'Good morning, Banthora,' said Harry, well after dawn.

'Good morning, Harry. Not a peep out of you last night!'

'I know, and thank goodness. I can't go indefinitely without a proper night's sleep.'

His good mood increased when he went downstairs and saw he'd received a parcel from Alex. It contained a foulard, along with several pages from what he assumed was the Chicago Beacon. In her letter, she wrote:

The Battle of the Dandies was a smashing success! As you'll see in the enclosed article, Rocky has been fully vindicated, and you've earned a reputation as a preternaturally charismatic playboy. Furthermore, my sources tell me Jodi and Heidi were appalled that you fancied me of all people, particularly after dating someone like Lydia Travers. Promise me you'll spurn them in grand style this winter.

Harry unfolded the newspaper and laughed when he saw the enormous headline: 'TOUGH LUCK, POTTER.' And the text underneath said, 'Chicago vixen returns to hometown fiancé.'

The article read:

Harry Potter might have thought himself invincible, having twice survived the Killing Curse. On top of that, he's Great Britain's most notorious ladies' man, with his impeccable wardrobe, opulent townhouse, and stratospheric net worth. But Potter, also known as Lord Black, was no match for a humble Chicago wizard in the battle for international siren Alexandra Barrington.

During her brief, torrid affair with Potter, Miss Barrington was the talk of England, praised for her beauty, brains, and elegance. But all the while, her heart belonged to Richard 'Rocky' Stefanik, her fiancé back in Chicago. An inside source told the Beacon that the couple agreed to see other people during her projected six-month trip overseas, with the understanding that they wouldn't get serious with anyone. But no one anticipated Miss Barrington would catch the eye of wizarding Britain's most pursued bachelor.

'Rocky wasn't thrilled she was dating Harry Potter. He trusted Alex completely, but he didn't trust Potter one bit. The way he saw it, Potter's a fighter who'll stop at nothing to get what he wants,' said the anonymous source. 'And frankly, Potter's reputation as a [love] machine wasn't helping.'

'For a while, Rocky hoped Potter was too much of a player to fall for a single witch,' said our source. 'But then came that photo of them in the nightclub, and Potter's expression and body language were unmistakable: he clearly had it bad for Alex. Rocky took one look and went straight to the Portkey Office.'

But Potter, it turns out, is a gentleman. According to a second source, as soon Miss Barrington told Potter it was over, he respected her decision. 'Alex said he sulked a bit, but he didn't try to come between them. And Rocky said Potter was actually a nice guy, and they had a great time at dinner together.'

Dinner was at a tony French restaurant in London's wizarding district, and although Potter didn't challenge Stefanik for Miss Barrington, he threw down the gauntlet in what British tabloids dubbed 'The Battle of the Dandies.' Since July, when he became a professional Quidditch player, Potter has earned a reputation as Britain's best-dressed wizard, and he was determined to prove it to his American guest.

Instead of wearing his trademark fitted robes and boutonnière, Potter shocked the fashion world by wearing a custom-made No-Maj suit. Stefanik represented Chicago well in his tailored robes from Matelli and Sons, which drew praise from British commentators, and he certainly held his own against his wealthy rival. But Potter, as always, stole the show.

'Harry Potter is the most magnetic wizard I've ever seen,' said Beacon style editor Lillian Button. 'Strictly speaking, he's not classically handsome, but you hardly notice it while looking at him. I'm not sure whether that's because I know who he is, and that he's survived the Killing Curse twice, or if even a No-Maj would see it in him. Which makes his three-piece suit a particularly bold statement, since the underlying message—intentional or not—is "I could be a No-Maj and I'd still be iconic."'

Harry scowled as he read it. She's as bad as Doctor Niffler, he thought. I just thought a three-piece suit would look cool. And I'd never say 'No-Maj.'

The article continued to liberally quote the two anonymous sources, who Harry suspected were either Alex and Rocky themselves or their close confidants. There was also a jumbled summary of Harry's romantic history, which included photos of him with Ginny and Lydia. But Alex had highlighted a paragraph near the end:

Rumors are swirling that Potter will visit Chicago in January for the World Quidditch Conference, which will give local witches the chance to discover whether Americans are his 'type.' Recordings of his weekly radio broadcast have begun circulating on this side of the pond and, based on the reaction of several witches in the Beacon newsroom, his accent alone is guaranteed to break American hearts. Add to that his Beau Brummell wardrobe, his overflowing bank vault, and his emerald-green eyes, and there's no doubt Harry Potter will stay warm during the depths of a Chicago winter.

Harry took a deep breath. Four and a half more days of celibacy, he reminded himself.

Next he perused the Daily Prophet, in which an anonymous Unspeakable praised him extravagantly for casting a wordless Patronus. Harry knew it was probably just Rita, but a small part of him relished the praise. It dovetailed with what the Chicago Beacon had said about his own magnetism, which echoed similar statements from Helena and Alistair.

I'm the subject of two prophecies, and probably the league's best Seeker, he thought. Maybe I need to stop pretending I'm not really fucking special.

Yes, and I keep getting dumped, said another part of his mind. My so-called magnetism is probably just my sucking pit of need.

His thoughts turned to Sophie, and he was intensely grateful he'd be able to end his vow with her, and not just a one-night stand. He wondered whether she might relocate to London, and if they could start dating in earnest.

That morning at practice, his teammates asked him about her. 'She's the one did your makeup, right?' said Janet. 'Will she come to the party?'

'I don't know. She travels a lot for work, and it's possible she'll only be in London a few days.'

'Then make her train Kreacher. I want to see an authentic recreation of the look that conquered France.'

'It didn't conquer France—all it did was attract a gay Frenchman who was marooned at a non-gay nightclub.'

'Yes, but you had a limited audience. If you'd gone to a gay bar, there'd be a lightning-bolt flag atop the Eiffel Tower by now and they'd all be speaking English.'

'No, they'd have dumped me straight away, thanks to my sucking pit of need.'

Suresh shook his head. 'You may be needy, but no gay man will turn down a "sucking pit."'

'That's the most romantic thing I've ever heard,' said Janet, and Tuttle ordered them to start running.

Harry ran alongside Gemma. 'I think I'm ready to try watching another video, if you're willing.'

'Do you want a French film this time?' she asked, looking ahead.

'What, because of Sophie?'

'Yeah, although I guess she spoke enough English for you to get her into bed.'

'She speaks fluent English,' said Harry. 'And I'm sure I'd enjoy seeing a French film, but there are so many American ones I haven't seen yet.'

'Right, you want boobs and explosions. Got it.'

'Er, maybe not the boobs—I still have a celibacy vow. But can't we finish "Austin Powers" first?'

'No, I forgot about the Fembots scene—you'd never survive it. But I bet you'd like "Titanic." There's only one scene with boobs, and the entire second half is explosions.'

'On a sinking ship? How would that even work?'

'Well, explosions of water. But believe me, there's plenty of destruction.'

Harry was silent a moment, recalling the Battle of Hogwarts. 'You'd think I'd want to avoid watching scenes like that, but I saw "The Matrix" a few months ago and loved it.'

'All right, then. "Titanic" it is. Although it's a bit long for a weeknight—are you free on Saturday?'

'I am, but wouldn't you rather do something more exciting after a match than stay at home with a video?'

'In theory, yes. But I could invite some mates and turn it into a party.'

'Muggle or magical?'

'Magical. I was the weird kid in primary school, remember?'

'Oh, right. In that case, I can have Kreacher and Lodie make snacks.'

'Your new house-elf!' she exclaimed. 'I still can't believe you have two now.'

'Neither can I, but there they are. And I'm glad Kreacher has help, since he's getting on in years.'

'Were you afraid he'd die and leave you without anyone to wait on you hand and foot?'

'He doesn't wait on me hand and foot!'

She gave him a sidelong glance. 'That's a nice shave you have there, Toffer.'

Harry scowled. 'He insists, and it makes him happy. I'm perfectly capable of shaving myself.' After a pause, he said, 'And yes, it's really bloody convenient having a house-elf. Or elves, rather. There's no way I could keep the entire house tidy myself, even with magic.'

'And you couldn't throw parties without your enormous townhouse,' she said. 'So it's all to the good.'

'That reminds me, I'll need your help getting shoes as well. My friend Pansy pointed out I probably won't be able to find anything in a charity shop.'

'What size shoe do you wear?' she asked, looking down at his feet.

'Eight, more or less.'

'That's not quite drag queen territory, but yeah, you won't find much in a charity shop. Does this mean you want a new dress too?'

'Not if I can avoid it.'

'Understood—you'll get more proletarian street cred if you wear something from an Oxfam shop. But it'll be our little secret if you pay full price for shoes.'

When Harry returned from lunch that afternoon, Lara said, 'Mrs Thwip needs to talk to you.'

'Am I in trouble?' he asked automatically, reviewing what he might have done wrong during the broadcast.

'She didn't say, but she definitely looked grimmer than usual.'

Harry walked nervously to her office. Knocking on the door frame, he said, 'Excuse me, Mrs Thwip? Lara said you wanted to see me.'

'Yes, Mr Potter-Black. Please come in,' she said, her expression inscrutable. 'You received a letter from a former professor.'

'Oh?' he said, wondering why they hadn't owled him at home.

'A former Defence professor,' she said, and Harry felt the blood drain from his face.

'Not Lockhart! Bloody hell, what does that lying bastard want?'

'Mr Potter-Black!' she exclaimed. 'There's no need for profanity.'

'I beg your pardon, you're right. I just have a bad history with him.'

'I understand. But your manners needn't fall by the wayside.'

He apologised again as he took the letter, and he instantly recognised Lockhart's loopy handwriting:

My dear Harry,

I trust this letter finds you in good health. In fact, I know it does, because I just heard your broadcast, and you're clearly thriving. As someone who knew you during a more difficult time, I'm delighted by your improved circumstances.

I've wanted to write to you for several months now, but I only got the courage when you forgave Cassia Dexter on the radio last night. I, too, seek your forgiveness—an aspiration I feared was futile until I heard you say, 'Life's too short to hold a grudge.' Well said, Harry! I'm thrilled that you've learnt this important truth so young.

I therefore ask: can you forgive me? My memory still contains many gaps, but I'm told I used you ill, both as a Defence professor and on the night of my accident. I was shocked and dismayed to learn about my behaviour, but with the help of a Mind Healer—Cassia Dexter, in fact—I'm coming to terms with my past and trying to make amends.

Please forgive my intrusion, as I'm certain you're very busy. I remember the demands of celebrity and the difficulty of responding even to important post. (Did you help me with that? I seem to recall you did.) But I hope you'll grant my humble request: may I please have an hour of your time to express in person the depths of my remorse?

I can understand why you mightn't be willing to meet me in private, given my past betrayal. So perhaps you and Ronald Weasley, whose forgiveness I also seek, would meet me in public. I want to prove to you that I'm a changed man, which I can best do in person. (Ironically, even though I was a best-selling author, I am unable to fully express my remorse in writing.)

Name the time and location, and thank you for your consideration.

Yours sincerely,
Gilderoy Lockhart

'Did you read this?' Harry asked Mrs Thwip.

'Yes, Mr Potter-Black.'

'Did I somehow miss the part where he apologised?' asked Harry, turning the letter over.

'He asked for your forgiveness.'

'Right. But is that the same as an apology?'

'I couldn't say. But he used the word "remorse" twice.'

'That's a start, I suppose. Still, it seems a bit demanding to ask for an hour of my time without at least saying he's sorry first.'

'Shall I send him a refusal?' she asked, raising her quill.

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. 'Ugh, I don't know. What do you think?'

Mrs Thwip was silent, and her jaw looked even more tense than usual. She finally said, 'I choose to believe no one is beyond redemption, Mr Potter-Black.'

You didn't answer my question, thought Harry. 'Are you saying I should see him?'

'I'm only stating my belief that even the most contemptible being may eventually find his way.' Harry wasn't sure, but he thought she put extra emphasis on the word 'contemptible.'

His frown deepened, and he recalled how he'd tried getting Voldemort to generate remorse at the very end. Lockhart isn't beyond hope, he thought. And at least he didn't make a bunch of Horcruxes.

'I should probably give him the chance to apologise,' said Harry. 'Maybe he really is sorry.'

'As you wish. Shall I propose a date and time?'

'Er, I'll ask Ron on Saturday. I'm sure Lockhart can wait another week.'

For an instant, the corners of Mrs Thwip's mouth turned upwards. 'Yes, Mr Potter-Black.'

Practice that afternoon was disappointing. Harry tried using the Firebolt Ultra again, hoping his Light magic would no longer interfere with it, but if anything it was worse than before. 'So I'm stuck with the Silver Arrow,' he said dejectedly.

'Seems like,' said Owen. 'Unless you want to try the Cleansweep X-20.'

'No, it's not a Seeker's broom,' said Bruce. 'It's designed for stability, which is great if you're throwing a Quaffle or slamming a Bludger, but you'll pay for on sharp turns. The Silver Arrow's really your best option.'

Harry scowled, but Gemma just laughed at him. 'When I joined the team, you couldn't shut up about the Silver Arrow. But now you're acting like it's worse than the Pegasus Ten.'

'You're right,' said Harry. 'It's still a fantastic broomstick. I just wish I could get more speed from it in a chase.'

'Only the female Seekers are smaller than you, and Gemma's probably the only one who's your equal on a broom,' said Owen. 'You can beat nearly anyone on the Silver Arrow.'

'Not Routledge. He's my size and flies the Firebolt now. And I play him in the final match this season.'

'Sounds like a good reason to start me instead,' smirked Gemma.

'If we were in contention for the Cup, I'd consider it,' said Owen. 'But it'll be a home match, and Darius will insist we play Harry. And everyone will want to watch the two of them compete for the spot on the national team.'

Gemma turned to Harry and said, 'You mean they're not just going to give you the job after ten minutes with a Launcher? How will you manage?'

He raised two fingers at her and trudged back to the building. Gemma followed him and said, 'I went overboard again, didn't I?'

'No, it's fine,' he said dully. 'And I'm not even convinced I want to fly for England. Not yet, anyway.'

'Looking for a lie-in, then?'

'Yeah, something like. I'm not complaining, but between the team, family responsibilities, studying Light magic, and trying to influence politics, I could use a bloody break.'

'You forgot the radio, your sex life, and your tailor. Not necessarily in that order.'

And my nightmares, and my sucking pit of need, he added silently. 'At least I'll see Sophie on Sunday.'

Gemma frowned. 'Isn't it suspicious she'll be in England right when your vow ends? Do you reckon she's trying to snag you while you're weak?'

'No, there's a good reason she'll be here. I just didn't want to announce it on the radio.'

'Do I even want to know?'

'It has to do with my scandalous endorsement.' He told her about the secondary contract, and her jaw dropped.

'You're going to be Marky Mark!'

'Who?'

'Mark Wahlberg. He's an American film star who used to be a rapper called Marky Mark, and he appeared in a Calvin Klein advert with Kate Moss.'

Harry knew exactly which advert Gemma was talking about. 'Anyway, on Sunday they had a casting session for the female model, and they chose Sophie, mostly because of our history together. And as it happens, the photo shoot will be this coming Sunday, so there's no doubt how my vow is going to end.'

Gemma was silent before asking, 'Do you like her?'

'We had a brilliant time in Paris. But I was only there for two nights, so I can't say whether we'd do well as a couple.'

'"You'll always have Paris,"' quoted Gemma. 'Will she be in England long?'

'I have no idea. Our photo shoot will only take one day, and she travels a lot for work. Amanda, the photographer, said she's bound to get heaps more modelling jobs after booking this one, so I don't know whether she'll be able to stay for long.'

'What are you hoping?'

Harry sighed. 'That she stays. It's probably my sucking pit of need talking, but this vow is showing me just how much I want a live-in girlfriend. That was the best part of dating Lydia, even though it ended in disaster. I loved coming home to her, sitting on the sofa reading together, or having an impromptu dance party—just the two of us. Or reading the Prophet in bed together, while she ate off her parents' silver and I ate off pewter. And yes, I know I'm asking for Harry Toffer comments, but there it is.'

'No, that sounds nice,' said Gemma in a voice he barely recognised.

'I have no idea what Sophie wants,' he continued. 'I know she likes me, and we had good alchemy, but she mightn't want to be tied down like that, or deal with all the headaches that come with being Harry Potter's girlfriend.'

'Potter-Black,' said Gemma. 'And she'd be mad to turn you down.'

After showering, Harry changed into robes and went to Pratt's. He hadn't been there in more than a week, and he didn't want people to assume he was avoiding it because he'd be tempted to break his celibacy vow. It was nearly an hour until his dinner with Blaise, so he deliberately went to the lounge and chose a seat where he'd be visible. But he'd barely pulled out his copy of Wandlore before a wizard approached him.

'Potter, it's good to see you,' said Oscar Abbott, sitting in the adjacent armchair. 'Elf!'

Pop! 'Good evening, sirs. How may Froop be of assistance?' said the elf, bowing.

Abbott ordered wine, and Harry ordered an elderflower pressé. Their drinks appeared in an instant, and Abbott said, 'Playing it safe near the Boudoir, eh, Potter?'

'I don't think I'm at risk, but I'd rather not find out by accident.'

'I was here last week when you announced your vow on the radio, and so many people started placing wagers that Demetrius Crump cast a Silencing Charm to keep everyone quiet until you were off the air.'

'Did you place one?'

'Several, all in your favour. Everyone wanted to bet you'd fail, and hardly anyone was willing to take them up on it. So you can imagine how pleased I was by your announcement last night.'

'But all you have is my word. Will that be enough to convince people?'

'Yes, thanks to your Veritaserum stunt. People think you're mad, or a menace, but no one doubts your honesty.'

'That's good, I guess. Is there anything else I should know about?'

Abbott leaned closer. 'They say you're a born salesman. Everyone who remembers Monty Potter says you're a chip off the old block. And as Archer Longbottom put it, "Monty could have sold trousers to a centaur."'

'What do they think I'm selling?' asked Harry, thinking of the underwear adverts.

'Whatever you like, and that's what worries them. You've turned an obscure branch of magic no one thought was possible into the national sport. You started wearing flowers a century after they fell out of fashion, and now my grandsons—who used to dress like Muggles—are asking the portraits for sartorial advice. And in two visits to the Wizengamot, you've proven you're a natural at politics.'

'Even the first time, when the lords humiliated me?'

'Your humiliation lasted five minutes, and now you have Rita Skeeter eating out of your hand. Nobody wants to oppose you anymore.'

Harry looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was eavesdropping. 'What about the Dark faction?'

'The truly Dark wizards are in Azkaban, or in hiding. Everyone else is more interested in increasing their family wealth and status. Which means they find it reassuring you're attempting to do the same.'

Percy was right, thought Harry, recalling his advice to win allies by demonstrating he wanted to make money. 'How can I use this? I want to promote equality amongst wizards and across magical races.'

'That's the trick. You need to convince this lot they won't lose anything if other people get ahead,' he said, indicating the other wizards in the lounge.

'Will they?'

'Yes and no. The old families will always be important, at least in their own minds. And as long as we have magic—and house-elves—we'll always live in comfort. But if you get your way, they mightn't maintain their stranglehold on Ministry posts or even the Wizengamot.'

'And why is that a problem? Shouldn't people who attended schools other than Hogwarts get the chance to accept bribes?'

Abbott chuckled. 'Not everyone at the Ministry is corrupt.'

'Yes, otherwise there wouldn't be any informants.'

'Only fools get caught. You know your way around, right?'

Narrowing his eyes, Harry said, 'That sounds like something an informant might say.'

Abbott laughed out loud. 'You really are a Slytherin. But believe it or not, the system works. Wizards profit off of Muggles, and Muggles get to enjoy the benefits of magic. The Ministry makes a show of safeguarding the Statute of Secrecy, which keeps us out of trouble with the International Confederation of Wizards. It's the same in every country, and unless secrecy is overturned—which it won't be—it'll always be like this.'

'What about America? I thought they were more strict about secrecy.'

'Yes, and the bribes are much higher there. Which you should keep in mind if you ever try to expand into the American market.'

What does he know? thought Harry. 'Are you implying something?'

'You've been tasked with rebuilding the Black fortune, and you're on good terms with George Weasley and Draco Malfoy. Between the three of you, you'll come up with something. And believe me, if you're ever looking for investors, you'll have no trouble finding them.'

Harry realised Narcissa was right to insist he sign the underwear contract, if only to deflect attention from the condom scheme. 'Can you keep a secret?' he asked Abbott.

'Yes, of course. What is it?'

'I've agreed to a scandalous endorsement.' Lowering his voice to a whisper, he said, 'Undergarments.'

Abbott's eyes grew wide. 'Is there money in that?'

'If wizards are anything like Muggles, definitely. For a few days' work, and some borderline-indecent photographs—at least by wizarding standards—I'll get a cut of worldwide sales. The adverts will run everywhere but Britain.'

Harry could practically see the numbers swirling in Abbott's head. 'It won't stay secret,' said Abbott. 'But you know that. And you were clever to make trousers fashionable first. Are you working with Runnion?'

'Yes, he approached me last month. The adverts will start appearing in November sometime. Including one with a witch.'

Smirking, Abbott said, 'Please tell me you won't be glowing.'

'No. Muggle photographs only.'

'That'll probably be the biggest scandal, although everyone will understand why.' He chuckled and said, 'It'll hardly be the most shocking source of income for the Blacks. Assuming that's the house that benefits.'

'Largely. It's the least I can do after dragging their name through the mud.'

'They dragged it through the mud themselves,' said Abbott. 'But I've heard rumours you're already helping your new cousins.'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'It's a good thing I don't have any real secrets, because wizards are the biggest lot of gossips I've ever seen. Of course I'm helping my cousins.'

'Good. Nothing drags down a noble house like a lot of poor relations. You're better off leaving less to your descendants and uplifting the entire family. That's how the Abbotts have done it for generations, which means I don't have nearly the vault that other Wizengamot members have. But I also don't need to worry about getting poisoned by my nephews.'

'Yes, I've heard stories to that effect from one of the portraits,' said Harry, recalling the grisly tale of Oberon Black. 'He was eighth in line of succession,' Banthora had told him, 'and every year more sons were born to displace him. So he invented a poison not even a Bezoar could counteract and set to using it. One by one he eliminated his rivals, even lacing sweets for the children, until he was finally next in line. But the surviving Head of House, a ruthless young wizard named Jupiter Black, anticipated him. It was his seventeenth birthday, and Oberon brought him to Pratt's with a plan to lace his drink at the brothel—he'd bribed the madam. But Jupiter secretly brought his house-elf, with prior instructions to Compel the madam to serve Oberon the poison and also drink it herself. Then he and several filles de joie fornicated in front of their writhing bodies, until they expired at last.'

'I'm glad you won't make that mistake,' said Abbott, and it took Harry a moment to return to the present. 'Anyway, I mustn't monopolise you. I see a circling wizard, and it's not his habit to wait.'

Harry resisted the urge to look. 'Who?'

'Romulus Wynter.'

'Oh dear. Best get that over with.' Abbott stood up, and Harry rose as well. 'I promise you'll win those wagers,' he said.

'Much appreciated, Potter. Potter-Black, that is.'

'Cheers,' said Harry, sitting down and taking a sip from his drink. No point in opening Wandlore with Romulus Wynter approaching, he thought, although he was sorely tempted.

'Potter,' said Wynter, and Harry rose again. 'I'd like a word.'

'Yes, of course. Elf!' said Harry, snapping his fingers.

Froop returned, and Wynter ordered a glass of wine. 'I see you've learnt the custom, Potter,' he said when the elf left.

'Yes. I haven't been able to visit Pratt's as often as I hoped, but perhaps I'll have more time when Quidditch season ends next month.'

'I suppose you have more than your share of extracurricular activities,' said Wynter. 'No one can claim you don't have a wide range of interests.'

Is he referring to sex, Muggle culture, or Light magic? wondered Harry. 'As much as I love Quidditch, I'll enjoy being able devote more time to other activities, and also getting to know more wizards here at Pratt's. I never knew a thing about my grandfather before I came here, but lots of people seem to remember him.'

'He wasn't a member, although he was invited more than once,' said Wynter disapprovingly. 'The first time was shortly after he turned twenty-one, and then several years later, when his business took off. But his refusals were swift and unambiguous.'

'That sounds very Gryffindor,' said Harry.

'It was. But, like you, he was a puzzling mix of Gryffindor and Slytherin.'

'What's so puzzling about combining courage and ambition?'

'Nothing, when you phrase it like that. But no house is defined by a single trait. And when Gryffindor recklessness meets Slytherin cunning, the result is puzzling indeed. And highly unpredictable.'

'Predictability is overrated,' said Harry, thinking of Trelawney's prophecies.

'But continuity isn't. Were it not for your immunity to the Killing Curse, the Potters would be gone, and with them the last of the Peverells. Both of which would be a tragic loss.'

Harry knew that Davina's father was alluding to the end of his own line. 'Personally I'm glad the Potters will continue, not least because it means I'm still alive. And I certainly don't want the Blacks to die out, as they would have done if Draco Malfoy and I had both died before I restored the lost branches.'

'Yes, what of these lost branches?' asked Wynter. 'I was under the impression that your godfather was the last remaining Black, but clearly you've found more.'

Harry explained the tapestry, and how new branches appeared when he repaired it. 'My cousin Lisa, who was on the radio with me last week, is descended from a Squib. His parents left him in a Muggle orphanage as a baby, and magic resurfaced two generations later. Strongly.'

Wynter seemed unimpressed. 'But the lineage was broken. Other than their surname, there's nothing to tie them to their ancestors.'

'That's rubbish. I didn't even know my grandfather's name until a few months ago, but everyone here tells me I'm just like him.'

'In certain respects, yes.' He took a sip of wine and was silent.

He's obviously thinking about Davina, thought Harry, and he wondered if he should say something. After a long pause, he said, 'She misses you.'

Wynter's eyebrows drew together sharply. 'That's none of your concern.'

'I know. But we both know I see her every week. And she regrets how ferocious she was when she told you she was getting married.' Wynter remained silent, and Harry said, 'Is that why you came to talk to me? To ask after your daughter?'

'I have no daughter,' said Wynter, standing. 'Good day.'

Harry had scarcely stood up before Wynter was gone. Oops, he thought. That went poorly. His only consolation was knowing he probably hadn't made things worse, since forty years of estrangement was hard to beat.

He never managed to read Wandlore that afternoon, due to the series of wizards who approached him. Reginald Baxter dropped broad hints about the Boudoir, and Harry laughed out loud at his suggestion that he 'pop in for an apéritif.'

'Nice try, but you won't win your bet,' said Harry. 'And I'm meeting someone for dinner in a few minutes, and going home after that.'

Harry found Blaise in the corridor outside the dining room, and he insisted on a table for two. 'You don't fancy more company?' asked Blaise knowingly.

'No, it's been nothing but politics and diplomacy for the last hour, and I need a bloody break.'

'That's what the Boudoir is for,' said Blaise. 'But you'll have to settle for dinner with me.'

'I'm thrilled to have dinner with you. And yes, I realise that if I heard myself saying that six months ago, my head would have exploded.'

They reviewed the menu and placed their orders with yet another house-elf. 'So, how was your evening with Draco?' asked Blaise. 'Will you be best man at the wedding?'

'That seems unlikely, although we're getting on shockingly well. Assuming this isn't all just an elaborate plan crafted by Lucius.'

'No, he showed me the plan Lucius crafted. First it was shaped like a giraffe, and then it reconfigured into a sort of Pegasus.'

'What about a Hippogriff?'

'Too soon,' said Blaise. 'But anything's possible. I assume he bored you to tears talking about Catherine.'

'I wasn't bored, for the most part. I get the same way when I fall in love.'

'Perhaps, but you don't propose marriage.'

'I did to Helena, or near to it. That's why she made me take that vow.'

'And she deserves an Order of Merlin for it,' said Blaise reverently. 'If it weren't for her, you'd be as tediously monogamous a Seeker as you were an Auror.'

Harry paused to consider how thick-skinned he'd become from all the Quidditch taunting. 'I should also thank Helena for helping me get over Ginny.'

'Ah, the lovely Miss Weasley. She told me how you convinced yourself we were together. I'd apologise for needlessly tormenting you like that, but you deserved it. You had more than a year with her, whereas I got nothing but rejection.'

'So there was never anything between you?'

'Only friendship.' Harry raised one eyebrow and Blaise said, 'Snake's honour.'

'How did you become friends anyway? Not while she and I were together, I assume.'

'No, she was still at Hogwarts, remember? And I was abroad during May and June, after my stepfather died. In fact, I ran into her the day I returned. I'd arrived at the portkey terminal but wasn't yet ready to go home, so I killed time in Diagon Alley. I was outside Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, looking at the window display, when she came out and dared me to enter.'

'Did you?'

'No. I'd long admired her, and the last thing I wanted was one of her brothers standing guard. So I invited her to Fortescue's for ice cream.'

'How did she react? Had you even had a conversation before that?'

'Never. Which meant she was shocked enough to say yes.'

'Did you know we were no longer together? Or should I hex you for trying to steal my girlfriend?'

'I didn't know you'd split up, but I had an instinct. She had that air of freedom you sometimes see in people who are no longer in a serious relationship. Mother always has it whenever she's widowed, although she hides it under a veil for the first month. But she has a little trick where she lifts the veil when she's alone with her next target, and he's drawn in like a moth to a flame.'

Harry frowned. 'Surely Ginny wasn't trying to lure you like that!'

'No, not at all. But she had an aura of availability she'd never had before, which made me eager to spend time with her.'

'I can certainly relate to wanting Ginny,' said Harry. 'But I'm not sorry she turned you down. Did she at least string you along?'

'Not deliberately. Unlike you, she's not at all Slytherin. But I fancied myself irresistible and assumed she'd succumb. In hindsight it was completely doomed—I actually insinuated you hadn't been able to satisfy her, and that I could show her what she'd been missing. I'm sure you can guess her response.'

'I can, but enlighten me.'

'She said, "Nice try, but trust me, he's famous for the wrong reason."'

Harry chuckled. 'And so you became friends instead?'

'We did. She was a bit at loose ends, as you can imagine. She'd just finished Hogwarts and no longer had you to occupy her time—that's why she was hanging round the shop. She also wanted a break from your mutual friends, since she felt guilty for breaking up with you. As far as I know, none of them said anything, but she still felt judged. And then there was her mum, who was furious with her.'

'Ugh, Molly,' said Harry, sighing. 'I actually took satisfaction in knowing how upset her parents probably were. Not because they were unhappy, but because it proved she'd made a huge mistake. Which of course she hadn't done—she was right to dump me. I'm sure I was completely miserable to be around, between hating my job and all the rest.'

'And not being a witch. It took her a while to realise she fancied Wendy, but it was dead obvious from the way she talked about her. She was as bad as Draco, only she thought Wendy was just a mate.'

'I still can't get over Draco,' said Harry. 'Have you ever seen him like this?'

'No, never. He enjoyed Pansy's attention, of course, but there was no thrill of the chase. Catherine, on the other hand, is so skilled at seduction that Draco thinks he's the seducer.'

'Are you saying she's not a virgin?'

'Not at all. Just that she knows exactly how to draw him in, and he's fallen for it completely.'

Harry frowned. 'Doesn't she fancy him?'

'Let's just say she reminds me of Mother. Not that I think Draco will meet an untimely demise, of course. But Catherine's expression changes when Draco's not looking. She's all adoration when he's there, but it disappears when he's not. Whereas Draco gushes even more in her absence.'

'Are you sure that's not just a difference in personality? Some people are more reserved.'

'I wish that were the case—really, I do. But when I look at her I see ambition more than love. And again, I know all too well what that looks like.'

Harry sighed heavily and said, 'That's a shame. Draco really wants to be married, and he's as desperate as I am for emotional connection. But don't you think Catherine could provide that anyway? Maybe once her ambition is satisfied, she'll learn to love him, particularly with a marriage bond.'

'Perhaps,' said Blaise. 'But again, I've seen it with my stepfathers. They always want more than she'll give them. They think that once she marries them, the chase will be won and they'll have their prize. And they do, in the most obvious sense. But she always holds something back, to keep them off-balance. It's impressive, really—their desire never wanes, and they'll do anything to please her. I have several disinherited step-siblings, thanks to her post-matrimonial manoeuvrings. But even then, she never gives them what they truly want.'

'Safe harbour,' said Harry without thinking. 'A sense of home.'

'Well said. Draco wants it too, but I don't see Catherine providing it.'

'You haven't said anything to him, have you?'

'Merlin, no! He'd probably think I was jealous and be more convinced than ever that she's the one.'

'That is seriously depressing,' said Harry. 'I knew Catherine was ambitious, but I didn't think she was so conniving. And in a sense I'm abetting her, by providing a dowry.'

'You can't control everything. And we all have our faults. If she's conniving, I'm sure she came by it honestly.'

'How do you mean?'

'Her mother's a Baxter—not from the Wizengamot branch, but an illustrious one nonetheless. She was undoubtedly brought up in luxury and then got cut off after marrying for love. With the wisdom of hindsight, she probably taught young Catherine that infatuation fades, but gold is forever.'

'But it isn't,' said Harry. 'The Malfoys lost half their gold after the war.'

'Yes, but they had so much of it that half is still enough to live like kings. And if Catherine was trained to nurture her ambition rather than her emotions, it's only natural she'd go after someone like Draco. All she needed was an introduction, which you provided. Her looks, bloodlines, and charm took care of the rest.'

'Is that how your mother was raised?'

'Mother doesn't confide in anyone, not even me.' Lowering his voice, he said, 'All I know is she didn't grow up with much, and I'd bet my wand she's not a pure-blood. But don't tell a soul.'

Harry assured Blaise he wouldn't. 'Do Pansy and Daphne share your opinion about Catherine?'

'Yes, but that doesn't signify. Pansy's as catty as they come, and Daphne thinks Draco ought to marry her sister when she's old enough.'

'Do people gossip about who you should marry?'

'Undoubtedly. Several Pratt's members have touted their daughters to me, although others conspicuously haven't.' With mock solemnity, he said, 'It might shock you to learn that Blood Status isn't the only prejudice held by wizards.'

Feigning outrage, Harry said, 'But isn't racism for Muggles?'

'That's what you'd think, but apparently not! Furthermore, I'm starting to suspect that wizards are occasionally sexist.'

'Perish the thought! What could be less sexist than an elite all-male club with direct access to a brothel?'

Harry realised he was speaking too loudly when several wizards glared at him. 'Careful, Potter,' said Blaise. 'They were finally starting to like you.'

'I never would have suspected they were such celibacy fans,' said Harry dryly.

'No, it's capitalism they like. You've been spotted at Gringotts enough times that people know you're serious about making money. And word has got out you're investing in my start-up, which means everyone's interested now.'

'But that's absurd! I probably know less about business than anyone here.'

'You're Monty Potter's grandson. I'd never heard of him until recently, but apparently he had an uncanny knack for business. People say the only reason you didn't inherit far more was because he bankrolled Dumbledore.'

'So I've heard. But does this mean you have enough investors now?'

'It does, and on more favourable terms than I'd hoped for. People who invested more than you did got a smaller stake, due to the increased demand.'

'Congratulations. Of course now the real work begins.'

'Believe me, I'm ready. I have too much pride to subsist entirely on unearned gold. Although I might still tell Muggles I'm an African prince.'

'Do you really?'

'Once. It was all I could do to keep a straight face.'

Harry told Blaise about how he'd allowed Penelope to believe he was a faerie, which caused Blaise to laugh uproariously. 'Please share that on the radio sometime,' he said, wiping away tears.

'No, it was bad enough admitting I'd risked secrecy with a Muggle. I don't need to give Merrick Bode an excuse to punish me for it.'

'You're right, of course. But be sure to include it in your future memoir.'

My Well-Travelled Bollocks, thought Harry, remembering the title Draco had suggested. 'I will.'

Their food arrived, and the conversation continued as they ate. 'Tell me more about this French model,' said Blaise.

'I met her through Laetitia, the English model I was photographed with after Helena dumped me. We had a brilliant time in Paris that weekend, and it just so happens she'll be in London on Sunday.' Blaise looked at him sceptically, and Harry said, 'I know how that sounds, but it's a genuine coincidence.'

'Will she attend your party?'

'I have no idea if she'll still be in London, but I hope so.'

'Personally, I hope all your ex-partners will be there. They could even wear identifying sashes, like pageant participants. "Miss Sorceress," for example.'

'That's an appalling suggestion,' said Harry, trying not to laugh.

'Lydia Travers could be "Miss Pure-Blood,"' continued Blaise. 'Helena Strauss would be "Miss Vow-Giver," and her friend would be "Miss Threesome."'

'What would Ginny be called?'

'Good question. How about "Miss Mummy-Substitute?"'

'Oi! My mum's hair was auburn, not red.'

'Fine. What about "Miss I-Taught-Him-How?"'

Harry thought for a moment. 'Yeah, that's fair. I suppose Penelope's not invited, although she'd love it. And I'll refrain from mentioning the witches you've left out.'

'And the fille de joie,' said Blaise. 'Or was it more than one?'

'No, just one.' Smirking, he added, 'I suspect I'd need a bigger house to host all of yours.'

'No, I have just a handful of favourites. But what about the witches you fancy? Shouldn't they get sashes as well?'

'That sounds awkward, particularly since they're both off limits.'

'Invisible sashes, then. You could have Gringotts add them to the wards, and only you and I would see them.'

'That feels deceptive, but it's only theoretical so I'll allow it.'

'Fantastic. What would the sashes say?'

'"Miss Fourth Cousin,"' said Harry, thinking of Lisa Black. 'And "Miss Leave-Her-Alone."'

'I know who the first one is, but who's the second?'

'Fiona Dunning. I met her through my teammate Owen; she's twenty-six, give or take, and a war widow.'

'What's the problem? Isn't she interested?'

'Actually, I think she is. But Owen won't let me near her. He thinks I'd toy with her and set back her healing process.'

'Would you?'

'I have no idea. I've fancied her since I first met her, although admittedly the first time I was drunk.'

'Don't discount that,' said Blaise. 'That was your most base self talking, and he's the one you generally need to worry about.'

'True. And then the other times ... I could have talked with her for hours, but I can't help turning on the charm when I'm around her, so I had to cut it short.'

'She doesn't sound like friend material, then.'

'No, unless it's appropriate for one friend to stare dumbly at the other and fantasise about working through our grief and trauma together. In my bedroom, of course.'

'Four more days, Potter. And not with her. But why does Owen get to decide?'

'He's over-protective, which I understand. And I really would hate to hurt her.'

'Fair enough. And why not Miss Fourth Cousin?'

'If I were twenty-one I'd date her in a heartbeat, assuming Helena wasn't available. But if we date now, and things don't work out, I'd have an ex in the family.'

'So what? You and Ginny get on fine now. If Miss Fourth Cousin is interested, I say go for it.'

'I'll keep that in mind. But until then there's Miss French Model, and I fancy her as well.'

'I shudder to imagine if you'd been this way at Hogwarts,' said Blaise. 'It's probably a good thing you had Voldemort to keep you occupied.'

'Cheers,' said Harry, raising two fingers.

'Now now, Potter, that's not how wizards behave at Pratt's.'

'Of course, you're right. And I really shouldn't talk about women like this—Hermione would kill me if she found out.'

'I won't tell her. And besides, you need to talk like this occasionally. Get it out of your system. That's one of the many virtues of Pratt's, you know—it'll never leave these walls.'

Harry looked around. 'Yes, I'm starting to appreciate that. And I think Dumbledore was wrong to discourage his allies from coming here. I wouldn't want to get sucked in completely, but there really is a lot to be said for finding common ground.'

'As you and Draco have done,' said Blaise. 'I hoped you would.'

Harry couldn't resist trying something from the sweets trolley, hoping Kreacher wouldn't find out. After several bites he said, 'Sweet Merlin, I wish I could send this back in time, to when we were living in the tent. We had biscuits occasionally, but nothing like this.'

'Why on earth didn't you go to Muggle restaurants?' asked Blaise. 'Didn't you have Muggle currency? Or were you too ethical to steal?'

Harry didn't want to explain how the locket Horcrux had crushed their spirits. 'We didn't have much money, and we didn't want to steal more than absolutely necessary,' he said. 'And I can't share the details, since they're classified, but we were exposed to extremely Dark magic, which drained our enthusiasm for anything beyond mere survival.'

Blaise was quiet for a moment. 'It's easy to forget what you've been through, now that you're a near-undefeated Seeker who shags models. But you definitely earned that Order of Merlin, First Class. I'm only sorry I didn't help you.'

'You didn't work against us,' said Harry. 'And fortunately Ginny turned you down—I'll have to owl her my thanks.'

After dinner, Harry returned to Grimmauld Place and replied to fan mail. He eventually asked Kreacher for a second pudding, not revealing he'd had one already, and before bed he told Banthora about his day.

'Everyone at Pratt's is talking about my grandfather, and how much I'm like him, which is weird. I'm used to hearing that about my parents, but my grandparents feel about as alien to me as Merlin.'

'Did your godfather ever tell you about him?'

'Only that my grandparents had taken him in, and that they were like family to him. But he mostly talked about my father, who I was always keen to hear about.' Harry sighed and said, 'I'm still not used to having a family. I could at least imagine my parents, and I had pictures of them. But other than when I saw them in the Mirror of Erised, my grandparents and everyone else felt no more real than someone in a dream.'

'Why would that make them less real?' she asked.

Startled, Harry said, 'What do you mean?'

'I've spent nearly a fortnight with you, and your dreams are incredibly real. They have the power to terrify you, and make you reluctant to go back to sleep. I'm not criticising you—that's perfectly normal. But it just proves that thoughts are as powerful as anything, which you in particular should realise.'

'As a Light Arts practitioner?'

'Exactly.'

Recalling what he'd heard at so many funerals, Harry said, 'People say the dead live on in our thoughts. Is it possible that my so-called business sense isn't just an echo of my grandfather's, but that it's actually the same?'

'Interesting,' said Banthora. 'Does it feel like something you're doing?'

'No, it's all instinct. The idea for the condom scheme just popped into my head while I was chatting with George. And maybe it wasn't my idea at all, but it just came from the same source my grandfather had access to.' After a silence, he said, 'And my mother's sacrifice. Maybe that wasn't hers either, and my own sacrifice came from the same source as well.'

'Does her family have a history of sacrifice?'

'I don't know, but it hardly matters,' said Harry, with an odd sense of certainty. 'Anyone who acts selflessly is drawing from that source. And every clever business idea comes from the same source my grandfather accessed. The fact that Monty Potter and I are related might even be irrelevant, and the only reason people are linking us is because it fits their picture of how things work.'

As he lay in bed, he pondered all the aspects of himself that weren't necessarily him. 'I'm not the one spotting the Snitch,' he told Banthora. 'I simply allow the Snitch to appear, and I'm able to see it because I'm not looking through Omnioculars. Same as when I'm on the radio, or when I argued for Draco in front of the Wizengamot. Harry Potter isn't that clever, but cleverness happens when Harry Potter gets out of the way.'

'Harry Potter-Black,' said Banthora, and Harry laughed and bade her goodnight.