'Don't say a word,' ordered Harry as soon as he saw Janet the next morning. 'I'm serious, not a peep out of you. I'll jinx you if I have to.' He raised his wand in warning.
Her expression solemn, she pantomimed zipping her mouth closed. And then she winked.
Before he could respond, Lara entered the room and said, 'Well, if it isn't Desirable Number One! How's your bum feeling? Are you all set for pain draughts?'
'My bum is fine, thank you.'
'It most certain–,' began Janet, before she was struck by Harry's Silencing Charm.
Ignoring her wild gesticulations, Harry just shook his wand at her. 'I did warn you,' he admonished.
Next he turned to Lara and said, 'I've been meaning to ask you about getting tickets to Saturday's match. I'd like to invite some friends.'
Janet scowled and marched loudly into the locker room.
'Team policy is that starters receive ten tickets to home games and four tickets to away games,' replied Lara. 'Normally there's an option to purchase more, but I got word yesterday from the Falcons ticket office that Saturday's match is completely sold out. It seems your debut is attracting a crowd.'
'Really, only four? That's disappointing,' said Harry. He had a long list of people he wanted to invite, and it would be hard to narrow it down to four. And there was the added necessity of seating Ron and Hermione apart from each other. At least I haven't any family, he thought grimly.
'You might see if any of the other players can spare a few. Check with Ryan—I think his parents are away on holiday, so he might not need his.'
'Thanks, I will.'
They continued chatting, interrupted periodically by passing teammates. 'Morning, Snitchbottom!' greeted Renée. Suresh winked at him.
Finally Ryan entered, and Harry asked him. 'Have you any spare tickets for Saturday's match?'
'Yes, I have four, and I've been meaning to offer them to you,' said Ryan. 'My parents are currently in France, and I've put off my friends who were hinting after them. I had a feeling you'd need extras.'
'That was really thoughtful,' said Harry. 'Thanks—I owe you.'
'Think nothing of it, Snitchbottom,' replied Ryan, winking.
Soon they were all outside running laps, and Harry found himself once again contemplating his teammates. He made a show of being annoyed at all their ribbing, but inwardly he was enjoying it. He'd never had this kind of camaraderie with his Auror colleagues, and only a handful of his Hogwarts friends treated him like this. He felt like he was finally having some of the fun he'd missed out on in the past.
He certainly hadn't laughed much during the final year of the war. It was unpleasant even to think about that period, when they were burdened with the locket Horcrux and had no idea how to destroy it, much less find the others. Dumbledore had left them almost completely in the dark, and survival seemed impossible.
And then there were Harry's blinding headaches, accompanied by visions from Voldemort. He still had nightmares from the sickening acts of cruelty he'd witnessed through their soul link, and he'd never admitted even to Hermione how much he had empathised with the Dark wizard. Through the Horcrux, Harry had experienced Voldemort's thoughts as if they were his own, and even with Voldemort dead and gone, Harry would never forget the fundamental connection they had shared.
Perhaps this was why Harry so enjoyed flying drills with his teammates, or why he was able to lose himself so completely with a sexual partner. He felt a similar sense of connection, but without any of the horrifying aspects of his Voldemort link. Instead he simply felt their shared pleasure.
Harry decided to experiment with this during the team flying drills later that morning. Remembering Owen's instructions, he set his intention to let his body and broomstick handle the flying, and to surrender as much as possible to the shared bliss of the experience.
Unfortunately it didn't work as smoothly as he'd hoped. The drills required more conscious attention than his Seeker practice, and so he flubbed a few manoeuvres. Harry supposed he'd have to find the right balance between surrendering fully into awareness and firmly gripping his mental Omnioculars.
He eventually found his old rhythm, and the flying drills went smoothly after that. Tuttle blew the whistle a little before noon, and after showering the starters made their usual journey to the village pub. The Silencing Charm Harry had placed on Janet had long since worn off, and she was roundly abusing him for it.
'You had no basis at all to assume I'd start taking the piss about the Witch Weekly cover,' she said. 'For all you knew, I was about to reveal my most tender hopes and dreams—things I've never shared with a living soul. But now I've lost my nerve. I hope you can live with yourself, Potter.'
Suresh rolled his eyes at her and said, 'You're just upset you lost the betting pool. Though you weren't actually eligible to participate, considering you were part of the wager.' At Harry's puzzled expression, he added, 'We had a bet over how long you'd last before jinxing her.'
'You're kidding,' said Harry. 'When did this happen?'
Renée explained, 'We placed our bets last Monday, after you'd signed but before you started training. No gold, just an honour bet as usual.'
'I'm glad we did it before we met you, which in retrospect made things more interesting,' said Suresh. 'None of us knew whether you'd be impossibly stoic or some twitchy war veteran. I'm sorry to admit that I had you down for your very first day.'
'And who won?' asked Harry.
'I did,' said Darren proudly. 'But there was an extra bonus for predicting which spell you'd use, and I guessed wrong with Expelliarmus.'
'You thought I'd need to disarm her? What exactly were you expecting her to do?'
'Nothing in particular—I just figured it was your standby. It worked on You-Know-Who, after all.'
'Ryan and I both picked the Silencing Charm,' said Gary. 'Renée was hoping you'd give her antlers. And Suresh was down for Incendio.'
'Incendio? On my first day?' exclaimed Harry, turning towards Suresh. 'I hope your opinion of me has improved since then.'
'Oh, that wasn't a judgment against you,' said Suresh. 'It was more a reflection on Janet.'
Upon arriving at the pub, they took their usual table and placed their orders with Candice. The conversation turned towards the upcoming match—particularly how optimistic everyone was about their chances.
Harry finally posed a question he'd had since his first day on the team. 'Please don't take this the wrong way, but I'm curious about something: Why do the Cannons have such poor standings? You're all terrific flyers, and the Beaters and Chasers are remarkably well coordinated. And yet we're last in the league.'
Gary spoke first. 'It's a fair question, Harry. You've probably noticed by now we don't let it dampen our spirits, but it's no secret the team has an abysmal record, and has done for more than a century. I mean, we've had the odd winning season, but no League Cup since 1892.
'This year we can safely put the blame on Spencer, but it's always been one thing or another. While Owen was starting Seeker the problem was our Beaters, and their inability to protect him. And before that we had a lousy Keeper and weak Chasers,' continued Gary.
'But more often than not it's been the Seeker,' he said, and the others nodded. 'As I'm sure you're aware, the game is over-dependent on whoever catches the Snitch.'
'No pressure, by the way,' interjected Janet, and the others laughed.
Harry couldn't argue with Gary's analysis. 'I've often wondered about that, but whenever I question the logic of Quidditch scoring, people look at me as if I'd urinated on a statue of Merlin. My friend Ron just shakes his head and says, "That's how it is," as if I'd asked why the sun rises in the east.'
'He's a pure-blood, right?' asked Darren, and Harry nodded. 'Good luck getting a logical answer there. Haven't you learned by now that wizards and logic don't mix?'
Renée added, 'And surely you've considered the absurdity of pure-blood Death Eaters prostrating themselves before You-Know-Who and allowing him to torture them.'
'Often,' said Harry, not mentioning he'd personally witnessed it more times than he could count. 'But it doesn't take a master logician to realise the game would work a lot better if the Snitch were worth, say, fifty points. That would make the Chasers' contribution more significant, for one thing.'
'Don't get me started,' growled Darren. 'You can just imagine how frustrating it is to outscore the opposing team but then have it rendered irrelevant because we couldn't get the Snitch.'
Harry had never heard the Gryffindor Chasers complaining like this, but he'd nearly always caught the Snitch for them. Listening to Darren made it clear to him how seriously Quidditch scoring needed fixing.
Suresh looked at Harry and said, 'I can see what you're thinking. "Why hasn't anyone tried changing the rules?" And the answer is, they have—and it never goes anywhere. Because ... tradition!' He pounded his fist on the table before rolling his eyes.
'But let's face it, what alternative do we have?' he added. 'And don't say "Quodpot." Talk about a sad excuse for a sport—I'll take the Snitch any day.'
A devious smile crept across Janet's face. 'But if anyone can get the rules changed ...' she began, looking at Harry.
'Oh, no,' he said, rapidly shaking his head. 'I've endured enough loathing from wizarding extremists, thank you very much. If it turns out I can't catch the Snitch for the Cannons, I'll just retire gracefully at the advanced age of nineteen and try for my N.E.W.T.s.'
Ryan smiled and said, 'I don't know, I think Janet has a point. The move to reform Quidditch scoring really needs to come from successful Seekers, and not just frustrated Chasers. You're acquainted with Viktor Krum, right? Do you think you could get him on board?'
Harry was starting to feel a bit hunted. 'If your goal was to take my mind off Saturday's game, you've succeeded. Now I'm feeling the weight of destiny, and I can't say I like it.'
'Wait a minute, I'm sensing another prophecy coming on,' said Janet.
'Oh no you don't!' objected Harry. 'Don't make me Silence you again!'
She looked around their table before taunting him, 'Not here you can't. International Statute of Secrecy, you know.'
Just then, Candice emerged from the kitchen carrying their orders, and the conversation stopped for a long while as they ate. But eventually Ryan looked up and said, 'Harry, getting back to your original question, about why the Cannons record is so poor. You probably remember what I said after your first day of practice last week. The fact is, we're flying better since you arrived.'
Harry looked around the table and was surprised to see even his more cynical teammates agreeing. Suresh was nodding, and Janet said, 'I hate to admit it, but there's something about having the Boy Who Lived flying with us that ticks things up a notch.'
'Don't you mean the Man Who Lived?' corrected Darren, before adding a wink for good measure. 'But yeah, she's right. And to be honest, I'd probably become a little too comfortable just having fun up there and not worrying about winning, particularly since it was in Spencer's hands anyway. The fans turn up regardless, and I suspect we've all learnt to ignore Tuttle's rants on the topic.'
Candice eventually returned to start clearing their empty plates, and as usual they chatted with her a bit. No longer piling dishes, she turned to Harry and asked, 'So how do you like working with this lot?'
'It's been great so far,' he replied, choosing not to elaborate further.
Looking at the others, she lowered her voice and said, 'I'd have thought Henry was a bit young for ... your line of work, but I suppose you all are.'
Ryan cleared his throat and looked meaningfully at Candice, who straightened and began gathering dishes again. She gave Ryan a curt nod before returning to the kitchen.
They paid their bill soon after and started walking back to the training grounds. Before Harry could ask what had just happened, Gary spoke up. 'You're probably wondering about the exchange with Candice just now.'
'I am,' replied Harry. 'What exactly does she think we do for a living? I'd have assumed something sport-related, but apparently not.'
'No, we couldn't say that because the locals would certainly ask more questions, or even want to see us play. And we can't go about Confunding or Obliviating people all the time,' explained Gary. 'So instead there's a longstanding rumour that we're involved in a top-secret government project. Apparently it started during the war ... World War Two, that is.'
'So she thinks we're spies or something?' asked Harry incredulously.
Suresh said, 'I prefer to think of us as an elite task force, specially trained for covert combat and espionage. But loosely speaking, yes—spies.'
'It's not far from the truth in your case, Henry,' observed Renée, and Harry couldn't argue. It was sobering to consider that Muggles would see him as a former child soldier, and how horrified they would be to know he'd killed and tortured people. He found it rather horrifying himself.
Nobody else commented, for which Harry was grateful. They returned to their lockers to change back into robes and retrieve their brooms.
Back at the pitch, Harry found Owen holding not only the headset but also a large pair of goggles. 'You enjoyed the headset so much that I brought out its companion.'
'Don't tell me what it does—let me guess,' groaned Harry. 'Does it try to distract me with visions of taunting opponents, or my worst enemies perhaps?'
'Now there's an awful thought,' said Owen. 'But no, you don't need to worry about seeing Voldemort on a broomstick.'
'That's a relief,' replied Harry, without pointing out that Voldemort hadn't required one.
Owen explained, 'You're not far off though—it simulates a stadium full of fans, with all the associated visual distractions. And like the headset, it has an option to personalise it, so you'll see banners with your name on it. Both friendly and hostile.'
'Makes sense,' said Harry. 'I may as well get used to it now.' He donned both the headset and the goggles, which combined to produce a very plausible packed stadium. At first, all Harry could say was, 'Whoa.'
Owen laughed and said, 'That's an appropriate response. Are you ready to practise with the Launcher?' Harry nodded and kicked off on his broom.
The visuals were not nearly as distracting as the audio had been. Harry was used to seeing banners during his Hogwarts matches, and even the enchanted banners didn't change very much over the course of the game. After Harry looked around the 'stadium' and read the banners with his name on it, he was able to ignore them.
He managed to retrieve most of the Snitches that appeared, and so Owen joined him in the air and they spent a while chasing after the practice Snitch. Owen managed to catch it more often than Harry did, but he was wearing neither headset nor goggles.
'Excellent,' he told Harry after they'd landed. 'You should wear them for our remaining practice matches this week, but after that we can return them to the storeroom.'
For the practice match, Harry was once again targeted by Gary and Suresh, who were playing opposite him. But fortunately Lyle and Titus did a better job than on Tuesday, and Harry wasn't nearly as distracted by Bludgers. The Snitch took its time to appear, so both Owen and Harry feinted more than once. Harry wasn't as aggressive as he might have been, not wanting to aggravate Owen's injuries.
'You're pulling your curses, I can tell,' said Owen during a fly-by.
'So what if I am? It's bad manners to deliberately injure the infirm,' replied Harry.
'I don't care. Hitting the ground is nothing compared to being hit by a Bludger. I want you to feint with everything you've got.'
'Fine. But don't expect me to send you flowers at St Mungo's,' taunted Harry before flying off.
Truth be told, he was rather enjoying wearing the headset and goggles. It was fun to imagine he was playing a real match—he was even wearing orange robes. Only three more days, he thought with anticipation.
After a while the Snitch still hadn't appeared, so Harry decided to try a more aggressive feint. He launched himself sharply towards the opposing Chasers, but then radically shifted direction as if the Snitch had done the same.
Surprisingly, Owen fell for it and came close to colliding with Darren. Harry celebrated his meaningless victory by swooping around the pitch just for fun, and when Owen flew past him he snapped, 'I bet you think you're special, you fucking wanker.'
Harry was stunned. Had he really upset Owen?
The other Seeker continued to insult him. 'I've had enough of your Hogwarts act, Potter. You think you're better than the rest of us.'
By then Harry realised Owen was deliberately provoking him, as part of his training. He tried to fire back. 'You bet your arse I do,' he snapped.
Owen swooped wide before approaching Harry again. 'Everyone knows you're just here for attention, Potter. Didn't you get enough from Mummy and Daddy?'
Harry felt his temper rising, even though he knew Owen didn't mean it. He flew upwards and away from Owen, and he took a moment to reset his intention for the Snitch to appear to him without effort. He circled the pitch a few more times before Owen's next attack.
'If you'd done a better job fighting You-Know-Who, a lot fewer people would have died,' he scolded. 'I hope you can live with yourself.'
That was a low blow. 'And what did you do to fight Voldemort?' retorted Harry. 'You can't even say his name without wetting yourself.'
'Only an idiot would say his name,' drawled Owen. 'Or an arrogant prat.'
'At least I've something to be arrogant about, you bloody ingrate,' was Harry's reply. Merlin, where was this even coming from?
Suddenly Owen shot off to the left, and Harry reflexively followed him and immediately spotted the Snitch. Unfortunately it was a straight path, and Owen grabbed it.
Tuttle blew the whistle and Harry, rattled, flew to the ground without a word. Owen immediately landed beside him.
'I'm sorry, Harry. I hope you know I didn't mean any of it.'
'I know,' he replied. 'I just wasn't prepared. I suppose I should have been.'
'Go easy on yourself—you've had to learn a lot in a short time, and you've done an amazing job. It was my responsibility to warn you about this, and that's what I just did. And really, I'm sorry. I know I said some awful things.'
'Yeah, but so did I.' Harry didn't know what he felt worse about: what he'd heard or what he'd said.
'I'd have just pushed you harder if you hadn't,' admitted Owen. 'What you said was absolutely true.'
'It feels wrong to say it,' said Harry as they sat down on one of the benches.
'You're not a saint,' was all Owen had time to say before Tuttle began her notes.
When she got to the Seekers, she asked, 'I saw a lot of chit-chat up there today. Was that what I think it was, Barrowmaker?'
'Yes, and I gave him my worst.'
For once Tuttle didn't reply immediately, and Harry spoke up. 'It was useful,' he said. 'I need to be prepared when the other Seekers taunt me.'
'Good thinking, Barrowmaker. Do you want some help? I reckon between us we can come up with just about everything they'll throw at him.'
Harry paled. Was she actually proposing a no-holds-barred group attack?
Owen turned to him and quietly said, 'It's a good idea if you can handle it. What do you think?'
He took a deep breath and nodded. 'Yeah. Let's do it, right now. Probably more effective if you kick me while I'm down.'
Before anyone could start, Owen gave him a piece of advice. 'Set an intention, same as you did when we set the headset to advanced mode. Expand into your larger awareness.'
Harry nodded and got up from the bench. He stood in front of the group and tried not to look at the ground.
There was an uncomfortable silence—clearly nobody wanted to start. But Owen broke the ice. 'I saw pictures of your mother, Potter. I can see why Snape wanted to fuck her. I'd want to fuck her too.'
Most of the players looked shocked, and several flinched. They clearly hadn't heard what Owen had said during the match.
'Did you have that Prophet photo framed so you can wank to it?' called Darren.
'I heard your girlfriend dumped you,' taunted Lyle. 'I could fancy a bit of ginger ... does the carpet match the drapes?'
'Is it true you were possessed by You-Know-Who?' asked Renée.
'I reckon you were the Heir of Slytherin after all, you Parselmouth freak,' sneered Gary, who had attended Hogwarts during Harry's second year.
When Harry looked up at him, he continued. 'You probably killed Diggory too. He was worth ten of you, Potter.'
That was rough, thought Harry. But he felt his expanded sense of awareness, which provided some necessary breathing space around all the insults.
'I heard you got your godfather killed,' said Ryan, looking a bit sick.
Owen immediately added, 'Wasn't it enough to get your parents killed?'
'Why was You-Know-Who after you in the first place? What kind of monster are you?' asked Suresh.
'Nobody cares about you really,' said Owen. 'They only care about the Boy Who Lived.'
'Your mother was quite a dish—pity she was a filthy Mudblood,' called Renée. That's nothing, thought Harry. I hear worse from Walburga every day.
'Why don't we ever hear about your Muggle relations? What did they do to you anyway?' jeered Gary.
Harry inhaled sharply. That must have been another rumour from Hogwarts. He reset his intention simply to allow the insults to pass within his field of awareness.
'Can you introduce me to Hermione Granger? I'd enter her Chamber of Secrets any time,' continued Gary. Harry had to grudgingly admire the Hufflepuff's unexpected dark streak.
'So did Ron Weasley train you up for his sister? I hear you shared a dormitory,' called Renée, and Harry actually smirked.
Owen jumped in quickly and said, 'Not before Dumbledore broke him in. I reckon he was looking for the next Grindelwald.'
'Or maybe Hagrid loosened him up first,' added Gary.
'Wow, you're the worst Hufflepuff ever,' blurted Harry, who had been silent until then, and Gary burst out laughing.
Some of the tension seemed to drain. Harry noticed most of his teammates hadn't said a word—not even Janet.
Tuttle finally intervened, 'How are you doing, Potter?'
'Better than I expected, actually. Today's match wasn't fun, but Owen was right to do it. If this happened during a match and I weren't prepared, I don't know how I'd handle it. Owen can tell you, I fought back.'
'Actually that was good,' argued Owen. 'You need to hit back hard if someone tries that. And then catch the Snitch just to spite them.'
'Merlin, you're brutal!' said Janet. 'And here we thought you were so enlightened.'
'All right, that's enough,' barked Tuttle. 'Good work today, see you tomorrow.'
Harry, who was still standing in front, was immediately approached by everyone who'd insulted him. All of them apologised, and Harry smiled reassuringly and thanked them.
'But Gary, wow!' he said. 'You've got a dark streak.'
'Nobody suspects the Badger,' he said slyly.
Ryan, who still looked a bit sick, walked with Harry to the building. 'I'm so sorry you had to endure that. I wish I'd thought to warn you. I mean, we've all been taunted hard, but you're a much bigger target.'
'It's probably just as well Owen sprang it on me without warning,' acknowledged Harry.
Janet said, 'I'm actually relieved to find out there's a limit to my smart mouth. I couldn't even think of anything to say.'
'Well, let me know if you come up with something,' replied Harry. 'I'd rather hear it from you than from an opposing player.'
For once, Harry wasn't waylaid before taking his shower, but he was approached by Lara when he emerged in his clean clothing.
'Are you all right?' she said. 'Ryan told me about practice.'
'Yeah, I'm fine. I'm glad Owen did it.'
She put her hand on his arm and said, 'I'm glad.' Next she handed him an envelope and said, 'Here are your tickets. It's two sets of four, in different sections.'
'Perfect,' he replied. 'I'm heading over to Hogwarts to visit my old professor, and I want to give her one.'
'That's sweet of you,' she said, smiling. 'And by the way, your robes are ready.' She indicated a large box in front of the window. 'You'll wear them tomorrow when we take photos, right after lunch.'
'Brilliant, I can't wait.' He was tempted to try them on, but he was already running late for his visit with Professor McGonagall, so he travelled by Floo directly to her office.
'Harry, welcome!' she said. 'Let me just finish this bit of paperwork and I'll greet you properly.'
'Take your time, Professor. I'm happy just to stand in one place for a few minutes.'
'How many times have I told you to call me Minerva?' she chided, without looking up from her parchment.
'Sorry, Hermione keeps breaking me of the habit. "Just because you've dropped out of school, it doesn't give you the right to call professors by their given names,"' he imitated. 'But I think she's mostly just envious—of the given name thing, not dropping out of school.'
Minerva laughed, as she wordlessly used her wand to dry the parchment she'd just signed. 'I'm still amazed we got her out of here,' she said. 'I was afraid we'd have to alter the castle wards to tear her away from the library.'
Hearing Minerva mention the Hogwarts wards tickled something in Harry's brain but he couldn't put his finger on it.
She stood up from behind the desk and walked around to give Harry a proper hug. 'It's lovely to see you, Harry. Thanks for thinking of me.'
'You've been on my mind a lot lately, now that I'm on a broomstick all day. I feel like I owe my entire Quidditch career to you.'
'Now that's the most ridiculous thing I've heard,' she said. 'All I did was recognise your talent and bend a few rules to get you onto the house team a year early. And truth be told, it was entirely out of Gryffindor self-interest—by then we'd lost the Cup several years running. Although now you've a much longer losing streak to break.'
'That seems like a tall order,' replied Harry. 'My goal this season is just to help win matches and improve the team's rankings.'
'Yes, I suppose you've already been asked to do the impossible more times than most. But please, let's sit by the fire. I want to hear more about your new career,' she said enthusiastically.
They sat down and she said, 'First off, congratulations on leaving the Ministry and joining the Cannons. I kept quiet at the time, but I didn't think it was a good idea to drop out of school and immediately start Auror training—and I'm not just saying that as your former professor. You needed some fun, for Merlin's sake!'
Harry relaxed a little and said, 'Thanks, it means a lot to hear you say that. When the Prophet falsely reported that I'd quit the Ministry and joined the Cannons, I realised how much I missed playing Quidditch, and that I just wanted to have a good time for once.' He didn't use the word pudding as he'd done with Kingsley, since it had taken on a secondary meaning.
'Of course now I'm torn—I've always been a Magpies backer,' she said. 'Although I sent Chiffle a stiff letter when he slandered you in the Prophet last week.'
'Thanks for having my back,' smiled Harry. 'I admit that one cheesed me off as well.' Pulling a ticket from the envelope he was still holding, he added, 'Fortunately you won't have to root against the Magpies this weekend. Would you be available to watch me play against the Falcons on Saturday? I'd be honoured to have you there.'
Minerva's face softened, and she said, 'Why Harry, I'm touched. I actually owled for a ticket but they were sold out. I'd love to attend.'
'I'm so glad,' said Harry, handing it to her. 'I still need to distribute the others, but you'll probably be sitting with Ron, George, and Lee Jordan.'
'That sounds perfect. I'll enjoy listening to Jordan's commentary without having to make a show of scolding him,' she admitted. 'So tell me more about your training.'
Harry went into detail about his new life as a Cannon. He told her about his Silver Arrow, and about all the training methods Owen had used—she was fascinated by the headset and goggles. He even told her about the Snitchbottom incident, which caused her to laugh heartily.
'And you're no longer wearing spectacles,' she remarked. 'Forgive me for saying it, but it puts me in mind of your mother more than ever, to see your eyes without glasses in front of them.'
'About that ...' started Harry. 'Why did nobody at Hogwarts tell me I could have my eyesight corrected magically?'
Minerva looked a little ashamed. 'I'm sorry, Harry. I wanted to say something, and so did Poppy, but Albus instructed us not to. He was too afraid of your blood falling into the wrong hands.'
Harry shook his head, disappointed. 'I suppose I'm not surprised, but I wish I'd had some say in the matter. The Optimancer who treated me was very clearly above board, and my blood only came in contact with vessels I'd conjured myself. Surely Dumbledore could have accompanied me and overseen the procedure.'
Minerva nodded. 'You're right, of course. I'll always regret putting too much faith in his decisions regarding you.' She glanced at the sleeping portrait above her desk.
They both knew what she was referring to: allowing Harry to be raised by the Dursleys. Minerva had confessed after the war that she'd allowed Albus to leave him on their doorstep in spite of her strong misgivings, and that she'd been beside herself when Harry turned up at Hogwarts showing all the signs of neglect.
Harry had forgiven her. It was impossible to imagine how his life might have been different if he'd been raised in a loving household, and he didn't see much point in holding a grudge. He too had once considered Dumbledore infallible.
'What's done is done,' he said. 'Fortunately Voldemort never thought to Summon my glasses away from me.'
'Great Godric!' cried Minerva. 'How did we never think of that? Thank goodness Voldemort never did either.'
'Small mercies,' he said, and there was briefly an awkward silence. But fortunately his stomach growled loudly, and they both laughed.
'You must be ravenous,' she said. 'Shall I have the house-elves bring dinner?'
To his own surprise, Harry said, 'Actually, I'd enjoy dining in the Great Hall,' and Minerva raised an eyebrow as well. Even though Harry had spent a lot of time at Hogwarts the previous year, he had never dined in the Great Hall. There were too many memories from the final battle.
'All right then,' she said without comment, and they both rose and exited the office. 'It'll just be a handful of professors, of course. Things are pretty quiet here during the summers.'
'That sounds nice,' he replied, and they walked together from the office down to the Great Hall.
He'd spent little time in the public areas during his visits to see Ginny and his other friends still at Hogwarts. His routine had been to enter through the Hog's Head and come out into the Room of Requirement, which Ginny had largely commandeered. And as Quidditch captain she had access to the prefects' bathroom, which she and Harry had made enthusiastic use of—fortunately without interruption from Moaning Myrtle, as far as they knew.
But now, as he descended the main staircase into the Entrance Hall, he was viscerally reminded of the chaos and destruction of the Battle of Hogwarts. His heart began to race, remembering the mayhem of the battle, and also his lonely walk down those same stairs when he believed he was about to die.
A riot of painful memories threatened to overwhelm him, but Harry found himself expanding automatically into his sense of awareness, and a calm overtook him as he crossed the threshold into the Great Hall.
The last time he'd seen this room it had been in ruins. He'd been beyond exhaustion after a day that had started more than twenty-four hours earlier, when they'd left Shell Cottage to break into Gringotts. He'd literally come back from the dead, and after defeating Voldemort he'd spent what seemed like hours comforting mourners, against the backdrop of his own deep grief.
Harry felt the seemingly contradictory sensations of trauma and uplift, as his ragged memories made contact with his larger sense of awareness. A part of him wanted to cry, and he couldn't have said whether it was from grief or elation.
The long house tables were absent during the summer, as was the high table where the professors normally sat. In their place was a round table, which Harry remembered from the quiet Christmas holidays he'd spent at the castle. Minerva conjured a chair for Harry next to hers, and the seated professors automatically slid along with the table as it grew to accommodate the extra place setting.
Professor Flitwick looked up at Harry from the chair that had previously been next to Minerva's. 'Harry! It's splendid to see you!'
Before Harry could respond, the other professors clamoured to welcome him, and he was quickly overwhelmed trying to greet everyone. But Minerva shushed them and said, 'The boy has been on a broomstick all day and needs to eat.'
Grateful for her intervention, Harry filled his plate and began eating heartily. A wave of nostalgia overtook him as he ate all his favourites. It seemed almost sacrilege to have Kreacher teach the Hogwarts elves to make pizza, but he'd promised Neville, and of course he knew the students would enjoy it.
After he'd finished his first helping, he turned to Minerva and said, 'I have a request for you from Neville.' She looked surprised, and he continued. 'He wants my house-elf Kreacher to teach the Hogwarts elves how to make pizza. Perhaps not as a regular meal, if you want to preserve the current culinary tradition, but at least as something students can smuggle into the common rooms after a Quidditch match.'
'That's a great idea,' said Minerva. 'Personally I'm in favour of serving it at mealtimes, but some of the pure-blood parents would throw a tantrum and I don't fancy receiving a flock of Howlers. But if we make it available through back channels, the students will eventually demand it.'
'How Slytherin you've become!' he smirked.
'Yes, I suppose I learnt a thing or two from Severus in the end,' she admitted.
Harry enjoyed a friendly conversation with the other professors. For a while he was monopolised by Madam Hooch, who wanted to hear all about his Quidditch training. With pleasure he told her about his Silver Arrow broomstick, and her normally hawklike eyes grew large as saucers. He inwardly resolved to invite her to a home game and allow her to try it out.
Eventually the main course was cleared, and an assortment of tarts appeared on the table. Harry was tempted, but Elizabeth would be arriving at Grimmauld Place later for pudding—both literally and figuratively—and he wanted to save room.
After dinner, Harry and Minerva walked outside to enjoy the cool evening. He looked over at Dumbledore's white marble tomb and thought about the Elder Wand, which he'd snapped a year earlier after repairing his holly wand. He'd been widely criticised for destroying it, and he'd discarded the Resurrection Stone as well, but he had no desire to be Master of Death again. He felt more attachment to his Silver Arrow than to the Elder Wand, and he would rather embrace a living witch than see the shades of those he'd lost.
'How is it to be back at Hogwarts?' asked Minerva. 'For all you visited Miss Weasley last year, I know you avoided the grounds and the large halls.'
'It's all right,' he said. 'I imagine you're used to it?'
'Yes, of course,' she replied. 'Occasionally I experience a strong memory or a rush of adrenaline, but otherwise it's just my home, same as it's been for so many years. Last summer's task of rebuilding gave us all a chance to adjust.'
'I'm sorry I never helped with that,' admitted Harry. 'I just didn't want to come back yet.'
'That's fine,' said Minerva indulgently. 'Besides, you were never quite up to your father's level in Transfiguration.'
'I suppose not,' he laughed. 'Looking back, I'm sorry I didn't work harder at my classes. I suppose I could cite Ron as a bad influence, but I also had Hermione as a good influence, and I was still wasn't much of a student.'
'Nonsense, Harry. You were excellent in Defence Against the Dark Arts, in spite of Voldemort's curse on the position, and you even trained others at it. Filius and Pomona always had good things to say about you, and you certainly can't be faulted for not learning much from Severus. Besides, you had considerably more distractions than the typical Hogwarts student. I think you did remarkably well, all things considered.'
Harry smiled, a bit relieved. 'Thanks, I appreciate hearing it. That'll give me confidence if things with the Cannons go pear-shaped and I end up having to sit my N.E.W.T.s.'
She chuckled and said, 'As long as I'm headmistress you have a standing offer to come back and teach Defence. You've more than proven you're a good instructor.'
'I don't know—have you managed to retain a Defence professor two years running?' he asked lightheartedly.
'So far so good,' she said. 'I suppose we won't know for certain until classes begin in September, but Professor Duella made it through the school year and has signed a contract to return.'
'She has the right name for it,' he observed. 'I could always teach pottery if you don't want to displace her. Mind you, I'd have to learn it first.'
They walked a little longer until he checked his battered pocket watch and said, 'I should really be going. I have another engagement tonight.'
Minerva raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. 'Thanks so much for the visit,' she said, 'and for the ticket as well. It's always a treat to see a former Gryffindor flying professionally, but this will be something special.'
He thanked her again for dinner, and then she led him to the main gate so he could Apparate home. He had only a quarter hour before Elizabeth was due to arrive, so he washed up and changed into something a little smarter, even though he had no intention of leaving the house. He'd arranged for Kreacher to prepare them a snack—something sweet and not too heavy. Harry's plans for the evening did not include leaning back in separate armchairs while they digested large helpings of sticky toffee pudding.
Elizabeth arrived at the appointed hour through the reception hall fireplace, and they greeted each other with a long kiss before he could even have a proper look at her.
He was not disappointed by what he saw. She was wearing a long but revealing summer dress, which was surely of Muggle design. It was cut low and the fabric was delightfully clingy, and also a bit too sheer for decency. He suspected Elizabeth shared his intention to stay indoors.
'You look beautiful,' he murmured, and her cheeks darkened becomingly.
'You're looking rather fit yourself,' she replied, before leaning in for another passionate embrace.
Harry was tempted to skip the pudding and drag her straight to the bedroom, but he feared the wrath of Kreacher. 'My house-elf has prepared something to eat, but I'll let you decide where he serves it. Shall I show you around?'
'Yes, please,' she said, taking his forearm. 'I must say, this house isn't what I'd expected.'
'I get that a lot,' he replied, before realising it sounded like he'd only heard it from witches he'd seduced. 'From my friends, I mean,' he added, and she laughed.
'I'm under no illusion that I'm the first witch you've entertained. This isn't the first wizard's flat I've visited, although it's probably the gloomiest,' she said, smiling.
Harry couldn't resist those lips, and he leaned in again briefly. 'I probably shouldn't tell you this, but you are in fact only the second witch I've "entertained," and the first was my former girlfriend.' His heart only caught a little at the mention of Ginny.
Elizabeth looked taken aback. 'Oh, I say,' she stammered. 'You could have fooled me. You seemed rather ... familiar with the process.'
'I wouldn't be surprised if there were charms laid on Penumbra to help things along,' he said. 'I'll have to ask Alistair next time.'
If she was disappointed by the implication he would be returning to Penumbra, presumably without her, she hid it well. 'I suspect you're right. Either way, I commend your execution. A long and fruitful pulling career awaits you, should you choose one.'
'Now you're making me blush,' he confessed, and he guided her into the dining room. 'I should preface the tour by explaining that I inherited the house from my godfather, Sirius, who came from an old and not very nice pure-blood family. With a lot of help I've cleared the place of Dark magic, but the ambiance remains.'
'I can see that,' she said, looking at the creepy shadows thrown off by the flickering chandelier. 'I can't say it's where I'd choose to live, but it's perfect for ... entertaining.'
He smiled and said, 'Our first dining option is here, obviously. Though I'd prefer not to sit at opposite ends,' he added, indicating the absurdly long table.
'Agreed,' she said. 'But eating in a dining room seems rather unoriginal. What are my other choices?'
He frowned a moment, realising he hadn't entirely thought things through. If he wanted to take her upstairs, they'd have to pass right in front of Walburga. 'I seem to have made a tactical error,' he said. 'We're going to have to pass by a portrait of Sirius's mother, whom I've been unable so far to remove from the wall. To say she's unhappy I live here is an understatement.'
'All right,' said Elizabeth slowly, seemingly unsure what he was implying.
'Her sole pastime is insulting me and my guests, with a particular emphasis on Blood Status. I can Side-Along us past her if you'd prefer. I wouldn't blame you—she's really quite horrid.'
Elizabeth smiled. 'How could I turn down the chance to be told off by Sirius Black's mother? I'd have to be pretty thin-skinned to let a portrait get to me.'
'Your skin looks perfect to me,' he murmured, running his hand down her exposed back. 'But all right, you've been warned.'
'You'll just have to make it up to me if she leaves me in bits,' she said.
His hand still on her back, he led her into the entrance hall, where Walburga was already awake.
'Who is this?' she growled. 'Great Salazar, it's another filthy half-blood, smeared with the stinking effluvia of a Muggle mother! I command you to leave at once!'
In spite of her earlier bluster, Elizabeth was dumbstruck with horror. 'Oh shut it,' snapped Harry. 'You're just jealous because there's nothing up your hole besides spiders.'
'Your vulgar speech betrays your odious ancestry! Begone, usurper!'
'Whatever,' said Harry, and he silenced her with a tap of his wand. Turning to Elizabeth, he said, 'Are you all right?'
'What in Merlin's name ...' she started, before falling silent again.
'Oh dear,' he said. 'Are you in bits after all? Do I need to make it up to you?'
She smiled. 'Yes, that's exactly what's required,' she said, leaning in for another kiss, after which he led her upstairs into the drawing room.
The wall sconces flared when he opened the door, casting warm light onto the tapestry. 'This is the drawing room, which houses the family tree of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.'
She looked curiously at the enormous tapestry. 'Were there really no other family members to inherit besides you? Are you even on here?'
'I recently learnt that I am in fact related to the Blacks, but I definitely don't have the strongest blood claim. Sirius named me in his will, though, and that seems to supersede lineage.'
She ran her fingers over one of the embroidered names and said, 'So far this is my first choice. There's something enticing about ... cavorting in front of hundreds of sneering pure-bloods.'
'I agree,' he said. 'Should we give it a test run?'
Her answer was non-verbal, and although they remained standing and clothed it was far from decent.
'Yes,' she said with a heavy exhale. 'This is definitely a contender. Where next?'
He led her to the library, and the lights flared on again. Elizabeth's eyes sparkled as she gazed first at the bookcases and then throughout the room. 'That table holds promise, perhaps with a Cushioning Charm' she said, indicating where the Grimoire still sat.
Harry felt his head clear somewhat unpleasantly, and their easy foreplay seemed to derail. 'No,' he said. 'This room doesn't work for me.'
Attempting to rekindle the mood, he ran his hand along her back and led her up another flight of stairs. 'There's a sitting room downstairs near the kitchen, but that won't do. And then the master bedroom, which you've seen already,' he said, indicating the door leading into his room. 'And there are more bedrooms as well.'
'I think I've got the gist of it,' she said, walking languidly towards his bedroom and looking inside. With a deep breath she said, 'Oh, it has to be here. I already have delicious memories of this room, and I could fancy building on them.'
'Done,' he said. His mind and body seemed to have recovered from his momentary lapse in the library. 'I'll call Kreacher now,' he warned, and she nodded solemnly.
'Kreacher!'
Crack! 'Yes Master!'
'Would you be so kind as to serve our pudding up here?' he asked, indicating a small table with two chairs near the window.
'Yes, Master, with pleasure,' he croaked before Disapparating.
Moments later, a cloth covered the small table, and on top appeared a dish containing a truly exquisite Eton mess, layered with flowers as well as the usual meringue, whipped cream, and strawberries. Harry was once again suspicious of the flowers' origin, but at least this time Kreacher had covered his tracks. He would need to set up an account with a wizarding florist if this were to become a habit.
There were also plates, cutlery, and a pair of crisp cloth napkins, as well as a large bottle of elderflower pressé to replenish the two filled glasses. Harry had considered wine or champagne but decided against having alcohol on a weeknight. He knew that entertaining mid-week was a bit questionable as far as the team went, and he didn't want to aggravate matters.
'Oh, Harry,' she exclaimed, approaching the table. 'That looks lovely.'
He nodded in agreement—he was truly impressed both by Kreacher's execution and his respect for their privacy. Harry supposed this must be how normal house-elves behaved, serving invisibly without any demented antics or drama.
They enjoyed the pudding immensely, discovering novel uses for the cream, and a good while later they found themselves relaxing in bed, still entwined.
Harry remained fairly inarticulate, but Elizabeth seemed inclined towards conversation. 'How long have you lived here,' she asked.
'Er, a few years now,' he said vaguely. 'I guess three years, off and on.'
'Oh right,' she said. 'You were camping for a long time.' He nodded uncomfortably. Those were not his favourite memories.
'That sounded really awful,' she said, running her hand soothingly over his bare skin, lingering occasionally on his various scars.
'It was,' he said simply.
'As dreadful as the war was for my family,' she continued, 'we at least had a place to live, and food. When I think of what you went through ... and not just to protect yourself ...' She trailed off.
He just lay there, listening to the sound of his pulse in his ears. He pulled her hand over his heart and covered it with his own. His own heartbeat was very soothing somehow.
He remembered how his heart had raced after learning he needed to sacrifice his own life. Each beat had been precious, and achingly finite. Lying next to Elizabeth, his body still humming with spent pleasure, he wondered fleetingly if he had in fact died and were now in heaven.
'And then you broke into Gringotts,' she said. 'They never explained why, but I assume it had something important to do with defeating You-Know-Who. I can't imagine how brave you had to be to do that. I'm nervous just going in there to make a withdrawal.'
Harry really wasn't interested in talking about Gringotts or Voldemort. He pulled her into an embrace, which quieted her for a bit, but when they separated she resumed her train of thought.
'And of course I read about that final day at Hogwarts. Did you really have to escape Fiendfyre on a broomstick?'
He didn't know how to respond. These weren't unreasonable questions, he realised, but he had no desire to relive some of his worst memories. Was she going to ask him next how Sirius had died?
'I'm sorry, Elizabeth. You're asking me about one of the worst days of my life. I really don't want to talk about it.'
She stiffened. 'You're right, I'm so sorry,' she said. 'I can't believe how stupid and insensitive that was.' She curled away from him into a ball.
He felt an immediate need to soothe her. 'Don't feel bad,' he said, wrapping his arm around her.
'It's a little hard to remember you're a real person,' she said. 'Which is ironic, considering I have all the proof I could require right next to me. I've heard stories about you since I was a little girl—first the fairy tales about how you were being trained on a mountaintop by immortal warlocks, and then the bits and pieces that appeared in the Prophet over the years. I remember that one about how you still cried over your parents at night.'
Harry sighed in irritation. 'That was completely made up,' he grumbled. 'I never said anything of the kind.'
'Oh no, really? My sister and I cried buckets when we read that,' she said.
He was beginning to feel exasperated, and he remembered one of Owen's taunts in practice that afternoon: 'Nobody cares about you really. They only care about the Boy Who Lived.'
Harry knew it was unjust to apply that to Elizabeth, but he felt an uncomfortable gulf between himself and her perception of him. And he knew he was partly to blame—how could she expect to know the real Harry when he avoided all her questions?
'I should probably get to sleep soon,' he said. 'I have practice in the morning and my first match on Saturday. I hope you'll stay the night, though—I still owe you breakfast.'
She relaxed and said, 'Yes, I'd like that. I just want to wash up first and put on my nightclothes.'
'Are nightclothes really necessary?' he asked. 'I quite like what you're wearing now.'
She rolled over and kissed him. 'I think you'll like it,' she said mysteriously before getting out of bed.
When she returned, she was wearing a mere wisp of a nightie, which he acknowledged was rather nice as well. 'My sister insisted I bring it,' she confessed.
'You'll have to thank her for me.'
They fell asleep curled together, but when Harry awoke he was along the edge of the bed, turned away from her. She was still sleeping, but a glance at the clock on the nightstand indicated he needed to wake her up.
'Elizabeth,' he murmured, stroking her softly. 'We need to get up if you want that breakfast.' She made a face and pulled the covers up.
He persisted, his voice a bit louder. 'It's half past seven. Do you want me to make you breakfast?'
Her eyes slowly opened and she said, 'Er, yeah. Thanks.'
He waited a moment, giving her the first opportunity to use the loo, but she didn't take it. So he finally got out of bed and took care of matters as quickly as possible.
She was standing when he emerged, and the nightie was somewhat twisted around her torso. 'Here,' he said, straightening it out, and then kissing her for good measure.
'Thanks,' she murmured before entering the bathroom.
He'd dressed by the time she emerged, and she found her small handbag and pulled robes from it, presumably for her job in the Floo department. 'Do you need to put those on so soon?' he asked. 'I'm not quite ready to see you hidden under wizarding robes. We can use a warming charm if the kitchen is too cold, but it shouldn't be.'
'All right,' she said, smiling. 'Shall we head down then?' He nodded and they walked downstairs together.
'So what would you like to eat? I can do your classic English fry-up, a French-style omelet, or pancakes if you prefer.'
'Pancakes sound lovely. Do you have fresh fruit as well?'
'Yes, I made sure of it,' he said, and they walked into the kitchen.
The table was laid with six different platters containing traditional English breakfast foods, and also Continental items including croissants and sliced cheese. Kreacher was standing next to it with a pleased expression.
'Kreacher,' said Harry sternly. 'What's all this?'
'Breakfast, Master!'
'Didn't we have a discussion about this? I seem to recall agreeing that I would cook breakfast myself this morning.'
'Yes, Master. But of course Master was speaking figuratively.'
Harry looked over at Elizabeth, who seemed embarrassed to be standing in front of Kreacher wearing only a skimpy nightdress. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'We seem to have had a miscommunication.'
'That's all right,' she said. 'But perhaps you could lend me an apron or something?'
'Of course,' he replied. 'But I think Kreacher could retire to his room now, and give us privacy,' he added meaningfully.
'Yes, Master!' he said, before Disapparating with a loud crack.
Elizabeth giggled. 'I'm beginning to suspect you don't actually know how to cook.'
'That's not true,' he protested. 'If it weren't criminal to waste all this food, and frankly if I weren't afraid of reprisals, I'd make you something right now.'
'I'll just have to console myself with homemade croissants and blackcurrant preserves,' she said, taking a seat.
They ate together, and of course the food was delicious, but their conversation was limited. She asked about his Quidditch training, and he shared the broad outlines, but he found himself reluctant to talk about his training with Owen, or even the details of his rapport with his teammates. She was amused to learn the local Muggles believed they were elite undercover warriors, and although she didn't point out that this was true in his case, they both felt uncomfortable about what was unsaid.
Soon afterwards she got fully dressed and ready for work, and he walked her to the fireplace. 'Thank you for coming over and staying the night,' he said. 'It was lovely. You're lovely.'
Sensing the hint of finality, she said, 'I've enjoyed getting to know you. And it's been ... most enjoyable. I should owl my thanks to your old girlfriend.'
He couldn't help chuckling at the mental image of Ginny reading Elizabeth's letter. 'You're not so bad yourself,' he said, and they kissed once more.
'You know how to find me, once you actually learn how to cook breakfast.'
'That sounds good,' he said noncommittally, and she smiled at him once more before taking a pinch of Floo powder and stepping through the flames.
Harry still had time before he needed to arrive at practice, so he returned to the kitchen for a second croissant. It wasn't out of the question he'd contact Elizabeth again, but he knew it wouldn't be anytime soon. He wondered idly if it would be easier dating Muggles, but then he'd have to conceal even more than he had with Elizabeth.
He decided to invite Hermione to dinner that night, suspecting she still needed a supportive listener. He'd kept his evening unscheduled in case he wanted another round with Elizabeth, but clearly that was no longer in the cards. There was no point in being upset about it, though. He'd had a lovely couple of nights with a beautiful witch, and he knew there were plenty more out there. For now he could throw himself into practice, and see where the road led next.