By the time Harry had owled Hermione proposing dinner, he was running late for work and didn't have time for the usual pre-training chit-chat. Which was fine with him—he didn't want to inadvertently reveal what he'd been up to the night before.
All morning he was impatient for the end of lunch, when he would finally wear his official Cannons robes and have his team photograph taken. He couldn't remember ever wanting to be photographed, particularly for the public, but he was proud to be a Cannon, and he already thought the world of his teammates. He remembered all of Ron's posters, and he relished the idea of seeing himself zooming in and out of view.
At the same time, he was a little embarrassed about his excitement. After so many years of avoiding attention, it felt wrong to enjoy it now. From his first days at Hogwarts he'd been scorned as an attention-seeker—by Malfoy and Snape in particular. Harry could easily imagine the Potions master sneering at him for joining the Cannons: 'Delighted to find himself famous, arrogant as his father.'
He remembered how he'd snapped at Owen the day before: 'At least I've something to be arrogant about, you bloody ingrate.' Even though Owen had commended him for saying it, Harry still felt uncomfortable. He didn't like to think he was better than others, or that he was special in some way, but sometimes it was hard to ignore. He'd been Master of Death, after all, and Dumbledore had told him only one man in a million could unite the Hallows.
Harry couldn't help smiling at the thought of taunting some rival Seeker that way. 'Shut it, tosspot—I'm the true Master of the Elder Wand!' Or maybe, 'I survived the Killing Curse twice, you bloody berk!' Or 'I slew a fifty-foot Basilisk when I was twelve—what were you doing then, arseface?' He was tempted to try it on Owen, just for laughs.
At the same time, there was a fine line between being special and being a freak, an insult he'd heard his entire life. Furthermore, Voldemort had valued being special above all, and he'd certainly succeeded at it, but Harry remembered the shrivelled husk of a soul he'd seen in King's Cross.
Why can't everyone be extraordinary? he wondered. Owen, for example, was probably the best teacher he'd ever had, with the possible exception of Remus. Sirius had been a dazzling shooting star across Harry's life, and Dumbledore, for all his shortcomings, was one of a kind. Tonks was unique as well, irrespective of her Metamorphmagus ability, and even Fred, who had left a duplicate behind, remained irreplaceable.
We're all brilliant, decided Harry. So what's the harm in acting like an arrogant prat above the pitch? It was what the game demanded, according to Owen, and surely Hermione would tell him if he became insufferable. No question about it, he thought with amusement, imagining her righteous fury.
The morning's flying drills were tremendous as usual. The trainers had them practise stunt flying, including one-armed broomstick holds and other extreme manoeuvres. Ideally they wouldn't be necessary during a match, but they were important skills to master just in case.
Harry noticed that Owen had to skip some of the exercises, presumably because of his injuries. When the whistle blew, marking the end of the morning drills, he flew over to check on him.
'No one-legged Sloth Grip Roll for you, old man?' asked Harry.
Owen sighed. 'I'm afraid not. The Great Bludgering of '96 put an end to that.'
They flew to the ground and began walking towards the building. 'I'm sorry you've had all those injuries. I tend to assume Healers can fix anything short of curse wounds, so it's sobering to know how fragile we still are.'
'Yeah,' agreed Owen. 'It almost makes you question the wisdom of playing a sport that involves iron balls hurtling at top speed. But what can I say? I'm mad for Quidditch.'
'Aren't we all,' chuckled Harry. 'I forget, which house did you play for at Hogwarts?'
Owen stopped and looked at him, frowning with concern. 'Are you all right?'
'Yeah, I'm fine. What's wrong?'
'You just asked me which house I played for.'
'I'm sorry,' replied Harry. 'I suppose you told me last week. Normally I don't forget that kind of thing.'
'No, it's worse than that,' said Owen. 'I distinctly recall telling you I didn't attend Hogwarts at all. I think we should talk to the Healer straight away.'
'You didn't attend Hogwarts?' asked Harry. 'Did you go to Beauxbatons then? Or somewhere in North America?'
Owen steered Harry directly to Lara's desk. 'Is Healer MacAlister here? I think Harry's experiencing memory loss, possibly from his Bludger hit on Tuesday.'
Lara's eyes widened, and she said, 'Yes, he's in his office.'
Harry was puzzled by Owen's reaction, and also still curious about which school he'd attended. They soon reached the Healer's office and Owen described what had happened.
The Healer directed Harry to the examining table and began performing diagnostic charms. He also ran verbal cognitive tests and asked Harry some memory questions, which he had no trouble answering.
'I don't think there's a medical problem,' said MacAlister. 'And it seems like that's his only memory lapse since Tuesday.' He turned to Harry and asked, 'Have you been in contact with anyone who might have Obliviated you? I realise it's an absurd question, but perhaps there's been a change in your routine that might point us in the right direction.'
Harry thought momentarily of Elizabeth but dismissed the idea. She hadn't even used her wand as far as he knew, and it seemed out of character. 'No, I can't think of anyone. I suppose my only diversion from routine was taking dinner at Hogwarts last night, with Minerva McGonagall. But there's no way she would have Obliviated me.'
'Hogwarts!' cried Owen. 'I knew it!'
'I'm sorry?' said Harry, and MacAlister looked equally lost.
'There has to be a ward on Hogwarts, or maybe something in the food that makes people forget about the other wizarding schools,' he declared.
MacAlister and Harry replied almost simultaneously. 'Other wizarding schools? In Britain?'
'Yes,' said Owen emphatically. 'I think there are about thirty schools in total. For example, I attended one called Blockhurst.'
'How have I never heard of them before?' asked Harry, alarmed.
'You have heard of them before,' insisted Owen. 'Last week. I think Gary is the only one of the starters who attended Hogwarts.'
Harry's head was swimming, and dim memories started to form. 'I think Janet's always on about North Squiffing ... is that one of the schools?'
'I've heard of North Squiffing!' said MacAlister. 'I can't recall why, though.'
'Hermione!' exclaimed Harry. 'She wrote to Bill about this! And to our professors.'
'Hermione Granger?' replied Owen. 'Did she go to Hogwarts with you last night?'
'No, I went alone.'
'That's fortunate,' said Owen, 'At least we know what happened now. I'm glad it wasn't a Bludger, but great Merlin, I can't believe someone at Hogwarts—past or present—is actively tampering with people's memories.'
MacAlister and Harry both laughed. 'No, that's pretty typical for Hogwarts,' said the Healer.
'So which house were you in?' asked Harry.
'Ravenclaw, well before your time.'
'Brilliant. Can I go shower and get lunch now?'
'Yes, off with you,' said MacAlister. 'And thanks, Owen, for pulling off my blinders. This certainly answers a lot of questions I've had about wizarding society.'
Harry and Owen walked towards the lockers and saw that everyone had gone. 'We seem to be on our own for lunch,' said Owen. 'Do you mind joining me at a wizarding restaurant. That's probably our fastest option.'
'All right,' said Harry, before heading off to the shower.
Ten minutes later they reunited, and Owen asked, 'Is there anywhere particular you'd like to go?'
'I guess somewhere quiet, or where I can use a Notice-Me-Not Charm and still get served.'
'There's a good delicatessen a ways down Diagon Alley—the Dragondale. They have counter service, so after ordering you can skulk in a corner while I retrieve our sandwiches.'
'I prefer to think of it as lurking,' said Harry. 'Sounds more dignified than skulking.'
'Indeed,' said Owen. 'We'll get there fastest if I bring you by Side-Along, since I know a good spot nearby to land.'
They arrived at the delicatessen and quickly placed their orders. Harry was only approached twice before they found a table and raised the Notice-Me-Not Charm.
'It's a bit comical,' observed Owen, 'that becoming the Cannons starting Seeker is actually a step down for you as far as notoriety is concerned. I used to consider it a shocking amount of fame for an ordinary bloke like me.'
'By now I'm used to it, but it certainly came as a shock when I first entered the wizarding world. I was less than nothing in my previous life—at most there were a few whispers about me due to accidental magic. Turning the teacher's hair blue ... that sort of thing.'
Owen smiled. 'Yeah, I had a few of those.'
'Were you also raised by Muggles?'
'No, my parents are both half-bloods, but they sent my brother and me to Muggle primary school for a few years, once we were old enough to understand the Statute of Secrecy. They didn't want us growing up ignorant.'
'I didn't know you had a brother,' said Harry. 'As an only child I tend to forget about the concept of siblings, even though my best mate and former girlfriend come from a litter of seven.'
'That must have seemed downright exotic to you.'
'It was brilliant. The Weasleys' house is completely opposite to where I grew up. Held up entirely by magic, bursting with strange spells ... the garden riddled with gnomes, and a ghoul in the attic. Whereas I come from the most sterile suburb you can imagine … But tell me more about your family.'
'I've two, actually,' replied Owen. 'My parents and brother, and also my wife and daughters.'
'Really, you're a dad? I feel silly for not knowing this already. How old are they?'
'They're twins, age four.' He pulled a metal case from his pocket and revealed a photograph of two laughing girls, along with a woman Harry assumed was Owen's wife.
'Oh, they're lovely,' said Harry. 'Did you meet your wife in school?'
'I did, but we were only friends back then. We didn't start dating until a few years later.'
'That's a bit hard to imagine,' said Harry, thinking of witches he'd known at Hogwarts, like Susan Bones or Padma Patil.
'Yes, it came as a surprise to us as well.' He looked up suddenly and said, 'They've called our number ... I'll go collect our sandwiches.'
They ate quietly for a while before Owen spoke again. 'I don't think I've told you how pleased I am you joined the team. And not just because the Beaters are leaving me alone now,' he added. 'I'm really enjoying our afternoon training sessions.'
'So am I,' said Harry. 'You're a great teacher.'
'Thanks, but that's the thing. I've never taught before.'
Harry was astonished. 'Really? I was just thinking this morning that you might be the best teacher I've ever had.'
'I'm not sure that's high praise, considering what you've said about your Occlumency teacher and, if I remember correctly, you had a rather unfortunate series of Defence professors.'
'Actually a couple of my Defence professors were good, including one of the Death Eaters. Other than the part where he delivered me to Voldemort, that is.'
'Again, I'm overwhelmed by your praise,' said Owen, smiling. 'But seriously, cheers. And thanks for the opportunity to teach. I've actually learnt quite a lot in the process. It's rather remarkable to hear myself spontaneously giving good advice.'
'I know what you mean,' said Harry. 'That's what happened when I organised a secret Defence club during my fifth year. I'd never considered teaching, but suddenly lesson plans were popping into my head. And my own Defence skills improved immeasurably.'
'Yes, my daughters are fond of their glow-in-the-dark pyjamas. They don't know about Patronuses, of course—they just think they're pretty. But anyway, I'm rather enjoying contributing to the team this way. It was frustrating to give up the starting position, and I didn't have the same rapport with Spencer.'
'You didn't train him then?' asked Harry.
'No. Remember, his main problem was flying, although he performed much better during practice. He was pretty good as long as we weren't playing an actual match.'
'You're making me nervous about Saturday. Am I likely to choke that badly?'
Owen laughed and said, 'You've amply demonstrated you don't choke under pressure. If you can duel Voldemort, you can probably handle league Quidditch.'
'That's a good point,' acknowledged Harry.
'Come to think of it, why am I even teaching you how to taunt, when you're the one who called Voldemort "Riddle" to his face?'
'I was hardly myself when that happened,' confessed Harry. 'I hadn't slept in more than twenty-four hours. We'd broken out of Gringotts that morning on a dragon, I'd escaped Fiendfyre on an old broomstick, and I'd come back from the dead.' Harry was surprised to hear himself talking about it, considering he'd avoided the exact same subjects with Elizabeth the night before. 'That was when ... the thing happened. The profound experience you were asking about.'
'So you really were dead?' asked Owen.
'Not exactly. It's complicated, and I'm not supposed to tell you this, but I was tethered to life by my link to Voldemort. Through my scar, and also through the blood he'd taken from me.'
Owen took a deep breath. 'Thanks for trusting me, Harry. I won't tell anyone.'
'I know. So when you asked me if I'd had a profound experience, I think that must have been it. I felt ... different afterwards. Completely fearless, at least for a while. But I think all the grief knocked it out of me.'
'That makes sense,' said Owen. 'An experience like that can get pushed into the background when life gets hard. But it sounds like it's coming back?'
'In bits and pieces, yeah. The stuff you've taught me about expanding into awareness has been a big help. And I think just being on a broomstick all day is making a difference.'
'That's grand, Harry. I'm really happy for you.'
'So you've experienced something similar?'
'Not quite like yours,' replied Owen. 'I didn't survive a Killing Curse, for one thing. But yes, I experienced something I can't entirely put into words. It was while flying, during my first year on the team. I suddenly had this sense that I wasn't there—never had been there, actually. The thing I'd called "I" was just an empty space that the world was passing through.
'It sounds feeble or even trite when I describe it, but it was like nothing I'd ever experienced. I felt a rush through my entire body, and my mind was more profoundly quiet than I'd imagined possible. The experience only lasted a few minutes, but during the next few weeks I felt my old mental habits falling away. Things that used to upset me just seemed irrelevant.'
Harry was riveted. It was remarkable to hear someone else talking about this.
'It wasn't all easy,' said Owen. 'My girlfriend and I broke up soon after. We just didn't connect the same way anymore. She thought being on the team had changed me, but I suspect it was my experience that caused it.'
Harry's eyes widened. 'Yes, exactly. It took a bit longer for me and Ginny, but I think it must have been similar. She said I'd changed too much. I thought it was from the war, and maybe it was in part. But it was probably also what happened to me that day.' He closed his eyes for a moment. 'Thank you … this explains a lot. I mean, it's still hard—I'd do anything to have her back, but she was probably right.'
Owen nodded sympathetically before looking at his wristwatch. 'We should get going. Team photos in a quarter hour.'
Harry grinned and said, 'Finally! Ever since I signed my contract I've been eager to try on my new robes.'
'Yes, there's nothing like them. I always enjoy seeing new players suit up for the first time. The practice robes aren't the same.'
Harry agreed, and they returned to the training grounds. When they arrived, some of the other players were already milling about in their team robes, and Harry's heart swelled.
He found Lara, and before he could say anything she said, 'There you are! I'm glad you're all right—what a relief that you weren't actually hurt. Owen gave us a real fright when he rushed you into the Healer's office. But never mind ... let's get you into your new robes.'
She led him to the large box near the window and removed the lid. Harry almost had to shield his eyes when the sun hit the bright fabric, but a huge smile lit his face. He pulled the topmost set of robes from the box and lifted them up.
They were nothing like the team uniform he'd worn at Hogwarts. Those robes had been provided by the school, and although he'd loved wearing them, they couldn't compare with bespoke robes for a professional team. The fabric on his new uniform was simultaneously soft and strong, and he could feel the tingle of magic on them.
'Go on, then,' prompted Lara. 'Take them into the locker room and put them on.'
Almost in a trance, he carried them to his locker and suited up. The trousers fit perfectly—everything fit perfectly—and as he drew the leather laces at his navel the robes closed snugly around him. He fastened the tall boots and attached the safety gear, which completed the look. In the mirror he saw his surname on the back, above a large numeral three, and he wasn't sure he'd ever been so happy in his life. I could cast a Patronus from this feeling, he thought, and he half-expected Prongs to leap spontaneously from his wand, which he wasn't even holding.
Fully dressed, he took his broomstick and walked back into the main entrance area. Lara surprised him by letting out a whoop. 'Now it's official!' she cried, and everyone else cheered.
'There's just something so adorable about Seeker's robes,' cooed Janet. 'It's like seeing a cat dressed up as people.'
'Oi!' protested Harry. 'I'm not that short!'
'Of course you aren't,' she said reassuringly. 'Particularly not after we hoist you onto Ryan's shoulders.'
He glared at her as they marched outdoors, where the photographer and her assistant were erecting the backdrop for his portrait. Darius was there as well, and he lit up when he saw Harry emerge. 'Splendid!' he boomed, clapping Harry on the shoulder and shaking his hand. 'I'm proud as punch to see you in Cannons robes.'
'That's how I feel as well,' gushed Harry. He looked around and saw that most, if not all, of his teammates were present. 'I hope I'm not late.'
'No, we're right on schedule. She'll start with the group photographs,' he said, indicating the photographer, 'and then the rest of the team will change back into practice robes and she'll photograph you individually.'
A couple more players arrived and Tuttle, who was also wearing team robes, blew her whistle. 'Team portrait, now!' she ordered and then cocked her chin at the photographer.
'Right, I want you all to gather over here,' said the photographer, indicating an area in front of the pitch. 'We'll do the full team first, and then just the starters.'
Harry was surprised by how many seemingly identical pictures she took—unlike with Muggle photographs, there was no problem with blinking—but clearly she was a perfectionist. For the full team photo she put Harry and Owen together in front, since that was the traditional spot for the Seeker, and Harry knew he'd want a copy of that one.
Next she photographed the starters—with and without Darius and Tuttle—and again Harry was front and centre. There was a lot of joking amongst his teammates, and at one point Darren said, 'On three, everybody wink!' Harry made a rude gesture at him.
'That's probably not a keeper,' observed Renée. 'But at least it won't wind up in the Prophet.'
'I should say not,' said the photographer. 'I'm a hired professional and not some seedy freelancer.'
'Does that mean I can't have a copy?' asked Janet. 'What a letdown.'
'I'll be happy to make a rude gesture for you anytime, Janet,' offered Harry. 'With or without a camera.'
'I can see why you're so popular with the witches,' she said, and he resisted the urge to whack her with his broom.
Next came the flying shots, which were more complicated. The photographer stood on a floating platform, with her large camera on a tripod, and her assistant directed the players to fly in and out of view.
'We needn't bring out a Quaffle and Bludgers,' she said. 'The old photos are still good. But as long as you're in the air, Mr Potter, we'll get some Snitch shots.'
'There's no need for formality,' said Darren. 'You can call him Snitchbottom.'
Hoping the photographer hadn't heard, Harry called out, 'Just Potter is fine.'
'All right,' she said. 'The rest of you can go—all I need now are photos of Potter.' She called to her assistant, 'Throw him the Snitch,' and then turned back to Harry to explain. 'It's not regulation. Just keep catching and releasing it so we can get a good shot.'
He felt a bit silly flying around repeatedly catching a lazy Snitch, but he remembered how impressive Ron's posters always looked, so he assumed the end result would be good.
Eventually she ordered him to the ground and led him to the backdrop they'd set up earlier. 'Let's give you a moment to cool down,' she said, offering him a glass of water. 'We should tidy up your hair as well.'
Her assistant appeared with a comb but Harry waved it away. 'It's a lost cause—my hair just grows like this.'
'That seems hard to believe,' said the assistant, who started combing his hair anyway. Harry didn't bother stopping him—he'd see for himself soon enough.
After some combing, the assistant looked at Harry appraisingly. 'How do you feel about your scar? Do you want it visible or not?'
Harry wasn't sure how to answer. He'd actually liked his scar as a child, before he knew its real meaning. But as soon as he entered the wizarding world, his scar was the first thing everyone stared at, and so he made a habit of hiding it beneath his fringe. It had occasionally hurt, like when Professor Quirrell looked at him, but it was only after Voldemort regained a body that the visions began.
Sirius had died because of Harry's scar, indirectly at least. But Arthur Weasley had lived because of it. And in the end, it was Harry's scar that provided his greatest advantage in the fight against Voldemort: his inside access to the Dark wizard's movements and motivations. It was a part of Harry, for better or for worse, and there was no point in hiding it.
'I guess visible is fine,' he said, and he noticed the eager gleam in the photographer's eyes. Might as well give the people what they want, he thought.
There was more combing, and the assistant finally said, 'I should have trusted you. Your hair clearly has a mind of its own. Perhaps Ollivander should make wands from it.'
Harry laughed and said, 'Now that would be a temperamental wand! I doubt it would behave for anyone, least of all me.' He shook his head to redistribute his hair and ran his fingers through his fringe to get it at least partly out of the way.
The photographer directed him to pose with and without his broomstick. 'I've got more sense than to ask you to smile,' she said. 'Or any of my subjects, frankly. Maybe it works in Muggle photographs, but in wizarding photos there's nothing more smarmy than a posed smile.'
Harry thought immediately of Gilderoy Lockhart, which ironically caused him to smile, and he heard the shutter snap. 'Was that a trick?' he asked.
'I'm not saying,' she said, and he smiled again in spite of himself.
He noticed his teammates were back in their practice robes and flying above the pitch. 'Are we nearly done?' he asked impatiently.
'Yes, just a couple more. And thanks—you've been a good sport. I know you don't like having your photograph taken.'
'Is it that obvious?'
'Not so much this afternoon, but based on other photos I've seen of you it's plain as day. I hear the Prophet art department has an entire bulletin board covered with photos of you disappearing from the frame.' She stepped out from behind the camera. 'You're all set now, Potter. Well done.'
'Cheers,' he said. 'That was relatively painless.' She waved him off and he returned to the locker room, where he resignedly changed into his ordinary practice robes.
He found Owen on the pitch, and they had a little time to train before before Tuttle blew the whistle. During the break before the practice match, Owen gave Harry more instructions. 'I'm going to taunt you again, and I expect you to absolutely crush me in return. I know you have it in you, so no holding back.'
'Are you sure that's a good idea?' asked Harry. 'I have a temper, and I'm reluctant to uncork it.'
'I've read the Prophet, Harry, so I know all about your temper,' said Owen. 'But if I cross the line, I expect you to tell me exactly where to go.'
'You and the thestral you rode in on?' smirked Harry.
'Exactly! And have fun with it. I've exchanged vicious barbs with rival Seekers and then had a pint with them afterwards. It's a league tradition, really.'
'All right then,' said Harry. 'My apologies in advance for blasting you to bits with my verbal Confringo.'
'Likewise,' said Owen, and before long they were in the air circling the pitch. The match was starters versus reserves, and Harry was still wearing the headset and goggles. He was fully used to them, though, and they were no longer a distraction.
Owen started. 'Why'd you join the Cannons anyway, Potter? Wouldn't any decent team have you?'
'I felt sorry for them—it's been ages since they had a competent Seeker.'
Owen laughed and said, 'I suppose you're used to shitty circumstances. Playing for the Cannons should fit right in.'
'Well, not all of us hid under blankets during the war,' retorted Harry, before flying off to reset his intentions. He wasn't at all rattled, but he didn't want to fall into old bad habits of searching for the Snitch.
After a while Owen approached him and said, 'You claim you've never shagged Hermione Granger. Is that because she's a Mudblood? If so, I get it—I only shag half-bloods and up.'
'Witches or house-elves?'
'Nice one,' laughed Owen. 'Actually, it's okay to fuck a Mudblood, but only up the arse.'
'Wow, you're filthier than I realised,' observed Harry. 'Don't let your daughters hear you talking like that.'
Owen suddenly launched to the right and downwards, and Harry shot after him. It was a feint, though, and they soon resumed their regular Seeker patterns.
'Well done!' said Harry. 'You've already gone ten minutes without getting hit by a Bludger.'
'And you've gone twenty minutes since your last Killing Curse.'
Harry laughed. 'What, are you afraid of them? I'm sorry for you.'
'Get over yourself, Potter. The real reason you got sent back from the dead is because your parents still don't want you around.'
It was Harry who feinted this time, partly to clear his head from Owen's last jibe, but mostly for fun. He flew low and skimmed the ground before starting to circle again.
Owen found him straight away and said, 'Were you down there looking for snakes, you Parselmouth freak?'
'Actually I can't speak Parseltongue anymore,' answered Harry. 'I lost the ability when Voldemort died.'
Owen snorted derisively. 'Stupid git can't even speak to snakes. And you call yourself a wizard?'
'It got tiresome talking to snakes. They were always asking after your mum.'
'Wow,' said Owen with a slow nod. 'I thought I had the monopoly on mum jokes.'
'Not with a mum like yours.'
They kept at it for a while, with the occasional feint just to liven things up. Owen managed to strike a nerve a few times, and he genuinely rattled Harry by taunting him in a singsong voice, but Harry was able to keep his head clear and overcome it.
Finally it was Harry who spotted the Snitch, and he caught it without difficulty. Owen immediately congratulated him, and they had a few more laughs as they recalled some of the nastier insults they'd exchanged.
'But that singsong voice,' said Harry. 'I need to work on that one. Bellatrix Lestrange used to talk that way in battle, and it still sets me off.'
'Ouch, I'm sorry. You'll have to come round the house and meet my daughters—they talk like that all the time.'
They joined the rest of the team on the benches to hear Tuttle's notes. Everyone had played well—particularly the starters—and Tuttle seemed to be scraping the bottom of the barrel with her critiques. 'Decent work, Potter, but don't get complacent. There'll be a lot more pressure on Saturday than I reckon you're used to.'
Several team members burst out laughing, and Janet said, 'Harry, if you get nervous playing the Falcons on Saturday, just pretend you're duelling You-Know-Who.'
Even Tuttle laughed, and said, 'Good idea. All right, everyone—see you tomorrow.'
Harry showered and returned to Grimmauld Place, where he promptly lay down on the sitting room sofa. He no longer required a daily pain draught, but he was still getting used to a full day of physical activity. Tuttle was right—wizards really were too sedentary as a rule.
He may or may not have dozed off, and when he opened his eyes he found Hermione in the room with him. 'Hello,' he said. 'Have you been waiting long?'
'No, I just got here,' she replied. 'You just looked so peaceful, I didn't want to bother you.'
He sat up and asked, 'How are you doing?'
'I'm all right, I suppose. There's been some crying, mostly at night, but I think I'm primarily a bit numb. I'm not sure the shock has worn off yet.'
'Yeah, I know what you mean,' he said. 'Is your internship at least a good distraction?'
'Definitely,' she said. 'You know how I love research, and I feel we're doing something genuinely important here. Not just for wizardkind, but for magical beings as a whole.'
'That's great,' replied Harry. 'Although it's no surprise you're already making strides in your career so soon after finishing at Hogwarts.'
'I could say the same for you, except for the finishing Hogwarts part,' she said, a trifle archly. 'It's really quite impressive you're already the starting Seeker for a professional Quidditch team.'
'Thanks, I still can't believe it myself. I got my team robes today!'
'Oh dear,' she said. 'Do we need to bring you back to the Optimancer?'
'Very funny,' he replied. 'No, they're absolutely brilliant. You'll be impressed when you see them—they're much smarter than anything I've ever worn.'
'More than those dress robes Mrs Weasley bought for you?'
'Seems hard to imagine, but yes. I've half a mind to go back to the tailor and get some clothes made up. There's a discount for team members.'
Hermione rolled her eyes. 'And here come the perks. They should offer discounts to people who really need them and not just overpaid athletes.'
'Yes, it's tragic how the common wizard can't afford bespoke robes,' drawled Harry. 'You'll have to take that up after liberating the house-elves.'
'My goodness, Harry. You've become rather sarcastic all of a sudden.'
'I'm sorry,' he said. 'Owen's been training me in proper Quidditch taunting, and I suppose it's flipped a switch. I'll try to tone it down.'
'Taunting? You mean with the rival players?'
'Yeah, it can get pretty rough apparently, and I'm an easy target.'
She looked concerned. 'How is that going? Will you be all right?'
'Yes, I'll be fine. Mind you, it came as a shock the first time Owen did it. He apologised later, but he said some fairly horrid things. So did I, for that matter.'
'Do I even want to know what kind of things?'
'Anything you can imagine, and worse. Stuff about my parents, and the war. About you, even.'
Hermione's eyes widened. 'I definitely don't want to know about that.'
'Let's just say you have a lot of admirers,' he said, and she reddened and lowered her eyes. 'Speaking of which, did you ever ring Ryan back?'
'Yes, I left him a message. Though I confess I called when I knew he'd be at practice.'
'Will you have dinner with him then?'
'Probably, but not right away. I still don't feel very fit for company.'
'I understand,' said Harry. 'He's a solid bloke, though—I'm certain you'll like him.' She smiled half-heartedly, and he added, 'Actually, you'll see him again on Saturday at the match. I have a ticket for you.' He fetched the envelope from the side table and handed her one of the tickets.
'Thanks.' She paused and asked, 'Will I be seated near Ron? It's all right, but I'd rather be prepared.'
'No, you'll be with Luna, Neville, and Hannah. Ron will be in a separate section with Minerva, and maybe George and Lee.'
'Minerva? Haven't we discussed this already?'
'I saw her yesterday, and she insisted again that I use her given name. I suspect she'd allow you the same if you asked nicely, or if you just called her "Professor" a lot.'
'You saw Professor McGonagall?' she asked, alarmed. 'At Hogwarts?'
'Yes, and I can confirm that there is indeed something causing people to forget about the other wizarding schools. Owen dragged me to the team Healer today because of my apparent memory loss.'
'But it's come back now?'
'More or less, though I'll need to ask my teammates which schools they went to again. I can only remember Janet went to North Squiffing.'
She shook her head disapprovingly. 'I can't believe nobody's ever discovered this before. I wonder how long it's been going on. I certainly hope Bill and I can get to the heart of the matter.'
'There's nobody I'd trust more than you,' he said. 'Oh, and I have a minor research request, if you have a spare moment.'
Hermione's eyes brightened, and she said, 'Of course, what is it?'
'I'd like to repair the tapestry in the drawing room—I'm hoping the ring will make it possible—but an ordinary Reparo didn't have any effect.'
'No, I don't imagine it would. You'd need a spell with different Arithmantic underpinnings.'
'Right, my thought exactly,' agreed Harry, and she glared at him.
'But yes,' she said, 'I can look up spells for textiles or even tapestries in particular. There's not a bad library at the Ministry, and I've been introduced to some of the more scholarly wizards, outside the Department of Mysteries anyway.'
Harry shuddered. 'I can't say I'd ever want to go there again.'
'No,' she replied. 'Nor I.'
They were silent a moment before Harry asked, 'What would you like for dinner. Should we stay here or go out?'
'You'll laugh, but I have a mad urge to go somewhere noisy and full of Muggles.'
'You're joking, right? And this can't possibly be the Grimoire's effect, unless your plan is to torture them.'
'No, I just want to be around people my own age for once. Sometimes I feel like I'm fifty years old, and then I remember I'm nineteen and would normally have started university by now.'
'Particularly if you hadn't taken a year off fighting a war,' remarked Harry. 'Yeah, I know what you mean about feeling older than we really are. That's how I felt before joining the Cannons.'
Her expression softened. 'Is that changing then? I'm so glad. Maybe I should join a Quidditch team,' she added with a smirk.
'You'd have to get up on a broom first,' he said. 'But as for dinner, why don't we head out to Royal Holloway University and find a pub around there. It's not far from where I grew up, so I know a spot where we can Apparate.'
'Good idea,' she said, and within minutes they were wandering through a busy university district.
'I wouldn't have expected there to be so many students between terms,' she said as they navigated the crowded pavement.
'I think they have summer programmes, possibly for foreign students.'
'That makes sense,' she said. 'But as long as they're young and Muggle, they meet my requirement.'
Harry and Hermione poked into several pubs before finding one that had the right ambiance. They bought drinks and ordered food at the counter and then found a table.
'This feels good,' said Hermione. 'I forget how large the world is sometimes—magical Britain can be so confining.'
'Yes, but it helps to recall there are thirty schools besides Hogwarts,' noted Harry. 'I can't believe I never knew about them. Maybe wizarding society will feel bigger once they're more fully integrated.'
'I hope so,' she said.
They continued to talk as they waited for their food, but they were interrupted by a voice from behind. 'Harry, is that you?'
Harry, who didn't expect to be recognised in a Muggle pub, turned around and was surprised to see his cousin. 'Dudley! What are you doing here?'
'What am I doing here? I should be asking you the same, since I'm the one who lives here.'
Hermione's eyes were wide. She knew who Dudley was, even though she had never met him.
'Good point,' said Harry, who rose and extended his hand. 'How are you doing? This is a surprise.'
Dudley shook his hand and said, 'Yeah, we didn't even know whether you were alive. I mean, those people said you were when they brought us back to the house, but I didn't know if they were telling the truth.'
'Yes, I'm alive,' said Harry. 'And no small thanks to my friend here. Hermione, this is my cousin Dudley.'
She was looking carefully at him, as if she were trying to find a resemblance. 'Nice to meet you, Dudley,' she said. 'I'm a friend of Harry's from school.'
'Nice.' He turned back to Harry and said, 'So what brings you here? Surely not to visit Mum and Dad.'
'No, we just wanted a change of surroundings, and this was somewhere I knew how to get to.'
Dudley leaned forwards and said, 'And by "get to" you mean ... pop.' He made an accompanying gesture with his hand.
Harry noticed that Dudley was eyeing the empty chair at their table. 'Er, would you like to join us?'
'Yeah, that'd be grand. I'm here with mates but they won't miss me. They're all on the pull anyway.' He turned towards Hermione and said, 'So are you two ...'
'No,' they both said at once. 'We're just friends,' said Hermione, 'since our first year.'
Dudley's eyebrows rose briefly but he didn't say anything.
'How are your parents doing?' asked Harry. 'I apologise for not coming around.'
'They wouldn't want to see you anyway, so don't worry about it. I think they're scared you'll turn up seeking revenge, now that you've finished off the bloke who killed your parents. But I'm glad I ran into you. I've often wondered about you, and you're not exactly in the phone book.'
'What are you up to these days?' asked Harry.
'I've started uni. Not here—I'm just home for the summer. Dad wants me to go into business, but I'd rather study Sports Science. Luckily Mum is on my side so she's wearing him down for me. Meanwhile I'm in the boxing club, and I've also started playing hockey, which is fun—it involves fighting as well.'
Harry laughed. 'I'm glad you've found an outlet.'
'Yeah,' said Dudley. 'I suppose I needed one after you moved away. Sorry about that.'
Harry was taken aback—he had never expected anything resembling an apology from Dudley. Not for the first time, he wondered what Dudley saw when they encountered those Dementors in the alley near Magnolia Crescent.
'Er, yeah,' said Harry uncomfortably.
'So what are you doing? Do your kind have universities?'
'Not as such. It's more of an apprenticeship system.'
'Right,' said Dudley. 'So are you doing one of those?'
'I was until a couple of weeks ago, to become a sort of police detective, but I dropped out and signed with a professional sports team.'
'You?' exclaimed Dudley. 'On a sports team?'
Hermione was indignant on Harry's behalf. 'What's so strange about that?'
'You were never exactly athletic,' said Dudley.
'I beg your pardon,' replied Harry. 'I seem to recall outrunning you fairly regularly.'
Dudley laughed. 'I suppose you're right. You should probably thank me for training you up.'
'Not bloody likely,' said Harry.
Hermione looked like she couldn't believe the conversation she was witnessing. 'Harry was a star athlete all through school. He had quite a few admirers. He still does, in fact.'
Harry understood what Hermione was doing, but he didn't see much point. 'It's a wizarding sport, played in the air on broomsticks.'
'Wicked!' said Dudley. 'I never get to talk about this stuff, you know. Mum and Dad go mental if I ever bring it up, and the one time I told a friend about it—a girl, actually—these two blokes in robes showed up and pointed their thingies at her and erased her memory.'
Hermione excused herself, leaving Harry and Dudley alone at the table.
'So there's really nothing between you two?' he asked. 'Are you a poof or something?'
'No, I had a girlfriend all of last year, and I've been dating someone else recently. I just don't see Hermione that way.'
'I wouldn't mind seeing her that way,' said Dudley. 'But I suppose she's not interested in, er, normal people.'
'Probably not,' he said, suppressing his horror. 'And she has a boyfriend anyway.' It's almost true, thought Harry. Or it was a week ago.
'Well, give her my number just in case.'
'Oi, Duds!' shouted a young man. 'You were supposed to be looking for girls.'
'Nah, this is my cousin. I haven't seen him in a while.'
His friend shrugged and turned away. 'Are you going to join him then,' asked Harry hopefully.
'Yeah, I'd better do. Anyway, it was nice running into you. Do you have a phone number?'
'No, I'm afraid not.'
'Well, you know how to find me. Maybe I can watch one of your matches sometime.'
'Er, yeah, maybe,' said Harry, trying to prevent his brain from exploding. He stood up and held out his hand again. 'It's good to see you. I'd tell you to give your parents my best, but I doubt that would be pleasant for anyone.'
'Yeah, probably not,' replied Dudley. 'But take care of yourself, and ... I'm glad you're alive and all.' He gave Harry a hug, which was surprisingly not very awkward.
'You take care too.' Harry sat down again as his cousin rejoined his mates.
Hermione returned to the table soon after. 'So that's your fabled cousin Dudley! I was expecting someone fatter.'
'He used to be, but he got into boxing a few years ago.'
'It sounds like he started long before that,' she observed, frowning.
'Yeah,' said Harry absently.
'You really look nothing alike.'
'No, he looks like his dad. I don't look like my aunt either, except we're both skinny.'
'Are you all right?' she asked. 'I know you don't have the best history with your relations.'
'Yeah, I'm fine. It was mostly just unexpected. I could honestly use a pint right now, or a shot of Firewhisky,' he said, looking down at his soft drink.
'Not on a school night,' she admonished.
'Yes, Mum.'
She sighed. 'That's what Ron used to say. I should have realised it wasn't a compliment.'
'I'm sorry,' said Harry. 'I didn't mean it like that.'
'I know. I guess it's just sad to discover how many warning signs I'd missed.'
'I'm sure I could say the same about me and Ginny, only I probably don't see them in hindsight either.'
Their food came out, and they were quiet for a while. 'By the way,' said Harry, 'if things don't work out with Ryan, you should know that Dudley was keen on you. He asked me to give you his number.'
She burst out laughing. 'I'm sure your aunt and uncle will be delighted when he brings home a witch.'
'So you'll do it?' he asked, grinning.
'Definitely,' she replied. 'In fact, I think I'll go find him right now.' She motioned to leave her chair.
He nearly choked from laughter. 'It's almost worth it, but then I'd have to console Ryan.'
She looked at him. 'You're serious then? Ryan is actually interested in me that way?'
'Oh dear, I wasn't supposed to tell you that. He didn't want to seem like a vulture.'
'Is he one?' she probed.
'Not as far as I can tell. No, he seems first rate—he even gave me his tickets for Saturday's match. We only get four tickets to the away games, and apparently it's sold out.'
'What a shock,' she said dryly. 'Really, they need more celebrities in the wizarding world. It's mostly just you and Celestina Warbeck.'
'With any luck Lockhart will recover soon and fill the void,' remarked Harry.
'Merlin, I hope not,' she said.
They spent another hour together enjoying the lively atmosphere before walking to the deserted wood where Harry had Apparated.
'Thanks for inviting me out,' she said. 'It's nice to get a change of scene. Even Grimmauld Place feels a little too familiar right now.'
'But my house is so cheerful!' he protested. 'Everyone says so.'
'That's because you get them drunk first.'
'I'm not sure I like what you're insinuating,' he said, and she laughed.
'I'm pleased you're moving on with your life. And I'm glad you joined the Cannons and turned everything upside down. Maybe that's the right direction anyway—we've probably been the wrong way up the entire time.'
He nodded in agreement. 'I reckon so.'
'Wish me luck tomorrow,' she said. 'I have my big meeting at Gringotts.'
'Good luck, but I'm sure you won't need it. What could possibly go wrong there?'
She glared at him but smiled, and they hugged goodnight and Apparated home.