When the song ended, Harry stepped back from Narcissa and bowed. 'Thank you for the pleasure, Mrs Malfoy,' he said, looking up at her. 'May it soon be repeated.'

'Harry, careful with the eyes!'

'I'm not doing it!' he snapped.

'Yes, you are!'

'Then that's just what they do! And everyone knows I have a girlfriend.'

'A girlfriend who's elsewhere,' she countered. 'And forgive me, but you're not known for your attention span.' Harry just scowled, and she said, 'But your dancing was faultless. Well done.'

'Really? Does that mean I'm ready?' They'd had a lesson nearly every day for the last week, and he feared he'd never get the hang of it.

'Yes. But I'm serious about the eyes; with your reputation, people are going to assume the worst.'

Harry didn't exactly regret his stint as a manwhore, since he'd enjoyed it so much, but it had definitely come to haunt him. At the Prewett reception, Donovan Kite pulled him aside and asked if he had any more plans to go 'Muggle-touring,' and if so, count him in. And later, Alissa Kite kept playing with her hair, and when they parted company she mouthed, 'Floo me.'

'But it's either this or "Glare-y Potter,"' he said, 'and I don't want to insult anyone.'

'It's a risk you'll have to take,' she said haughtily.

'I'm sorry, but no. I know how it feels to be sneered at, and I refuse to make someone else feel that way.'

'But you have to protect yourself. Look what happened with the Whites: you were too friendly, and now you're responsible for all those dowries.'

Part of Harry wanted to argue, but he also knew she was right. He'd wanted the Whites' approval—and to feel like part of a family—which had led to his costly mistake. 'That's true, but I'm trying to promote equality, so I don't just want to look through people.'

Narcissa was silent a moment, and she gave Harry an appraising look. 'I didn't expect to deliver this talk until I had a granddaughter, but you've proven me wrong.'

'Oh?' said Harry, with a sense of dread.

'Have a seat,' she said, leading him towards the sofa. 'Mother always served her lectures with tea.'

Harry expanded into awareness while she called for refreshments, which soon arrived. Just how much trouble am I in? he wondered.

'My sisters and I were trained in every aspect of deportment,' she said. 'And as we grew older, the primary theme was "managing male expectations."'

He pictured the three sisters in their youth, all of them beauties, and her meaning was clear. 'But what does this have to do with me? I'm not a witch.'

'No, but you've turned into a commodity, with your adverts in particular. And you need to establish boundaries.'

'Right,' said Harry, frowning. 'And how do I do that?'

'There are multiple techniques, but I'll start with the simplest. First is distance: I seldom go out in public, not even before the war. If I want to buy clothes, I make a private appointment. I only go to exclusive restaurants, and if I must run errands, I choose the least popular times of day.

'Next is bearing. I believe you've mastered this, between your wardrobe and "Glare-y Potter," as you call it. Mother described it as a sort of armour that tells others to keep away.'

Harry was tempted to reveal he called them his 'Leave me the fuck alone' wards, but he just waited for her to continue.

'After that it's more subtle. You can't wear your armour at a reception, for example, since you might want to attract some people but deter others. Which means it's all in the look.'

I know all about the Look, he thought, with lush memories of Fiona. Just yesterday they'd had a staring contest in a Muggle restaurant, which led to a quick snog in the loo.

'You'll need to practise, but not everyone deserves your full attention. For example, when you're at a shop, how do you look at the clerk?'

'Same as I'd look at anyone, if they're helping me.'

'No, they're less than a house-elf.'

Harry couldn't hide his shock. 'I'm sorry? Less than a house-elf?'

'Yes, because it's important to show kindness to an elf, due to the nature of the bond. But a clerk serves everyone, so all you owe them is basic courtesy. Unless it's a shop you visit often, like your tailors.'

Is that an insult? he thought, but he decided it wasn't. Lucius was also a dandy, after all, and Harry wondered if he'd ever get a peek inside his wardrobe.

But he still didn't like her suggestion. 'Er, I appreciate the advice, but I can't treat people like that. Remember, I play for the Cannons, and it would reflect poorly on the team.' Not to mention I'd look like a complete wanker.

Her brows drew together in consternation. 'It's really not an appropriate career for the head of an ancient house,' she said. Harry began to protest, and she added, 'I'm not telling you to quit. But you may need a different approach.'

'And what do you propose?' he asked, sceptical she'd say anything useful.

She sipped her tea before answering. 'I don't know if this is possible with Light magic, but I was trained in Dark methods to affect how people perceive me.'

'Glamours, you mean?' Harry suddenly wondered if she'd been fooling everyone this whole time, and she was actually hideous.

'No. I'm exactly what you see. But I'm in control of what I evoke in others. Lust, for example.' His eyes shot open, and she said, 'Tell me, how do I look? Be honest.'

He took in her appearance, and she seemed the same as always: attractive for a woman her age, but not a temptation. 'You're very pretty, of course. But you're old enough to be my mum—older, in fact—and I've never been interested.'

'Exactly. Thank you for being frank.' Next she took her wand from the table and aimed a Locking Charm at the door. 'We can't have Draco walking in right now,' she said, with a hint of amusement. Then she closed her eyes and concentrated for a moment.

When she opened them, Harry gasped. Nothing had changed—her eyes were the same shade of blue, her face still unlined, and her lips a soft pink—but Harry was breathless with desire. He automatically gripped the sides of his chair, and his heart beat wildly.

'I can also look like this,' she said, and even though her voice was the same, it flowed through Harry like elf-made wine. 'If you didn't have a girlfriend—and if Draco would never find out—you'd take me here and now, wouldn't you?'

He could only nod, clutching the chair even harder. And with another slow blink of her eyes, she was back to normal. He drank some tea to clear his throat, then said, 'Great Merlin, what was that?' His heart was still racing, but he no longer desired her.

'It's what I was taught. Andromeda never practised it—it made her uncomfortable. Bellatrix, however ...'

Harry felt his cheeks grow hot as he remembered a dream he'd had back at Hogwarts. It had begun like any scar dream, with a view into Voldemort's mind. But instead of torture, he saw Bellatrix, and her beauty overwhelmed him; no longer hardened by Azkaban, she was everything he wanted. Hands, flesh, mouth—she encompassed him, and when he awoke there was only shame.

'Did she use it on Voldemort?' he asked, finally understanding.

'Yes, and on others as well. Other Death Eaters, to control them, and on the rabble who served. Snatchers, for example. I, on the other hand, only used it on Lucius. With his enthusiastic consent.'

'But what about the opposite? Are you deliberately, er ...' He trailed off, struggling to find the word.

'Neutering you?' she asked with a chuckle. 'No, I doubt any magic is that powerful. Nor could I have induced desire if you didn't already find me attractive. But I've learnt to carefully contain it; as I've told you, I'm a target for would-be adulterers, and it's easier just to deter them magically. It's convenient, in fact, because I can still hold their interest. But I'm not burdened by their lust.'

More than once, Harry had heard praise for Narcissa from wizards at Pratt's. Reginald Baxter had said, 'At my age, it's pleasant just to spend time with a beautiful young woman like Narcissa Malfoy, particularly when she turns on the charm. How do you think she won over Abraxas?'

'You have other versions, don't you,' he said accusingly. 'To influence people when you want something.'

She caught his tone and her eyes narrowed. 'If you're asking if I used it on you, the answer is no. Otherwise Lucius would be eligible for parole.'

'That's true,' said Harry, relaxing. 'But did you use it on Lucius's father, before you were married?'

There was a rare flash of fire in her eyes. 'I did. He was opposed to our marriage, as I've mentioned. Obviously I didn't draw out his lust, but I appealed to his pride. You might not realise this, but the Malfoys are a bit sensitive about being newcomers—they came to Britain during the Conquest, after the founding of Hogwarts. And don't tell anyone, but they weren't an old family in France. Perhaps just a generation or two from Muggles.'

'Still, that's nearly a thousand years old,' said Harry. 'Is that really considered a problem?'

She sipped her tea before continuing. 'When you have nearly everything, it's easy to fixate on the one thing you're missing. Furthermore, Abraxas's own mother was a half-blood—the right kind of half-blood, but still. He'd been twitted about it in school, and those sorts of memories don't fade.'

'So what did you do? Radiate your pureness at him?'

'No, my fertility. Ironic, considering we only had Draco, but I mentally flooded him with grandchildren. Little blond babies—spotlessly pure—and me, their angelic mother. Do you want to see?' Harry nodded, and Narcissa closed her eyes again.

When she opened them, his first instinct was to cry. There were no blond babies, but just Narcissa, radiating motherly love. It was nothing like watching Fiona with Matthew, which he always found charming; it was more like being reunited with something he'd lost. His breath grew ragged, and the word 'Mama' caught in his throat, constricted by sobs.

In an instant she was kneeling by his side. 'Oh my god, Harry, I'm so sorry,' she said. He couldn't even look at her, but he fell into her arms. 'There, there,' she murmured, stroking his hair as he wept. 'Oh, my poor love.'

He dimly knew she wasn't his mum, and that her words of comfort were only that. But feeling her arms around him met a need he'd never fully acknowledged, for all his jokes about 'dead-mum trauma.'

'Shh, shh,' said Narcissa, pressing her lips to his head. 'My precious baby.'

It was several minutes before he remembered she'd locked the door, and he was grateful Draco couldn't enter. He finally looked at her and saw that she too was crying. 'Thank you,' he rasped. 'I didn't see that coming.'

They were both on the floor, but she didn't move to get up. 'I should have realised,' she began. 'I'm so sorry.'

'Don't be—you had no idea that would happen. I assume Abraxas didn't burst into sobs.'

'No, but his mother was still alive.' She looked stricken and said, 'I'm terribly sorry.'

'Really, it's not necessary,' said Harry, but she cut him off.

'For supporting the Dark Lord. We knew what he was capable of, and you weren't the first orphan he'd created. I'm so sorry.'

She'd previously apologised for her role in Sirius's death, but this felt different somehow. They were on the floor, for one thing, and their faces were wet with tears. He belatedly pulled out a handkerchief and gave it to her, and in a shockingly silly move she handed him her own.

'I doubt Lucius could have foreseen this,' she said, examining the Slytherin crest on Harry's handkerchief before delicately blowing her nose. Harry was almost reluctant to use hers—it was silk, with charmed embroidery, and having bought one for Fiona he knew how much it had cost. But Lodie could clean it, so he blew his nose as well.

'I couldn't have imagined it,' he said. 'It was weird enough when you told Voldemort I was dead, but this is beyond belief.'

She actually giggled. 'We should probably get up off the floor, but I'm not ready yet.' She leaned into him and said, 'I'll miss our dancing lessons. It's the only physical contact I get.'

Past the point of shock, Harry wrapped an arm around her. 'I'm sorry. Can you ask Andromeda for a cuddle? Or Teddy? He's almost always willing.'

'That's a good idea. Only I missed my chance with Andromeda, now that she has her werewolf.'

'Have you met him?'

'No. She's dropped hints, but I haven't taken her up on it.'

'Why not? He's perfectly safe, and clearly you've been around werewolves before.'

She sighed. 'Because I'll be the third at the table. I'm always the third at the table, except with Draco.'

Harry didn't know what to suggest, since she'd have the same problem if he and Fiona were there. I suppose Sunday dinner at the Burrow is out of the question, he thought, recalling how Molly had killed Bellatrix.

'I wish I could help,' he said, 'but I don't think Draco would appreciate if we kept up our dancing lessons.'

'No, he's been more than patient already. I know you won't tell me about his girlfriend, but she seems to be a good influence. He's far less reactive, and I haven't heard a peep about marriage.' She let out a hollow laugh and said, 'Here I'm the one who's married, but he gets the actual companionship.'

Harry's train of thought jumped from 'Draco's girlfriend' to 'Muggle,' and an idea seized him. 'I can't believe I'm suggesting this, but maybe you should join a ballroom dancing club. A Muggle one.'

Narcissa was still nestled in his arm, but she turned to stare at him. 'You can't be serious!'

'I'm completely serious. There are clubs all over the place—people turn up on alternate Thursdays or whenever and dance together. Normally it's just at a leisure centre or a school gymnasium, but I think they have actual balls, particularly this time of year.'

She was speechless, and Harry suddenly felt embarrassed. 'Not that I've been, of course. You've seen how well I could dance, and obviously my aunt and uncle never brought me.'

'Don't tell me your relations attend that sort of club!'

'They did, but not for long. My aunt used to watch ballroom dancing competitions on television, and she decided she and my uncle should go. I think she wanted to rekindle the romance, but my uncle called it "Poofters on parade," and that was the end of it.'

She still looked horrified. 'I can't just dance with strangers. And certainly not Muggles!'

'Why not? No one would know who you are. You could even give a false name.'

'But what would I wear? I don't have Muggle clothes,' she said with disdain.

'Oh, that's not a problem—people dress up for that sort of thing. Aunt Petunia bought a dress with sequins on top and feathers at the hem. She looked ghastly, of course, but that had more to do with Aunt Petunia than the dress itself. So I'm sure you have something that would work.'

She straightened, and Harry got the sense she was preparing to return to her seat. But she didn't get up, so he kept his arm around her. 'I'll think about it,' she said. 'I'm sure our solicitor could find a suitable club—he's very discreet.'

They lapsed into silence, and Harry's thoughts returned to the intense emotions they'd shared. He found it hard to believe that the love she'd radiated could be anything but Light magic. 'When you were doing that thing just now—what you did with Abraxas—was it really Dark magic? I understand how the lust thing was Dark, since you could practically rape someone that way. But the maternal thing felt different.' He was reluctant to call it Light, for fear of spooking her, and he hunted for another word. 'Less adversarial,' he said.

'Technically speaking, it was Dark, but I'm glad you're discovering that's a misnomer. Although,' she said, hesitating, 'this time was different to when I did it with Abraxas.'

'Oh?'

'It started the same. With Abraxas, my goal was to get what I wanted: Lucius. I was in love, of course, but my love wasn't disinterested—not at that age. Lucius was, to borrow an expression, "Desirable Number One." He was heir to one of the richest families in Europe, not to mention handsome, well-dressed, and enamoured with me.'

Her expression became more haughty as she spoke, and a Dark Arts sneer began to form. 'Bellatrix had already married well, but for me to marry Lucius would be a triumph. All I needed was his father's approval and I'd be mistress of Malfoy Manor. His mother preferred the climate in France, after all.'

Narcissa paused, and Harry felt her chest expand and contract. 'It was during the conversation with Abraxas that I truly achieved the foundation of Dark magic. I fused my ambition, desire, and pride into a single raw emotion, and that's what I've used ever since to power my magic.'

Another pause, and she added, 'The meaning of my name isn't lost on me. As you probably know, Narcissus was a beautiful hunter who became so entranced with his own reflection that he turned into a flower. Pride is both powerful and dangerous, but I like to think I've used it well. And it's sustained me through difficult times—I can draw upon it effortlessly.'

'So that's what you used to generate your maternal aura just now?'

'It was, but when you broke down it changed, and I felt something like the love I have for Draco. You mostly see my exasperation towards him, but I think you know how dear he is to me.'

Harry did know—it was what drove her to lie to Voldemort. 'Were you seeing me as Draco?' he asked, not offended.

'No ... but it wasn't personal either,' she said, sounding almost puzzled. 'It was more pure, I think. Instinct, even—like the first time they placed Draco in my arms. I couldn't help flooding you with affection.'

Harry had to bite his lip to keep from smirking. Definitely Light magic, he thought. 'Did that feel similar to when you focus on pride? Or did it have a different flavour?'

'I don't normally start crying or throw myself on the floor, if that's what you're asking,' she said, finally getting up. Harry rose as well, and they dusted themselves off before returning to their seats.

'Have you felt that before?' he asked. 'With Draco, or Lucius?'

'In different forms, yes. But it made sense in that context, given my relationship with them. Forgive me, Harry, but I don't see you the same way.'

'No, of course not. Same as how I don't normally see you as my mum.'

She nodded, then reached for the teapot. 'Would you like some more? I seem to recall lecturing you, but it's rather a blur now.'

He accepted more tea and said, 'I think it was something about not eye-fucking everyone I meet.'

'Harry!' she snapped, laughing. 'You mustn't talk like that!'

'Tell it to Charles Selwyn—that's how he described it at the WORF auction.'

'Your behaviour was appropriate in that setting, since it was for charity. When is your date, by the way?'

'Saturday. And I'm starting to regret agreeing to meet her alone. I'd have thought Occlumency, Light magic, and my ring would be sufficient protection, but after your mind magics this afternoon, I'm no longer sure.'

Narcissa's expression turned grave. 'Harry, you need to be careful. Sexual traps are one of the best ways to neutralise a Light wizard.'

'We agreed I could cast Homenum Revelio on the room, and she'll store her wand in a secured box. But could she still influence how I perceive her, like you did?'

'No, she'd need proximity to her wand. Do you need to borrow a wand casket?'

'No, WORF has one for this exact purpose. But I don't think I'll even learn her name—apparently she'll be Polyjuiced the entire time.'

'Are you certain it's a witch?'

'Strictly speaking, no. But her solicitor referred to her as "Madame X," and I assume she'll look female. And really, it's none of my business.'

'Yes, but she'll know everything about you. Really, Harry, you need to take every precaution. I hope you still remember your Auror training.'

Harry assured her he did, and he promised to ask Ron for a refresher. 'I'll also practice toning down the eye thing—maybe Fiona will have some ideas.'

'Perhaps she will,' said Narcissa. 'And remember, I still want to meet her.'

'Yes, next week, I swear.'

He finished his tea, and when he rose to leave, she stood as well. 'I'd rather we kept this between us, if that's all right,' she said. 'I don't want it getting back to Draco.'

'No, of course not,' said Harry. 'But may I tell Fiona? Not what you told me, but how I reacted?'

'If you must,' said Narcissa, and she gave him a hug. 'I suppose we really are family. One last surprise from Sirius.'

He went straight to Fiona's house, and after a round of toy Quidditch with Matthew, he told her what happened. 'Oh, Harry! Are you all right?'

'Yeah, I think so. It was pretty intense, though. I was dimly aware she wasn't my mother, but that didn't matter somehow. It was just pure need, and comfort.'

Matthew was nearby, so she only squeezed Harry's hand. 'I'm glad she was able to provide it. And it sounds like she got a dose of regret for supporting that monster.'

'I think so. But she's regretted it a long time now.' He also told Fiona about his boundary problem, expecting her to agree with Narcissa.

But her response surprised him. 'No, that's one of the things I love about you.'

'That I eye-fuck strangers?' he said quietly, so Matthew wouldn't hear.

'Well, not when you put it like that. I'm the only one you're supposed to fuck,' she whispered. 'But the way you connect with people. After everything you've been through, I think it's beautiful.'

'But people might take advantage of me. It's already happened once, with the dowries.'

She looked sceptical. 'Are you likely to sponsor another family?'

'Well, no. But I might get roped into an investment or something.'

'Has that happened at Pratt's? You've been there at least three times in the last week.'

'No, I suppose not. But what about witches? They keep propositioning me, and I don't want to encourage them.'

'Darling, you posed in your underwear, which means they'll proposition you regardless.' He grimaced, and she said, 'Do you behave the same way with them as you did with me before we started dating?'

'Are you asking whether I routinely blurt out how attractive I find them? No.'

She laughed and said, 'I meant our other conversations. The ones where I thought you were an incorrigible flirt.'

'No, that was just with you. And I think we know why,' he added, his voice low again.

'But you're normal around other witches?' she asked. 'Normal for you, that is?'

'I think so. I mean, I definitely blew it with Gemma, but that took a while.'

'Then don't worry about it. You've told me how much you like being rid of your walls and actually connecting with people. So as long as you don't deliberately flirt with them, just be yourself and have a good time.'

Harry felt himself relax, and he was reminded why he loved her so much. 'You know you're brilliant, right?'

'What, because I didn't insist you give people the cold shoulder?'

'Yes,' he said, overbrimming with affection. 'It must be the Light magic, but the idea of deliberately putting up barriers again ... I just can't do it.'

They were interrupted by Matthew, and then it was time for dinner, so they weren't able to talk privately again until Matthew was asleep. After tucking him in, they put on a record and curled together on the sofa, and Fiona said, 'Don't even think of putting your barriers back up.'

'Even though I might give people the wrong idea?'

'Yes, even then. Although if you cheat on me I'll curse your bits off,' she joked.

'I won't,' he said, leaning back and smiling. 'You know I'm entirely yours, right?'

'I do. It's unbelievable, but I do. Which is why I don't want you to rein yourself in. You're the closest thing I've met to pure love, and everyone needs to experience that.'

Their exchange devolved into snogging, but it was occasionally punctuated with talk. 'Are you really proposing I go full Light magic in public?'

'Yes,' she exhaled. 'You're the Light Lord, after all.'

'What about my date with Madame X?' he asked. 'I definitely don't want to give her the wrong idea.'

'She paid for the Harry Potter experience. She mightn't get the sex, but she should definitely get the love.'

But Fiona was nervous a few nights later, as she helped him get dressed. 'Are you sure she can't mind-magic you somehow? The only thing more attractive than you in those robes would be you out of them.'

He was wearing the silver brocade robes he'd purchased in Boston; Madame X had requested 'maximum formality,' and silver brocade fit the bill. 'Don't worry,' said Harry, 'I'm perfectly safe. I have my Occlumency, and Bill Weasley loaned me an amulet that protects against interferences. And I'll have the wand casket,' he added, indicating the engraved silver box she'd brought him.

'I know,' said Fiona dubiously. 'I'm just scared something will happen. There's a reason we don't usually auction off political figures.'

He understood why she was worried—she'd lost Rob, after all. But Harry was genuinely unconcerned. Ron had run him through Auror drills, and ironically he was much better at them than before. His protective magic had always been strong, but now his attack spells had improved as well. 'Don't let Murdoch find out,' Ron said, 'or he might want you back.'

'Not interested,' said Harry, returning his wand to his holster. 'I think the only reason I performed so well just now was that it was entirely theoretical. If I had to duel for real all the time, I'd quickly lose my enthusiasm.'

Fiona hugged him extra hard before departing. 'Don't be afraid to back out, if your gut tells you it's unsafe. WORF doesn't need the gold that badly.'

'Yes it does,' said Harry. 'And really, I'll be fine.'

He promised to go to her house as soon as the date was over, no matter the hour. And Kreacher would provide regular updates, sent by Harry through their telepathic bond. 'All right, you've convinced me,' she said. 'Now go dazzle her with your Light mojo.'

Fiona left, and Harry fetched his cloak. He was meeting Madame X at Claridge's, where she'd reserved a private room. At first he'd been surprised by the suggestion, but it made sense if she wanted to hide her identity from wizards. And it's certainly posh enough, he mused.

He Apparated to a point nearby, then walked the short distance to the hotel. 'Good evening, sir,' said the doorman when he arrived. Harry's cloak covered the silver brocade, so he simply looked like a young man wearing an overly formal winter coat. He returned the doorman's greeting, then went inside, and the interior no longer disturbed him. It still looked like Malfoy Manor, but he'd spent so much time there that it was no longer upsetting. Indeed, it felt pleasantly familiar, and he could almost smell Narcissa's faint perfume.

'I'm here to see Mrs Parker,' he told the desk clerk. 'My name is Harry Black.'

'Yes, of course, Mr Black. Mrs Parker is in the Empress Eugenie Suite. A porter can escort you there, if you like.'

'Thank you, that won't be necessary,' said Harry, having been instructed to come alone. He simply asked for directions, then made his way to the elevator, oddly aware of how normal it all felt. I'm dressed to the nines and visiting a clone of Malfoy Manor—which feels almost like home—and I'm about to have dinner with someone who may want to kill me.

Once upstairs, he knocked on the appropriate door, wand in hand. After a moment he heard heels on a wooden floor, their pace languid rather than quick, and after a pause the door opened. Harry automatically expanded into awareness, and his mental shields were at full strength.

A beautiful young woman stood inside. She had cascading blond curls, creamy white skin, and a truly magnificent figure—shown to perfection by her emerald-green ball gown. But despite his instinctive attraction to her, Harry's first reaction was to blink in astonishment.

'Kate Winslet?' he stammered, recognising the lead actress from 'Titanic.'

'No,' she said haughtily. 'But do come in.'

His wand still raised, he entered and swept his eyes across the room. Without asking permission, he cast multiple detection charms, which seemed to thrill her. He went through the suite, which included a living room, bedroom, study, and bath, and quickly determined no one else was there.

'Take your time,' she said. 'I want you to feel entirely comfortable. And it's a pleasure to see a hint of the Auror.' She gestured towards her wand, which lay on a marble-topped table. 'Please, lock it up. The sooner you feel safe, the better.'

Harry pulled the wand casket from his pouch and opened it. But when he aimed his wand at hers to cast a Hovering Charm, she said, 'No, touch it.'

He turned to her in surprise. It was not only unheard of to touch another's wand on first acquaintance, but also risky. 'I'm sorry, I can't. It's nothing personal, but I can't be sure you haven't imbued it.' He left off the words 'with Dark magic,' but the implication was clear.

Her cheeks coloured becomingly. 'Of course. Carry on.'

Once her wand was safely stowed and he verified she didn't have another, his curiosity surfaced. 'If you're not Kate Winslet, what shall I call you? Madame X?'

'You may call me Jasmine. And may I call you Harry?'

Fiona's favourite flower, he thought, pleased by the reminder. Wanting to give Jasmine her money's worth, he replied as Daphne had instructed him. 'I would be honoured,' he said, with a courtly bow.

Her features curled with both amusement and distaste. 'Harry, forget the etiquette lessons. I've had enough courtesies for a lifetime—literally—and this is my glimpse of something different. So please, let's have the Harry who's on the radio. And yes, I heard your American broadcast as well.'

'Oh,' he said, taken aback. 'So nothing's off limits, then?'

'No. I mightn't get the full experience, but you're delightfully vulgar, and I want my fill of it.'

'I'm not sure how well that'll go with my outfit,' he said, undoing his cloak. 'Can I really talk about condoms while dressed in silver brocade?'

When his outfit became visible, she let out a low moan. 'Oh yes ... where did you get that?'

'America. I gather you approve?'

'I do indeed,' she said, still staring. 'Will you wear it this season? At the Ministry Ball, perhaps?'

'No, I'd never live it down. It's for private settings only.'

Jasmine smiled and said, 'This is definitely private. But what do you think of my appearance? I know I told you to disregard etiquette, but you're allowed to compliment me.'

'You're beautiful, of course,' said Harry. 'But what made you choose Kate Winslet? And does she know?'

'No, but her hairdresser might.' Jasmine turned to face a mirror and said, 'I saw her on a billboard last year, when I was visiting Paris, and I was struck by her resemblance to my younger self.'

'Really?' said Harry, looking at her reflection. He had no idea whether she was telling the truth, but he was happy to humour her.

'Yes, I was an absolute stunner,' she said, looking at him again. 'I'd have even turned your head. Frankly, I could recapture my looks with a particularly strong youth potion, but I dislike how the illusion breaks down at a distance. We'd have required a smaller room, for example, and I prefer a more elegant backdrop.' She indicated the suite with a graceful wave of her hand.

'So I see,' said Harry, strolling about the living room. 'This can't have been cheap—I stayed at Claridge's this summer, and it was nearly a hundred Galleons. And that was for a standard room, not a suite.'

'I wanted the best,' she said. 'I'm squandering my dowry, after all.'

'Oh?'

'My descendants don't need it—they have gold enough of their own. So I decided to put it to good use.'

'That was very generous,' said Harry. 'I know how much WORF appreciates it.'

'That's not why I did it. I've attended the gala for decades and was never tempted by the bachelor auction. But you're another story, and I needed to meet you for myself.'

Harry couldn't help feeling desire, given how beautiful she was, but it was nearly all for Fiona. Bugger, I should let her know I'm alive, he thought. 'I beg your pardon, but I need to communicate with my house-elf a moment. It's all silent, so he needn't disturb us.'

When he finished telling Kreacher to inform Fiona he was safe, Jasmine handed him a menu. 'As you requested, we'll only consume food and drink from the hotel. I fully understand your concern for safety, and I'm only sorry I can't entertain as I would at home.'

'I'm sure it'll be first-rate,' he said, opening the menu. After looking it over he told her his preferences, then showed her how to use the telephone to order room service. Harry had to stifle a laugh at her outrageous demands, but whoever was on the other end seemed to take them in stride, and soon she was focused on him again.

'They'll send champagne presently,' she declared, 'And in the meantime, I want to hear about this bond you have with your elf. A telepathic link is not without risks, after all.'

'Yes, I've lately discovered that. What do you know about about them?'

'Not much—elf-lore is very arcane. But apparently house-elves are descended from an exceedingly proud warrior race, not unlike goblins, and their pride somehow triggered a great calamity. This prompted the elves to renounce their warrior status and intermarry with brownies, a formerly-common household spirit. They bound themselves to wizard families and conduct themselves with exaggerated humility, as you've undoubtedly seen.'

'So, it's all an act?' said Harry with dawning horror. 'They're actually as proud as any human, but they pretend to be subservient?'

'No, it's not an act. They've turned humility into something resembling a religion, and it's sunk into their very bones. The only pride they're permitted is in their labour, and also the prestige of their wizard family.'

Harry nodded as he listened, recognising everything she described. 'And you're saying a telepathic bond would upset the balance?'

'Yes, because it elevates their status. So they might require–' She hesitated, searching for the term. 'Compensatory debasement.'

'Compensatory debasement!' he exclaimed. 'Like punishment?'

'That's a good start, although I've seen wizards take it too far. It's never a good precedent, particularly if you're raising children. But you'll do well to exhibit ... maximum grandeur,' she said, gesturing towards his robes.

Harry sighed heavily. 'Yes, that's exactly what's happening. He insists I show the family ring when I'm at home, and just today he unearthed a smoking jacket.'

'So enjoy it,' said Jasmine, as if stating the obvious. 'Haven't you suffered enough?'

'Well, yes, but there's a long way between how my aunt and uncle treated me and being waited on like a Roman emperor.'

'Not a Roman emperor, surely! If you need a Muggle example, just look across the Channel—you can't beat the House of Bourbon. Louis XIV, you know.'

'I can't live like that!' he blurted.

'No, of course not. You're a dandy, not a fop. And don't even think of covering your hair in a wig.'

'I think you're missing the point,' he said, suspecting she enjoyed some pushback. 'I'm only nineteen, and I've already discovered I have a taste for luxury. What'll happen if I let things continue like this for the next fifty years?'

'You'll be splendid, and House Black will be magnificent,' she said, her voice almost husky. 'I hope I'm still alive to see it.'

'But that's just it. I'm prophesied to make House Black "greater than before," but there's no way I'll out-posh them. Nor do I want to—I'm also a Potter, and they simply weren't that pretentious.'

There was a knock on the door, and Harry went to open it. 'Your champagne, sir,' said the waiter, pushing a cart into the room. He didn't react to Harry's outfit, but he did a double-take when he saw Jasmine, whom he surely mistook for Kate Winslet. After uncorking the bottle and pouring the champagne, he looked meaningfully at Harry and stood in place.

Blast, he's expecting a tip, thought Harry, who didn't have Muggle currency handy. 'Er, thank you,' he said, hoping the waiter would take the hint and leave. Meanwhile, Jasmine seemed unconcerned, and Harry hoped the waiter wouldn't spread rumours about Kate Winslet and some cheapskate ponce.

The waiter left, and Harry fetched currency from his pouch. 'Jasmine, you might want to nip into the bedroom when they bring up dinner. For all I know, the real Kate Winslet's married, and it would look bad if she were spotted with someone else.'

'Yes, of course,' said Jasmine, clearly unconcerned. 'But come here, I want to make a toast.' Harry took a glass of champagne, then she raised hers and said, 'To an unforgettable evening.'

'To an unforgettable evening,' he echoed, and he met her eyes as they clinked glasses. The champagne was good—definitely not Prosecco—and they finally sat down.

'We were talking about the Blacks and the Potters,' said Jasmine. 'And how you need to reconcile the two.'

'That's exactly it. I feel like I've drifted too far towards the Blacks.'

'You're nothing like the Blacks,' she said, almost sharply. 'They considered themselves better than everyone, even though it was common knowledge that every third Black was insane.'

'But if I'm not like the Blacks, how come that's what magical artefacts are calling me? Not just the tapestry—there's another one as well.'

She paused to think, and he allowed himself to enjoy her beauty, as he might appreciate a work of art. 'What do the Potters mean to you?' she asked. He just looked at her, and she said, 'Complete this sentence: The Potters are ...'

'Dead.'

They were both startled by his immediate reply. 'And you're not,' she remarked. 'No wonder you don't identify with them.'

'But why not? It was my name for nearly twenty years.'

'Yes, but what were those years like?'

Miserable, he thought. Ten years with the Dursleys, then his decidedly mixed experience at Hogwarts. 'They were hard,' said Harry. 'Really hard.'

'And your life as a Black?'

He felt a wave of pleasure, which he amplified by closing his eyes. 'Brilliant. I remember the first time I went to Penumbra. I'd only just joined the Cannons, and a pair of my teammates got it through my head that I could sleep with nearly anyone I wanted. That night I put it to test and ... oh my god.'

'Couldn't Harry Potter have done that?' she asked.

'Technically he did,' said Harry. 'I hadn't even considered changing my name yet. But I felt like someone new, and I could scarcely reconcile that with my old self.'

Jasmine's parted lips and flushed cheeks conveyed her arousal, but to her credit she didn't try touching him. 'You felt your power, didn't you?'

He nodded. 'I don't know why it felt so alien—I defeated Voldemort, after all.'

'Yes, but didn't you struggle most of the time?'

The spread of Light magic through his body confirmed she was right. 'I did. There were only a handful of triumphs.'

'But oh, such triumphs!' she said, running a hand along the smooth fabric of her gown. 'I saw your final duel against the Dark Lord—not in person but in a Pensieve.'

'We didn't really duel,' began Harry, but she cut him off.

'Your duel of words. He was defeated the moment you stood to face him—you were a scrawny, ragged boy, but you addressed him as "Riddle."' She smiled and said, 'Looking back, that was our first glimpse of the Man Who Lived. No wonder you don't identify with the Potters.'

'Did you know any Potters?'

'No. Your grandparents were older than I, and they ran in different circles. Respectable, but not illustrious.'

Catching her meaning, he asked, 'Do you think I'm a social climber?'

'Yes, and in the best possible way. Society needs the occasional upstart, to inject vigour. In fact, that's probably your Potter trait—you can't beat the middle class for industry.'

'Er, what about the working class?'

She sniffed. 'I seldom think about them—we're magical after all.'

Harry was simultaneously offended by her attitude and intrigued. 'Can I use that somehow?' He explained his goal of making wizarding culture more inclusive by defining it around magic itself.

'No, because people will always argue. You can't change that.'

'I know, but there's a difference between arguing and killing each other. Really, there's no reason we can't all live in peace.'

'Harry, I can think of a thousand reasons, but I won't try dissuading you.' She looked at him almost hungrily and said, 'That's your Light magic talking, isn't it?'

'Perhaps, but that doesn't mean it's impossible. People thought Light magic was impossible, after all.'

'Yes, and same with surviving the Killing Curse, and turning the Chudley Cannons around. So I won't stifle your ambition.' She took a sip of champagne and said, 'Speaking of ambition, I'm simply delighted you were Sorted into Slytherin.'

'Were you a Slytherin?'

'What do you think?' she asked saucily.

'I think you were.'

'Then you're mistaken. I was in Ravenclaw.'

'Oh really? Does that mean you brewed your own Polyjuice Potion?'

'I did. I could have bought some, of course, but I earned an Outstanding on my N.E.W.T. and enjoy staying in practice.'

Grinning, he said, 'Do you fancy having a go at Wolfsbane? FLOOF is always looking for volunteer brewers.'

'I'll consider it.' She rose and walked to the window, overlooking the heart of Muggle London. 'All that effort,' she said, looking at the busy street below. 'How on earth do they manage?'

He joined her at the window and said, 'Muggles? I suppose it's normal for them. And yes, it's also difficult.'

'Poor thing, you had to do all that manual labour for your aunt and uncle. Then again, too much leisure is also a curse. It's why so many wizards get into mischief.'

'Yes, Narcissa Malfoy said something similar. Has it been a problem for you?'

'I have an estate to manage,' she said. 'And a husband, of course.'

'Right, your husband. Does he know what you're doing tonight?'

'No, but I've turned a blind eye to his Pratt's activities, so he can hardly complain.'

Harry decided to flirt a bit more, to give Jasmine her money's worth. 'Was this your first attempt at adultery? I'm sure you've had offers.'

'Yes, heaps. But no, I've never strayed.'

'Really? Then I'm particularly flattered. I hope you can forgive me for disappointing you.'

'You know how to reach my solicitor,' said Jasmine coolly. 'If things don't work out between you and Miss Dunning, I'll be yours for the taking.'

'Noted. Although I'm almost sorry I didn't meet you a few months ago, during my manwhore phase. You really are exquisite, and not only because you look like Kate Winslet. I can see how graceful you are.'

'I certainly hope so. I was raised to be ornamental, after all.'

'That's not very Ravenclaw. Was your family disappointed when you were Sorted?'

'No. Slytherins and Ravenclaws often marry. And when you look like this,' she said, indicating her face and figure, 'it's best if people know you have brains as well.'

'Brains and beauty ... you must have been flooded with suitors,' he said, giving her the Look.

'You devil!' she replied, obviously pleased. 'I know what you're doing—I'm a Ravenclaw, you know.'

Their banter continued until the doorbell rang, and this time Harry was ready with cash. Jasmine hid in the loo, and based on the sounds she made he assumed she was drinking her next dose of Polyjuice.

'Ugh, water please,' she said when she emerged.

'Really?' said Harry, offering her a glass. 'Kate Winslet doesn't strike me as the revolting-Polyjuice type.'

'She's a Muggle,' said Jasmine, grimacing. 'They're nothing like us—it's a wonder we can even interbreed.'

Her snobbery surfaced repeatedly as they ate, and he eventually called her on it. 'How can I possibly meet your approval, when so many other people don't?'

His question seemed to amuse her, and she said, 'It started when you slandered the lords. I witnessed the outrage first hand, and it was terribly funny. My husband–'

She stopped short, and Harry said, 'Is he a lord?'

'Yes. And my cousin is as well. They weren't pleased.'

He didn't ask whether they'd signed the letter, knowing she'd already revealed too much. 'Shall I assume they'd be horrified to know you're with me tonight?'

A look of pleasure crossed her face, and she took a sip of wine. 'Merlin, yes! But I behaved properly all my life. I bore magical children and have always been a credit to my family. I upheld wizarding traditions, just as I was taught, and I'm certain my portrait will be displayed prominently. I was painted in my youth, after all.'

Recalling how Banthora had deliberately imbued her portrait with her own personality, Harry asked, 'Do you spend a lot of time with it?'

'Yes, I talk to her every night. She'll know all my secrets after I'm gone.'

'And you're not afraid she'll reveal them?'

'I have a strong will,' said Jasmine. 'And my house has powerful background magic, so she needn't share anything she'd rather conceal. Although I've already enchanted her to be frank with those I'd deem worthy.'

'Really? There are charms for that?'

'And runes. They're complicated, of course, but I was a Ravenclaw. Perhaps Hermione Granger can assist you when the time comes.'

'I'm sure she could, but it'll be a while,' he said with disbelief.

'Surely not that long! You're Head of House, after all.'

'You're joking, right? I'm only nineteen!'

'I was painted at twenty-six, after my son showed accidental magic. It meant I'd successfully provided an heir and was worthy of being remembered.'

Harry was indignant on her behalf. 'So if you hadn't produced an heir, you wouldn't deserve a portrait?'

'I might have been painted regardless, because of my beauty,' she said, tilting her chin with pride. 'But producing an heir to a noble house guaranteed me a place on the manor walls. Portraits are costly, after all, and wall space isn't infinite.'

My guest rooms are, thought Harry. 'I'm sure your portrait will be admired for generations to come,' he said, knowing she enjoyed his flattery.

'And yours as well. Promise me you'll have it painted straight away!'

'Absolutely not! I'm far too young!' he protested, acutely aware of how Ron would react.

'No, you aren't. The only reason to wait is if you can't afford it—which isn't the case—or if you suspect no one will want to display it. But surely you'll have multiple portraits! In the seat of House Black, of course, and House Potter as well. The Ministry will probably want one, and maybe the Chudley Cannons if you win them the Cup. And at the rate you're going, I wouldn't be shocked if the goblins hang your portrait somewhere.'

'Now you're just talking bollocks. Yes, my descendants will probably want one, but I've hardly ever seen a portrait my age.'

'That doesn't mean they can't paint it now—the artist can age it later if you'd rather look more distinguished. And the sooner you have it painted, the more you can endow it with your personality.' With a raw look of desire, she said, 'And your charm, of course.'

Harry coloured under her predatory gaze, but he was piqued by her suggestion. 'But wouldn't it be egotistical to commission a portrait so young?'

Her expression changed, and for a moment he glimpsed her true age. 'Have you ever wished you had paintings of your parents? Of course you did—how old were they when they died?'

'Twenty-one,' he said, slightly emotional. 'But they died in a war, and normally wizards live a long time.'

'So you don't still have enemies? Or did you search the rooms and deprive me of my wand just to impress me?'

'No. I still have enemies,' he said dully. 'I know they're plotting against me in Azkaban, and there are probably others as well.'

Her eyes gleamed with triumph. 'Then really it's only prudent to sit for a portrait now. Do you need the name of an artist?'

'No, I have one already,' said Harry with a sigh, wondering how he'd conceal this from Ron. Because I'm completely fucked if Janet ever finds out.

They continued eating, and Jasmine excused herself to drink more Polyjuice Potion. Harry took the opportunity to tell Kreacher he was still safe, and soon Jasmine returned. She drained a glass of water then said, 'Polyjuice is utterly vile. If you ever agree to fuck me, I'm taking a youth potion.'

'Do I need to cut off your wine supply?' he asked, laughing.

'I'm fine,' she said imperiously. 'You've merely lowered my barriers. I'd probably spill all my secrets if you asked.'

Harry could tell she wanted to reveal her identity, but he was reluctant to ask. After all, if she'd really wanted him to know, she'd have told him when he arrived. 'I don't want your secrets,' he said. 'I much prefer the mystery.'

She pouted, and if he weren't already convinced she was telling the truth about her beauty, that pout would have done it. 'Fine,' she huffed, 'but you have to tell me one of your secrets.'

'I haven't any! Literally none, except for things that are classified.'

'What about your tattoo?' asked Jasmine. 'Did you end up getting one?'

'Er, yeah,' he said, embarrassed. 'But I really shouldn't show it to you.'

Her face lit up again. 'Why, where is it?'

'My shoulder, but I'd have to take off my shirt.' Jasmine looked at him expectantly, and he said, 'I'm not sure Fiona would appreciate that.'

'Oh, come on. You posed in your underwear, so it's not like I'd see anything you haven't already shown the world.' She pouted again, and this time she batted her eyelashes.

Bloody hell, that really works, noted Harry, and he removed his outer robes. 'I originally keyed it to my Light magic,' he said, unbuttoning his waistcoat. 'But I had trouble turning it off, and the tattoo got stuck, so now I can control it with a charm.'

She clearly enjoyed watching him disrobe, which embarrassed him, and he avoided eye contact until he was down to his vest. He pulled back the sleeve to reveal his tattoo, and she exclaimed, 'Oh, it's so big!'

'Yeah, I had a lot to drink first,' said Harry, ignoring her subtext. 'But there's a lot of detail, so it's probably good there's enough room.'

'Toujours puissant ... how deliciously half-blood! Walburga must be rolling in her grave.'

'Did you know her?'

'Yes, but never mind that. Show me the other version.'

He cast the charm wandlessly, and the tattoo transformed to show Padfoot, Prongs, and Moony, along with the wreath of lilies.

'Mischief managed ... fantastic. Now show me your Light magic!' she ordered, sounding shockingly like Tuttle.

'I beg your pardon!'

'You heard me. Come on, let's see it.'

Harry wanted to protest, out of loyalty to Fiona, but her advice had been unambiguous: 'She paid for the Harry Potter experience. She mightn't get the sex, but she should definitely get the love.'

'If you insist,' he said, 'but let me get dressed first.'

'Of course,' said Jasmine. 'It's important you feel comfortable.'

Her tone was both bossy and maternal, reminding him of Narcissa, which prompted feelings of love. He hastily buttoned his shirt and waistcoat, then pulled on his outer robes and said, 'You've already seen my Light magic, if you were at the gala. I nearly burst with it during the auction.'

'Perhaps, but you didn't glow.'

Harry had almost forgotten people equated Light magic with glowing, since it had become completely optional. 'Oh, of course. Shall I hold your hand?'

'Hold anything you like,' she murmured, extending both hands to him.

He took them and began to glow, willing his magic to embrace her. She seemed ready to be blown away, but after a minute she said, 'I can't feel anything.'

He opened his eyes, which had closed automatically, and Jasmine's disappointment was plain. 'Nothing?' he asked, stroking her palm with his thumb.

A tear rolled down her cheek. 'No—probably because I've practised the Dark Arts my whole life. I learnt them as a girl to contain my emotions, and they've always powered my magic.'

'Can't you stop?'

'I no longer practice Dark curses,' she said, clearly seeking his approval, and he squeezed her hands. 'Not that I ever used them—I've always been kept from harm. But I no longer know how to cast even the simplest charm without a kernel of Dark magic.'

Harry expressed sympathy, and she continued, still emotional. 'For years it was pride—in my beauty, brains, and circumstances. But now I use fear. Fear of ageing, and invisibility.' She began to cry in earnest, and he gave her a handkerchief. 'It's already happened,' she said. 'You walked right past me at the gala without a second look.'

'I'm sorry,' he began, but she cut him off.

'You did nothing wrong. The ballroom was packed, and you can't look at everyone. And for all I know, your girlfriend was right behind me.' Jasmine wiped her eyes and said, 'I'm sure she can feel your Light magic. She's probably caught it by now.'

'Not that I'm aware of, but she can feel it sometimes. In fact ...' began Harry, remembering the scarf he'd given her. 'Do you have some kind of garment I could enchant? A scarf, perhaps? I don't know if it'll work, but it's worth a try.'

Jasmine produced a silken shawl, gold to complement her dress. 'What are you planning?' she asked, puffy-eyed but no longer crying.

'It's a charm my Light Arts teacher taught me, but I've never cast it alone. Hermione and I always pool our magic—we have an affinity, it seems.'

'And it'll turn my shawl into a Light artefact?' she asked with concern. 'Is that safe?'

'Oh!' he exclaimed. 'Good question. If I succeed, and then you practise Dark magic whilst wearing it, there could be a problem.'

She inhaled sharply. 'What kind of problem?'

'I don't think it would kill you,' he said, frowning. 'But it might clash with your Dark magic and burn it out.'

'Burn it out! You mean, I'd lose that bit of magic?'

'I don't know for sure, but you might. I've definitely seen weird things happen.'

Jasmine had backed away and her expression was pure terror. 'I thought you were safe!' she quavered.

'I'm sorry, I am safe. The only time a problem occurred was truly unique, I think. But it's probably good I didn't handle your wand.'

She relaxed and moved closer to him again. 'Then you are dangerous,' she said in a low voice. 'And yes, please enchant my shawl. I promise not to perform magic whilst wearing it.'

Harry sat down and set the shawl on the table. He took a minute to generate love, not thinking of any individual, but allowing the emotion to arise on its own. He looked at Jasmine and simultaneously saw her beauty—or Kate Winslet's—and the scared old woman inside.

He felt Hermione by his side as he cast the charm, and Jasmine's shawl billowed into the air. He caught and handed it to her, and she wrapped it around her shoulders. 'Do you feel anything?' he asked.

For a moment she was silent, and he watched the artifice fade from her demeanour. 'It's hard to describe,' she said, sounding almost girlish. 'It's like the summer before I got my Hogwarts letter—the last summer I was permitted to be a child. I'd had tutors for years, but Father insisted I have a break before leaving home. Some days I'd spend exploring outdoors, and I'd come back in with leaves in my hair or even scrapes on my cheeks, and Mother would heal me. Or I'd spend all day with a book, immersing myself in tales of Merlin and Morgana, and only dinner could tear me away.'

She looked at Harry and said, 'That was a very long time ago. And I never looked back—my school years were a triumph, after all. I excelled in my studies, and the heirs to two noble houses literally duelled over me. But that summer,' she said, pulling the shawl tighter. 'That summer I was only me. And I'd nearly forgotten about it.'

The rest of their evening was lovely. He showed her how to work the radio and dance like a Muggle, and they also danced as Narcissa had taught him. But he ignored the advice about containing the Look and instead gave Jasmine his undivided attention. 'Make sure the artist captures that,' she ordered. 'A good portrait should be as magnetic as its subject.'

She promised to send him instructions about training it—through her solicitor, of course. They lingered over goodbyes, and he asked about the rest of her evening. 'Will you go straight home, or spend the night here?'

'Why, are you wavering?' she joked.

'No, I'm just wondering about your return to normal life.' Fiona had described the letdown of going home after his parties, and finding herself tired and alone.

'I'll go home,' Jasmine declared. 'I want to tell my portrait everything.'

Harry kissed her hand at the door, then Apparated home from the hotel stairwell, as he'd done after his night with Penelope. He reassured Kreacher that he was all right, and the elf dropped hints that Master should wear silver brocade more often. After changing into normal robes, Harry travelled by Floo to Fiona's house and found her reading in bed.

'You're alive!' she exclaimed, setting her book down.

'Didn't Kreacher update you?'

'Of course he did, but now I can see for myself.' She looked at his robes and said , 'Did you change so I wouldn't see you'd buttoned them wrong?'

'Very funny,' said Harry, leaning in to kiss her. 'Although I did show her my tattoo—she heard the American broadcast.'

He told her all about his date, except for what Jasmine had revealed in confidence. But he was reluctant to tell her about the portrait, and he put it off till the end. 'Er, she may have convinced me to get my portrait painted,' he said sheepishly.

'Of course you'll have a portrait,' said Fiona. 'They'll hang one at the Daily Prophet if nowhere else.'

He realised she was missing the point. 'No, I mean now. She suggested I get it painted straight away.'

'But you're only nineteen!' she blurted, staring at him.

Mortified, he said, 'I know, that's what I told her. But she said there's no reason to delay if I can afford it, and if I know someone will want to display it.'

She was frowning, and Harry felt unpleasantly like a little kid. 'I've never heard of anyone getting their portrait painted so young,' said Fiona. 'But she's probably right—there's no good reason to put it off.' With a rueful laugh, she added, 'If only Rob had sat for one. I don't know whether I'd have liked it, but it might have been nice for Matthew.'

Harry stroked her hand and for a moment they were silent, as was common after a mention of Rob. 'So it's not too egotistical?' he asked.

'Not under the circumstances. But for Merlin's sake, keep it secret!'

He held her close that night, grateful she understood him so well. And in a marked contrast to Jasmine, when Harry felt a surge of Light magic, Fiona sighed in her sleep.