Harry deliberately didn't arrive at practice until just before nine o'clock. He was still savouring the experience with Helena, and he wanted to postpone the inevitable mockery from his teammates.
Even so, when he opened his locker he found a copy of Be Your Own Niffler: Finding The Treasure Within, with a note tucked inside that said,
'I hope you find this as helpful as I did. XOXO, Janet.'
He ran to the benches and had just enough time to raise two fingers at Janet before Tuttle began her lecture. 'Potter,' she barked, 'it's good of you to take time away from your primary career as a fashion model. Are you deliberately trying to sabotage what I thought was a winning strategy, or does it just come naturally?'
Harry remained silent but didn't lower his gaze, and she continued. 'We've got a winning team here, but premature celebration is the perfect way to bollocks that up. I've seen more than one league player get sucked into a celebrity lifestyle and ruin their career, and I'll be buggered if I let that happen to you, Potter—or any of the rest of you.'
'Oh for Merlin's sake,' snapped Harry. 'I went out to dinner. I had exactly one glass of wine. I got plenty of sleep.' That last one was an exaggeration, but it wasn't his fault he'd had a nightmare. 'I joined the Cannons, not a bloody monastery. If my team performance slips, then by all means let me have it. But until then, trust me to manage my own leisure time.'
Tuttle narrowed her eyes at him. 'Fine. But your flying today had better knock my socks off.' Harry glared back at her and nodded.
He began his laps with a sprint to ensure he'd be far enough ahead of his teammates to avoid conversation. The exchange with Tuttle had irritated him, and he needed a lap or two to cool down. Harry didn't enjoy being treated like a child, particularly after having been forced to take care of himself for so many years. He was sick and tired of adults thinking they knew more about his own life than he did.
He'd been disingenuous when Helena had asked if the article had upset him. If he'd been frank, he would have said something like, 'What gives some cow Mind Healer who's never even met me the right to pull some bollocks theory from her arse and shout it from the bloody rooftops?' But he and Helena had shared plenty of genuine emotions overnight, and he didn't want to wreck her morning with a tirade.
Harry felt his irritation fade when he remembered their late-night conversation. He'd heard any number of expressions of gratitude in the previous year, but none had moved him as Helena's had. Perhaps it was because she'd been wrapped around his naked body as she spoke, but he'd felt her emotions as plainly as if they'd been his own. She'd described her family's anxious vigil the night of the battle, and even though it was nothing like his own experience, he could feel how they'd been deeply linked nonetheless.
Hearing a story like Helena's somehow reduced the feelings of loneliness he'd experienced that last year of the war. It even changed how he remembered that final walk to the forest, when he knew he was about to die. At the time he'd felt completely separate from those still living, not stopping even to acknowledge Hermione and Ron, but now he could see how fundamentally connected they'd all been the entire time. And he'd been no less connected to Helena and her family—and to anyone who shared their common purpose.
Perhaps Helena hadn't been wrong in her assessment that Harry was merely the weapon. The movement to defeat Voldemort was far larger than Harry, Ron, and Hermione—or even Dumbledore, the Order of the Phoenix, and those who'd fought at Hogwarts. Voldemort was ultimately defeated by every individual who'd defied him, whether by finding and destroying Horcruxes, or by giving away magical trunks, or simply by listening to Potterwatch and allowing themselves to hope. Harry had been the instrument of Voldemort's defeat, but many thousands of people had been the agents.
Harry felt a wave of acceptance rise through him as he continued to run. He really needn't have let Tuttle irritate him like that. She was just being Tuttle, and it would have been against her nature not to respond to the photo and article that way. And it was the same for Janet—of course she'd find a creative way to take the piss.
He only had one lap remaining, and he slowed his pace to join her. 'Thanks ever so much for the book,' he said. 'I reckon I'll stay home this Saturday night just reading it, perhaps with a tall glass of pumpkin juice.'
'That sounds very therapeutic,' she replied. 'I'm certain you'll be back to wearing your usual Muggle outfit in no time. But seriously, those robes were fantastic—did you buy them from Thimble?'
'Yes, on Sunday, along with some others. I'll probably wear robes more often from now on.'
'That's good—they suit you. I reckon you'll start a trend. And then if you want to mess with people, you'll stop wearing them just as abruptly about six months from now.'
'I wonder what Doctor Niffler would say about that,' he mused. 'Did you actually read that book?'
'Merlin, no! I nicked it from my mum—she has an entire bookcase full of twaddle like that. When I was thirteen I discovered the hidden section, with all the naughty self-help books, so let me know if you need any tips on navigating your "sexual maturity."'
'You've been plenty of help already, cheers.'
'Please tell me your "unnamed companion" was with you when you saw the Prophet this morning,' urged Janet.
'I will neither confirm nor deny her whereabouts.'
'Too late, Snitchbottom—you just did.'
Harry had reached the end of his laps and returned to the building to collect his broomstick. He was no longer upset about what Tuttle had said, but he was stubbornly determined to fly his arse off, just to prove he wasn't slacking.
Owen caught up with him. 'Hi, Harry. Are you all right?'
'I assume you're referring to my outburst this morning?'
'Among other things.'
Harry nodded. 'Yeah, I'm all right. I could have done without that Prophet article, but that's nothing new.'
'It was a good photograph at least. Which is more than I can say about my sole appearance on the front page of the Prophet.'
'When was that?'
'Three years ago—I had a particularly spectacular Bludger injury, which someone very kindly captured on film. I don't think even my grandmum clipped that one.'
'That was you?' gasped Harry. 'Ron showed me the photograph at the time ... He was practically in mourning. I can't believe I forgot about it. You'd caught the Snitch three games in a row before that, right? But then you were out for the season.'
'Yes, and that was the last time I started. I've been a reserve ever since.'
Harry shook his head slowly. 'I'm sorry, Owen, that's awful. And here I taunt you about your injuries five days a week.'
'I taunt you about your dead parents and anything else I can think of, so don't worry about it.'
'At least the Prophet keeps providing more fodder. The parent jokes are getting old.'
'Unlike your parents,' rejoined Owen, and Harry laughed. 'But yes, the Prophet is a goldmine as far as I'm concerned. I've already got some ideas involving the secret meaning of white robes.'
'I can hardly wait.'
The morning flying drills were very aggressive again, which suited Harry—it was a good chance to show Tuttle he was at full strength. He flew almost recklessly but never actually lost control, and the other players clearly benefited from Harry's frenetic energy.
Even Tuttle was impressed. 'You win this round, Potter,' she said, 'but I'll have my eye on you.'
Darren accompanied him back to the lockers afterwards. 'I don't know who you're shagging this week, but she's a good influence. Try to keep her around at least until after we play Puddlemere on the thirty-first.' Puddlemere United was in first place, and beating them would be a real coup for the Cannons.
'I've invited her to the party, so I'm committed until then. And I rather like her, so hopefully a bit longer than that.'
Darren turned towards Harry with a stricken expression. 'You aren't going monogamous on me already? I thought I could depend on you, Potter.'
'Don't worry, she knows it's just a fling. And she seems to be averse to publicity, which suggests we're doomed in the long term, or even the short term. But for now it's a lot of fun.'
'You scared me for a moment there, but carry on.'
Lunch was predictably filled with jokes about the latest Prophet article. 'What did we even talk about before Harry joined the team?' asked Janet.
'I'm pretty sure we had to come up with our own conversation topics,' said Ryan, 'instead of relying on the Prophet to feed us lines.'
'That sounds tedious,' drawled Janet. 'No wonder I can't remember.'
After lunch, Tuttle once again oversaw Harry's Seeker training. 'We need to fine-tune your attacks to make sure you don't commit a foul, particularly Blatching.' Blatching was flying with the intent to collide with another player, which was almost but not quite what Harry was doing. 'But I think we'll have an edge.'
'What's that?' asked Harry.
'I can't recall a single instance of a Seeker being charged with Blatching, since Seekers are usually preoccupied with finding the Snitch and are notoriously skittish about injuries. I suspect it won't even cross the referees' minds to call you on it. Seekers are more likely to get called on something else, like Blagging or Cobbing.'
'So you're thinking the referees will let it pass as a legitimate feint?'
'As long as you don't actually crash into anyone, yes.'
'What if they don't see it that way? I can't afford to be penalised.' A foul in Harry's case would be disastrous, because he'd be forced to sit out for a specified period, and the other Seeker would have no competition finding the Snitch.
'I think we'll just have to see which way the referees lean. In the meantime, let's work on near-fouling, to reinforce what you need to avoid. Having your elbow cocked the wrong way during a feint could be the difference between committing a foul or not.'
Harry had a surprisingly good time flying one-on-one with Tuttle, who showed him some subtle near-fouls he'd never seen before. He was impressed—she was still one hell of a flyer, and unlike her former teammate Ludo Bagman she hadn't got out of shape.
After they landed, she unexpectedly looked at him and said, 'I'm hard on you, Potter. There's a reason for it.'
Harry was taken aback. He just waited until she continued.
'Obviously your overall situation is unique ... Two Killing Curses, for Merlin's sake. But as far as Quidditch goes, I've seen players just like you. Talented, made starter their first year. Landed in the spotlight as naturally as if they'd been born to it. And they could pull witches like grapes off a vine.'
He frowned, unsure where she was going with all this.
'Some of them did just fine. They settled down, had great careers, played for England even. But a couple of them got increasingly out of control. They'd both had difficult childhoods, and no family to speak of. When they fell, they fell hard.'
Harry felt two separate reactions forming inside him. One was the urge to tell Tuttle to mind her own fucking business, but the other appreciated her concern. He instinctively expanded into awareness, the way Owen had taught him, and allowed her to continue.
'It's possible I've got nothing to worry about, in which case you should tell me to mind my own fucking business, like you did this morning. If you can handle it, then by all means have some fun, and more power to you. But make sure you've got an anchor in there—someone or something to keep you steady. Maybe it's your mates, Weasley and Granger. Maybe it's some other adult in your life, like an old professor.
'But don't forget you have the team as well. The Cannons may not be much good at winning, at least until you turned up, but you won't find a better group of people. I'm glad we kept Barrowmaker around, even though he's mostly Skele-Gro at this point. You need people like that—we all do.
'I want you to have a long Quidditch career. I want you to stick it to You-Know-Who and those bloody Death Eaters by having a better life than any of them could have imagined. I'm going to be hard on you, and you should push back, and I'll do the same.' Harry remained silent, and she added sharply, 'Are you listening, or did you tune me out on account of your long night shagging?'
'I'm listening. And yes, part of me wants to tell you off, but I appreciate the rest. You're right, I don't have any real family. But I have terrific mates, and their families too. And you're right about Owen ... He's like no one I've met before. And the rest of the Cannons as well.'
Tuttle nodded. 'Well, there's no point in beating a dead horse. I'm sure we'll go plenty more rounds—I suspect the Prophet hasn't even got started on you yet.'
'There's an alarming thought. But you're probably right.'
She pulled out her whistle and blew it. 'Practice match, ten minutes, same teams and colours as yesterday.'
Harry felt a fresh surge of determination after Tuttle's lecture. He also remembered what Alistair had said, that he was a powerful wizard, in spite of his middling magical strength. He'd resisted a Horcrux after all. That was surely an anchor as well—not a substitute for the others, but part of the larger picture.
And then there was Quidditch, and flying itself. It was ironic to call flying an anchor, since it was literally the opposite, but the expanded sense of self he experienced on a broomstick was surely a protection against what Tuttle was describing.
The practice match began, and Harry kicked off into the air. He began his circling and broadened fully into awareness.
Owen wasted no time approaching him. 'Even your date last night didn't want to be seen with you, Potter. Which seems contradictory, since she's probably only with you because you're famous.'
Harry was in no mood to taunt. He wasn't perturbed by what Owen was saying—it just felt irrelevant. He accelerated to the far side of the pitch and continued circling.
Owen found him again. 'The shopgirl must have been a real looker, to talk you into those robes. You realise you were just a commission to her, right?'
Harry ignored him and continued circling, resetting his intention to let the Snitch appear within his field of awareness.
'Are you going to make an appointment with that Mind Healer? You could probably employ her full time, with all the shit that happens to you. Have you ever asked yourself whether it's all your fault?'
Harry felt his irritation rise, but he relaxed his eyes and let spaciousness overtake him. And then he spied a golden pinpoint near the ground and shot towards it.
Owen followed. The Snitch zig-zagged sharply, remaining a few feet above the pitch, and Harry did the same. One of the opposing Beaters, Suresh, was flying near the ground in an attempt to gain control of one of the Bludgers, which was approaching. Harry zoomed towards him, forcing Owen to follow, and Suresh lined up his bat to make the strike.
Harry angled steeply upwards, and Owen found himself in the Bludger's path. He turned sharply to the right but his balance was off and he slammed into the ground. Meanwhile, Harry was far above and completely exhilarated from the daredevil flying. He'd momentarily lost sight of the Snitch, but he reset his intention for it to appear, and there it was.
Harry had his hand around the Snitch before he noticed Owen was on the ground. 'Potter's got the Snitch!' cried Tuttle. 'Score is 150-0.' Harry landed near Owen just as the Healer arrived.
'Are you all right?' he asked in a panic.
'Yes,' gasped Owen. 'Knocked the wind out of me but otherwise I'm just banged up a bit.'
'A Bludger?' Harry hadn't seen what had happened.
'No, just the ground.'
Healer MacAlister had already started performing diagnostic charms. 'It's nothing,' he said. 'A few minor tweaks and you'll be back to your previous condition.'
'Can't you do any better than that?' groaned Owen. 'Some Healer you are.'
The entire team gathered, and once they saw that Owen was all right, they rained congratulations on Harry. 'What was that, five minutes?' asked Darren.
'Is Tuttle going to make us play another match?' said Janet. 'It seems a bit early to go home.'
Tuttle didn't bother gathering them at the benches, since she had hardly any notes. 'Nice work, Potter, but the fans will be disappointed if you catch the Snitch that fast on Saturday. Not that you should pass it up, of course.'
'Get a clock,' coughed Darren.
'What's that, Rogers?' asked Tuttle.
'Quidditch needs a bloody clock. Or an hourglass, if they want to be all traditional about it.'
'Are you talking heresy again?' asked Suresh. 'Next you'll want the Snitch to be worth only fifty points.'
'I'm not going to argue with you,' said Tuttle, 'but that's not my department.'
'No,' said Ryan. 'It's a job for Harry and Viktor Krum.'
'Leave me out of this,' said Harry. 'I'm not your bloody Quidditch reformer.'
'Give him time, Bellamy,' said Janet. 'We'll wear him down eventually.'
The trainers led them through stretches, and within ten minutes the players were heading towards the building to shower and change into clean clothes.
'It really is ironic,' said Titus, 'that the best-played Quidditch game is so deeply unsatisfying to the spectators.'
'Hold on, did I hear you correctly?' said Darren. 'If we can convince a pure-blood like Titus, that's half the battle.'
'Nah, he's a blood-traitor,' said Lyle. 'Doesn't have a Dark Mark or anything.'
Harry struggled with mixed feelings as he showered. He felt awful for endangering Owen but relieved he was all right. And even though catching the Snitch was always satisfying, he was disappointed he hadn't been able to practice any feints, and that the Chasers hadn't even had the opportunity to score.
The good news, however, was that Harry had a few free hours he hadn't expected. He started with a visit to the Cannons publicity department. Susanna saw him enter and said, 'Good afternoon, Harry. Is everything all right? Why aren't you flying?'
'The practice match is over already—the Snitch appeared almost immediately,' replied Harry.
'Who caught it?' asked Thaddeus.
'I did.'
There were cheers from several staff members. 'Brilliant work, Harry,' said Thaddeus. 'Can't wait to see you out there on Saturday.'
Susanna cleared her throat and said, 'Is there anything I can help you with?'
'Yes ... I'm curious whether you released that statement about my name. I notice the Prophet referred to me as Lord Black this morning, and I was hoping to nip that in the bud.'
Susanna nodded and said, 'Yes, we released it to the Prophet and every other major publication on Tuesday morning.'
Harry sighed. 'So they completely ignored it.'
'That's not true,' said Thaddeus. 'You were in the sports news this morning, and they referred to you as Harry Potter.'
'I didn't see that—did they say anything I should be concerned about?'
'No, it was just standard mid-week Quidditch ruminations.'
Susanna looked at Harry and said, 'If you're wondering what to do next, you should probably issue a personal statement. It's likely to get more attention if it comes from you and not from the team.'
'I suppose you're right. Can you help me with that?'
'Of course,' she said.
Thaddeus interjected, 'Do you still want to make a political statement about wizarding lordships?'
'Yes,' said Harry. 'I feel that's essential to my point.'
'If you say so,' said Thaddeus. 'But are you confident in your research? You don't want to insult the leading families without at least getting your facts straight.'
'You're right—I'll ask my friend Hermione when I see her this evening. There's no one I trust more when it comes to research.'
'Very good,' said Susanna. 'And once you have your facts in order, we can help you with the wording and get it into the right hands at the Prophet.'
'Much appreciated, thanks.'
Harry's next stop was Diagon Alley, starting with the shoemaker. On Sunday he'd been helped by the shop assistant, but this time the proprietor was there and insisted on attending Harry personally.
'By any chance are you interested in a raised shoe?' he asked.
'No, thank you. I've no interest in a raised heel,' replied Harry, concealing his irritation.
'I didn't say a raised heel, Mr Potter—I said a raised shoe. The heel and sole would appear normal to the onlooker, but I can add up to three inches of height.'
That would bring me up to five foot ten, thought a small part of Harry's mind. Five eleven if you count the visible heel.
The larger part of Harry's mind protested. You're a Seeker—that means you're short. Just accept it, Snitchbottom. He also realised how pathetic it would look to take off his shoes in front of a woman, just prior to removing his trousers, and immediately drop three inches in height.
'Thank you but no, I'm not interested.'
'As you wish.'
In the end, Harry ordered not only a selection of dress shoes—suitable for his various robes—but also a charmed pair of Doc Martens, which Harry knew would be ideal for Muggle settings. And unlike standard Doc Martens, these would be comfortable the first time he wore them, and also feather light. He asked the shoemaker to complete those first.
Harry went next to the florist, where the shopkeeper looked startled to see him. 'We didn't expect to hear back from you so soon, Mr Potter, and certainly not in person, but I'm grateful you've come. I assume this in response to our owl?'
'No, did you send me one? I've come straight from practice and haven't been home since morning.'
'Yes, we sent you an owl just after nine o'clock, but it must have arrived after you'd gone. But I see you've anticipated the problem.'
'Let me guess ... Did my house-elf completely clean you out?'
'I'm afraid so. House-elves, as you may have noticed, don't naturally have a sense of proportion, but usually their training is sufficient to curb those tendencies. Is your elf particularly young, or newly bonded perhaps?'
'No, quite the opposite. I honestly have no idea how old he is, but I'd guess upwards of several centuries.'
'How odd,' said the shopkeeper. 'Was he the property of the Black family? Or did he come into your possession some other way?'
Harry was relieved Hermione wasn't present to hear Kreacher referred to as property. 'He's bound to House Black, and I believe you've identified the problem. He was left to his own devices for years while my godfather was in Azkaban, and his previous owner was, to put it mildly, off her rocker.'
'That explains it. I'm afraid we'll need to put restrictions on his access for a while. Unless, of course, you wish to establish a standing order for larger quantities of flowers,' added the shopkeeper hopefully.
'No, that won't be necessary. But I'll be hosting a large party on the thirty-first, and I suspect flowers would brighten the place up a bit. May I order those in advance?'
'Yes, of course,' said the shopkeeper, pulling out an order form. 'Do you have anything specific in mind?'
Harry actually knew a lot about flowers, thanks to his years of servitude in Aunt Petunia's garden. He listed his favourites and specifically requested nothing too funereal. Too many of the wrong sort of flowers would make Grimmauld Place look like a mausoleum.
His final stop was Benedict Thimble's shop, to tell them how pleased he was with the robes and the other items he'd received so far. Expecting to find the shop empty, as it had been on Sunday, he lowered his Notice-Me-Not Charm before entering, but he immediately backed outside when he saw how crowded it was.
He raised his privacy wards again and opened the door. Normally he didn't enter a store that way, since it often puzzled the shopkeeper and had once resulted in a painful Stinging Hex, but the staff was so busy that they barely looked up. Harry saw Althea helping a young wizard, perhaps a few years older than himself.
Eventually the wizard disappeared into a dressing room, and Harry approached Althea and lowered his wards. 'Good afternoon, Althea,' he said, and she jumped in surprise.
'Harry, you startled me!'
'I'm sorry, I just wanted to stop in and thank you again.'
Her expression softened. 'We should be thanking you! Today we've had more young wizards asking for robes than we normally see in a week. You appear to have launched a mania—well done!'
'The tailor gets the credit, surely. I was thrilled with the finished product.'
'I'm so glad. And I know you'll like the rest as well.' She leaned towards him and said, 'Mr Thimble gave us orders this morning not to sell exact duplicates of the robes we sold you. The last thing you need is a bunch of copycats.'
'Cheers, I appreciate it.'
'Nonsense, it's the least we can do. There's my customer—I should be going. But please come back if you need anything else. And if you make an appointment, we'll be glad to close the shop for you.'
He let her go and slipped out the door, unseen. Mischief managed, he Apparated to Grimmauld Place in anticipation of the meeting with Minerva, Bill Weasley, and Hermione.
Bill arrived first. 'Good to see you, Harry. Or should I call you Lord Black?'
'I think you know the answer to that,' said Harry, scowling.
'I reckon I do—I just couldn't resist.'
They exchanged news, and Bill thanked him for the Cannons tickets. 'You were very thoughtful to include one for Gabrielle.'
'I was glad to—Hermione mentioned she was arriving this week.'
'Yes, but be careful around her. She's just turned fourteen, and that's probably the most dangerous time to be around anyone with Veela blood. She looks fully grown—no hint of an awkward stage—but she can't control her allure very well. At all, really.'
'Oh dear. Do you know if Fleur went through something similar?'
'She claims she didn't, but her father told me she was just as bad. Apparently it's a standard phase—I think he was warning me in case we ever have a daughter.'
'Thanks for the heads-up. Fortunately I've never been over-susceptible to Veela charms, so I should be all right.'
'I'm not concerned about you—you're obviously not lacking for witches your own age. But Gabrielle has been asking after you, and she's got herself convinced you're her destiny. You saved her during the Triwizard Tournament, after all.'
Harry rolled his eyes. 'She was never in any danger.'
'Yes, but you didn't know that at the time. Anyway, just treat her like a little sister, and hopefully she'll get the hint.'
Hermione was next to appear. 'I'm sorry I'm late—I lost track of time. Has Minerva arrived yet?'
'Not for several more minutes,' said Bill. 'Remember we gave her a different meeting time, so we could reconnoiter first.'
'Yes, of course,' replied Hermione. 'Have you briefed Harry?'
'Not yet. Harry, the short version is that Minerva won't remember a thing about our previous meetings or the existence of other wizarding schools. We'll have to remind her, and of course she'll be very upset, but after that we can proceed with the portrait of Sirius's ancestor. Have you tried subduing him yet?'
'I haven't,' said Harry. 'Was I supposed to?'
'I didn't see much point, so I didn't say anything,' said Hermione. 'I think we'll have better luck if we retain the element of surprise. Otherwise Phineas Nigellus might flee his frame entirely.'
'Good thinking,' said Bill.
The kitchen fireplace flared green again, and Minerva stepped out, looking slightly bewildered. Before she could say anything Bill said, 'Sit down, we'll explain everything.'
They gathered at the table and Hermione began. 'Do you know why we've invited you here?'
'No' said Minerva. 'Though it's certainly nice to see all of you.'
Bill looked at her carefully. 'Have you been preparing all your own food?'
'Yes, since Sunday. We seemed quite insistent about it in that Pensieve memory, but I honestly have no idea why.'
Bill and Hermione looked at each other with concern, and Hermione said, 'We've invited you here to discuss the other wizarding schools.'
'Beauxbatons and Durmstrang? Whatever for?'
'No, the other wizarding schools in Britain.'
'There aren't any,' said Minerva matter-of-factly.
Bill turned to Hermione and said, 'There has to be a second factor, and it's not the food. Otherwise she'd remember by now.'
'Remember what?' asked Minerva, a trifle irritated.
'There are in fact several dozen wizarding schools in Great Britain, and more in Ireland,' said Hermione, showing Minerva the list.
'Great Godric! Why haven't I heard about them before?'
'You have,' said Bill. 'This is the third time, in fact. We're certain there are wards on Hogwarts causing you to forget, and an additional factor we haven't yet identified.'
They brought her up to speed on everything from their previous meeting, and Hermione said, 'Our next step is to talk to Phineas Nigellus Black. I brought his portrait into the library on Tuesday—we should probably go up there.'
'Oh hooray,' said Bill dryly. 'We get to say hello to Walburga.'
Harry and Hermione smiled. 'Actually, her frame has a new occupant,' he said. 'Come have a look.'
They walked upstairs to the entrance hall and, to Harry's surprise, they were not greeted by barking. Unfortunately, the reason for Padfoot's silence was that he was enthusiastically licking his privates.
'Oh dear,' said Hermione. 'He's really all dog, isn't he?'
'Is that Sirius?' asked Bill.
'No, it's Padfoot,' replied Harry. 'I engaged a portrait artist, and she was able to dislodge Walburga by having Padfoot chase her out. Mrs Black is now the unwilling patroness of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.'
Bill and Minerva laughed out loud. 'That's brilliant,' exclaimed Bill. 'Best news I've heard all week, and that includes you catching the Snitch. Congratulations, by the way.'
'It was a splendid match,' said Minerva. 'I had the pleasure of seeing it in person, thanks to Harry.'
'I'll see him play in Chudley this weekend with the entire family, including Charlie.'
Harry said, 'I'm sorry I couldn't offer you another ticket, Minerva. There are really an immoderate number of Weasleys.'
'Not to worry, Harry. I ordered tickets for nearly every game this season.'
'Won't that interfere with your duties as headmistress?' asked Hermione.
Minerva smiled mischievously. 'I may or may not have scheduled the Gryffindor Quidditch matches for the Cannons' weeks off.'
They proceeded to the library, but before waking Phineas Nigellus, Hermione showed Bill and Minerva the Grimoire.
'Blimey, that looks even older than the Weasley Grimoire,' said Bill. 'Did you find any likely candidates?'
'Hard to say,' said Hermione. 'The only wards I could find were aimed against the likes of me. I didn't see anything about memory modification.'
'What about Potions?' asked Minerva.
'I identified one candidate, but I can't imagine how to distribute it without the house-elves or someone else on the inside.'
'What does it do?' asked Bill, leaning towards the page Hermione had opened.
Harry pulled him back. 'Hands off, blood traitor. The book is liable to hurt you.'
'Rightly so, thanks,' replied Bill.
Hermione said, 'The description is vague but, from what I can tell, the potion perpetuates a separately administered charm, even after the caster is long gone. I get the impression it was designed to reinforce the Imperius Curse and other Dark magic.'
Bill shook his head in disgust. 'What a hideous misuse of magic! There are probably a million beneficial applications for a potion like that, but Dark wizards like the Blacks used it for harmful purposes instead.' He looked at Harry and asked, 'Are you sure you want to be affiliated with them?'
'Yes, I do. Sirius specifically urged me to remake House Black as a Light family.'
'That's a tall order,' said Bill. 'You'll have an easier time turning the Cannons around.'
Minerva turned to Hermione and said, 'About that potion ... What is it made from?'
Hermione looked closely at the instructions and said, 'It seems to be entirely botanical. Nothing from magical creatures.'
'Do any of the ingredients need to be imported? Perhaps we could trace them that way,' said Bill.
'That seems like a stretch,' said Minerva, 'considering we don't know if this potion is involved, nor how it's being delivered.'
Hermione said, 'All the ingredients are either native to Great Britain or can be cultivated here.'
'So scratch that,' grumbled Bill. 'Do you suppose it's time to interrogate the portrait?'
'I think so,' replied Hermione. 'And I'm sure Harry is keen to make himself useful.'
'Thanks a lot,' said Harry acidly, fetching the portrait and propping it at eye level against one of the bookcases. Phineas was still sleeping. 'What should I do, exactly?'
Everyone looked expectantly at Minerva. 'I have some experience with headmaster portraits,' she said. 'Theoretically I should have complete power over them, as the current headmistress, but in practice they're more wilful than that.'
Hermione thought for a moment and said, 'I wonder if that's because they're maximally sentient at Hogwarts. Louisa—the painter Harry engaged to unseat Walburga—told us that headmaster portraits are most fully themselves at Hogwarts, due to the background magic. So perhaps this instance of Phineas Nigellus will be more tractable.'
'Let's try it,' said Bill. 'Harry, reveal the ring, and then demand the portrait's obeisance.'
Harry nodded and removed the concealment charm on the ring, which prompted snorts of laughter from both Bill and Minerva. 'That illustration in the Prophet didn't do it justice,' said Bill.
Harry tapped the portrait with his wand and said, 'Phineas Nigellus Black, I require your attention.' He held the ring in plain view.
Phineas stirred from his slumber but didn't open his eyes. 'What is it now? Can't you let a wizard have his hard-earned rest?' he groaned.
'As your Head of House, I command you to speak with us and remain present in your current frame'
The portrait's eyes shot open, and they protruded slightly when he recognised the Black family ring on Harry's hand. 'You?' he exclaimed in horror. 'My great-great-grandson named you his heir? I knew he left you the house, of course, but I never dreamed he'd go so far as to make you head of family. Oh, the shame of it!'
'What's wrong with Harry?' said Hermione indignantly. 'He's related to the Blacks.'
'On his father's side, yes,' said Phineas. 'But nothing can remove the disgrace of his maternal lineage.'
'I'll have no more of your cheek!' cried Harry in a voice he hardly recognised. 'The ring accepted me, and I am unquestionably head of House Black. Do you deny this?'
Everyone looked at him in surprise, including Phineas. 'No, my lord. You are indeed the true heir.'
'I command you then to remain in your frame and answer our questions.' He turned to the others and cocked his head to indicate they should speak.
Bill straightened and asked, 'Do you know anything about wards at Hogwarts that would interfere with the inhabitants' knowledge of other wizarding schools in Great Britain?'
Phineas defiantly pressed his lips together until Harry said, 'Answer him.'
'Yes, I am aware of such wards.'
'Did you create them?' asked Harry.
Phineas looked like he was trying to hold his breath to keep from answering.
'You will speak,' ordered Harry.
'Yes,' blurted Phineas, 'but I beg you, don't ask me any more.'
'You are in no position to make demands! What other means did you use to enforce the memory modifications?'
Phineas started squirming within his canvas, as if to leave. Harry grasped the sides of the frame and boomed, 'You will stay and answer me!'
'A potion, my lord,' said Phineas resignedly.
'How is it administered?' asked Minerva. 'And who's brewing it after all these years?'
Phineas surprised them by smiling. 'They said I couldn't do it,' he said wickedly. '"You can't perpetuate a memory ward," they said. But I proved them wrong. What year is it anyway?'
'It's 1999,' said Hermione.
'Ha!' cried Phineas. 'It's lasted more than eighty years. And you've only just discovered it? Clearly, Phineas Nigellus Black is the greatest headmaster Hogwarts has known.'
'Really, you're talking about yourself in the third person?' said Hermione. 'That's a bit of a Muggle cinema cliché. But back to the main point, which potion are you using? Is it the one in the Grimoire, for perpetuating charms?'
Phineas looked positively ill. 'Don't tell me you of all people read the family Grimoire! It should have removed your skin from your body the instant you touched it.'
Hermione blanched, but Harry said, 'Sorry to disappoint you, Gramps, but the Grimoire thinks Hermione and I are married. She's already spent hours poring over it. And by the way, it turns out she's a phenomenally powerful witch.'
'Impossible! I charmed it myself against Mudbloods!'
'Nice try,' said Harry, 'but even the Grimoire knows blood purity is a load of bollocks.'
Minerva cleared her throat. 'Can we get back to the potion?'
'Yes, of course,' said Harry. 'Did you use the potion from the Grimoire?'
'I did.'
'And how is it distributed?'
'In the water, at Hogwarts.'
His words struck them like a jolt. 'Of course!' cried Bill. 'That's why the house-elves didn't know about it. Tufty was telling the truth.'
'I told you so,' said Hermione.
'How is the potion being renewed after all these years?' asked Minerva. 'Is someone still brewing it?'
'No,' said Phineas. 'I was far cleverer than that. I planted a Founders Tree.'
Minerva, Bill, and Hermione all inhaled sharply. 'What's a Founder's Tree?' asked Harry.
To his surprise, Phineas answered. 'It's a magical tree that can perpetually perform specified magic, given the proper conditions.'
Unable to contain herself, Hermione interrupted him. 'It's drawing the ingredients from the Forbidden Forest,' she exclaimed. 'And it has to be brewing the potion within its own trunk and root system.'
'Well spotted,' sneered Phineas. 'Ten points to Gryffindor.'
'But how is the potion reaching the water supply? The Founders' Grove is nowhere near the lake,' said Minerva.
Phineas was silent until Harry shoved the ring in front of the canvas. 'Answer her.'
'Pipes.'
'You laid a pipe all the way from the Founders' Grove to the lake? How would you even make a potion strong enough?' asked Minerva.
'It doesn't go to the lake, it goes to the castle,' said Phineas. His tone contained a distressing note of triumph.
'You're delivering the potion straight into the castle plumbing?' asked Bill. 'Where's the tree? We'll need to cut it off at the source.'
'You won't find it,' gloated Phineas.
'Tell us where it is,' ordered Harry.
'I couldn't if I wanted to, not from memory.'
'Then we'll bring you to Hogwarts and you can point it out,' declared Harry.
Phineas shook his head smugly. 'I wouldn't obey you there. I'd be strong enough to resist you on the castle grounds.'
'Damn it, he's right,' said Bill. 'Minerva, is there any way for us to identify the tree ourselves?'
'No. The Founders' Grove is extensive, and we couldn't risk harming the wrong tree. The grove produces a good many of the charms that keep Hogwarts functioning.'
'Then what about the intake?' asked Hermione. 'Where does it come into the castle.'
'I can tell you that,' replied Phineas, 'but it won't help you. I've spelled it invulnerable from the outside.'
'Where is it, then?' asked Harry.
'It's in the Slytherin dungeons, next to the lake.'
'Of course it is,' muttered Bill.
'Can't we get at it from the inside?' asked Hermione.
'Not unless you can fit inside a pipe,' smirked Phineas. 'And if you're thinking about using a Shrinking Spell on yourself or an Enlargement Charm on the pipes, it won't work.'
The three living humans just looked at each other for a minute. 'He certainly safeguarded his work,' said Bill.
'What about the wards?' asked Minerva. 'Even if we can't get rid of the potion, surely we can remove the wards. Are they inscribed on the anchor stones?'
'The main wards are, yes,' said Phineas. 'But not the secondary wards.'
'Secondary wards? Where are they?' asked Harry.
'Inside the pipes,' said Phineas. 'You'll never find all of them without tearing the castle apart.'
'Harry, couldn't you send a snake through the pipes?' said Minerva.
'No, I can't speak Parseltongue anymore. That died with Voldemort.'
They all sighed. 'We could at least remove the central ward from the anchor stones. That ought to weaken the effect,' said Bill.
'But not remove it entirely,' taunted Phineas.
'Are you holding back on us?' asked Harry menacingly. 'I command you to tell me how to remove the potion inlet and the secondary wards.'
'Sorry, my lord. I couldn't do it if I wanted. Which I don't of course.' Phineas leaned back in his frame, wearing an insufferable smile.
'I don't think we'll get anything else out of him,' said Bill. 'We might as well let him go.'
'I agree,' said Minerva. 'We'll need to work the rest out on our own.'
'Good luck with that,' said Phineas. 'I'll enjoy watching you fail. I might even ask you about North Squiffing every now and again, just to see you scratch your head in confusion.'
'Get out of my sight,' ordered Harry, and Phineas darted from his frame.
Everyone was quiet for a while after he'd gone. Harry charmed the ring invisible again.
'What's our next step?' asked Hermione.
'Remove the central ward,' said Bill. 'We'll have to use the Pensieve to walk ourselves through it.'
Minerva nodded. 'That's a start. And once the main ward is gone, we might have enough presence of mind to work out the next steps from inside the castle.'
'Will you keep preparing your own food?' asked Hermione.
'For now. I'm glad it's summer—I have more free time than during the school term. I'll conjure my own water as well.'
Bill nodded. 'Are there any castle plans or schematics that would give us a better idea where his potion meets the water supply?'
'Yes, we unearthed a lot of plans during the rebuilding last summer.'
'Good, I'll have a look at them,' said Bill.
'Is there anything I can do?' asked Harry.
'You're already doing the most important thing: introducing people from different schools to one another,' said Minerva. 'I heard about your upcoming party—it's a wonderful idea.'
'I'm glad you think so. Speaking of which, might I borrow several house-elves? Kreacher would like some help.'
'Of course. They're at loose ends during the summer anyway. Just let me know when and how many.'
Hermione scowled but didn't say anything.
'I still can't believe you're throwing open Grimmauld Place to the hoi polloi, Lord Black,' said Bill. 'All your predecessors save Sirius must be spinning in their graves.'
'Ugh, you've reminded me, I need to send a statement to the Prophet telling them not to call me that. The team sent instructions but only the sport section complied.'
'"The Light Lord,"' quoted Hermione. 'I thought that was rather clever.'
'Hermione, would you mind researching the lordship business for me? I want to expose what a load of rubbish it is, but the Cannons publicity team urged me to verify my facts first.'
'I already checked. When you told me what Andromeda said, I looked in the Ministry archives, and it turns out she's right.'
'Right about what?' asked Bill.
'It turns out wizarding lordships are meaningless,' said Harry. 'They were sold to the highest bidders in 1707 when the Ministry was built.'
'Are you serious? 1707?' asked Bill, laughing. 'We have broomsticks at the Burrow that date back farther than that.'
Minerva was smirking as well. 'Harry, I should probably caution you against upsetting a lot of pure-bloods, but 1707? That's downright embarrassing. Do you want help drafting it?'
The four of them worked together to create a statement. 'This is good,' said Harry, looking at the final product. 'I'll give this to the publicity staff first thing tomorrow, and they can send it to the Prophet straight away. The Lord Black business is already getting out of hand.'
'I doubt your statement will stop it,' said Bill, 'but you'll at least upset the apple cart. About damned time.'
Their business concluded, they ate together in the dining room. 'I must say, Kreacher's cooking has improved immeasurably since I first met him,' said Minerva.
Hermione looked up. 'Do you suppose he could deliver your meals until we find a solution to the potion problem? That would save you the trouble of preparing your own food.'
Everyone looked at Harry. 'I've no objection, certainly. Let's see how he feels about it. Kreacher!'
Crack! 'Yes, Master.'
'Would you be willing to deliver meals several times a day to Professor McGonagall at Hogwarts for the foreseeable future?'
'Does Master wish for Kreacher to prepare the food in the Hogwarts kitchens?'
'No, definitely not. It's essential that you cook everything here.'
Kreacher bowed. 'Kreacher would be delighted to serve the Hogwarts headmistress. Kreacher is far superior to the Hogwarts elves.'
'This has nothing to do with the Hogwarts elves,' said Hermione. 'I ate at Hogwarts for seven years and they're highly capable.'
'Yes, Miss Hermione,' said Kreacher dubiously. Arrangements for food delivery were made, and Harry dismissed him.
There was eventually a lull in their dinner conversation, and Harry noticed Minerva was observing him. 'I can't believe how much you've changed, Harry,' she said.
'That sounds ominous.'
'No, not in a bad way. You've simply lost the downtrodden quality that defined you for so many years.'
Bill nodded in agreement. 'She's right. I think you even had it the last time I saw you, maybe two months ago, when you last came to the Burrow for Sunday dinner.'
'Has it been that long?' asked Harry. 'I'm sorry about that.'
'No, it's understandable. But I'm glad to see how you've improved. It's like the yoke is finally off your neck.'
'Honestly, I think it's all the flying. It does me a world of good to spend so much time on a broomstick every day.'
'It seems to be doing the Cannons a world of good as well. Can you tell us anything about the upcoming match?'
Harry smiled. 'We're unveiling a new strategy. It should be highly entertaining.'
'Brilliant,' said Bill. 'Charlie in particular is eager to see you fly—he couldn't stop talking about your performance against the Horntail during the Triwizard Tournament, and he's a tough audience. I still don't know why he never pursued Quidditch professionally.'
'I've often wondered that myself,' said Minerva. 'Perhaps I should have encouraged him more, as I should have done with Harry. Luckily Harry figured it out without me.'
After dinner they gathered around the formal fireplace. 'I know we encountered more obstacles,' said Bill, 'but we've made considerable progress, all things considered. I can't believe this has been happening for more than eighty years.'
'I'm determined to find a solution,' said Hermione. 'This is at the heart of my goal to make wizarding society more equitable.'
'We can't fail with Hermione on the task,' said Minerva, and Bill and Harry nodded in agreement.
Everyone departed through the fireplace, and Harry walked up to his bedroom. He remembered what Tuttle had said that afternoon, about his need for an anchor in the absence of a family. But between Hermione, Minerva, and the Weasleys, Harry knew he was well anchored indeed.