Hermione knew it was bad manners to turn up at Grimmauld Place so early, but her potion was nearly ready and she couldn't contain her excitement. And besides, hadn't Harry said it was fine for her to come over first thing?
She was enthusiastically greeted by Kreacher, who was removing a sheet of scones from the oven. 'Good morning, Miss Hermione! May Kreacher serve breakfast to Miss Hermione now? Please say yes!'
She was torn—she hated to disappoint Kreacher, but she really was keen to put the finishing touches on her potion.
'Forgive me, Kreacher, but I need to attend first to my potion downstairs. I'll be up in half an hour.'
Kreacher's ears drooped.
Thinking quickly, Hermione added, 'But I'd love a mushroom quiche if you wouldn't mind preparing one.'
'Yes, with pleasure!' he said and scurried back to his work area.
Having escaped Kreacher, she dashed into the basement potions laboratory. There she added the few final ingredients to her cauldron and then cast an enhanced steeping charm to ensure it came out perfectly.
When she returned to the kitchen—mixture managed—she found Harry eating his breakfast. 'Good morning,' she said, as Kreacher laid her breakfast before her. 'I hope it's all right I came round so early.'
'Of course. You know you're always welcome,' he replied. 'You don't have today's Prophet, by any chance?'
'Sorry, not yet. I suppose you're anxious to see how they covered yesterday's press conference?'
He nodded. 'The only thing keeping me from distraction is knowing I have Darius and the entire team as eyewitnesses. So even if the Prophet twists my words beyond recognition, the Cannons won't be upset with me.'
'It seems they already mean a lot to you,' she observed.
'Yeah, they really do. I can't believe I've only known them a few days.'
'I look forward to meeting them,' she said. 'Oh, look—there's the owl.'
Harry retrieved the newspaper, which was still rolled up, and placed it on the table. He took a deep breath before unrolling it. 'Here we go,' he said nervously.
On the cover was a large colour photograph of Harry, apparently taken right after he'd dismounted his broom. With his eyes closed, he took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. He then turned towards the camera, his gaze heavy, and his lips curled into a crooked smile. His expression could only be described as 'smouldering.'
The headline, printed in two-inch letters, was simply, 'The Man Who Lived.'
After a silence, Hermione said, 'I suspect today's edition of the Prophet is going to sell out.'
Harry swallowed and said nothing.
She leaned forward to examine the photo more closely. 'Is that in slow motion?'
'Looks like,' he said.
'Isn't there any article?' she frowned, scanning the page.
'Only a caption apparently,' said Harry. His voice sounded scratchy.
Hermione read it aloud:
'Bespectacled moppet no more, Harry Potter, 19, made his enthralling press debut yesterday at the Chudley Cannons training pitch. For full Quidditch coverage see pages 13-17, and see page 21 for our readers' favourite knicker-drying charms.'
'Knicker-drying charms?' she repeated incredulously, unable to say more.
Harry had no response. He looked again at the front cover before turning to the Quidditch section, which soon engrossed him.
Hermione quietly studied him as she ate. She wondered if he'd ever been aware of his own magnetism before. She wasn't sure she'd ever seen it this strongly herself—she suspected only Ginny had.
It was more than just his appearance. He was attractive enough, but he wasn't classically handsome as Cedric Diggory had been. His face was thin and his features were rather too angular, and of course his hair was a fright. But his eyes were lovely, and somehow all his quirky parts resolved into a rather pleasing whole.
What made the photograph so compelling, however, was his sheer swagger. She'd only seen it a few times before, most notably during the final confrontation with Voldemort. She remembered the frisson she'd felt when Harry, bold as brass, had addressed the Dark wizard as 'Riddle.'
Hermione wondered how seeing the photograph would affect him. He was still rather broody about Ginny—perhaps this would give him the confidence to look elsewhere.
Eventually Harry looked up from the Quidditch section. 'I'm pleasantly surprised, but they got the coverage right,' he said with satisfaction. 'I suppose the Prophet is trying to make up for announcing on Thursday that I'd quit the team.'
'Or perhaps,' replied Hermione, 'it's because loads of other reporters were at the same press conference.' Then, looking at her wristwatch, she said, 'Only five minutes until my potion is ready!'
'You've been on about this potion all week,' said Harry. 'What does it do anyway?'
She leaned towards him and said in a low voice, 'It measures magical strength.'
'You're joking! I didn't even know that was possible.'
'It's possible,' she explained, 'but the method was banned several centuries ago, and all copies of the potion were supposedly destroyed.'
Harry was aghast. 'Hermione, why on earth would you make a potion the authorities tried to wipe from existence? Just how Dark is it?'
'There's nothing wrong with the potion itself,' she replied, feeling defensive. 'It requires blood, of course, but we've established there's nothing inherently Dark about that. The problem is that pure-blood families like the Blacks were using it on infants.'
Harry inhaled sharply as he grasped the implication. 'Do you think maybe those children wound up in Muggle orphanages, rather than ...' He didn't finish the sentence.
'It's certainly possible. You and I might be descended from children like that, for all I know. They still had wizarding blood.'
He nodded. 'So how does the potion work anyway?'
'It's quite clever, really. You need a couple of metal goblets—one for the person whose blood you want to test, and one for the control. First you use a charm to ignite the control potion, which will produce a flame that represents the strength level of an average-powered wizard. Then you add a drop of blood to the test goblet and ignite it the same way. If that wizard has above-average strength, the flame will be brighter than the control flame.'
'And if the wizard is weaker than average...'
'The flame will be less bright than the control,' she answered.
'What happens for a Squib?' he asked.
'Apparently it just sputters before burning out. Anyway, the potion should be ready now? May I bring it up here?'
'Well, normally I have a strict "No blood magic in the kitchen" rule, but I'll waive it just this once.'
'Thanks, I'll be right back.'
She returned shortly after with a large flask of the potion she'd just brewed. She set it on the table and conjured two small metal goblets alongside it. But before she could continue, the fireplace flared green and Ron stepped into the kitchen.
'Hiya Harry! Did you see the Quidditch coverage? Pretty good, I thought. Oh, hi Hermione,' he added, giving her a quick peck on the cheek.
Hermione looked uneasy. 'Er, good morning. Is everything all right?'
'Yeah, I'm fine. What's all this?' he asked, gesturing towards the potion and goblets.
'Just a potion I'm working on. Nothing very interesting,' she said, avoiding his gaze.
Harry looked at her questioningly but remained silent.
'Not so fast, Granger,' said Ron. 'Since when have you refrained from talking about a potion because it wasn't "interesting?" I may not be a fully-qualified Auror, but I can tell when you're hiding something.'
She knew she was trapped. 'Fine. I didn't want to say anything because it involves blood magic,' she said. She hoped he'd believe that was her only reason.
'What's it do, then?' asked Ron.
She sighed. 'It tests magical strength. You add a drop of your blood to the potion, and ...'
'What?! Wasn't that potion banned? I heard they used to use it on babies,' he said with obvious disgust.
'It was,' she admitted. 'But clearly that's not what I'm doing.'
Ron turned to Harry. 'Did you know about this?'
Hermione spoke before Harry could reply. 'I only told him right before you arrived. This was all my doing.'
Ron was quiet a moment, and then he narrowed his eyes. 'Why didn't you want me to know about it?'
Hermione said nothing.
'You were afraid I'd insist on getting tested, weren't you.' It wasn't a question.
'I just didn't think it was a good idea to foster ... competition,' she said lamely.
'I'm not stupid, Hermione. I know exactly why you didn't want me to try it out. You were afraid I'd come out poorly and then get upset.'
'I never said that!' she protested. 'And of course you wouldn't come out poorly!'
'Well obviously,' said Ron. 'I'm a pure-blood after all.'
All three of them froze as soon as he said it. Ron's face flushed all the way to his ears.
Hermione felt a wave of fury, and she spoke through clenched teeth. 'What ... did ... you ... say?'
'I'm sorry,' he sputtered. 'I didn't mean it like that.' He looked genuinely horrified.
Without saying a word, Hermione conjured a third goblet to join the two already on the table, and she filled each of them with the potion.
She aimed her wand at the first goblet and said, 'Incendiolus,' producing a medium-sized flame that was somewhat brighter than a candle.
Glaring at Ron, she cut her finger and squeezed a drop of blood into the second goblet, which she then ignited. The flame flared upwards, much larger and brighter than the control.
'Take that, pure-blood!' she spat. 'Come on, give us a finger. Let's see what you've got!'
Ron glanced desperately at Harry, who had backed away from the table. He looked at Ron sympathetically but kept his mouth shut.
'Fine,' said Ron, holding out his index finger. Hermione cut it with her wand and squeezed a drop of blood straight into the third goblet. 'Incendiolus.'
The flame was strong—not as bright as Hermione's, but noticeably brighter than the control.
Ron and Hermione both exhaled, and everyone looked relieved.
'Not bad, all things considered. It's no surprise you're stronger than I am, after all,' acknowledged Ron, and Hermione's tension eased. 'Harry, reckon you'll have a go?'
'Yes, why not?'
'We'd better stand back,' joked Ron, moving half a step away from the table. 'Just in case.'
Hermione conjured a fourth goblet and poured in some potion. Harry added a drop of blood, which Hermione ignited.
There was an awkward silence. Harry's flame was brighter than the control, but not by much. It was noticeably less bright than Ron's.
Hermione, mortified, quickly extinguished all four goblets and Vanished the flask's contents. 'I'm sorry, Harry ...' she began.
Harry was pale but managed to reply. 'Sorry for what?'
'Sorry for making that sodding potion in the first place. Obviously it doesn't mean anything.'
'That's right,' said Ron. 'Anyone can see it's total bollocks. I mean, what about your Patronus?'
'Right.'
Hermione looked at Harry. 'With your permission, I'm going to erase the potion instructions from the Grimoire. The Ministry was right to ban it.'
'Go ahead,' he replied absently.
Ron tried to lighten the mood. 'So Harry, what do I need to know about your teammates before I meet them? I don't want to make an arse of myself.'
Harry relaxed slightly. 'They're brilliant—I'm sure you'll get on fine. But don't make same the mistake I did and ask why you never met them at Hogwarts. They all went to different schools.'
'Different schools to Hogwarts?' asked Hermione. 'Like Beauxbatons? Or somewhere in North America?'
'No, different schools in Britain. Apparently they're a well-kept secret,' replied Harry. 'Ron, are you familiar with any of them?'
'Er,' hesitated Ron. 'Come to think of it, my cousins probably all went to different schools. I guess it just never came up.'
'How many of these schools are there?' asked Hermione, feeling rather alarmed.
'Renée said there were several dozen, I think.'
'Blimey!' exclaimed Ron. 'Weird that we've never heard of them.'
Hermione was deep in thought. How could she have been ignorant of something this important? This certainly cleared up a lot of questions she'd had about wizarding society, but she was appalled she hadn't learnt about them sooner.
'Are they all boarding schools like Hogwarts?' she asked.
'I don't think so,' said Harry. 'It sounds like they're mostly day schools.'
'I could have gone to a day school?!' cried Hermione. 'Merlin help us if my parents find out! Professor McGonagall made it sound like it was Hogwarts or nothing. Do you know if they taught other subjects, like literature or the sciences?'
Ron laughed. 'Trust Hermione to be disappointed we didn't have more subjects at Hogwarts.'
'You'll have to ask them,' said Harry. 'But be prepared for them to take the piss—apparently Hogwarts types are notorious for not knowing about the other schools. Owen reckons there's a ward on the castle.'
Hermione's eyes flew open. 'That has to be it!' She turned to the others and said, 'Excuse me, I need to write to Professor McGonagall at once. And maybe Professor Babbling, and Bill ...'
Before leaving, she put her hand onto Ron's arm and looked at him earnestly. 'I'm sorry about earlier. You were right. I wasn't giving you enough credit. You're not fourteen anymore.'
'It's all right,' Ron mumbled. 'And I'm sorry too. That was awful what I said—I don't even know where that came from.'
They embraced a bit awkwardly, and then Hermione turned to Harry. 'See you tonight, and sorry again about that awful potion. You know it's complete rubbish, right?'
'Yeah,' said Harry. 'See you tonight.'
Hermione threw a pinch of Floo powder into the fire and went home. I have to send those letters before something happens to make me forget again!
Later that morning, Harry met Andromeda at Gringotts to give her access to the vault, which they visited together. They agreed to leave the books for Hermione to peruse later and concentrated instead on the artefacts, many of which Andromeda recognised.
'We should probably turn these over the Ministry,' she said, indicating two ornate chalices and a tiara. 'I'm certain they're cursed, although I can't remember the details.'
There were numerous jewellery cases, which she opened in succession. 'I'd like this pocket watch for Teddy one day, but I'll leave it here ... And I always coveted these earrings,' she said. 'Is it all right if I have them?'
'Of course,' said Harry.
She opened a box containing a very pretty gold necklace. 'My grandfather had intended this for Narcissa. I can't imagine why she never received it.'
'Do you reckon Walburga held it back for some reason?' ventured Harry.
'Yes, that's probably what happened. Would it be all right if I offered it to Narcissa? I've wanted to reestablish our relationship, but it's been awkward. Giving her the necklace might defrost things a bit.'
'If you like. She's not exactly my best mate, but she's your sister, and I'll always appreciate how she lied to Voldemort for me.' He left out the part where Narcissa's manipulation of Kreacher led to Sirius's death.
Next they examined a large silver drinking horn, exquisitely carved. 'This could only be goblin-made,' said Andromeda admiringly. 'Pity it's not more useful.'
'Now here's a thought,' said Harry. 'What if we gave it back to the goblins, as a peace offering? Other than my ban, it was the Ministry who paid for my damage to Gringotts, not me.'
'That's a good idea. With goblins you can apologise all you want, but all they really care about is treasure.'
'Should we do it now?' asked Harry. 'Or would it be more polite to owl for an appointment?'
'I'm no expert on goblins, but I know they appreciate swift action. We should ask for their director straight away.'
Harry put the drinking horn into his expandable pouch, and they rode the cart back up to the lobby. Harry walked up to a clerk and requested to meet with a director.
'Why do you wish to speak to a director?' asked the goblin coldly. 'Director Ragnok does not normally speak to wizards.'
'I have what appears to be a goblin-made artefact, and I'd like to offer it back to the Goblin Nation as a token of my gratitude for restoring access to my vault,' replied Harry.
The goblin looked surprised. 'One moment,' he said, before hurrying away.
Harry and Andromeda glanced at each other. 'That seems promising,' she said.
Several minutes later the goblin returned and said, 'Follow me.'
They were led to a large office, which was decorated with paintings depicting historical goblin battles. Harry was surprised to recognise several of the scenes from History of Magic. So I did learn something after all.
A particularly severe-looking goblin awaited them. 'My name is Ragnok. You are Harry Potter,' he said simply. 'And who is this?' he added, indicating Andromeda.
'This is my cousin, Andromeda Tonks.'
Ragnok nodded. 'State your business.'
'I've lately come into possession of the Black family vault. I brought Andromeda here today to inspect it with me, since she was born a Black.' He pulled the drinking horn from his pouch and placed it on Ragnok's desk. 'We found this horn and suspected it was goblin-made.'
Ragnok raised and inspected the horn, carefully examining the intricate scrollwork. 'You are correct, this is goblin-made. Thirteenth century, I believe.'
No point in beating about the bush, thought Harry. 'I'd like to return it to the Goblin Nation.' He didn't elaborate—goblin-made items belonged to goblins as far as Gringotts was concerned.
Ragnok nodded. 'I accept the return of this horn on behalf of its rightful owners. Does this conclude our business?'
'Yes,' replied Harry. 'Thank you for your time.'
Ragnok stood, and the goblin who'd led them there brought them back to the lobby.
As they left, Andromeda said, 'Well done. I've heard it's a good sign when a goblin is terse with you, particularly during a high-stakes interaction. It means they see you as an equal rather than someone requiring either formality or contempt.'
After they ate lunch together in a nearby Muggle restaurant, Harry returned home to Grimmauld Place. He was glad to have formalised Andromeda's access to the vault, and it was a relief not to feel quite so beholden to the goblins.
Harry didn't feel like staying indoors so he went up to the roof, which he'd newly fitted with garden furniture. Neville had given him a couple of plants, but they weren't thriving under Kreacher's care. The house-elf was prone to extremes, so he either drowned the plants day after day—rain or shine—or he attempted to 'toughen them up' with neglect, which was apparently a traditional house-elf rearing method. Harry thought this explained a lot about Kreacher.
Relaxing into a lounge chair, Harry allowed his mind to wander. It had already been a strange day—first there had been that photograph in the Prophet, and then the debacle with Hermione's potion.
Harry had been unable to say much when he and Hermione first saw the photo, since he was shocked to see himself looking so wantonly at the camera. Furthermore, he was loath to admit it, but he knew Janet was right when she said he'd have no shortage of willing partners. He'd had a few minutes to kill in Diagon Alley before Andromeda arrived, and from the shadows he noticed several young witches in front of a newsagent's, looking at the copies of the Prophet on display. 'Yummy,' one of them growled. Another made a show of fanning herself.
He fleetingly hoped that seeing the photograph would cause Ginny to change her mind and want him back. But he quickly dismissed the idea—sexual attraction had never been a problem between them. In fact, she'd admitted that their strong alchemy had caused her to delay breaking up with him on several occasions.
No, it's definitely over between us, he thought sadly. I've changed too much.
So what's next? Deep down he knew what he wanted. Pudding. Extra helpings, in fact.
Basking in the sunshine, he indulged for a while in vivid fantasies involving faceless witches in shadowy alcoves. He resisted the urge to help things along manually, choosing instead to delay gratification in hopes of a more satisfying conclusion that night. And maybe tomorrow morning as well.
Eventually his thoughts settled, returning to Hermione's potion and the unpleasant discovery that hewas not, in fact, a powerful wizard. I shouldn't be surprised, he thought. He'd seldom been first to master a spell in school, and his only Outstanding O.W.L. had been in Defence Against the Dark Arts.
Admittedly he was strong in Defence, at least during the war, but he'd been uniquely motivated then. His performance in Auror training had never been as strong. He wondered whether it would have improved against real opponents rather than his instructors and the other trainees.
Ron had cited Harry's Patronus as evidence he was a powerful wizard. But Harry recalled what Auror Murdoch had said about it, 'Too showy, waste of power.' It was a bit galling to realise Murdoch had been right all along.
He knew he'd nothing to be ashamed of. He was still a bit above average. Not that it should matter, of course—to have any magic at all was an enormous privilege. But it smarted to know he'd lost another piece of what made him special. First Parseltongue, now this.
He still had Quidditch, at least. And it wasn't just Gryffindor Quidditch anymore—he had an entirely new role to fill, playing for the Cannons. Harry relished this wide-open sense of possibility, one hundred percent free from prophecies. Except for Janet's, he thought with a smile.
Several hours later, he welcomed his new friends in the formal reception hall. They arrived one after another and spent a moment looking around the room.
Lara spoke first. 'This house is ... not what I pictured.'
'Oh dear,' said Harry. 'What were you expecting?'
'Something a bit less ...' she hesitated. 'Gloomy?'
'I think the word you're looking for is Dark,' said Janet. 'Seriously Dark. Dementor love-nest Dark.' She looked around a little longer before facing Harry. 'Then again, this will make a great headquarters for your evil army!'
'Actually,' Harry pointed out, 'this was the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix.'
Darren shook his head. 'You're having us on, surely. Any second now you're going to do a Finite incantatem and we'll be standing in an airy loft filled with IKEA furniture.'
'This is the house Harry inherited from his godfather, remember?' said Ryan.
'The mass murderer,' added Janet helpfully.
'That's right,' said Harry. 'Would you care to meet his mother?' He gestured towards the entrance hall, and added, 'I should probably warn you about her, but I don't want to spoil the surprise.'
They assembled before the sleeping portrait, and Harry cleared his throat. 'Walburga, I'd like to introduce my friends.'
She opened her eyes and looked out at them. 'Misbegotten half-bloods, the lot of you! Get out of my hallway! You disgust me!' She bared her yellowed teeth at Ryan and growled, 'And you, bearing the stench of a Muggle father! You're even worse than the loathsome son of a Mudblood who dares to inhabit my home.'
Harry silenced the portrait with a tap of his wand, as Louisa had taught him. His four guests stood there in shocked silence.
Janet was first to recover. 'What the blazes was that?'
'It sure as hell didn't come from IKEA,' commented Darren.
Harry laughed. 'I'm sorry, I couldn't resist springing her on you. That's a portrait of Sirius Black's mother, Walburga.'
'The mass murderer thing is starting to make more sense,' observed Janet.
'Exonerated,' coughed Ryan.
There was the sound of incoming footsteps before Ron and Hermione entered. 'There you are,' said Ron. He looked at the group standing before the portrait and said, 'And I see you've followed proper etiquette by introducing them to the lady of the house.'
'I couldn't stop myself,' admitted Harry. He turned to his new friends. 'She's attached to the wall by a Permanent Sticking Charm, for now anyway. But on that I'll say no more.'
After introducing everyone, Harry escorted them to the sitting room. Ryan, who seemed a little flustered, looked incredulously at Ron and Hermione. 'It's a bit hard to believe I'm in the same room with the fabled Golden Trio. I mean, Harry's old hat by now, but here's the complete set.'
Janet scoffed. 'Don't be naive, Bellamy. It could be naught but lies and Polyjuice.' She turned to Ron and said, 'I'll need to see some proof—do you have your Order of Merlin on you?'
'Sorry, it's on my other robes,' replied Ron. 'But seriously, I'm gobsmacked to be here with three of the Cannons. I've been a fan my whole life—Harry can tell you.'
'Oh right!' said Ryan. 'I understand we have you to thank for sending Harry our way. Having him with us has already been quite the adventure.'
'Sounds familiar,' laughed Hermione. 'That's been our experience since we first met him. Just be grateful you haven't encountered a troll yet.'
'Wait, that story was true?' exclaimed Ryan. 'I assumed that was just the Prophet free-associating as usual.'
Hermione nodded. 'Yes, that one's true. Unfortunately.'
Darren said, 'Suresh will want to know whether the troll thing happened before or after the Basilisk attacks. He's started making a timeline of all the mortal peril Harry faced at Hogwarts.'
'The troll came first, then the Basilisk.' replied Ron. 'Huh, I suppose it sounds completely mental when you put it like that.'
'That's because it is completely mental,' said Janet. 'I realise I only attended North Squiffing Secondary, but I recall learning that trolls and schoolchildren don't mix.'
Hermione lit up. 'That reminds me—I'm dying to hear more about the schools you all attended. Did you study non-magical subjects as well as magical ones?'
'Yes and no,' said Ryan. 'As you're well aware, there's a lot to cover in a magical education, so that didn't leave much time for supplementary classes during the school year. But a lot of schools offer summer electives covering the arts and Muggle subjects, since students can't use their wands then anyway.'
Hermione's face fell. 'I could have studied Muggle subjects during the summers?'
'Didn't you study them independently anyway?' asked Harry.
'Of course I did,' said Hermione. 'But I didn't have any assignments.' She looked bereft.
Janet eyed Hermione suspiciously. 'Excuse me, are you having us on?'
Harry and Ron laughed. 'No,' said Harry. 'We love Hermione, but she's ... a bit of a swot.'
'I don't see why wanting to learn and working hard at it makes you a swot,' grumbled Hermione.
'That is literally what defines a swot,' said Janet.
'You're being unfair, Janet,' said Ryan. 'Not everyone was as sport-mad as we were.'
'Hermione certainly wasn't,' laughed Ron. 'She used to bring a book to Harry's Quidditch matches.'
'I needed a distraction from my nerves! I didn't grow up flying, and it made me anxious just watching him. Not to mention the time Professor Quirrell jinxed his broom, or when Dobby charmed the Bludger to follow him. Or when Dementors took the field … Oh dear, I see your point about Hogwarts and mortal peril.'
Suddenly Kreacher appeared in the room with a loud crack. 'Master, dinner is ready. Would Master prefer to eat in the kitchen or dining room?'
'The dining room, if you please,' said Harry, and Kreacher vanished.
Lara smirked as they went to the dining room. 'A house-elf, Harry? Why can't you just send him out for your daily pain potion? He could serve it to you on a silver tray, when he brings your breakfast.'
'I do not eat breakfast in bed!' protested Harry. 'Well, maybe once. The other morning when I was so sore. But not since, I swear.'
Janet smiled darkly. 'You are going to regret telling us about that, Potter.'
At that moment, a vast array of Indian dishes appeared on the table. 'Thank you, Kreacher,' called Harry and Hermione simultaneously.
'He makes curries?' asked Darren. 'Is that a standard house-elf thing, or just those belonging to Dark wizards?
'No,' said Ron. 'Harry had to train him up. When we first met him he only served food that had gone off.'
'The more I hear about your life, Harry,' said Ryan, 'the more amazed I am that our side won the war. Could you possibly have had more obstacles?'
'Apparently Voldemort could have summoned away Harry's glasses during the heat of battle,' offered Ron. 'But, lucky for us, he never thought of it.'
Lively conversation continued throughout dinner. Harry was pleased that Ron wasn't nervous around the newcomers. He got the sense, however, that Janet had rubbed Hermione the wrong way. It wasn't shocking, he realised, given Janet's brashness and Hermione's sensitivity.
Eventually they divided into smaller conversations—Ron and Ryan spoke animatedly about Quidditch, and Hermione and Lara appeared to cover a wide range of topics, from Lara's school to Hermione's experiences during the war. Meanwhile, Harry, Darren, and Janet discussed their after-dinner plans.
'Where do you reckon we should go?' Janet asked Darren. 'Harry's never been out much, except maybe for Butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks, so we need to show him a good time.'
Darren thought for a moment. 'How about Penumbra?'
Janet's eyes gleamed, and she smiled slyly. 'You're a Dark genius, Rogers. This should put you ahead in the contest for Harry's second-in-command.'
'What's Penumbra?' asked Harry.
'It's a deliciously sinful bar in Knockturn Alley,' answered Janet. 'You'll love it.'
Harry frowned. 'I don't think that's a good idea. I'm not exactly popular in Knockturn Alley.'
Janet shook her head dismissively. 'It's only technically in Knockturn Alley, and that's because the proprietor isn't allowed to own property in Diagon Alley. He's a vampire, after all.'
'You want to go to a vampire bar? I'm starting to revise my opinion of you,' said Harry, only half joking.
Darren interjected, 'Janet's just having you on. It's true that the owner's a vampire, and it is in Knockturn Alley, but it's not what you're imagining. The owner's name is Alistair, and he was Muggle-born several centuries ago. He's the closest thing you'll find to a Light vampire.'
'It's true,' confirmed Janet. 'I just wanted to see how you'd react.'
'A Light vampire?' asked Harry. 'How does that even work?'
'Well, for example, during the war he provided illegal portkeys to transport Muggle-borns and their families to the Continent. That's how I got to know him, as part of the war effort. Apparently he's fairly high-status in the vampire hierarchy, so he gets away with that sort of thing.'
'All right, I'm impressed,' replied Harry. 'But what about the part where he survives on human blood?'
'He has thralls for that,' explained Janet. 'They take turns, and believe me, no one's complaining.' After a moment she added, 'And don't worry about the Knockturn Alley part—the main entrance is through a passage from Diagon Alley. It's not really a Dark bar at all. It's mainly for wizards looking to indulge in a bit of decadence.'
Harry raised an eyebrow. He was intrigued.
'That's why it's called Penumbra,' she continued. 'Loosely translated it means half dark, half light.'
'Sounds perfect,' said Harry in a low voice, prompting Janet to laugh.
'Down, boy!' ordered Janet. 'We'll get you sorted soon enough. I reckon half the witches in Britain are up for it tonight, after seeing this morning's Prophet. You'll probably receive owls from grateful husbands over the next few days.'
They finished the main course, and Kreacher served a half-dozen Indian sweets. 'That's settled then,' said Lara. 'I'm coming round for dinner nightly.'
Darren nodded in agreement. 'Seconded. Can we come here for lunch as well?'
Ryan shook his head. 'No, that would break Candice's heart. Besides, lunch at the pub is Cannons tradition, and you know how wizards feel about tradition.'
'Yeah, I'd hate to ruin our winning streak,' smirked Janet.
After eating they relaxed around the table and drank French-style coffee. 'I'm impressed by how contemporary your house-elf's cooking is,' said Darren. 'Coffee after dinner and everything!'
Lara agreed. 'I've occasionally wondered whether house-elves were magically bound to only serve traditional English cookery. Yorkshire pudding, mushy peas, that sort of thing.'
'Hermione gets all the credit,' said Harry. Hermione glared at him sharply and he quickly added, 'After Kreacher of course.'
Harry continued, 'Her parents are Muggles and fairly adventurous when it comes to food, so she wasn't as willing as the rest of us to stick with the usual fare.'
'We'll have to explore that sometime, Hermione,' said Ryan. 'My father's a Muggle, so I've been exposed to a much wider range of food than most wizards. I've had trouble persuading my magical friends to try different cuisines.'
'That sounds good,' said Hermione, 'but we might need to sneak in sandwiches for Ron. Indian cuisine is about as adventurous as he gets, and you may have noticed he only ate the butter chicken and naan.'
'That's not true,' protested Ron. 'I had a lamb samosa, and some of the sweets.'
'All of the sweets, more like,' mumbled Hermione.
Janet stretched her long arms upwards. 'So who's up for part two? Harry, Darren, and I are heading out for drinks after this.' Ryan and Lara both opted out, and Ron and Hermione turned down the offer as well.
'Hermione's coming over to my place,' said Ron, and Harry suppressed a smirk. Apparently I'm not the only one with big evening plans, he thought.
Harry summoned Kreacher into the dining room so everyone could thank him, and the ancient house-elf nearly burst into tears. 'Kreacher is overjoyed that Master has invited so many friends to dinner. Kreacher loves serving more than anything. Thank you, Master!'
After he left, presumably to blubber in private, Ron said, 'You'd never believe how much Kreacher hated Harry at first. Remember that Christmas, Harry, when he sent you a box of maggots?'
The others burst out laughing. Lara said, 'Harry, I think I now understand why you're able to take unusual occurrences in stride.'
'Yes,' said Darren. 'And I'm gradually realising how you reached a point where breaking into Gringotts seemed like a rational decision.'
'Too right,' laughed Ron. 'And we can't even blame Hermione for that one. Usually she was our source for mad ideas, like the time she brewed Polyjuice Potion in a disused lavatory in our second year.'
Ryan looked at Hermione in awe. 'I knew you were the brains of the outfit, but that's truly remarkable. In your second year?'
'Yeah,' said Ron proudly. 'She even stole Boomslang skin from our professor's private cupboard. Harry and I had to create a distraction.'
Hermione blushed. 'I just did what was necessary. It sounds like all of you did as well.' She paused. 'What a relief it's all behind us.'
'Hear hear!' said Ryan, raising his mostly-empty coffee cup.
'Right then,' announced Janet, standing up. 'Time to celebrate!'
Everyone rose and said their goodbyes, leaving only Harry, Janet, and Darren.
'Where should I Apparate to?' asked Harry.
'The passage leading to Penumbra is near Flourish and Blotts, so we can meet there,' replied Darren.
'Great,' said Harry. 'Just give me a few minutes—I'll be there presently.'
Darren and Janet left without him, and Harry went into the bathroom. He washed his face and cleaned his teeth Muggle-style—Hermione had trained him well.
He looked at the mirror and breathed deeply. This is it, he thought. If I play my cards right, I'll be returning with company. Someone other than Ginny.
Yes, he was ready for this, and he wanted it. Smiling, he stepped out of the bathroom and turned on his heel to Apparate.
When Harry arrived outside Flourish and Blotts, he found Janet and Darren touching up their appearances before the darkened shop window. Janet was using her wand to charm her lips redder, and Darren was artfully tousling his hair. Harry was reminded of his dad, who had done something similar in the memory he'd seen of him years earlier.
'There you are, Potter,' said Janet. 'Let's get this thing started.'
She and Darren led Harry into a nearby passage, which they followed for about twenty yards before reaching a dark metal door. It was luxuriously ornamented with curving vines, and two shaded amber lights at the top framed a sign that said 'Penumbra' in gleaming letters. Harry flushed with anticipation. He'd never been anywhere like this.
Darren opened the door and Harry was struck by how dark it was, darker even than the passageway. Each of the tables was softly illuminated, and there seemed to be a lot of people there, but he was unable to distinguish any faces.
Observing his reaction, Darren explained, 'All the tables are warded with low-level privacy charms. You can see the general outline of whoever is there, and there's no obstacle to having a closer look, but it's impossible to recognise someone from more than a few feet away.'
Harry smiled. This was perfect—he could enjoy himself in public without being mobbed.
The hostess, a slender witch wearing form-fitting robes, surveyed them coolly but made no indication of recognising Harry. She greeted Darren, however, and led them towards a table. As they followed her through the room, Harry found he was able to see people more clearly as he passed, but that they became indistinct as soon as he was farther away.
He was pleased to be led to a very private booth on the far end, until it occurred to him that he was there to meet witches and not just hang about with mates. Frowning, he scanned the room again, and he noticed an area near the bar where people were more clearly visible. He decided that must be where the mingling occurred.
They slid onto the upholstered benches and Harry opened the drinks menu. 'They have the usual offerings, like beer and Firewhisky,' explained Darren, 'but I recommend trying the cocktails. Personally I like the Red Phoenix—when you finish it, just wait a few minutes and it renews itself in a burst of flames. It costs more, but one tumbler lasts the whole night. It tastes a bit fruity.'
'That sounds interesting,' replied Harry, 'but I'm not sure I want to commit to a single cocktail for the entire evening. Perhaps I could try a bit of yours so I know for next time.' He turned to Janet and asked, 'What's your favourite?'
'I'm partial to the Elderflower Aurora. It's hard to describe but there are waves of flavour as you sip it. Best to go slowly, to really savour the experience.'
'I'm not sure. I suppose I should read all the descriptions.' He started perusing the menu.
'Try the Sword of Gryffindor,' said a silky voice.
Harry looked up and saw a slim man roughly his own height. He had silvery hair to his shoulders and very black eyes. His face was unlined.
'Alistair!' greeted Darren. 'You've found us already—please, have a seat.'
The vampire slid into the booth. 'Welcome to my establishment, Harry Potter,' he said from across the table. 'It's a pleasure to meet you.'
'Thank you, likewise. This is a remarkable place you've got here. I've never been before.'
'Indeed,' replied Alistair.
Harry looked again at the menu. 'I don't see the Sword of Gryffindor listed anywhere.'
Alistair smiled. 'You of all people should know that the Sword of Gryffindor doesn't present itself to just anyone. But I promise you'll like it, and it's perfectly safe.'
'Unlike the real sword of Gryffindor,' murmured Harry.
Alistair signalled for a waitress, and one appeared nearly instantly to take their orders.
Harry observed the vampire, who was catching up with Darren. He'd seldom been in close contact with vampires, and he hadn't yet studied them in his Auror training. He knew, however, that they could be very charismatic, and that it was easy in their presence to feel as if you'd been under a Compulsion Charm.
Auror Harry would have exercised constant vigilance, never letting his guard drop even an inch. But Seeker Harry knew he was among friends, and although he observed basic protocols such as having his back to the wall and his wand accessible, he allowed himself to surrender a bit to the atmosphere.
Alistair and Darren finished chatting, and Harry turned towards the vampire. 'I was impressed to hear what you did during the war,' he said.
Alistair nodded. 'I was born to Muggles a long time ago, and I've had plenty of time to confirm that pure-bloods are in no way superior to other wizards.' Harry wondered whether Alistair was referring to their flavour rather than their magical ability, but he didn't say anything.
Janet said, 'We're here to give Harry what you might call a change of perspective. He's newly single and could use a new outlook.'
Darren smirked, 'I wouldn't say no to a new outlook either, should the opportunity arise.'
'You don't need my help with that, surely,' said Alistair. 'And I'm not that kind of proprietor,' he added with a playful gleam in his dark eyes.
'Of course not,' replied Darren. 'I'll drag him over to the arena once we've loosened him up a bit,' he said, indicating the open area near the bar.
The waitress returned with their drinks. Harry's came in a tall, narrow glass, and the smoky liquid was illuminated by a tall shaft of light from within. The flavour was full-bodied, with herbal notes and the tang of spirits. Subtle waves of sensation travelled through Harry as he sipped.
He breathed deeply. 'This is good,' he said. 'Thank you for recommending it.'
Darren and Janet fell into their own conversation, leaving Harry and Alistair to speak more privately. 'You are a powerful wizard,' said Alistair simply.
'No, I'm not,' replied Harry. 'My magical strength is barely above average.' Had he been compelled to say that?
'I'm not talking about magical strength,' said Alistair. 'I'm talking about the kind of power that's available to any human, but which few are able to wield.'
'And what's that?' asked Harry.
Alistair leaned closer, and the table seemed to narrow, drawing them nearer to one another.
'Real power. Unimpeded life force. Some might describe it as charisma, but charisma is only a side effect.' He reached and gently brushed aside Harry's fringe, revealing his scar.
'Nothing remains here,' he said, fingering the scar lightly. Harry was surprised to find himself allowing Alistair to touch him like that.
Alistair continued. 'Your entire life there was a presence here,' he murmured as he continued to stroke Harry's forehead. 'But it's gone now, and your strength remains. A weaker man would never have withstood it. I know this as a vampire, for we too are a kind of Horcrux. This is why most vampires turn Dark—they can't oppose its power.'
He brushed his fingers down from Harry's forehead along his cheekbone before withdrawing his hand. 'But you and I have resisted. Godric would be proud.'
Harry's eyes widened. 'You were a Gryffindor?'
'Yes, hundreds of years ago.'
Harry continued sipping his drink. The fire had spread through his entire body, and his eyelids felt heavy. But he was fully alert.
'What should I do with this power,' he asked breathily.
'First you feed it,' said Alistair. 'Right now it's still new and growing.'
'And how do I do that?'
'You know how,' replied the vampire. 'Trust your cravings.'
Harry reddened slightly. 'My cravings are rather ... base.'
'Your heart elevates them. You sacrificed your life. You've shattered the illusion of the self.'
Harry felt his body fill with pleasure, and a deep sense of satisfaction overtook him. An image of Neo from 'The Matrix' appeared in his mind, bullets landing harmlessly on the ground.
Alistair motioned towards the open section, which Darren had called the arena. 'It's for you to choose,' he said. Harry rose from the table, glass in hand, and walked alone towards the arena. Several faces turned towards him as he passed, but he barely noticed them.
He approached a young witch, perhaps a year or two older than himself. She was roughly his height, with dark wavy hair. He scanned her body, pausing momentarily on her full lips, before looking into her hazel eyes.
'Hi,' he said. 'I'm Harry.'
She swallowed. 'I know. I'm Elizabeth.'
'Nice to meet you Elizabeth.' He saw that she didn't have a drink. 'May I get you something?'
'Yes, thanks. A Glittering Heart, please.'
Resting his hand lightly on her arm, Harry guided her to the bar, where he ordered her cocktail.
While the bartender prepared the drink, Harry turned his attention back to Elizabeth. He took another long look at her through half-lidded eyes before speaking.
'What's in a Glittering Heart? This is only my first time here, so I'm not familiar with the menu.'
She replied, 'It's fizzy, with cranberry juice and some kind of citrus I think. You'll have to try it.'
'I will,' he said, with a slow smile.
The barman slid the cocktail across the counter and Harry paid for it. 'Here you are,' said Harry, handing her the drink.
'Won't you try some?' she asked.
He looked at her lips again. 'I will,' he repeated, and her cheeks deepened in colour.
'Shall we find a table?' he said.
'Yes,' she replied, allowing him to lead her to an empty booth. He slid next to her, their legs touching.
She took a long sip from her cocktail before looking back at him. 'Are you ready?' she asked.
'Yes,' he said, turning towards her. Their lips met, and he tasted her deeply. 'Cranberry,' he murmured, before leaning in again.
She ran her hand over his thigh before sitting up, panting a little. 'I'd like to finish it first,' she said. 'It's hard to Apparate holding a drink.'
He smiled. 'Take your time.' He took another sip of his own cocktail.
She looked at his glass, which was nearly empty, and said, 'Will you be wanting another?'
'No,' he said. 'I have everything I need.'
She shivered and leaned into him again. It was a long while before their lips parted.
'Is there anything I should know about you?' he asked.
She took a languorous breath before answering. 'I live in a village, not far from Bristol. I work for the Ministry, in the Floo department.'
His eyes never left her as she spoke. 'Go on,' he said.
'I finished my studies at East Kettleton two years ago. I played Chaser ... I can't wait to see you fly, even though I'm a Puddlemere fan. I've got tickets for their next match against the Cannons.'
'I still want to know more about you,' he said. 'It sounds like you know enough about me.'
'I was in hiding the last year of the war,' she said. 'My mother's a Muggle, and my sister and I stayed with her to keep her and my grandparents safe. My father had to claim he abandoned her, just to keep his job.'
'That's awful, I'm so sorry,' he said.
'You're the last person who needs to apologise, Harry.' She'd pronounced his name softly, like an exhale.
She sipped from her glass again. 'Will you have some more?'
'Just a taste,' he said, and kissed her lightly. 'I don't want to lose my wits.'
She gasped softly and squeezed his thigh, and then her hand slid up and inwards. He closed his eyes a moment and allowed the sensation to wash over him. They would need to leave soon.
'Let's go,' he said. 'Walk in front of me.'
They walked past his original table and Harry caught Janet's eye. She was with Darren and two others, and she winked at Harry as he passed.
Elizabeth led him out the main door, into the passage.
'Side-along?' he asked. She nodded, and he took her hand. He caressed it a moment before grasping it more firmly.
He Apparated her straight into his bedroom at Grimmauld Place. She looked around and giggled.
'You didn't waste any time,' she remarked.
'Should I have?' he asked, backing away slightly.
She smiled and moved towards him. 'No,' she whispered.