoy's dismayed expression as Harry's hand closed over the Snitch. He quickly signed the paper and handed it back to Davis with a smile before turning back to the patiently waiting Robinson, who introduced him to the reserve team: Peterson, Selden, and Douglas at Chaser; Norris and Andrews at Beater, and—as Robinson put it—"I believe you already know the bloke who waits around for me to get old or to get brained by a Bludger, Potter."

Harry laughed at the joke and shook hands with the reserve team members—finishing with Oliver, who was also chuckling at the dark humor. After they had finished, Harry waved to the others and introduced his friends from Hogwarts to the team. Harry was not surprised to see that the strongest reaction from the players was to meeting Professor Dumbledore; after all, he had been a legend in the Wizarding world for decades, and a substantial number of the team members had graduated Hogwarts themselves, Oliver being only the most recent. He was surprised to see the reactions they had to meeting Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Luna and Neville. Apparently, word about the events at the Ministry had traveled far and wide.

After the introductions, Robinson nodded and commented, "Right then. All right, everyone from Hogwarts who isn't Harry Potter can head off for the stands—where I'm sure Professor Dumbledore can keep you entertained while we take care of some business." Dumbledore nodded, smiled and led the others for the stands, and Harry waited as Robinson turned to him and added, "And you're out of uniform, Potter." He pulled out his wand and mumbled what Harry barely had time to recognize as the Switching Spell before he felt a rustling sensation and looked down to find that he was now wearing the robes of Puddlemere United. He grinned involuntarily and looked back up at Robinson, who nodded as he continued, "We'll do some warm-up drills for about half an hour to let you get a feel for your broom again—that Umbridge creature should be flogged for forcing you away from it—and then we'll have a couple of practice games. I want you to get a feel for how we play, so I'll have you with the reserves so you can play against the people you'll be playing with on August 8th. All right?" Harry nodded, and Robinson turned to the other players and called out, "All right, let's get into the air: the day isn't getting any longer while we wait!"

The members of Puddlemere United mounted their brooms and soared into the air, and Harry only hesitated for a moment in wonder before he followed them.

Harry listened to the final instructions of Robinson, then headed off for the locker room. His muscles ached and he was exhausted, and he desperately needed a hot shower to deal with that, the large quantity of sweat that had poured out of him during the last four hours, and the intense embarrassment he was feeling about his performance.

It had taken him a few minutes to get the feel back for his Firebolt: it had been months since he was on a broom, and even the famously responsive Firebolt did not save him from a few false starts and overcompensation on turns—he made sure to get well above the others until his movements became as natural as they had been before his enforced break from flying. When he felt completely comfortable again, he went back down to the others and started chasing the practice Snitches that Madam Hooch had released below. He made an experimental dive which he pulled up from less than three feet from the ground, and was rewarded with yells of encouragement from above, though he was close enough to the stands to see that Hermione had not particularly enjoyed the stunt—her eyes were wide and her face had gone pale. He had smiled reassuringly at her and gone back to practicing.

The practice games themselves had not gone quite as well.

Harry remembered how tempting it had been to use the slowed down footage that the Omnioculars had made available at the World Cup, and that it was only falling behind where the action currently was that made him stop and go back to following the lightning fast action on the pitch live. That had been hard enough—actually being in the middle of it quickly proved to be a thoroughly bewildering experience.

Even from his vantage point far above the other players, Harry could barely follow the action. The Quaffle moved from player to player as if shot from a cannon, and the Chasers seemed to catch it as easily as a child would a beach ball. The Bludgers weren't quite as deadly looking and the Beaters didn't seem to be quite as homicidal as at the World Cup, but it was still rather more dangerous looking than even the nastiest Gryffindor/Slytherin match. Only a few Bludgers came his way, and he had been hard-pressed to evade them.

As for his own responsibilities, he had searched fruitlessly for long minutes in both games for the Snitch—ignoring a few sudden movements downward by Davis when he saw no gold flash in the direction she was going---only to finally spot it and be beaten to it both times by the older Seeker. She did not gloat or even show much excitement, but Harry felt as thoroughly down as he had for Malfoy's rare triumphs over him. After the second game, he had forced a smile onto his face, shook hands with the others, and waited for Robinson to tell the team that Professor Dumbledore had scheduled a feast in their honor in the Great Hall, and that they were all invited.

Harry was not in the mood to think about food. The shower stalls in the locker room were private. He waited for the sounds of the others showering and dressing to subside, then quietly dressed and exited the locker room. I'll have Dobby take Professor Dumbledore a note from me—tell him that I was tired and not that hungry after the practice. He'll believe--

"Harry."

Harry blinked, startled out of his thoughts, and looked over at the entrance of the dressing room—where Amanda Davis was standing. She had changed out of her robes and was wearing a black evening dress that Harry knew from his few trips to London would have set back a Muggle a good thousand pounds. He forced down his embarrassment at how badly this woman had beaten him, and decided to pick a safe subject: "That's a very nice dress—are you going off to meet Mr. Talbot for dinner?"

Amanda Davis shook her head and smiled. "A woman about to get married has an excuse to buy clothes—and I wanted to show off for my co-workers and the celebrities I'm going to dinner with tonight." Harry managed a weak laugh, and Amanda looked at him with eyes that seemed to Harry to contain a touch of sadness as she asked quietly, "Harry—could I talk to you for a few minutes?"

Harry desperately did not want to talk at that moment, but he couldn't refuse a polite, direct request like that. He nodded and walked over to one of the benches in the room, and waited patiently for Amanda to sit down across from him before sitting down himself and meeting her eyes with a blank expression. After a few moments of silence, Harry swallowed hard and asked simply: "What did you want to talk to me about?"

Amanda blinked, and the expression on her face was neutral as she replied, "I wanted to know how you think you did out there today, Harry."

Harry looked down—she had cut right to the heart of it. No use putting it off. He looked back up at Amanda and whispered, "I looked like a kid who hadn't seen a broomstick before today compared to you guys. I feel like a joke."

Harry was surprised to see Amanda smile genuinely at him—she had a nice, warm smile. He blinked in confusion, and remained silent as Amanda shook her head at him and replied, "Harry, the day we can't make any fifteen year old schoolboy—no matter how many times he's kicked You-Know-Who's arse--feel a bit overwhelmed is the day this team disbands. As for you being a joke—I graduated from Hogwarts two years before you arrived, and I've seen Omniocular replays of every game at this school since then, and you're by far the best Hogwarts Seeker I've seen come along in all of that time, including Charlie Weasley."

Harry blinked, and shook his head. "You know that's not true. Both times today, you easily beat me to the Snitch—"

"Yes—because both times I was a lot closer to it when it came into view, and I'm using a newer model Firebolt than you are: one of the fringe benefits of doing this for a living. What you may not have realized is that both times you spotted it first—you just couldn't close the distance soon enough. You're a magnificent flier, Harry—but there isn't a flier alive who can cover twice the distance in the same time that I can: not unless you saddle me with a Shooting Star and a splitting headache." Harry still looked skeptical, and Amanda sighed and added, "Not to mention—I've been starting Seeker for one of the best Quidditch teams in Europe for five years, Harry. I wouldn't have been if I didn't know a few tricks. You ignored some of my better ones—you ignored my feints, and just waited to spot the Snitch on your own. That's the smart thing to do when you're facing a more experienced Seeker who has positional advantage on you and an equal or better broom. You're never going to chase them down from behind, and if you do, they're probably just setting you up for a Wronski Feint anyway. There's nothing wrong with your performance that two years more practice at Hogwarts won't work out—assuming the rest of your life stops getting in the way of important things like Quidditch." Harry smiled involuntarily, and Amanda winked at him and commented, "I'd be willing to bet that after we play this game, about fifteen professional Quidditch teams will be waiting for the day that You-Know-Who meets his end to send you some embarrassingly large contract offers."

Harry laughed—though the obvious implication of the last comment was that no sane professional Quidditch team would take on a Seeker who was being targeted for death by Voldemort--then looked away again as he muttered, "But I don't have two years to get ready. If I couldn't—" Harry stopped in mid-sentence, realizing he had almost said something incredibly tactless to someone who had just gone out of her way to be very kind to him.

"If you couldn't beat me, how are you going to beat Viktor?" Amanda's voice was perfectly calm, and Harry waited for an angry response. He was relieved when Amanda chuckled and added, "Harry—do you think I can't read a statistical analysis from The Year In Quidditch? Viktor Krum has been playing professional Quidditch for three years now, and he's been rated as the best Seeker in the world all three years. Mind you—I was in the top five two out of those three years, but that's not the same thing. You're going up against someone who's probably the hottest Seeker to come along in the last fifty years, and you're doing it without a lot of the tricks and experience a professional would have. It's going to be tough. Your only hope will be to practice your arse off over the next couple of weeks, stay alert during the game, and hope that the Snitch appears close enough to you to give you a fair shot to reach it first. It's a better chance than anyone else who isn't one of the best professional Seekers in the world would have against him, Harry. We've got better Beaters than they do, so you'll be able to bide your time and wait for your moment. The crowd knows who Viktor Krum is—no one but an idiot will jeer at you for losing to him. Don't be afraid to give yourself the best chance you have to beat him."

Harry looked at Amanda for a long moment, and smiled gratefully at her before commenting, "You're pretty good at this—are you planning on being a team manager when you're done Seeking?"

Amanda shook her head, and her eyes shone with intensity as she leaned towards Harry and whispered, "No, Harry. When my time comes, I intend to let my talented, younger husband do all the hard work for a while, while I retire to live the life of a spoiled former athlete, and have many fat, healthy children in a Lord—Bloody---Voldemort---free world." Harry stared at her in surprise and a little shock, and Amanda reached out and clasped his hand before adding, "You've been doing your part for my little dream so far, Harry—and this game will help some more. Thank you." Harry blinked, and Amanda sighed and announced, "I'm famished—let's go tackle that feast, shall we?" She released Harry's hand, stood up, and walked out, and Harry—still more than a little bemused---followed her after a moment.

. . . to be continued

As always, comments are welcomed and desired