Harry and Lydia slept until nearly eight o'clock on Saturday morning and ate breakfast in bed, prepared by their respective house-elves. They were still nibbling on fruit and reading the Prophet when someone knocked on the bedroom door.

'Are you in there?' called Ron.

'Oh, crap!' exclaimed Harry. 'I forgot you were coming over, hang on a minute.' He turned to Lydia and said, 'Is it all right if Ron comes in?'

'Ron Weasley? Yes, but Summon my dressing gown first.'

Once Lydia was more fully covered, Harry told Ron to come in. 'I'm sorry, I completely forgot about our routine. But have a seat—do you need breakfast?'

Ron was laughing and said, 'I can't believe you forgot about our standing date. Lydia, on Saturdays Harry normally has breakfast in bed with me. Can you move over?'

Lydia, who seemed uncertain whether to believe him, looked at Harry for guidance. 'Relax, Ron's just taking the piss. Lydia, this is Ron Weasley. Ron, allow me to introduce Miss Lydia Travers.'

She extended her hand as if she were in a formal receiving line and not in bed with a man who was only wearing boxers. 'It's lovely to meet you, Ron. I've heard so much about you.'

'Likewise. Do you need a little privacy? I can wait downstairs.'

'Yeah, I should be ready in twenty minutes. Just stay out of the goblins' way—they're supposed to arrive soon to set up the wards.'

'They're already here, and they scared the hell out of me. Do you want me to start signing photographs for you? I can forge your name pretty well if I use my left hand.'

'Very funny,' said Harry. 'I actually think my penmanship's improving.'

'That's an improvement?' exclaimed Lydia, and Ron laughed and went downstairs.

Ron laughed again when Harry arrived in the sitting room fifteen minutes later. 'I wish there was some way to send Pensieve memories back in time,' he said. 'I can think of at least a dozen past occasions where I'd want to send the memory of you lounging in bed with Lydia Travers.'

'Such as?'

'Any number of times during the war. Definitely while we were dragging that bloody locket around—Voldemort's soul fragment would have exploded from the shock. And maybe during the Umbridge year, when you were such a moody bastard.'

'Sometime when Sirius could have seen it,' added Harry. 'He'd have split a side, particularly if he'd recognised his mother's old bedroom. Although then he'd have realised he was going to die soon, which might have made it less funny.'

'Nah, he'd have been glad to see you've put your life back together,' replied Ron. 'Unless he thought it meant you'd changed sides. If he saw your closet full of robes he'd definitely think that.'

'But I don't have a Dark Mark,' said Harry triumphantly.

'You're right, but I could just paste one into the memory somehow. I can ask Slughorn how he tampered with his memory of Tom Riddle. And I need to show it to Janet, to persuade her to let me spend the night before a match. Speaking of which, you'd better catch the Snitch today, or else you'll have a whole new superstition weighing you down.'

'Merlin, good point! I'd love to be able to entertain on Friday nights. And I don't see why I shouldn't—I was asleep well before midnight.'

'No six times then? I'll tell Janet about that as well, so she'll stop pressuring me. Bloody hell, Potter! You used to have a price on your head, and now magazines are paying bounties to the women you've shagged.'

'I hope that offer's been revoked, now that Vera's told her story.'

'Was that her name? You'd better hope none of the others talk to reporters, because I can't imagine you'll ever top that.'

'No, I probably won't. Honestly, if any night of my life had to get leaked, I'm glad it was that one.'

Chuckling, Ron said, 'Which means we might eventually see headlines like "Don't believe the hype: My disappointing night with Harry Potter."'

Harry laughed. 'They could include a photo of the broken Elder Wand. And maybe some wilted orchids.'

Ron looked around and said, 'When do the flowers arrive anyway? So far I only see the usual amount around the house. Oh, and on your breakfast tray. I can't believe what a bloody ponce you've turned into.'

'I like flowers,' said Harry indignantly. 'And so do witches ... did you take my advice and buy some for Janet?'

'Yes, and I saw a whole new side of her. She turned all girly, and for a minute it was like being with Lavender again.'

'Did she call you Won-Won?'

'Don't you dare tell her about that,' scowled Ron.

'Fine,' said Harry. 'I'd extract a similar promise in return, but I don't think I have any secrets left, other than Light magic. And the Horcrux, of course.'

'Believe me, I'll never share that last one. But the Light magic is bound to become public soon. Are you prepared?'

'Yeah, I'm actually good at Occlumency now. Better late than never, I suppose,' he said with a sigh. 'God, my life would be perfect if I just had Sirius in it. I don't really miss my parents—I can't remember them—but I think about Sirius all the time.'

'More than you used to?' asked Ron.

'Yeah, weirdly enough. It doesn't hurt the same way, so there's no reason not to think about him. And the fact that I'm fixing up the house, and probably taking his name.'

'Mate, you realise that if he were still alive, you wouldn't be doing all that. You might not even live here ... you'd just have some flat, and no house-elf to make breakfast in bed. You wouldn't be a lord either—you'd just be middle-class Harry Potter.'

'I'm not sure what you're implying, but believe me, I'd much rather have Sirius.'

'Then where would you host your orgies? Do you reckon Sirius would let you use the house anyway?'

'It wasn't deliberately an orgy!' protested Harry. 'How was I to know that everyone would bring Firewhisky and that the guest rooms were infinite, or that Helena had lined up a threesome?'

'That's true. But what's your excuse tonight? You're packing the house to capacity with a bunch of athletes.' Ron turned pale and said, 'Blimey, how am I going to keep Janet from flirting with them, just to torture me?'

'I have no idea. Can you negotiate terms for the evening?'

'Terms? What do you mean?'

'I don't know,' said Harry. 'Maybe an open relationship until midnight?'

'She'd curse my bollocks off if I suggested that!'

'Do you think so? It might make her jealous, and then she'd try harder to keep you interested.'

'Right, but she'll be surrounded by randy Quidditch players. For all I know she's had her eye on one of the other Keepers.'

'That's just it,' argued Harry. 'Half the guests will be Quidditch players, but you'll be the only Order of Merlin recipient. The only tall one, that is.'

'But she might be over that by now,' said Ron. 'We've been together more than six weeks.'

'Have you milked it lately? Dropped any comments about struggling in secret against the Darkest evil?'

Ron furrowed his brow. 'Come to think of it, not for a while. Do you reckon I should bring it up again?'

'Definitely. And do it in front of other Quidditch players—they still feel guilty about playing for Death Eaters during the final year of the war.'

'I wondered about that,' said Lydia as she entered the room. 'I attended several matches during the war, and the crowds were much smaller. Are you saying the players didn't want to be there?'

'No, they were forced by the Ministry. Owen told me they were threatened with charges of Unwizardlike Behaviour if they didn't comply, and the punishment was having their wands snapped. But most of them felt terrible about it, so Ron can definitely use that to his advantage.'

'They probably thought I was a Death Eater too,' sighed Lydia.

'They don't anymore,' said Ron. 'You probably won't take this as a compliment, but you're definitely a blood traitor now. That took some serious cheek, choosing Harry to do the honours.'

'I thought it was a stroke of genius,' she said brightly. 'If I'd run off with an ordinary wizard I would have just looked like a trollop. And the fact that he's a half-blood makes it even better.'

'My great-aunt Muriel was impressed—she told my mum it was the biggest scandal since Malvina Yaxley ran off with an Italian acrobatics troupe, right after Grindelwald's war.'

'Is your aunt a Weasley?' asked Lydia.

'No, a Prewett.'

'Oh, then we are related! My maternal grandmother was Nettie Prewett.'

'That sounds familiar,' said Ron. 'One of my grandfather's cousins married into a Dark family ... Nightwick?'

'Yes, my mother was a Nightwick.'

'Hang on,' interjected Harry. 'Does this mean you and Ginny are cousins?'

'Of course we are,' said Lydia. 'Third cousins, by the sound of it. But that shouldn't come as a surprise—nearly all Sacred Twenty-Eight families are related. Even the blood traitors.'

'It's true,' said Ron. 'Harry, I never told you this, but Draco Malfoy and I are third cousins as well, by way of Lucius.'

'I'm related to Lucius Malfoy through my father,' added Lydia. 'But not that closely. My mother told me that if I remained single for another year, Draco would probably start courting me.'

'Merlin, what a thought!' said Harry. 'And your family wouldn't have minded if you married a Marked Death Eater?'

'He has a good alibi, that his father forced him to do it,' she said. 'And he didn't go to Azkaban.'

'Yeah, thanks to Harry,' muttered Ron.

They passed the next hour in friendly conversation. Harry signed photographs and replied to fan mail as usual, and Lydia was thrilled when all the flowers arrived. 'Oh, Harry!' she exclaimed. 'These are beautiful—you really have exquisite taste! Ron, has he always been like this?'

'No, back when I met Harry he was still a bloke.'

Harry raised two fingers at him, and Lydia proclaimed, 'Harry's redefining masculinity. He wore a flowered shirt last night to the cinema, and he told me he wore makeup in Paris.'

Ron burst out laughing. 'Makeup? Are we talking cosmetic charms or actual Muggle makeup, which Auntie Muriel calls "tart armour?"'

'That's what my grandmother calls it too!' said Lydia. 'And he said it was Muggle makeup.'

'Not lipstick,' said Harry, embarrassed. 'She just used charms for that. It was mostly eye makeup.'

Ron looked at Harry appraisingly. 'Yeah, I can see that. But are you completely mental? You could have been photographed!'

'We were at a Muggle nightclub, and I wore my Invisibility Cloak until we were well outside the wizarding district.'

'Please tell me this isn't going to be the next trend you start,' said Ron. 'I'm not ready to see wizards prancing about in rouge and mascara. And don't even think of telling Janet, or else she might make me try it.'

'It was Sophie's idea and a one-time event,' replied Harry. 'I have no plans to repeat it on this side of the Channel.'

'That's a relief,' said Ron. 'But blimey!'

Lydia departed at half past ten to meet with her interior designer, with promises to hold a banner for Harry at the match. After she left, Harry said, 'So, what do you think?'

'What do I think?' asked Ron. 'I think you're a lunatic. But catch the Snitch this afternoon and I'll overlook it.'

I was asking about Lydia, thought Harry irritably. 'Why am I a lunatic?'

'Where do I start? You're shagging a Travers, who's moved in with you. You signed a photograph for that witch who talked to Sorceress—what was her name again?'

'Vera.'

'Right, you did your best Lockhart imitation when you signed that photo for Vera. You also ran around Paris wearing tart armour, and I hear you bought another dozen sets of robes.'

'That's not true, it was only ten! Oh, bugger, I bought two from Thimble as well. But nearly all of them were at cost.'

'You're a dandy, I get it,' said Ron. 'But you're also making a spectacle of yourself.'

'A spectacle of myself? Which of your parents are you quoting?'

Ron frowned. 'My mum. But she's right.'

Harry rolled his eyes and said, 'I don't care what your mum thinks. People are always going to criticise me, so I may as well do what I like.'

'But you're going to have to live with it,' said Ron. 'I do already—I get asked about you twenty times a day now.'

'And what do you tell them?'

'I tell them you defeated Voldemort and that you have a six-game winning streak. I tell them you know better than to endanger yourself, which it sounds like you do. What I don't tell them is that sometimes I hardly recognise you, and that I'm afraid to unroll the Prophet every morning to see what you've done next.'

'What do you mean, you hardly recognise me?'

'You used to be more ... normal. Well, not normal, but predictable. Not so bloody outrageous all the time.'

'Yeah, and I had a job I hated,' snapped Harry. 'Oh, and before that I had a bloody Horcrux in my forehead! But at least I was predictable—you could always count on me getting at least one searing headache a day, along with a vision of Voldemort torturing someone. You could set your watch by me!'

'Harry, that's not what I meant,' began Ron.

'Wasn't it? Because that's what my life was like. I only told you and Hermione about maybe ten percent of the visions I got through my scar. The rest weren't worth reporting, because we already knew how much Voldemort liked torturing people.' Harry's heart was racing and he felt a catch in his throat. 'And I saw what he saw! I felt him enjoying it! And I still have nightmares about it, all the bloody time! Can you blame me for wanting to feel something different now?'

'Harry, I'm sorry ...'

'Sorry your sister dumped me? Sorry I was a shitty Auror? Sorry you had parents and I didn't?' Ron's face fell, and Harry said, 'Did it ever occur to you that I was jealous of you? You went home every summer to the Burrow, and I went home to the Dursleys. And then during the war, when we were living in the forest and you left ... you had somewhere to go. You didn't have a prophecy forcing you to keep at it, or Voldemort's fucking thoughts in your head. Dumbledore didn't deliberately make your life just the right amount of shitty, so you'd be functional but still willing to die.'

Ron's dismay turned into anger. 'I get it!' he barked. 'You didn't have a choice about fighting Voldemort—he wouldn't have stopped until he killed you. But I had a choice—I didn't have to fight him, and I did it anyway. I know I fucked up by running away, but at least I didn't pull a Percy and say, "Hey, I'm a pure-blood, this isn't my problem." So give me some fucking credit!'

'When have I not given you credit? Every time someone thanks me for defeating Voldemort, I tell them I couldn't have done it without you and Hermione. And I mean it! Honestly, I feel sick about everyone who died fighting him. If I'd just caught onto the fact that I was a Horcrux a few hours earlier, Fred and Remus and Tonks would still be alive. And Lavender, and Colin ...'

Harry was crying, which had the effect of calming Ron's anger. 'You did the best you could,' said Ron.

'Why didn't Dumbledore tell me?' choked Harry. 'I could have offered my life sooner. I'd have done it.'

'We didn't have all the Horcruxes,' said Ron. 'And only you knew where to find them.'

'Even a few hours earlier,' continued Harry. 'A few hours earlier and Teddy would have parents. George would have Fred ...'

'But that's not how it happened,' said Ron, and Harry looked up at him.

'That's what Tuttle says,' he replied dully.

'Tuttle your coach?'

Harry nodded. 'She asked me why I punched Gilstrap, and I told her what he'd said about his father being tortured. It was complete bollocks, of course, but I didn't know that at the time. When he said it, I immediately blamed myself for waiting so long before robbing Gringotts, which was why I snapped when he brought up the Dursleys. I asked Tuttle how I should handle it in the future, and she said I should tell myself, "That's not how it happened."'

'She's not wrong,' said Ron. 'That's what Hermione used to tell me, when I blamed myself for running away. After the war ended, that is.'

'If Hermione said it, it must be true.' He sighed and added, 'Sorry for losing my temper like that.'

'I'm sorry for repeating that sanctimonious rubbish from my mum,' said Ron. 'Shag whoever you like. Get all the robes you want—Merlin knows you can afford them. And go ahead and wear tart armour if that's what gets you off.'

'I'm experiencing accidental Light magic—everything gets me off.'

'You need to teach me that,' said Ron. 'I'd be a hell of an Auror if I could snap the wand of every Dark wizard who comes after me.'

Harry looked at his pocket watch. 'I should head to practice in a few minutes. Thanks again for coming over, and sorry about reenacting our fifth year at Hogwarts.'

'Blimey, you're right. I'm surprised you didn't mention Umbridge.'

Harry arrived at the Cannons practice facility and the trainers led them through their pre-match routine. His teammates all told him how much they were looking forward to the party, and Darren said, 'Fair warning, Snitchbottom—I'm bringing Romilda tonight, and she wants you to autograph her copy of Sorceress.'

'You should sign it, "Yours in sweet exhaustion,"' suggested Ryan.

Harry rolled his eyes and said, 'More like, "You're the reason I hired charmed goblets."'

'Yeah, she told me about that,' admitted Darren.

'Please tell me she doesn't still use Love Potions,' said Harry.

'No, that was the only time. She said she didn't need them once she developed breasts.'

'Nature's Love Potion,' mused Janet.

Harry ate lunch with Owen and Gemma, and Owen told her what to expect during the match. 'You might feel superfluous sitting there in the skybenches, but you need to be ready to spring into action.'

'I know that, but I'm hoping Harry will wait for a home match before getting ejected again, since I'll have more friends in the stands.'

'Our next home match is against Ballycastle, and I don't see myself punching Kieran Sheppard,' said Harry. 'So you'll have to hope for a Bludger strike instead.'

'Don't even joke about that,' said Owen.

'I said Bludger, not Bludgers. And just a minor injury, like Gary's.'

Their conversation turned to the party, and Owen said, 'Jill can't make it tonight—she's been feeling under the weather.'

'I'm sorry to hear that,' said Harry. 'Do you want to bring someone else?'

'May I? I'm certain Fiona would enjoy it, and Jill can watch Matthew for her. That's her little boy.'

'Of course, I'll add her to the wards. And this time I'll try not to get pissed and make awkward advances.'

'Don't worry, she thought it was hilarious,' said Owen.

'Yes, that's exactly how I like my romantic efforts to be described.'

'It's better than "fumbling,"' said Owen. 'Or "pathetic." Or maybe "creepy."'

Gemma shook her head in amazement. 'I still can't believe the way you all slag Harry.'

'They have to,' said Harry. 'Otherwise I'd be unprepared for rival Seekers. You should have heard them the week before we played the Magpies—they were downright vicious.'

'I expect it'll be easier when it's my turn,' she said. 'I don't care if they call me a Mudblood, and otherwise they probably don't know anything about me.'

'They'll taunt you about Harry,' warned Owen. 'They'll say that you'll spend your whole career as a reserve, since you and Harry are the same age and he's a far bigger draw. Or possibly make insinuations about the two of you.'

'About me and Harry?'

'Yeah. Something like, "The only reason you were hired was because Potter likes chasing witches."'

'Bollocks! Witches chase Potter,' she retorted.

Owen laughed and said, 'You'll do fine. Just don't take anything they say seriously, and strike back harder.'

'I have two brothers and I've worked in restaurants,' said Gemma. 'I'm sure I can keep up.'

They travelled by Floo to Tutshill Stadium, and Renée led Gemma to the women's lockers. Harry changed quickly so he wouldn't miss Gemma's first appearance in her Cannons robes.

Gemma was smiling bashfully when she emerged from the locker room, and everyone cheered. 'It's official,' said Lyle. 'You're as blinding as the rest of us.'

'You look fantastic,' declared Janet. 'They definitely suit you.'

'No wonder you're mad for robes,' said Gemma to Harry, looking down at her new uniform. 'These are a vast improvement over my school robes.'

The referee entered and began checking the players for illegal charms and enhancements. 'Gemma, you're about to witness a newly-established Cannons tradition,' said Suresh. 'Show us the ring, Lord Snitchbottom.'

'Lordships are bollocks,' grumbled Harry as he cancelled the charm hiding the Black family ring.

'Oh my god!' gasped Gemma. 'That thing is monstrous!'

'Yes it is,' said Harry resignedly. 'And it's attached to me until the day I die.'

'You could always renounce House Black and make Draco Malfoy wear it instead,' said Owen, who was dressed in his new coach robes.

'It's tempting when you put it that way,' replied Harry. 'But no.'

Lyle was taking Gary's place as starting Beater, and Harry and the others wished him luck. 'It's not the easiest way to make a debut,' said Owen privately to Harry and Gemma. 'The Tornados Beaters are among the best in the league, and he'll be paired with Suresh instead of Titus. I agree with Tuttle's decision to keep Suresh in, but it's going to be a tough match.'

'Do you have any specific advice?' asked Harry.

'Set a strong intention to avoid Bludgers, same as always.'

Owen and Gemma walked out to the skybenches along with the other reserves, and soon the starters were announced. Harry flew out to loud cheers, and he joined his teammates and waited for the Tornados to come out.

He saw that the banners were evenly split between Cannons orange and Tornados blue, and he noticed several new themes among the signs directed at him. 'Werewolves love Potter!' proclaimed one sign, bedecked with hearts and wolf silhouettes. Another sign depicted Harry alternating between baldness and his usual untidy hair, with the legend. 'Thank you, Hairy Potter!'

There was an unprecedented number of banners propositioning Harry, undoubtedly because of the Sorceress article. One was held by six young women, all wearing fitted t-shirts with Harry's lightning bolt emblem, and it said, 'Harry, there are six of us and we're willing to share.' He momentarily pictured the scenario and had to set an extremely strong intention not to become distracted. And there were other banners depicting Harry and his broomstick in all sorts of alarmingly creative ways.

But there were negative banners as well. 'Mothers Against Harry Potter,' proclaimed one banner, and another said, 'Harry Potter is a bad influence.' One actually called upon him to marry Lydia, which baffled him. Why should I marry Lydia instead of one of the other witches I've seduced? He supposed it had to do with her prior state of virginity. Bloody Anglo-Saxons, he thought. I'm certain French Quidditch players don't have to deal with this kind of puritanical rubbish.

His heart swelled, however, when he saw the banner Lydia was holding. It had no text but only a gorgeous depiction of Prongs, glowing silver on a field of midnight blue. He pranced about, and closer inspection revealed a garland of bright orange nasturtiums around his neck. Harry flew close to Lydia before the balls were released and blew a kiss in her direction, which caused loud squeals from that section of the stands.

I love having a girlfriend who's willing to be seen with me, he mused, and he felt a surge of anticipation for the party that night. We'll dance for hours, he thought, and he made a mental note to buy 'Purple Rain' on compact disc, in case Ryan didn't have it.

The match began, and Harry expanded into broad awareness. May the Snitch appear to me. May I avoid Bludgers. May I feint unerringly. And no glowing, full stop.

Carl Wainwright left him alone, which Harry knew was part of a larger strategy. Carl was a first-rate spotter, so he didn't need to track Harry, but this also gave the Tornados Beaters free access. Harry had to dodge far more than the usual amount of Bludgers, to the point where he was getting distracted. He finally decided to approach Wainwright himself.

'Hiya Wainwright,' said Harry. 'Are you ready to become the sixth Seeker I defeat?'

'Sixth? Aren't you forgetting someone?'

'I didn't catch the Snitch against Gilstrap.'

'Yes, of course,' said Wainwright. 'But you certainly defeated him.'

'I'm not proud of it. I don't like violence.'

'That's ironic, considering what you're best known for.'

'What am I best known for?' asked Harry. 'There are so many items to choose from.'

'Is this a fugue state?' said Wainwright. 'Or just your usual egomania?'

'Just the usual so far. But seriously, what am I best known for?'

'I suppose now you're famous for being famous, and also for being unbelievably full of yourself. But I was referring to how you killed You-Know-Who. Which makes your distaste for violence a bit laughable.'

'I suppose you're right. I should have let someone else fight the war, and played Quidditch instead.'

'We had no choice,' argued Wainwright.

'I know!' said Harry with mock sympathy. 'They might have snapped your wand! I can't imagine how difficult it would be to go about your day-to-day life with a borrowed wand. Fortunately, all I had to do with a borrowed wand was defeat Voldemort.'

'Are you sure this isn't a fugue state?' asked Wainwright.

'No, I'm just channelling one of my dead fathers—the arrogant one. I'm starting to look forward to matches, just for the opportunity to talk without a filter.'

'I didn't realise you normally had a filter. I've heard you on the radio, after all. And I must say, your public life is an absolute gift to the rest of us Seekers. There's so much new material every week.'

'Yes, I suppose that's why they've all beaten me to the Snitch,' replied Harry. 'Oh, wait, I think I have that backwards.'

Wainwright started to reply, but Harry's eyes locked onto a distant target and he shot across the air. It was a relatively non-combative feint, traversing a lone Chaser, but he approached the ground at high speed before levelling off at the last moment.

'What was that supposed to be?' asked Wainwright afterwards.

'A palate cleanser,' replied Harry. 'And the crowd loved it.'

'You're just desperate for attention.'

'No, I'm just exceptionally good at giving people what they want. At least that's what I've been told.'

'So I hear. But really, three witches in a single week?' said Wainwright. 'I'm all for promiscuity, but that sounds pathological. Just how fucked up are you?'

'I don't know. Why don't you tell me?'

'I couldn't even guess. But massively, I'm sure.'

Harry had heard far worse taunts than this. 'Don't you have any original material? Gilstrap covered this weeks ago,' he said, before flying off.

He circled alone for the next half hour, dodging Bludgers and maintaining strong awareness, but there was no sign of the Snitch. The Cannons Chasers had taken a significant lead, but not nearly enough to render the Snitch irrelevant. Eventually Wainwright found him again.

'I can't resist the opportunity to spend time with you, Potter. Just the two of us.'

'Yes, loads of witches feel the same way,' said Harry, gesturing towards the stands.

'Right ... can you point out the one who wants to meet me?'

'She's sitting next to Lydia,' replied Harry, and he pointed out the Prongs banner. 'With the black hair.'

The two Seekers flew close to the stands, prompting loud cheers. 'Not bad at all,' said Wainwright. 'Is it too late to bring her to your party?'

'I can add her to the wards if you like,' said Harry. 'What's one more guest?'

'Was she one of the people who fucked you up?'

'Hardly. We weren't a couple very long.'

'I suppose not. And of course there are so many others who played a role in turning you into Britain's preeminent headcase. Voldemort, for example.'

'Yes, that's the obvious choice,' agreed Harry. 'He killed my parents, after all.'

'But there's also Albus Dumbledore,' said Wainwright. 'It sounds like he manipulated the hell out of you.'

'He really did. Rita Skeeter was dead on about that.'

'And then there's Sirius Black. Losing him must have been awful.'

'It was,' said Harry sincerely. 'Just this morning I was telling Ron I miss Sirius more than my parents.'

'I can see why,' said Wainwright. 'You never really knew your parents, but you had a couple of years with your godfather. And now you're surrounded by reminders of him, everywhere you look. That can't be easy.'

Harry was unfazed by Wainwright's cruel taunts, which lacked the malevolent tone Gilstrap had mastered. Nevertheless, he shot into another feint—a classic Potter Kamikaze manoeuvre, skimming the Tornados Chasers and coming perilously close to a Bludger. Wainwright had to dodge wildly to avoid it, and he temporarily lost control of his broom and spun out. But he found his balance and rejoined Harry.

'That's another thing you're famous for,' said Wainwright. 'Feinting like you're not afraid to die.'

'I'm not,' said Harry, and he felt himself expand farther into awareness. Don't start glowing, he told himself.

'That makes sense,' said Wainwright. 'It must be a fringe benefit of how damaged you are.'

'I suspect you're right. Do you have any other potential culprits on your list?'

'How about Ginny Weasley? You were an upstanding young Auror until she ditched you. But then you entered your current, very entertaining tailspin.'

'Actually, you were the one who just entered a tailspin. I didn't lose control of my broom.'

'Good point. You're an impressive flyer, I'll give you that. But I think I'm on to something with Ginny Weasley. She clearly damaged the hell out of you.'

'I'm surprised you haven't mentioned my Muggle relations.' said Harry. 'Aren't they the obvious choice?'

'Perhaps, but most of the other Seekers and I agreed not to mention them. And really, there's no need with all the other options.'

'Yes, I'm curious who else you've come up with.'

'How about Helena Strauss?' said Wainwright. 'From what I can tell, you didn't become a raging shagaholic until she dumped you. Does that sound accurate, or were you simply more discreet until then?'

'No, you're right. I think she was the turning point,' said Harry. 'Wainwright, can I trust you to keep a secret?'

'Of course. Seeker's honour.'

'Helena's the one who extracted the vow from me not to propose marriage until I'm twenty-one.'

'You mean that was genuine?' exclaimed Wainwright. 'I thought it was just a brilliant fabrication.'

'No, I almost never lie—only in matters of life or death. And to preserve secrecy, of course.'

'Why did she make you promise that?'

'For the reasons I said, that I fall in love too easily and need to grow up first.'

'Are you in love with your Death Eater?'

'She's not a Death Eater, and no.'

Harry saw the perfect opportunity to feint—Lyle and Suresh were each poised to take control of a Bludger, and if Harry could time it perfectly, his feint would distract the Tornados Chasers and allow Renée to score. He zoomed towards them, elongating his body to pick up more speed, which his broomstick ably delivered. One of the opposing Beaters, however, streaked into Harry's path, forcing him to alter course, and wham!

What just cracked? thought Harry absently as his broomstick spiralled downwards. He momentarily panicked, thinking his wand had snapped, but then his descent slowed and he was lying on the ground.

'Ow!' he groaned, suddenly aware of the sharp pain in his hip. 'Is my wand broken?'

'Don't move,' said Healer MacAlister, who had rushed to his side.

In a daze, Harry heard the stadium announcer say, 'The Cannons team Healer is on the scene, and we'll know in a moment whether Potter is injured. Special thanks to the Tutshill volunteer safety squad, who were ready with their Hovering Charms.'

The Healer performed diagnostic charms over Harry, who was still fretting about his wand. Tuttle said, 'That was your broom that snapped. Your wand's probably fine.' He exhaled in relief but felt a strong throb of pain.

'Broken pelvis,' said MacAlister quietly. 'Unstable fracture, no internal bleeding. You'll be fine by Monday.'

Harry saw Tuttle nod and mount her broomstick, flying out of view. His attention was divided by the pain in his hip, MacAlister's immobilising charms, and the announcer's voice. 'Potter's out of the match with a minor injury. Forty-five seconds left on the injury clock before gameplay resumes.'

Gemma! thought Harry desperately, and his attempt to sit up was thwarted by his inability to move.

The announcer continued, 'This has to be one of the highest-pressure debuts in recent memory. In just moments we'll see reserve Seeker Gemma Rees, who joined the Cannons only four days ago.'

Harry couldn't even crane his head to watch, and less than a minute later he was being levitated through a corridor towards what he assumed was the infirmary. He felt himself land on a cushioned table and MacAlister pulled a phial and a familiar-looking bottle from his bag.

'Not Skele-Gro,' moaned Harry.

'I know it's awful, but you'll be right as rain by morning,' said the Healer. 'But here's a pain reliever first.'

'Just the pain reliever,' rasped Harry, and it was poured into his mouth. He felt himself relax as it took effect, and his mind became pleasantly foggy. People are running down the corridor, he thought calmly, and two female voices spoke at once.

'Is he all right?' asked Hermione breathlessly.

'Harry!' exclaimed Lydia, rushing to his side. 'Oh my god, you're hurt, what's happened?'

'He has a broken pelvis,' said MacAlister. 'A bit of an ugly break, but a night of Skele-Gro will set him right.'

'No,' he insisted. 'Not tonight.' Harry looked at Lydia tenderly and said, 'We were supposed to dance together.'

She kissed his forehead. 'We can dance some other time,' she said. 'I'm just glad you're all right.' Her long hair tickled him, and he was grateful she was there.

'Hold my hand,' he murmured. 'And stroke my hair.' She pulled a stool to the table and sat down.

While Lydia soothed him, Hermione asked, 'Healer, is there any other treatment? Harry's hosting a party tonight for the entire league, and he'll be miserable if he's on Skele-Gro the whole time.'

'I can keep the area immobilised, but we'll need to administer Skele-Gro no later than midday tomorrow.'

'Hermione, our meeting,' said Harry. 'Tomorrow night—I can't miss it.' He'd waited more than a week to meet the Light magic expert, and he didn't want to postpone it. She mightn't even be willing to postpone it, he thought sadly.

'He's right,' said Hermione. 'Tomorrow's no good either.' She looked around the room in case a Tornados staff member was listening and whispered, 'He's meeting the Light Arts teacher.'

The Healer nodded. 'The problem is it's a complicated fracture, and I can't just heal it with a charm. The only other solution is to heal it the slow way.'

'Not like Muggles?' exclaimed Lydia. 'Not with a cast!'

'No, of course not,' said MacAlister, chuckling. 'I was referring to the way I'd treat someone when Skele-Gro is contraindicated, like during pregnancy. It'll take a few days longer, and you can't bear weight on it for forty-eight hours, but you'll be on a broom again by Wednesday.'

'Will he be in pain?' asked Hermione.

'Nothing a potion can't handle. He's on something stronger right now, but that'll wear off by six o'clock.'

'What do you mean, I can't bear weight on it?'

'You'll need a wheelchair. And I'll immobilise the region so you can't displace it accidentally.'

To Harry's surprise, Hermione started to snigger. 'What's so funny?' he asked.

'I'm sorry,' she said, unsuccessfully stifling a smirk. 'It's just that a broken pelvis seems ... rather appropriate. I'm not sure how you'll survive four days of immobilisation.'

'When can he use his pelvis again?' asked Lydia. 'Is everything off-limits until Wednesday? Or just flying?'

'Everything,' said MacAlister firmly. 'Harry, assuming everything's healing all right, you can start using a cane on Monday. On Tuesday you can dispense with the cane and come to practice—we'll keep you in the weight room. And then on Wednesday you can resume ... normal activities,' he added with a slight cough.

'Will I come to the training grounds on Monday, for you to examine me?'

'No, I'll make a house call. You can't use magical transport until Tuesday.'

'What? How will I get home?'

'You live in London, right?' asked MacAlister, and all three of them nodded. 'Your choices are a Muggle taxicab or the Knight Bus.'

'How far is it to London?' Harry asked Hermione.

'We're on the far side of Bristol,' she said. 'About three hours.'

'It has to be the Knight Bus,' he said resignedly. 'Will I be all right? It's not exactly smooth.'

'You'll need to secure the wheelchair, to keep it from rolling about,' said MacAlister. 'I can help you if you like, but we'll have to wait until the match is over.'

'The match!' exclaimed Harry. 'Can I go watch?'

'I need to treat you first, but yes.'

MacAlister put the Skele-Gro away and pulled several other potions from his bag. 'Hermione,' said Harry, 'you should go back into the stands and watch Ryan.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes, of course. And you can tell our friends I'll be fine.'

She sniggered again and said, 'May I tell them which bone you broke?'

Harry sighed. 'Yes, go ahead. I haven't any secrets.'

Lydia, who was still seated next to him, slid out of the way to give the Healer access. 'I'm so sorry,' said Harry mournfully. 'I've ruined our party for you.'

'No you haven't. I'll just stay with you indoors, and we'll greet people.'

'That's what I did during my last party,' he frowned. 'Until I got drunk and chatty.'

'No alcohol,' said MacAlister. 'Not until Tuesday.'

'That's fine. But Lydia, you needn't glue yourself to me all night. You should dance.' He smiled and added, 'Maybe I can come watch.'

'Across the courtyard, with a long camera lens?'

Harry couldn't reply, since MacAlister had given him a potion to drink. 'Just a few more charms, and then you can return to the stands. There's even a lift that can take you to the skybenches.' He performed the remaining charms and took a very small wheelchair out of his bag and placed it on the floor. An enlargement charm turned it into a full-sized and amusingly old-fashioned wheelchair, made mostly from wood and wicker, and the Healer levitated Harry into it. 'It has charms for hovering and propulsion,' said MacAlister, showing Harry the rune-etched control pad.

'Propulsion? Can't I push it myself?'

'Not until this time tomorrow. I don't want you bearing down on the injury.'

Harry realised he'd forgotten to ask an important question. 'What about using the toilet? Or bathing, or changing clothes—I can't keep wearing my Cannons robes until Tuesday.'

'Of course not,' said MacAlister. 'Miss Travers, would you be willing to assist him? A simple Hovering Charm would be enough to lift him upright ...'

'I have a house-elf,' blurted Harry. 'Lydia doesn't need to help.'

'That's perfect. Your elf can swap your clothing magically and handle your personal care. But you'll want to rest this afternoon, before your party. One of the healing potions I gave you has a stimulant effect, and you'll probably crash in about an hour.'

MacAlister led them to the lift, and the three of them emerged a minute later near the skybenches. When Harry came into view, the nearby fans started cheering—regardless of whether they wore Cannons or Tornados jerseys—and the announcer said, 'And let's give a warm welcome to Harry Potter, who just returned to the stands.'

The stadium erupted with applause, and Harry waved appreciatively, but he was mainly interested in the match. 'Owen, what's happening?' he asked when he joined his teammates. 'How's Gemma doing?'

Owen lowered his Omnioculars and said, 'She looks good. Very determined, and she's more or less adhered herself to Wainwright. But how are you?'

'I'll be fine. I'll be flying again by Wednesday.'

'Did you really break your pelvis,' asked Gary, 'or was Tuttle having us on?'

'I really broke my pelvis,' said Harry, and some of the nearby fans started laughing.

'Potter,' cried a fan whose face was painted orange. 'How will you survive until Wednesday without a working pelvis?'

'Charms for the single wizard,' suggested Titus, and the whole section laughed.

Harry pulled out his wand and said, 'I will curse anyone who mentions Lydia right now,' which caused her to blush. Lowering his voice, he said, 'I loved the banner you were holding. Do you still have it?'

'Yes,' she said, pointing to her handbag. 'I'm glad you liked it—I had it made on Thursday, at a shop in Manchester.'

'It was perfect,' he murmured, leaning in to kiss her. At first they ignored the whistles and hoots from Harry's teammates and the nearby fans, but there was suddenly a loud cry and they pulled apart to watch the match.

'Wainwright's spotted it,' said Owen, and Harry could see that Gemma was only a broom's length behind her rival. Harry followed Wainwright's trajectory and saw the Snitch roughly fifty yards ahead.

'She'll catch up,' said Harry. 'She's faster than he is.' He focussed single-pointedly on the Snitch and watched as two robed arms reached for it. If he hadn't been partly immobilised he would have leapt from his chair when Gemma's small hand closed around it.

'Rees catches the Snitch, in her league debut! Cannons win, 310-60.'

Harry and his teammates cheered wildly, as did half the stadium. 'Take a victory lap!' he shouted, even though Gemma couldn't hear him. After the entire team flew around the stadium, Janet prompted Gemma to take a solo lap, and Harry cheered as loudly as he could.

Owen and the other players flew down to the pitch, and Healer MacAlister, Harry, and Lydia made their way back to the lift. There was a large crowd of Tornados fans waiting to use it—the Cannons fans were still in the stadium celebrating—but they insisted Harry go first. When reached the ground level, MacAlister showed him how to hover the chair down the steps leading to the pitch, and they were soon with the other Cannons.

'You broke your pelvis?' exclaimed Janet. 'That's priceless. Pure Snitchbottom, through and through. How long are you in that contraption?'

'A few days. It was either this or Skele-Gro, and I don't want to miss the party.'

'You must be Lydia,' said Janet. 'I'm sorry Harry's out of commission for the next few days, but the good news is there will be heaps of able-bodied athletes at the party tonight, and Harry has no end of guest rooms. Or perhaps you could all just pile into one bed, assuming you don't jostle him too much.'

Lydia was speechless, and Harry said, 'Janet is Ron's girlfriend, by the way. In case that explains anything.'

'It does, yes,' stammered Lydia, extending her hand.

Harry would have enjoyed witnessing the ongoing exchange between Janet and Lydia, but Gemma ran up to him and said, 'Harry, oh my god ... are you all right?'

'I'll be fine. But congratulations—you were brilliant! That was unbelievable, catching the Snitch on your first outing.'

'Thanks, but you did the same, against the Falcons.'

'The Cannons didn't have a match my first week, so I had five extra days of practice.'

'Really? Wow!' She looked like she was torn between modesty and pride.

'How was Wainwright ... was he hard on you?'

'He was a fucking arsehole! I can't believe you invited him to your party!'

Harry laughed and said, 'Don't take any of it seriously—he's actually a solid bloke. He said horrible things to me too.'

'Really, like what?'

'He called me wizarding Britain's preeminent headcase and enumerated all the people who made me that way, starting with Voldemort and ending with my girlfriend Helena. He was just starting on Lydia when I did that last feint. He also described my sex life as pathological and harped on my godfather's untimely death.'

Gemma was aghast, but Harry waved Wainwright over. 'Potter! Are you going to be all right?'

'Yeah, I'll be fine in a few days. And how are you? Will you recover from being beaten by someone who's only had three days of league training?'

Wainwright extended his hand to Gemma, who cautiously shook it. 'Congratulations, Rees. You obviously have a great career ahead of you.'

'You said this would probably be my only match, and that I'd be dimly remembered as Harry Potter's backup for half a season before getting sacked and having to work in a restaurant again!'

'Wow, you really are an arsehole,' laughed Harry.

'Oh, there's more,' said Gemma. 'He made fun of my height and said that in fifty years I'll be one of those tiny crones with cat hair all over my robes.'

'Where did you even come up with that?' asked Harry.

'I was describing my grandmum. I'm pretty sure I got my height from her, since the rest of the family is tall.'

Reporters and photographers started flooding the pitch, and Harry posed with Gemma and Wainwright, and later with Lydia. There was an impromptu press conference about his injury, which Healer MacAlister described in extremely technical terms. 'Potter has a posterior iliac crescent fracture with associated sacroiliac joint disruption. Due to the instability of the injured area, he'll require a wheelchair for several days, but I anticipate a full recovery, and there's no reason he can't play next Saturday.'

'I'm sorry, what was that again?' asked a reporter, looking at his notes. 'Posterior iliac crescent fracture with ... what?'

MacAlister repeated the diagnosis, and there was general confusion until a witch said, 'Hang on ... did Potter break his pelvis?'

'In layman's terms, yes.'

Everyone started laughing, and a reporter asked, 'How long will Potter need to ... refrain from activity in the region?'

'That's a private matter,' replied MacAlister, 'but I can assure you he'll be good as new by Wednesday.'

'Will this affect your party tonight for the Quidditch league?' asked another reporter.

'It means I won't be able to dance, which I was looking forward to. But I'm sure I'll have a good time regardless.'

Lydia was asked several highly inappropriate questions, and Harry feared she'd be upset, but her response was perfect. 'Those are private questions and I won't dignify them with an answer,' she said icily. 'I'm sorry you were never taught not to address a stranger that way, but I'm confident you'll remember from now on.'

A middle-aged witch with wild grey hair actually applauded. 'Miss Travers, are you aware that on Thursday, the hosts of the Witches Who Think radio programme praised your courage in boldly rejecting societal expectations? Gwendolin Larkspur called you an "uncommonly brave young woman," and an inspiration to anyone questioning their assigned roles, whether it be early marriage or practice of the Dark Arts.'

Lydia's eyes widened, and she shook her head. 'No, I hadn't heard that. Thank you for telling me,' she said politely.

'I'm glad people are recognising Lydia's tremendous strength of character,' said Harry. 'In the last week I've introduced her to friends from widely varying backgrounds, including a Muggle and a werewolf, and she's been admirably open-minded. She's deeply committed to overcoming her own prejudices, and frankly I could learn a thing or two from her in that regard.'

'Are you saying you're prejudiced against Muggles and werewolves?' asked a reporter.

'I was referring specifically to my prejudice against people from Dark families. Or, to use a Hogwarts term, my prejudice against Slytherins. Attitudes like that helped cause the last war, and I'm determined to prevent the next one.'

Every hand went up, and the reporters began shouting follow-up questions at Harry, but he waved them silent. 'I'm took a pain draught less than an hour ago, so I probably shouldn't say any more, but I feel strongly about this and I'm sure I'll have more to say about it in the future. In the meantime, I'd like to go home and rest before my party this evening.'

The reporters dispersed, and invited guests were allowed on the pitch. Gemma approached Harry and said, 'Harry, this is my mum, Rose Thompson. Mum, this is Harry Potter.'

Gemma's mum looked like an older and considerably more tired version of her daughter. 'It's an honour to meet you,' said Rose warmly. 'Gemma told me your story when she first learnt about you, years ago, and obviously I've heard a lot more since then. I'm certain everyone thanks you for ending the war and making England safe for people like Gemma, and I'll do the same. But I want to thank you in particular for making her feel so welcome this week.'

Harry was touched. 'It's been my pleasure—Gemma's terrific and I'm enjoying working with her. I can't say I'm enjoying this injury, but I'm happy you got to see her play already—and win!'

'You scared me to pieces, falling from the air like that! I hope that never happens to Gemma, but it's a relief knowing there's such good medical care.'

Cho Chang found Harry next. 'Thanks again for inviting me,' she said, 'though it was horrible watching you get hit by a Bludger. It might have been worth it if the Tornados had won, but that Gemma Rees surprised everyone!'

They chatted a bit, and Harry said, 'I remember you wanted to meet Carl Wainwright ... are you still interested?'

Cho blushed slightly. 'I was working up the nerve to talk to him,' she admitted. 'Do you mind?'

'Of course not.' He called Wainwright over, and after introducing them he leaned over to Lydia and said, 'Can we go now? I'm really tired.'

She found Healer MacAlister, who had collected Harry's things from the locker room, and he led them to the outside of the stadium. There was a drive out front with a few cars waiting, and Harry suspected they were charmed vehicles like Arthur Weasley's old Ford Anglia, based on the number of people climbing into them. MacAlister held out his wand hand to summon the Knight Bus, and Harry did his best to look friendly but not actually interact with people as he waited for it to arrive.

I realise I'm not operating at full strength, he thought, but doesn't the Knight Bus usually arrive more quickly than this?

'Lydia, you might want to go ahead,' he said after they'd waited a while. 'You can Apparate to the back garden, and I'll ask Kreacher to let you in.'

'No, I'll stay with you,' she insisted. 'I've never seen the Knight Bus before and I want to have new experiences.'

'It's not a very good experience,' said Harry. 'If it's the same driver as last time, he has poor eyesight and drives really fast. I also can't vouch for its cleanliness.'

'I'm wearing blue jeans and a Cannons jersey,' she said dismissively. 'Kammy can just wash them afterwards.'

Harry took her hand and smiled. 'You really are brilliant, you know.'

Suddenly there was an ear-splitting bang, and the enormous purple triple-decker was parked before them. 'You know the rules,' came a familiar voice from inside the bus. 'We only come to the stadium once after a Quidditch match, fifteen minutes after the Snitch gets caught. An' that was more than 'alf an hour ago.'

'I'm sorry,' said Harry, 'I didn't know the rules.'

'Blimey! It's 'Arry Potter!' cried Stan Shunpike. 'Look Ern, do you see 'im?'

The ancient wizard leaned towards Harry and squinted through thick glasses. 'Whaddya know,' said Ernie. 'What brings you here?'

'Er, I played Quidditch this afternoon,' said Harry, who was still wearing his Cannons robes.

'He was injured,' explained MacAlister, 'and he can't Apparate home, or travel by Floo.'

'Well, load him up,' said Ernie, and Harry hovered the wheelchair as the Healer had taught him. After Harry paid for his and Lydia's tickets, MacAlister used charms to prevent the wheelchair from rolling around and showed Lydia how to release it when they arrived.

'Is this your Death Eater?' asked Stan, indicating Lydia. 'Are you the Death Eater 'oo ran off with 'Arry Potter?'

'She's not a Death Eater,' said Harry wearily.

'I come from a Dark family,' said Lydia, 'but I've rejected all that.'

'I was a Death Eater for a while,' said Stan, helping Lydia to her seat. 'Not on purpose, mind you. They Imperiused me.'

Before Lydia was even settled, the bus lurched into motion. 'Sweet Circe!' she exclaimed.

'I warned you,' said Harry. 'How long to London?' he asked Stan.

'Not long, maybe 'alf an hour.'

Harry turned green, and Lydia suddenly looked at Stan with an expression Harry recognised but had never seen her wear with anyone else. 'Couldn't we go to London first?' she asked, pouting. 'Harry's had a hard day already, and he needs his rest.'

She batted her eyelashes and Stan stared at her in open admiration. 'Er ...' he began, but no other words followed.

Lydia slowly pulled a lock of long blond hair behind one ear. 'I'm certain it wouldn't be any trouble. And we all owe Harry so much for ending the war.'

'Ern!' said Stan dazedly, never taking his eyes off Lydia. 'Can we stop in London first?'

Ernie turned to look at Stan, without slowing down. 'We just come from London,' he replied. 'It'd be a waste of magic to go right back. And what about the other passengers?'

Harry and Lydia turned and saw that a sizeable minority of the passengers were wearing bright orange, and in an instant Lydia's demeanour changed from seductive to maternal. 'You won't mind?' she asked the other passengers sweetly. 'It's just he's injured, and he'll be much more comfortable at home.'

Harry wanted to protest, but he was distracted by opposing urges to sleep and throw up. 'I'm sorry,' he rasped. 'I hate to jump the queue like this, but I was hit by a Bludger this afternoon.' The bus lurched again, and Harry unintentionally reinforced his point by covering his mouth and swallowing the fluids that had attempted to come up.

'Please, take him home,' said one of the passengers not wearing Cannons orange, and others chimed their agreement. Ernie had been looking back at them the entire time, and he nodded and finally faced forward again.

'Next stop, London,' he said, rotating the steering wheel.

'Thanks,' groaned Harry. 'I appreciate it.' He weakly turned toward the other passengers and tried to smile.

'Don't even try, love,' said a motherly-looking witch. 'You just need to lie down.'

'Cheers,' he said, closing his eyes, and two lurches later the bus stopped.

Lydia ably Disillusioned herself and Harry, and she pressed a rune to conceal the wheelchair. 'Harry, can you hover your way down?'

He nodded, and she had to repeat herself before he realised she couldn't see him. 'Yeah, I can do it.' He propelled the wheelchair forwards and hovered it gently to the pavement. Mischief managed, he thought groggily, forgetting he wasn't actually inside the house yet.

'You should probably ask Kreacher to help you inside,' said Lydia.

Kreacher, thought Harry dully. Can you hear me?

Yes, Master! Is Master all right?

I had a minor injury, and I'm in a wheelchair for a couple of days. Could you help me inside? I'm with Lydia at the bottom of the front steps, and we're both Disillusioned. But you mustn't Apparate me—I need to be Hovered.

Master is injured? This is the happiest day of Kreacher's life!

The door opened, and Harry felt the wheelchair rise beneath him. He floated into the entrance hall, and moments later Lydia ended the Disillusionment Charm. Harry dimly noticed that Padfoot was in a weary heap, with a plastic cone around his neck and head.

'Master!' cried Kreacher. 'How may Kreacher assist Master in his hour of need? O joyous day!'

'Take me upstairs,' mumbled Harry. 'To the toilet, and then to bed.'

'With pleasure!'

Kreacher floated Harry smoothly to his bedroom and into the loo, where he made himself invisible while tending to Harry's personal care. Harry appreciated Kreacher's attempt at discretion, but his jubilant, tuneless humming ruined the effect. To make matters worse, the elf improvised lyrics.

'Master is broken, la la la!' sang Kreacher in an undertone. 'No one can help but Kreacher! The Kammy can't help. Master's witch can't help. Only Kreacher! Only Kreacher! La la la!'

Harry was too knackered to comment, and soon he was lying in his blessedly comfortable bed, with the curtains closed. 'Please wake me at six,' he told Kreacher. 'And thank you.'

This is not how I envisioned my day, thought Harry as he drifted to sleep. But Merlin, it's still better than I ever expected my life would turn out, and his faint glow filled the darkness like starlight.