'Good evening, Mr Potter. Welcome to Pratt's.'

Harry stepped from the fireplace. 'Thank you. I'm glad to be here.'

'Allow me to introduce myself,' said the wizard, who was fortyish with thinning blond hair. 'I'm Jonathan Dunston, club secretary, and I'll be your guide during what I hope will be the first of many visits to Pratt's. Please, come this way.'

Dunston led Harry to the far end of the reception room, where a young wizard stood at attention behind a desk. Harry noted the dark wood paneling, deep red walls, and gold trim. It looks like a swish combination of Gryffindor Tower and Grimmauld Place, he thought. Before he could comment, Dunston said, 'We've decorated the reception room in your honour, according to Pratt's tradition. When a wizard is invited to join, we greet them with their house colours.'

'This is much less beat-up than Gryffindor Tower ever looked, or my house for that matter,' observed Harry. 'And it's certainly welcoming.'

'That's always our goal,' replied Dunston. 'Before we enter the club, I'd like to reassure you that you needn't worry about your safety. Pratt's offers every possible protection, reinforced weekly by experts from Gringotts. It's impossible to Apparate into Pratt's, but you can freely Apparate out should danger arise, which it won't. Every dish, utensil, and drinking vessel is charmed against harmful potions, and the mantelpiece you just stepped through detects cursed artefacts. I'm certain you're always vigilant, but we invite you to relax as much as possible.'

'That sounds ideal, thank you.'

Dunston pointed out a guest register on the desk and offered Harry a quill. 'We ask everyone who enters to sign in, which creates a temporary bond with our staff of house-elves. If you need anything at all during your visit, you need only snap your fingers and say, "Elf," and one will arrive silently.'

Harry recognised many of the names on the page. Some were people he'd met at the Ministry, or had surnames he knew from Hogwarts. There were Dark family names, such as Rosier and Yaxley, but also Light families like Longbottom and Prewett. And Charles Selwyn, he noted. I suppose I'll find out whether people really set aside their differences.

Dunston guided him down a wide corridor and pointed out rooms as they passed. 'We have an extensive library, stocked with all the latest publications,' he said, prompting Harry to wonder whether they had an issue of Sorceress lying around. 'And our dining room serves meals at all hours, prepared by house-elves trained both in Britain and on the Continent. We also have rooms of various sizes for meetings requiring privacy. And our lounge, which is the heart of social interaction at Pratt's.'

Near the end of the corridor was a spacious yet intimate room with numerous armchairs and several sofas, along with tables and matching wooden chairs. A large and well-stocked bar was in one corner, and roughly two dozen wizards were present, mostly in groups of two or three. Harry didn't see any familiar faces, but some wizards were turned away or nestled within armchairs.

'And here is a unique feature of Pratt's,' said Dunston, indicating a doorway. 'Behind this door is a short corridor leading to our sister establishment in France. It's known simply as "the Boudoir," and you'll find an enchanting assortment of young witches who are prepared to meet all of your needs. I should note that while drinks and refreshments at the Boudoir are included in your Pratt's dues, their special services are not. But you need only authorise the transaction and your vault at Gringotts will be debited, without the need to bother with gold.'

That's convenient, thought Harry wryly. It's probably much easier to believe she fancies you when you don't need to count out coins first.

'I must say, this is all very impressive,' remarked Harry. 'Could you tell me more about who in my family was a member here?'

'Of course. I could provide you with an exhaustive list, as Blacks and Potters have belonged to Pratt's since its inception in 1699. But perhaps you're most interested in recent generations?' Harry nodded, and Dunston said, 'Orion Black, father to your late godfather was a member, as were the two most recent Cygnus Blacks. Arcturus and Alphard Black were both members, and several earlier bearers of the name Sirius.'

'What about Phineas Nigellus Black?' asked Harry.

'Yes, he was a member as well. As for the Potters, your great-grandfather Charlus was a member, his father Henry, and various cousins and great-great-uncles.'

Harry took a moment to evaluate what he'd just heard. My grandfather never joined, but Sirius's favourite uncle did. And for some reason it's significant that Phineas Nigellus was a member, but I'm not sure why.

'Thank you,' said Harry. 'I know very little about my relations, so it's always interesting to hear about them.'

'I wish I could tell you more, but Pratt's very deliberately doesn't maintain archives other than membership rolls and entrance registers. Discretion is at the heart of our organisation.'

In other words, thought Harry, there's no record of how often members nip off to France. 'I'm glad to hear it,' he said. Turning back towards the lounge, Harry added, 'I'm curious to see whether anyone I know is here. May I?'

'Of course,' replied Dunston. If he's surprised I didn't dive straight for the brothel, he's hiding it well.

Not everyone had noticed Harry the first time he'd looked into the lounge, but this time all eyes were on him. Wizards young and old all nodded cordially to him as he passed, and many greeted him. 'Potter, welcome,' said a familiar-looking wizard, who extended his hand. 'I'm Pontius Flint. I believe you and my son Marcus attended Hogwarts together.'

Blimey, this is one of the lords who voted against me! thought Harry. 'It's nice to meet you, Mr Flint,' he replied, shaking his hand.

'Just Flint, or Pontius if you prefer, but most people at Pratt's use surnames. I gather this is your first visit?'

'Yes,' replied Harry, who was stunned by Flint's total lack of hostility. 'I've been invited to join, and Dunston is showing me around.'

'Splendid!' said Flint jovially. 'You'll be a tremendous addition to the club, and I'm sure you'll get a lot out of it as well. And you should feel honoured—I can't even remember the last time someone your age was offered membership. Dunston, how long has it been?'

'Not since 1912, when Roland MacMillan was invited to join. His father perished on the Titanic—he was sailing because he abhorred portkeys, and it was too far from dry land to Apparate.'

'I can't say I'm a fan of portkeys either,' said Harry, which prompted laughter from Flint and several other wizards.

'Then you'll love Pratt's,' chuckled a tall and slightly stooped wizard. 'I'm Ernest Prewett, by the way—Molly Weasley is my first cousin.'

Harry was soon surrounded by wizards introducing themselves, including Anthony Goldstein's father, another lord, and a distant cousin of Neville's.

'Pratt's is the heart of wizarding Britain,' said Goldstein. 'You simply have to join.'

'I have to say, I'm impressed by how congenial it is,' said Harry sincerely.

'It most certainly is,' said a wizard behind him. 'It's good to see you again.'

Harry turned around and saw Charles Selwyn, extending an ungloved hand. 'Likewise,' replied Harry, shaking the hand of Lydia's brother-in-law, whom he'd previously met during brunch at Dunnings.

'I'd love to talk to you one-on-one,' said Charles warmly. 'You might say we have a lot in common,' he added, and everyone chuckled knowingly.

'I'd like that,' said Harry, and Charles led him to a pair of unoccupied armchairs.

'I can't tell you how glad I am to see you here,' began Charles. 'Pratt's is a tremendous institution, and I'm certain you'll fit right in.'

'Are you? I have to admit, my mind is still reeling from meeting everyone just now.'

Charles laughed and said, 'Yes, it's always entertaining to watch a first-time visitor, particularly one such as yourself, who's only seen Dark and Light wizards squabble.'

Squabble? thought Harry incredulously. The war was a squabble? Voldemort killing my parents and technically killing me was a squabble?

'But where are my manners!' exclaimed Charles, and he snapped his fingers. 'Elf!'

A house-elf appeared instantly, with only the faintest pop. 'Yes, sir. How may Biffle assist sir?'

'I'll have another glass of the 1981 Cabernet,' said Charles, indicating his empty glass. 'Potter, what will you have? And don't say Butterbeer.'

'Er, do you have any fruit pressés?' asked Harry, but Charles shook his head.

'Bring him a glass of wine as well,' he told the elf. 'Trust me Potter, you've never had anything like it. Elf-made, of course.'

Harry simply nodded, and the elf disappeared. Moments later, he returned with two glasses of red wine on a tray.

'Thank you, Biffle,' said Harry, taking a glass, and the elf disappeared.

'What do you think?' asked Charles, after Harry took his first sip.

Harry's eyes opened in surprise. 'Wow, this is good. You're right, I've never tasted anything like it. Thanks for insisting I try it.'

'My pleasure. Now let's get to business ... I heard about your meeting with Desmond. Did you really fend off his attempt at Legilimency?'

'Did he tell you about that?' asked Harry, surprised.

'Merlin no! Isobel told Esme about it.'

'Not while crying, I hope.'

'No, but only because she'd taken a Calming Draught.' Harry looked dismayed, but Charles shook his head dismissively. 'You mustn't take it personally—Isobel is always taking Calming Draughts for one reason or another. You and Lydia have simply given her a new excuse.'

'I see,' replied Harry. 'In answer to your question: yes, I blocked his attempt at Legilimency.'

'Remarkable. He takes pride in his Legilimency skills. I dare say that was more humiliating for him than what you did to Lydia.'

'I didn't do anything "to" Lydia,' bristled Harry. 'It was entirely her decision.'

'Perhaps, but she didn't exactly hold you at wandpoint,' smirked Charles. 'She and Esme are certainly a feast for the eyes,' he said admiringly, 'although I'm envious you got the blonde. But Lydia hadn't yet made her debut when I was looking to marry.'

Harry was appalled, and he had no idea how to respond. I suppose I'll just play along, he thought guiltily. 'They're both lovely,' he agreed. 'And I've enjoyed Lydia's company tremendously.'

'Really? She must be on her best behaviour, because she's terribly spoilt. They all are ... Desmond indulges the girls, and Isobel absolutely dotes on Jacob.'

'What's he like?' asked Harry.

'He still has two more years at Hogwarts—Slytherin of course. Although for some reason the girls didn't go there. I can't recall why, but I think they were educated privately, same as their mother. But Jacob is a perfect Travers—he'll be rich as Flamel, or near to it, once Desmond and old Magnus are gone. Between his patrilineal inheritance and the vault Magnus swiped from his brother, he'll be one of the richest wizards in Britain, particularly now that the Malfoy fortune has been halved.' He added, 'I assume Lydia told you about her unexpected inheritance.'

'Yes. I asked on our first date whether she'd be all right financially, and she told me the whole story.'

Charles shook his head in amazement. 'That was a bloody miracle. Ursinus finally had Magnus where he needed him, and he went to Gringotts to make the transfer, and then ... we don't know. The Dark Lord called him away, and by the next morning Magnus was back to himself. The rest of us were still stunned by how things had ended—nobody slept that night—but Magnus was at Gringotts within minutes. And you know the rest.'

Harry couldn't stay quiet any longer. 'I know more than you realise,' he confessed. 'I know why Uncle Ursinus didn't make the transfer that morning.'

'Tell me!' insisted Charles, leaning forwards.

In a conspiratorial voice, Harry said, 'We ran into him at Gringotts, when Hermione was disguised as Bellatrix Lestrange and I was invisible. He wouldn't leave us alone, so I Imperiused him and made him hide in the tunnels. He must have been there until the Dark Mark called him away.'

Charles couldn't hide his astonishment. 'Sweet bloody Merlin! You Imperiused Ursinus? Does the Ministry know?'

'Yes, I disclosed everything before a private tribunal, who exonerated me. They agreed to be Obliviated afterwards, and the full testimony is classified.'

'So you're the reason Lydia was free to run off!' exclaimed Charles. 'It's only right, then, that you got first crack at her.'

Harry stiffened. 'Selwyn, I shan't marry her, but I won't have her spoken about that way.'

'Relax, Potter—I was only testing you. Everyone knows you're the gentleman seducer.' Gesturing towards Harry's outfit, he said, 'Between that and the robes, I'm terribly envious.'

'What for?' asked Harry. 'Both times I've met you, you've looked impeccable.'

'Cheers, likewise. But you've taken something traditional and made it subversive. And with the flowers, you've reclaimed masculine plumage.'

'Sorry?' replied Harry. 'What do you mean?'

'With most birds, and other animals, it's the male who has the brighter plumage, not the female. But in humans it's largely reversed, at least in practice. Although men retain some plumage ... I'm certain witches have expressed envy over your eyelashes.'

'They have done,' admitted Harry, recalling Ginny's frequent grumblings. 'And yes, I understand what you're saying. Have you been to France? Muggle men dress more flamboyantly there.'

'I've been to France, but I didn't bother with the Muggle districts.'

'Are you out of your mind?' exclaimed Harry. 'How can you go to Paris and not visit Notre Dame, or the Sainte Chapelle! Or wander through the old neighbourhoods and peek into courtyards. And the museums ... I only visited one—the Musée d'Orsay—but it's fantastic.'

'But the paintings don't move,' said Charles with disdain.

'They don't need to move,' argued Harry. 'The brushstrokes alone convey movement.' He looked Charles over and said, 'You're an aesthete, same as I am. And a dandy as well, although you mightn't use the term. I'm not suggesting you become best friends with a Muggle, but you're depriving yourself if you don't see what they have to offer. Lydia has been in raptures all week, listening to Muggle music and reading Jane Austen, a Muggle author.'

'I couldn't believe what I read about your party,' said Charles. 'Lydia dancing to Muggle music in front of the entire Quidditch league! Esme was shocked, and I needn't tell you how Isobel reacted.'

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, remembering how Lydia had looked. 'She was magnificent,' he said reverently. 'It's absurd you all think she's ruined. Would you say a rose is ruined when the bud finally opens? And she's incredibly happy and alive—you should see her in her new flat.'

'Yes, she sent invitations to the family. Desmond wants to go at once, but Isobel is still furious. And of course Esme and I shan't go.'

'Why not?' asked Harry, knowing that Esme had plans to visit on Saturday.

'It's one thing for her doting father to visit and make sure she's all right, but if Esme and I go it means she's forgiven.'

'And so? Doesn't Esme love Lydia and want her to be happy? I know Lydia loves Esme—she talks about her all the time.'

'Be that as it may, there are rules,' said Charles. 'I know they've never applied to you—and I say that with the utmost respect—but the rest of us live by them.'

Harry's inclination was to say, 'Bugger that!' but he tried instead to understand Charles's perspective. 'Tell me more about these rules,' said Harry. 'Clearly I don't understand them.'

'They provide continuity. Young witches behave one way, and they always have done. Same with wizards. Without rules things change too quickly, and wizarding culture is washed away. Remember we're an extremely small minority compared to Muggles.'

I wonder what Hermione would make of his logic, mused Harry. 'Some of what you've said is true—we are a small minority—but the rest doesn't follow. We won't be any less magical if young witches are allowed the same freedoms as young wizards.' With a smirk, he added, 'I assume you visited Pratt's on your seventeenth birthday.'

Charles smiled at the memory. 'No, my birthday was on a weeknight during the term. But that weekend my father and uncle brought me here, and to the Boudoir. And yes, it was a perfectly brilliant way to start my majority.'

'So why don't witches get that freedom? Not to see a prostitute, of course, but simply to have a good snog, or whatever else they fancy. Lydia had scarcely been kissed before I met her.' Harry could see Charles struggling to come up with a reply. 'And don't just say it's because it's always been that way,' he added.

'But it has been,' protested Charles.

'Has it? Personally I didn't learn a thing in History of Magic, and I suspect you didn't either, but according to Hermione, early British magical tribes were far less uptight than modern wizards are. Consider Morgana—I doubt she sat around drinking tea while her suitors were sneaking off to brothels.'

'None of this matters,' said Charles dismissively. 'For hundreds of years, this is how we've behaved. I'm sorry you never had a role model, or someone to provide continuity between you and your ancestors.'

'I had Sirius,' replied Harry. 'And you can't claim he wasn't exposed to wizarding traditions.'

'That's an absurd example. For one thing, the Blacks were highly unstable by the time he came along—I can hardly blame him for breaking ties. And furthermore, look at how his life turned out. If he'd played by the rules he'd never have wound up in Azkaban.'

Harry was amazed by how calmly they were discussing all this. 'Did Bellatrix Lestrange play by the rules? What about Lucius Malfoy?'

'I would argue that pledging oneself and prostrating to an extremist like the Dark Lord went outside of the rules.' Charles pulled back his left sleeve to reveal his unblemished forearm. 'I certainly didn't take the Mark.'

'But you were complicit,' replied Harry.

'Of course I was. That's why there are still plenty of Selwyns, but only one Potter. And the only reason you're still with us is because you're somehow immune to the Killing Curse.'

'There are worse things than dying,' said Harry, remembering Voldemort's shrivelled husk of a soul.

Charles was silent for a time. 'I apologise, I'm being a terrible host. Here it's your first visit to Pratt's, and I've kept you in the lounge talking. Although I admit it's been fascinating, and perhaps a good example of the kind of discourse Pratt's enables.'

'I'm in no hurry,' said Harry. 'I don't think I've ever had a conversation like this one, and I'm happy to continue. Although I suspect we'll never see eye-to-eye on certain topics.'

'You're probably right. But at Pratt's we emphasise the things we have in common. Hogwarts, for instance. I was three years ahead of you. Slytherin, naturally.'

Harry smiled. 'You might be amused to learn that the Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin.'

'Really?' exclaimed Charles. 'Because you were a Parselmouth?'

'No, because of my desire to prove myself. It said Slytherin would help me on the way to greatness. But I told it I didn't want Slytherin, so it put me in Gryffindor.'

'And the rest is history,' declared Charles. 'To think, you and Draco Malfoy might have been best mates. Although I doubt he'd have enjoyed the competition ... Did you know that on his first night at Hogwarts, he informed the Prefects that his father was chairman of the Board of Governors, and that he'd been given special exemption from curfew and other rules, including the one preventing first-years from having a broomstick?'

'How did the Prefects react?'

'Sebastian Fawley said something to the effect of "Yes, Professor Snape already told us. In fact, he taught me an incantation that will grant you invisibility in the corridors after curfew. Just set your wand over there, and I'll perform it on you."'

'Oh dear,' said Harry in anticipation.

'Fawley Levitated Malfoy to the common room ceiling, Body-Bound him, and left him there for the next hour. That was the last time Draco attempted to boss us around.'

'So he only bossed around his year mates,' said Harry. 'And antagonised the rest of us.'

'It looked mutual from where I was standing,' observed Charles.

'Yeah, perhaps it was. And of course Snape didn't help, always favouring the Slytherins. I suppose you benefitted from that as well.'

Charles raised an eyebrow and said, 'Are you really complaining that Snape didn't do enough for you?'

Harry sighed. 'No, you're right. But was it really necessary to create such a poisonous atmosphere at Hogwarts?'

'Snape didn't invent house rivalry,' said Charles with a shrug. 'And clearly he wasn't in his right mind, pining for years after a dead Mud—' He stopped short. 'I apologise, that was out of bounds.'

'It was,' agreed Harry. 'But you've been more than civil about Lydia tonight, so I'll let it pass.'

They were both silent for a short interval, and then Charles said, 'I do hope you'll visit the Boudoir tonight. You can't possibly evaluate Pratt's without seeing its crowning glory.'

'Will you be going?' asked Harry.

'Sadly, no. Esme extracted a blood oath from me on our wedding night, to never partake of the Boudoir or any other paid establishment. I agreed to it readily—our marriage bond was still fresh, and let's just say I would have agreed to anything in that particular moment. But I do go occasionally to enjoy the ambiance, and I'm sure I'll have plenty of other options when I'm ready to stray.'

'Does that mean you haven't strayed yet?'

'No. And frankly, things are looking up in the Esme department. Wizards aren't the only ones learning new skills from your Sorceress article.'

'Maybe they should add that to my Chocolate Frog Card,' said Harry wryly, and Charles laughed out loud.

'Lydia's right—you are more clever than people think.' Charles's expression turned serious, and he said, 'I do hope you'll join Pratt's. Perhaps Slytherin wasn't necessary for your path to greatness, but I'm certain Pratt's will help you continue to develop for decades to come.'

'Cheers,' replied Harry, rising from his chair.

Charles stood as well, and he took a moment to admire Harry's robes again. 'Flocked buttons,' he murmured to himself. 'Marvellous.'

Harry extended his hand, and Charles shook it. 'It's been a pleasure getting to know you,' said Harry sincerely.

'Likewise. And do enjoy the rest of your evening.'

'I will,' replied Harry, thinking of Lydia. He turned towards the centre of the lounge and surveyed the crowd, noticing that more people had arrived. A familiar face caught his eye, and Harry chuckled. Of course Blaise Zabini is here, he thought, walking towards him.

'Harry,' cried Blaise, turning from his companions. 'I saw your name in the register, and the Gryffindor colours. It's absolutely splendid to see you—how are you?' But before Harry could respond, Blaise snapped his fingers and said, 'Elf!'

A different house-elf appeared and bowed. 'Thank you, sir. How may Bulby assist sir?'

'My friend here needs something to drink,' said Blaise. 'Harry, what'll it be. Single-malt?'

'No, I don't think so.' Turning to the elf, he said, 'Bulby, may I please have another glass of the 1981 Cabernet?' The year my parents died, he noted.

'Yes, sir,' replied Bulby, disappearing.

The elf returned with Harry's glass and disappeared again. 'Much better,' declared Blaise. 'So tell me, how are you?'

'I'm well,' replied Harry. 'My injury is fully healed, which means I'm flying again.'

'Amongst other things. Is the lovely Miss Travers still living with you?'

'No, she moved into her new flat yesterday.'

'And so you're celebrating with a visit to Pratt's—perfect!'

'Actually we're still seeing each other. In fact, I'll see her later tonight.'

Blaise nodded approvingly. 'I'm certain you can handle that, given your recent exploits. Which are actually true! I can't tell you how riveted we were, listening to the radio on Tuesday night.'

'Who is "we?"' asked Harry uncertainly.

'Why Ginny, of course, and her teammate Wendy. But don't get that look,' admonished Blaise. 'We're only friends. And besides, you've had six other partners since Ginny, so you can't possibly still be attached.'

Harry didn't point out the flaw in Blaise's logic. 'What did Ginny think of the broadcast?'

'She's desperate to know what they censored. And she was delighted to hear you'd kissed a bloke—she'd previously bemoaned how straight you are. And now she and Wendy want to start a rock band called "Everything but the pelvis." I offered to manage them.'

'I'm glad you're putting your Slytherin ambition to good use,' remarked Harry. 'And how are you doing?'

'I've no complaints at all. I came here tonight for a brief but crucial meeting with a potential business partner, and it went exactly as I hoped.'

'Congratulations! Does this mean you're starting a business?'

'It's early days yet, but that's the general idea. And I would be remiss if I didn't mention we're still looking for investors, but I'm certain you're flooded with so-called opportunities, so we'll just leave it at that.'

'You're not planning to import French pastries, are you?' asked Harry.

'No, nothing of the sort. We want to cultivate, process, and distribute high-grade potions ingredients. You wouldn't believe how irregular the supply chain is right now. My previous stepfather was preparing to start the enterprise himself, with me as the junior partner, and we spent countless hours perfecting the business plan. But he was tragically killed in April when a sudden windstorm blew him off a cliff where he was collecting samples.'

'Blaise, I'm so sorry,' said Harry sincerely. 'Please accept my condolences. It seems you have far more dead fathers than I do.'

In a sober voice, Blaise said, 'I do, yes. And thanks for your sympathy—I appreciate it. Most people think it's funny, and they're not wrong, but it's also painful.'

'They think it's funny that your mother's been widowed so many times?'

'Yes, and under questionable circumstances.'

Sensing that Blaise wanted to confide, Harry opened his heart and generated feelings of love and compassion.

'My biological father died when I was four,' said Blaise quietly.

'Do you remember him?'

'Not really. Just memories of memories, which aren't the same. But my mother speaks fondly of him, and for years I believed it was truly an accident.'

'Do you still believe that?' asked Harry gently.

'Does it matter? It won't bring him back. And I don't actually miss him, except in theory. But I do miss a few of his successors, including this last one.'

'I know how you feel,' said Harry. 'I miss Sirius far more than I miss my father.'

Blaise bit his lower lip, and for a moment Harry thought he might cry. But then his expression returned to normal, and he said, 'The good news is that I'm my mother's only heir, since she hated what pregnancy did to her figure. And fortunately for her, she was able to hide the evidence at a Swiss spa, but she refuses to go through that particular ritual again. So I'll probably wind up with any number of fortunes. And in the meantime I have what my father left me, and an allowance.'

'Nine dead fathers, and no end of gold,' observed Harry.

'Something like that ... But I'm sure our dead fathers would encourage us to enjoy life to the fullest!' he added brightly. 'Will you be visiting the Boudoir tonight?'

'Yes, Lydia insists upon it, so I can tell her about it afterwards.'

'She's a treasure! Are you certain you won't marry her?' joked Blaise. 'As for the Boudoir, would you care for a companion? A guide, if you will.'

'I would, actually. I have no idea what to expect.'

'You'll take to it like a merman to water,' Blaise assured him. 'The ladies will make you feel right at home the moment you enter, and from then on it's pure instinct.'

'It's the ladies I'm concerned about,' said Harry. 'Are we certain they haven't been Imperiused?'

Blaise looked offended. 'Of course they haven't been. The Boudoir is a reputable house of ill-repute, and the ladies are regularly examined by third-party experts for any trace of coercion. And you'll see for yourself that they're entirely willing.'

'That's just it,' said Harry. 'I can't understand why a witch would willingly choose that profession. It's one thing to want to have sex frequently, but quite another to be stuck doing it with a bunch of geezers. Surely witches have other options!'

'I take it you haven't seen the price list,' remarked Blaise. 'A nubile young witch can earn a fortune in just a few years at a first-rate brothel. And remember this is France, so she'll have no trouble marrying afterwards, unlike her Anglo-Saxon counterpart.'

'Just how much does it cost?'

'The prices vary, depending on the witch's Blood Status.' Blaise lowered his voice and added, 'But of course there's no way to really tell, and I have it on first-hand authority that some of the "pure-bloods" are anything but. So you might as well save your Galleons—not that you care about Blood Status, of course.' He told Harry the price range, and Harry's jaw dropped.

'Blimey! Now I understand how the Blacks managed to squander their fortune! Do you actually pay that much for just a few hours with a witch?'

Looking around to confirm no one was listening, Blaise said, 'I don't, and I doubt you'll have to either. Their employer, Madame Lalouche, allows them to entertain for free at their discretion, as long as they're earning enough otherwise. To keep up morale, you know.'

Harry shook his head slowly. 'I can't believe how much I've learnt about wizarding society in the last month or so. I'd never even heard of portkey brothels until a fortnight ago.'

'This is exactly why you need to broaden your horizons! I'm delighted to see you here at Pratt's, and I do hope you'll join.'

'Hang on, how are you here? Do you have a new stepfather already?'

'Yes, since June. Mother asked for my help deciding between suitors, and I suggested she choose a Pratt's member, at least until I'm twenty-one. I'm far too accustomed to the place.'

'Did you come here on your seventeenth birthday?'

'Naturally. And so did Draco, and Vincent, and Gregory, and any number of our classmates.'

'Crabbe and Goyle went to the Boudoir?' exclaimed Harry, horrified.

'Of course they did,' scoffed Blaise. 'Who else was going to have them?'

'I'm not sure I'll be able to generate enthusiasm there if I'm wondering who's had sex with Crabbe and Goyle. Although I suppose I'm glad Crabbe didn't die a virgin.'

'Believe me, you'll have no trouble generating enthusiasm, and our classmates will be the last thing on your mind. But speaking of our classmates, I'm told you're visiting Draco on Sunday.'

'I am. Do you have any advice?'

Blaise frowned. 'It'll be an uphill battle. He's had more than a year to ruminate on all the ways you ruined his life, and it's only got worse since you joined the Cannons and turned into the fabulous beast standing before me. He was supposed to inherit from the Blacks, and you've managed to simultaneously shit on their legacy and make off with it.'

'I haven't shit on their legacy!' protested Harry.

'Haven't you? You talk freely about how they squandered their fortune, and you've made Walburga a laughing stock. And then you dance around the topic of changing your name and remaking the Blacks in your own image.'

'Sirius wanted me to,' said Harry feebly. 'He charged me with turning the Blacks into a Light family.'

'That's very sweet, but you're only one person. Which means that for the next few decades, it'll be the Harry Potter show.'

'There's Narcissa's sister, Andromeda,' replied Harry. 'And her grandson, Teddy Lupin.'

'Do you really think that will help?' asked Blaise.

'No,' sighed Harry, feeling ashamed. But after a pause he brightened. 'There are cousins. When I restored the tapestry, several new branches appeared. One is descended from a male Squib, and their name is still Black, and another was founded by someone who rejected the Dark Arts and changed his name to White. But the tapestry still calls them Black. And there's also a large branch in North America.'

'That could help,' admitted Blaise. 'Not the Americans, of course.'

'They're Canadian, actually.'

'Oh, that's not so bad.' He paused and added, 'If you're willing to share the spotlight and acknowledge that House Black isn't all about you, you'll remove at least one bone of contention. But there's only one thing you can do that might really help,' said Blaise, looking Harry in the eye.

'His wand,' replied Harry, and Blaise nodded. 'But I don't know whether it'll work for him anymore. I'm clearly master of it, otherwise I couldn't have been master of the Elder Wand.'

'Then maybe you can convince it somehow. Obviously it likes you ... although it might feel neglected if it's been in a drawer this whole time.'

'I'll do my best,' said Harry. 'By the way, is Draco behind Mothers Against Harry Potter?'

Blaise laughed out loud. 'No, but I'm certain he wishes he were. He must be cursing himself for not coming up with it on his own.'

He suddenly tugged Harry's hand and said, 'But enough talk—on to the Boudoir! I know it's well past your seventeenth birthday, and I have a sneaking suspicion this won't be your first time, but we fatherless wizards have to look after one another.'

As they walked through the lounge, Harry said, 'One more question: just how visually stimulating is the Boudoir? Should I charm my trousers first?'

'No, don't bother,' replied Blaise. 'They're accustomed to enthusiastic wizards, and they'll take it as a compliment. And yes, it's very visually stimulating. Overwhelming, even ... in a good way.'

'You're worrying me,' said Harry. 'Lydia wanted me to visit but not participate.'

Blaise laughed loudly. 'You can't be serious! She can't possibly expect you to look at the Sultan's harem and not touch.'

'I'm going to her flat right afterwards, so in theory I should be fine.'

'Harry, you may have survived two Killing Curses, but you're not superhuman.' They reached the doorway, and Blaise stepped aside. 'Please, do the honours.'

Harry opened the door, revealing a corridor roughly ten yards long, with another door at the end. 'Is it really France behind that door?' he asked incredulously.

'It is, but the corridor is a bit unusual.'

They started walking, and Harry quickly understood what Blaise meant. He felt like he was being pulled by his navel towards the far doorway, even as his legs moved. It reminded him of portkey travel but was far less unpleasant. The pulling got stronger as they walked, to the point of discomfort, and then it abruptly stopped.

'Welcome to France,' announced Blaise, gesturing towards the door.

When Harry opened it, the first thing he noticed was the fragrance. It smells like tea, freesia, and Ginny, he thought rapturously. The door had opened into a vestibule which was softly lit by gaslight, and a curtained archway beckoned them onwards.

Harry pulled the curtains apart and walked into a lounge that was almost completely unlike the one they'd just left. It was smaller, the walls were covered with rose damask, and the furnishings and ambiance were far more feminine. But the biggest difference was the women. So many women, marvelled Harry, even though there were a dozen at most. But each one overwhelmed him with an allure that transcended mere beauty.

'What's that smell?' he asked Blaise, still entranced by it.

Blaise was less intoxicated by the atmosphere than Harry was, but he was clearly affected as well. 'The Boudoir is charmed to smell like your favourite fragrances, similar to Amortentia,' he replied. 'I never tire of it.'

'No, I couldn't possibly,' murmured Harry, drifting helplessly into the room.

'Messieurs, bienvenue,' said a woman who was agelessly beautiful. 'Mon cher Blaise, welcome back. And you can only be Harry Potter.' Harry nodded dumbly, enjoying the sound of her French accent.

'Harry, this is Madame Lalouche, the proprietor,' said Blaise. 'Madame, you'll have to excuse him. It's been hours since he last saw his girlfriend, and he's suffering from withdrawal.'

Harry had trouble parsing the word 'girlfriend.' Does he mean Lydia? he wondered. I'm certain she said I could see other witches. 'She knows I'm here,' explained Harry. 'She insisted I come.'

'And she is English?' replied Madame Lalouche. 'How rare! But please, make yourself at home. May I offer you refreshments?'

'More wine?' asked Blaise, and Harry nodded, still drinking in the sights. Thank Merlin I had my eyesight fixed, he thought. I'd hate to miss a single detail.

Madame Lalouche led them to a pair of settees, perpendicular to each other, and an elf appeared with their wine. Blaise and Harry were the only two men—presumably the other visitors were elsewhere—and the women gathered around them.

Several greeted Blaise enthusiastically and sat next to him, and one stood behind the settee and began massaging his neck. But the others surrounded Harry—in front of him, beside him, and in back. All of them looked at him admiringly, and pairs of them whispered as Harry sipped his wine. The witch behind him started rubbing his scalp, and the two next to him stroked his free arm and the rest of his body.

'You're all so ... beautiful,' he said inarticulately. 'Ma chère,' he added, and the women giggled.

'Vous parlez français?' asked the witch in front of him, and he shook his head.

'Only a few words. Do all of you speak English?'

They all answered in the affirmative, and Harry was overwhelmed by so much female attention at once. How can I possibly choose? he wondered. A dim memory of Lydia lingered, but it faded as blissful sensations overtook him. Don't glow, he thought vaguely.

Harry's mind cleared, just a little, and he said, 'I'm Harry. It's lovely to meet you all—what are your names?'

He looked at them one by one as they answered, noticing the different ways they were dressed. Most of them could have appeared in public after fastening a few buttons, but others wore lingerie, covered only partially by a silk dressing gown. They ranged in body type from slim to plump, and from girlish to voluptuous. They also varied in skin colour and ethnicity, but the majority were white, with all the usual hair colours represented.

Oh bugger, he thought. I'm most attracted to the redhead. Her name was Claire, and she was at a slight distance from him. Lydia was a distant memory, and he found himself wondering whether Claire would be inclined to waive her fee. But Sirius told me to squander some, he recalled, inviting her over.

'You're all impossibly lovely,' he said, 'but I'm liable to explode with all of you around me.' The women laughed, noticing his uncharmed trousers, and he added, 'Claire, I'd love to get to know you.'

The witches slowly dispersed, the ones next to him trailing their hands across him as they left, and Claire sat down. 'Harry,' she murmured in heavily accented English. 'I am very happy to meet you. You are a great hero.'

'And you're very beautiful,' he said, admiring her again. She had dark auburn hair to her shoulders, and her eyes were nearly amber. She was wearing an elegant, form-fitting dress, with a halter top that left her arms and shoulders bare. Harry longed to touch her, but he wasn't sure whether it was permitted.

Claire removed all doubt. 'Gratuit,' she whispered. 'Free of charge.' He smiled and began stroking her arm, and she said, 'The Englishmen, they bring your article and say, "Teach me." They want to make love like Harry Potter.'

'Now you'll have first-hand experience,' he murmured. From the corner of his eye he saw Blaise leaving with two witches through another archway, and his eyes followed them for a moment.

Claire saw where he was looking, and she asked, 'Would you like to go upstairs?'

'Oui,' he said breathily. 'Beaucoup.'

They rose and she led him towards the archway, and Harry felt the other women watching them. Looking at Claire from behind, he said, 'Beau cul.'

Claire laughed and said, 'You do speak French!'

'Not really,' he replied, and he told her how Sophie had corrected his pronunciation when they first met because he'd been inadvertently saying, 'Nice arse.'

When they arrived upstairs, she opened a door and he followed her into a bedroom. The bed was large, although not as large as his, and he recognised the peacock feather wallpaper. We can talk later, he decided, and he immediately started unbuttoning his robes. But Claire stopped him and took charge, and Harry surrendered completely.

Dazzled by her expertise, Harry lost track of time. The editors of Sorceress could publish a sequel with everything I've learnt, he thought afterwards with satisfaction. Claire seemed equally pleased, and Harry couldn't resist asking whether he'd lived up to her expectations.

'Yes,' she sighed blissfully. 'Very much. But you do more than make love. You look at me like I'm the only woman in the world.'

'You are,' he said sincerely, gazing into her amber eyes.

'Be careful,' she warned him. 'Women will fall in love with you when you look at them like that.'

They had been listening to music the entire time, but the record ended and there were no more on the stack. Harry didn't mind, as he enjoyed the silence and the feeling of lying next to her. He heard church bells ringing out the hour, and he reflexively counted with them. After the twelfth chime he sat up in a panic.

'Bugger!' he cried. 'It's midnight! I was supposed to visit Lydia hours ago!'

'Is she in England?' asked Claire. 'It is one hour earlier.'

Harry relaxed slightly but hurried out of bed. 'I'm sorry to run,' he said, pulling on his underpants and trousers. 'This was heaven, but I need to go see her right away.'

'Shouldn't you ...' she trailed off and gestured towards his body.

'Fuck, you're right. Normally I'd shower but magic's faster.' He reached for his wand, and Claire assisted him with Freshening Charms.

'And a Drying Charm,' she said, pointing her wand at his hair.

Harry pulled on his robes, cursing the innumerable buttons, and they had to cast a Summoning Charm to find his shoes. 'I'm so sorry,' he repeated. 'This was ... beyond brilliant. But I need to go.'

'I understand,' said Claire, and they kissed once more before he rushed out the door and down the stairs. He barrelled into the lounge, where the women were entertaining two middle-aged wizards, one of whom Harry recognised from the Ministry.

Madame Lalouche greeted him and asked, 'Was everything to your satisfaction, Monsieur Potter?'

'Yes, perfectly, one hundred percent. But I need to leave now—I'm so sorry.'

'I hope we will see you again,' she replied. 'The other girls, they want you too.'

'Cheers, is this the right door?' he asked hastily.

'Yes, good night.'

He opened the door and ran down the corridor. But he'd forgotten about the pulling sensation, and he was jerked forwards much less smoothly than before. He nearly slammed into the door leading to Pratt's, and he quickly flung it open.

Harry was tempted to sprint to the reception room, but he didn't want to attract attention, so he walked briskly instead. The young man at the desk said, 'Good evening, Mr Potter. I hope you've enjoyed your visit to Pratt's, and that you'll become a member.' He handed Harry an envelope and added, 'This contains everything you'll need to make a decision.'

'Cheers,' replied Harry, stuffing the envelope into his pouch. He hastened to the fireplace and tossed a pinch of Floo powder onto the grate. 'Travers Salon,' he said clearly, hoping Lydia hadn't removed him from the wards.

The flat was dark when he arrived, and he cast Lumos to find Lydia's bedroom. He knocked cautiously on the door, and she said, 'Who is it?'

'It's me. Harry.'

A pause. 'Come in.'

The lights were on, and she was sitting up in bed reading her book. She looked appraisingly at him, prompting Harry to glance down and notice he'd buttoned his robes incorrectly. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 'I'm so sorry,' he began.

'Sorry for what?' she said coolly. 'I told you to go to Pratt's. Are you saying you did something else?'

He walked towards her wearily, his feet like lead. 'You wanted me to go to the brothel, so I could tell you about it.'

'I wanted to hear about the decor!' she snapped. 'And what the women were wearing, and which other wizards you saw. I didn't want you to go upstairs with one of them and–' Her words were interrupted by a choking sob.

"Lydia,' he said, reaching towards her.

'Don't touch me!' she cried. 'How dare you come near me, straight from another witch.'

'I didn't mean to,' he explained. 'I only meant to look, like you asked. Blaise warned me I wouldn't be able to—he said I'd have to be superhuman—but I went anyway.'

'Blaise Zabini?' asked Lydia, looking surprised through her tears. 'From the match?'

'Yes, I saw him there. And Charles too—at Pratt's, not the brothel.'

She narrowed her eyes at him. 'How many?'

'How many what?'

'How many witches. Was it several at once, like with Vanessa?'

Harry didn't know what she wanted to hear. 'Just one,' he replied.

Lydia closed her eyes, and her tears flowed faster. 'You chose another witch over me? If it had been something I couldn't offer you ... that might have been different. But it was just one witch.'

'I didn't choose her over you,' he said. 'You have no idea what it was like in there ... it literally smelled like a Love Potion! I was defenceless as soon as I walked in.'

'Did they hold you at wandpoint? she said sarcastically. 'Or did one of them straddle your legs and hold you captive until you paid them?'

'I didn't pay anything. She offered it free of charge.'

'That's fortunate—I've heard it's brutally expensive. But now you can purchase more robes!'

'Oh, Lydia ... I'm so sorry. I can't stand seeing you this way.'

'Then leave!' she snapped. 'Go sleep in your dreary townhouse.' She looked at an invisible wristwatch and said, 'It's not yet midnight—perhaps you can pop over to Penumbra and find another witch to round off the night. You can wake her up with your nightmares!'

Harry's shoulders slumped and he lowered his head. 'I'll go. I'm so sorry—this is all my fault. I should have known better than to go to a brothel, especially after Blaise warned me. Although Charles said he goes there sometimes for the ambiance, even though he took an oath never to go upstairs.'

Lydia's eyes lit up in spite of her anger. 'He took an oath?'

'Yeah, Esme made him take a blood oath on their wedding night to never sleep with a prostitute.'

'What else did you and Charles talk about?'

'All sorts of things. Robes, and Paris, and male plumage, and whether wizarding traditions make sense—we didn't agree on that topic.'

'Male plumage?'

'It's a long story. And we talked about Hogwarts, and Malfoy. We came close to quarrelling a few times, but we never did. He stopped himself just in time before calling my mother a Mudblood. Oh, and I told him I Imperiused your uncle.'

'You told him?!' she exclaimed. 'Will you get in trouble?'

He shook his head. 'No, I was exonerated by a private tribunal. I suppose he'll tell your family now?'

'I couldn't say. Wizards are very secretive about what they hear at Pratt's.'

'Except for me,' observed Harry.

'That's different—I sent you there.' Sighing heavily, she said, 'Oh Harry, I'm so hurt. I can't believe you did that.'

'I'm sorry,' he repeated. 'I wish I could undo it, or make it up to you somehow.'

'You can't,' she said firmly. 'And it's late—you should go home.'

He looked hopefully at her. 'Will you still go to the theatre with me tomorrow night?'

'No. Find someone else.' To Harry's relief, she didn't add, Find a prostitute.

'When can I see you again?' he implored. 'I don't want things to end this way.'

'I don't either, but what choice have you left me?' Closing her eyes, she said, 'Just go.'

Harry nodded and made his way through the darkness to the fireplace. 'Grimmauld Place,' he said dully, and he arrived in the formal reception hall. It really is dreary, he thought, and even Padfoot's canine snores failed to cheer him up. He took a shower before bed, in an attempt to remove every trace of his night at the Boudoir, and a dismal truth echoed in his mind. I'm selfish, he thought. I'm self-centred, and I think the rules don't apply to me.

He recalled what Blaise had told him about Draco, and he felt ashamed. Blaise is right. I've shit all over House Black and turned it into the Harry Potter show. The only positive note in his reflections was that he hadn't taunted Gemma that afternoon, but even that was sour. What kind of arrogant prat sets the intention to embody love, and then completely forgets about his girlfriend and shags a prostitute?

It had been nearly a fortnight since Harry had gone to bed without Lydia, and he felt very alone. Good, he thought harshly, as he extinguished the light. You deserve it.