Harry was pacing in front of the kitchen fireplace when Ron arrived on Saturday morning. 'Finally,' he cried. 'Where the hell were you?'
'Harry, it's half past seven,' said Ron. 'What's the big deal?'
'I'm a nervous wreck—that's the big deal.'
'Why are you nervous? Janet said practice went great all week.'
'I'm nervous because I'm opening Grimmauld Place to a hundred and fifty people tonight. What the hell was I thinking?'
'Oh right. Happy birthday!'
'Happy for everyone else maybe, but for me it's a bloody nightmare. I can't imagine why I thought this was a good idea. I don't even know what's worse—all the strangers I invited or all our bloody classmates. I invited Blaise Zabini, for Merlin's sake. Zabini!'
'You're the one who wanted to include Slytherins,' said Ron. 'Something about bringing wizards together.'
'That must have been right after my Bludger strike. I can't have been in my right mind. You don't suppose I could cancel the party, do you?'
'You sent out portkeys, mate. There's no cancelling it.'
'But couldn't Gringotts do something? Change the wards? Do you think Bill could restore the Fidelius on the house?'
'Harry, get a grip. The party's going to be brilliant. Everyone's talking about it—if you cancel it now, there's going to be more gossip than if you actually go through with it.'
'Ugh, you're right. Did you see the Prophet this morning?'
'I glanced at it but didn't see anything out of the ordinary. You haven't been on the cover since they printed the lords' response a few days ago.'
'It wasn't on the cover, it was in the gossip column.'
Ron scowled. 'You mean the column that said Hermione threw me over for Bellamy?'
'The very same. There was an item about the party. They called it "the most anticipated social event of the decade."'
'Why is that surprising? Everyone's talking about it.'
'I'm not a bloody socialite! And now everyone's going to think I am—it was bad enough with the aristocrat rubbish and the robes. Why the hell did I buy those bloody robes in the first place?'
'You said you liked robes. And they look good.'
'I look like a fucking Death Eater.'
'Mate, you killed Voldemort—nobody's going to mistake you for a Death Eater.'
'I'm certain lots of Death Eaters wanted to kill Voldemort. He kept torturing them, you know. What was wrong with them anyway?'
Ron looked at him and said, 'Do you want me to run out for some cigarettes? I promise not to tell Tuttle—I think you need to take the edge off. Or do you need to send for Helena? It's your birthday after all.'
'Believe me, I thought about it, but I don't have her bloody Floo address. And I can't send Prongs or Kreacher because she hasn't told her parents about me.'
'What, are they Death Eaters or something?'
'Of course they're not Death Eaters! No, she just doesn't want to be hassled with a lot of questions, particularly since we're not serious.'
'All right then, no Helena. And you didn't jump on my cigarette offer. So where does that leave us? Do you need to fire some curses, blow off steam?'
'I can't fire curses in the house—the goblins already altered the wards.'
'Get up on your broomstick then?'
'My broomstick's at the training facility, which is locked. All I have here is my bloody Firebolt Ultra.'
'Oh, poor Harry … he only has a top-of-the-line Firebolt he was given free of charge.'
'It bucks like a bronco. I hate it.'
'What's a bronco?'
'I have no idea, I think it's an American expression. I probably heard it in some crap film of Dudley's.'
'Blimey, now you're talking about the Dursleys—that's always a bad sign. Do you need to bring in Hermione? I don't mind, if it'll help.'
Harry took a deep breath. 'Sorry, I don't know what's got into me. I just feel like I've been on some kind of bender for the last month. Quit my job at the Ministry, didn't even say goodbye. Bloody hell, why didn't I invite the other trainees to the party? I completely forgot. I'm such an arsehole.'
'I'll admit, they were wondering about that,' said Ron.
'Is it too late to invite them? What's another twenty or so people at this point?'
'Where will you put them?'
'The entrance hall? Padfoot's stopped barking finally.'
'Really? The trainer was successful, then?'
'Yes, she did a fantastic job—she worked with him more or less nonstop all week. Merlin knows how many dog treats she went through.'
'I need to see this,' said Ron.
They walked up to the entrance hall, where they found Padfoot sitting obediently on his haunches. He started wagging his tail when he saw them, and it whacked against the sides of the canvas once or twice, but otherwise he was remarkably well contained.
'Now there's an improvement!' said Ron. 'I guess he's intelligent after all.'
Harry smiled and said, 'He certainly is. Good Padfoot ... good boy.' He threw him a treat, which Padfoot caught and chomped happily. After a long moment he said, 'I know he's not Sirius, but it does me a world of good to see him, especially now that he's stopped barking so much.'
'I know you're second-guessing all your recent decisions, but I can't think of a single thing you've done in the last month that Sirius wouldn't approve of.'
'Yes, and he had infallible judgment.'
'Come on—it's not as if you went chasing after Wormtail. You quit a job you didn't like and started flying for the Cannons. I'm pretty sure that's every wizard's dream, particularly now that the Cannons are winning.'
'You're right,' said Harry. He looked around the entrance hall and said, 'Would it be too obnoxious to invite the other Auror trainees this soon before the party? Obviously they'll realise I forgot about them on the first go-round.'
'Are you kidding? They'll be thrilled.'
'I should pop into Gringotts, then. Can you give me their names? I'm not certain I even learnt them all. Merlin, I'm such a prat!'
They found a parchment and Ron wrote down all their names. 'Please, have some breakfast while I'm away ... I've an army of house-elves at present thanks to Minerva. Apparently they all jumped at the opportunity—I think they're bored stiff during the summer holidays. The attic is full to bursting with them.'
'Don't tell Hermione—she'll be furious you haven't given them better accommodations.'
'I tried to give them a couple of the guest rooms but they wouldn't hear of it. Several of them started wailing in misery when I offered.'
'Mental,' said Ron, shaking his head.
Gringotts was nearly deserted, so Harry was able to take care of business quickly. He needed to send the invitations by express owl, which cost more of course, but it hardly mattered. He'd been informed by Darius that his merchandise sales had been astronomical, and the pay statement he received on Friday confirmed it. He'd already earned enough to cover the party and make a serious dent in what he'd paid for his new clothes.
I don't even recognise my life, thought Harry as he left Gringotts. I was supposed to be an Auror. Ginny's birthday is in August—I might have proposed marriage. And yet here I am.
He Apparated home and found Ron in the kitchen, where several house-elves were attending him. Harry had initially been surprised by Kreacher's willingness to delegate, but it turned out the ancient house-elf loved bossing the other elves around. My domineering, emotionally-needy, masochistic house-elf, mused Harry. Doctor Niffler should write a book about him.
'Are you feeling all right about the match, at least?' asked Ron.
'No, but it's just the usual nerves. Practice went fine this week—I caught the Snitch four days out of five.'
'What happened the fifth day?'
'There was nothing to be done about it. The Snitch appeared in the middle of nowhere, and Owen and I spotted it simultaneously. But he was closer.'
'Tough break, mate. Hopefully that won't happen today.'
'Yeah. What do you know about Routledge?' asked Harry, referring to the Puddlemere Seeker.
'He's good—there's a reason they're at the top of the standings. He'll be able to match your flying, no question.'
'That's what Owen said. My best chance is going to be spotting it first.'
They talked Quidditch for the next few hours, and Harry felt his mind settle. He realised in hindsight that he should have expanded into awareness while he was panicking, but for some reason it hadn't crossed his mind. Hopefully he'd remember next time around.
Towards the end of Ron's visit, the house-elves started putting out flowers. 'Blimey, Harry—just how many flowers did you get?'
'Everyone complains about how gloomy the house looks. I thought I'd brighten things up.'
'The flowers do help,' said Ron. 'They're just hard to reconcile with how the house used to be.'
'Like when it had a Horcrux just lying around?'
'Yeah, and the troll leg umbrella stand.'
'It's a shame I don't have it anymore. It might have made a good vase, for something tall like gladioli.'
'Did you actually just say the name of a flower?'
'I like flowers, all right? I was forced to do a lot of gardening every summer.'
'You have hidden depths. Do you suppose the florist will offer you a sponsorship?'
'That would be a Quidditch league first,' said Harry, chuckling.
'Harry Potter, the man who turned down Silver Arrow but happily flogged flowers.'
'The Boy Who Flogged is even worse than the Boy Who Shat,' mused Harry.
'Don't let Lee and George hear about those. They got their radio licence this week—did they tell you?'
'Yes, and I'm scheduled for the inaugural broadcast on Tuesday. They're taking out an advertisement in the Prophet and everything.'
'Watch your mouth, Potter. You could fuck up big time.'
'I know—it's a shame they don't have a seven-second delay button like on Muggle broadcasts.' At Ron's prompting, Harry said, 'It's a button the radio host can press if someone says something inappropriate during a live broadcast. It plays silence instead.'
'Brilliant! You'll have to tell Lee so he can invent one. Something tells me you'll need it.'
'Cheers. All right, time for me to leave. See you after the match.'
Ron wished him luck and departed, and Harry left soon after for the training facility. When he entered the building, there was a banner hanging from the ceiling that said, 'Happy Birthday, Lord Snitchbottom.'
Harry laughed when he saw it. 'You like it!' exclaimed Lara. 'Janet was convinced you'd hex me.'
'No, she's the only one I hex around here.'
'I am?' said Janet. 'I feel so special. Darius is certain to give me a figurine now.'
'Do you suppose they could charm Harry's figurine to hex yours periodically?' asked Lara.
'That's a brilliant idea! I'll include that in my pitch.'
Everyone wished Harry a happy birthday, and he was in excellent spirits by the time they were up in the air. The flying exercises were just plain fun, and there was lots of laughter during lunch afterwards.
They took a portkey to Puddlemere Stadium, which apparently didn't have a fireplace for visiting teams. 'Are you all right?' asked Owen. 'You look a little green.'
'I forgot how much I hate portkey travel. I can't believe I'm subjecting everyone to it tonight.' Portkeys always reminded him of the night Voldemort returned, when he'd barely escaped to Hogwarts with Cedric's body.
Owen nodded. 'I don't mind portkeys, personally. But I don't share your associations with them.'
'You have a good memory,' said Harry, impressed.
'I've been doing my homework by reading all your press clippings. I even reread your old Quibbler interview with Rita Skeeter. Your rivals are going to start doing the same, looking for vulnerabilities.'
'Bugger, you're right! Do you want to give me a crash course?'
'You mean about how you killed Cedric Diggory?'
'For example,' said Harry, his heart still racing from the portkey.
'Or how Voldemort forced you to bow?'
'That was no big deal. It was the Cruciatus that hurt.'
'I think we can safely assume your rivals won't do that. Not even Gilstrap.'
Harry felt better after changing into his Cannons uniform. Oh right, this is why I bought all those robes, he thought with satisfaction.
He returned to the arrival hall for the referee's inspection, and several of his teammates snorted in amusement when he revealed the ring. 'It just never gets old,' said Suresh. 'I keep thinking it can't be as bad as what I'm remembering, but then there it is, worse than ever.' He asked the referee, 'Are you sure there's not Dark magic on the ring, causing it to get a little more hideous every week?'
The referee was clearly trying to keep a straight face. 'No, just identification charms and family magic.'
'But this is the Black family we're talking about,' said Janet. 'Surely it's evil beyond measure.'
'Are you trying to get me kicked out of the match?' asked Harry. 'Besides, I'm trying to rehabilitate the Black family reputation.'
'Good luck with that,' said Darren. 'They're the worst of the worst.'
Not as bad as the Gaunts, thought Harry. 'I know. I just want to turn things around. That was basically Sirius's last request.'
'There's a way you could do it,' said Darren. 'But you're not going to like it. In fact, I probably shouldn't even mention it with a match about to start.'
'Too late,' said Janet. 'Now you have to tell him—otherwise he'll just fly around wondering about it.'
'What is it?'
'You need to change your name,' said Darren.
Harry was stunned. 'To Harry Black you mean?' The words sounded alien to him.
'Or Harry Potter-Black.'
'Ooh, double-barrelled!' said Janet. 'That would go perfectly with the robes. Of course you'd have to start using the title for the full effect.'
They were interrupted by Tuttle, who emerged for her pre-match pep talk. 'Cannons, you've done a fine job this week. We had a winning strategy and we've taken it up a notch. Phil Routledge is going to try to disrupt you like Harry did, but you're more than ready for it. And Potter is going to spot the Snitch before they even know what hit them. So let's show them our winning streak isn't a fluke—this is who the Cannons are now!'
There were huge cheers, and someone shouted, 'Happy birthday, Snitchbottom!' which prompted another roar. They filed together down the corridor and waited for the announcer to welcome them.
One by one they flew out, starting with Ryan, and Harry emerged to loud acclaim as always. He scanned the stadium and saw an equal amount of Cannons orange and Puddlemere navy. Not bad for an away game, he thought, especially considering Puddlemere was leading the league.
There were more hostile banners than he'd seen previously, which he decided to take as a good sign because it meant they saw him as a threat. Some emphasised the lordship angle—'Quit whinging, Lord Black,' said one banner, and another derided him as 'Lord Blatch.' Other banners referenced the photo with Helena: 'Your girlfriend hates you, Potter,' said one. That doesn't even make sense, he thought. And finally the old favourite: 'Potter Stinks.'
But the hostile banners were outnumbered by the friendly ones. There were at least a dozen banners wishing him a happy birthday, which he found oddly touching. He noticed a slight uptick in marriage proposals compared with the previous week, which made him wonder what exactly the sign-makers were expecting. He had a mad thought to fly over to one of them, use his wand to amplify his voice, and cry, 'Yes, my love! Yes!' before sweeping them into a Hollywood kiss. It would be even funnier if the sign-maker were a bloke.
There were also numerous banners praising his flying, which pleased him most of all, since he felt he'd earned them. 'Greatest Seeker Ever!' declared one orange sign, and another depicted him plowing into three navy-clad players, with the legend 'Knock 'em dead, Potter.' And there must have been a dozen banners with the emblem Luna had designed, depicting his lightning bolt scar. 'Take that, Voldemort!' he thought triumphantly.
The announcer introduced the Puddlemere side, and when Oliver Wood flew out Harry cheered loudly and applauded with his hands over his head. He doubted Oliver would see it, but he'd hear about it later, and Harry wanted to pay tribute to his Gryffindor teammate and captain.
The balls were released, and he began his circling pattern. As always, he expanded deliberately into awareness, and he invited fond memories of Oliver to fill his heart. Then he set his deep intention that the Snitch appear to him without effort and all the rest.
Harry's rival didn't bother him for a long while. Owen theorised that Routledge had skipped Seekers' night out to retain an air of mystery, so Harry wouldn't know what to expect. He met Harry's expectations, however, by feinting first, in an aggressive style similar to his own. Harry followed him as a matter of course, but he wasn't fooled.
He approached Routledge on his next pass around the pitch. 'I'm flattered that you paid tribute like that. But it really wasn't necessary—feel free to use your own strategy instead.'
'Get over yourself, Potter. You're not the first Seeker to feint aggressively.'
'True, but didn't your coach make you watch my recordings? Every other coach in the league did.'
'Wow, Gilstrap was right about you. Talk about an ego!'
Harry flew off, a little flustered. He knew it was just empty taunting—Owen had called Routledge a solid bloke—but Harry was still irritated by Gilstrap's attitude on Monday. Fortunately his vast sense of awareness engulfed him, and his intentions renewed themselves automatically.
He and Routledge essentially took turns feinting. The other Seeker was really a good flyer—Harry had half a mind to invite him out some time just to practice. During one of their taunting exchanges Harry surprised Routledge by saying, 'You're a hell of a flyer. It's nice to meet another Seeker who isn't afraid of their own shadow.'
'Thanks, you're pretty good yourself,' said Routledge. 'For a self-satisfied twat.'
'Cheers!' laughed Harry before resuming his circling. The score was closer than in his two previous matches. The Puddlemere Chasers were better prepared for his feints than the Arrows had been, and Routledge was keeping the Cannons Chasers in check. Furthermore, Oliver had matured into a first-rate Keeper, even by league standards. Harry didn't feel disloyal to the Cannons for thinking this way—everyone knew the outcome depended almost exclusively on whoever caught the Snitch.
The Beaters were more evenly matched as well, and Harry had to dodge Bludgers more than usual. It wasn't difficult, though, and he always managed to reset his intention to let the Snitch appear to him.
'Have you selected the robes you're wearing to your party tonight?' asked Routledge. 'Or is your valet deciding for you? Obviously your mum's no help.'
'No, and your mum wasn't helpful either. She said I looked great in all of them.'
'Nice one,' said Routledge. 'Tell Barrowmaker he's trained you well.'
'Wood trained me first, you know. Back at Hogwarts.'
'Oh right, he's a pretentious tosser as well.'
'Give it up, Routledge,' said Harry before flying away and expanding his awareness again.
After more circling he finally spotted the Snitch, high up and far from the other players. But Routledge was much closer to it—if Harry zoomed towards it he'd never catch it first. Don't spot it, he thought desperately, until inspiration struck.
He raced towards Routledge but angled away from the Snitch, leading his rival in the wrong direction. Harry willed the Snitch to remain visible, which fortunately it did, and once he was close enough he went for it.
'Potter's got the Snitch!' cried the announcer. 'Cannons win 240-90!'
Harry's teammates blazed towards him. 'Happy fucking birthday, Snitchbottom!' cried Darren, throwing an arm around him.
'Shag all the birds you want tonight,' cried Janet. 'You earned it!'
The Cannons circled the field in triumph, and Harry was prompted once again to take a victory lap. Furthermore, the entire stadium started singing 'Happy Birthday,' which moved him to tears. He wished he could have sent the feeling back in time, particularly to the years when his birthday had been ignored.
He and the other players landed, and Owen wrapped him in his now-customary hug. 'Nice job on that final feint,' he said. 'I assume you spotted the Snitch earlier.'
'Yes, I was terrified he'd see it first.'
'Perfect strategy, well done'
Tuttle and Darius congratulated him, but then Harry was pulled into a hug by Oliver Wood. 'Congratulations, Harry! There's no one I'd rather lose to.'
'Thanks, Oliver—there's no one I'd rather beat,' he replied, and they both laughed.
'I tried to requisition some Dementors, but the Ministry wouldn't cooperate.'
The two sides congratulated each other, and Routledge greeted Harry warmly. 'I'm sorry I lost, but you earned it. Happy birthday, Potter, and see you next month with the Seekers.'
Harry lowered his voice and said, 'Actually, do you want to come to the party tonight? The house will be packed but I'm sure one more guest won't make a difference. Or two, if you have a date.'
'Are you serious? I'd love to come! Just me, thanks.'
'It's too late to send you a portkey, but I'll just add you to the Floo wards. The address is "Grimmauld Place," and no, I didn't name it. The party starts at eight.'
'Fantastic, I'll be there.'
Harry and Oliver resumed their conversation, and when the reporters took the field they made a point of posing for photographs together. 'We'll have to send one to McGonagall,' said Oliver.
'So she can wave it in front of Snape's portrait, you mean? Good idea. But hang around after the reporters ... McGonagall's here today and she'll come down to the pitch.'
Sure enough, Minerva found them after the reporters had gone. 'I couldn't be prouder than I am right now,' she said. 'Two Gryffindors in the same match—it's a shame you weren't on the same side.'
George and Ron found them as well, and they reminisced for a while about Hogwarts matches. 'Quidditch must be so boring when no one's trying to kill you,' said Oliver.
'I know, it really takes away a lot of the challenge. Fortunately there's taunting to pick up the slack.'
'Yikes, you've got to be the biggest target out there. I'm glad Routledge didn't ask me for extra ammunition.'
Harry eventually found his way to the locker room, and Tuttle gave her notes as always. 'Until Potter turned up, Routledge was probably the best Seeker in the league as far as flying is concerned, so the disruptions will get easier from now on. I'm disappointed the Chasers didn't connect more, but at least you stayed close. Nice work, Cannons—I promise to rip you to shreds on Monday.'
'She's so thoughtful,' said Janet. 'I'm glad we have something to look forward to.'
Everyone went to the Spyglass, including Ryan and Hermione, and the fans surprised Harry with an enormous Snitch-decorated birthday cake. He wished Helena had been there to celebrate, and he relished the idea of feeding her cake and then kissing her afterwards, but he supposed he'd have to wait until after the party.
He eventually returned home and took an hour's rest before changing into his charcoal robes with the green trim and receiving his dinner guests. He'd invited a handful of friends to dine prior to the party—Merlin knew he had enough house-elves to serve them.
Neville and Hannah were first to arrive. The young men exchanged birthday wishes, and once again Harry recalled the fateful words: Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. To Harry's knowledge, Neville remained ignorant of how close he'd come to being the Chosen One. Everyone knew Harry was the subject of prophecy, but the details were classified and Harry hoped they'd remain that way.
Luna, Hermione, and Ryan arrived next, and they enjoyed a relaxed dinner in the kitchen. Kreacher didn't offer to serve them in the dining room, since the house-elves had already piled the table with starters and pastries, and Harry had trained him to no longer propose serving meals in the master bedroom.
After eating, everyone went upstairs to greet Padfoot, who had somehow acquired a set of Wizengamot robes, which he wore in a most dignified manner. 'He even has one of those funny hats!' exclaimed Hermione.
'Sirius was a lord, after all,' said Harry. 'Wearing the hat was his sacred duty.'
Hermione smiled mischievously, and without saying anything she conjured a small brass plaque at the bottom of the painting, which she neatly inscribed, 'Padfoot, Animagus form of Lord Sirius Orion Black, 1959-1996.'
'Take that, Sirius!' cried Harry. 'Can you put a Permanent Sticking Charm on it? He deserves it after saddling me with the bloody title.'
'I'll leave it non-permanent for now. It's best not to do these things on a whim.'
Ryan and Hermione went up to the roof to set up the stereo, and Hermione scurried downstairs soon after with a report. 'It works! Ryan's just testing the levels and arranging the speakers, but we'll have good music and dancing. Well done, goblins!'
'Good music?' asked Hannah. 'Like the Weird Sisters?'
'Yes, I'm quite fond of them,' said Neville.
Hermione took them aside, and Harry saw her straighten as she always did when launching into an explanation. Luna, meanwhile, walked through the house admiring all the flowers. 'They're beautiful, Harry. It was very thoughtful to make the house more cheerful for those who aren't accustomed to it.'
'Thanks, Luna. Everyone tells me how gloomy the house is—I wanted to counteract it a bit.'
'I particularly like the lilies of the valley,' she said. 'Did you choose them in honour of your mother?'
'No, but I should have done.'
'May I make you a boutonnière? It's your birthday after all, and she deserves most of the credit. Your father's contribution was minimal by comparison.'
Harry smiled and said, 'Cheers, that would be lovely.'
She used her wand to fashion a tiny boutonnière, featuring a single sprig of flowers and a few bits of greenery no larger than a blade of grass. She slid it into his lapel and said, 'The greenery matches the trim of your robes, and your eyes.'
He walked to the mirror above the fireplace and admired Luna's handiwork. Even though he knew the flowers were a little outré, as the Prophet had described his white robes, he liked the effect and resolved to start a trend—or to wear them even if nobody else did.
When Hermione returned she noticed them immediately. 'Oh, bravo! No one will mistake you for a bridegroom—you look like an absolute scoundrel. It matches your eyes and everything.'
'Cheers. I'd intended to wait until after the Magpies match, for fear of taunting, but Luna made it to honour my mother. Lilies, you know.'
'That's beautiful. I'm so happy for you. You deserve an absolutely perfect birthday.'
'Thank you,' he said sincerely. 'It's already been tremendous ... I thought my heart would burst this afternoon in the stadium when they sang to me. It made up for all the awful birthdays before.'
'Yes,' she said knowingly, even though he'd never fully revealed how bad things had been with the Dursleys. She knew the broad outlines, of course, but he was certain she'd be shocked by the unabridged version. But fortunately his childhood moved farther into the past with each successive year, and his future was brighter than he'd ever imagined.