Author's note:

I am still writing every day, and I produce a new chapter every 1-3 weeks. But I'm not keeping pace with publication, and my backlog is dwindling, which means I can only publish every other week for the foreseeable future. I freely admit this could have been prevented had I not squandered my huge surplus (much like a certain Noble and Most Ancient house).

I should also mention I wrote this chapter last autumn, so any similarity to recent headlines is a coincidence.

Harry awoke parched, disorientated, and sore. It was at least daytime, as the blinding light through the window proclaimed, but otherwise he felt like he'd been run over. Fiona's going to kill me, he thought, hoping desperately the front desk could sort him out with a potion or three.

After a much-needed toilet visit, he looked in the mirror. His hair was unremarkable, which really brought home just how untidy it always was, but his eyes were bloodshot and had circles underneath. And his arm sported an impressively large new tattoo, which somehow ached more than it had the night before.

At least it looks cool, he thought, admiring Josh's handiwork. His Light magic was sluggish, which meant the shield was flanked by greyhounds rather than Padfoot and Prongs, but the words 'Toujours Puissant,' made him smile. Sirius would definitely approve.

He decided to shower before sending for a hangover potion, not wanting to look like death warmed over when it arrived. Soothed by the hot water, he lost track of time, and when he emerged the clock read nine-fifteen.

'Bloody time-shift potion!' he cried, hastily pulling on Muggle clothes. He'd assumed it was earlier and intended to eat before Fiona's arrival at half past. But he didn't even have time to send for a hangover potion, and when he sprinted to the station he knew he'd look a fright.

Fiona, on the other hand, looked lovely when he spotted her in the arrivals hall. 'What happened to you?' she exclaimed, taking in his disheveled state.

'American beer,' he said sheepishly. 'It's surprisingly good.'

Laughing, she said, 'Don't they have hangover potions?'

'They do, but they also have potions to help with the time change, which work shockingly well. I'd hoped we could start sightseeing, since I assume you're not hungry, but I haven't even eaten yet.' In a lower voice, he said, 'Can I kiss you, or would you rather wait until we're somewhere less public?'

'I don't know—did you have time to brush your teeth?'

'Yes, and I also showered. I probably look worse than I feel, though I wouldn't say no to a pain potion if one's available.'

'Do you have a headache?' she asked, concerned.

'Er, no ... it's a long story. But how about that kiss?'

She smiled suggestively, and he wrapped his arms over hers so she wouldn't crush his tattoo. 'Welcome to America,' he murmured after they kissed. 'Sorry I'm an idiot.'

'You're adorable. But let's get some food into you.'

Her suitcase was a large handbag, so he had only his bag to carry, and he led her through an alley leading to No-Maj Boston. Unlike the previous night's alley, this one emerged onto Charles Street, the upscale commercial district at the base of Beacon Hill, and they found a restaurant.

'So, what happened?' she asked when they were seated. 'Did your interview go all right? I hope you didn't need to drown your sorrows.'

'No, the interview was fine. They weren't nearly as nosy as I feared, and Virginia said I "hit it out of the park," whatever that means. But I ate dinner with the radio people afterwards and, er ...' He hesitated, and her eyes grew with alarm.

'Don't tell me you met someone,' she said hoarsely.

'God, no! Oh, darling, I'm sorry you thought that for even a moment!' She looked relieved, and he said, 'No, I probably bored people to tears talking about you—in private, not on the air. But they talked me into getting a tattoo.'

Fiona laughed out loud. 'A tattoo! Not a Dark Mark, I hope!'

'No, but it's nearly as complicated.' He described it to her, and she said it sounded promising but was reserving judgment until she saw it.

'I'm sorry, our room won't be ready until three o'clock ... I'm afraid I didn't plan things very well.'

'Harry, I have a child, so I'm used to a bit of chaos. Mind you, if we ever travel with Matthew we'll need to be better prepared, but for the two of us this is fine.'

They caught up over breakfast, and he told her about the interview. Next they strolled through Beacon Hill, which resembled Underhill more than Harry had expected. There were cars, of course, but the cobblestone streets and red brick buildings made it remarkably similar to the wizarding district below.

Harry dissuaded Fiona from visiting sites of historic interest, pointing out how laughably recent they were. So they traversed a park and ambled to their hotel, where Harry discreetly removed the featherweight charm from his suitcase and left it with a porter. From there they poked into shops, more interested in the American No-Maj ambiance than the actual products.

They didn't discuss the plan to consummate their relationship that night, but Harry couldn't stop thinking about it. Fiona's outfit was more practical than sexy, and she was well-wrapped in the woollen scarf he'd given her. But there were glimpses of bare skin at her wrists and throat, and they drove him to distraction.

She removed the scarf when they sat down to lunch. 'The only problem with this scarf is taking it off,' she said, folding it onto her lap. 'The world becomes a little less bright somehow.'

'I'm so sorry! Maybe Hermione and I can make you an amulet you can wear all the time.'

'No, because I feel it again when I put it on ... or when I'm with you,' she said tenderly. 'I still can't believe how quickly things have changed. Dating Harry Potter feels perfectly natural somehow.'

'That's because it is. God, imagine if I hadn't quit the Ministry! I'd never have met Owen, and I wouldn't even know you existed.'

'That's true. At best I'd have had a Glare-y Potter encounter.'

'No, I'm sure I'd have noticed you. I noticed you at my party, after all, and there were heaps of witches there.'

'And I noticed you, but that's not saying much. I assumed it was because you were, well, you. But maybe it was more than that.'

'Even though I was plastered?'

'Or maybe because of it. You had no veneer, other than your robes and flowers. You were just a young man with your heart on your sleeve, telling Owen he was your favourite person in the world after Helena, who was about to dump you ... Poor Helena, letting you get away like that.'

Harry winced. 'Yeah, I found out later she took it pretty hard, even though it was her decision entirely. She's doing better now, though.'

After a silence, Fiona said, 'It's funny ... I should have felt maternal towards you, or like an older sister. But when you announced you were attracted to me, I felt desirable for the first time in god knows how long. And even though you weren't exactly displaying peak maturity that night, it planted the idea that you and I were ultimately just two adults, with ...' She looked unsure how to finish.

'Interlocking parts?' he suggested.

She laughed out loud. 'I was casting about for something more poetic, but yeah, interlocking parts. And on that note, what are our plans for tonight?'

'You tell me. We can make a dinner reservation, or order room service, or even go out dancing if you like.'

'Is that what you want? To go out dancing?'

He paused. 'No. I want to explore you without time constraints. I splashed out on a good hotel room, and I want to make the most of it. We can order in, then go out for a bite afterwards. They have this thing called "Death by Chocolate" that you really have to try.'

A waiter interrupted them to tell them the specials, and they resumed their conversation after ordering. 'Should I be nervous that you haven't commented on my proposal for tonight?' asked Harry.

'No, I'm the one who's nervous. And not because of anything you've said or done.'

'Why are you nervous?' he asked gently.

She took a deep breath and said, 'Because I'll fall in love with you. Truth be told, I already have done, but I'm pretending I haven't. Although not very well, considering what I just said.'

He rushed to reassure her. 'Darling, you know how I feel. I promise, the only reason I've held back is because I don't want to frighten you.'

'You've held back?' she said, raising one eyebrow.

'Yes, believe it or not. As you've surely noticed by now, I'm pretty intense. And when I fancy someone, she's the entire world to me.'

'I have noticed that, in fact. But what are you getting at?'

Sighing, he said, 'It was too much for Ginny, and for Helena too. My teammates say it's dead-mum trauma, and I suspect they're right. Not that I see you as a mum–'

'No, I get it. And I've thought about that, in regards to you.' With a chuckle, she added, 'I've thought about plenty in regards to you. I remember what Matthew was like as a baby, and how I was the centre of his world. And in many ways he was the centre of mine, even more so than after Rob died, when it was just the two of us.' She looked Harry in the eye. 'To lose the bond with your mum so abruptly—that has to have an impact.'

'I'm not looking for a mum,' he said hastily. 'And unlike Ginny, you don't even look like her. Not that Ginny did, really, but you know how people talk.'

'I do, and I'm glad I don't resemble her. It'll be bad enough when it comes out you're dating a mum, but at least no one can call me a stand-in.' She took a sip of water, then said, 'And in answer to your question, I would love to stay in tonight, but I still insist on watching television and eating weird American snacks.'

To that end, after lunch they found a candy store, which had a massive selection. 'Do you reckon the Brotherhood for the Lost Art of Vermimancy knows about gummi worms?' asked Harry.

'No, but we need to try them,' she said, scooping some into a bag. 'And also these little gummi sharks, and gummi fizzy drink bottles.'

'And gummi raspberries!' exclaimed Harry. 'Dudley once got an entire kilo for his birthday, and he got sick after eating nearly all of them in one sitting. He couldn't bear the sight of them afterwards, but he flushed the rest down down the toilet so I couldn't have any.'

Fiona stared at him. 'How on earth did you not kill them all in their sleep?'

'Er, I don't know. My mother's protection?'

'It must have worked on them somehow. Since clearly it didn't work well enough on you.'

Embarrassed, Harry changed the subject. 'Is it premature to buy you jewellery?' he asked, holding up a Ring Pop.

'No, but I insist on a candy necklace as well, to complete the ensemble.'

They left with a bag full of sweets, with plans to give the surplus to Lee and George. 'Is it three o'clock yet?' she asked, with a gleam in her eye.

It was, and they returned to the hotel. 'Welcome to Boston,' said the clerk, and both Fiona and Harry smiled, since 'Boston' had become their code word for sex. 'Your suitcase is in the room, Mr Potter-Black, along with several deliveries.'

Fiona raised one eyebrow. 'Don't tell me you already found a florist.'

'Er, no,' he said sheepishly. 'I mean yes, but this isn't from them.'

Reading his guilty expression, she said, 'Oh my god, it's from a tailor, isn't it? Please tell me you weren't drunk then too.'

'No, this was earlier. I was only drunk for the tattoo.'

The clerk was obviously struggling not to laugh, and he had Harry sign a slip before giving him the room key. 'Sir, is there anything else I can help you with?'

'No, thank you,' said Harry, and he escorted Fiona to the lift. She was still wearing a coat, so he couldn't feel her bare skin, but her mere proximity was overwhelming. The lift arrived, and they were poised to start kissing as soon as the doors closed, but at the last moment another couple entered.

'Get a load of this elevator!' said the woman, who was blonde and notably tall. Or not, thought Harry, realising that her elaborately teased hair added several inches of height.

'You wanted to stay somewhere old,' said her companion, who wore a pumpkin-coloured jacket emblazoned with the head of a cow, only with unusually long horns.

'I said I wanted to stay somewhere classy, and Kathy was right—this is definitely classy.'

'Let's just hope there's decent water pressure,' said the man dubiously. He took off a knitted cap, also orange and cow-themed, and revealed very little hair.

'You and your water pressure!' Turning to Fiona, she said, 'You know why men take such long showers, right?'

I was hung over, thought Harry indignantly, but Fiona said, 'I do indeed. And the hotel seems lovely, so I suspect the water pressure will be fine.'

'Oh, you're English!' exclaimed the woman, impressed.

'We are,' said Fiona warmly. 'And you're clearly American.'

'Better than that, we're Texan! It's our twenty-fifth anniversary, and I wanted to go to London. But Clay couldn't miss work that long, so we came here instead, since Boston's old too.'

'Harry lives in London,' said Fiona. 'Harry, does this remind you of home?'

'Er, not really, but it's very nice. And there are some historic buildings you can visit.'

'Like this hotel,' said the woman. 'It's almost a hundred years old!'

And apparently so is this lift, thought Harry, frustrated by how slow it was, and he regretted getting a room on the top floor. 'Be sure to visit Beacon Hill,' he said, attempting to be polite.

'Isn't that where Cheers is? We definitely want to go there!'

Harry had no idea how to parse that, but fortunately the lift stopped and the couple got out. 'How old is your house anyway?' Fiona asked slyly.

'I honestly don't know. The Blacks stole it during the eighteenth century, I think, but it might be older.'

'Are you disappointed I don't wear my hair like that?'

'Inconsolably,' he said, leaning to kiss her. The lift stopped again, and they followed signs to their room.

'Harry, this is lovely!' she said when they entered. His suitcase was on a folding rack, next to the wardrobe, which she opened to peek inside. 'Oh my god!'

Five suit bags hung there, along with two shoeboxes. 'Everyone wanted to impress me,' he said, a trifle defensively. 'And wizarding robes are one of the only things I have in common with traditional wizards, who I want to win over politically.'

'Yes, I'm sure that was your sole motivation,' she said, pulling out one of the bags. 'And not because you look smashing in–' She unzipped it. 'Silver brocade?'

Of course she opened that one, he thought, embarrassed. It was from a tailor who also made theatre costumes, and he planned to wear it to an Order of Volupta meeting. 'Er, you probably won't believe me, but those robes are part of my cunning plan to lure Dark wizards to the Light Arts,' he said, thinking of Brandon Nott.

She grinned saucily and said, 'If you wear them with me in public, we can announce our relationship next week.'

'Merlin, no! They're for a private setting.'

'Surely not the Cannons,' she said, mostly to herself. 'And don't tell me you belong to a club!' Harry sighed, and her eyes lit with amusement. 'Great Merlin, you belong to Pratt's! But aren't you too young?'

'They made an exception. And the only reason I joined was because I knew they'd never have me once my Light magic became public.'

'Strictly speaking, that only explains the "why now" and not the actual "why."'

He told her what George and Percy had said about normalising the Light extreme, and she admitted they were right. 'But there's more to Pratt's than that, isn't there?' she said knowingly. 'A little something involving ... France?'

Harry closed his eyes and nodded. 'I went there once, during my first visit. I didn't want to go, but Lydia insisted I tell her about it.'

'She wanted you to spend the night in a brothel?'

'No, she wanted to hear about the decor, and what the women were wearing. But ...' he trailed off.

'Oh, Lydia, what were you thinking!' chided Fiona. 'She should have realised that you of all people would be defenceless somewhere like that!'

'I was,' he said, not meeting her eyes. 'We'd already agreed to see other people, but not straight away.' He told Fiona how he'd turned up more than an hour late with his robes buttoned wrong. 'But I resolved never to go back.'

She sighed. 'I've never understood that part of wizarding culture. I mean, yes, I understand, but the double-standard is appalling. Rob certainly thought so.'

'Did he belong to Pratt's?'

'No. We attended Blockhurst, remember? But one of his ancestors founded Lovell's, which is nearly as old. It's not intertwined with the Wizengamot the way Pratt's is, and it's probably less expensive, but it's just as snobbish in its own way. And no, he didn't join.' She paused, then added, 'Furthermore, we started dating when we were fifteen, so he didn't need the, ahem, traditional rite of passage.'

Harry seized the opportunity. 'Does that mean you weren't a virgin on your wedding night?' he asked in a low voice.

Her cheeks flushed. 'No. But I'm practically one now,' she said, removing her scarf.

Knowing she'd feel a dip in Light magic, he allowed his own Light magic to surge, and he gently moved a lock of her hair behind her ear. 'Then we'll go slowly. Do you need a foot massage, or can we start higher up?'

Her lips met his, and they removed their jackets but not their clothes. For a while they just kissed, until she blurted, 'Your tattoo! I need to see it!'

'Only if you show me yours,' he joked, pulling off his jumper and vest in one go. His Light magic was strong, so the tattoo was in Padfoot mode, and he couldn't get it to change back. 'Hm, maybe I didn't think this through.'

Laughing, Fiona said, 'It's enormous! Is that what you intended, or did the alcohol play a role?'

'At first it was supposed to be smaller, but Josh—the artist—made a good case for why it needed to be this big. And yes, the alcohol probably helped.'

'It's well done, certainly. And shockingly sexy! When will you show everyone?'

'My teammates will see it, but otherwise I'm not in a hurry.' Looking hopefully at her, he asked, 'Does that mean you don't mind it?'

'Of course I don't mind it. But does it hurt?' she asked, clearly reluctant to touch it.

'Yeah, a bit.' With a leer, he added, 'Now show me yours,' and she laughed as she unbuttoned her top.

Their progress was alternately fast and slow. At times she was desperate to continue, but then she'd pull back to collect herself. She frequently said his name, and when it got dark she turned on the lights. 'I've never done this under electric lights before,' she murmured.

Realising she wanted to differentiate the experience from her memories of Rob, Harry said, 'I could glow if you like.'

'Yes ... perfect.'

But eventually her instincts took over, and she closed her eyes and moaned inarticulately. Harry was focused on pleasing her, which strengthened his Light magic, and Fiona was plainly engulfed by sensations. Only after their first round of intercourse did he realise she was crying.

His first thought was to worry. 'Darling, are you all right?'

'Yes,' she said, wiping away tears. 'It's just overwhelming. No one has been inside me since ...' She didn't finish, and Harry lightly stroked her.

'It was overwhelming for me too,' he said without elaborating. For a long time they were silent, and he watched her chest rise and fall. I love her, he thought. I'm madly in love with her.

She rose to use the loo and returned with the bag of sweets. 'And now, gummi sharks,' she declared. Harry insisted she wear the necklace and ring, both of which he sampled, and before long he was agitating for more sex. 'Oh right, you're nineteen,' she said, surrendering. This time she didn't cry, and they were both truly knackered afterwards.

'Is it tacky to have them deliver room service whilst we're in bed?' she asked, pulling a strand of red liquorice from its mates.

'Isn't that the whole point of room service?' said Harry, puffing on a candy cigarette.

'Surely there are rules of decorum!'

'Fiona, we have British accents in America—we could have a donkey up here with us and they'd think it was proper.'

Laughing, she used her wand to Summon the menu from the coffee table. 'You'll at least have to cover that tattoo, since Padfoot keeps wagging his tail.'

'No, there's a charm to freeze it. But I'll put on a dressing gown.'

After ordering dinner they turned on the television, and Harry discovered the hotel had 'Notting Hill' available on demand. 'Oh! I was supposed to watch this before coming here!' he exclaimed. 'Fancy watching a film? Or a movie, as the locals call it?'

'I would love to watch a movie,' she said, arranging the pillows against the headboard. They settled back in bed, wearing dressing gowns they'd found in the wardrobe. But they weren't very far into the film when Fiona spoke up.

'This seems rather ... on the nose,' she said, looking sidelong at him.

'Why would you say that?' said Harry, pretending not to understand.

'Perhaps because it's about an ordinary bloke who gets romantically involved with the world's biggest celebrity.'

'No offence, Fiona, but you're not that famous.' She swatted him playfully, and he kissed her. 'Sorry, I couldn't resist. And yes, I noticed. But it's really not that similar.'

'Because I don't have a mad Welsh lodger?' she asked.

'For one thing. And I hope I'm not as prone to tirades as she is.'

'You call those tirades? She hasn't mentioned Thestrals even once!'

They paused the film when their food arrived, and Fiona revelled in the unfamiliar luxury of eating in bed. 'I know this is old hat for you, but for a single mum it's the height of decadence.'

Harry no longer protested when people accused him of taking breakfast in bed. 'I suppose I've become rather spoilt,' he admitted.

Her initial response was to tease him, but she realised he was serious. 'Harry, you are most certainly not spoilt. After what you experienced growing up, you're entitled to enjoy your present circumstances.'

He appreciated hearing it. 'Perhaps, but promise to keep me grounded. I was serious about needing someone to puncture my ego.'

'Believe me, I will. You're bound to have an influence on Matthew, if you're going to spend time with us, and I won't have you modelling that kind of behaviour.'

'No, I only model underwear,' he quipped.

She laughed and said, 'It's a good thing you've already plied him with gifts, since he'll be horrified when he finds out what "underwear adverts" actually refer to.'

Harry restarted the film and they didn't speak for a while. But during a lull he paused it again and asked, 'Are you worried about the adverts? When I signed the contract I wasn't in a serious relationship, so I didn't consider how it would affect my girlfriend.'

She took a moment to respond. 'It definitely amplifies things. And I'm not sure how I'll feel about seeing you and Sophie everywhere I look.'

'The adverts won't run in Britain,' he began, but she shook her head.

'That's because they don't need to. Unless your contract forbids it, I suspect the Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly, Sorceress, and Wandlore will print your adverts free of charge.'

'Don't forget Blood Traitor,' said Harry, realising she was right. 'And no, my contract doesn't forbid it.'

'Every time we're in public, someone is going to shove an advert at you to sign. And I'll stand there politely and pretend it's not a picture of my boyfriend with his ex. Which is fine,' she hastened to add. 'But it'll still be uncomfortable.'

Harry didn't think she'd appreciate hearing she'd get used to it. 'I'm sorry. But I can refuse to sign autographs when we're out together, if you prefer. Or wear my "Leave me the fuck alone" wards, as I call them.'

'Glare-y Potter? No, thanks—people will blame me. In fact, people will blame me for whatever you do wrong from now on.'

'No, they won't. Or if they do, I'll go on the radio and set the record straight.'

'Harry, I've taken "Desirable Number One" off the market, at least for the time being. I'm also older than you, a mum, half-Black, and probably loads of other things that make me unfit. I suspect they'll even hold my blood-status against me.'

'But aren't you essentially a pure-blood?' he asked, not knowing how to respond to the rest of her statement.

'More or less, but I'm sure someone will find fault with that as well.' His heart sank, and she said, 'Darling, I'm not upset with you. Even before you joined the Cannons, people wanted to know everything about you, and frankly I did too. I found an excuse to visit Jill the day after you started, to hear what Owen had told her.'

Harry felt lucky he and Owen had hit it off so quickly. 'But that doesn't mean people will hate you. No one hated my other girlfriends.'

She snorted. 'Either you live in a bubble, or I work with Britain's cattiest witches, because I heard plenty about your other girlfriends.'

His face fell, and for a moment he was silent. 'Apparently I live in a bubble. But I'm sure you're right—Sophie warned me about this.' He was reluctant to ask the next question, but he needed to know. 'What did people say?'

'Let's see, where to begin? They weren't too hard on Ginny, at least not while you were together. All I remember is my co-worker Zelda saying she should really do something about those freckles. But when it came out she'd dumped you, Ginny was simultaneously heartless, foolish, and ungrateful. And somehow also a gold-digger, which truly made no sense.'

Dazed, Harry asked, 'And Helena?'

'Fair-weather. Didn't want to be seen with you, and then she left you after your party. Although no one thought she was a gold-digger.'

'I should think not. I'm afraid to ask about Lydia.'

Fiona leaned back. 'How long do you have? Because Zelda and Carol had very strong feelings about her.' Harry just gave her a beleaguered look, and she said, 'Spoilt. So very spoilt. And trying to kill you.'

'That's only half-true. And it's not her fault she's spoilt. She has tremendous strength of character, actually, and she's remarkably clever.'

'Except for the part where she sent you to a brothel to evaluate the decor.'

'Yeah, not her best moment, nor mine. I assume the hatred for Alex involved her fiancé?'

'And that she was American, and not pretty enough for you. But she was better than those two witches, who were straight-up hussies.'

Sighing heavily, he asked, 'Did your colleagues criticise me during all this?'

'Darling, you're forgetting who WORF's most generous monthly donor is. You could Imperius an army of love slaves, and my colleagues would defend you.'

Harry rolled his eyes and restarted the film, which they watched without further interruption. 'Are you ready for Death by Chocolate?' he asked afterwards.

'We need to shower, but yes.' He let her go first, and when he emerged from the shower, she was working Sleekeazy's into her hair.

'That's not necessary,' he said. 'I like your hair curly.'

'I like it straight,' she replied. 'And I want to dress up. You brought your Muggle suit, right?'

He had, and she put on a dress he vaguely recognised. 'Is that what you were wearing the night we met?'

'No, I wore it to your next party, when you were in the wheelchair.'

'Right, when Owen berated me for flirting with you, even though Lydia was upstairs.'

'God bless Owen,' she said fondly. 'So bloody protective.'

'I know! You'd think I was going to abduct you and render you into Potions ingredients.'

'He means well. And it's probably a good thing, since it gave you more time to sow your wild oats.'

He straightened his necktie and said, 'Like luring a beautiful witch across the Atlantic and shagging her senseless?'

'And then killing her with chocolate? Yes, precisely.'

They went downstairs and asked the concierge where to find the best desserts. He named some restaurants nearby but suggested they take a taxi to Boston's North End, which was an old Italian neighbourhood. 'Fancy a trip to Italy?' asked Harry, extending his arm.

The doorman flagged down a taxi, and the driver immediately noted their accents. 'Oh, you're English! What do you think of Boston?'

'It's lovely,' said Fiona. 'Unfortunately we're only here a short while, but I'll never forget it.' She squeezed Harry's hand, and he was grateful he'd learnt to control his glowing.

The driver told them about an ambitious public works project that had been fouling traffic for more than a decade. He explained how engineers were moving the 'central ottery' underground, and that the whole area would be replaced with a long park.

'I'm surprised you have otters at all, in a city this dense,' said Fiona uncertainly. 'But wouldn't they rather stay above ground, in the park?'

'Whaddya mean, otters? Like in the zoo?' asked the driver, and confusion reigned until they realised he'd said 'Central Artery,' and that it was the name of a major highway.

'Well, that was mortifying,' said Fiona afterwards, when they'd reached their destination.

'That was adorable,' said Harry. 'I can't wait to tell the Weasleys, who live in Ottery St Catchpole.'

The concierge had recommended several restaurants, one of which had a table available. When they sat down, Fiona said, 'Harry, this is beautiful. I can almost pretend I'm in Italy. Although there's really no need, since Boston is perfect right now.'

'You've been to Italy?'

She looked slightly embarrassed. 'Yes, on my honeymoon. We went to Florence, Venice, and Rome.'

He reached for her hand across the table. 'You're allowed to talk about him. Honest, I don't mind.'

'It's probably good you have an oversized ego, because most men wouldn't appreciate hearing about my dead husband quite so often.'

'Then clearly I was made for you,' he said. 'Ego and all.'

They ordered chocolate lava cake, which was the closest thing on the menu to Death by Chocolate, and also tiramisu and a bottle of wine. For a while their conversation was light, but it grew more serious as time passed.

'I told my sister about us,' she admitted.

'Oh? How did she react?'

'She doesn't approve. Not because of you in particular, but because of how heavily I'll be scrutinised.'

Harry set down his fork. 'And what did you tell her?'

'I told her you make me happy, and that we'll get through the scrutiny together. But she wasn't convinced. She said, "Perhaps, but he'll never marry you, and you'll be notorious for the rest of your life."'

'Why wouldn't I marry you?' said Harry, somewhat indignant.

'Lots of reasons. Primarily our age difference, and the fact that I already have a child.'

'I have a godson,' he said feebly.

'I told her that, but we both know it's not the same. She also said I'd almost certainly want children sooner than you do, and that it would become a sticking point, and probably drive us apart.'

He felt a flash of irritation. 'We don't know that, and she certainly doesn't. And didn't you say you don't want to rush?'

'I did, and I don't. I've already missed the window for Matthew to have a sibling near his own age, so another few years won't make a difference. Although I'd like to get back to it by the time I'm thirty.'

'I don't see a problem. That's four years off, after all.'

'Three and a half,' said Fiona. 'But who's counting?'

As much as he'd fantasised about his relationship with Fiona, new questions were arising. 'Obviously this is premature, but you know I'm expected to have a lot of kids, right?'

'Yes, and that's another concern my sister had. She wasn't sure how you'd feel about House Black, er, living up to the name.'

Harry's eyes shot open. 'Did she really say that?' he exclaimed, offended.

'Don't take it personally. It's just ... wizards can be weird about race. Not as bad as Muggles, thank Merlin, but not exactly colour-blind either.'

Harry nodded, recalling Blaise's comments on the topic. 'I hope I haven't given you the impression that would matter to me.'

'You haven't, but you're not the sole member of House Black.'

'Andromeda hasn't said a word,' he argued. 'And Draco hasn't either, which is remarkable, really. Some of the portraits might complain, but they already hate me, so one more thing won't make a difference.'

Her expression made him wonder if he was overlooking something, and realisation dawned. 'Did Rob's family say anything?' he asked.

'Only the odd comment. But somehow those comments stick with you, or with me, anyway. Like when we first started dating, back in school, and his aunt said something about him "getting it out of his system." Or his great-great-grandmum, who said there were adoption rituals to emphasise the Dunning traits if our kids came out too dark.'

'That cow!' blurted Harry, but Fiona shook her head.

'She was well over a hundred, and more than a bit dotty. But it made me wonder what other people might not be saying.'

Still angry, he said, 'I'm sure my Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon wouldn't approve, but that was already the case, since we're both "freaks."'

'Ugh, I'm sorry. I'm sure you gave up on family approval ages ago.'

'From my aunt and uncle, yeah. But I've spent countless hours wondering what my parents would think of me, or Sirius, or the Weasleys. And more recently Andromeda, and Owen.' He chuckled and said, 'Narcissa Malfoy, even. Talk about a doomed venture.'

'I think my sister's point was that even if you don't mind, or your relations don't, plenty of other people will bring it up. Strangers will want to know whether Matthew takes after Rob, and whether they can expect something similar if you and I reproduce.'

Matthew does take after Rob, thought Harry with a hint of relief, and he was instantly mortified. After taking a moment to collect himself, he said, 'People are vile. And brilliant. I've had to learn to ignore the vile ones, because I'll never make them happy. And neither will you, or our kids, if we have them. All I know–'

He caught his breath, realising what he was about to say. 'All I know is that I love you, and that we'll deal with whatever people say about us.'

A tear rolled down her cheek. 'I can't believe I'm saying this, but I love you too.' She started crying in earnest and refilled her wine glass. After taking a sip, she said, 'I blame the sex. The Sorceress witch was right.'

He smiled and gave her a handkerchief, which bore the Slytherin crest. 'We can take our time going public. I told George I won't do the radio show for a while. And I get ten tickets to home matches, which means no one will assume we're dating if you turn up, particularly if you bring Matthew.'

'Honestly, he's the weakest link,' said Fiona, sniffling. 'He's bound to mention "Mummy's friend Harry" sooner or later, and someone will put two and two together.'

'We'll cross that bridge when we get there. In the meantime, we have all Muggle Britain to explore.'

Beneath the table, her foot gently found his lap. 'Not to mention Boston,' she said suggestively, and they returned to the hotel soon after.

When Harry awoke the next morning, Fiona was studying his new tattoo. 'It's a shame this isn't in your adverts,' she said. 'Because it's dead sexy.'

'The Black family crest?'

'Yes, and I have no idea why, since they were the worst of the worst.'

'It's a bad-boy thing,' he said, running his other hand through his hair. 'That's probably why Sirius had the motorcycle.'

'My grandmum went to your house once, back in the forties. The Blacks were hosting a big reception, and I think my grandmum's parents wanted her to attract a rich husband. They were ambitious, and they persuaded a well-connected cousin to bring her along.'

'Oh dear. How did that turn out?'

'It backfired completely, because she was disgusted by what she saw there. Some horrid "aristocrat" chatted her up—not a Black, but some other posh family—and he went on about Grindelwald and how Muggles needed a strong hand. And the house itself was completely depressing ... Is it true the staircase was lined with decapitated house-elves?'

'Yes, they're currently in the attic. Bill Weasley and I offered to bury them, but Kreacher wouldn't hear of it.'

She shuddered. 'Anyway, my grandmum realised the wizarding elite wasn't everything it was cracked up to be, and she decided to go out with my granddad instead. So in a way, we have the Blacks to thank for my father's existence. And my own, by extension.'

'Then I'm doubly glad to have this tattoo,' said Harry. They enjoyed a leisurely hour in bed, then ate breakfast in the room. But Fiona grew sad as her departure drew near.

'I wish we'd arranged to take the same Portkey home,' she said forlornly. 'Not that I'd want to snog en route—not with that horrid potion—but just to be with you.'

'I'd have liked that too,' said Harry. 'But surely someone would notice if we returned from Boston together.'

'You're right, of course. I'm just not looking forward to donning my widow's weeds again.' Harry stared blankly at her, and she said, 'Not literally. But I'll have to disguise how happy I am. You can at least tell people you have a girlfriend and you're keeping it private. But if I tell people I have a boyfriend, and no, they can't meet him or even know his name, they'll assume he's married.'

'Sweet Merlin!' exclaimed Harry. 'But you've already told your parents and sister, and a few of your friends, right?'

'Yes, but not Rob's family. Ugh, that'll be an awkward conversation.'

'I believe you, but why, exactly?'

'They're apolitical, remember? But thanks to me, their surname will be paired with yours, and their grandson will be in close contact with Britain's most notorious wizard.'

Harry frowned. 'It's not as if I'll take him out pulling, or teach him Light magic.'

'I know that, but the Dunnings have cultivated neutrality for generations. That's why they never tried for a Wizengamot seat, since it's easier to do business if you don't need to pick a side. As for Matthew, they'll probably worry about your effect on everything from his morals to his safety.'

'His safety! Do they think I'd hurt him?'

'No, they'll be afraid your enemies would target him.'

Harry's entire body tensed. Oh god, not this again, he thought, recalling his wartime fear that the Death Eaters would target Ginny. 'Fiona, I'm so sorry. I never thought of that. We never have to go public if you don't want to.'

'No, I refuse to live in fear. The house is well-protected, and Rob made Matthew a special amulet during the war, which he always has with him.'

'Always?' said Harry, knowing how prone little boys were to misplacing things.

'Yes, similar to your ring, only I can remove it if necessary.'

'I'm glad he'll be all right. And I assume you're protected as well?'

Fiona assured him she was, and after eating they walked back to Underhill for her Portkey home. Harry attracted notice in the station, and more than one person asked whether he'd got a tattoo. 'I'm a man of my word,' he said, patting his upper arm.

'Right on!' said a young wizard. 'Way to commit!'

'That he does,' said Fiona. She didn't kiss him goodbye, not wanting to draw notice, and Harry felt let down as he walked away. It was two and a half hours until his Portkey, so he left his suitcase in a locker and explored more of Muggle Boston.

His first stop was the tattoo parlour, to see if Josh could link his tattoo with something other than his Light magic. 'It was a good idea in theory,' said Harry, 'but I'd like to be able to switch it back at will.'

'Sure, no problem,' said Josh, and he taught Harry a wandless incantation to change it back and forth. 'But still, I wonder if there are other ways to combine tattoos with Light magic.'

Harry paused to think about it. 'Interesting. Voldemort's Dark Mark was rooted in Dark magic somehow. I don't know the specifics, but I think it was powered in part by the Death Eater's harmful intentions,' he said, thinking of how he'd inadvertently used Light magic to remove Draco's Mark.

'Do you know if the tattoo reinforced their harmful intentions somehow?' asked Josh.

'I have no idea. But Voldemort used it to communicate with his followers, and even control them. And my friend Hermione theorised that he used Parseltongue to create it. But again, I have no idea.'

'Parseltongue? Holy shit—that is seriously fucking metal!' exclaimed Josh, with an expression bordering on admiration.

Harry laughed out loud. 'Yes, that's one way to describe it.'

Josh asked where he was going next, and when Harry said he was just going to walk around, Josh insisted on taking him across the river to Cambridge. 'Downtown is dead on a Sunday—you'll have a much better time in Harvard Square.'

He Apparated Harry to a row of skips. 'Sorry about the dumpster ambience, man, but it's hard to find a spot that's free of No-Majes. Harvard Yard is right through there, which will take you through campus, and then ask someone how to get to Harvard Square.'

Harry thanked him again and started exploring. The campus was full of people his own age, giving him a glimpse of non-magical education in America. Although this is a school for people like Hermione, and I wouldn't make the cut, he supposed. But he at least looked the part, and when he asked a young woman for directions to Harvard Square, she offered to accompany him.

'I'm going there myself,' she said, leading the way. 'Are you here for an interview?'

He stopped in his tracks. 'I am! How did you know?'

'It's not rocket science,' she laughed. 'You look like a student, but you obviously don't go here, otherwise you'd know where Harvard Square is. Did you have your interview already?'

Harry realised she meant some kind of qualifying interview for students. 'Er, no. Do you have any advice?'

'Let's see ... I'm sure you know to ask intelligent questions about the school, and to talk passionately about your favourite subjects. But they might ask about your biggest failure, and what you learned from it.'

I learnt not to trust a disgruntled house-elf, and to listen to Hermione instead, he thought, thinking of the mistakes that led to Sirius's death. 'I learnt that in high-pressure situations, it's important to weigh the advice of people who might be thinking more clearly than you are.'

'That's good, but they'll want an example.'

Harry grimaced, trying to imagine telling the story to a Harvard interviewer. 'I got a vision through my Horcrux scar that my escaped-prisoner godfather was being tortured in the Hall of Prophecies, and when I used the fireplace to call him, his deranged house-elf said he was gone. So we stole some leather-winged skeleton-horses and flew from Scotland to London, into a trap.'

'Thanks, that's good advice. What else?'

'They'll want to know what you like doing outside of school.'

He was still feeling the after-effects of his night with Fiona, which meant the answer that came to mind was probably not what the interviewers were looking for. 'I assume "Spending time with friends" is inadequate?' he asked.

'Yes, this is a Harvard interview, remember?'

'Don't Harvard students have friends?' he joked.

She laughed out loud. 'Not all of them, but don't say that during the interview. Anyway, your answer should demonstrate how bright and talented you are. For example, "I compose music on an instrument I built from old bicycle parts." Or, if you want to sound virtuous, you'll talk about how you're working with your grandmother on a cookbook of old family recipes, which she's never written down before.'

'Blimey! What did you say during your interview?'

'Er, the cookbook thing.'

'Well done! I suppose I could tell them I study a specialised, non-violent self-defence method,' he mused aloud. 'Although it's so specialised that no one will have heard of it, so that's no good.'

'What's it called?'

Bugger! he thought. 'Er, Protego Maxima,' he said. It was the incantation for the advanced Shield Charm, which he supposed was adjacent to Light magic.

'Nope, never heard of it. But you're English, so it'll sound convincing no matter what. Unless your interviewer is also English, in which case you're screwed.'

They passed through a wrought iron gate onto a busy pavement, and she pointed out various landmarks. 'Are you looking for something in particular?' she asked hopefully.

'No, I just have a couple hours to kill and wanted to look around.' Seeing her expression, he added, 'And I want to buy my girlfriend a present.'

'Oh, right.' She pointed out where he could get Harvard-themed merchandise and sent him on his way, wishing him luck on his interview. Consequently, Harry felt compelled to pick out gifts for both Fiona and Hermione. He was sorely tempted to buy Hermione a shirt that said, 'Wicked Smaaht,' but he knew she'd never wear it, not even to her Muggle exercise class. So instead he bought her a Harvard t-shirt, knowing she'd like anything with academic overtones.

Fiona's gift took longer, since he was looking for tat, and the Harvard bookstore was too upmarket. But there was plenty of tat elsewhere, and he eventually found a mug that said, 'Boston is for lovahs,' with hearts in place of the Os. He didn't dare send it to her at work, but she could laugh about it at home.

He was glad Josh had brought him to Harvard Square, which was more eclectic than the parts of Boston he'd seen. It was teeming with young people, and he particularly enjoyed watching the street performers. He still had American currency, so he tossed dollar bills into various hats and open guitar cases. A woman dressed as a bride stood on a platform, her face painted white, and when Harry placed a dollar into the vase below, she handed him a flower.

One street musician recognised him. 'Aren't you a bit far from home?' he said with a wink. At first Harry thought the musician had identified him as British, even though he hadn't spoken. 'Although I'm from California, so it's the pot calling the kettle black,' said the musician, with deliberate emphasis on the words pot and black.

Chuckling, Harry said, 'Yes, I am far from home, but I'm returning in less than an hour.'

'Portkey?'

'That's right. I take it you're a–' Harry pantomimed using a wand.

The musician shook his head. 'I'm what you'd call a Squib. But I got an extra dose of musical mojo, which keeps my guitar case full,' he said, indicating the healthy quantity of dollar bills. 'In fact, I should make room for more,' he added, gathering them into a stack, which he tucked into his pocket.

'Do you mainly live in this world?' asked Harry, referring to the decidedly non-magical environs.

'No—Americans don't exile people like me the way the British do. We take secrecy seriously, which means we keep it all in the family. But this is a good way to make a living, along with studio gigs, so here I am.'

Harry smiled, since the man obviously wasn't complaining. 'Do you live in Underhill, then?'

'Yep. My wife's like me, and our kids are like you. It's a good system—prevents some of the idiotic persecution you have overseas.'

Muggle-borns, thought Harry. 'I'm glad to hear that,' he said. 'People like you are definitely undervalued back in England, and I'd love to help change that.'

Raising a fist in solidarity, the musician said, 'Fight on, Brother Potter.' Then he smacked the front of his guitar and said, 'Any requests?'

Harry thought for a moment. 'How about some David Bowie?'

'Done,' said the man, and he launched into an acoustic version of 'Ziggy Stardust.' When the song ended, Harry tossed several Dragots into the guitar case, which were quickly covered by a dollar bill someone else threw in.

It was almost time for his Portkey, so he found a secluded alley and Apparated back to Underhill. At the station, he reclaimed his suitcase and acquired a travel-sickness potion from the ticket agent. Several more people asked about his tattoo, which he declined to show them, and a witch asked him to sign his advert. And so it begins, he thought, taking her magazine and signing it.

The taste of Dudley's socks in his mouth was a visceral reminder that he was heading home, and even though it was hours since Fiona had left, he felt their separation anew. Tuesday's not so far off, he thought, trying to cheer himself up. But after their relative freedom in the New World, the return to Britain felt confining.

Half an hour later, the final Portkey thudded him into the carpeted Diagon Alley terminal. 'Welcome to London,' came the announcement. 'Local time is eight p.m.' Harry gratefully accepted the palate-cleanser and his suitcase, but his spirits were low as he emerged into the arrivals hall.

'Surprise,' said a voice, and his heart leapt when he saw Fiona.

He immediately hid his excitement, not wanting to draw attention to her. 'Hello,' he said, extending his hand, as if he were greeting a former Ministry colleague.

'Hello yourself,' she said, drawing him into a kiss. Her hands slid beneath his jacket, and when they pulled apart people were staring. A quick-thinking tourist pulled out a camera, and Fiona leaned in for another kiss.

'What happened?' he exclaimed, unable to fathom her complete turnaround.

Taking his hand and walking briskly to the exit, she said, 'I haven't very long—I just got Matthew to bed and my mum is keeping an eye on things.'

'You haven't answered my question. Not that I'm complaining, of course.'

Turning to face him, she said, 'During the trip home I felt like I was returning to prison, or to a place without sunshine. And I realised I can't pretend I'm not in love—not without losing something.'

Still astonished, he asked, 'So, what does that mean?'

'You can't come home with me tonight, if that's what you're asking—it wouldn't be fair to Matthew. And you can't become a fixture straight away. But yes, I'll be seen with you. And yes, my colleagues will gossip, and people will criticise me, and there'll be digs about House Black. But I'm in love and I couldn't keep it secret even a minute longer.'

'Can I send a gift to your office?' he asked excitedly, thinking of the mug. 'Better yet, can I send you flowers?'

'Oh god, yes. Embarrass me all you like.' She pulled him into another passionate kiss, and even through closed eyelids he was dazzled by the brightly flashing cameras.