Loose Cannon

by manatee-vs-walrus

Fourteen months after the Battle of Hogwarts, an overheard, off-the-cuff comment turns Harry's life upside-down. Goodbye Auror training, hello Chudley Cannons! And witches ... lots of witches (but no harem). Heaps of dialogue and world-building, and OCs galore. Warning: Many tropes were harmed in the writing of this fic, and Cursed Child never happened. NO MORTAL PERIL.

95. Chapter 95

'Is that what you're wearing?' said Banthora, when Harry emerged from the wardrobe.

'What's the matter with it?' asked Harry, looking down at his casual daytime robes.

'You're going to the Ministry to officially change your name. You need to properly represent House Black.'

'But it's first thing in the morning, and I'll only be there a few minutes. It's not as if I'm wearing a tracksuit.'

'Nevertheless, you're a true Black now, and it's your responsibility to always look impeccable.'

I already do, he thought indignantly. But Banthora had soothed him that night after another nightmare, so he decided to make her happy. 'I'll let you pick,' he said, returning to the wardrobe.

Harry held up successive outfits until she said, 'Those.' He frowned, recognising a set of robes Lydia had chosen, and which he'd almost rejected for being too much like something Lucius Malfoy would wear. 'These are unmistakably Death Eater robes,' he'd told Lydia. 'All they're missing is an access panel for my Dark Mark.'

'No, they're the height of elegance,' she had said. 'The black brocade with a hint of green was made for you, and that cut has "Seeker" written all over it.' But he'd been reluctant to wear them ever since the Prophet had derided his 'aristocratic pretensions,' and he had yet to figure out the proper occasion for them.

'They're perfect,' said Banthora. 'And Phyllida Black will appreciate them. She was Registrar General when I was a girl, and I believe her portrait still hangs there.'

'Fine,' said Harry, walking back into the wardrobe to change. 'But I won't be there long, so she probably won't even notice.'

Banthora sighed with pleasure when he emerged. 'You're worthy of the family name,' she declared. 'A true gentlewizard.'

'A gentlewizard?' said Harry. 'Manwhore, more like.'

'Don't use that expression. And besides, your predecessors were no angels.'

'Oh? Do you have stories?'

'I have many. Alphard Odysseus Black, for example, had an insatiable desire for Muggle actresses. He was gifted with languages, which brought him all over Europe, and he had mistresses everywhere. Paris, Vienna, Budapest ... he installed his favourites in sumptuous flats and showered them with luxuries.'

'This goes far to explain why I need to flog underwear to rebuild the family fortune,' said Harry. 'Did he have children with any of them?'

'Merlin, yes! But he never claimed them, other than to pay for their upbringing and education, usually in the provinces.'

'Weren't they magical?' asked Harry. 'How did their mothers cope?'

'Their mothers seldom saw them, as was common back then. And some were undoubtedly magical. But none of them knew their real surname, since Alphard's wife Ariadne, who was born a Rowle, magically prevented it.'

Harry was baffled. 'How would that even work?'

'Alphard and Ariadne were married at seventeen, at the insistence of his father, who worried about his vast appetites. You see, when Alphard came of age, he spent two whole days at Pratt's, costing hundreds of Galleons. Gold was plentiful back then, but his father was irate and demanded he marry straight away, on pain of being disinherited.'

'Didn't his wife suit him?' asked Harry.

'Briefly. But he strayed within a year, and she was furious, so she used Dark magic to prevent him from writing or even uttering his own name.'

'What? How would that help?'

'She naively hoped he'd be unable to go to Pratt's or authorise brothel payments, since they both require a signature. But she hadn't anticipated his uncanny gift for languages, nor the willingness of the goblins to establish false identities for him. So he became Monsieur Lenoir, Signor Neri, Herr Schwarz, and so forth, and spent months on end abroad.'

'So are there wizards running around Europe who are descended from him?'

'Almost certainly, although the tapestry doesn't display bastards. And he gave his wife six daughters as well. He was an exceedingly virile man, you know.'

'I feel like a saint by comparison.' And a little jealous, he thought, trying not to imagine what two days in the Boudoir would be like. Twelve more days of celibacy.

He ate breakfast in the kitchen, where a jubilant Kreacher had festooned the walls with multiple copies of the Prophet front page. 'Harry Potter-Black,' announced the headline, with Rita's article underneath. He'd already read it, since she'd sent him an advance copy, but he hadn't yet seen all the photographs. He'd provided a picture of his father with Sirius, which showed Harry's strong resemblance to James. But Rita had also unearthed a photo of Sirius holding a newborn Harry at his christening.

Where did this come from? he wondered, awestruck. His parents were already in hiding, and presumably only close friends had been invited. Rita had probably stolen the photo, or Confunded someone to get it, but he didn't care. He dashed a quick letter to his florist, ordering a large arrangement to be delivered to her table at the Dapperling Tea Shop, along with a note that simply said, 'I want that photo.'

He left for the Ministry, intending to arrive at the Registrar's office as soon as it opened at half past eight. But to his dismay there was a sign on the door with clock hands indicating the office wouldn't open until quarter to nine. And although there was room for a waiting area, there was a curious absence of chairs.

'Are you here to change your name?' asked a witch, who was also looking at the sign.

'I am. But I thought they opened at half-eight.'

'They usually do,' she said. 'I come here every week from St Mungo's to validate birth and death records.'

Harry looked down the corridor. 'Is there nowhere to sit down? I'm all right, but perhaps you'd like a seat.'

'Bless you, I'm fine,' she said. 'But it's strange ... normally there's a sofa out here, and a table with some magazines.'

'Is it usually quick once they open? I have my paperwork ready—I just need for them to inscribe it.'

'That shouldn't take more than a minute,' said the witch. 'Assuming you filled out the form correctly.'

'It seemed pretty straightforward. The goblins handled most of it, but they said I needed to do just this bit.'

'You'll be fine, love.' Eyeing his robes, she said, 'You certainly dressed for the occasion.'

'One of the portraits insisted. And she's the first family portrait who's been consistently nice to me, so it was the least I could do.'

'You're dressed like a proper wizard. No one can claim you aren't.'

She took some knitting from her bag and cast a charm that made the needles work independently in mid-air. 'Are those socks?' asked Harry.

'They are. I make them two at a time, using a Muggle method, only with magic. They come out more even that way.'

'That's good. I had high hopes for some hand-knit socks I received as a present recently, but they were two different sizes,' he said, recalling the socks he'd been sent in the wake of the article about his childhood. 'And another pair fit all right, but the heels kept migrating to the top.'

'Sloppy charms—it's more common than you'd think.' She looked at his feet and asked, 'What size shoe do you wear?'

'Oh! I wasn't hinting after a pair!'

'I know you weren't. Believe me, people are seldom subtle when they see me knitting. But I'd be glad to make you some, if you'll show me those feet of yours.'

A few people were waiting in the corridor, but Harry didn't think there was anything inappropriate about taking off his shoes in public. 'That's very kind of you,' he said, removing the low boots Lydia had insisted he wear with the robes.

Using her wand, the witch conjured models of his feet and ankles. 'We'll get a better fit that way,' she explained. 'You have a narrow heel, you know.'

'I didn't know that,' he said, unsure what that indicated.

'Didn't you learn Podomancy at Hogwarts? It's a form of Divination.'

'Er, no. I failed my Divination O.W.L., so I never studied it after fifth year.'

'That explains it; Podomancy, also known as Solestry, is a N.E.W.T.-level practice. But a narrow heel is good, and it's usually correlated with a long and healthy life.'

I'm sure Trelawney could have found some way to twist that around, thought Harry. 'That's good to hear, thank you.'

They chatted about socks, and she asked him more about his name change, until a vaguely familiar-looking wizard opened the door and removed the sign. Was he in there the entire time? Harrywondered.

'Madam Steek,' said the clerk, 'please come in.'

She turned to Harry and said, 'It was a pleasure meeting you, and best of luck.'

He thanked her and peeked at his pocket watch, which said it was indeed a quarter to nine. As long as he's quick, I should be on time to practice, he thought.

Madam Steek finished her task in a matter of minutes, and Harry assumed he'd be next, but the clerk called someone else. Concerned, Harry called Kreacher telepathically.

Yes, Master! replied the elf.

I might be late to practice, he said. Please tell Lara at the Cannons training grounds that it's taking longer than I anticipated at the Ministry, but I'll be there as soon as possible.

Of course, Master! With pleasure!

Harry wasn't thrilled he'd be late, but at least he wouldn't get into trouble, and hopefully they'd call him next. Unfortunately, the clerk called everyone else first. Several people protested, saying Harry had arrived earlier, but the clerk insisted this was more efficient. And Harry had to admit he took care of them quickly, so he was hopeful his own task wouldn't take long.

'Harry Potter,' called the clerk, not rising from his desk as he'd done with the others.

Harry entered the office, unsure what to expect from the unmistakably hostile young wizard. 'Good morning,' he said, sitting opposite him. 'You look familiar but I don't think we've met.'

'I was two years ahead of you at Hogwarts. My name is Sylvan Burke.'

Harry was surprised. 'Are you the Registrar General?' he asked, noting the name on the door to a private office.

'No, that's my grandfather. But I'll have the post when he retires. He was feeling unwell this morning, so I insisted he take the day off.'

'I hope he feels better,' said Harry. He waited for Burke to offer assistance, but the clerk was silent. 'Er, I have a form I'd like to submit for inscription,' said Harry, handing him the parchment.

Burke glanced at it. 'That's the wrong document.'

'I'm sorry, this is what the goblins gave me. Do you have the correct one?'

'I'll go look,' said Burke coldly, walking towards what looked like a supply room.

Harry remained seated, noting row upon row of filing cabinets and a wall covered with portraits. I wonder if Phyllida Black is there, he thought, and he took advantage of Burke's strangely long absence to investigate.

Most of the portraits were sleeping, but those who were awake all looked at him, and several gathered in a frame to whisper. 'Excuse me,' he asked a portrait. 'Is Phyllida Black here?'

'No, she's been taken away for cleaning,' replied the wizard. 'Just last week.'

'Oh, all right,' said Harry. 'Please give her my best regards. My name's Harry Potter. Er, Potter-Black.'

'Yes, I know, and I'll tell her. But you be careful today. They're ready for you.'

Harry was about to ask what that meant when Burke returned. 'I can't help you if you won't stay put, Potter.'

'I'm sorry,' said Harry, returning to his seat. 'Oh my god, is that the form?'

He was referring to a long parchment on the desk. 'Yes,' replied Burke. 'There's no precedent for hyphenated names, so we created a new process. You should feel honoured.'

Harry couldn't hide his irritation. 'Have I done something to offend you? This feels oddly personal.'

'It is.'

'I know the Burkes are a Dark family,' said Harry, recalling Borgin and Burkes, the sinister antiques shop in Knockturn Alley. 'But you weren't Death Eaters, as far as I know.'

'We weren't. But this isn't about the war. It's about a certain Miss Travers.'

Bugger! He must have been one of Lydia's suitors.

'It was her decision,' said Harry. 'I never pursued her, and I asked first whether she had a fiancé.'

'Yes, under Veritaserum. On a Thursday, as I recall. I intended to propose the next night.'

'She couldn't have known that. And I certainly didn't.'

'If you'd pressed her on the topic, she could have told you my offer was imminent. Courtship follows specific rules, and I'd already given her notepaper and a pair of silk gloves. She knew what was next.'

Harry was unsure how to reply. His obnoxious Seeker persona wanted to say, 'Clearly she didn't fancy you,' but his diplomatic side prevailed.

'I understand your disappointment—really, I do. I've been turned down more than once, as everyone knows. But aren't you better off not marrying someone who isn't who you thought she was?'

Burke stiffened. 'Are you maligning her?'

'Not at all. But if you were expecting a traditional witch who'd go to Dunnings with you on Sundays and only associate with other pure-bloods, you wouldn't have been happy.'

'Were you happy with her?'

Harry closed his eyes. 'It was never going to be permanent. But yes, I was very happy while we were together.'

'That's because you were play-acting at the life I intended to share with her.' Burke looked scornfully at Harry's robes. 'Did she help you choose that outfit?'

Not wanting to lie, Harry nodded.

'You look ridiculous, you know. You can become head of ten houses but you'll never be one of us.'

Harry felt his Occlumency shields rise, not because Burke was attacking him, but because they were his most defiant form of Light magic. 'I'm not trying to be one of you. I'm proud of my mother, and the Potters as well. That's why I'm hyphenating my name and not just calling myself Harry Black.'

'Yes,' drawled Burke. 'You should get started on that form. It's rather long.'

He handed Harry a quill and indicated a counter where he could work. Is it my imagination, or is this counter slightly too high? Harry wondered.

The form itself was positively byzantine, with questions about all his great-grandparents. 'I don't know most of their names,' he said.

'Then you'll just have to leave them blank and request a waiver,' said Burke, casually floating another form towards him.

It took Harry nearly half an hour to complete all the paperwork, including additional waivers for his incomplete schooling and lack of N.E.W.T.s. Meanwhile, Burke assisted other clients, and Harry noticed the waiting area once again had a sofa and chairs.

'This should be everything,' said Harry, handing him the forms.

Burke looked through the array of parchments. 'Yes, I think so. All we'll need now is a hair sample.'

'Do I look daft? There's no way I'm giving you a hair sample!'

'The form demands it,' said Burke. 'Hyphenation is unprecedented.'

'You and your grandfather invented that form last week!' After a pause, he said, 'I've been more than patient. But I'm not without allies, you know.'

'I also have Ministry allies,' replied Burke, unconcerned.

Harry allowed coiled energy to fill his head and torso. 'What about Gringotts?'

Burke paled. Pulling the parchments into a neat pile, he said, 'I believe I can waive the hair requirement.' He then filled out a slip of pink paper and handed it to Harry. 'Here's your receipt, which will turn green when your request is inscribed. I don't anticipate a problem.'

'Thank you,' said Harry. 'I'm glad to hear it.'

He took the stairs to the Atrium, and before he even reached the fireplaces the receipt turned green. Mischief managed, thought Harry, and he wondered if goblins liked flowers.

Tuttle wasn't cross when Harry arrived late to practice, and afterwards he and the reserves went to the Black Olive. The Prophet cover announcing Harry's name change was already on the wall, along with the photo they'd taken together the week before. 'I suspected you'd come round today,' said Marvin. 'I even saved a baguette for your sandwich, since they're already selling out.'

'So they're popular?'

'Very. But you should talk to my father,' said Marvin, after taking Harry's order.

Lisa also arrived, and they sat with Elliott. 'He's about to tap you for a loan,' she told Harry as soon as they were seated.

'Lisa! Mind your manners!' said Elliott.

'Sorry, Uncle,' she said, grinning cheekily.

'I'm sorry, Harry—this wasn't how I wanted to bring it up.'

'That's fine, go ahead,' replied Harry, who wasn't surprised.

'You were right about the baguettes,' he began. 'The only problem is supply. The bakery is already operating at capacity, and they need larger ovens, but they don't have the gold. So they're asking us to pay up front, which will allow them to upgrade, and then we'll have first dibs from then on. But we can't afford the outlay either.'

'And you don't have a line of credit with Gringotts?'

'We had a loan when I started the business, which I slowly paid off, but now we operate on monthly revenue. It's enough to pay salaries and take the occasional holiday, but there's not much in reserve.'

'How much is the bakery asking for?' asked Harry.

Elliott told him. It's less than I earn in a week, he thought. 'Are they willing to sign the contract through Gringotts? I'd want assurances they'll provide the bread and not just scarper.'

'Yes, and for our contract as well.'

'Oh right, that. What are you envisioning?'

'We'd pay you back with interest, on a set schedule,' replied Elliott.

Harry shook his head. 'I can't accept interest. Not within the family.'

Smirking, Lisa said, 'Don't let the Whites find out, or they'll expect the same treatment.'

'There's little risk here,' argued Harry. 'And I'm the one who suggested French bread in the first place.'

'That would be tremendous, if you're willing,' said Elliott. 'And I'm sure we can repay you within a few months—I'm only sorry we don't have that kind of gold lying around.'

After lunch, Harry asked Mrs Thwip to owl Gringotts for a meeting about the contract and loan. 'Don't overextend yourself, Mr Potter-Black,' she warned him. 'You're not used to relations, and they can be a plague of locusts.'

'I know, but I'm not worried in this case. It's a small loan for a short duration.'

'I'm not talking about gold,' she said. 'I'm talking about your attention. You have too many distractions already.'

He frowned. 'It does seem like that sometimes. But what can I do about it?'

'You'll have to choose, and occasionally say no. You don't need to respond to all that post, for example.'

'I can't not respond to children,' he said. 'Or to people who were abused, or are experiencing Light magic.'

'Perhaps not, but you don't need to write a long missive either. You're allowed just to add a sentence to the end of a typewritten form letter.'

'That would save time,' he admitted. 'It's got up to ten hours a week.'

'Shall I prepare those for you?'

Harry closed his eyes and nodded. 'I'd appreciate that.'

When he walked out for afternoon practice, he brought his Firebolt Ultra. Randolph Spudmore was coming, and although Harry had little hope he'd be able to use the broom in a match, he was eager for answers.

'Poor Toffer, with the broom he's doomed never to fly on,' said Gemma. 'You should probably just give up and endorse the Silver Arrow.'

'It's too late, they don't want me anymore.'

'What about a joint contract with your other sponsors?'

'Do you mean an underwear advert with a Silver Arrow in the background somewhere?' he asked.

'Or you on a Silver Arrow, wearing nothing but Y-fronts.'

'Er, that sounds really uncomfortable.'

Gemma lit up. 'Or you could endorse one of those comfort broomsticks for old people! You know—the ones that look like normal broomsticks, only they feel like an easy chair and have a top speed of about ten miles an hour.'

'That's just pathetic.'

'You're right, but you can endorse it when you're older and have fewer options.'

'Wearing Y-fronts?'

'They can use some other wizard's body,' she said. 'I'm sure they'll have wizarding Photoshop by then.'

Harry saw Bruce approaching the benches with a grey-haired wizard who had to be Randolph Spudmore. We meet at last, thought Harry, but he tried to keep his expression friendly.

'Harry, Gemma, this is Randolph Spudmore. Randolph, this is Harry Potter and Gemma Rees.'

Potter-Black, thought Harry. 'It's an honour to meet you, Mr Spudmore,' he said. 'Thanks for being willing to talk to me.'

'Of course, it's always useful seeing products in the field,' said Spudmore. 'Miss Rees, I understand you're a fan.'

'I am. Last year I tested all the racing brooms, and the Firebolt Ultra was far and away my favourite. I nearly had a seizure handing over all those Galleons, but I never regretted it.'

'Yes, there's something to be said for earning your broomstick,' said Spudmore, with a glance at Harry. 'My parents were broom makers, but they didn't just hand me the top of the line—I was expected to work for it.'

I'm sorry, I was busy defeating Voldemort, thought Harry irritably. But he reminded himself that Spudmore was clearly still hurt. 'I was very grateful for the free broomstick last year, and I sincerely regret that I didn't know how to fly it properly until recently.'

'I suppose that's what happens when a Hogwarts first-year gets his own racing broom,' said Spudmore. 'There's a reason children usually start with hand-me-downs.'

'I'm sure I would have done if my parents hadn't died,' replied Harry, a tad sharply.

'Yes, of course,' said Spudmore, looking slightly embarrassed. 'I understand you're getting strange behaviour from the Ultra. Would you mind showing me?'

'I'd be glad to,' he said, and Bruce handed Spudmore a pair of Omnioculars. The trainers had created an obstacle course ten feet above the pitch, and Harry and Gemma began racing through it.

Harry's Light magic arose quickly, and he deliberately invited it to interact weirdly with the broom. Within minutes, not only did the broomstick misbehave, but Harry felt a discomfort bordering on nausea.

He flew to the ground. 'That was extra weird,' he told Bruce. 'Could you conjure me some water?'

'Are you all right?' asked Owen, as Bruce filled a bottle and handed it to Harry.

'I feel really choppy internally. Lots of energy, but not steady,' said Harry, sitting down. 'Did you see the broom acting up?' he asked Spudmore.

'I did,' said Spudmore, still looking through the Omnioculars.

'What was different this time?' asked Owen. 'You don't normally feel sick after flying it.'

'I invited the weirdness so he'd see what I was talking about. Which might have been a mistake.'

'Can you just glow for a minute, without flying? To settle your system?'

'I'll try,' said Harry, closing his eyes and lying down. The air was cool, and he removed his gloves so he could feel the soft grass. His energy began to calm, and his thoughts drifted towards Alex. Oh bugger, it's still twelve more days.

Sitting up, he asked, 'Do you think my vow is having an effect?'

'Already?' said Owen. 'It's been less than two days.'

'It's been since Friday morning, actually. That's more than four days.'

Owen laughed and said, 'You're really going to hate fatherhood.'

'Are you saying Toffer-Blatch is a mess because he hasn't had his wand polished since Friday?' asked Gemma.

'What does this have to do with the Ultra?' said Spudmore.

'May I tell him?' asked Owen, and Harry nodded. 'Harry took a two-week vow of celibacy on the advice of his Light magic teacher, to help him through the accidental phase.'

'That's how much he wants to use your broom,' said Gemma.

'Do you know why it's misbehaving for me?' asked Harry, standing up again.

Spudmore was silent before speaking. 'I didn't plan this. I had no idea this would happen.'

'Did you use Light magic?' asked Bruce. 'We won't tell anyone.'

Spudmore looked at Gemma. 'Miss Rees, you should go. I'm glad you like the Ultra.'

Gemma's face fell. 'I need to know too! I might learn Light magic, but I don't want my broom to start acting all weird. It's the only one I like.'

That was very Slytherin of her, thought Harry, watching Spudmore's expression soften.

'All right, you can stay. But you can't repeat it.'

'Of course, we won't,' said Harry.

'No,' said Spudmore. 'You literally can't repeat it. It's like the Fidelius Charm—I'm the only one who can tell you. But some background first. As you probably know, I released the original Firebolt in 1993 to wide acclaim. I spent more than a decade developing it, and it included numerous innovations.'

They all nodded, and he continued. 'For nearly two years I was overwhelmed with demand. Not only did the Firebolt require complicated Charms, but it relied heavily on goblin-crafted ironwork, which proved unsustainable. Labour disputes were a nightmare, and I decided my next broomstick would be entirely wizard-made.'

He sighed. 'I thought I could pull it off, but I couldn't. I made some decent prototypes, but they weren't any better than what Nimbus was selling, and they'd surely be considered a step down from the Firebolt. I knew that if I wanted to succeed, I had to try something new.'

'Light magic?' asked Harry, and Spudmore nodded.

'Broom makers have tinkered with Dark magic for centuries, but it's never provided an advantage. It can help with acceleration, but once you add safety charms the Dark magic is neutralised and the advantage is lost. So I decided to try the opposite.'

'But how did you do that?' asked Gemma. 'Except for the Patronus Charm, it's not easy to just start practising Light magic.'

'No, it isn't, which is why it took me so long. And I can't say I've mastered Light magic—not even close. Harry, you're probably more advanced at it than I am, even though you're still in the accidental phase.'

'Then what are you doing?'

'It's a Propulsion Charm. Not unlike a Banishing Charm, only with a strong, positive intent.'

Harry tried to imagine what that would be like, and he immediately started glowing. 'You're sending out love. The broom is propelled by love.'

'It varies, depending on the caster,' said Spudmore. 'Some people are more able to generate gratitude, and others do better with compassion, or protection. I've found that people with children can learn the charm more readily, since they've learnt to put someone else's needs above their own. Not all parents, but most.'

'Then why does it interfere with my magic?' asked Harry. 'Shouldn't they mesh?'

'In theory, yes. But that's not the only charm on the Ultra—not even close. Once I learnt to cast the Propulsion Charm, it was another year before I got it to work with all the other charms. A top-tier racing broom is a delicate balance, and if it's off in a single direction the broom won't work well.'

'It'll be too jerky, for example,' said Harry, and Spudmore nodded.

'Everyone warned me,' he said. 'Some of my testers loved it, but others didn't—particularly those who'd only used top-tier brooms. I dismissed their complaints, believing that most wizards cut their teeth on hand-me-downs.'

Owen looked unconvinced. 'I learnt to fly on old brooms, but I found the Ultra too twitchy. Not as much as Harry did, but enough. No offence.'

'Ron too,' added Harry. 'My friend, Ron Weasley. And he flew on crap brooms for years.'

'Is he a natural flyer?' asked Bruce.

'He's all right, but he's not league material,' said Harry. 'But what about Owen?'

'My strength is spotting, not flying. I'm a good flyer, but not like you or Gemma.'

'Or Viktor Krum,' said Harry. 'He loves the Ultra, in case you didn't know.'

'I do know,' replied Spudmore, 'and it's helped me through some dark days.'

'It's a tremendous broom,' said Harry. 'Gemma can tell you, I whinge nearly every day that she gets to fly it and I don't.'

'That's nice to hear. I didn't take it well when you touted the Silver Arrow, which I have to admit is a stellar broomstick. I'd have been proud to release something like it.'

'But it sounds like Toffer-Blatch is out of luck,' said Gemma.

'I'm afraid so,' replied Spudmore. 'Unless something changes when you get past the accidental phase, the Ultra might never behave normally for you.'

'Couldn't you tweak it?' asked Owen. 'Make a custom version that works with Harry's magic? The team would pay you for it.'

'No,' said Bruce. 'That would be an illegally-charmed object. The league would never allow it.'

'Have you started work on your next broomstick?' asked Owen. 'Perhaps you could test it on Harry.'

Spudmore sighed heavily. 'I've been less than inspired, ever since the Ultra wasn't embraced as I'd hoped. If I had shareholders, I'm sure they'd be after me to produce a Silver Arrow clone. Which I may still do, just to prove I can.'

'No!' cried Gemma. 'The Silver Arrow is boring!'

'It's not that bad,' said Harry.

'No, it isn't,' agreed Spudmore. 'I think it's superior to the original Firebolt. But it's not the kind of innovation that excites me. I'm still convinced there's something to that Propulsion Charm.'

'Too right there is,' said Gemma. 'I love that kick! But can't you work with Harry next time, and find some other spoilt toffs to see if they like it?'

'I know just the wizard,' said Harry, thinking of Draco.

'I could do, but it's early days yet,' replied Spudmore. 'And yes, I'd appreciate your input. You're a fine flyer. Both of you.'

'Why did you put off replying when Bruce wrote to you?' asked Owen. 'If you don't mind my asking.'

'Wounded pride. I'm ashamed to say the Prophet accurately described my reaction to Harry's enthusiasm for the Silver Arrow.'

'If it's any consolation, the Prophet has accurately described some of my bad behaviour,' said Harry.

'Like how you want to shag your dead godfather?' asked Gemma, and everyone laughed.

Spudmore stayed for the rest of the afternoon, and Harry flew the Firebolt Ultra during the practice match. He and Gemma both feinted like mad, primarily for Spudmore's benefit, and in the end Harry got the Snitch.

'I'm glad I came,' Spudmore told them. 'Harry, I'm sorry you won't be able to use the Ultra anytime soon, if at all. But it was a pleasure watching both of you fly this afternoon.' Addressing Gemma, he said, 'You in particular. Would you be interested in demoing it during the off-season? We have some publicity events scheduled, and you'd be a perfect stunt flyer.'

'Would I? I'd love to!' Collecting herself, she added, 'Assuming the pay is adequate.'

Spudmore chuckled. 'Viktor Krum is beyond our price range, and so is Harry, I expect, but I'm sure we can come to an agreement. Have you been to Chicago before?'

'For the World Quidditch Conference?' exclaimed Gemma. 'No, but I'd go in a heartbeat!'

'Gemma, you're a lousy negotiator,' said Harry. 'But I'd love to have you there with me.'

She blushed, and they all said goodbye to Spudmore. 'That went better than I expected,' said Bruce.

'It did, except for the part where I might never get to fly the Ultra in a match.'

'Maybe your celibacy vow will help,' said Gemma. 'Are you really announcing it on the radio tonight?'

'I am. I realise it might sound like attention-seeking, but I want to make this work, and it'll help if I'm accountable.'

'Yeah, every witch in Britain will know you're off limits. Although they might take it as a challenge.'

'Merlin, what a thought! Let's hope not.'

'No nightclubs for you, or pubs,' she said. 'You should probably come watch the telly at Casa Rees, just to be safe.'

'You have a VCR!' he exclaimed. 'I could watch films to pass the time.'

'That could work,' she said. 'But no "Nine and a Half Weeks."'

'Is that a smutty film?' he asked, and she nodded. 'No, let's keep it celibacy-friendly.'

After practice, Harry returned to Grimmauld Place and replied to fan mail. This is so much easier, he thought guiltily as he scrawled a few lines on a form letter. But his new autograph looked weird, so he filled a page with variants, feeling embarrassingly like Lockhart.

'Oh my god, I could totally blackmail you right now,' said Lisa from behind him.

'Bloody hell! Why are you here already?'

'It's six o'clock, my lord. That's when you said I should come over. And I'm glad I was punctual, because I'm going to tease you about this for the next fifty years.'

'Can't I just buy your silence with a dowry? I even met an eligible pure-blood today who'd probably take you off my hands.' He told her about Sylvan Burke, and she laughed hysterically.

'I love that he probably spent hours preparing for your visit,' she said, wiping tears from her eyes.

'It's fairly absurd,' he admitted. 'But I feel bad as well ... he woke up that Friday morning planning to propose marriage, confident he'd be accepted, only to find Lydia in the Prophet with a manwhore like me.'

'Have you always been this fond of calling yourself a manwhore, or is this something new?'

'Just since the Harpies match, but I'm taking steps to address it.'

'Oh?' she asked, as they walked to the kitchen for dinner.

'Yes, and I plan to announce it tonight on the radio. I've taken a two-week vow of celibacy.'

She stared at him. 'You can't be serious!'

'My Light magic teacher recommended it. I'm tired of not being able to control my Light magic, and this could actually help.'

'If it only takes is a fortnight, we should all be Light magic experts.'

'No, it's all about intent, hence the vow. And I'm realising I use sex as a way to bypass difficult emotions.'

'But why would you have difficult emotions?' she asked. 'Your life has been so free from trauma.'

'I know, right? But Light magic can help, apparently. It's a matter of connecting the need with the source.'

'What do you mean?'

Harry closed his eyes. 'When I experience Light magic, it's like something's flowing through me. Sometimes the source feels internal, and other times it's external, but in either case it's tremendously pleasant—both mentally and physically.' He opened his eyes to see whether she was following him.

'Go on,' she said.

'But I'm realising the source and the need don't always connect. If you'll excuse the metaphor, which I know Doctor Niffler would pounce on, it's like a baby trying to drink milk, only most of it is spilling and not going into his mouth. So he just sucks harder, even though something's not working right.' He closed his eyes again and said, 'Sex is a perfectly brilliant way to close the gap. But it's off the table for the next twelve days, so I have to do a better job aligning the need with the source.'

Harry looked down at his plate. 'I suppose some people have the same relationship with food, or alcohol, but that's not my vice.'

'That's fortunate, or you'd have a lot of robes that don't fit. But I thought Light magic increased the need for sex, or in your case, anyway.'

'That's what they say, and my teacher says I'm a textbook example. And I think it's true, since the pleasure of Light magic is similar to sex, so it's easy for one to lead to the other. But I think it comes down to a need for connection and fulfilment. I'm realising this as I say it, but that's what Light magic offers, without the need for another person. But it also makes me more hungry for that connection, because a little isn't enough, and I haven't mastered it.' He closed his eyes again, and he had to pause to collect himself.

After opening his eyes, he said, 'I think that's what's going on. But I'm also nineteen, and I'm no longer as downtrodden as I was during the war. And sex is fun.'

'I still can't believe you and Hermione Granger never got together in that tent. Wasn't it cold?'

'She casts a mean Warming Charm. And she fancied Ron.'

After dinner, they went up to his room and he introduced her to Banthora. 'Banthora, this is my cousin, Lisa Black,' he said. 'She's descended from Prometheus Black and Desdemona Nightwick, by way of their son who was a Squib.'

'Yes, I remember how upset they were when they tested his magic, using the potion. I was a portrait by then, but I heard all about it. Mona blamed Prometheus for lusting after a Muggle barmaid at the local tavern, and Prometheus blamed Mona for having a half-blood great-grandmother.'

'Wow, they sound like real charmers,' said Lisa. 'What a shame my great-great-granddad never knew them.'

Harry slid a cornflower boutonnière into his lapel, and after sending Lisa downstairs he pulled out the magazine Suresh had bought for him. 'You asked to see wizarding photos of male genitalia,' he told Banthora, 'and I'm told this magazine fits the bill. I should warn you, though, that it's shocking. You'll probably learn far more than you wanted to about what wizards do together. Homosexual wizards, that is.'

'I've seen Grecian urns,' she said. 'You needn't worry about my sensibilities.'

'All right, consider yourself warned. I'll have Kreacher hover it using house-elf magic and give you the ability to turn the pages.' He summoned Kreacher, and the elf appeared instantly.

'Master has a letter!' he said, holding up an envelope.

Harry looked at the return address and saw that it was from Runnion. Probably more numbers, he thought, recalling a recent hint about Australia. 'I'll read it later,' he said. 'I need to leave for the broadcast, and Lisa is waiting.' He told Kreacher what Banthora needed and went downstairs.

They travelled by Floo to the Leaky Cauldron, where Harry was immediately scolded by a wizard. 'I lost five Galleons on you!'

'About my name change?'

'Yes! I chose Harry Black, because of how you dress.'

Harry looked down at his robes. 'Can't I dress like this as a Potter-Black?'

'I suppose you can, but I expected you to uphold wizarding traditions.'

'Haven't you been paying attention?' asked Lisa. 'Harry torches wizarding traditions right and left. And besides, he wanted to keep his father's name.'

'She's right,' said a witch. 'Potter's an iconoclast and always has been. You should have known he'd hyphenate.'

'Like a Muggle,' muttered the wizard.

'Like someone with two people I consider my father,' said Harry. 'I'm sorry about your wager, but I'm late for the broadcast.'

He and Lisa rushed from the tavern and into Diagon Alley, where people made way as they dashed to the shop. 'There you are!' cried George. 'We were afraid of an angry mob if you didn't turn up.'

'There's still five minutes,' said Lisa. 'I think you're too demanding—Harry's a busy man. He has a whole new signature to practise.'

'You must be Lisa,' said George. 'Come in! Are you prepared to have your life completely upended by appearing on wizarding Britain's most popular broadcast?'

'It was already upended by appearing on the front page of the Prophet with Harry Scandal Potter,' she said as they walked through the crowded shop.

'Potter-Black,' said Harry. 'The name's Potter-Black.'

'Give it time,' said George. 'Lisa, it's wonderful to have you with us. I'm George Weasley, and you'll meet Lee presently.'

They entered the broadcasting booth, and Lee greeted them. 'Is anything off limits this week?'

'You can talk about Alex, but don't criticise her. She never misled me about having a fiancé.'

'All right, so you're a home-wrecker. What else?'

'No Malfoys.'

'Yes, of course,' said George. 'But one of these days I want him here in the booth with us.'

'Unlikely,' said Harry. 'I should warn you that I have what might be an interesting announcement tonight.'

'Fantastic,' replied Lee. 'Let's keep it a surprise until we're on the air.'

George provided water, and a minute later Lee counted down. 'Good evening, and welcome yet again to the emotionally-healing, soul-nourishing experience we call "Weasley's Wizard Wireless." With us tonight are not one but two guests, both dedicated to resolving lifetimes worth of accumulated trauma here on the air. The first is a colossal attention-whore who's so enamoured by the sound of his own name that he just lengthened it, and the second is a hapless young witch who was just minding her own business when she discovered she's related to the most notorious British wizard since, well, You-Know-Who. I give you Harry Potter-Black, and Lisa Black.'

The room shook with applause, and Harry could see that Lisa had inspired hoots and whistles from some of the wizards. 'Thank you, Lee. It's good to be here, as always.'

'It's a good thing you arrived,' said George. 'You cut it a bit fine this week, and we were afraid we'd have to go to our backup plan, which was to read Walburga that Sorceress article about you.'

'Or, better yet,' said Lee, 'to have Walburga read it aloud, since it was written in the first person. I know I'd love to hear about how you pleasured her repeatedly, for hours on end. In fact, we might still do that, now that Cassia Dexter has exposed your wish to merge completely with your adopted family.'

'Excuse me, I'm right here,' said Lisa. 'And I'm not interested in merging with my attention-whore cousin.'

'Welcome, Lisa!' said George. 'Now that's what I call a broadcast debut! Do you mean to say you're the one witch in all Britain who doesn't want a turn on Harry's enormous bed?'

'Hang on, mate—that's a disturbingly broad category,' said Lee. 'Do you really mean to imply that every last witch in Britain wants a piece of Harry? Even if we scratch out the witches who don't fancy men, that still leaves your mum.'

'Sweet Merlin, you're right,' said George. 'I hereby withdraw my previous statement. But back to my question: Lisa, why don't you fancy Harry? I know you're fourth cousins, but that's nothing. And furthermore, we at Weasley's Wizard Wireless are all in favour of Black family intermarriage, in the hopes of creating another Walburga.'

'There could never be another Walburga,' said Lisa. 'But in answer to your question, Harry's lovely but he's far too notorious. Furthermore, I don't know who made him take that vow, but she was spot on—he needs to grow up before settling down, and I'd rather not just be a notch on his enormous bedpost.'

'So you'll reconsider when he's twenty-one?' asked Lee.

Lisa looked slightly embarrassed. 'That's not what I meant. All I'm saying is that as cousins we're stuck with each other for life, and we'd much rather be friends than embittered exes.'

'Can't you be both?' asked George. 'My sister Ginny was a trendsetter when it comes to dumping Harry, but they get on just fine now.'

'Er, hello!' said Harry. 'I realise it's become tradition to slag me on the air, but this feels excessive.'

'You're right,' said Lee. 'It is a tradition to slag you on the air, but we always start with your Patronus. Would you mind bringing him out?'

Pausing to remember his enchanted picnic with Alex, Harry cried, 'Expecto Patronum!' Prongs burst forth, and Lisa's face lit with delight.

'He's lovely!' she said. 'I've never seen him before—not in real life.'

'Where should I send him?'

'Back to Azkaban,' said Lee. 'We received dozens of grateful letters last time.'

'And no irate ones?' asked Harry.

'Not a one.'

'I'm astonished,' said Harry, and he sent Prongs to Azkaban.

'I should probably mention,' said Lee afterwards, 'that irate letters from prisoners are intercepted by the guards, and apparently there were a lot of those as well. But not as many as the grateful ones.'

'What?' cried Harry. 'You just had me send Prongs where he isn't wanted!'

'Don't think of it that way,' said George. 'It's not Prongs they dislike. It's you, Harry. You're the one they don't want.'

'And now there's even more of you to dislike,' said Lee. 'Five more letters, and a hyphen! Would you care to comment?'

'I think I said everything in the article,' began Harry.

'Ahem, I wasn't talking to you,' said Lee. 'I was talking to Lisa. What do you have to say about Harry tacking your surname onto his?'

'Do you want the real answer, or am I supposed to take the mickey?' she asked.

'I don't know,' said Lee. 'George, what do you think?'

George frowned. 'Let's have the real answer. We've been harder than usual on Harry tonight, and he deserves what I suspect will be some familial warmth.'

'Then here goes,' said Lisa. 'Personally, I'm delighted that Harry invited us back into the family and has taken our name. He hosted a reunion the weekend before last, and everyone I talked to said he made them feel extremely welcome.'

'And I assume you didn't just ask the pretty girls,' said George.

'No, I heard from people of all ages. He was a very gracious host.'

'That's positively heartwarming,' said Lee. 'But was it awkward when he took you aside and asked if you could pretend you were Sirius and ram him up the arse?'

The room shook with laughter, and George said, 'For those of you who might have missed it, in Sunday's Daily Prophet—that's the newspaper here in Britain—beloved Mind Healer Cassia Dexter speculated wildly about Harry's hidden desires. Harry, would you care to elaborate?'

Harry ran a hand through his hair. 'Where do I even start? Her analysis was a load of bollocks from start to finish.'

'We can go through it together if you like,' said George. 'I have the article right here, with her quotes highlighted. She started by saying you'd pursued Alex with the goal of reenacting the loss of your mother.'

'Oh, right,' said Harry. 'Because nothing gets me off like being swaddled like a baby and lying there helplessly while some tall bloke shows up and kills someone I love. By the way—thanks, Ron. You made a brilliant Voldemort.'

'Now I'm lost,' said Lee. 'There was nothing in the Sorceress article about that, nor in the photo with those two witches. Is this a new fetish?'

'Yes,' said Harry. 'Doctor Niffler gave me heaps of ideas. And she was right about Alex—there's no substitute for a nursing mother.'

'Just to clarify,' said a laughing George, 'when you say "Doctor Niffler" are you referring to Cassia Dexter?'

'Yes. She wrote a book called, Be Your Own Niffler: Finding the Treasure Within, and the name just stuck.'

'And to clarify further, were you being serious when you said you get off on wearing nappies and having someone pretend to be Voldemort.'

'I was not being serious, and thanks for asking. The reason I dated Alex, even though I knew she was engaged, was that she's clever and beautiful and I fancied her. End of story.'

'It also sounds convenient, with your marriage vow. You didn't need to worry you were leading her down the garden path.'

'That's true, and she appreciated that about me, since she had no intention of leaving her fiancé.'

'Lisa, did Harry seem all right on Saturday, when you went to dinner with Alex and her one true love?'

'I could tell he was fond of her, and he wished things hadn't ended so soon, but otherwise he was fine.'

'But what about the "Battle of the Dandies?" asked Lee. 'That looked to me like a cry for help.'

'Bloody brilliant is what it was,' said Lisa. 'I mightn't fancy Harry, but he's done wizarding Britain an enormous service by dressing well. Every witch I know is enjoying seeing wizards make an effort. Merlin knows we're expected to look good, and now wizards are returning the favour.'

'Did you hear that, listeners?' said Lee. 'The lovely Miss Black just said in no uncertain terms that she has a thing for fitted robes and tight trousers.'

'That's not what she said,' began Harry, but Lisa interrupted him.

'I didn't say that, but Lee's right. Tight trousers are fantastic. Although they're technically unnecessary under fitted robes, which are also fantastic.'

'Do we have any statistics yet?' asked George. 'Is wizarding Britain having more sex now that Harry's revealed he's a raging shagaholic?'

'What?' said Harry. 'You make it sound deliberate!'

'No, of course not. But I think it all started when you joined the Cannons and got rid of your eyeglasses.'

'The Man Who Lived,' quoted Lee. 'You're right. And then came the robes, and the orgies– er, parties. I suspect the bookmakers are offering odds on a surge of new births starting next ...' He counted out months on his fingers. 'Next May. They'll be called the Robe and Flower generation.'

'Speaking of flowers,' said George, 'what are you wearing tonight? It looks familiar but I can never remember flower names.'

'It's a cornflower, sometimes called bachelor's button,' said Harry.

'Hang on, I don't need the book for that one,' said Lee. 'Wasn't that the celibacy flower?'

'It was, and there's a reason for it. I've taken a two-week vow of celibacy.'

Harry was amused to watch the audience members progress from shock to hysterics, and Lee and George did the same. 'But why?' pleaded George. 'Why would Harry Potter-Black, sex fiend, willingly abstain for an entire fortnight?'

'It was on the advice of my Light magic teacher, and I'll say up front that this isn't a requirement for practising the Light Arts. But I'm still having trouble with accidental magic, and she said this could help.'

'But surely you've gone a fortnight before this, right?' asked George. 'You said under Veritaserum that you never shagged my brother.'

'That's correct, and I've gone far longer than a fortnight in the past. More than seventeen years, in fact. But I never took a vow, which has a particular effect somehow.'

'How long has it been?' asked Lee. 'Should we be frightened?'

'I took the vow two days ago.'

'Is it some kind of magical vow, where you're literally unable to break it?'

'No, it's just a spoken vow. The idea is to practise ongoing restraint.'

'We need to make a sign,' declared George. 'A large sign in the shop window, showing how many days Harry's been celibate. Or a countdown timer, and maybe even an hourglass. Do you know exactly when the vow ends?'

'Sunday, the tenth of October, at seven thirty-nine p.m.,' replied Harry. 'And twelve seconds.'

'Not that you're keeping track or anything,' said Lee. 'And it looks like our shop assistant Karenna is already on the task. Which means our listeners need only stop by Weasley's Wizard Wheezes to know precisely how long it'll be before Walburga's Wonderland is once again open for business.'

'But we've drifted from the topic of Doctor Niffler,' said George. 'Harry, she made some shocking allegations about you and Sirius, and by extension about Lisa. What do you have to say? And remember, we have a delay button, so don't be shy.'

'What she said about Sirius was hugely inappropriate! I don't know much about Sirius's personal life, and maybe he did fancy my dad, but–'

Lee shook his head emphatically. 'I saw that picture of your dad and Sirius this morning, and frankly Sirius could have done a lot better.'

'You're probably right,' said Harry. 'But my point is that even if I was oblivious to Sirius perving on me, there were plenty of people who would have noticed. Hermione, for example—she's probably the most observant person I know, and she's never said a thing. And believe me, she would have done.' He took a deep breath. 'As for whether I longed for comfort back then ... yeah, probably. But I was thinking about girls, not Sirius. And what I wanted most of all was a parent, and that's what he was to me. That's why I've taken his name.'

Harry looked down and saw his hands were glowing. 'I loved Sirius. I'll miss him every day for the rest of my life. More than my parents, at least consciously. So when Doctor Niffler gets awakened by some reporter in the middle of the night and craps out some rubbish theory about why I'm doing something or other, she should consider just keeping her gob shut and minding her own bloody business.'

Lee and George both leaned back. 'Well now,' said George. 'Those sound like fighting words.'

'No, I really don't want to pick a fight with Doctor Niffler. I know her books have helped a lot of people, and she's probably very insightful when she's actually met the person. But she invades my privacy right and left, and I've had enough.'

'I'm sorry, you just used a weird term,' said Lee. '"My privacy?"' he repeated slowly.

Everyone started laughing, including Harry. 'I know, it sounds mental. But my teammate Janet says Doctor Niffler wrote an entire book about positive thinking, so I've started referring to alien concepts like "my privacy" to see if it might have an effect.'

'That seems wise,' said George. 'And on a related note, it looks like Karenna has already hung a sign in the front window counting down to the end of your celibacy vow. But why did you tell us about it, if you aspire to having privacy? I'm starting to think you're somewhat to blame.'

'That may be true, but in this case it's because I want accountability. I really want to keep this vow, and what better way to accomplish that than to have all wizarding Britain keeping me honest?'

George nodded thoughtfully. 'Fair enough; I'll allow it. Is there anything else you'd like to say about "your privacy" before we move on to Walburga?'

'Yes,' replied Harry. 'I realise this may sound self-aggrandising, but that's not my intention at all. Starting last month, I've been meeting once a week with a tutor to try to fill in some of the gaps in my education.'

'What possible gaps could you mean?' asked Lee. 'Are you implying there might be British goblin rebellions we never heard about?'

'No, I'm referring to cultural topics—mostly but not exclusively Muggle. Things like films, literature, and music. At least that's what my tutor and I have discussed so far, and once my Light magic is under control I'd also like to go to Muggle art museums and so forth. I never considered those topics important while growing up, because I was just trying to stay alive, but now that I seem to be sticking around I'd like to know more about them.'

'That's very inspiring,' said Lee. 'And pretty damn self-aggrandising ... why exactly did you bring it up?'

'I brought it up because I found an absolutely brilliant tutor though FLOOF, the organisation that helps werewolves. He taught at a wizarding school until he was infected and lost his job. But he's perfectly safe, and I'm lucky to have found him.'

'So you're trying to encourage other people to hire him, since you're too cheap and self-involved to improve yourself for more than a couple hours a week?' asked George.

'That's exactly right. But not just my tutor. He specifically asked that I not mention him by name, since there are several FLOOF-compliant tutors available. So if anyone is looking to broaden their horizons, I'd encourage you to owl them and set something up.'

'Is this another endorsement?' asked Lee.

'No, except in the sense that I'm recommending them. But I'm not receiving any compensation for it.'

'Did you hear that, Quidditch players?' asked Lee. 'You haven't missed your chance at a lucrative endorsement contract promoting werewolf tutors. And what better way to put yourself in the running than to engage a werewolf tutor of your very own!'

'Everyone's going to want a werewolf tutor now,' agreed George. 'But enough about tutors—it's time for Walburga. Lisa, have you met her before?'

'Not personally, but I've heard her on the radio, and my friends dragged me here once to see if there's a resemblance.'

George looked at Lisa appraisingly, then up at Walburga's portrait. 'Don't take this the wrong way, but you and Walburga are clearly related.'

'Actually, you've brought up an important point,' said Lee. 'We've never addressed it on the show, but we hear it from a lot of our customers: Walburga's not bad-looking. People expect her to be some kind of crone, based on the way she talks, but she has good bone structure, and she definitely kept her figure. And I'm not sure if I should mention this, but she has more than a few admirers.'

'Admirers?' said Lisa. 'You mean people fancy her?'

'Fancy's a strong word,' said Lee. 'More like she scratches a certain itch, if you know what I mean.'

'For verbal abuse?' asked Harry.

'That's right. I should also mention that Weasley's Wizard Wheezes is a family establishment, and we don't allow any shenanigans in Walburga's booth. So if that's your interest in her, you'll just have to take photos or use a Pensieve or something.'

'But Lisa, are you ready to meet her?' asked George.

'Yes, I am,' she said, squaring her shoulders.

Harry tapped the portrait with his wand. 'Walburga, it's me, Harry. There's someone I'd like you to meet,' he said, indicating Lisa.

'By Salazar, who's this? You look like Callidora Black,' she declared. But then she pulled back in disgust. 'You're a half-blood!'

'This is Lisa Black,' said Harry. 'She's from one of the branches of the family you scorched off the tapestry.'

'It's nice to meet you, Mrs Black,' said Lisa politely.

'Common!' she cried. 'Common as dirt! With a Mudblood mother, just like our odious Head of House!'

'How do you do that?' asked Lisa.

Walburga seemed not to have anticipated Lisa's question. 'How do I do what?'

'Know people's Blood Status. You're not even sentient, but you took one look at me and cried "Half-blood!" And you even knew about my mother, although that may have just been logic, since my surname is Black.'

'It couldn't have been logic,' said Harry. 'Walburga's an old-family pure-blood.'

'Oi!' cried George.

'He has a point,' said Lee.

'I just know,' replied Walburga haughtily. 'The same as how our debauched Head of House seeks sensory pleasures.'

'Not for a fortnight,' muttered George.

'So it's instinct?' asked Lisa. 'Yes, that makes sense, particularly if you're not sentient. It's like how certain flowers track the sun.'

'Did you say "flowers?"' prompted Lee. 'Mustn't get your debauched Head of House all hot and bothered.'

Harry was tempted to start glowing for comic effect, but he knew it would be misinterpreted.

'Muggles and animals have instincts. Wizards have intuition,' declared Walburga.

'This is big talk for someone who's not sentient,' said George.

'Could I cultivate this Blood Status trick of yours?' asked Lisa. 'I'd be a hit at parties, particularly if I dress up as you.'

'No, it's an inborn gift.'

'I think you meant "inbred,"' said Lee.

'Silence, rabble!' cried Walburga.

'Nope,' said Harry, tapping the portrait with his wand. 'So, Lisa, what did you think?'

'I'd like to come in sometime when the shop's not so crowded and take a picture with her. I think it would be perfect for this year's Christmas letter.'

'You're welcome anytime,' said Lee.

'I think this is enough oversharing for one episode,' announced Harry. 'I have a long night of celibacy ahead of me, so I should get going. Thanks as always for having me on the show.'

'Thanks as always for coming. Or not coming, as it were,' said George.

'I suspect you just earned yourself another Howler,' warned Harry.

'And let's have a round of applause for our bonus guest, Lisa Black!' said Lee. 'Anyone who can take the piss out of Harry is a friend of ours.'

Harry and Lisa left the booth to loud cheers, and they made their way through the shop to the front door. 'Well done,' he told her. 'Were you happy with it?'

'I still can't believe all wizarding Britain just heard me on the radio.'

'Actually, they listen on the Continent as well.'

'I've been sucked into your weirdness vortex, haven't I?'

'I call it "home,"' said Harry. 'And yes.'

She bade him goodbye, and he looked at the countdown timer hanging in the shop window. It's still twelve days, he thought glumly before Apparating home.

The letter from Runnion was waiting on his writing table, so Harry opened it, expecting more numbers. But he found this instead:

Dear Harry,

We've been busy making deals, and the news is all good. I alluded to this earlier, but our distribution partner in America is extremely enthusiastic about your participation and wants to extend the arrangement. As it happens, they specialise in women's undergarments—mostly brassieres and knickers—and they see enormous potential in your endorsement. This would involve additional photographs featuring you and a female model, wearing our respective products. I've enclosed a sample Muggle advert to show you what we have in mind.

Naturally you would receive a percentage of sales, although not as high as with our own product line. But margins are considerably higher for women's lingerie, and the attached document shows your anticipated earnings, should you agree to participate.

If so, please reply at once, because time is of the essence if we want to be in stores in time for holiday shopping. To this end, we'd like to schedule an initial photo session this Sunday to cast your counterpart. With your leave, we'll invite a dozen or so models and photograph you with each of them, to evaluate your shared alchemy. During this preliminary session you are welcome to remain clothed, but for verisimilitude the witches will all wear lingerie.

Again, time is of the essence, so please notify us at your earliest possible convenience whether you're interested in the endorsement and whether this Sunday will work. With your interim approval, we can proceed with the casting session and finalise the contract at leisure.

Best regards,

Dominic

'Fuck!' cried Harry aloud. 'They want me to spend the day with more than a dozen scantily-clad models to evaluate our alchemy? During a celibacy vow?'

He numbly looked at the enclosed advert and immediately imagined himself in place of the male model. No! Not for twelve more nights! Next he looked at the numbers, and he needed to sit down. That's several dowries right there, he thought, looking at the bottom line.

He took a piece of stationery and wrote:

Dear Dominic,

The numbers are indeed compelling. And yes, I'm available on Sunday for casting. Although if you heard my radio broadcast tonight, you'll understand why I'm less than thrilled about the timing.

Such is life. Please consider this my interim approval, and I'll review the contract in due time.

Yours sincerely,

Harry

He posted it with Viola and walked to his bedroom to look in on Banthora, whom he'd previously left with the issue of Blood Traitor. Should I knock first? he wondered.

His knocking was initially met with silence, but eventually Banthora replied. 'Come in,' she said, and Harry entered. The magazine was closed and on the dresser, and Banthora's expression revealed nothing.

'Hi, how are you doing?' he asked.

'I'm very well, thanks. And you?'

'I'm fine. Did you have a look at the magazine?'

'I did indeed. Thank you, it was most edifying. Enlightening, even.'

'Was it what you were expecting?'

She took a deep breath, prompting Harry to wonder whether portraits breathed air or paint. 'The wizards were exceptionally fit. Quite enjoyably so. I've never been tempted to engage in sexual intercourse—that's why I didn't marry—but tonight I learnt I rather enjoy watching it.'

At least someone got their rocks off tonight, thought Harry. 'I'm glad. Should I get you other magazines, or will that one keep you busy for a while?'

'It had an abundance of photographs, and the subjects seemed quite inventive. I believe it will suffice for the foreseeable future. But I'll refrain for the next twelve days—in solidarity. And then perhaps your house-elf can set up a podium in my usual room.'

'Yes, of course,' said Harry, feeling relieved he wouldn't catch her in the act in his own bedroom.

After settling on a signature, he replied to fan mail and then read for the rest of the evening. Dominic wrote back to thank him and apologise for the timing. 'Although my nephew Randall points out this may be fortuitous, if we take the actual photographs on the final day of your vow,' he wrote.

Harry had to agree. Even a Muggle photograph will capture what I'm thinking, he realised, as he prepared for another night on his own.