Author's note:

Happy Solstice! Enjoy a bonus chapter, and stay safe!

-––—––—––-

When Harry was ready for bed, Banthora was still enraptured by the floating flowers and twinkling lights in the dining room. 'Are you sure you won't stay here overnight?' he asked. 'I really don't anticipate breaking my vow.'

'I, too, made a commitment, and I shan't break it. If you don't want my company, just say so, but otherwise I'm at your service for six more nights.'

'That's very kind of you,' he said. 'And I do appreciate your company.'

Later, Harry thanked her repeatedly during what turned out to be a rough night. His dreams ranged from unsettling to terrifying, and he needed Banthora to distract him for several hours until dawn.

As usual, she told him about the Blacks of yore. 'Erebus Black set his sights on Esmeralda Bulstrode the very moment she was Sorted into Slytherin. She was ethereally fair, and he wrote volumes of poetry in an attempt to woo her.'

'Really? Someone in the family wrote love poetry? That doesn't sound very Slytherin.'

'On the contrary, he had a burning ambition to be the greatest poet of all wizardkind. And to woo Esmeralda Bulstrode.'

'Did it work?' asked Harry.

'His poems were uniformly atrocious. Miss Bulstrode loathed them, and she became an expert at Silencing Charms in order never to hear them. She set fire to all the notes he sent her, and she rejected Erebus at every turn.'

'That's unfortunate. Did he end up marrying someone else?'

'No, because fate took pity on him. In a single week, his father and three elder brothers died of Ulmer's Scourge, making him Head of House, and Miss Bulstrode's father was ruined when his vast storehouse of dittany was destroyed by a rampaging dragon. All of which compelled her to marry him.'

Harry made a face. 'So she didn't fancy him, but she married him anyway?'

'I didn't say that. One of her chief objections to Erebus was his low rank within the family, but when he returned to Hogwarts wearing mourning robes and the Black family ring, she fell madly in love.'

'Madly in love? Mad with greed, more like. How did Erebus feel about it?'

'He was over the moon. Furthermore, their marriage bond was exceptionally strong, and she developed a deep appreciation for his truly ghastly poetry. She began hosting parties for him to read his poems, but no one wanted to come, because they were so ghastly. Which led her to become an incomparable hostess, serving the finest cuisine and rivers of wine.'

'Did people attend?'

'Oh yes. In fact, her parties spurred the invention of the Simulacrum Charm, which, when combined with privacy charms, gave guests the appearance of listening respectfully to the poetry reading whilst actually ignoring it.'

'That's not so bad,' said Harry. 'And it sounds like they were happy together after all?'

'They were. His ardour and status complemented her desire for wealth and social consequence.'

'I'm glad it worked for them, but I certainly hope my future wife is less calculating.' He thought of Catherine White and wondered whether Draco was still courting her at top speed.

When he arrived at the training grounds that morning, Lara waved him to her desk. 'I didn't show you this yesterday, since the match ran so late, but we've compiled numbers for your merchandise returns.'

'Were there many?' he asked, looking at the paper she gave him.

'Nine. The total cost to you is twenty-one Galleons, twelve Sickles, and eight Knuts, which we'll deduct from your next pay cheque.'

'That's next to nothing,' said Harry. 'What about from shops?'

'That includes shops. We'll keep the offer open all month, but I don't anticipate more than a trickle. Meanwhile, all your old Potter merchandise sold out, and the Potter-Black merchandise is popular as well. I'll have more complete figures by Thursday.'

Harry frowned. 'Who's even buying all this? Are there really that many Cannons fans?'

'It's not just fans. We're hearing from shop owners that tourists all want a Harry Potter souvenir, or something to bring home for the kids. Which bodes extremely well for your top-secret endorsement. On a related note ...' She lowered her voice. 'The team board of trustees is meeting this week.'

'To discuss pay rises?' he whispered.

'Yes. And thanks—that was incredibly generous of you.'

'It's completely self-serving,' said Harry. 'I don't want people selling private information about me.'

'I know, but no one expects it. It'll come as a very pleasant surprise.'

'Who else knows?'

'So far only the finance department. And believe me, they're pleased.'

Harry had decided that if he could go all morning without glowing, he'd finally join the starters for lunch again. But a wave of pleasure overtook him during the flying drills. 'Oh bugger,' he cried ecstatically.

'What is it now, Snitchbottom?' called Darren, as they flew in formation.

'Am I not glowing?'

'No. Your stupid vow worked. Does this mean you'll have lunch with us?'

'Fingers crossed,' said Harry, rolling his broomstick into the next phase of the manoeuvre.

His teammates congratulated him after Tuttle blew the whistle. 'The pub awaits!' declared Janet when they landed. 'Be prepared for prying questions from Candice about your secret mission.'

'Have you dropped any hints?'

'Yes. They involve Prague.'

Harry frowned. 'That's in Czechoslovakia, right?'

'It's the Czech Republic,' she said, rolling her eyes. 'And you should really know that after spending more than a fortnight there.'

But before Harry could head to the locker room, Lara waved him to her desk again. 'A letter arrived for you this morning,' she said, handing it to him. 'Mrs Thwip said you'd want to see it.'

Harry groaned when he saw the letterhead. 'Cassia Dexter? Ugh, I should have known this was coming.' He read:

Dear Mr Potter-Black,

I am aware of the irony in addressing you formally after repeatedly trampling your personal boundaries, but I hope this will demonstrate the depth of my remorse.

Please accept my heartfelt apology for so thoroughly invading your privacy with my ill-informed speculation on your emotional state. Ever since your on-air rebuke last Tuesday, which was entirely justified, I've done considerable soul-searching and realised how inappropriately I've behaved. Which is inexcusable, considering my profession.

As a public figure, I should be particularly sensitive on this point. Indeed, I've received numerous Howlers and irate letters on your behalf, according to my secretary. But I had the privilege of disregarding them, as one does, and only your sharp rebuke awakened me to how grossly I've overstepped.

My only excuse is that, like all Britain, I am fascinated by your story, particularly since you opted for a public life with the Chudley Cannons. Leaving the Ministry was a decisive step towards a future of your own making, free from Albus Dumbledore, prophecy, and the other forces that had previously constrained you. Your unfailing courage and candour these last few months have been inspiring, to say the least.

I also applaud your commitment not to marry too young—I privately worried that you and Miss Weasley were rushing towards matrimony before you had time to heal from trauma (I had the same concerns about Miss Granger and Mr Weasley). Furthermore, I am in full agreement that Anglo-Saxon prudishness is outmoded. Many of my private clients have suffered from such attitudes, and your frank sexuality has opened the door for long-overdue conversations on the topic.

Returning, however, to the main purpose of this letter: I wish to apologise not only to you but also to everyone I've hurt with my comments. Please relay my regrets to Alexandra Barrington and Lisa Black in particular. And I'm terribly sorry to have impugned Sirius Black, who I realise now only had fatherly instincts towards you.

You charitably asserted that I'm probably very insightful with people I've actually met. I would like to prove that to you by offering you private Mind Healing sessions, either free of charge or for a donation to a charity of your choice. Naturally, anything revealed in those sessions would be strictly confidential, as I have no intention of speaking publicly about you ever again.

I can understand why you might never want to meet me, but I hope you'll consider my offer. War is hard enough for anyone, and your early history of trauma and abuse denied you the foundation necessary for a full recovery. Which is not to say you require my help to recover—merely that I could perhaps be of assistance in your journey towards wholeness and self-actualisation.

Yours sincerely,
Cassia Dexter

P.S.: I am an inveterate night owl, which means that when the Prophet approached me for comment I was already awake.

Lara looked at Harry expectantly as he folded the letter back into its envelope. 'Did she apologise?'

'Yeah. She says she won't speak publicly about me ever again.'

'That's good, right?'

Harry was silent, still overwhelmed by her statement in the final paragraph: War is hard enough for anyone, and your early history of trauma and abuse denied you the foundation necessary for a full recovery.

'Er, yeah,' he said. 'I should go shower.'

He didn't mention Dr Niffler's letter when he walked with the other starters to the pub. Instead they congratulated him for finally getting his glowing under control. 'You need to start going to posh Muggle restaurants, to see if they treat you better now that you have a double-barrelled surname,' said Janet.

'Good point,' said Harry. 'I used to get poor service. But it was a break from the deference I get at wizarding restaurants.'

'Will you go Muggling again after your celibacy vow is over?' asked Darren. 'If so, I'm in.'

'No, I hate lying. I already proved to myself I can successfully pull incognito, and otherwise there's no point.'

Darren looked offended. 'No point? I can think of a million points! The thrill of the chase! Gaining new experiences! Defying expectations!'

'Yes, but almost no one has a bed as comfortable as mine, and I'd just as soon not pay for hotels.'

'Your bed is fantastic, I'll give you that,' said Darren. 'But couldn't you Muggle-proof your house? Have Kreacher hide the portraits or something?'

Ryan shook his head. 'You're forgetting Padfoot.'

'And he has gas lights,' said Renée.

'Then find a goth chick!' argued Darren. 'Wear wizarding robes and go to a goth nightclub, calling yourself Lord Potter-Black. Hire a horse-drawn carriage for the night and take her back to your creepy townhouse.'

'Bad idea,' said Ryan. 'I've seen Harry's neighbourhood. No sensible hansom driver would go anywhere near it, particularly at night.'

'It's getting better, actually,' said Harry. 'I discovered a new cafe on Sunday. Honestly, I think the Light magic might be helping.'

'So now rents will go up, and people will lose their homes,' said Janet. 'I hope you can live with yourself, Snitchbottom.'

They arrived at the pub and, as anticipated, Candice was thrilled to see Harry. 'I was starting to worry about you, love,' she said. 'I can hardly imagine what you're up against.'

'He hasn't been up against anything for nearly a fortnight,' smirked Suresh.

Candice raised her eyebrows. 'I thought Henry had a girl in every port. Or is he learning to behave himself?'

'I'm trying,' he said. 'I'm getting a bad reputation, and I don't like it.'

'A bad reputation in your line of work?' exclaimed Candice. 'Now that's saying something!'

'What do you think my line of work is?' asked Harry, feeling bold.

Candice lowered her voice. 'A bit of James Bond, no?'

'Henry!' scolded Ryan. 'Remember protocol!' He turned to Candice and said, 'You should probably just take our orders.'

'It's good to be back,' said Harry, winking at her.

During lunch they talked about the upcoming match against the Wigtown Wanderers. 'They're shockingly inconsistent,' said Gary. 'They trounced Puddlemere and the Harpies, but they lost to the Falcons even though Singh caught the Snitch. And Montrose wiped the floor with them.'

'I'm not trying the Gilstrap approach, if that's what you're suggesting.'

'No, certainly not,' said Gary. 'We're not that desperate to win.'

Harry felt good returning to the pub after his long hiatus. It almost feels like having a normal life, he thought, although the rest of his schedule was anything but. If the practice match ended on time, he was to have dinner with the three eldest Blacks, including Lisa's grandfather, Adam, and after the radio broadcast he was getting together with Draco to whinge about Voldemort. And I'm overdue to visit Pratt's, he thought resignedly.

Fortunately, the afternoon match ended at half past four, leaving Harry time to reply to fan mail before the cousins arrived an hour later. He greeted them in the reception hall, along with Kreacher, Lodie, and three trembling house-elves.

'Thanks for coming,' said Harry. 'I'm sorry I had to postpone yesterday.'

'It's quite all right,' said Margaret. 'I've managed nearly seventy years without a house-elf, so one more day won't make a difference.'

Elliott looked down at the trio of elves. 'Good evening,' he said, extending a hand. 'I'm Elliott Black, and these are my siblings, Margaret and Adam.'

The elves looked up at Harry, unsure how to respond to the proffered hand, and Harry nodded encouragingly.

'Welcome, Mr Elliott Black,' said Plouche, grasping Elliott's fingertips and shaking them. Maclou followed suit, and then Flauby, the shyest elf, did the same.

'Oh!' exclaimed Elliott, when Flauby took his hand. 'Is that the bond?'

'Yes, Master,' said Flauby, suddenly more confident. 'Flauby serves Master Elliott Black and his descendants. And Master, of course,' she added, indicating Harry.

Elliott frowned. 'Can't you just call me Elliott? This "master" business smacks of slavery.'

Harry was embarrassed, realising he was perfectly comfortable being called 'Master.' Flauby looked at him questioningly, and Harry said, 'Feel free to call him whatever you agree on. And you can call me Harry.'

'You will call him "Master,"' said Kreacher firmly. 'Master is head of House Black.'

The elves looked relieved, and Harry tried not to groan. I will never understand the house-elf bond, he thought.

Adam and Margaret introduced themselves, bonding respectively with Plouche and Maclou. The elves also agreed to use given names, but only with Harry's consent.

'Would you like wages?' asked Adam. 'I can't accept free labour.' Margaret and Elliott both nodded in agreement, prompting Harry to feel embarrassed again.

Plouche and Maclou refused wages, but Flauby consented to receive one Galleon a week, and a Chocolate Frog.

'Lodie, would you like wages?' asked Harry. 'I'm sorry I didn't suggest it myself.' She looked uncertainly at Kreacher, who frowned.

She said, 'Lodie would also like one Galleon a week. But no Chocolate Frog.'

Kreacher rocked on his heels, and Harry knew he wanted to discuss it privately. Kreacher, he thought. Do you object?

Yes, Master! Kreacher objects vehemently. Lodie must not receive wages.

What if I want to give her wages? asked Harry silently.

Kreacher's scowl deepened. Master may do as he pleases. But Lodie is a bad elf.

No, she isn't. I'm sorry you're uncomfortable with my paying her, but so far she seems to be excellent elf, just like the rest of your grandchildren. You should be very proud of them. May I show my cousins the dining room now?

Kreacher nodded, and Harry dismissed him from his mind. 'Lodie, I'll be glad to pay you one Galleon a week, and no Chocolate Frogs.'

She curtsied happily, and Harry led his cousins into the dining room. 'Oh, my word!' exclaimed Margaret. 'What's all this?'

The room glittered with an array of ice sculptures, the largest depicting the Black family crest. 'Working together, the four elves are capable of extraordinary magic,' said Harry. 'They learnt it at Beauxbatons, where they were raised.'

Everyone marvelled at the sculptures and praised the elves accordingly. 'Then it would be a shame to keep them apart,' said Adam. 'Can't we get them together regularly?'

The elves exchanged hopeful glances. 'Of course,' said Harry. 'We can have family dinners every fortnight or so, if you like. And, er, I hate to ask this, but could I borrow them on Saturday the sixteenth? I'm hosting a party, and it would be nice if they could decorate.'

Everyone assented, and they sat down to eat what the elves had prepared. Harry enjoyed getting to know the three elder cousins better, although he was putting off discussing important matters.

'There are a few more things I should tell you. I suppose it was devious of me to soften you up with ice sculptures and French cuisine, but I'm a Slytherin now.'

Elliott laughed. 'You're not turning Dark on us, are you?'

'Not bloody likely,' said Harry, allowing his hands to glow, which prompted more laughter.

'Have you decided to stick with celibacy and designate a new Head of House?' asked Adam.

'Again, not bloody likely. And actually, that relates to one of the things I need to break to you. I already told Lisa about this, but I've agreed to a controversial new endorsement.' He told them about the underwear adverts, although not the secondary endorsement. 'They won't be in Britain, but everyone will hear about them regardless.'

'Does Narcissa Malfoy know?' asked Margaret.

'She insisted I do it, which brings me to my other announcement. As you may know, I committed to helping establish House White, which it turns out comes with a lot of financial responsibilities.'

'I heard it was a slip of the tongue,' said Adam.

'Yes, and a costly one. I've discussed it with Narcissa and Andromeda, and they agree I should help your families just as much, if not more.'

'You have done,' said Elliott. 'We'll have all the French bread we need starting next Monday. And now with Flauby I'll have more help at the shop.'

'And Lisa doesn't need introductions anymore,' said Adam. 'Everyone knows who she is now.'

Harry shook his head. 'Lisa's not your only grandchild, and there's still plenty I can do. But I've been charged with something very specific: dowries.'

Margaret, who was drinking, started to cough. 'Dowries? What century are we in?'

'I know, that was my reaction. But the Whites have asked for them, which they're technically entitled to, thanks to my promise.'

'That was a seriously expensive slip of the tongue!' said Adam. 'Is that why you're flogging underwear?'

'It is. I realise you never expected dowries, and, speaking frankly, your granddaughters aren't likely to marry old-family pure-bloods. But in fairness I'd like to commit to providing a sum either at marriage or on their twenty-fifth birthday, which they can use as they see fit.'

He told them the amount, and Margaret shook her head. 'Absolutely not. Furthermore, my grandchildren aren't even named Black.'

'My name wasn't Black until last week, and I insist. I'm honestly not thrilled about my responsibilities to House White, but it'll be my pleasure to provide for House Black, which includes you and your family, Margaret.'

'No, you should save up for your own descendants,' said Elliott.

'My descendants will be fine. I've heard a lot of stories this week about previous generations of the Blacks, and they had far too much gold for their own good.'

'What about the boys?' asked Margaret. 'I'm not asking for my own family, but surely the Whites want something for their sons as well.'

'I haven't discussed this with them, but Narcissa told me I have another responsibility.' Without revealing anything about Pratt's, he told them about portkey brothels and the tradition surrounding a wizard's seventeenth birthday.

Margaret was shocked. 'If that's not the most sexist, hypocritical "tradition" I've ever heard of! How do we know the witches are even acting from free will?'

'I've been assured they are,' said Harry. 'But otherwise I agree with you. I'll admit that I've been there once, but never again. I'm too prone to falling in love.'

Adam and Elliott were frowning as well. 'It's one thing to start the girls out with something in life, but sending the boys into that kind of environment ...' said Adam. 'Although, as long as we're being honest, I would have loved to go there on my seventeenth birthday.'

'Same here,' said Elliott.

'You had a girlfriend back then!' scolded Margaret. 'Would you really have spent the night with a fille de joie?'

'It was the nineteen fifties, and Sally wasn't that kind of girl. I'd have gone to France in a heartbeat.'

'Yes, but now?' asked Margaret. 'Young witches are more liberated than they were back then.'

'Ginny would have killed me if I'd slept with a fille de joie while we were dating. But it's apparently an old-family wizarding tradition, and I'd be remiss as Head of House if I didn't mention it, particularly since the Whites are likely to take me up on it.'

'I'll discuss it with my kids,' said Adam. 'They can decide whether they think it's appropriate for their sons.'

'Would you accompany them?' asked Elliott.

'No, I'm helpless in that environment. But it hardly matters, since I'd be superfluous.'

Margaret sighed. 'I've certainly learnt a lot about wizarding culture this evening.'

'Yes, I've learnt a lot recently as well. I never knew about dowries and portkey brothels until I met Lydia.'

They ate in silence for a long while, and Elliott became increasingly downcast. 'I hope they're never ashamed of me,' he said.

'Who?' asked Harry.

'My grandchildren, or great-grandchildren. I hope they're never ashamed I was just a Muggle-born who ran a sandwich shop.'

Harry didn't know what to say. 'I'm sorry,' he began, unsure how to continue.

'It's not your fault, lad. You didn't choose this any more than we did.'

'Grandpa never would have believed it,' said Adam. 'He was just an orphan. The silver rattle was the only clue he might have come from a posh family, but "Black" is hardly an aristocratic surname. At least not to Muggle ears.'

'Did he know you were magical?' asked Harry.

'No, we weren't allowed to tell him. Fortunately we went to a day school, so we didn't vanish to Hogwarts like we might have done. And he died before we were old enough for university, so we didn't need to lie about our schooling or careers.'

'He worked in plant nurseries,' said Elliott. 'Had a real green thumb. Not an illustrious career, but an honest one. And our dad was a carpenter. That's what he did during the war—built barracks and so forth.'

'What did he and your mum think of your magic?'

'They were relieved,' said Margaret. 'All three of us had been having accidental magic for years, so they thought the house was haunted. And they were glad we were all magical, with no one left out. But I know it was hard for them, seeing us disappear into a whole other world they couldn't talk about.'

'That's what this feels like,' said Elliott. 'My descendants are going to be part of an old wizarding family. The little ones, and the ones who aren't born yet, will think it's normal that they get a dowry or go to a brothel on their seventeenth birthday.'

Adam turned to face his siblings. 'We've been through this before, you know. Our kids all grew up in magical households. This is just the next step.'

'Your kids aren't ashamed of having Muggle grandparents, are they?' asked Harry.

'Not that I'm aware of,' said Elliott.

'Then why would your grandchildren be ashamed of you?'

Elliott nodded. 'You're right. And things are always changing—at least this is for the better. They'll have more opportunities than we did, and I can't think of an old family I'd rather be connected to. Not the old-time Blacks, of course, but the new family.'

'Even with the underwear adverts?' joked Harry, trying to hide his emotions.

'Those dowries won't pay for themselves,' said Adam. 'And French prostitutes cost a pretty penny, I expect.'

After dinner, Harry brought Banthora downstairs to meet them. She told them several anecdotes about their great-grandparents, Prometheus and Desdemona, which convinced them their grandfather had been better off in an orphanage. Banthora was enchanted by the ice sculptures, so Harry left her in the dining room for the evening.

'Good luck in your new homes,' he told the three elves as they prepared to leave with their new masters. 'And you can visit each other whenever you like, not just once a month.'

'Once a month is proper,' insisted Kreacher. 'Master is not a traditional wizard.'

'I'm not one either,' said Elliott. 'None of us are.'

'Papa Dobby saw us more often after he was free,' said Lodie.

'Bad Lodie!' said Kreacher. 'Master must punish her!'

'Lodie, I'm delighted you saw Dobby more often, and it makes me very happy to hear about him,' said Harry, causing Kreacher to scowl. Kreacher, he said silently.

Yes, Master, came the sullen reply.

Don't you want to see your family more often?

What Kreacher wants is of no matter. Kreacher serves House Black.

Harry looked Kreacher in the eye. House Black is changing, and that means letting go of some traditions. But we're still bonded, and I love you.

Kreacher was silent, and Harry allowed his Light magic to arise. Do you feel that, Kreacher? asked Harry telepathically.

Yes, Master.

You're safe here. You'll always have a home here. And so will your family. That's our tradition.

The four younger elves looked enthralled, even though they couldn't listen in. 'What's happening?' asked Margaret.

'I'm just reassuring Kreacher. We have a telepathic bond.'

Are you all right? he asked Kreacher.

Yes, Master.

And is it all right to see your grandchildren more than once a month?

Kreacher sniffled audibly. Yes, Master.

'We can work out a schedule,' said Harry aloud to the cousins.

'Of course,' said Margaret. 'We could never keep them apart.' Adam and Elliott both nodded.

'I should go,' said Harry, looking at the clock on the mantelpiece. 'I'm late for the broadcast. Thank you for coming tonight.'

They said quick goodbyes, and Harry travelled by Floo to the Leaky Cauldron. 'You're cutting it fine,' said one of the patrons.

'I know, story of my life,' said Harry, rushing through the back door. Someone made the brick wall disappear for him, and Harry thanked him as he dashed to the shop.

'He's here!' cried a wizard, who was keeping lookout in the Alley.

'Sorry!' called Harry, still running.

'They're just starting,' said the wizard as Harry arrived.

He entered the shop to loud cheers, and Lee's voice said, 'I take it back, he's right here. Let's give a warm welcome to Harry Potter-Black!'

More cheers from the crowd, and Harry made his way to the broadcasting booth. 'I'm terribly sorry,' he said, sitting down. 'I had a house-elf emergency.'

'Is that what they're calling it these days?' said George. 'Did you at least shower first?'

'Very funny. My vow is still intact.'

'Fantastic!' said George. 'And you've surely caused despair amongst our friends in the bookmaking world, many of whom are counting on you screwing up.'

'Or down, or sideways, or however you prefer,' added Lee. 'But screwing.'

'There was no screwing, snogging, or misbehaviour of any kind,' said Harry. 'I'm serious about keeping this vow.'

'Yes, but a lot of people are serious about you breaking it.'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Am I really supposed to have sympathy for people who are betting against me? Next you'll tell me I shouldn't catch the Snitch, in order not to disappoint the opposing fans.'

'You're right, of course,' said George. 'But we're getting ahead of ourselves—you still haven't proven your identity.'

'Do we need to go through this every week?'

'We most certainly do. For all I know, the reason you're late is because you waylaid the real Harry Potter behind the Leaky Cauldron and stole his appearance.'

'Harry Potter-Black,' said Harry archly.

Lee raised an eyebrow. 'That sounded like the real Harry to me. I doubt an imposter would be so uptight about his surname.'

'I'll send my Patronus if you like, although I'm not convinced I should send it to Azkaban again.'

'You have to,' said George. 'You wouldn't believe the letters we're receiving. People love it.'

'Yes, but what about the letters you're not receiving? I don't want to further antagonise people.'

'You killed Voldemort and completely upended the old order. What's a Patronus on top of that?'

'I think it's called "Adding insult to injury,"' said Harry.

'Now that's an idea!' said George. 'Can you send your Patronus to Snape's portrait?'

'Absolutely not. Professor Snape saved my life, repeatedly, even though I was a constant thorn in his side.'

'Then what about Andrew Gilstrap?'

Harry smirked. 'That is seriously tempting. But no, I can't.'

'You're not being much fun,' said George. 'Is the celibacy to blame?'

'I don't think so,' said Harry, but Lee interrupted him.

'I think you've unfairly written off Azkaban. You should hear this letter.' He read aloud:

'Dear Lee and George,

'I am writing from Azkaban to say how much we enjoy Weasley's Wizard Wireless. We listen to the radio all day here, but Weasley's is everyone's favourite programme. Admittedly things get rowdy when Harry Potter is on the air, since the maximum security prisoners all hate him. And even the people who don't hate him are jealous that he's having so much fun while we're stuck in Azkaban. But when Prongs shows up, all is forgiven. Last time he spent more than a quarter-hour going up and down the corridors, making sure everyone who wanted to see him got a chance.

'Azkaban isn't nearly so bad now that the Dementors are gone, and the food is better as well. But you have no idea how much we all miss magic. The only magic we see is from the guards, who use it to distribute food and keep order. But Prongs is different. He doesn't serve any purpose other than to cheer us up. I can't describe what it's like to be around magic like that, even for just a minute.

'I still have a year left in my sentence, and the first spell I plan to learn when I get out is the Patronus. I even dream about it, and I think I know what form it's going to take.'

Lee stopped reading. 'I'll skip the rest—letters from prisoners tend to be long. But you get the idea.'

Harry was overwhelmed with compassion. Without a word, he raised his wand and Prongs sprang forth. 'Go to Azkaban,' he said simply, and Prongs flew off.

George and Lee were awestruck. 'Did you just cast a wordless Patronus?' asked George.

'Er, yeah.'

'Have you done that before?'

'No, never.'

George shook his head in disbelief. 'I never thought I'd say it, but you're a walking advertisement for celibacy. Speaking of which, how are you holding up?'

'Last week was hard,' said Harry. 'And Sunday was brutal—I might say more about it in another month or so, but not yet.'

'How's it going now?' asked Lee. He glanced at the timer in the window and said, 'You only have five days left. Do you think you'll make it?'

'I'm confident I'll make it. But no thanks to the people who are trying to thwart me!'

'Interesting!' said George. 'I've heard that bookmakers are offering a bounty to the witch who can bring down Potter. She just needs to seduce you and report when it happened.'

'Report it to whom? The bookmaker?'

'I think so. They must be hoping you'll be honest about when you blow it.'

'Or vice versa,' said Lee, prompting laughs from the audience.

'I'm not surprised,' said Harry. 'I've been propositioned aggressively all week—almost as much as when the Sorceress article came out. And I've received bribe offers as well.'

'Bribes from bookmakers?' gasped George. 'What is the world coming to?'

'It's not just bookmakers,' said Lee. 'I overheard two witches saying now's the best time to snag Potter, while he's weak.'

Harry's jaw dropped. 'Snag Potter?'

George cleared his throat. 'Ahem, Potter-Black.'

'Listeners,' said Lee, 'our esteemed guest looks seriously outraged right now. Harry, would you care to say more?'

Fearing a tirade, Harry took a moment to collect himself. 'What do they mean by "snag?"'

'It's an American expression, meaning "catch."'

'I know what it means—I grew up watching crap telly,' said Harry irritably. 'I'm asking what these witches expect they'll get.'

'Good question. You've ruled out near-term matrimony.'

'There are plenty of ways to take advantage of Harry without marrying him,' said George. 'He's never had a truly grasping girlfriend, as far as I know, but he's got a reputation for going overboard when he fancies a girl. Didn't you take a Muggle shopping and to a posh hotel?'

'I did,' said Harry cautiously.

'And you're not shy about dropping Galleons at the tailor's shop,' continued George. 'Honestly, it's surprising some enterprising witch hasn't got a new wardrobe out of you.'

'Forget clothes,' said Lee. 'What about the Black family vault?'

'Actually, I brought Alex there,' admitted Harry. 'But not to impress her—I needed to fetch something and she was curious to see an old vault. The Gringotts branch in Chicago is much newer.'

'Did she make off with the family jewels? You were pretty smitten with her.'

'I was, but no. She was only interested in the books. So was Hermione, come to think of it.'

'Ladies, there's your ticket!' said George. 'Harry is so gullible that he'll think your only interest in the Black family vault will be the books.'

'I can see it now,' said Lee. 'A witch wearing fake eyeglasses, with her hair piled on top of her head, held up by a quill. She'll be Disillusioned outside Flourish and Blotts, waiting for Harry to walk by.'

Laughing, George took over. 'He'll be in a fog, thanks to his celibacy vow, and she'll make herself visible. And then she'll bump into him, and the huge stack of books she's carrying will come tumbling down, along with her cascading hair.'

'Cascading red hair,' said Lee.

'Oi!'

'Sorry, I couldn't resist. And her glasses will fly off, and Harry, who still remembers what it was like to be nearly blind, will immediately come to her rescue.'

'He'll be reluctant to point out that her top button popped open when they collided,' said George. 'And he'll dumbly stare at her chest until she puts her glasses back on and catches him in the act.'

'So he'll start babbling about her books,' continued Lee, 'which was her goal all along. "I just love rare books," she'll say. "I'm researching obscure Dark magic, not because I like it, but to put a stop to it. Light magic is far superior!"'

'"Er, I have books about Dark magic,"' said George, imitating Harry. '"A whole library, in fact."'

Lee batted his eyes seductively. '"That's sweet, but I already saw the Lestrange family library, and the Rosiers' as well."' In a breathy voice, Lee said, '"Do you have anything really rare?"'

'"Er, in my vault,"' said George, running a hand through his hair and messing it up in the process. '"Do you want to see it?"'

The audience was in hysterics, and so was Harry. '"I'd love to,"' said Lee, still imitating the imaginary witch. '"Do you have Skin-Peeling Curses For Fun and Profit, Volume Three?"'

'"I do!"' said George, loosening his necktie. '"It's in the vault, underneath a huge stack of jewellery cases. I could take you there right now! But those books look heavy ... perhaps we should set them down first on my enormous bed."'

When Harry's laughter died down, he asked, 'Is this really what you think of me?'

'Let's put that question to the audience,' said Lee. 'Did George's and my improvisation just now match your impression of our guest?'

Emphatic nods from the crowd. 'That's a yes,' said George. 'Sorry, Harry, they think you're a smarmy git.'

'Really?' said Harry to the audience. 'A smarmy git?'

'And clueless,' said Lee. 'But in a good way.'

'Thanks a lot.'

'Come now, there's no need for sarcasm,' said George. 'We just warned you about a potential trap.'

'He's right,' said Lee. 'All you have to worry about now are the hundreds of other ways an ambitious femme fatale might ensnare you.'

Harry was momentarily distracted by the words 'femme fatale,' which conjured images of Marina. 'Er, I should point out that even if I do succumb to a femme fatale this week, which I won't, there's no way I'd fall in love with someone who'd deliberately trip me up like that. I need trust in a relationship, and luring me to break my vow is the last way to get it.'

'Did you hear that, aspiring femmes fatales?' said Lee. 'You'll have to wait until next week before entrapping Harry.'

'I recommend Sunday evening,' said George. 'At the Twisted Niffler, for what's sure to be the best end-of-celibacy-vow party you've ever attended. Harry, please tell me you'll join us.'

'I will not. I already have plans.'

'Now this is news!' exclaimed Lee. 'Does this mean you've already lined up the lucky witch?'

'That's not the term I'd use, but yes.'

'Lee, I see some very disappointed-looking women in our audience right now. Clearly they were hoping to reacquaint Lord Black with the pleasures of the flesh.'

'Lord Potter-Black,' said Lee.

'No!' cried Harry. 'First off, lordships are bollocks. Second, the Potters are middle class, full stop.'

George shook his head. 'Sorry, mate, but that train left ages ago. Sometime around when you went to your tailor and said, "I'd like to upgrade my entire wardrobe—spare no expense!"'

'Oi!'

'So that's not what happened?' said George accusingly.

Harry's cheeks grew warm as he recalled his afternoon with Thimble's assistant, Althea. 'Er, actually that is what happened. But my goal wasn't to pass for an old-family pure-blood—I was simply ready for a change. And the shop assistant was pretty.'

'Say no more,' said Lee. 'Little Lord Black was calling the shots. He's the one with the aristocratic pretensions.'

Scowling, Harry said, 'Why exactly do I appear on your show every week?'

'Because we boost your image,' said George. 'And you still owe me for the ear.'

'No, we've gone too far,' said Lee. 'Harry's done more to advance equality amongst wizards than anyone I know, so he's earned the right to dress like a sodding duke. Incidentally, what's that flower you're wearing?'

Harry looked down at his lapel. 'Oh, you'll like this. My florist definitely has a sense of humour.'

'And what's your florist's name?'

'Livingston's, on Diagon Alley.'

'Excellent—you just earned another month's worth of boutonnières,' said Lee. 'What are you wearing tonight?'

'Burdock flower.'

'I'm looking it up right now,' said George, flipping through the book about flower meanings. He found the right page and chuckled. 'Cute. Very cute.'

'Would you like to share that with the rest of the class, Mr Weasley?' said Lee.

'I would. The burdock flower, which looks rather like a milk thistle, means "touch me not."'

'Well played, Livingston's of Diagon Alley,' said Lee. 'But I doubt Harry himself is following the instruction.'

'What are you implying?' asked Harry, knowing exactly what Lee meant.

'Perhaps you've stayed clear of women for the last nine days, but surely you've put your wand hand to good use.'

The audience exploded with laughter. 'I have not,' said Harry smugly. 'This is a celibacy vow. No exceptions.'

George's eyes shot open. 'No way! Nothing at all? No charms for the single wizard?'

'No. I even moved a portrait into my bedroom, to make sure I behave.'

'Please tell me she's like Walburga,' said Lee, sitting up straight.

'That's what I was expecting when I first met her. I asked Kreacher to find a portrait of one of those old ladies who just scowls. But it turns out she's an absolute sweetheart.'

'And this is a Black family portrait?' said George incredulously.

'Yes, Banthora Black, who died in 1810. We've become great friends.'

'Does this mean you'll keep her in your bedroom from now on?' asked Lee.

'No, we both look forward to having our privacy back. But I won't just lock her in a spare room—she'll have a place of honour.'

'Does she know what a shocking reprobate you are most of the time?'

'She does, but it turns out I'm nowhere near as bad as some of the other members of the family.'

'Oh? Is she telling you naughty stories about the Noble and Most Evil House of Black?' asked George.

'She is, but stop looking at me like that, because I won't share them. I've been accused of airing the family dirty linen, particularly where Walburga is concerned, and I won't do it anymore.'

'Other than your own dirty linen,' said Lee.

'Correct. It never stays private anyway, so I may as well be upfront about it.'

'Yes, speaking of which, we're still in suspense about your plans for Sunday night,' said George.

Lee rolled his eyes. 'It's no mystery what he'll be doing. Sorceress magazine described it in detail.'

'Excuse me, I meant the witch's identity. Assuming it's a witch and not a Muggle.'

'It is a witch,' said Harry. 'An old flame, actually.'

George stiffened. 'Not my sister, you bastard!'

'Merlin, no! It's the witch I met in Paris. As it happens, she'll be in London for work next weekend.'

'That was the model, right?' said Lee. 'Will we get a better photo of her this time? Last time her face was completely blocked by some berk with his tongue in her mouth.'

'I don't know how long she'll be in London, to be honest, so we might not be photographed together in public. But I'm sure you'll get a good look at her eventually.' Very sure, he added inwardly.

'Fantastic!' said George. 'You have yet to disappoint us with your taste. On that note ...' He lifted a large envelope. 'We have a little surprise for you tonight.'

'I'm not sure how I feel about that,' said Harry. 'I've had some seriously crap surprises in my life.'

'I think you'll like this one. Go on, open it.'

Harry took the envelope and gauged its weight. Too heavy for a single photograph, he thought. He opened the flap and pulled out a magazine. 'Oh, for Merlin's sake.'

'Listeners,' said Lee. 'We are pleased to announce a new wizarding magazine, of which we have an advance copy. It's called Wandlore.'

The cover featured Jocelyn and Maryann, looking extremely fetching in modified wizard's robes, similar to ones Harry might wear. The cut was feminine but surprisingly modest, leaving more to the imagination than their previous outfits. And, naturally, each of them wore a boutonnière.

'They look good,' said Harry truthfully. 'And I like those robes—particularly the ones Maryann is wearing.'

'So you learnt their names?' said George, impressed.

Lee took the magazine and held it up for the audience. 'Wandlore bills itself as a magazine for "young wizards with a lust for life." And our listeners can't see it, but the cover features an exceedingly lovely pair of witches, with whom our guest is well acquainted.'

'I knew I'd seen them somewhere!' exclaimed George. 'I didn't recognise them at first without a light-up Harry Potter fondling them.'

'That was unintentional, thank you very much,' said Harry. 'Light magic is brilliant, but it has its quirks.' He started flipping through the magazine. 'Not bad ... Yeah, I'd read this.'

George cupped his lone ear and said, 'I think I just heard the publishers of Wandlore shouting for joy.'

'No, you didn't,' said Lee. 'There's a thirty-second broadcast delay.'

'I was speaking figuratively.'

'May I keep this?' asked Harry, indicating the magazine. 'I'm seeing a friend later and I'm sure he'll be curious.'

'It's all yours, mate,' said George. 'But let's show it to Walburga first.'

'I'm not sure she's their target audience,' said Harry. 'But all right.' He tapped the sleeping portrait. 'Excuse me, Walburga? It's me, Harry.'

'The despicable half-blood returns! What brings you before me?'

'He wanted to show you who else has been enjoying your old bed,' said Lee, holding up Wandlore. 'A few weeks ago Harry had a lively overnight encounter with the two cover models.'

'Simultaneously,' added George.

'Strictly speaking, I had help from my teammate Darren,' said Harry.

Walburga looked appraisingly at the magazine cover. 'The brunette is a pure-blood. Are you courting her?'

'Jocelyn's a pure-blood?' exclaimed Harry. 'I had no idea.'

'You mean you don't ask your partners in advance?' said George. 'I thought I knew you, Harry, but apparently not.'

Ignoring George, Walburga said, 'Yes, but her maidservant is an abomination like yourself.'

'Sex-mad, you mean?' asked Lee.

'Ahem, celibacy vow!' said Harry. 'And Maryann isn't her maidservant.'

'She is the daughter of filth and unworthy of my marital bed.'

'It's Harry's premarital bed now,' said George.

'Walburga, in answer to your question, I'm not courting Jocelyn. But I suspect she'll have no shortage of suitors. Same with Maryann.'

'But don't worry about Harry,' said Lee. 'He has a French model booked for Sunday.'

Walburga nodded approvingly. 'A fille de joie, like a proper wizard!' But then she frowned. 'Don't overpay.'

'She's not a fille de joie,' said Harry. 'And I never pay,' he added with a smirk.

Lee silenced the portrait with a tap of his wand. 'Harry, I can guess from the context, but would you care to explain to our listeners what a fille de joie is?'

'It's French for "prostitute."'

'Hang on,' said George accusingly. 'Last month you said under Veritaserum you'd never been to a prostitute. Were you just hiding behind terminology?'

'The question was whether I'd paid for sex, and the answer is still no.'

George and Harry locked eyes for a moment, until George said, 'Fine. But I'm onto you, Potter.'

'Potter-Black,' said Lee.

'No,' said George. 'It doesn't roll off the tongue.'

'Come on, just try it,' said Lee. 'We owe everything to Harry—the least we can do is use his made-up name.'

Harry scowled, prompting laughter from the audience, and George said, 'Why the long face, Potter-Black?'

'There!' said Lee. 'Was that so hard?'

George looked unconvinced. 'I don't know. You try it.'

'Oi! Potter-Black!' cried Lee. 'Yeah, you heard me! That's your new name, isn't it, Potter-Black?' He frowned. 'You're right, it's a bit unwieldy.'

'Sorry, Harry,' said George. 'I'll refer to you by your made-up name, but I probably won't address you that way.'

Harry knew better than to complain about the term 'made-up name,' so he just said, 'Are we done here, or is there more we need to discuss?'

'That's up to you, mate,' said Lee. 'Technically speaking, you're free to leave any time you like, or not show up at all. Though we'd be heartbroken, and magical Britain would probably descend into chaos until you returned.'

'I second Lee's statement,' said George. 'And I do have one more question: Did you ever hear back from Cassia Dexter? You gave her a right bollocking last week.'

Harry sighed. 'Yes, she sent me an apology, which I accept. She also apologised to Alex, Lisa, and, most importantly, Sirius.'

'So that's it?' said Lee, disappointed. 'Honestly, I was hoping for an escalation, in which she said your tirade was because of pent-up frustration relating to your celibacy vow.'

'And that your vow was motivated by your longing to return to your carefree, virginal youth,' added George.

'My carefree, virginal youth?' said Harry sceptically. 'Was I there?'

Lee laughed and said, 'Nice one, Potter-Black. And I'm impressed you've forgiven Dr Niffler, after everything she said about you.'

Harry shrugged. 'It was a sincere apology, and life's too short to hold a grudge. Furthermore, she said she won't make public statements about me anymore, which is really all I ask.'

'You're too noble for this world,' said George. 'But you're also unkillable, so I guess you're stuck here.'

'But not stuck in this broadcasting booth,' said Harry. 'I think I'll sign off for the night.'

Lee and George thanked him profusely for coming, and Harry left the booth to loud applause. 'I don't know how you stay so cool when they slag you like that,' said a wizard as Harry passed.

'Years of practice,' said Harry. 'And they really mean the world to me.'

'That's why people like you,' said the wizard. 'You look out for other people, and you can take a joke.'

Harry was touched. 'Cheers, I appreciate it. And thanks for turning up.'

'Best show in town. Good luck with the vow!'

Smiling, Harry made his way to the door and, after signing autographs for a few minutes, he walked to the Leaky Cauldron.

'Are you off to see your mate?' asked a bar patron as Harry approached the fireplace.

That's probably the last term I'd use to describe Draco Malfoy, he thought.

'Yes,' replied Harry. 'Yes, I am.'