When Harry entered the kitchen on Saturday morning, Kreacher was at the cooker and Lodie was in front of the fireplace with a basket.

'Is that from the bakery?' asked Harry, anticipating a French pastry with breakfast.

'No, Master. Lodie is collecting Master's post.'

Oh shit, thought Harry, hurrying to check the Prophet. He didn't know what he was looking for, and there was nothing on the front page. But when he frantically flipped to the gossip column, all became clear.

'HARRY POTTER-DRAG,' blared the headline, above an artist's rendition of Harry wearing a dress and wig. The sub-headline said, 'Cross-dress required at Potter's next bacchanal.'

Harry closed his eyes and groaned before reading the accompanying item:

We'd call it the party of the year, but that's been true of both parties thrown so far by Harry Potter-Black. The world-famous Light wizard has proven a superlative host, filling his deliciously Dark townhouse with flowers, Muggle music, and scores of sex-mad youths. But his next fête, scheduled for Saturday the sixteenth, takes things farther by scrambling the dress code, guaranteeing a night of sweet debauchery to everyone lucky enough to gain entry.

Potter-Black had hoped to keep the party secret, only revealing the titillating twist after invitees signed a magical contract. But at least one guest couldn't keep their mouth shut, and although we won't reveal their name, you might recognise them by their brand-new set of antlers. Fortunately for our loose-lipped friend, the antlers will disappear in time for what's bound to be Potter-Black's most thrilling party yet.

Wizarding clothiers will surely vie for the opportunity to dress the incomparably stylish host. Our artist has provided an example of what Potter-Black might wear, but the Chudley Cannons Seeker is above all a master of surprise. We therefore implore him to allow photographs at the party, so all Britain can see what's bound to be a truly bewitching ensemble.

Harry sighed heavily, wondering who had revealed the secret. Everyone warned me it would get out.

'Lodie, may I see those letters?' said Harry, suspecting what he'd find.

'Yes, Master,' said Lodie, and in an instant they appeared on the table before him.

The first one was from Elizabeth, whom he hadn't seen since their encounter back in July:

Dear Harry,

I realise this is a shameless request, but as I recall you have very little use for shame, so I'll proceed.

Stated simply: you still owe me breakfast. However, I'm willing to release you from your obligation in exchange for two invitations to your upcoming party. My sister and I promise to uphold the dress code, and I further promise not to publicly reveal how I know you (although I have only good things to say).

You also owe me for trouncing Puddlemere, but you were only doing your job so I can't really blame you.

All the best,
Elizabeth

Harry smiled. He'd only occasionally thought about Elizabeth since their brief affair, but he remembered her fondly and appreciated her discretion.

The next letter was from Benedict Thimble:

Dear Mr Potter-Black,

I suspect you'll hear from every tailor in Britain, but please know that I'd be thrilled to dress you for your upcoming party. I am equally experienced creating clothes for men and women, and I'm certain we can achieve whatever degree of gender-bending you're aiming for. I'll be glad to offer private fittings—in your home if you prefer—and naturally your twenty-five percent discount would apply.

Yours sincerely,
Benedict Thimble

Harry could feel his planned trip to an Oxfam shop fading from existence, and he knew Gemma would taunt him mercilessly. But maybe I can show Thimble that David Bowie album, he thought, realising he knew exactly what he wanted to wear.

He read the small pile of letters as he ate, knowing there was probably a much larger stack accumulating in Mrs Thwip's office. He hoped throwing a drag party wasn't a sackable offence, but just to be safe he threw himself into answering fan mail.

Ron stumbled from the fireplace a short while later. 'Well done, Harry. You found yet another way to shock wizarding Britain.'

'I'll remind you it was Janet's idea to throw a drag party, not mine.'

'Perhaps, but you really should have learnt not to trust her by now.'

'Should I tell her you said that?'

'Go right ahead—she'd agree entirely,' said Ron. 'So, do you know who spilled the beans?'

'No idea. I only found out it was leaked when I read this morning's Prophet.'

'How did you take it? Was there swearing?'

'Oddly, no. I don't want to tempt fate by calling myself unflappable, but I definitely wasn't flapped.'

'It's probably the celibacy,' said Ron. 'I'm sure you'll start flapping again tomorrow night. Speaking of which, are you still on with the model?'

'Yes, we exchanged letters this week. She's arriving in London this afternoon, and tonight she'll stay with Laetitia, for obvious reasons. But I'll see her tomorrow at the photo shoot, and after that she'll stay here.'

'For how long? Will she come to the party?'

'That all depends. She travels a lot for work, and she can book more jobs than a Muggle model by taking advantage of magical transport. So it's possible she'll be in London all week, or her agent might ring her and tell her to turn up in Los Angeles the next morning.'

'Blimey!' said Ron, shaking his head. 'Will you take her out somewhere before your vow ends?'

'Not to George's party at the Twisted Niffler, if that's what you're implying.'

'Actually, Janet wants to go there. She's all in favour of the new era of decadence you've ushered in, and that'll be the best place to watch it.'

'No, thanks. If I take Sophie anywhere tomorrow night it'll be somewhere Muggle. The last thing I want is to be surrounded by a bunch of spectators with countdown timers.'

'Do you reckon you can handle a Muggle setting with Sophie? I know you ate lunch with the starters this week, but you'll be a walking hard-on tomorrow, which in your case means glowing.'

'That's a good point. I guess we'll play it by ear.'

Harry resumed signing photographs, and Ron perused Wandlore. 'This isn't bad,' he said. 'And it's clearly a giant love letter to you. But will it be enough to console you if Lockhart wins Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award?'

'Oh, bugger! I completely forgot—Lockhart wants to meet with us.'

Ron's jaw dropped. 'Are you fucking kidding me?'

'I only wish.' Harry told Ron about Lockhart's letter, and Ron shook his head in disgust.

'Not a chance. That preening git almost got Ginny killed.'

'I know. But I offered Voldemort the chance to generate remorse, so it's only fair to listen to what Lockhart has to say.'

'Mate, I think the Light magic is making you soft. As far as I'm concerned, there's nothing he could say to change my opinion.'

'True, but we're bound to run into him eventually, and this way we'll be prepared. It'll be a good opportunity to assess whether he's a threat.'

Ron looked impressed. 'Good thinking, Potter! Have you ever considered becoming a Ministry Auror?'

'Very funny,' said Harry. 'Where do you think should we meet him?'

'Somewhere dodgy, since I'm sure he's hoping you'll suggest somewhere popular, where people will see you together. In fact, I bet he'll tip off a photographer to get free publicity.'

'Good point. How about the Surly Bowtruckle?'

'Not bad. But I have a better idea: The Hog's Head.'

Harry chuckled evilly. 'Pure genius. When?'

'Lunchtime. Filthy pubs always look worse in the light of day.'

'Too right. And I'm thinking I should dress down for once.'

This time Ron chuckled evilly. 'You Slytherin bastard. Lockhart's going to expect the Battle of the Dandies, round two, and wear his best robes and flowers. Meanwhile, you'll turn up in jeans and trainers.'

'I was thinking tracksuit bottoms. And I'm tempted not to shower first.'

'No, your pride could never handle it. Besides, you might still be photographed.'

'True. What about backup?'

'Do you mean in case he tries something?'

'No, Aberforth will be there, and I can always call Kreacher in a pinch. I'm thinking someone else to throw him off-balance.'

Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, Ron said, 'Call me crazy, but I'm starting to suspect you're not actually planning to forgive him.'

'When did I say I'd forgive him?' said Harry innocently. 'I just said I'd hear him out.'

Owls continued to arrive with letters about the no-longer-secret drag party. 'Just wait till Monday when you see how many letters you get in care of the team,' said Ron. 'I bet everyone in the league asks for an invitation.'

Harry groaned. 'Brilliant. Now I have to pick and choose, unless I pack the house solid again.'

'You can't invite the entire league, particularly after the way they treated you last time.'

'It was only a few of them. And I should at least invite the Seekers, even though I have no desire to host Andrew Gilstrap again. Although it would almost be worth it to see him in drag.'

Harry's teammates hooted when he arrived at practice, and they made numerous references to the Prophet's artist's rendition. But he was relieved to see that none of them had antlers. 'No, we'd never betray you like that,' said Lyle. 'Particularly not after that pay rise you got us. Did I thank you yet?'

'Several times. And really, I'm glad to do it. I depend on everyone here, and no one has ever let me down.'

'Do you know who ratted you out?' asked Gemma.

'Not yet. But in a way it's a relief—everyone said I'd never keep it a secret, so now I can stop worrying. Though I'm getting flooded with requests for invitations.'

'So am I. Loads of my classmates owled me this morning, which spooked the hell out of the neighbours. I wouldn't be surprised if there were Obliviators going up and down the street as we speak.'

'How many invitations do you want? If I'm going to fill the house to capacity, I'd rather invite people who weren't at my other parties. Although I already invited a lot of my Hogwarts classmates.'

Gemma looked thrilled. 'Hogwarts meets East Kettleton? Fan-fucking-tastic!'

'And Wipperham School of Magic, where Lisa went.'

'What about North Squiffing?' said Janet, who'd just arrived. 'If you want low-status, you can't beat the Squiff.'

'Maybe I should send Gilstrap some extra invitations,' mused Harry. 'He said Tinkerton's the newest.'

'Elspeth went to Tinkerton,' said Janet, indicating the reserve Chaser. 'Give them to her instead.'

'You're inviting Gilstrap?' said Gemma, making a face.

'Yes, I'll invite all the Seekers, if only to make up for not inviting the entire league.'

Janet nodded approvingly. 'Good thinking, Snitchbottom. Mutually-assured destruction ... if you're all in drag, you can't taunt one another about it.'

'Have you met Andrew Gilstrap?' asked Gemma. 'He'd probably taunt Harry for requiring oxygen.'

After lunch, they travelled by portkey to the Wigtown Wanderers' stadium in Scotland. 'Harry, how are you feeling?' asked Owen after they'd changed into robes.

'Not too bad, in spite of the portkey. What's the weather like?'

'It's drizzling and a bit windy—nothing you can't handle.'

'Right, although I still don't know what to expect from Singh. She's barely said a word at Seeker's night out.'

'Perhaps not, but that doesn't change your strategy: Fly like a maniac, glow if you have to.'

Harry nodded, and soon it was time to fly out. He was greeted with the usual mix of boos and cheers, and he took a minute to read the signs and banners. It looks like 'Mothers Against Harry Potter' are back in force, he thought, noting the banners denouncing his upcoming party. 'Harry Potter = Degenerate,' said one sign, and another said, 'Dresses are for witches!'

More than one sign depicted him in unflattering drag. 'The Girl Who Lived,' declared one banner, showing Harry in excessively frilly robes that looked like something Umbridge would have worn. I'd never dress like that, he thought indignantly, strengthening his resolve to recreate David Bowie's outfit.

There was more than one celibacy timer, and Harry was thrilled to see how little time remained. One day, six hours, and twenty-one minutes, he noted with anticipation, and he regretted that Sophie wasn't in the stands. But he'd already given tickets to four of his cousins, including Lisa.

Harry set his intentions just as the balls were released, and the match began. He flew in a circling pattern and waited for Ekantika Singh to approach him. But she never did.

After a plausible interval, he shot into a feint, knowing she'd have to follow him. The imaginary Snitch appeared near the ground, and Harry skilfully wove amongst the Cannons Chasers. Singh didn't follow him as closely as Gemma could have done, but she found him afterwards.

'It's my turn at last,' she said. 'You've played against everyone but me.'

'I can't believe it, but you're right. Does this mean I'm no longer new to the league?'

'Potter, I can scarcely remember a time when you weren't in the league. You have very definitely made your mark.'

Harry wasn't sure how to interpret that. 'I'm sorry if I've altered league Quidditch somehow. That really wasn't my intention when I joined the Cannons.'

'Of course not. But it's been fascinating to see your effect on the other Seekers. That's why I've hardly said a word at Seekers' night out.'

'I noticed that. Are you always like that when we get together?'

'Yes. It's a perfect opportunity to observe my rivals and look for weak spots.'

Frowning, Harry said, 'No offence, but you sound like Gilstrap.'

'I know, but it's not like that. Gilstrap looks for emotional weak spots, like how he played on your guilt over people who died during the war. But I'm talking about magical weak spots.'

Harry was intrigued, and he set an intention not to be distracted from the match. 'What do you mean? Is it like how someone might be strong at Charms but weak at Transfiguration?'

'No, not at all. More like I get a sense of how well-aligned someone is with their own magic. It's hard to describe, but everyone carries their magic differently, and it has a unique flavour. Although maybe I shouldn't call it magic, since Muggles have it too. But I can see it more clearly in wizards.'

'Are you a Seer?'

'I don't think so. I've never predicted the future, as far as I know. But it can be useful in Quidditch, if my rival's weaknesses play to my strengths.'

'Interesting. Can you give me an example?'

'Allie Hobbs. She's extremely vulnerable behind all that hostility. So the trick is to let her own anger throw her off balance.'

Harry nodded. 'Clearly it worked, since you beat the Harpies. Did you provoke her?'

'No, it wasn't necessary. I can't really explain it, but I just needed to connect with her and amplify the imbalance. It's a ghastly talent to have, and I'd never use it off the pitch, but it worked on her like a charm.'

'What about Gilstrap? He's angry too, but I heard he clobbered you.'

'He did. And yes, he's also angry, but he has very strong shields. It's sad, really, because he's protecting something fragile, but also starving it.'

'And those shields kept you out?'

'Yes, and everyone else. He's a great Seeker, but it's a terrible price to pay.'

'And Routledge?'

'Split down the middle. I often find that in Muggle-borns—they're torn between two worlds. So I can usually throw them off balance that way.'

'Do you tell them what you're doing?'

'Merlin, no! The only reason I'm telling you is because you'll feel it, thanks to your particular vulnerability.'

Harry strengthened his Occlumency shields, but he somehow knew they wouldn't help. 'What is it?' he asked.

'It's fascinating, and I didn't feel it this strongly at Seekers' night out. But that's not surprising—I let you fly around to get comfortable, which you generally aren't when all the Seekers are ganging up on you.'

'That was clever,' he said. 'I'm far happier on a broomstick.'

'Clearly! It's the polar opposite to Seekers' night out. Although one thing hasn't changed.'

'What's that?' asked Harry, with a sense of foreboding.

'You have a tremendous presence,' she said admiringly. 'It's staggering, really. But it's not well contained. Honestly, you're lucky you have that vow not to marry right away, because you're far too easy to exploit.'

His Occlumency shields surged, and his bliss deepened. 'Exploit how, exactly?'

'Exploit your need to connect. I'm doing it now, in fact. Is that Light magic? It's lovely!'

Harry's heart swelled with affection, and only his newfound control kept him from glowing. 'What does it feel like to you?' he asked, overbrimming with love.

'Oh, it's delightful! And crystal clear—no wonder you win so many matches. But not today,' she said, before shooting into a solo Seeking pattern.

Harry was overcome with Light magic, and he longed just to enjoy it. But his training and intentions held fast, so he feinted instead. This time he disrupted the rival Chasers, costing them the Quaffle, but Singh didn't follow him. She won't be fooled, he thought. We're too deeply connected.

He attempted to interact with her, but she waved him off. 'Can't talk—fugue state,' she said, and he couldn't help laughing. Something tells me I'll be firing a cannon this afternoon, he thought, but he resolved not to go down without a fight.

So he continued to feint, relentlessly. The Wigtown Wanderers were no match for the Cannons and, in a role reversal Owen surely appreciated, Harry terrorised their Beaters. Gary and Suresh repeatedly targeted Singh, but her borrowed fugue state included Harry's ability to dodge Bludgers.

'What the hell is going on?' Gary shouted when Harry flew within range.

'She's untouchable—I'm sure she'll catch the Snitch. Our best chance is to outscore them.'

In his expanded state of awareness, Harry maintained good Spotting habits, and he continued to assist the Chasers. The Cannons' lead grew: seventy points, ninety points, one-twenty. And Harry's pleasure grew as well—the mere sight of Singh overwhelmed him. By god, what a gift she has! A small part of his mind wondered how she might dovetail with Sophie's visit, and if she'd be willing to wait until his twenty-first birthday for him to propose. But he was also in love with flying and the sheer adrenaline of the match.

'I'm so sorry,' she said on her next approach. 'I really hate to take advantage of you like this, but all's fair above the pitch.'

'I'll take this over Hobbs any day of the week. You know I love you, right?'

'I love you too, Potter. And Light magic is brilliant.'

The Cannons Chasers continued to dominate, and they finally pulled one-hundred fifty points ahead. Just a little longer, thought Harry, willing the Snitch to stay hidden. But he and Singh spotted it simultaneously, and the race began. His path was impeded, and so was hers, to a lesser extent. He unleashed all his Light magic, hoping to outfly her, but she was on the Firebolt Ultra and reached the Snitch first. Only the force of his vow—and the knowledge that everyone was watching—stopped him from embracing her mid-air.

'Singh catches the Snitch,' cried the announcer. 'Draw match: 210-all.'

'Sorry, I'm married,' she said, and he felt her magic withdraw.

Harry flew to the ground while Singh took her victory lap, and he kept his teammates at arm's length until she landed.

He resisted the urge to hug her. 'Oh my god, what was that?' he asked breathlessly.

'It's my trick. But sweet Merlin, nothing like that has ever happened!'

'Were we linked?'

'We were,' she said, ignoring her approaching teammates . 'And I felt your Light magic ... how do you function?'

'Er, I don't know. I just do.'

'I'll never let anyone slag you again for being a manwhore. You're absolutely awash in love.' She looked at one of the countdown timers and said, 'Are you sure you can last the next, er, twenty-seven hours, forty-five minutes, and six seconds?'

'I've made it this long. But oh my god, if you weren't married.'

'Just wait for the right witch,' she said affectionately. 'There's no need to rush.'

Her teammates swept her away, leaving Harry to the approaching Cannons. 'That was probably the best performance I've ever seen by a losing Seeker,' said Ryan. 'I hope you're not too disappointed.'

'Not at all. It was clear early on that she had the advantage, which is why I targeted the other players instead.'

Tuttle echoed Ryan's comment, only with more profanity, and Owen asked Harry what happened. 'She has a remarkable technique,' said Harry, and he explained what Singh had told him.

'So she beat you by connecting with your Light magic?'

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 'It was fantastic. She was in a fugue state, and I was a part of it. I swear, if she weren't married I'd move heaven and earth to be with her.'

'Er, I hate to piss in your cauldron, but that's kind of fucked up,' said Owen.

'I know—it's my sucking pit of need. And oh my god, she filled it. I am so in love right now.'

Owen glanced at a countdown timer. 'Will you be all right?'

'Yes, I'll be fine. But I don't think I should go to the Spyglass—between the alcohol and the C-squareds I'd be far too vulnerable.'

His Light magic subsided while talking to reporters, and he was back to his usual self when his cousins joined him on the pitch. Lisa reacquainted Harry with her parents and her younger brother, Seth. 'Harry, tell my parents I'm invited to your party,' he implored. 'They won't say no to you.'

Their mother shook her head. 'I won't change my mind,' she said firmly. 'Harry, he's underage, and—no offence—your parties sound a bit racy.'

'No, they don't,' said Lisa. 'They sound downright pornographic. Which is why everyone I know wants an invitation.'

'That's fine,' said Harry. 'Now that the cat's out of the bag, go right ahead. Is twenty slots enough or do you need more?'

'Mum!' cried Seth. 'Lisa's only two years older than I am. Why does she get all the fun?'

'Excuse me, there was a war on when I was your age,' said Lisa. 'I'm entitled to some fun.'

'And don't worry, Seth. You'll get your turn,' said his father, with a meaningful glance at Harry.

'We'll see about that,' said his wife darkly. Neither Lisa or Seth seemed to know what their parents were talking about, and Harry let it pass. Clearly Mum and Dad don't see eye to eye about the Boudoir, he thought.

Harry eventually went to the locker room for Tuttle's notes, and after showering he asked Gary when they were going to fire the cannons above Chudley Stadium.

'For a draw? No, we don't bother. Remember a draw is practically a win, as far as the Cannons are concerned. It's only this season that we're winning consistently.'

Even more letters awaited Harry when he got home, but one in particular caught his attention. 'H. Strauss,' said the return address, and he paused before opening it. Will she only want invitations for herself and a mate, or does she have a boyfriend now? He read:

Dear Harry,

When I learnt about your latest scandal this morning, I resisted the urge to owl you immediately and demand an invitation. And I'm proud to say I waited five whole hours before writing. But in the end, my desire to see you in drag outweighed my reluctance to impose, so here I am.

First, a comparatively selfless request: Can you spare two invitations for Vanessa and her boyfriend, Terence Higgs? They'll probably be engaged soon, but they need to wait a bit longer in order not to cast suspicion on her virtue (ha!). Incidentally, he knows about your history with Vanessa, but I'm sure he can be trusted not to curse you, even without protective wards.

Next, if you're not averse to seeing me, may I attend with a guest? I'm reluctant to call him a boyfriend—you may recall how guarded I am in that respect—but I'd consider him a useful ally during my return to the scene of so many fond memories.

Best wishes,
Helena

Harry could imagine her voice as he read it, and he sighed with old longing. No wonder I fell head over heels for her, he thought. A vivid mental picture arose from when they went to the Muggle nightclub, and he needed to sit down. Just twenty-seven more hours.

After collecting himself, he wrote a reply:

Dear Helena,

Of course you can come to the party, and so can the poor sod you're keeping at arm's length—just send me his name so I can add him to the Floo wards.

It'll be a pleasure to see you again, and I hereby promise not to get pissed and blubber about how you were the best thing that ever happened to me and what a fool I was to let you go. Because only a lovesick tosser would do that, whereas I am a cold-hearted roué.

Vanessa and Terence are welcome as well.

Yours,
Harry

P.S.: It's not a raven, it's a jackdaw.

He posted his reply with Orsino, and when he returned to the sitting room another letter had arrived. His heart caught when he saw the cream-coloured envelope addressed to 'Harry Potter-Black' in Lydia's elegant script. Impossible, he thought as he opened the letter and read:

Dear Harry,

When I read about your party this morning, I had no intention of asking for an invitation. But my mother made the mistake of sending her house-elf to my flat with a sternly-worded letter stating that I mustn't attend. And naturally Esme's elf arrived just minutes later with a letter begging me to secure invitations for herself and Charles. He doesn't know this yet, but Esme insists on attending, and he'll undoubtedly accompany her 'for her protection.' And of course pride will compel him to dress appropriately, if only to prove that he can hold his own against you where clothes are concerned.

I therefore ask for four invitations, including one for Marcus Waite, whose sister you surely recall. This doesn't erase your wrongdoing, but I'm so happy with Marcus that I'm willing to accept that things worked out for the best.

Cordially,
Lydia

Harry resisted the temptation to reply using the note paper she'd called common. Instead he used his new stationery, which was identical to what she'd given him, only with his hyphenated surname.

Dear Lydia,

I'm delighted to hear how happy you and Marcus are together, and I look forward to meeting him, with your leave. And although I never dreamed Esme and Charles would want to attend, they're more than welcome. I only ask that they treat my guests with respect, which I know he's capable of from our interactions at Pratt's.

I will always regret how our relationship ended, but I otherwise have very fond memories of our time together.

Yours sincerely,
Harry

Before posting his reply with Viola, he looked through the other letters to see which ones needed an immediate response. His jaw dropped when he saw the one at the bottom of the stack, addressed in acid-green ink. Rita's note was brief and to the point:

Dear Harry,

One for me and one for Timothy Hewitt, if you please. And before you object, know that the Prophet will cover the party regardless, but only I can guarantee favourable treatment.

Yours always,
Rita

Harry was aghast, but he admired Rita's colossal cheek. Could I really invite her? he wondered. He knew she'd write only positive things about him, but what about his guests? It seemed like poor hospitality to unleash a known viper into their midst. Then again, she'd barely written a word about the other guests at his first party, excepting Helena, so perhaps she could be persuaded only to write about the party itself and not those attending.

He thought about how his friends would feel if Rita were there. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny would be furious, after that lurid article she wrote last year. And she tried giving Hermione Veritaserum on my birthday. But a lot had changed since then, and perhaps they'd agree that an article by Rita would be better than what the Prophet came up with on their own.

And what about Malfoy? It would be plain to everyone that Draco was madly in love with Catherine White, and desperate to marry her. Which meant it would get back to the Prophet regardless. In fact, everything that happened at the party would be just as public if it were in a nightclub. So there was really no downside to inviting Rita, as long as everyone understood that nothing would remain private.

Oh my god, I'm really considering this, thought Harry. Have I lost my mind? But he suspected he hadn't. He recalled how Rita had planted herself on the attic stairs, which couldn't have been much fun. But this time she'd have Timothy for company, and from what he'd seen at the Dapperling Tea Shop, she clearly enjoyed holding court.

After much deliberation, he wrote the following:

Dear Rita,

I don't recall being hit by a Bludger this afternoon, but that may be the only explanation for what I'm about to write. Yes, you and Timothy may come to the party. But I require the following:

1. No mentioning any of my guests by name (or identifying information) without their unimpaired consent. This applies in particular to anyone I'm involved with romantically.

2. No cameras or recording devices. Note that he house will be warded against them, and I'll ask the house-elves to pay close attention. Any attempt to bypass the restrictions will get you kicked out.

3. No badgering, following, or otherwise stalking my guests. If they don't want to talk to you, leave them alone.

4. You may not interview or quote the portraits. I'll find out if you try, so don't bother.

5. No Polyjuice Potion. I won't have you cornering my guests into drunken confessions, etc.

If you violate any of these requirements, I will pursue damages to the full extent that our contract allows, and I should remind you that the goblins like me. Nevertheless, I agree that your attendance could benefit us both, and I've grown unexpectedly fond of your company. So I hope you'll reward my trust by simply enjoying the party and writing an article I'm happy with.

Best regards,
Harry

After writing a stack of replies, including one to Benedict Thimble proposing a private fitting before the photo shoot on Sunday, he dispatched them with Viola and Lysander. Mischief managed, he thought wearily. I wonder what it would be like to occasionally have free time.

At six he arrived at Gemma's. 'Muggle clothes?' she exclaimed when she saw him. 'Who are you, and what have you done with Harry?'

'I didn't know who might turn up. And you'd surely have mocked me if I'd worn robes.'

'But my friends will be disappointed! They'll think you dressed down on purpose, because we're a bunch of East Kettleton lowlifes.'

Harry's face fell. 'That wasn't my intention at all. I just wanted to be careful in case your mum had a visitor or something. But I can go home and change if you want.'

'No, this is fine. And you'll have house-elves sending trays of food, so they'll at least get part of the Harry Toffer experience.'

'Where is everyone?' he asked, looking around.

Gemma checked her wristwatch. 'Late. Probably still figuring out what to wear.'

The fireplace flared green, and a young man stepped out. 'What, no robes?' he exclaimed. 'I demand a refund.'

'Harry, this is Tyler. He's a card-carrying member of the Wandlore demographic.'

'So, are those two witches going to be at your party?' asked Tyler. 'And can you introduce me?'

'They will be, but I can't guarantee an introduction. It'll be a mob scene, and I want to actually enjoy myself this time, which I can't do in a receiving line.'

'Those witches should have a receiving line,' he said admiringly. 'Somewhere well lit. Are they that hot in real life?'

Gemma rolled her eyes. 'Tyler, you great berk—don't you remember that photo in the Prophet where he was feeling them up? I think it's safe to say he found them attractive.'

'Too right,' said Tyler. 'Then why aren't you going in for seconds? Or thirds, or whatever you're up to by now?'

'Because he's a romantic bugger who needs an emotional connection. Isn't that right, Toffer?'

Tyler looked sceptical, but Harry nodded. 'Jocelyn and Maryann are lovely, but Gemma's right. I much prefer someone I can talk to as well.'

'Does that describe the French model?' said Tyler conspiratorially. 'If so, more power to you!'

Another guest arrived, this time a witch. 'Gemma, sorry I'm late,' she began. 'I couldn't get my cousin out of the Floo—all her mates want party invitations and she wouldn't take no for an answer.'

'Harry, this is Ingrid. Ingrid, you know who this is.'

More guests appeared, and the next five minutes were dominated by introductions and discussion of the party. Harry told each of them they could invite three others, and simply to give Gemma their names. 'I've given up thinking of it as a private party and decided to temporarily turn house into a nightclub, so the only real constraint is space.'

'What about the guest rooms?' asked Tyler. 'Everyone I've talked to wants to pair up and stay the night.'

Harry Potter's Fucked-Up Pleasure Palace, mused Harry. 'As long as I don't have to cook breakfast, go right ahead. But check-out time is at noon—no exceptions.'

'Speaking of food, where's that house-elf cookery?' asked Gemma. 'And can Kreacher deliver it? Everyone wants to meet him.'

'Er, all right.' Harry looked at the group and said, 'I should warn you, he's pretty weird. And also loud.' Kreacher, he said silently. Would you please bring the food you and Lodie prepared?

Yes, Master! replied the elf, appearing with a loud crack. Everyone jumped back, startled, and Kreacher stood before them with a laden tea trolley. Looking around the small lounge with contempt, Kreacher said, 'Where would Master like to eat? There's not much space.'

'Nonsense, there's plenty of room,' said Harry, ignoring the smirks from Gemma and her friends. 'You can put the plates on the coffee table, and these trays can go right on the carpet.'

'Like animals,' muttered Kreacher under his breath. 'Yes, Master.'

'Kreacher, you're being very rude to my friend Gemma. This is her house, and she's being very hospitable.'

'Yes, Master,' said Kreacher, and in an undertone he added, 'Didn't even prepare food for Master.'

'Kreacher! That is unacceptable! What's got into you?'

Harry looked Kreacher in the eye, inviting him to address him telepathically. This is no place for Master, said the elf silently. Master is head of House Black and a great wizard, and this is a Muggle house.

I grew up in a Muggle house, and so did Hermione, replied Harry. But even if I hadn't, you're being incredibly rude. I want you to apologise.

Kreacher's scowl deepened. No, Master.

Harry wondered how long it had been since he'd punished the elf, but it had only been a week. Why are you being like this? he asked. It's not like you to be this defiant. Is something wrong? Harry allowed a trickle of Light magic, in the hope that Kreacher would relax.

Master should entertain witches at home, not elsewhere.

Realisation began to dawn. Are you upset that it's been more than a fortnight since a witch stayed over?

Yes, Master.

Gemma and her friends were fascinated by the silent exchange, but they also seemed unsure whether to start eating. 'Please, go ahead,' Harry told them. 'Kreacher and I occasionally need to negotiate like this.'

He looked squarely at the elf and silently said, It's only one more night. Then Sophie will stay over, and I'm certain we'll want breakfast in bed.

Kreacher's telepathic reply was like a whisper. What about pudding?

Oh, there'll be pudding all right, thought Harry automatically. But then he realised Kreacher had heard the thought as well. Yes, we'll want pudding tomorrow night. Perhaps another Eton mess, like you made last summer.

With flowers? asked Kreacher hopefully.

Yes, as many as you like. I'll tell the florist. Kreacher's eyes lit up, and Harry felt a wave of apprehension. Would you apologise to Gemma now? She's my friend and you insulted her home.

The elf nodded and said, 'Kreacher is very sorry, but Master is most kind. He too was raised in a house not fit for a wizard.'

Gemma amusedly thanked Kreacher for the apology, and Harry dismissed him. 'I'm sorry about that, Gemma. It turned out he was upset about my celibacy vow, and I had to reassure him a bit.'

'No worries. I was honestly hoping Kreacher would act up, so everyone could see it.' Addressing her friends, she said, 'This is the Harry no one sees—the one who's always neck-deep in some new absurdity.'

Harry tried to steer the ensuing conversation away from himself, and he learnt a bit about Gemma's mates. They'd all attended East Kettleton, and several had played Quidditch with her. 'Was it obvious she'd eventually play professionally?' he asked.

'In my mind, yes,' said Miles, who had played Beater. 'But it's always a crapshoot with East Ket because we're never recruited.'

'If Miles had gone to Hogwarts he'd have been recruited,' said Gemma. 'But instead he had to go to open trials like I did.'

'And I had a bad day,' he grumbled. 'A bad half hour, really. And thus ended my Quidditch career.'

'I'm sorry,' said Harry. 'I really hate how unfair the system is. And yes, I realise the irony in saying that, considering I didn't attend trials at all.'

'At least you're good at Quidditch,' said Miles. 'But look at the Wigtown Beaters—they both got recruited, and you wiped the floor with them.'

Harry was reluctant to ask the next question, but he knew it was relevant. 'What do you do for a living, if you don't mind my asking?'

'I work for a tailor: Oliver Weft, in Northampton. Perhaps you're familiar with him,' he said archly.

'Er, yes. I went there in August, with Lydia.'

Gemma turned to Miles excitedly. 'Please tell me you saw them! Did she do all the talking, while Harry just stood there following orders?'

'Better than that,' smirked Miles. 'She terrorised Oliver, insulting his designs and insisting he change everything. He was perfectly polite, but whenever he turned his back he mouthed every obscenity you can imagine.'

'Oh no!' exclaimed Harry. 'I'm so sorry! But didn't I buy three sets of robes there?'

'You did, and Oliver needed a stiff drink afterwards. And of course he didn't make a Knut, since they were at cost.'

'Did he at least get publicity out of it?'

'No, the papers only ever mention Benedict Thimble.'

'Ugh, I'm sorry. I'll make a point of saying something next time I wear them.'

'You're a bloody menace, Toffer,' said Gemma. 'But I think you got distracted from bemoaning how unequal wizarding society is.'

'You're right, I did.' Looking at the group, he asked, 'Are any of you in the field you'd have chosen if you'd had more opportunities?'

They all shook their heads. 'I wanted to be a Curse Breaker,' said Ingrid, 'but that's almost impossible without knowing someone first, even though I had the N.E. . So instead I work for a repair shop, fixing magical appliances. It pays the bills, but it isn't exactly a challenge.'

Harry sighed. He had no reason to believe Ingrid was less talented than Bill Weasley, and Bill would probably be bored stiff in a repair shop, although Arthur might like it. But unlike Ingrid, Arthur had connections and worked for the Ministry. 'How do we change this?' he asked. 'Do you have ideas about how to make things more equal?'

'Getting rid of those wards was a start,' said Caroline. 'Mind you, it's only a start, but it's better than nothing. And allowing a bunch of East Kettles into your exclusive party doesn't hurt either.'

The conversation shifted to what everyone planned to wear, but Harry revealed very little. As expected, Gemma mocked him for abandoning the Oxfam plan, but Miles came to Harry's defence. 'He can't possibly wear Muggle cast-offs. It's one thing to offend wizarding tailors by choosing a competitor, but you'd hack off the entire industry if you just wore something you'd found in a bargain bin.'

They eventually started watching 'Titanic,' and Harry was enthralled from the start. Kate Winslet's character, Rose, reminded him of Lydia, which meant Harry identified with Jack, even though he was a penniless artist. And during the second half of the film, when the characters repeatedly escaped death, Harry's heart raced, and he tensed with adrenaline.

'Harry, relax,' whispered Gemma, who was sitting next to him. 'It's just a film.'

He took a deep breath. 'Thanks, I know,' he whispered back. But his tension returned, and Gemma stroked his arm soothingly.

'Is this all right? I don't want to ruin your vow.'

'Yes, it's fine. And very helpful, thanks.'

After the film ended, nearly everyone complained that there was enough room on the door for Jack. 'Either he was lazy or he had a death wish, not climbing up there with her,' said Tyler.

But Harry understood. 'He'd exhausted his will to live,' he explained. 'It was enough to see Rose survive, and he didn't want to jeopardise that. We all have to die, and he knew that was a good end.'

'Even though he was in freezing cold water that felt like a thousand knives?' said Gemma. 'Funny how they tolerated it just fine when they were slogging through steerage.'

'Yeah, that was weird,' said Harry, recalling the icy pool where he'd nearly drowned. 'But adrenaline is like that. You don't even notice what's happening to your body anymore, as long as you keep moving forwards.'

The lights were back on, and everyone was looking at Harry. 'You've been through a thousand times worse, haven't you?' said Ingrid.

Harry shook his head. 'Not a thousand times, surely.'

'You were surrounded by a hundred Dementors,' said Miles. 'That's definitely worse.'

'It's not a contest,' said Harry. 'But yeah, it was bad.'

'Did anyone else feel their hand twitching to cast a charm?' asked Caroline.

'Not Aguamenti,' said Ingrid. 'But I kept waiting for them to Apparate out of danger.'

'It mightn't have worked. Apparently a wizard died on the Titanic,' said Harry, recalling what he'd learnt at Pratt's.

Miles looked sceptical. 'Are you serious? Why didn't he just Apparate onto a lifeboat?'

'I don't know. Maybe he was in steerage and drowned.'

'A wizard in steerage?' scoffed Gemma. 'Not bloody likely. I bet he actually survived and ditched his family back home, like Rose did.'

Harry realised Gemma was still holding his arm, and he extricated it. 'Thanks—I got a bit tense there. I still am, to be honest.'

'Not for much longer,' said Miles, chuckling. 'By this time tomorrow you'll be on top of a French model.'

'No, don't you remember Sorceress?' said Ingrid. 'She'll be on top by then, or they'll be doing that thing on the bathroom counter, with the Cushioning Charm.'

Embarrassed, Harry stood and said, 'I should go now. It was great meeting everyone, and I'm glad you'll be at the party.'

Everyone said goodbye as he gathered the trays and plates, and he returned to Grimmauld Place by Floo. Several more letters awaited him, including one from Alistair:

Dear Harry,

I awoke this evening to the news of your upcoming party, which even the underworld is talking about. Wizards might be shocked, but immortals have no objection to cross-dressing. After all, many of us remember when men wore wigs, powder, and heels, so a wizard in a dress doesn't faze us. And those of us familiar with the Light Arts know the value of relaxing or even rejecting ordinary gender roles.

It would therefore give me great pleasure to witness your party, if I may be so bold. I would gladly bring two thralls, to protect your guests from my occasionally hungry gaze, and naturally we would adhere to the dress code. Please let me know what I may provide in return for this favour.

Yours sincerely,
Alistair

The final sentence made Harry gasp. He wasn't an expert on vampires, but in Auror training he'd learnt that amongst immortals, favours were more valuable than gold. I'll ask Darren, he decided, and he wondered how Mrs Thwip would feel about sending the reply.

Banthora congratulated him when he entered the bedroom alone. 'One more night, my dear. I'm very proud of you.'

'Thanks, I couldn't have done it without you. Not that I've finished yet, but at least I've made it this far.'

'I'll admit I had my doubts,' she said. 'Not because you weren't sincere, but because you wear the family ring.'

Harry's eyes shot open. 'Is the ring affecting my behaviour? Sweet Merlin, that would explain a lot!'

'No, not like you're thinking. But it's a very old ring, steeped in arcane magic that's no longer understood. Some say it guarantees continuity by amplifying the family traits in the wearer, or by emboldening the wearer, which explains some of the extreme behaviour of your predecessors. But erratic behaviour was hardly limited to the heads of house.'

Like Bellatrix and Walburga, thought Harry, nodding. 'What do you think it does, then?'

'Until I met you, I agreed with the portraits who claimed the family magic was influencing you. Compelling you to wear robes, for example, and getting you Sorted into Slytherin. And so I worried it might subvert your willpower, and make you unable to keep your vow. But I see now that the family magic isn't controlling you at all. Quite the opposite, in fact, now that we know the prophecy refers to you. Which tells me that if the ring has power, it's not magical.'

'Then what is it?' asked Harry, relieved but still puzzled.

'I suspect it's the knowledge that you're head of an ancient house. It's knowing that wizarding society answers to you, and not the other way around. And you in particular have this confidence, having earned it by conquest and not just inheritance.'

Harry wanted to protest, particularly against the word 'conquest,' but he also saw the truth in her statement. 'So it's not really the ring, but rather the power and privilege that comes from being Head of House?'

'I think so. And that kind of privilege amplifies one's traits, for good or for ill. Sad to say, it was mostly harmful for many of your predecessors.'

'Because they practiced the Dark Arts,' murmured Harry. 'Dark magic reinforced their worst qualities, and then they had the wealth and status to influence wizarding society for their own benefit.' He looked up at her. 'So I have to be extra careful, since I have so much power?'

'Yes, but you already knew that. And that's what you are doing. No one told you to hang a portrait in your bedroom to keep an eye on you this whole time. You did it because you didn't trust yourself. Which makes you a good deal more trustworthy than someone who doesn't think he needs help.'

He climbed into bed and stretched his arm over the smooth linen, no longer searching for a witch who wasn't there. He felt oddly grateful for his two-week hiatus from dating, and he resolved to be more discerning this time around. No more one-night stands, and no more C-squareds. He needed love, or at least the potential for it. And as Ekantika had said, he was absolutely awash in love, so he had little doubt he'd find it.