Last Chapter: Realization struck him. "You're Malfoy's owl!"

"What? Of course it's a letter! What else would it be?" Really, the man was completely batty.

"It's an invitation," said the owlmaster. "They've sent one to you every year for the past few summers at just around this time, but they never got through of course."

Taranis screeched furiously, feathers standing on end, and Harry took an involuntary step backwards. "Now, Taranis, it's hardly Mr. Potter's fault," the old man soothed. "It's quite an insult for an owl like him to be unable to deliver a letter he's been entrusted with," Mr. Eeylop explained. "He comes here in an ill mood each year in hopes that he will encounter your Hedwig so that he can pass the post off to her, but she so rarely stops by that he's never managed it."

"How do you know that it's an invitation?" asked Harry. "Did you read it in the past or something?"

Mr. Eeylop looked horrified at the thought. "Great Scott, lad! I wouldn't read mail not addressed to me! It would be completely unprofessional…horrible thought, horrible thought."

"Sorry, I assumed…"

"No, no, no," said Mr. Eeylop flapping his hands at Harry. "I know because they send out nearly two hundred each year to various wizards and witches throughout Britain. They are invitations to an annual birthday party for young master Malfoy."

"They send out two hundred invitations to a birthday party?" Harry felt his eyebrows lift. That seemed just like the sort of thing the Malfoy family would do. "But why would they invite me to it? I mean, Lucius Malfoy is a Death Eater, and Draco and I aren't exactly chums."

"What does that matter?" asked Eeylop in genuine confusion. "You're families aren't bloodfeuding are they?"

Harry stared at the man. "I don't know what that means, but I don't think so. Still, I don't think it's a good idea to invite someone to your home if you've tried to off them before."

"That's just politics, Mr. Potter," he said airily. "It would be improper for them not to invite you because of that. You're the heir of a fairly old family, and you are their son's age. To not invite you would show a lack of manners on their part. If you really don't get along, then they probably don't expect you to come anyway."

Unconvinced, Harry unrolled the scroll and began to read the elegant dark green script:

To: The Esteemed Heir of the Potter House

From: Lady Carina Narcissa Malfoy nee Black

I write on behalf of my husband to invite you to a formal ball in honor of the 16th year of our son and heir, Draconis Lucian Malfoy. The celebration will be held at our home in Wiltshire on June the 30th at 7:00 in the evening. You are welcome to bring a guest if you desire. We await your response.

The letter ended with a delicate copy of the Malfoy family crest inked in gold onto the parchment. Harry stared at it in bemusement. He really had been invited to Draco Malfoy's birthday party. How…weird. Ron would die of shock if he told him.

Mr. Eeylop cleared his throat. "Was I right, Mr. Potter? Is it an invitation?"

"It is," said Harry. He still couldn't quite believe it. "I guess I should send them a note back saying I'm not going." He looked at the variety of mail supplies littering the tables around them, noting as he did so that there was a cage of live gerbils labeled "Snacks" to his left. "Do you mind if I borrow some parchment and a quill?"

Mr. Eeylop blinked rapidly several times, then tilted his head to one side. "Mr. Potter," he said in a tentative voice, "do you know how to send a proper refusal?"

"Err…Is there some sort of special way to do it? I thought I would just, you know, say I wasn't coming."

"Oh," said Mr. Eeylop worriedly. "I don't think you should do that. There are ways to do these things. Rules of etiquette to be followed. If you don't send the right sort of response you'll insult them."

Harry was about to open his mouth to tell the old wizard that he didn't care much if Malfoy was insulted, when he realized that it wasn't entirely true. He didn't want to be deliberately rude to Malfoy's mother even though her son was a prat. He pondered this for a moment, idly tapping the parchment in his hand, before he realized why the idea bothered him. No one else had ever invited Harry to a birthday party before, and he was, he realized with embarrasment, flattered that Narcissa Malfoy had sent him such a nice invitation. He didn't want to offend the family when, for once, they actually hadn't done anything wrong. Besides, Lucius Malfoy was currently in prison because of Harry, and even though the latest Daily Prophet had said the Ministry was considering releasing him because of "lack of sufficient evidence," it just seemed too mean to be impolite to Lady Malfoy, who he didn't really know at all.

"Well, how do I do it right, then?" he asked Mr. Eeylop. "I don't want to upset them or anything."

"When is the party?"

"June 30th."

"That gives you ten days," said the old man. "So you'll need to reply within five. That's plenty of time for you to get some books on proper wizarding etiquette."

"Err…alright," said Harry. "But couldn't you just tell me?"

"No, no, Mr. Potter," he shook his head. "I'm afraid that the Eeylop's, though a pureblood family, are not members of the upper social echelons. I only know that there is a proper way to do these things. I don't actually know what that way is."

"Alright." Harry thought that he probably needed to brush up on wizarding etiquette anyway. If it was very different than Muggle manners, then the chances were good that he would make a fool of himself before too long.

"Make sure you get a book that teaches you in terms of the old ways," Mr. Eeylop advised Harry shrewdly. "These days I imagine the bookstores are full of nothing but Ministry-sanctioned self-help swill. That won't cut it with the really old families."

Promising to get a good book as soon as possible, Harry bade Mr. Eeylop and the owl office goodbye. He told Hedwig to meet him back at the Doxy Closet, and after disillusioning himself, he mounted his broom and took off down the corridors. This time he enjoyed the challenge of flying through all of the owls. Behind him he heard Mr. Eeylop shout, "Don't think you can escape, Mr. Potter! My Aphrodite will know where to find you. Take care of lovely Ms. Hedwig!"

]

It was mid-afternoon when Harry made it back to Knockturn Alley. The sun shone brightly down onto the shopkeepers and vendors who were now bustling about the street with a sort of quiet industry that was very different from what he had seen before in Diagon Alley. Old crones were charming brooms to sweep off their stoops, shop keepers were rolling back curtains on window displays and putting out signs, and the temporary vendors were setting up rickety wooden stalls all along the street. Several of the stores' signs, which had obviously been charmed in the past couple of hours, now glowed faintly in the bright daylight.

Harry entered the Doxy Closet to find, not only Maia but also all the other prostitutes dashing around the common area with cloths and buckets of water in a frenzy of cleaning. A couple of very old wizards with strong Russian accents, who he assumed must be staying as tenants of the inn as well, were sitting at the bar drinking large mugs of coffee. "Hi, Hephaestus!" trilled Bette as she swept past him holding a mop. "Customers will be arriving soon, so if you want anything from the bar before it gets too crazy you'd better go ahead and get it."

The lemony smell of Mrs. Scour's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover was starting to burn Harry's nose, so he made his way upstairs. The small bed looked divine, and though Harry had only meant to lie down for a moment in order to collect his thoughts, he woke up several hours later to the sound of music and raucous laughter from downstairs. He went over to the window, careful not to trip over anything in the dark room, to peer down at the street. Knockturn alley had come alive with the setting of the sun, and the street was once again filled with people. He opened the window to the cool night breeze and was greeted with a host of strange noises and smells. He definitely smelled some kind of meat cooking, and his stomach made its presence known with a low growl.

Harry checked his face in the mirror. His features had reverted back to those of Harry Potter. Closing his eyes, he thought of Hephaestus's face. Hephaestus Peverell would feel excited, enlivened by the Knockturn Alley nightlife. He wouldn't think it uncomfortable or strange. He was the sort of person who would fit right in here without anyone giving him a moment's glance. Harry felt the shift before he opened his eyes. He was suddenly just a little more eager to join the mass of the wizarding world's least savory denizens below him. Opening his eyes, he saw tame hair and icy blue eyes in the mirror. Harry frowned. Why was he all blurry?

Harry removed his glasses, and began to polish them on his robes. He looked back at the mirror before putting the lenses back on, then gasped. He could see! He waved a hand in front of his face. Everything had suddenly jumped into a clarity he had never even experienced with his glasses. He could see into all the darkened corners of the room. But…he peered around…everything looked different. The colors were a little bit off, all muted and grayer than he was used to them being, as though they were being seen through a pair of badly tinted sunglasses.

Harry turned on the lamp, and the room was flooded with light. He felt a sharp stabbing pain in his eyes, and suddenly everything was blurry again. His glasses brought it all back into focus. After that, it took him only a moment to realize what was going on. The goblins had said that the Peverell family was purported to have great night vision. Clearly, he had inherited that gift as Hephaestus, but the enhanced vision apparently only worked at night. He wondered if his Peverell ancestors had cast some sort of spell on themselves to make it work…or maybe they weren't entirely human? In any case, the ability to see in the dark would likely come in handy, and it would definitely be beneficial in a fight. He could learn to cast that TrueNight spell that Hermione had been researching for charms last year, and his opponents would be blind! Humming cheerfully at the thought, Harry threw on his hooded cloaked, slipped on the Peverell family ring (a heavy silver band with a rune engraved into the top) for the first time, and headed down the stairs.

]

Two hours, four bookstores, and two second-hand shops later, Harry was extremely frustrated. He had found books that would teach him how to boil a person's eyes out, brew the ninety-seven poisons of Ptolemy, and summon demons; but he hadn't found a single text in any of the stores that would tell him how to go about refusing the Malfoys' invitation without seeming like a complete social ignoramus. He had actually purchased one book from the last store he had visited just so the night wouldn't be completely unsuccessful. It was a heavy leather-bound text entitled Basic Rituals: Practical Ceremonies for the Talented Wizard. After flipping through it, Harry decided that he had to have it because in spite of this type of magic being wildly different than that taught at Hogwarts, it was also supposed to be used for much grander and more permanent spellwork.

Disgruntled, he headed toward Renata's Robes. The small shop was crammed between a large store called Zate's Apothecary, where the human hair Harry had noticed last night still hung in the window, and a leatherworking shop that advertised custom bags made of everything from mokeskin to thestral hide. The robe store didn't seem to be doing much business. Harry tried to ignore the smell of mothballs as he looked between the racks for a salesperson. He jumped when he felt someone tap him on the back.

Spinning around he found himself face to face with a woman so draped in robes of different sizes and colors that she seemed to blend in with the rack behind her. "Are you looking for a set of robes?" she asked from behind the pile of gray robes she was holding.

"Yes," said Harry. "I need a new wardrobe actually. I've outgrown everything I have I'm afraid."

"Really?" the voice behind the robes asked in shock. "A whole wardrobe? That's wonderful!" And she dropped the stack of robes in her arms onto the floor and grabbed his hand enthusiastically. Harry decided that she must not be much older than he was. She wore a set of short robes in a modern cut that showed off the tight jeans underneath, and a tiny nose ring glittered against her dark brown skin.

"I'm Robin," she said as she shook his hand. "This is my store. What kind of robes are you looking for?"

"Well," he said as he looked around at the racks of robes. "I was hoping to get tailored robes. Nothing extravagant but…"

"Of course!" Robin squealed. She dropped his hand and pointed to the back wall of the shop. "Go get behind that curtain, and I'll get my supplies."

Less than five minutes later, Harry found himself standing awkwardly on a stool in nothing but his underthings being measured by Robin. The woman seemed so excited to have a customer that she kept getting impatient with the magical measuring tape, so she had grabbed it and was now doing all the measuring herself.

"You know," said Harry as Robin measured his left bicep. "I would have thought your name would be Renata since that's the name of the store."

"She was my mother," said Robin as she used a little black pencil to mark the measurement on a piece of paper. "She died at Christmas, and even though everyone around here used to buy from her they're all hesitant to come to me. I'm only nineteen and Malkin has more experience of course. I'm still loads better than that old biddy though," she said fiercely, glaring at Harry in the mirror as though daring him to disagree.

Harry just nodded his head, wishing she would get on with the measuring so he could put his clothes back on. "Mum taught me everything, and she was the best there ever was. Everyone said so," Robin continued. "You're going to look fantastic,…Hey! What's your name anyway? "

"Hephaestus Peverell."

"Good to meet you, Hephaestus. Like I was saying, you're going to love these robes. You'll want three everyday, one work, one formal, and all the accessories right? That's your basic wardrobe."

"That sounds good," Harry agreed, "but I'll need some shirts and pants and stuff too. I want to be able to blend in with the Muggle world as well."

"Oh my Merlin!" she shrieked so loudly that Harry would have toppled off the stool if she hadn't grabbed him around the waist in a tight hug. "I can do the coolest things ever with Muggle clothes! You've come to the right place H.P."

"I bet," said Harry as he gasped for air. He didn't mind the shortening of his name. Robin was beginning to remind him a little of Tonks without the klutziness. "How much is this going to cost?" he asked as she finally let him go.

"Hmmm…" Robin chewed on her lower lip as she thought about it. "It all depends on the types of materials, the time it takes to do the stitching, if you want any alteration charms done, what kind of accessories you'll need…Do you want me to bring in the catalog so we can go through it all?"

Harry winced. The last thing he wanted to do was spend all night pouring over fabric samples. Robin laughed. "I almost forgot that you're a teenage guy. I bet it sounds like your idea of Chinese water torture. You want to just pay in advance and let me figure it all out for you based on that? I promise you won't look stupid in anything I pick."

Harry eyed the witch's clothes again. It was trendier than something he would have chosen for himself, but then again, maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. He didn't have much in the way of fashion sense. "Okay," he agreed, "But for the wizarding clothes lean towards the more classical styles if you don't mind. Will three hundred galleons be enough to cover it all?"

Her eyes widened a bit. "Oh, yeah, I can do loads with that much. It'll all be really nice stuff but not super fancy, if you know what I mean."

At last, Harry put his clothes back on, and Robin took him up to the cash register so that he could pay. She handed him a small blank card, and following her instructions, he wrote the amount on it then spat on it and handed it back to her. Seeing his disgusted expression, she laughed. "For anything more than five hundred galleons you have to put a drop of blood on the card. At least it's better than hauling around heavy bags full of gold."

She held the card over an apparatus next to the cash register that reminded Harry of a Bunsen burner. A little tongue of flame shot out and consumed the card, and a moment later, a receipt appeared in another flash of fire. "Here you go," she said as she handed it to him. "The money's been transferred from your Gringotts account to mine. I'll have the clothes ready in three days. Can I do anything else for you tonight?"

Harry snorted. "Only if you know where to find a book that would teach me traditional pureblood etiquette."

Robin frowned. "I'm afraid not. I'm only a half blood myself. Do you mean like the really old traditions that only the Great Families and the Dark wizards still follow?"

"I think so," said Harry. If there were Great Families in the wizarding world, then the Malfoys were surely one of them, and he wouldn't be at all surprised if they were true Dark wizards as well. "I'm pretty sure that that's what I need to know."

Robin shook her head. "You're not going to find a book like that without a ton of luck," she said certainly. "I've heard that the old ways are usually passed down orally through family lines these days. I bet they haven't been written down in books for at least a hundred years or more."

"Great," Harry groaned. "Now someone tells me. I've been looking for a book all night."

The witch peered closely at him. "I might know someone who could tell you all about that kind of thing though," she said. "But, you'd have to be a saint to put up with him for long. He's a real sourpuss."

"Who?" asked Harry curiously.

"The apothecary next door. Zate's a very smart, very ill-tempered pureblood. If you could get him to talk to you, I'll bet he could tell you anything you needed to know."