'Bollocks of steel,' announced Darren at practice that morning. 'I still can't believe you took Veritaserum on the radio.'

'I hardly have any secrets left, so there wasn't much risk,' replied Harry.

'Apparently there was some risk, or they wouldn't have censored you,' observed Janet. 'Come on, what was it?'

'It was something Ron specifically doesn't want you to know about.'

Janet's eyes grew wide. 'Now I have to know! I'll get it out of him—I have ways, after all.'

'Sweet Merlin, what secrets have you pulled from him so far?' asked Harry.

'All sorts of war stuff,' she said. 'Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. Although I think he wanted me to know, because they were all times when he was the hero.'

'Let me guess,' said Harry. 'Was a sword involved? And an forest pool?'

'Why yes! And a certain ... item,' she replied, pointing at an imaginary locket around her neck.

'Did he tell you what the item said to him?'

'He said it revealed his greatest fears, but he wouldn't elaborate.'

'No, I don't imagine he would,' smirked Harry.

Their teammates were staring in astonishment. 'Is this all classified?' asked an awestruck Gemma.

'It has to be,' replied Darren, never taking his eyes off Harry and Janet. 'He's never talked about any of this before.'

'And you won't hear any more of it,' declared Harry. 'None of that was classified by the way, although it was a hair's breadth away from it.'

'Anyway, what did they censor?' persisted Janet. 'I know Ron doesn't want me to find out, but you need to punish him for giving away secrets.'

Harry looked around to verify that only Cannons personnel were present. 'I wore makeup to the nightclub in Paris. Muggle makeup. But not lipstick. And a Frenchman hit on me.'

His teammates hooted, and Suresh said, 'We need to see this. Are there photographs?'

'God no!'

'Then we have to reenact it,' said Janet. 'Did you apply the makeup yourself?'

'Are you kidding? No, Sophie did, and it took a while. She's a model, so she really knew what she was doing. It was mostly eye makeup.'

'Yes, I can see that,' said Suresh. 'Very glam rock.'

'I think I still have that French bloke's card somewhere. Should I introduce you?'

'Was he fit? I'm not into creepy old Frenchmen.'

'Yeah, he was pretty good-looking. I was flattered.'

'Well done, Snitchbottom!' said Janet. 'I assume Ron doesn't want me to know you wore makeup in case I force him to do the same?'

'That's right. Should I tell him you know, or do you want to spring it on him?'

'The latter. And I'm already crafting plans to combine it with my debut at the Burrow this Sunday.'

'I'm tempted to come witness it,' said Harry. 'I should really go see the Weasleys, but I'm dreading the inevitable "talk" about how I've gone off the rails.'

'This could be a distraction,' suggested Janet. 'Keep it in mind.'

Healer MacAlister gave Harry a clean bill of health and, after their morning laps and calisthenics, Lara presented him with a long silver box. 'Your new broom,' she said. 'Try not to break it.'

Harry was pleased to discover it was just as good as his previous Silver Arrow, and he threw himself completely into the flying drills. 'You've clearly recovered,' said Tuttle. 'Nice job following Healer's orders. Bagman couldn't have done it—he'd have re-broken his pelvis three more times until they put him in a Body-Bind.'

'I'm relieved to know I have more self-discipline than Ludo Bagman,' said Harry dryly.

'No, probably just more ingenuity. He'd never have thought of "Everything but the pelvis."'

That afternoon was his first practice match against Gemma, which he'd been dreading. Owen insisted he not warn her in advance, and to hit her with everything he had. 'Will you at least tell her afterwards that I protested vehemently?'

'Yes, although I should mention that she didn't protest at all when I told her to taunt you.'

'I don't imagine she would,' sighed Harry. 'Wish me luck.'

'You don't need luck. You just need to be the most arrogant son of a bitch this side of ... your father.'

Harry launched into the air and started circling when the four balls were released. He expanded into broad, powerful awareness—nearly to the point of glowing—and then set a strong intention to spot the Snitch, avoid Bludgers, and say exactly what Gemma most needed to hear.

Gemma didn't track him initially, since she was practicing Owen's spotting techniques. Harry eventually dove into a feint, and she swerved to follow him. She flew fast but never caught up, and if it had been a real Snitch-sighting she wouldn't have caught it.

As Harry approached her, he paused to recall the memory he'd seen of his father bullying Snape. Gemma, I'm so sorry, he thought, before delivering his first blow.

'I thought you were a good flyer,' he said coldly. 'But you didn't even come close.'

His words weren't particularly harsh, but his tone was, and Gemma flinched. 'I wasn't tracking you. And it was only a feint.'

'You probably should track me,' he replied. 'You're never going to master Owen's techniques.'

'It's only been a week,' she said. He could tell she was trying to sound relaxed, but she wasn't succeeding.

'I caught the Snitch against Owen on my first day. And that was before I even had my eyesight fixed. Face it, you're just a fluke.'

He already felt sick from what he was saying, and particularly by how easily it was flowing out of him. He flew away just to clear his head, and he resumed circling on his own.

After a while, Gemma shot into a feint, but a quick glance confirmed the Snitch wasn't there, so he didn't follow her. But he found her afterwards.

'Nice try. That might have worked when you were flying for West Kettleton.'

'It's East Kettleton, you ignorant snob. Or didn't you ever learn the cardinal directions?'

'I did, but in retrospect I hardly needed to. You, on the other hand ...'

'... didn't have everything handed to me, and wrapped in real gold foil. No, I had to work for everything. Including my Quidditch job.'

'Too bad you'll never be starter. Your career has already peaked.'

'Not if you keep showing off and getting struck by Bludgers.'

'That was a fluke. Jack Burns from the Magpies said I dodge Bludgers better than anyone he's seen.'

'Then you'll get ejected, courtesy of your temper and your public clusterfuck of a life.'

'Whereas your life is a private clusterfuck.'

'You don't know anything about my life,' she scoffed.

'What is there to know?' he shrugged. 'Working class, raised by a single mum, descended from some no-name Squib. Why did you even bother rejoining wizarding society after the war? You'll probably get farther with your A-levels.'

'I'm a league Seeker, aren't I?' she said defiantly.

'Reserve. On the team with the league's best Seeker, who's your age, and probably the most famous wizard in the world,' he replied. 'You'll never be starter—at least not on the Cannons.'

'You won't last,' she said scornfully. 'You'll spin out one way or another. You'll either shag the wrong witch or drink the wrong potion, or just fall in love with your own reflection in the mirror. But you're not long-term.'

'I love flying,' he said through gritted teeth. 'This is my career.'

'Like you need a career. You act all noble, shaving your head for werewolves, but you're hogging a job you don't need. Is it for the gold or for the attention?'

Harry accelerated suddenly towards the opposing Chasers, zig-zagging before turning sharply in pursuit of an invisible Snitch. Afterwards he flew straight and fast into empty space, to clear his head. Broad awareness, he reminded himself. Spot the Snitch. Rip her to shreds.

He circled for a long while, willing the Snitch to appear so he could drop his 'vicious arsehole' guise. But it didn't work, and he invited Andrew Gilstrap to speak through him.

'You're not my type,' he said calmly.

'I'm sorry?' she replied, confused.

'You're not my type of bird. I don't mind short, but you're too curvy. Everything's too close together.'

'You pig,' she scowled. 'You don't see women as human, do you? We're just sex objects.'

'Clearly not everyone,' he sneered, hating himself.

'What makes you think I even want you?'

'Because everyone does?' he said questioningly, as if she were daft. 'Even if they think I'm too short, or too promiscuous, after that article I could shag any witch I wanted.'

'Isn't that what you're doing?' she retorted. 'What is it now, six women in eight weeks?'

'Believe me, that was restraint. I could have had someone new every night. Have you seen the post I receive? Or did you not realise people wrote to the Cannons? I doubt you'll receive much.'

'That's where you're wrong, Toffer. I received a whole stack of post.'

'Let me guess: "Dear Gemma, Congratulations on catching the Snitch. You're an inspiration to young Muggle-borns at no-name schools everywhere, for briefly attracting attention in the wizarding world. By the way, can you teach me some of those charms you used for waiting tables? You should probably stay in practice, just in case. Yours sincerely, So-and-so. P.S. What's Harry Potter really like?"'

She didn't reply, so he decided to give her a break by launching into a feint. It was a fun one and not particularly reckless, and he hoped it would help clear her head. And mine, he thought disgustedly. That was pure Gilstrap.

He circled alone for a long while, hoping desperately the Snitch would appear. Surprisingly, Gemma approached him.

'You're more like him than you realise,' she said.

'Like who?'

'Voldemort.'

'No I'm not,' he scoffed.

'Not entirely,' she said. 'He was tall. And clever, and a powerful wizard. People assume you're powerful, because of your Patronus and those two Killing Curses, but I don't think you are. The Patronus is just Light magic, which you mostly can't control, and the Killing Curses were your mum.'

'You're right, I'm not a powerful wizard. I'm about average.'

'So you're different from Voldemort in that respect, but otherwise you're alike. Half-blood orphans, raised by Muggles. Mistreated. Parselmouths—and before you object and say you aren't one anymore, you grew up as one. You knew you were different, and a little bit ... wrong.'

'That was Voldemort, not me.'

'Your relations knew. That's why they rejected you. There had to have been something off about you, for them to reject a baby.'

'It was Voldemort,' repeated Harry.

'But it rubbed off on you,' she said. 'He's gone, but you still have it. You say you're channelling your father when you're being arrogant, but I think you're channelling him. Voldemort thought he was special. And he's the only reason you're famous—did you ever think about that?'

She's right, he thought. I'm only famous because of Voldemort. I mightn't even be a Seeker if it weren't for him.

'The only reason people think you're great is because he was great. Not that I'm a fan, of course—he was a monster. But your greatness comes from him, and you've got some of the monster as well.'

'No I don't. I'm a Light wizard.'

'A sex-addicted Light wizard. An attention whore. Did you really need to take Veritaserum on the radio? You could have done it at Gringotts.'

'I'm not like Voldemort.'

'No, you really are. He had aristocratic pretensions too. And a huge ego—what kind of person renames himself like that? Oh wait, you do.'

'It's not the same. I'm head of House Black. He wasn't head of House Voldemort. But you wouldn't understand, not with your background. I might have been raised by Muggles, but I still went to Hogwarts.'

'Yes, the school that kept trying to kill you, run by a headmaster who manipulated you. How lucky you were to receive a Hogwarts letter! Which house do you think I would have been Sorted into.'

'Hufflepuff. They'll take anyone.'

'That was Cedric Diggory's house, right?'

'Yes.'

'Talk about a tasty wizard! My classmates all cut out his photograph when he was in the Triwizard Tournament. What a shame you couldn't save him.'

Owen must have told her I'm touchy about Cedric. 'No, he was killed immediately.'

'So many deaths. So many people you couldn't protect. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for everything you did, but for a Chosen One you did a piss-poor job of it.'

Harry felt himself expand into broad awareness under Gemma's relentless taunts. May the Snitch appear, he breathed, and he felt the strong intention radiate from him.

He spotted the gleam of gold, but he didn't chase after it, knowing she'd outfly him. How do I lose her? he thought, but he knew the answer: One last deadly insult.

'Owen said you're not improving fast enough. I mean, he knew you wouldn't pick up the technique as fast as I did, but he's surprised by how slow you've been. He said he'll give you until the fifteenth, but after that he's owling Stuart.'

Gemma was dumbstruck, and Harry eased into a solitary circling pattern. He kept his focus on the Snitch and flew there calmly, speeding up only when it changed direction. He wrapped his hand around it and the match was over.

He immediately found Gemma, who had resumed circling when Harry caught the Snitch. 'I'm so sorry,' he cried. 'I didn't mean a word of it!'

She was looking away, and he said, 'I'm serious, I didn't mean any of it, and I made up that last bit, about Owen wanting to cut you from the team. That was pure fiction.'

Gemma turned to him, and Harry saw that she was crying. 'What kind of person even thinks of talking that way? I thought I was lying when I said you were like Voldemort, but now I'm not so sure.'

Harry felt awful. 'I'm so sorry,' he repeated. 'Owen told me to give you my absolute worst. I didn't want to do it—I begged him. Please, let's go talk to him.'

He flew towards Owen, and Gemma followed. When they landed, Harry turned again to Gemma and said, 'I feel terrible, I didn't mean any of it. Owen, tell her none of it was true.'

'Nothing Harry said was true,' said Owen. 'I told him to do his worst.'

'He was a thousand times worse than Wainwright,' she said angrily. 'There's taunting and then there's cruelty.'

Harry sighed heavily. 'I'm sorry, I should have realised you're not accustomed to this kind of abuse. But you did really well! You hit me hard too—things I've never heard before—and the only reason you didn't get the Snitch was because I knew better than to go for it with you right next to me. That's why I said that last thing and then started circling. You would have got it otherwise.'

Gemma had stopped crying and seemed to be alternating between anger and despair. 'Are you saying the Snitch was visible that whole time and I didn't see it?'

Harry's shoulders slumped. 'I'd just hit you with a horrible insult—and a complete lie—so it's no wonder you didn't see it.'

'What did you say exactly?' asked Owen.

'He said I wasn't improving fast enough and that you were going to cut me by the fifteenth.'

Owen raised his eyebrows and looked at Harry sceptically. 'You really went full Gilstrap on her, didn't you.'

'You told me to give her my worst. Gemma, I didn't want to, I swear!'

'This is my fault,' said Owen. 'Harry's been taunted harder than anyone in the league, and before that he was abused. I should have realised his worst would be too much.'

'So I'm not strong enough for league Quidditch?' said Gemma indignantly.

'You're definitely strong enough,' replied Owen. 'There's no doubt in my mind we chose the right Seeker. For heaven's sake, you already won a match!'

Gemma took a deep breath. 'Cheers, yeah.' She seemed to settle a bit, and Harry's panic receded.

Tuttle arrived and asked, 'What's going on here? Is everything all right?'

'Harry taunted Gemma hard. I told him to do his worst, which was a bad idea in hindsight.'

'Relax, Rees,' said Tuttle. 'Potter's the kid who taunted You-Know-Who. The first time's always the worst, and you survived it.'

'It's true,' said Harry. 'I was a wreck the first time Owen tore into me, and everyone knows what happened with Gilstrap.' He turned to Tuttle and said, 'I imitated Gilstrap's tone, on top of everything else. Not even Owen did that.'

'Rees, you've got the makings of a great Seeker,' Tuttle told her. 'For fuck's sake, you already won a match! Just ignore everything this gobshite says above the pitch and you'll be fine.'

Gemma nodded and even smiled. Turning to Harry, she crowed, 'I'm getting a pay bonus for catching the Snitch and you're not! No new robes for you, nancy boy!'

'She compared me to Voldemort,' added Harry. 'That was a first—not even Gilstrap did that.'

Tuttle clapped Gemma on the shoulder. 'You'll do fine. Between your flying and your taunting you're already better than some of the starters out there. Now get your arse to the benches so I can tell off the Chasers.'

They walked to the benches and Harry sat near Gemma but tried not to crowd her. He still felt awful—he'd never made someone cry like that, and the guilt was overwhelming. I should have trusted my instincts, he thought sadly.

After Tuttle's notes and their stretches, Harry cautiously approached Gemma, and Owen joined them. Gemma smiled feebly and said, 'I'm sorry I fell apart like that.'

'Don't apologise. I was a world-class arsehole up there.'

'You really were!' She turned to Owen and said, 'He criticised my appearance ... said I wasn't his type.'

'Ignore him,' replied Owen. 'And I should get you in touch with the other female Seekers—they'll tell you stories.'

'About Harry?'

'No, I've never insulted a witch like that, ever! Ugh, I'm so sorry—I didn't mean it.'

'So I am your type?' she said saucily.

'He's experiencing accidental Light magic—everyone's his type,' said Owen dryly. 'But no fraternisation.'

'I know,' she laughed. 'And he's got his hands full anyway. Go on, Toffer, go home and take your pelvis out for a spin.'

'Figuratively, not literally,' added Owen.

After showering, Harry Apparated to the sitting room as usual, but Lydia wasn't there. However, there was a cream-coloured envelope on the table, with his name written in elegant script. Inside was a note from Lydia, instructing him to arrive at her flat at six. 'Dress appropriately,' the letter said.

He was unsure what she meant until he went to his bedroom and saw she'd selected an outfit for him. It was the formal robes he'd ordered from Thimble, modelled after the portrait he'd seen in France, and next to it lay a pair of silk gloves. I'm not wearing gloves in public, he thought irritably, but he tried them on anyway. She must have measured my hands while I was sleeping, he thought, noting the perfect fit.

He had Kreacher shave him, and then he dressed in the impeccably-cut robes. Lydia had even selected his boutonnière, freesia, and he smiled as he slid it into his lapel. Innocence, he thought, and he fondly recalled their scandalous appearance at brunch. Finally he pulled on the gloves, resolving to remove them if she wanted to leave the flat.

Harry paused in front of the mirror to adjust his cravat, and he was shocked by how much he looked like Robert de Montesquiou, the French aristocrat from the portrait. Except he had a moustache and his hair wasn't appalling. The resemblance was unsettling, and Harry had never so viscerally perceived himself as posh. If I picked up Lydia's accent and commissioned a hair potion, I could pass for a true-born Black.

He deliberately hardened his expression, as he'd done while taunting Gemma, and something shrivelled inside him. This is how I might have looked if I'd befriended Draco Malfoy instead of Ron. This is what the Horcrux might have done to me without my mother's protection.

An opposing thought arose. Bad news, Snitchbottom: You already look like this to a lot of people. That's why they call you Glare-y Potter—tailored robes were just the final piece. He softened his expression and recalled his anguish when he realised he'd made Gemma cry, and his throat tightened with remorse. The potion from the Grimoire was wrong, he thought sadly. I'm a tremendously powerful wizard, only not with magic.

He looked in the mirror and tried to disregard the whole of his face, which was so like his father's, and see only his mother's eyes. Harry had only a few strong memories of her looking at him—from the Mirror of Erised and the Resurrection Stone—and he remembered the love that had shone from her expressive green eyes.

Poor Snape, thought Harry. He had to look at me every day: the spitting image of his nemesis, except with a knock-off version of Lily's eyes. Harry knew they were his best feature by far, but James Potter's arrogance spoilt them.

But I'm a Seeker, and Seekers taunt. And Harry was taunted far harder than anyone else in the league. Arrogance is my only defence.

Or is it? he wondered. He had never actually questioned the practice. Obviously other Seekers would keep trying to rattle him, Gilstrap in particular, but there was no rule requiring Harry to respond in kind. I defeated Voldemort with a Disarming Charm, he reminded himself. Why can't I do the same with Seekers?

He considered the matter. I'm a first-rate flyer, and probably the best spotter in the league. I don't need to insult anyone. I can be the Love Seeker! he thought, laughing out loud. Harry had no idea how it would work, but he knew he had to try. Looking again at his full reflection, he was struck again by the overall effect of the outfit—particularly the gloves. But then he closed his eyes and cultivated sincere feelings of love.

Light magic began to flow, and he could easily have begun glowing, but instead he willed the energy to gently settle in his eyes. May my eyes express love, he thought. When people see me, I want them to feel cared for, and less alone. He recalled the trick he'd used on Myrtle, when he'd deliberately turned on the charm to ensure she'd help them with the Hogwarts wards. His eyes had twinkled then, like Dumbledore's, but this was different. This time he had no ulterior motive, other than the wish to embody love for the benefit of others.

Harry was sufficiently self-aware to see the irony. Just how arrogant do you have to be to think you could embody love? Wait until Gilstrap hears about this!

Chuckling, he walked downstairs and replied to fan mail, carefully setting his gloves aside to keep from smudging them. Lydia would never believe I didn't ruin them on purpose—I'd have to take Veritaserum again.

At six o'clock he tossed Floo powder into the fireplace and said, 'Travers Salon,' as he'd been instructed. Lydia was nowhere in sight, so he wandered in search of her. The flat was spacious, with high ceilings and tall windows. Sheer curtains diffused the light from the late afternoon sun, and he noted the pale, delicate furniture, which wouldn't have worked in Grimmauld Place.

'Harry, is that you?' she called. 'Come fasten my necklace.'

He followed her voice into a bedroom, where Lydia was standing before a full-length mirror. She was also dressed formally, in a long, silvery gown, and she turned when he entered.

'Oh, Harry, those robes! Nothing could be more elegant!'

'I'm even wearing the gloves,' he said, raising his hands. 'But not outside the flat.'

'We're not leaving the flat,' she said, drawing him close. After they kissed and he fastened her necklace, she took him by his gloved hand and led him from the bedroom. 'Kammy's preparing dinner—I told her to serve it at half six.'

'What should we do until then?' he asked. 'We're very fully clothed.'

'I want to dance,' she replied, entering what he assumed was the drawing room. There was a record player, and she carefully placed down the needle. 'I have a new favourite song.'

Harry didn't recognise it, but it was slow and the singer was female. He didn't know more than the basics of formal dancing, but he held Lydia as he'd been taught and she subtly steered him. 'Who is this?' he asked, enjoying the feel of her in his arms.

'Cyndi Lauper. The song is called "Time After Time." There's a wizard-owned record store here in Manchester that carries Muggle music, and I told the clerk I like Madonna. Isn't it beautiful?'

'It is,' he murmured, holding her close. They weren't dancing properly, which was fortunate, because he'd probably have made a mistake. Instead he allowed his Light magic to flow fully, and he sensed that hers was arising as well.

There was silence after the song ended, and Lydia looked into his eyes, squinting at first. She was bathed in his glow, but her Light allure captivated him, and he gazed at her for a long while before they kissed again. 'This might be the most beautiful moment of my life,' he said sincerely.

'Mine too,' she replied, still looking at him. 'Even though your hair is appalling.'

'I could shave it,' he offered, and she laughed. 'Though we'd have to Vanish it thoroughly, in case your family visits.'

'Esme is coming on Saturday,' she said. 'Charles and his mates will be attending a Quidditch match—not yours—so she can visit without his knowing.'

'Is she afraid of him?' he asked, concerned.

'No, of course not. But she enjoys having secrets.' Still in his arms, she looked around the room. 'This is what I wanted,' she said. 'My own home, my freedom. I can have a formal dance party for two with Muggle music, or anything else I like.'

They were mostly silent, basking in their shared Light magic. Eventually they settled on a chaise longue and passed the time until the dinner bell rang. Harry was alarmed by all the types of cutlery on the table, but Lydia laughed and told him to go from the outside in.

'No wonder you think I live in squalor,' he said, no longer glowing. 'Is this how your parents always eat?'

'Only at formal parties. Normally we wouldn't bother with these utensils,' she said, removing only a few of them.

'Am I supposed to eat with gloves on?' he asked.

'No. You should remove them and place them on your lap, beneath your napkin.'

Kammy brought one course after another, and Harry's appetite rose to the challenge. 'It's not actually that much food,' he said, 'because the servings are so small.'

It was fortunate he wasn't fussy, because some of the foods were 'delicacies,' and he knew not to ask her to translate their names into English. 'Normally I'd serve far more wine,' she said, 'but I know you prefer not to drink during the week.'

'Does your family routinely get plastered during dinner?'

'Discreetly, yes. But my mother has a signal for her house-elf to slip a Sobriety Potion into someone's glass as needed.'

'I suppose the Blacks ate like this.'

'Undoubtedly,' she remarked, as the pudding appeared on the table.

I'll never really be a Black, even if I could tame my hair, thought Harry. Not the old kind, anyway. The meal was lovely, but he vastly preferred pizza in the kitchen, or a wide array of curries. 'I'm hopelessly middle class, aren't I?' he said. 'In spite of the robes.'

'That's up to you. You can pass, certainly.'

'I don't want to pass. I'm proud to be the worthless son of a Mudblood and a middle-class blood traitor.'

'Then be one. But don't stop wearing robes, or flowers.'

'No, those are me as well. And my Doc Martens, and my Breton shirt. Maybe I should start wearing foulards,' he mused.

After dinner they returned to the drawing room, where they talked and listened to music, and later they went to her bedroom and verified that Harry's pelvis had fully healed. He graciously acknowledged that her bed was nearly as comfortable as his own, although not as shockingly large.

The next morning they both ate breakfast on silver trays. 'Isn't it so much nicer?' she asked.

'It is. In fact, I'm starting to reconsider the pewter,' he admitted.

'Really?' she said excitedly.

'Yes. Wendell's shop has some nice wooden trays I might purchase.'

She glared at him. 'I look forward to replacing you,' she said archly.

'But not tonight,' he replied. 'I'm going to Pratt's, and I might be tempted by the filles de joie if I don't have someone in England waiting for me. And besides, it'll be my last night as a full-fledged toff before I return to my lowly origins.'

He went home to change into a tracksuit and arrived early to practice, not wanting to worry Tuttle that he'd gone overboard with his newly-healed pelvis. To his surprise, Owen was waiting for him.

'I was hoping you'd come early,' Owen said.

'Yeah, I aim for half eight when everyone knows I've spent the night with someone.'

'Isn't that most nights now?'

'No, Lydia just moved into her own flat, and after Friday we won't see each other as often.'

Owen nodded, and they started strolling around the pitch. 'I've been thinking about what happened yesterday, with Gemma.'

'Yeah, so have I,' replied Harry. 'Did you reach any conclusions?'

'You can't taunt her, not yet. She needs to feel safe first—not just as a Cannon, but as a member of wizarding society.'

'That makes sense.'

'I thought I needed to toughen her up, in case she needs to play against Hobbs next week, but that's not what she needs. She already has a tough exterior ... it's the interior we need to work on.'

'Good point. My analysis was completely different, but the conclusion was the same. I don't want to taunt anymore.'

'Taunt Gemma, you mean?'

'No, not anyone. They can taunt me all they want, but I'm not going to respond with insults or arrogance. It's too harmful.'

'So how will you respond?'

'With love. I have no idea how it'll work, but that's how it has to be.'

Owen was silent for a moment. 'Your plan certainly dovetails with mine,' he admitted. 'But can you do it ... innocently?'

'Do you mean without knocking my opponent off their broom and snogging the living daylights out of them?'

'That would have been an interesting twist with Gilstrap. But yeah, that's my question.'

'Yes, I can do it innocently. You've seen me and Hermione—I love her to pieces but it's completely innocent.'

'And now everyone believes you!' said Owen. 'You're right, obviously you're capable of other types of love. But do you think you can keep from glowing?'

'I practised last night, and hopefully it'll still be sunny this afternoon, just in case.' He paused and said, 'What else can I do to help Gemma feel like she fits in the wizarding world?'

'What can't you do? You know everyone, so just introduce her around, and her friends too.'

'That's a good idea. Maybe I should host some smaller parties—more casual, with pizza or curries.'

'You mean like most young people do?' smirked Owen.

'Go easy on me, I'm maladjusted,' replied Harry. 'Actually, that reminds me ... what did you tell Gemma about me before the match?'

'You mean to taunt you with?' asked Owen, and Harry nodded. 'I told her you're sensitive about Cedric Diggory, and about being called an attention-monger. I also told her Voldemort got into your head during the war—figuratively. I didn't tell her anything specific, and certainly nothing classified.'

Harry raised his eyebrows. 'Then she made some remarkably good guesses. She said there must have been something off about me as a baby, for my aunt and uncle to reject me like they did. Something I had in common with Voldemort. And that he rubbed off on me, and that I'm still a monster.'

'Harry, you were never a monster,' began Owen.

'Yes I was. A piece of Voldemort's soul was attached to mine ... I experienced him torturing people first hand, more times than I could count.'

Owen looked at him in horror. 'Oh, Harry ...'

'During the final year of the war I had visions all the time, and searing headaches ... I saw what he was doing, I felt his anger.' He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. 'I felt his pleasure.'

'His pleasure?' repeated Owen.

'Torturing people,' said Harry, his eyes still closed. 'I felt his satisfaction. I still have nightmares about it, constantly.' He opened his eyes and added, 'That's how I woke Vera up, the witch from Sorceress. I usually kick.'

Owen was quiet a moment. 'Have you spoken to a Mind Healer? They might be able to help.'

'And tell me what?' said Harry hotly. 'Are they taught some method for helping former living Horcruxes?'

'No, but they help people who've been through trauma, which is what you're describing.'

Harry shook his head. 'I don't want to. I just want to fly, and live my life.'

'That's fine,' said Owen. 'I was only suggesting it, but obviously you're not required. And you have other resources as well.'

They were both silent, until Harry suddenly turned to Owen and said, 'Just to be clear, I don't like torturing people. I hope I didn't give you the wrong impression.'

'No, don't worry,' replied Owen. 'You never would have taken Veritaserum on the radio if you had that kind of dark side.'

'Good point. Voldemort would never have taken Veritaserum—he didn't trust anyone.'

It was nearly time to start running, so Harry joined his teammates near the benches. Darren found him and asked, 'So, does the pelvis work all right, or did MacAlister bungle it?'

'Bungle it?'

'Like does it makes a clicking sound now, or something like that?'

'No, it seems to be good as new. All hail magical healing! And you ... how's it going without Romilda?'

Darren threw his head back and said, 'Sweet freedom! Do you expect to be on the pull anytime soon? We could have a race, although it would have to be Muggles, to level the playing field.'

'You'd win,' said Harry. 'What are you, six feet?'

'Six one. But we should do that sometime, have a wager and everything. Someone could bring a stopwatch.'

'Women are people, you know,' remarked Harry.

'I know that. And people have physical needs. We'd be helping.'

During their laps, Harry made a point of saying hi to Gemma and giving her the opportunity to chat if she wanted, but she only returned his greeting and kept running alone. I hope I didn't ruin our relationship, he thought guiltily.

They didn't interact again until afternoon Seeker training. Owen sat with them on the benches and outlined his new plan. 'Gemma, you're to keep taunting Harry. He said you gave as good as you got, and he needs that. But we're changing Harry's approach—he wants to take the high road and see if he can get through a match without further expanding his hyper-inflated ego.'

'The high road?' asked Gemma. 'Is this because of yesterday?'

'Yes and no,' replied Harry. 'Yesterday I saw clearly that taunting hasn't been good for me. It's bringing out a side of my character I'd rather not encourage, so I want to try the opposite approach.'

Gemma looked sceptical. 'So I get to taunt you, and you just have to take it?'

'Something like that, yeah. I have no idea how it'll work. Mind you, I might slip into old habits and say something revolting, but it won't be aimed at you.'

'No,' replied Gemma, 'it'll be something about how you're the most famous wizard in the world and that everyone wants to fuck you.'

'Did he really say that?' asked Owen.

'I said "shag," not "fuck." But yeah.'

'Wow, Potter, it's a good thing you're changing tack,' said Owen. 'I only hope we're not too late.'

Instead of sending Gemma and Harry into the air, Owen had them practice walking, slowly and deliberately. 'This is a different way to develop peripheral awareness. Unlike during seated meditation, you have to do a lot of things at once, so there's no risk of over-focusing.'

Initially Harry tried to follow Owen's instructions and pay close attention to the sensations as his feet touched the ground, but he found it difficult so he decided to practice looking through loving eyes. He felt his expression soften, and strong feelings of tenderness arose. His head naturally tilted slightly back and to the side, as it might if he were looking at someone he cherished.

Harry's Light magic threatened to spill into glowing, but he deliberately guided the rising energy into his eyes. As he continued walking, his entire body leaned forward, as if his eyes were leading the way. His awareness broadened, and he felt some of the freedom he normally experienced only on a broom.

After walking in silence for a while, they assembled at their starting point and Owen asked them how it went. Gemma expressed frustration, since her mind had wandered more often than not, and Owen told her that was normal.

'My mind wandered too,' confessed Harry. 'So I gave up on your instructions and cultivated love instead. And look, I didn't glow!' he said proudly, holding up his hands.

Owen smiled and said, 'I'm glad you trusted your instincts—that was probably the right practice for today, with your new Seeker approach. But don't always ignore the instructions, even if they're difficult. There's a bigger picture, and you don't want to neglect a part of it.'

Eventually the practice match began, and Gemma and Harry started circling separately. He expanded fully into awareness and set the usual intentions along with a new one: May I embody love. He had no idea how it would even work, and Gemma was practising her spotting so she wasn't tracking him, but Harry trusted things to unfold naturally.

Cultivating love was very calming, and he realised he didn't have his usual urge to feint aggressively. Step it up, Snitchbottom, he told himself. They're not paying you to just drift around beaming at everyone. But before he could motivate himself to feint, Gemma bombed towards one of the goals, and even though Harry knew the Snitch wasn't present he raced to meet her.

After feinting, Gemma resumed circling and Harry decided to join her. 'Cheers, that was fun,' he said.

'I'm only here to amuse you,' she said tartly. 'That's how it works, right?'

'I don't know what you mean.'

'The world revolves around you, and we're just your playthings.'

'I'm sorry if I've made you feel like that,' he said sincerely. 'I suppose I am self-centred.'

'You suppose you are? You literally go on the radio to hear your own voice every week.'

'Yeah, I'm planning to take a break next week. I'd intended to this week, but then the Mothers Against Harry Potter thing happened.'

'That must have completely ruined your breakfast in bed. Did you upend the tray?'

'No, but I gave Lydia an earful. It was pretty funny actually, looking back.'

'Were thestrals involved?' asked Gemma.

'Nearly. But I'm no longer convinced that Mothers Against Harry Potter is a real organisation.'

'You mean you think it's just someone taking the piss?'

'Yeah, maybe. I suppose we'll find out eventually,' said Harry evenly.

Gemma looked somewhat stymied. 'How do I insult you when you're being so mellow?'

'Ask Andrew Gilstrap—I'm certain he'd find a way.'

'Good point,' she replied. 'Would you care to expand on why you decided to stop taunting?'

'I don't want to cultivate my arrogance anymore.'

'Because it's fully grown and ready for harvest?'

'Exactly,' he laughed. 'And it fit too well with other parts of my life, like wearing tailored robes and living in a townhouse. I'm worried I'll eventually be indistinguishable from an actual toff and not just a kid from the suburbs.'

'I have bad news for you—you're already indistinguishable from an actual toff. You're the poshest person I've ever met, besides Lydia.'

'See, that's just weird—no offence. I went to Hogwarts with people like Draco Malfoy, who sneered at me because of my mother and for not knowing about wizarding culture. During our first flying lesson, he was prepared to humiliate me for not knowing how to fly, but it turned out I was a natural.'

'Yeah, me too,' replied Gemma. 'Only I wasn't given a Nimbus 2000 the next morning and named house Seeker.'

'Did you have houses at East Kettleton?' he asked

'Oh, so you do know the name of my school!'

'Of course I do. I deliberately got it wrong yesterday.'

'You had me fooled,' she admitted. 'But no, we didn't have houses. We just had different squads for intramural matches, and then the senior squad that played against other schools. I was part of that for my final two years.'

'Interesting. By the way, I should probably remind you to taunt me,' he said, but moments later he shot into a feint towards the ground, through a cluster of players. Flying back upwards, he renewed his intentions and resumed circling. Gemma left him alone for a while, and he feinted once more in an attempt to reconcile the aggressive flying with his peaceful state of mind. Fierce love, he dubbed it, which seemed to work.

Gemma found him again and said, 'I doubt you'll pull it off, this new strategy.'

'Yeah, maybe not,' he said. 'But what makes you say that?'

'You'll get soft and lose your killer instinct.'

'I'd like nothing more than to lose my killer instinct. I killed someone when I was eleven, you know. I did it automatically.'

'Was this one of your Defence professors?'

'Yeah, the one who Voldemort possessed.'

She was about to ask another question when she shook her head and said, 'Bugger, I've already stopped taunting you! It's really hard to taunt one-sided.'

'We'll find out next week when I play Allie Hobbs. Assuming Owen and Tuttle let me start.'

'Of course you'll start. You're Harry fucking Potter.'

'They'll play whoever they think will win. It might be you.'

After a pause, Gemma said, 'You really didn't mean anything you said yesterday, did you?'

'I didn't mean anything I directed at you. But the egotistical comments were mostly sincere.'

'And obnoxious,' she added. 'But alarmingly true, in most cases. You probably are the league's best Seeker and the world's most famous wizard.'

'Because of Voldemort, as you pointed out. That was insightful.'

'Yeah, well you were right about my fan mail. Only they didn't ask about waitressing.'

'I'm sorry. I could claim I was channelling Gilstrap, but I couldn't have come up with all that if I weren't like him on some level.'

'We all are,' she said. 'On some level, anyway. Shit! I need to taunt you!'

'Would it help if I told you what I'm doing tonight after practice?'

'Are you proposing to talk dirty to me?' asked Gemma.

'No,' he laughed. 'But in a sense you're not far off.'

'Now I'm intrigued. What are you doing tonight after practice?'

'Before I tell you, I need to extract a promise that you'll keep it secret. They've asked for my discretion.'

'You have discretion?' she scoffed. 'But yes, I'll keep it secret.'

'I've been invited to join a "private gentlemen's club"—for wizards—and I'm going to visit it tonight.'

'Do you mean a wizarding version of those snooty clubs that only lords belong to, and that don't allow women?'

'It's not just lords, thank Merlin, but yeah, that's about the size of it.'

'I can already think of any number of taunts,' said Gemma, 'but tell me more.'

'I'd never heard of it, nor any other gentlemen's club, but this one is apparently the oldest and most exclusive.' He smirked and added, 'It's called Pratt's.'

She burst out laughing and said, 'No wonder they invited you! Go on.'

'The one thing that impressed me is that apparently wizards of all affiliations mingle there.'

'You mean posh Dark wizards and posh Light wizards?'

'Exactly. But I haven't even got to the good part.'

Harry told her about the brothel, and she laughed again. 'You're going to a French brothel tonight? Does Lydia know?'

'She's the one who wants me to go! Obviously I'm not interested.'

'Obvious to you, maybe,' she said, 'but not to anyone else. It certainly goes with your debauchery.'

'That's just it! Wizards don't think there's anything wrong with it. This is how a proper wizard behaves.'

'So the old guard is trying to get you to shag prostitutes instead of their daughters?'

'So it seems.'

Gemma groaned in frustration. 'I can't believe I agreed to keep this secret!'

'You can talk about portkey brothels,' he said. 'Just not Pratt's, or that they invited me.'

'Couldn't I give it a new name? Like Twatt's?'

Harry laughed and shook his head. 'No, sorry. But anyway, that's my evening ... take your best shot.'

'But you haven't answered the most important question: are you planning to join?'

'What do you think?' asked Harry.

'Let me see ... it brings wizards together, and there's sex. Those are your two favourite things, so yes, you are going to join.' She nodded for emphasis.

'All right, then taunt me.'

'Hang on, I need to get into character.' In a much harsher tone of voice, she said, 'I can't get over what a sell-out you've become. You used to have principles, but apparently all it takes for you to hobnob with Death Eaters is easy access to French prostitutes.'

'You're right. Pratt's is unique because they don't need a portkey. Something about ley lines.'

'I'm certain there's a joke in there somewhere,' she said. 'I'm just grateful you were still a virgin during the war, or else Voldemort would still be in charge, and I'd probably be in Australia.'

'No, I was a different person back then,' he said, thinking of the Horcrux. 'This is all post-war Harry.'

'The one who's gradually ruining his own reputation? The one who's already turned into a big joke?'

'Do you think so?' he asked sincerely.

'Yeah I think so,' she retorted. 'You used to be brave and self-sacrificing. Now you're soft and spoilt. Exactly how many sets of robes do you own now?'

'Two dozen, give or take.'

'So that actually means three dozen, and you're just ashamed to admit it. You'll fit right in at Pratt's, but do us all a favour and stop pretending to be egalitarian, because you're not.'

Harry didn't reply, but instead renewed his intention to embody love. Seizing an impulse, he feinted erratically, and Gemma followed him. When he resumed circling she picked up where they'd left off.

'I wonder which one is the real Harry Potter: the hero or the toff. I reckon Dumbledore kept you down because he knew your true nature. If you'd been raised by a loving family, you'd have been insufferable from day one.'

'That makes sense,' he acknowledged. 'Maybe he knew what he was doing.'

'You certainly don't. You're all impulse. Hermione Granger should really get more credit.'

'I agree. We'd have lost the war without her.'

Harry suddenly spotted the Snitch, far away, but he had the same problem as the day before. How do I lose her? He didn't want to insult her, and yet he had to get her off his tail somehow. Furthermore, she wasn't agitated as she was during the previous match, so she was likely to spot the Snitch on her own.

The Snitch took off of its own accord, and he could no longer hesitate. It veered wildly and they both zoomed after it, trying to anticipate its path. They followed it halfway across the pitch until it plummeted, as if its wings had stopped working, and both Harry and Gemma had to dive. But Harry's path was obstructed, and Gemma swooped down and easily grabbed the Snitch.

'Yes!' she cried. 'Victory is mine! Take that, Toffer!'

Harry felt the sting of defeat, which was never pleasant, but he was also happy for her. 'Well done,' he said. 'And by the way, I'm not joining that club.'

'You're not? Why didn't you say so?'

'I was curious how you'd react. Honestly, I'm a little hurt you thought I'd join, but that's all right.'

They flew to the ground and Owen asked how it went. 'I caught the Snitch,' crowed Gemma. 'That's how it went.'

Owen laughed and said, 'Harry, do you think your new approach had anything to do with it?'

'Yeah, partly.' He explained how he'd seen the Snitch earlier but wasn't willing to insult Gemma.

'Do you reckon this would be a problem during a match?'

'It depends whether my rival could outfly me.'

'Gemma, what do you think—has Harry lost his edge?'

'He was hard to taunt,' she said. 'Everything I said just fell flat, because he didn't fire back at me. We mostly had a friendly conversation.'

Nodding, Owen said, 'Harry, that was probably the right approach for today, but can you add a little more fire tomorrow?'

'I can try,' replied Harry. 'But I'm not willing to say anything that's deliberately hurtful.'

'Fair enough,' said Owen. 'And maybe we can come up with another way for you to shed your opponent when you spot the Snitch. Although it mightn't be necessary, except during practice matches, since I doubt anyone else can outfly you.' He chuckled and added, 'It's ironic that Gemma might be one of the only Seekers who can beat you.'

'That sounds like a reason to keep me happy and not let some other team steal me away,' declared Gemma.

'I'm glad to see you have your confidence back,' said Owen, and Harry agreed. But how will that work? he wondered. Surely she'll want to be a starter once she's ready.

After Tuttle's notes and their stretches, Harry returned to Grimmauld Place and prepared for his nighttime visit to Pratt's. It's not my seventeenth birthday, he thought, but better late than never. Knowing his clothing would be scrutinised, he wore robes Lydia had helped him purchase. At first glance they were conservative—black, with a high collar—but Lydia assured Harry that the details were positively outré. 'I've only seen embroidery like that in portraits,' she told him, 'and those flocked buttons in burgundy and black ... a photograph wouldn't do them justice. It has to be appreciated in person.'

His hair was hopeless, of course, but he slid a deep burgundy boutonnière—alstroemeria—into his lapel. I barely changed clothes when we were living in the tent, he recalled. I only did it for Hermione's benefit. He was tempted to wear his Doc Martens, but he knew Lydia would be furious, so he wore very proper wizarding shoes instead.

Harry paused in front of the fireplace before taking a pinch of Floo powder. I'm about to freely mingle with Dark wizards, he mused. He held out little hope that he could change the direction of wizarding Britain in one night, but he set an intention that the seeds of peace be planted. I'm Harry Potter-Black, and a Light wizard, he thought.

'And a great bloody toff,' he muttered aloud, before tossing Floo powder into the grate.