Tom's not a happy worker, Harry meets an unfamiliar face and our couple go to a party.

LAST TIME: Harry and Tom had NEWTs, which Harry got through mainly with the motto 'well, at least that's over'. As exams came to a close, he ran into Septimus, who revealed that he had a new girlfriend. Slytherin threw an end-of-exams party at Rupert's prompting, whilst Harry and Tom expressed their new relationship publicly. Atticus objected, and Harry discovered that it was mostly due to jealousy. As the party was in full swing, Peter Rowling crashed in with the news that Dumbledore had killed Grindelwald (yes: killed), and there was a divide in Slytherin reactions. Cassius had a chat with Harry, where he warned Harry that his actions would have consequences both bad and good, as ominously as ever. Harry and Tom shared a romantic dance and Harry encouraged Tom not to become a dark lord. Harry then met with Merrythought and discovered she was retiring. Harry received an offer to take his TOADs, and Tom revealed that he had successfully applied to a ministry placement program at Harry's urging and, after revealing that the placement came with a flat, he offered to share it with Harry, who agreed. To continue of relationship bonding, on the night before leaving Hogwarts Harry had a bit of a panic and Tom comforted him with (drolly-phrased) promises of security and support. The final day arrived and the end of year feast saw Harry approached by Myrtle, Chloe Babbage, and Druella. Our Hogwarts gang had a little photo session by the Great Lake, before they embarked onto the boats to cross the lake one final time. In a series of letters at the end of the chapter, we learned that Harry had narrowly made his offer, thanks to Merrythought ensuring a remark of his Herbology exam.

Tom would begrudgingly admit that inviting Harrison to live with him may have been a little hasty. It wasn't that they weren't getting on exactly, it was just that they perhaps hadn't been quite prepared. Tom and Harrison were used to negotiating their relationship under the gaze of others: they woke up in a room filled with their dorm-mates, they ate surrounded by others, their moments alone were stolen snatches of privacy. Living together was very different. They literally had no choice in spending time with one another, and sometimes there were moments, sitting together in silence, conversation exhausted, that Tom wondered whether their relationship would really last. Whether their morals were too different, or their tempers too easily ignited.

The flat had two bedrooms, luckily, because Merlin knew what would have happened had Harrison and Tom not had their own space. But sometimes Tom could feel the discomfort sizzling in the air. What were they supposed to do? Neither of them had been privy to particularly functional relationships early on. Should they snog, talk, fight? It was especially apparent when they prepared their dinners separately: Tom was picky, and whilst it had gone unnoticed at the Hogwarts banquets, Harrison had soon gotten frustrated at preparing a meal only to be told there was 'too much garlic'. They adopted a tricky choreography in the rather cramped kitchen, swapping use of the sideboard and the stove, but there were moments, squeezing past one another, that they would stop, exchange a look, and be instantly guiltily aware that this was something they should be doing as one. Tom wasn't sure what could be done to mend the discomfort; if it would heal with time or needed to be addressed. He wasn't even sure if Harrison had properly noticed.

They hadn't even had sex, which Tom knew in his heart wasn't a huge issue- they had barely been dating six months and some couples waited years, but they were two young men in a flat all of their own. Wasn't that what they were supposed to be doing? They hardly lacked for passion, but it somehow felt like crossing an unbreachable line.

Tom's placement both soothed and exacerbated the issue. Because the education centre was situated near the Ministry, Harrison would sometimes walk with Tom to his introductory sessions. They might stop off for coffee or wander through Hyde's Park for a bit, and in those moments, everything was fine. Perfect, even. Tom would adjust Harrison's tie and Harrison would bemoan that the blasted things were ever invented, before they parted with a fond kiss. But that was only on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and sometimes they went days without seeing one another. Tom didn't want to be clingy - indeed, he enjoyed his personal space as much as the next man - but he was left with the unsettling feeling that Harrison was regretting his choice.

Tom disliked being a regret.

His placement itself also wasn't living up to expectation. Tom hadn't been sure what he'd be doing at the ministry: Slughorn and the job description had been very vague, but it turned out he was mostly fetching coffee and sending memos. He was assured on his first day that he'd get to do more and more 'as his skills developed' but he was fairly sure that he was capable of more than reminding Mary Lauper to book a hair appointment. He'd gotten all O's in his NEWTs, for Mordred's sake.

Tom had started in the Magical Department of Games and Sports, which also accounted for much of his (lack of) excitement. If there was anything Tom hated more than fetching coffee, it was Quidditch. He and Harrison had gotten into countless fights about how ridiculous the sport was. And he felt just as much excitement about the whole affair (read: none at all) when Mr Thomas rushed through the door, brandishing a letter.

"We've got 'em, boys!"

Those in the office rose to their feet. Someone - Tom didn't know who - called out, "What are you going on about, Curtis?"

"The Committee!" Mr Thomas dramatically opened the letter, clearing his throat. "In order to thank Britain for its part in ending the dreadful recent conflict, blah blah blah, Dumbledore, blah blah, very grateful, blah- listen here: The International Confederation of Wizards Quidditch Committee has taken the decision to allow Britain to host the 1948 Quidditch World Cup!"

"You mean-"

"Our bid got through. They fell for it!"

The department erupted into cheers. Streamers were sent hurtling into the air and sparkling balloons popped into existence. The cry went up to "get out the good stuff" and all work seemed forgotten. Tom leaned over to Mr Perkins, who he frequently found was the only other sensible person in the department.

"Surely we can't afford this," Tom said, hardly having to lower his voice for it to be covered by the noise of the party. "Constructing the stadium alone- and we're coming out of a war-"

"Oh, it'll pay back everything it costs and more," Mr Perkins said wisely. "The tourism will be unbelievable. And we'll flog the tickets for ten-times what they're worth. Quidditch fans are nuts."

Mr Perkins, Tom knew, was more of a Gobstones man.

He obviously wrongly interpreted Tom's expression, because he gave him a friendly nudge. "Don't worry. You'll get your tickets at a considerable discount; they practically give them away to the department. Probably so we don't go blabbing about the mark-up everyone else has to pay, eh?"

"Wonderful," Tom said. He leaned back, his mind whirring. "Just what I was hoping for."

Harry thought he might have taken on too much with this TOADS business. Harry knew he wasn't meant for academia- he could be clever, on occasion, but he wasn't good at focusing or organising his thoughts. He was more reactive, inventive. And he tended towards selective obsession, which didn't lend itself to a curriculum.

Today was the day he was scheduled to meet with his supervisor, and Harry would admit he was a little nervous. Tom had assured him he would be fine - "you're three-thousand times more intelligent than most of the nitwits who take up room on this planet"- but Harry struggled to take his words entirely to heart. He'd glanced through some of the prescribed textbooks in the past week and they were dense. Impossible to understand. Harry could barely define most of the words, even. He didn't think his supervisor would be very impressed by him.

Harry shuffled down the grandiose corridor of the education centre, making his way towards reception. Merlin, his palms were sweaty.

"Er, hi," he mumbled. "Harrison Peters? I'm meeting my supervisor."

The witch flicked her wand and squinted down at the quill which scrawled out Harry's fate.

"Room 32d," she said, giving him an encouraging smile. "Are you alright, dear? You look pale."

"I'm fine," Harry lied, and stumbled away to meet his fate.

Room 32d was deceptively unobtrusive. It was located up a secretive stairwell, and the door was a warm cherry wood, engraved with pretty little flowers. It was almost welcoming. He knocked on the door, his hand trembling before his eyes.

"Come in!"

He pushed open the door, expecting some distortion of Merrythought to be sat behind the desk, some titanic, intimidating figure who he'd always be slightly frightened of. But he was wrong. She was young, maybe in her late twenties, slightly chubby and with a round, kind face. Her dark hair fell in a cloud of frizz around her face, and under the candlelight it took on a rich glow. She was wearing possibly the most hideous cardigan Harry had ever seen: some lime green and knobbly mistake. She was effortlessly maternal, and as she turned a soft smile upon him, he felt utterly safe.

"Mr Peters," she beamed. "You're very punctual."

"I-I-" Harry swallowed. "Yes."

"Don't look so scared! We're just going to have a nice chat." She stretched out a welcoming arm. "Come and sit down."

Harry moved as if in a dream, padding towards an armchair that had no business looking that comfy. The room was nice too, full of soft furnishings and eclectic ornaments. It was, if he was honest, a little like Umbridge's office, but much less sickly and psychopathic. His supervisor moved with him to the fireplace-side seating.

"I suppose I should start by introducing myself," she said, settling herself into an armchair as well. "My name is Dorea Potter, but do call me Dorea. I don't hold with any of this 'Mrs. Potter' nonsense."

Harry barely heard the rest of what she said, his mind catching on that little word: Potter. His grandmother.

His grandmother.

He examined her anew with greedy fascination. The smile lines etched deeply into her face, the wand tucked absentmindedly behind her ear, the erratic way she tapped her foot, like she had too much energy for her body to contain; all took on deeper meaning. Here was a woman he shared blood with: proper, loving blood. Blood that had cared for him, nurtured him, he was sure of it. A woman who would love him unconditionally. A link to his past and assurance of the future. She would give birth to his father.

"-I know you might be concerned by my young age and gender, but I assure you, I have years of experience supervising the TOADS courses. My wider work is focused around the Department of Magical Education, and especially the concerning isolation of muggleborn children-"

"I trust you," Harry said.

"Oh." Dorea looked surprised for a moment. She flushed with pleasure. "Well. That's refreshing."

"You used to be engaged to Orion, didn't you?" Harry remembered.

"My cousin?"

"He's my best friend."

"Oh." Dorea's smile was thoughtful. "I always liked Orion. He's a good sort. But far too young, of course. I used to babysit him when he was still in nappies." She looked rueful. "Thank Morgana I escaped my family's rather medieval customs. And met Charlus, of course. I heard Orion wasn't so lucky," Dorea tutted. "Engaged to Walburga Black. She's a lovely girl, but we all know what she gets up to. Not that I hold it against her, but hardly good tidings for their marriage, is it? Not to Orion, anyway."

Harry startled.

"Teenagers think they're so subtle," Dorea said wryly.

"How did you meet your husband?" Harry asked suddenly.

"It was at work," Dorea mused, settling back into her armchair. "I was petitioning the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for check-ups on muggleborn children prior to their Hogwarts admissions, and Charlus was head of the Administrative Registration Department at the time. The petition fell through, but Charlus and I had gotten talking about our political views and such, and soon enough the conversation turned to how much we both liked the James Sisters- you know their song: 'Auror of the Skies'?- and then we were talking about our favourite restaurants and we had so much in common… and before you know it, I was telling Melania 'no thanks', and getting hitched." Dorea shrugged slightly bashfully, but she had a quiet confidence about her.

His grandparents loved each other, Harry realised, and he hadn't anticipated quite how much relief that would bring. He supposed it was quite the miracle considering current Pureblood culture. Dorea must have been strong, to turn her back on her family like that. Still, he had to wonder:

"Not to be offensive," he began cautiously, "but the Black family isn't exactly known for their… love and acceptance. How did you… I suppose what I want to say is-"

"I know what you mean," Dorea said, and Harry blushed a little. "I happened to take Arithmancy during my time at Hogwarts and fell in with a group of Hufflepuff girls. They were nearly all muggleborn, and when they would talk to me about going home and never so much as seeing magic for weeks on end; the stress that their parents went through trying to control a baby who could walk through walls without understanding why… well, it opened my eyes. And my mind."

She was wonderful, Harry decided. Everything he could have hoped for.

Dorea smiled sheepishly and summoned a paper file from her desk. "Pardon me, I do have a tendency to ramble. Back onto your TOADS, which is why we're both here. You're taking Defence and Magical Theory, correct?"

Harry nodded automatically.

"Well, in addition to your seminars and lectures, you'll be undergoing a year long project for Magical Theory resulting in a dissertation of 6,000 words. Most students choose to undergo an examination of some kind of magical artefact or theory; it keeps the project focused. Do you have anything in mind?"

"Er, not really?"

"Nothing that you're interested in and want to explore further? Or even something you've seen that sparked your interest?"

Harry bit his tongue. The obvious thing to say would be 'time turner'. But he already knew the Unspeakables didn't have the technology to send him home- they didn't even have it in the future. Harry would have to invent it. And so it was probably a little ambitious to charge straight in with the world-changing research. This was a research essay, after all.

A mysterious artefact he wanted to know more about.

Sirius tumbled backwards through the veil, a roguish smile frozen on his lips. He looked gently shocked, like Harry had just revealed a surprisingly good mark in an essay or like he'd won ten galleons in the lottery. He looked like he'd hardly noticed that he'd been struck by a curse that was sending him hurtling backwards into oblivion and, as he fell, he stretched out a beckoning arm. He was calling Harry home.

"I was reading about this veil the other day," Harry began, and the lie spilled from his tongue easily. "It, um, whispered when you went close to it. Dead loved ones, I think. It struck a chord with me. Do you know it?"

"The Veil of Death," Dorea said, raising an eyebrow. "The Unspeakables have only just started publishing research on it."

"Ominous name." Harry smiled uneasily. It sent a shiver down his spine, but perhaps if he learned more about it, he could learn what happened to Sirius. Perhaps Sirius wasn't dead. Perhaps he was just… waiting.

"The Unspeakables are notoriously cagey about their research," Dorea spoke slowly. "Are you sure you can't think of anything else?"

Harry sat back, disappointment racing through him. He could think of nothing but Sirius' face, covering by a hazy shadow. That absent grin fading away. But before Harry could be too disappointed, Dorea spoke again.

"However, if this is what you really want…?"

"It is," Harry said eagerly.

"I do believe I could do something about it. I have an in, you see." Dorea tapped the side of her nose conspiratorially. "Of course, you'd have to swear an oath not to speak of what you saw, and they'd vet your paper…"

"That's fine."

"Very well. Give me some time, and I'll get back to you." Dorea positively glowed at the prospect of helping him, her cheeks rosy and plump. "Now onto your timetable, you have two to three lectures a week…"

"Tom!" Harry called out, throwing his bag onto a chair as he walked into the flat. He shucked off his coat too, dramatically flinging it over the back of the same chair. If there was one thing he loved about the 1940s, it was the dramatic coats. And Tom. "Tom, are you here?"

"You're home." Tom emerged from his bedroom, half-dressed in a t-shirt and trousers.

Harry grinned. "I like the look."

"Do you?"

"Mmm," Harry hummed. "So much arm. But that's not what I wanted to talk about." He busied himself with making two cups of tea, setting the kettle to boil with a jab of his wand. "I had my first meeting with my supervisor."

"And?" Tom asked indulgently, leaning against the doorway. Harry tried to ignore what an attractive picture he painted.

"She's wonderful. She's helping me with this dissertation thing I have to do, and she's said she has contacts in the Department of Ministry - I want to do it on this death veil thing - and she's Dorea Potter!"

"The one Orion was engaged to?"

Harry dropped a tea bag into each mug, pouring in the water. "She married Charlus P-Potter." His tongue slipped over the familiar surname. "It's quite comforting, you know, to think that people can love that much. Enough to go against anyone that says they shouldn't."

"Perhaps you should push her in Orion's direction. She could give him some tips."

"Orion would never." Harry stirred in milk and heaped sugar into his own tea. "He cares too much for his family. Not that she didn't, I'm sure, but-"

"I know you worry about him," Tom said, finally pushing away from the door frame and slinking into the kitchen. Harry's breathing became just a little harder. "For some reason."

"Of course I worry," Harry said, shoving a mug into Tom's hand. "He's my friend. But he's not a child and he can make his own decisions. Even if it's the wrong one."

"People sometimes need a little direction."

"I've given Orion all the direction I can, short of tying him to a leash."

"Now there's an idea."

Harry choked mid-sip, banging a fist against his chest. "I wish you'd warn me before you say stuff like that," he wheezed, eyes watering.

"I was merely agreeing with you," Tom said teasingly. "You get worked up over such petty things."

"You haven't seen me get worked up yet," Harry warned, but the threat was probably lessened by the tea dribbling from his nose.

"I have an announcement of my own," Tom said, abruptly turning back towards the sofa. "But I'll let you finish your tea before you choke yourself to death."

"You have news?" Harry abandoned his tea to the kitchen counter. "Tell me!"

He managed to refrain from repeating himself like an eager puppy, but the way he bounced onto the sofa must have been similar enough, because Tom took a sip of his drink and murmured, "Down, boy."

"Tom, I will literally kill you if you don't tell me right now," Harry said, very seriously.

"I suppose if my life is in the balance…" Tom drawled faux-reluctantly, but he was clearly eager to share. He hid his obvious smile behind the rim of his mug. "I happened to learn today that a certain tournament may be visiting our shores, come 1948, and despite my own ambivalence I think you'll be quite excited."

Harry racked his brain. "But you don't mean."

"I probably do."

"The Quidditch world cup!"

"No, the Gobstones championship."

"Oh." Harry deflated. "I mean, Gobstones are fun-"

"Of course, I mean the Quidditch world cup. You're so gullible."

"Tom!" Harry protested, shoving him. "You're such a bastard!" He took a moment to realise what he'd said. "Oh shit, Tom, I didn't mean- I forgot-"

"It's quite alright."

It was usually at this moment that Rupert would jump in with a funny remark or Atticus would complain about muggles, but there was nothing but silence in the flat. Harry shifted uncomfortably on the sofa.

"No, it's not."

"It is. I know you were simply alluding to how deeply despicable I am. As you should." Tom tapped a finger to Harry's nose, and Harry knew he must have made the most ridiculous cross-eyed expression trying to follow it. His ridiculousness seemed to amuse Tom. "Besides, I've been informed that they sell tickets to members of the department piss-cheap to cover up the sticky fingers of corporate greed, so we'll be going to see some of this pointless broomstick posturing in person."

Harry laughed and threw himself onto Tom, enfolding him in a rare, tight hug. "But you don't even like Quidditch."

"I'll bring a book."

"You can't bring a book to the Quidditch World Cup!"

"Watch me."

Harry was about to launch into explaining the millions of reasons why Tom could not read during the Quidditch World Cup, when there was a knock at the door.

"I'll get it," Harry said, heaving himself off the sofa. As he did, Tom caught his sleeve and, although his grip was loose, Harry froze like it was binding.

"Leave it," Tom said softly.

"There's someone at the door-"

"They'll go."

Harry kept Tom's gaze and there was something so suddenly vulnerable there. He just didn't understand why.

"There's someone at the door," Harry repeated, and Tom's hand fell away. His chin dipped in defeat. Harry didn't understand, and he was caught, hesitating on a precipice.

"There's someone at the door," Tom reminded him dryly, and the spell was broken. Harry hurried away to answer the insistent knocks.

"Orion," Harry exclaimed as he opened the door, seeing his friend standing in their doorway. It was strange: they had been talking about him only moments ago. "It's late."

"I know," Orion fretted, fiddling with the brim of his hat. "It's just- could I speak to Tom?"

"Tom?" Call Harry arrogant, but he had rather assumed his best friend was there to see him, not his boyfriend.

"I had my supervision today."

Harry felt suddenly rather bad. He'd completely forgotten Orion had his too. "How did it go?"

"Fine, I think, but I need to do a dissertation for my Ancient Runes TOADS- like, can I just talk to Tom?"

"Yeah- er, yeah." Harry stepped back and allowed Orion to push past him into the flat. He glanced around the landing, frowning at the loud music coming from 43b. Neighbours. And then he closed the door and went in to see what all the fuss was about.

Orion was mid-pitch to Tom.

"-and we have to do this dissertation, see?"

"Harrison was telling me."

"-And my supervisor asked me what I wanted to do mine on, and all I could think about was your idea. About the phoenix as the seventh runic number? I can't even remember when you came up with it-"

"I do." Tom caught Harry's eye. "Harrison's nose was enlarged."

"Atticus hexed me," Harry said. "It wasn't a personal style choice. Besides, you fixed it."

"That I did."

"-And the idea hasn't stopped running through my head," Orion continued, looking rather manic. "It's inspired. And I mentioned it to my supervisor and he was unbelievably excited- I explained it was your idea, of course, and if I wrote my paper on it, I'd obviously credit you, but I could prove and test it- would you let me? Write my dissertation on your theory?"

To Orion's eyes, it must have seemed like Tom was in deep contemplation as he sunk back into the sofa, his eyebrow drawn together and his lips pressed tight. But Harry could see the mischief twinkling in his eyes, could spy the slight uptick to the corner of his mouth.

"You're playing with him," Harry said disapprovingly. "Just put him out of his misery."

"Please?" Orion added, his eyes wide and glistening with hope.

"Fine," Tom sighed. "But I demand full credit. And you're not getting a Christmas present."

"Thank you!" Orion squealed, and for a moment it looked like he would try to hug Tom. Obviously deciding that was a bad idea (quite rightly, too), he instead flung himself upon Harry. "How did your supervision go, by the way. I forgot to ask," Orion fussed, drawing back and straightening out the collar of Harry's jumper.

"All right. I'm being supervised by Dorea Potter."

"Dorea! She's lovely. She's let herself go a bit, but she's lovely. I just sent her an invitation- oh! That reminds me. I am having a bit of a shindig this Saturday. Well, it's more my mother's shindig, but-" Orion sighed, putting his thoughts together. "It's my engagement party."

"Shouldn't that have happened ages ago? You and Walburga have been engaged for over a year."

"Officially, she's been in a period of mourning. It's only just been made official. Last week, actually, so…" Orion managed a weak grin. "Yay us. Anyway, practically my entire family is invited, and it would be a hundred times more bearable if you would come. Please. And Tom too," he added, as if only just remembering that Harry and Tom came as a package deal now.

"I dunno, Orion," Harry winced. "I'm not sure I belong in a room full of purebloods." Truly, he couldn't imagine anything worse.

"Nonsense." Tom swept to his feet and wrapped an arm around Harry's waist. "You can entertain Orion with whatever inane dribble you two usually come up with and I," he breathed, bending his head so it drew close to Harry's ear, "will network."

"You just want to convince sometimes to sponsor you so that you can get out of the Magical Games Department," Harry said accusingly, and Tom shrugged.

"The world doesn't often offer opportunities."

"The world isn't offering anything: Orion is."

"So you'll both come?" Orion said cheerily, apparently ignoring everything he'd just heard. "Wonderful. I'll send you an official invitation. Quick warning: the owls are a bit scary, but just offer them some raw meat and they should leave you alone."

A bloodthirsty owl. That, Harry couldn't help but feel, was an omen.

And Tom could at least try to look a little less smug.

Merlin, Harry hated Grimmauld Place. There was just something about it that marked it out as a place of misery. It had been true when he'd first seen it, and it was just as true in the 1940s. Harry didn't know exactly what made it so completely awful. Perhaps it was the hatred with which Melania Black greeted her guests, or the painful-looking grip Walburga had on Orion's arm, but Harry's skin crawled. The engaged pair look deeply uncomfortable, and as he watched their dead eyes and forced smiles, Harry just wanted to take them away and sit them down in front of a milkshake.

Harry and Tom had decided that Tom would be introducing himself merely as 'Orion's friend' and leaving out the 'Harry's boyfriend' part. Although the wizarding world didn't usually care, at least if it was men involved, they didn't think the Black family would be the ideal test subjects. And Tom wanted to remain as uncontroversial as possible, to aid whatever buttering-up and shoe-licking he had prepared for the evening. And so, as Harry and Tom entered the lavishly-decorated drawing room - which had been magically expanded and cleared away to form a kind of ballroom - they split apart. Tom set off to talk to Merlin knew who, and Orion swooped in to grab Harry's arm.

"Thank Morgana you're here," he muttered. "Mother's being unbearable and Lucretia's in a mood."

"When isn't she?"

"Mother was dolling Meissa up and Lucretia- she objected, and they had an awful argument. They're sequestered somewhere upstairs."

"Joy abound in the Black household," Harry said drily.

As he spoke, Lucretia descended the staircase. She looked beautiful, barely a hair out of place to suggest she'd ever argued with anyone, wearing a white, flimsy gown that made her look rather like a forest nymph. Her expression was stony, like she was just daring someone to try and talk to her. She was holding Meissa by the hand and, whilst Meissa's dress was also quite lovely, her face was splotchy and red, traces of dark makeup lingering around her eyes.

Lucretia ignored the admiring glances and marched up to Orion and Harry, dragging Meissa alongside her.

"You look nice, 'Cretia," Orion said diplomatically.

"I know." Lucretia barely spared Harry a glance. "Where's mother?"

"Greeting guests."

"Of course she is. Did she say anything to you?"

"She's barely said a word except to demand I arrange this whole thing."

Lucretia's gaze softened for a moment, and she placed a hand on Orion's shoulder. "I'm sorry. You know if I could stop it…"

"I know." Orion shrugged. "It's not that bad. Do you really need to talk to Mother again? I'd rather there wasn't another fight."

"She's trying to stop my sexualisation in its inevitable tracks," Meissa said, and then she smiled sweetly at Harry. "Hello, Harrison."

Harry was maybe 70% sure that she didn't understand what she was saying. Alright, 60%. 50.

"Just keep it down," Orion requested, and Lucretia inclined her head before sweeping off towards Melania.

Harry and Orion watched as Melania caught sight of Meissa and started gesturing pointedly. Lucretia didn't appear to respond well to that. They definitely weren't keeping it down.

"Ah well," Orion sighed. "It was a distant hope."

As Melania got more and more het up, Harry watched her lift her hand to pull at her choker and he thought he saw something odd on her neck. A scar.

"She insisted on this party, you know," Orion said. "Father was happy to keep it more understated, in respect for Apus, but Mother said an engagement party was absolutely necessary. This morning, I had to drag her out of bed and dress her myself."

Harry knew Orion would never say anything bad about anyone, especially not his family, but Harry suspected he was on the verge.

"She's depressed," Harry said. He remembered days, especially in the summer, when he could barely stagger to his feet in order to open a window.

Orion didn't respond, except to wince as Lucretia marched away and Melania stormed towards the kitchen, leaving Meissa to greet the guests. "Father's started taking sleeping potions. She sobs through the night."

"Is she seeing anyone? A mind healer?"

Orion drew back his shoulders and straightened up, and it was very clear that he was speaking someone else's words. "Blacks don't see mind healers. We don't need it."

"She's crying in the kitchen."

Orion didn't appear to have an answer for that. Harry thought something ought to be done about Melania, she clearly wasn't getting any better, but he could hardly just shove the Black matriarch into St Mungo's psychiatric ward, could he? Still, he couldn't see this ending well.

As an unfamiliar witch grabbed Orion to congratulate him on his engagement, this seemed to send out some kind of signal to the other partygoers, who had previously been focusing their well-wishes upon Walburga or watching the Lucretia-Melania conflict with fascination. Harry hovered uncomfortably at his side, painfully aware that some of these people must have been aware that Harry was wearing Orion's second-hand robes, lent to him for the evening. He certainly didn't match up to his best friend: who was clothed in only the best custom fit; Harry was hardly Tom, who could make anything look like it cost a thousand galleons. Harry and Orion must look like the prince and the pauper, and that was how he expected it would go until they both shuffled into their graves. And Harry would probably have Orion's second-hand burial shroud, just to top it off.

At last, someone came along that he recognised.

"Dorea," Harry said happily, waving her over.

"Harrison!" Dorea smiled back. She was in another terrible outfit: a bright blue dress with feathers all over it. "I'm glad to see you could make it."

"I hope you're enjoying yourself," Orion said, the 'someone needs to' going unsaid.

"I am! But I can feel Arcturus growing more and more enraged with every second that I encroach on his noble house, so we'll see how long that enjoyment lasts, eh?" Dorea beamed. "I've gotten to know Cedrella, here."

She gestured to a girl who Harry hadn't yet noticed, who was standing slightly behind her shoulder. She was pretty in an unassuming way: her clothing just loose enough to conceal her shape but not obviously hideous.

Cedrella smiled shyly. "Septimus told me about you, Harrison."

"You're the girlfriend!" Harry realised.

"We met whilst you were saving the school," she laughed slightly.

"You'd be surprised at how many times I've been told that," Harry muttered- slightly bitterly, it must be said.

"What's this about you saving the school?" Dorea asked, and for some reason, Harry blushed. It felt a little like he'd always imagined it would feel if his parents had been around to question his Hogwarts antics. He scratched his leg with the toe of his shoe.

"Er, nothing. It was nothing."

Orion, of course, wouldn't let that stand.

"Grindelwald's men attacked Hogsmeade," he said eagerly, "and Harry started fighting back! JHe's very powerful, you know. And then Tom joined in- and no one got hurt, not properly, thanks to them."

"I lost a finger," Harry pointed out.

Dorea cooed and grabbed Harry's hand, fussing over his stump. "Oh, you poor thing. And such a hero too."

Harry's blush deepened, and he snatched his hand back. He mumbled something along the lines of "it was nothing" and "focus on Orion, he's the engaged one".

Harry backed away, leaving the three to their conversation, but the further he moved away from Orion, the more and more aware he became of how much he hated nearly everyone in the room. These people who were cheerily chatting away whilst Orion's death sentence was sealed. His eyes automatically sought out Arcturus: chuckling at a no doubt humourless joke. It was Arcturus who Harry truly despised. Melania had at least put up a few token protests, and Harry struggled to properly hate a woman who was quite obviously coming apart at the seams. But Arcturus had ruined his son's life with a smile and was now making eyes at some cousin or other whilst Orion silently drowned. Harry's fingers twitched, and his magic hummed within him.

He couldn't kill Orion's father, he reminded himself. He certainly couldn't kill Orion's father in a crowded room at an engagement party.

Harry felt suddenly starved of oxygen and he stumbled back like a wounded animal. Escape. He had to escape. He flew out of the room, heading down an inconspicuous corridor that he knew led to the garden. His heart pounded in his chest and he was so unspeakably frustrated. What was it with this family?

As Harry lurched into the gardens, he was so angry he could barely see. He let out a strangled roar to the skies and collapsed onto a bench. His head dropped into his hands and he contemplated how he could possibly be considering letting this affair go ahead. It was different from last summer. It was happening now.

"Harrison?"

Harry's head shot up. Walburga peered down at him with a look of polite concern on her face, an emerald shawl pulled around her shoulders.

Harry froze. "Hello."

"Hullo."

"How much of that did you…?"

"Enough." Walburga frowned. "Nice… yell. It was very dramatic."

"Well, I was quite, er, emotional."

"I could tell."

There was a silence between them, and Harry realised it was his turn to continue the conversation. He opened his mouth, planning to ask her how her evening was going, but instead what slipped out was: "Have you spoken to Druella?"

Walburga's expression iced over. "Not recently, no."

But Harry's tongue wouldn't stop moving. "She's teaching Quidditch at Hogwarts now, you know."

"Mm."

"She was telling me that, part of the reason she's taken on the job… it's so she can have a salary that would support two people."

"Well, I can't imagine her husband will appreciate that."

Harry gritted his teeth. The facade of this whole affair was getting to him. "People know, you know. I was speaking to Dorea Potter-"

"Don't."

"Why do you care about what people think? Druella doesn't."

Walburga turned away, her body taut. "You have no idea what Druella wants."

"I know better than you." Harry rose, following her down the garden path.

"You're such a hypocrite," she spat. "I 'care about what people think?' I heard Tom introduce himself to people, you know. 'Orion's friend' my arse."

"That's different. That was Tom's choice."

Walburga spun on her heel, fire blazing in her eyes. "And this is my choice. This is how I choose to live my life, Harrison Peters. Don't you dare judge that." She slumped, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Haven't we already had this argument?"

"The last time we argued, it was about your startlingly bigoted views on muggleborns."

"And I stand by that. They're dangerous."

"We're all dangerous."

"You think I don't know that?" Walburga watched Harry closely. "You have an awful lot of influence over Orion, Harrison. Be careful how you use it."

"I'm trying to be."

She smiled humourlessly and turned away, trekking back up towards the house.

"It's a wonderful party!" Harry called after her.

"It's a funeral!" she called back. Well, at least she was self-aware.

Harry watched her walk back up to the house, striking a determined silhouette against the glow of Grimmauld Place. Harry wrapped his arms around himself. Fuck, it was cold.

"That was a fascinating conversation."

Harry jumped, despite immediately recognising the timbre of the voice. "Jesus, Tom! Can no one initiate a conversation like a normal person?"

Tom wrapped his scarf around Harry's neck and coupled it with a warming charm. "Perhaps you just have terrible awareness of your surroundings."

"It would explain a lot." Harry took a moment to calm himself down, and Tom seemed content to stand there with him. "How did you know where to find me?"

"I saw you leave. Glaring at everyone intently and storming out isn't as subtle as you seem to think it is."

Harry rolled his eyes. "It wasn't everyone. Orion's father, mostly."

Tom hummed doubtfully. "Walburga seemed cheerful."

"She's on a self-destructive spiral." Harry gestured helplessly. "I honestly want to know: is there a Black gene or something that demands you make the worst choices possible for your own happiness?"

"It's called having familial expectations to live up to."

"You're such a misery guts." Harry smiled reluctantly. "Did you get what you wanted?"

"I certainly did. Did you know that Arcturus Black is friends with the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister?"

"No, but it wouldn't surprise me."

"Well, he is. He's quite the unpleasant specimen, but I made my case to him and he seemed amenable. Part of the reason I'm stuck in Magical Sports for now is because my application was so late; most of the successful applicants got to pick their departments. But Mr Roberts told me he can do some tinkering. Within six months, I should be working within the Minister's office. Perhaps even as an assistant."

"That's great news," Harry said. He had difficulty conjuring up the appropriate level of enthusiasm considering the generally depressing atmosphere, but he took Tom's hand and squeezed it tightly. "Can we go and say goodbye to Orion then? I think I've had enough."

"Certainly. And we can even sneak out the back."

Boop, we get into unfamiliar territory that Vivy will have to start making up. A job? What is this? Higher education who? I don't know her. xD
Also, a reminder that I do know canonically Dorea isn't Harry's grandmother. We're just ignoring it.

Sometimes it just hits you that real people read this fanfiction, not just avatars. Actual people who could be reading real books that aren't written by a 17 year old. So thank you for reading. It means a lot xx