Harry had expected the Prophet to run the photograph taken during the session, in which the funny hat had humiliatingly appeared on his head. But instead they ran a remarkably flattering photo taken in the Atrium, after he'd run up the stairs. His cheeks were pink from exertion, and he looked very elegant in his fitted robes.

'Wizengamot Lords Rebuke Potter,' said the headline beneath his photo, but the article itself was heavily slanted in Harry's favour. It didn't describe Harry's complaint, which was by extension directed at the Prophet, but otherwise it recounted the incident accurately. The article also quoted Harry's scathing criticism of the lords just before leaving the chamber:

Potter shocked and delighted onlookers with his rapier wit, telling the lords, 'If only I could serve wizarding Britain as well as you did just now.' In a single, blistering sentence, the young Order of Merlin recipient showed the lions of the Wizengamot just how childish they'd been.

Harry was also pleased by the coverage of his robes:

The self-proclaimed dandy further humiliated his elders by wearing bespoke Wizengamot robes in the style now known amongst magical tailors as 'Harry Potter robes.' He was initially scolded by Chief Warlock Sledge for failing to comply with the dress requirements for Wizengamot members, but Potter correctly asserted that his outfit adhered perfectly to chamber by-laws. As of Wednesday evening, multiple clothiers reported brisk sales for robes either matching Potter's or reflecting the customer's own taste.

Potter eschewed his usual boutonnière and instead accessorised with a crisp pocket square, prompting speculation amongst fashion observers and even bookmakers that he no longer favours flowers. The Prophet pledges to remain close to this story as it develops.

Harry had just finished reading the article when an owl tapped on the kitchen window. 'Master has a letter,' announced Kreacher, who brought it to the table. The letter was addressed in acid-green ink, and Harry knew without looking at the return address who had sent it.

Darling Harry,

I didn't accept a byline for the article, but I hope you can see my dainty fingerprints all over it. I also selected the photograph, which you'll agree is more than flattering and will surely make an impression on previously cloistered young pure-bloods.

My takedown of Dumbledore may have ensured my safety during the war, but I vastly prefer the current version of wizarding Britain, which you and your little friends did so much to bring about. I therefore await your business proposal, regarding which the goblins can provide expert advice. You might ask them to offer the same terms Lucius Malfoy negotiated years ago.

With deepest admiration,

Rita

Harry shook his head in disbelief. It looks like Rita Skeeter and I are allies, or soon will be, he thought. But then again, he'd also invited three Slytherins to Saturday's match, was going on a date with a Travers, and had invited Narcissa Malfoy to tea on Sunday. Short of taking the Dark Mark himself, he could hardly imagine a less likely cluster of events.

He arrived early to the training grounds and stopped by Mrs Thwip's office to drop off all the letters he'd written and photographs he'd signed. She looked almost impressed when she saw how much he'd done. 'There may be hope for you yet, Mr Potter,' she said cautiously. 'But try not to fall so far behind next time.'

'I'll sign another stack on Saturday morning,' he promised.

'We'll see.' She handed him another large envelope and said, 'These arrived since yesterday.'

Harry's heart sank. 'Not more abuse letters?'

'No, they're solicitations from wizarding tailors. See for yourself.'

He pulled out a letter and read:

Dear Mr Potter,

First, allow me to congratulate you for putting an end to the horror that was Wizengamot robes. It always pained me to craft them, and I'm ashamed not to have discovered on my own that they never needed to be so ghastly. I also commend you on your remarkably good taste in clothing, which I know you attribute to my esteemed colleague Benedict Thimble, but it surely comes from your own sensibilities as well.

Second, I'd like to thank you for singlehandedly bringing fitted robes back into fashion. They never deserved their bad reputation, and I'm pleased you had the discernment to wear them again. Only a young man with your impeccable Light credentials could have done it, and I humbly salute you.

Although Thimble is a fine tailor, and from what I've seen he's never led you astray, I believe you'll also be impressed with what my shop has to offer. Your current wardrobe is probably sufficient for a private citizen, but you're photographed far more often than any other wizard, and I'm certain Thimble won't mind if you appear in someone else's creations from time to time.

In appreciation for all the business you've generated, and also for the pleasure of outfitting wizarding Britain's leading style icon, I'd like to offer you up to three sets of robes at cost, and any additional purchases at a twenty-five percent discount. Furthermore, I'd be glad to schedule a private fitting during or outside of business hours, as you prefer. Just notify us by owl or by house-elf in advance to ensure I'll be available to advise you personally.

Yours truly,

Lester Goodbody, proprietor

Plackett & Goodbody

Manchester

Harry leafed through the letters and saw that they all had the same offer—three sets of robes at cost and a twenty-five percent discount thereafter—which made him suspect they'd agreed not to undercut one another. That's a very generous offer, he thought. It would be wrong not to give them a chance.

'Thank you, Mrs Thwip,' he said. 'I'll come round tomorrow afternoon to pick up my weekend assignment.'

'Yes, Mr Potter, good day.'

Harry's teammates congratulated him on the article and photo in the Prophet. 'I lost the team wager,' said Titus, 'but it was worth it to see you shaft the lords again.'

'Technically they shafted me,' replied Harry, but Titus shook his head.

'You never would have won against Rita Skeeter—she has too much dirt on everyone. You might have got your hearing, but they wouldn't have convicted her.'

'Are you serious?' exclaimed Harry. 'You mean I went through all that for nothing?'

'It wasn't for nothing. The lords got their petty victory but made themselves look like shrivelled old arseholes. Believe me Potter, you won.'

Harry flew well in practice, but he was more than a little distracted about his upcoming date with Lydia. He'd worked out a list of questions to ask her under Veritaserum, if she agreed, but he truly didn't know what to expect. Furthermore, Titus had explained that pure-blood princesses were expected to stay virgins until marriage, which Harry had witnessed with Vanessa. He knew he could have plenty of fun regardless, but he wondered just how far Lydia would be willing to go, and whether she had any prior experience at all.

Ginny trained me, he recalled. Perhaps this would be his opportunity to pass on the lineage. Or maybe it's a trap, he told himself for the hundredth time, but he knew he was well prepared. In addition to the Veritaserum, he'd warned Kreacher he might need rescuing in case of dire emergency—even if he were Body-Bound he'd be able to Summon the elf wordlessly.

Harry flew extra hard during the practice match that afternoon, suspecting he wouldn't burn off all his energy with Lydia that night. And even if she were willing, he didn't dare show up to practice knackered as he'd done on Tuesday. There were bound to be photographs in the morning Prophet, and he didn't want Tuttle to accuse him of shirking.

He caught the Snitch after about ninety minutes. 'You have one more chance tomorrow, Barrowmaker,' he taunted. 'Don't you want to go out with a win?'

'I already did,' replied Owen. 'When I saved your arse after you punched Gilstrap. Or are you planning on getting ejected on Saturday as well?'

'I'd better not, or else you'll have to hire two new Seekers, and I'll need to learn how to drive.'

'Why do you keep rejecting the "gentleman of leisure" path?' asked Owen. 'You already have the townhouse and the elf.'

'It's my suburban upbringing. I'd sooner work at a chip shop than sit around having my nails done like a bloody Malfoy.'

'I think you have unresolved issues around the Malfoys,' observed Owen. 'I may have to train my replacement to exploit them.'

As he prepared for his date, Harry couldn't help thinking about Malfoys and all the other so-called aristocrats he'd met in the wizarding world, including the lords. Clearly she knows I'm not like that, he thought. In fact she probably wouldn't be interested if I were.

But he needed to be mindful of her expectations, and so he'd read a book he found in the Black library about courtship, not wanting to inadvertently send the wrong message. He chose his flowers carefully, knowing she'd recognise the hidden meaning; he ultimately selected a lavender boutonnière symbolising caution against danger, as well as a small handful of tuberose flowers. As he tucked the lavender into the lapel of his white robes, he felt a thrill of anticipation. He'd never gone on a date that felt dangerous before.

Harry arrived at the restaurant by Floo, not wanting to walk down Diagon Alley so formally dressed. 'Good evening, Mr Potter,' said the host. 'We reserved a secluded table, as you requested.'

'Perfect,' replied Harry. 'I'm meeting my date outside, and we might take a stroll first, but we'll be here soon after.'

He exited the restaurant, and although he expected Lydia to make him wait, according to the customs of pure-blood dating, she surprised him by arriving right on time. She looked at his outfit and declared, 'The Light Lord,' quoting the headline from when he'd been photographed in his white robes. 'Only I won't hide from the camera.'

'I'm glad to hear that—it would be a shame to deny the Prophet's readers the pleasure of seeing you.' He leaned closer and said, 'You look beautiful.'

'I know,' she replied carelessly. 'You wouldn't bother with me if I didn't.'

'Am I known to be that shallow?' he asked.

'No, but you wouldn't take the risk otherwise.' She looked at his lavender boutonnière and smiled. 'Protection against danger.'

'And these,' he said, handing her the small tuberose bouquet.

Lydia raised the flowers to her nose and inhaled deeply. 'Dangerous pleasure,' she said, placing one of them into her hair. 'You've done your homework.'

'There was a book in the Black family library,' he admitted. 'I assume you have the same one.'

'Undoubtedly.' She looked him in the eye and asked, 'How do I gain your trust?'

'You mightn't like my proposal,' he warned her.

'Try me.'

Hardening his expression, he said, 'Veritaserum.'

She raised an eyebrow. 'Right now?'

'Yes. We can go to the apothecary together, or I can silently ask my house-elf to buy some and discreetly deliver it.'

'As much as I'm eager to be seen with you, I'd just as soon not make that big a spectacle of myself.'

'So you're willing?'

'Of course. We'll never get anywhere without trust.'

They entered the restaurant together, and the host led them to their table. When they were seated, Harry said, 'Give me a moment.' Closing his eyes, he thought, Kreacher!

Yes, Master!

Would you be so kind as to go to the apothecary and purchase a bottle of Veritaserum and the antidote, and then deliver them silently into my pocket?

Yes, Master! With pleasure!

Harry felt the house-elf disappear from his mind and opened his eyes again. 'I should have it in a few minutes,' he said. 'Would you like to go over my questions? I won't ask anything you haven't agreed to first.'

'We can go over your questions, but I haven't anything to hide. Ask whatever you like.'

'Anything?'

'Yes. I assume you want to know whether this is a trap, and whether I have any harmful intent.'

'Of course.'

'It's not, and I don't. But you'll find that out soon enough.'

'I also want to know why you're interested in me. Obviously I'm not husband material.'

'That's exactly why I'm interested. But we'll save the details for later—I'd rather preserve the surprise.'

'And does your family approve?'

'They don't know yet, but no, they'll be horrified.'

Harry felt the weight of two small bottles in his pocket. He pulled them out and placed them on the table. 'I assume you'd like a privacy ward?' he asked, freeing his wand from its holster.

'Yes, but only for now.'

He raised his usual Notice-Me-Not Charm and squeezed three drops of Veritaserum into a teaspoon. 'Here you are.'

She swallowed the contents and looked at him blankly.

'What's your name,' he asked.

'Lydia Veronica Travers.'

'How old are you?'

'Eighteen.'

'Do you want to harm me?'

'No.'

'Do your relations want to harm me?'

'Probably.'

'Are they using you as bait?'

'No.'

'Do they know you're out with me tonight?'

'No.'

'Is someone other than your relations using you as bait?'

'No.'

'Are you aware of any specific plot to harm me?'

'No.'

'Why do you want to go out with me?'

'I want you to ruin me.'

'Ruin you?' he asked, astonished. 'What does that even mean?'

'I don't want to be a suitable wife for an old-family pure-blood.'

'Are you currently?'

'Yes.'

'Do you have a fiancé?'

'No.'

'Is someone courting you?'

'They're trying.'

'More than one wizard?'

'Yes.'

'Are they likely to attack me if I ruin you?'

'No.'

'Why not?'

'They're afraid of you.'

'Why don't you want to marry them?'

She surprised him by speaking more animatedly than before. 'Because they're tedious. And I'm tired of my world.'

'What world is that?'

'Sacred Twenty-Eight. Dark.'

'Do you practice Dark magic?'

'No.'

'Were you taught it?'

'Yes.'

'Did you use Dark magic during the war? On an opponent?'

'No.'

'Why me? If by "ruin" you mean deflower, surely anyone can do that.'

'Symbolism,' she said. 'And I want you.'

He smiled. 'Why?'

'Vanessa told me about you.'

'What did she say?' he asked wickedly, anticipating the answer.

'That you're famous for the wrong reason.'

Harry could think of at least a dozen more questions he wanted to ask, but they were far from gentlemanly. 'Is there anything else you want to tell me?'

'I'm a virgin.'

'Yes, I'd worked that out.'

'No, completely.'

'You mean you've never been kissed?'

'Kissed, yes. But hardly more than that.'

He took the other teaspoon and added three drops of antidote to it, which she swallowed. Her eyes regained their focus and she looked at him appraisingly.

'You were awfully restrained,' she said.

'Was I? I thought I was being incredibly nosy.'

'You're clearly not a Dark wizard. A Dark wizard would have pulled every possible secret out of me, including about my family.'

'You were ready to betray them like that?'

'I didn't think you'd do it. But yes.'

'Are they that bad?'

'A few of them are. Not as bad as my uncle, but bad enough.'

Harry shrugged. 'I'm not an Auror anymore.'

'I wouldn't have approached you if you were.' She looked around and said, 'You can lower the privacy wards now.'

Harry put the two bottles back into his pocket and cancelled the charm. 'I'm sorry I asked for such a private table.'

'That's all right. Everyone noticed us as we walked in, and I'm certain there will be a photographer outside later.'

'Did you tip them off?' he asked.

'Yes.'

The waiter did a double-take when he noticed their table, and he quickly approached them. 'I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there for some reason.'

'That was my fault,' replied Harry. 'We needed a moment of privacy.'

'Of course. Would you like to order something to drink?'

Harry looked at Lydia, and she said, 'A bottle of wine?'

'I won't drink more than a glass,' he said.

'Oh right, you have Quidditch practice in the morning.'

They each ordered a glass, and the waiter left them alone again.

'What'll happen to you once you're ruined? Are you certain you've thought this through?'

'I've thought about it constantly for weeks. I'll be fine.'

'You won't be disinherited?' he asked, thinking of Andromeda.

She smiled. 'No. It's too late for that.'

'You were already disinherited?'

'Quite the opposite. It's a long story, but my great-grandfather was still alive the first time Uncle Ursinus was sentenced to Azkaban. Back then my great-uncle was still on an allowance, which meant the Ministry couldn't confiscate his assets. So my great-grandfather entrusted his inheritance to my grandfather, with the understanding that my great-uncle would regain it if he were ever freed. But my grandfather kept it and insisted on continuing the allowance, which naturally Uncle Ursinus didn't like. He spent months trying to Imperius my grandfather to grant him access, but he was unsuccessful, so he finally persuaded the Dark Lord to do it.'

'Voldemort Imperiused your grandfather?' asked Harry, fascinated. I threw off Voldemort's Imperius, he thought with satisfaction.

'Yes. Days before the end of the war. My great-uncle went to Gringotts the morning you robbed it to make the transfer. But he didn't succeed for some reason, and then he was called away by the Dark Mark.'

He didn't succeed because I Imperiused him, thought Harry, but he didn't say anything.

'So what does this have to do with your inheritance?' he asked.

'The morning you killed Voldemort, my grandfather went to Gringotts straight away and transferred my great-uncle's inheritance into new vaults for my sister, brother, and me—to prevent the Ministry from confiscating it. His own fortune was already protected.'

'So you can't be disinherited? Because you already have a third of your great-uncle's fortune?'

'My grandfather can still cut me off from his own estate, but I won't be a pauper, thanks to his efforts to defraud the Ministry. And I'd have only received a marriage portion—the bulk of his estate is destined for my brother, Jacob.'

Harry smiled. 'Do you realise where a lot of the confiscated gold went?'

'No. Did you get it?'

'Of course not. It went back to Gringotts, as restitution for my breaking in. They based the amount on how much gold they were able to seize from Death Eaters. That's why it took nearly two months after the war ended for the Ministry and Gringotts to reach a deal.'

'I can't say I was following the news very closely back then. It was a busy time for the Travers family.'

The waiter returned with their wine and offered to take their order, but they hadn't looked at the menu yet. Harry wasn't familiar with a lot of the items, so he asked for a recommendation and followed the waiter's advice.

'That was awfully trusting,' observed Lydia.

'Do you think he's likely to poison me?'

'No, it's just that you mightn't like what he suggested.'

'I'm not a fussy eater,' said Harry, 'and this way I get to try something new. It's worked well for me so far.'

'Yes, you certainly seem to crave novelty,' she smirked.

'Are you criticising my loose morals?'

'Not at all. In fact, I'm counting on them.'

'So you claim. I must say, I'm fascinated by your wish to be ruined, and not just for the obvious reason. Would you mind telling me more about it?'

'I'd be glad to,' replied Lydia. 'I should probably start by telling you about my sister, Esme.'

'Yes, I heard a little about her from one of my teammates. Apparently she's married to some Selwyn or other and they were prominent during the war.'

'That's right. She married at eighteen, and it was considered a stellar match. Two noble houses, and not too closely related. His family didn't mind my great-uncle, particularly with the Dark Lord on the rise again. And they were less worried about Dumbledore than before, because he appeared to be well past his prime.'

'He probably was,' said Harry. 'And they didn't consider me a threat?'

'Not without Dumbledore, or Sirius Black for that matter. Your godfather impressed everyone hugely by escaping from Azkaban unassisted,' she said. 'But I digress. Esme married Charles in early '97, which was the perfect time for a Dark-leaning couple to take their place in society. By the time the Dark Lord took over the Ministry, they were well established as the leaders of the younger set.'

'Did either of them serve Voldemort directly or take the Mark?'

'No, they didn't need to. My sister didn't work, of course, and Charles had a meaningless but impressive-sounding job in the Ministry. He still does, in fact.' She levelled her gaze at Harry and said, 'We were all just waiting for you to die. Then the war would be over, and the shops would open again—or new shops would replace them—and things could go back to normal.'

'And you considered that normal? Muggle-borns deprived of their wands and all the rest?'

'I didn't know any Muggle-borns,' she said breezily. 'There are hardly any at Stodgings, and I certainly didn't associate with them. All I knew was that they were a threat to wizarding traditions, either by cultural contamination or bad blood.'

'You know about my mother, right?'

'Of course I do. My whole life I heard you described as the worthless son of a Mudblood and a middle-class blood traitor.'

'Which one is supposed to be the greater insult?' he asked. 'Mudblood or middle-class?'

'Oh, Mudblood, certainly. The Potters were rich, so families like mine sneered at them for being middle class. Nevertheless, I might have been permitted to marry a pure-blood Potter, if such a thing still existed.'

'It doesn't. I'm the only one left.'

'Yes, but you're a far rarer creature: a half-blood Black. Head of House, no less.'

'My name's Potter,' he said casually.

'No, it's not. I heard what happened at the Wizengamot—your ring wouldn't even let you call yourself Potter.'

'The ring is hardly impartial,' argued Harry.

'What does your tapestry say? Or aren't you on it?'

He frowned. 'It says Black.'

She smiled triumphantly and said, 'Then I probably could marry you if I wanted. But of course you're not matrimonially inclined.'

'Not at present. And marriage would go against the whole ruining bit—which you still haven't explained.'

'Right. So Esme and Charles were prepared to be the leading couple of the post-war era. As non-combatants they didn't have any blood on their hands, and their frequent association with Death Eaters wouldn't have hurt them in a pro-Voldemort society. I wouldn't be surprised if they'd started planning a victory gala when they heard you'd died that morning. But then you came back and the Dark Lord was gone, and it was clear they'd allied themselves too closely with the losing side.'

'And how did you feel about what happened, if I might ask?'

'You mean did I celebrate when we thought you were dead?'

'For example.'

Lydia paused to reflect a moment. 'I was torn. I certainly wanted the war to be over, and I knew my family would lose standing if our side lost. But when I heard how you'd robbed Gringotts and escaped on the back of a dragon ... I started rooting for you. And then when I learnt how you'd never wavered even once, and that you were to be an Auror and probably marry your girlfriend ...' She looked down and stopped speaking.

Harry was unsure whether to respond, so he remained silent and just watched her. Merlin, she's pretty, he thought.

'It was like a glimpse of another world. One where people aren't strategic or calculating. I'd been taught to think of people like you as being a bit thick, but I realised that wasn't entirely true.'

'It's not entirely false,' confessed Harry. 'Except for Hermione, of course.'

'Perhaps, but here you are on top, and people like my uncle are in Azkaban. You tore down the entire wizarding peerage in three paragraphs, and you made them look like fools again yesterday. You may be impetuous, but you're not thick.' She paused again and added, 'And your side looks like more fun. Not the part involving eating mushrooms and living in a tent—that sounded ghastly. But the part where you do whatever you like and wear whatever catches your eye and nobody consults an etiquette manual or says it isn't strategic enough.'

'No, they just call me arrogant or attention-seeking or who knows what else.'

'But you still get to do it, while I don't get to do anything. And then if I follow all the rules and marry the right wizard, I might still end up shunned like Esme and Charles.'

Harry was sceptical. 'Have they really been shunned?'

'Well, no. But they only entertain in private now, and I'm certain they'll never be invited to one of your parties.'

'Perhaps not. But won't you be shunned if you're seen with me? In fact, it might be too late for you already.'

'I could be forgiven for having dinner with you once. But I'm planning on far more than that,' she said with a gleam in her eye. 'And yes, I'll be shunned, but I'll also be free. I'll have plenty of gold, and I'll be able to marry—or not marry—whomever I like. I'll insist you throw a party while we're together, and I promise I won't hide from you like Vanessa's friend did. And nobody will care about my surname anymore, because everyone will know I'm the black sheep of the Travers family. Don't you agree that sounds much better than marrying a distant cousin and whinging about how Harry Potter ruined lordships?'

He looked at her carefully. 'I'm still waiting for the part where you talk about right and wrong.'

'I spoke about it earlier,' she insisted, 'when I said I felt as if I'd glimpsed another world. Your world is free of the Dark Arts, mostly. And I didn't care for them at all.'

'Really? Why not?'

'My sister changed when she started studying them. She didn't let me sleep in her bed anymore—we used to curl up together every night. And her face became harder. She looks fine for now because she's still young, but my mother and grandmother have the same expression, and I don't want it. Speaking frankly, I rather like how I look.'

'So do I,' said Harry. 'It's a pleasure sitting across from you tonight.'

'You'll see the rest of me soon enough, and you won't be disappointed.'

Their starters arrived, and Harry was grateful for the break in conversation because his head was spinning—not from the wine but from everything Lydia was proposing. He'd enjoyed causing a scandal with his Wizengamot robes, and appearing in public with a pure-blood princess would cause an even greater stir. Nobody could accuse him of misleading her, since he'd literally broadcast his intention not to marry for at least two more years. And with Rita Skeeter on his side, he knew the story would be presented in the best possible light.

'What about your grandfather?' he asked. 'I'm told he voted against me yesterday at the Wizengamot.'

'Yes, he was furious about the 1707 revelation, as we've come to call it.'

'Because it was true, or because I called attention to it?'

'Both, but he says it doesn't matter. The fact that we were able and willing to give so much gold to the Ministry in its hour of need demonstrates both our cunning and our service, and makes the Travers family worthy of perpetual glory.'

'Interesting,' replied Harry. 'And how did the Travers family earn its fortune?'

She smiled. 'Piracy. My ancestors used magic to locate ships carrying gold from the New World and capture them on the high seas. I'm certain they're the source for all sorts of Muggle legends about ghost ships and the like.'

'I can't say I know how the Blacks earned their gold—I only know they squandered most of it.'

'Too much inbreeding,' said Lydia. 'My family's been more careful, and of course that won't be a problem for me.'

'Do you think you could marry a Muggle-born?'

'I don't know,' she admitted. 'I suppose you'll be a good in-between step.'

'Because of my mum?'

'And because you shagged a Muggle. I couldn't believe you announced that—I was in the audience that night, in the shop.'

'Why is that worse than having Muggle grandparents? Not that there's anything wrong with having Muggle grandparents, of course.'

'Superstition. Nobody knows what causes Squibs, so there are all sorts of rumours, including one about prior intimate contact with Muggles.'

'Do you actually believe that?' he asked.

'Not really, but you know how illogical superstitions are.'

'Yes, and I know how illogical wizards are.'

Their conversation that evening covered a wide range of topics, including all the things she'd heard people say about him. 'Until yesterday they called you an upstart, but when your ring forced you to call yourself Harry Black they knew they'd lost that battle.'

'But that doesn't even make sense. You'd think an upstart would want to adopt a posh name and title, but I've rejected them.'

'They see that as pride. Trying to make yourself look better than they are.'

'I'm sorry, but that's complete bollocks. The fact is they don't like me, and they'd find a reason to criticise whatever I did. If I'd eagerly called myself Lord Black and worn the ring in plain sight, they'd call me a social climbing ... what was it? "Worthless son of a Mudblood and a middle-class blood traitor." And everyone else would have laughed at me for acting like such a pretentious git.'

'You're arguing with the wrong person,' she said. 'I think you've handled it perfectly. They're just upset because you're sneering at wizarding tradition.'

'I beg your pardon, I think I've shown great respect for wizarding tradition. I'm wearing robes, aren't I?'

'Yes, and they have mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, my brother-in-law no longer gets spat on for wearing them. But now people accuse him of wearing "Harry Potter robes," which infuriates him, and of course he daren't wear flowers even though I know he's dying to.'

'I'm beginning to understand why you want to be shot of your world,' said Harry. 'People should wear what they like. That's what I've done, certainly.'

'Yes, but you're vulgar. That's another thing they say about you.'

'Because of my loose morals?'

'Exactly. They say you shouldn't talk about it on the radio.'

'Then maybe they shouldn't listen to me on the radio,' he snapped.

'But they wouldn't miss it! It's all anyone talks about.'

'And how is that not vulgar?'

'It's not as bad as sending a Patronus to Malfoy Manor,' she countered.

Harry sighed. 'Yes, that's been pointed out to me. You'll notice I didn't do it again this week.'

'No, and I was disappointed. I thought it was brilliant—next time you should send it to Azkaban.'

'That seems unfair to Prongs,' replied Harry. 'Poor fellow, I should ask his opinion next time. Did they say anything about my intention not to marry before I'm twenty-one?'

'Yes—my father in particular was appalled. He said any decent young wizard should marry before he's twenty, if not sooner. Otherwise he'll get up to all kinds of mischief.'

'Don't tell me wizards are also expected to be virgins when they marry.'

'No, of course not. But that's what France is for. Haven't you heard of portkey brothels?'

'What? No!'

'Oh my god, you'll love this ... it's immoral to have sex with a prostitute in England, but if you go to France she's a fille de joie and it's fine.'

'Are these witches or Muggles?'

'Witches, of course. Don't forget the superstition.'

'My mind is reeling,' he said. 'I've learnt more about wizarding culture tonight than I probably learnt in the past year. Why didn't Ron ever tell me about this?'

'Ron Weasley?' she said contemptuously. 'They're blood traitors. How they were listed in the Sacred Twenty-Eight is beyond me.'

'I'll have you know I rejected friendship with Draco Malfoy for insulting the Weasleys. If you keep talking like that, I mightn't be willing to ruin you.'

'Oh yes you will,' she said. 'And I was joking of course. Clearly I want to be a blood traitor too.'

'Fine. Do you want to order pudding here, or should I have my house-elf prepare something?'

'It'll be far more scandalous if we leave early,' she said eagerly.

He smiled. 'Should I just throw some Galleons on the table, start kissing you passionately in the restaurant, and Apparate you home?'

'No, we need to be photographed first. And we shouldn't kiss in public until after your match on Saturday. Do I need to get hold of a ticket? I understand they're hard to come by.'

'I still have one left. I saved it for you.'

They requested the bill, which Harry paid, and he escorted her from the restaurant with his hand on the small of her back. 'This is the first time I've touched you,' he whispered.

'It won't be the last time,' she replied.

As arranged, several reporters and photographers were waiting for them outside. They held hands, and Lydia posed for the cameras nearly as well as Laetitia had done. She even answered questions:

'Lydia Travers ... He's my great-uncle ... That's none of their concern ... For the same reason every witch wants to go out with Harry Potter … Yes, I know he has no intention of getting married … Not yet, but ask me again tomorrow.'

Harry turned his head in shock at her last answer, and the cameras snapped again. 'With that, I think we'll be going,' he said, and at her nod he turned on his heel and Apparated home.

'You've really planned this,' he said, as she looked around the formal reception hall.

'Every detail. But I expect you to surprise me.'

'Would you care to tell me what you've planned, so I can deviate from it accordingly?'

'Yes. First, I want to see the Black family tapestry. I'm curious whether we're related.'

'Oh? Was your mother a Dursley?' he asked innocently, and she whacked him with the bouquet he'd given her. They walked past Padfoot, who simply stared at Lydia in canine astonishment, and went upstairs to the drawing room.

'There you are,' she said, indicating his name on the tapestry. 'Harry James Black. Are you going to change your name? You've hinted at it.'

'Most likely,' he said. 'Harry Potter-Black.'

'That sounds faintly Muggle, but I don't know why.'

'It's the hyphen. Wizards almost never do that.'

'Interesting. Will you burden your children with two surnames?'

'When they're born, probably, but they can choose when they're older. I'm expected to carry on both names, you know.'

'Yes, what a terrible responsibility, fathering all those children. How ever will you manage?' She continued examining the tapestry. 'I haven't any recent Potter forbears,' she said absently, 'but there have been a couple of Blacks in the last two hundred years. No, I think we're only distantly related at most. I'm probably more closely related to Ronald Weasley than I am to you.'

'Would it have made a difference?' he asked.

'No. I was mostly curious. May I tell people about your name on the tapestry?'

'I haven't any secrets,' he said. 'Be my guest.'

She turned to him and said, 'Speaking of hospitality, you promised me pudding but I don't actually want any. Do you?'

I always want pudding, he thought. It's the Light magic. 'No, I don't need any.'

'But I would like to see your enormous bed. Vanessa told me how comfortable it was.'

He put his hand on her waist and said, 'No, you can't see it tonight.'

'What! Why not?'

'Because you're a virgin, and I want to do this properly.'

'I'm not waiting two years for you to marry me first,' she said indignantly.

He laughed and said, 'Not that properly. But I want you to experience what it's like to have a good snog but not be fully satisfied yet. There's a lot to be said for anticipation.'

'I've had eighteen years of anticipation,' she grumbled, and he ran his other hand through her hair, lightly massaging her scalp.

'Trust me,' he said. 'I'm famous for the wrong reason.'

She leaned in, and he kissed her gently for about ten seconds. When he pulled away, she said, 'That was just a kiss. I want to snog.' She was obviously trying to sound petulant, but her closed eyes and breathy voice told a different story.

He answered her with actions rather than words, and before long they were on the sofa opposite the tapestry. It had been a long time since Harry had gone that slowly, but he found he was enjoying it, and so apparently was Lydia. He deliberately kept his clothes on, in spite of her attempts to remove them, and he stopped her from taking off her own clothes as well.

'I can only ruin you once,' he insisted. 'We're going to take our time at it.'

'Don't you want me?' she asked, with a surprising note of insecurity.

'Desperately,' he murmured. 'But once we start, I mightn't be able to stop, and I have practice tomorrow and a match on Saturday. Can you wait until then?'

'Will you snog me on the pitch?'

'Oh god yes. I'll be as indecent as you want me to be.'

'Like you were in the photo with that French girl? Like you are now?'

'If that's what you want.'

'That is definitely what I want.'

They continued for another half hour, and by the end he felt he deserved another Order of Merlin for his ingenuity in satisfying her through clothing. He was feeling rather uncomfortable, but he knew he would start glowing the moment she left.

'You should go,' he said. 'I have practice tomorrow.'

'Fine,' she replied, sitting up and straightening her outfit. 'What should I wear on Saturday? After the match, that is. Are we going out?'

'Do you want to?'

'I suppose it depends on how long you take to catch the Snitch. But yes, I want to go out. And then come here. Or maybe come here first and then go out. Oh please, catch the Snitch quickly.'

'I dare you to hold up a banner saying that,' he smirked.

'I might just. We'll see how tomorrow's photograph goes down.'

He led her to the formal fireplace and, as predicted, he began glowing as soon as she'd gone. Padfoot, wearing mirrored sunglasses, wagged his tail vigorously when Harry passed his portrait. 'I love you,' mouthed Harry, addressing neither his godfather nor the painted Animagus. 'I love you,' he repeated, thinking of no one and everyone, as he climbed the stairs to his blissfully comfortable room.