When Harry arrived at Grimmauld Place, he wanted nothing more than to lie down on the sofa, but he knew Hermione and Ryan would be outside waiting. So he reluctantly went to the kitchen to let them in.
'Harry, you should sit down,' said Hermione. 'Maybe drink some water.'
'I'm mostly just hungry,' he said. 'Ryan, I assume you are as well?'
Ryan nodded, and Harry summoned Kreacher.
Crack! 'Yes, Master.'
'Good afternoon, Kreacher. We could use something to eat right now ... Ryan, I assume you'd like whatever's fastest?'
'Yes, please.'
The elf looked forlornly at the floor. 'Although Kreacher is ashamed to suggest it, there's leftover curry from last night, and pizza from Thursday. Kreacher would be willing to serve them, but Kreacher will surely require punishment for insulting Master and his guests so gravely.'
'Absolutely not!' cried Hermione. 'We'd love to eat the leftovers, and you mustn't punish yourself.'
Kreacher looked desperately at Harry. 'She's right,' said Harry. 'I insist you serve us those leftovers, and I absolutely forbid you from punishing yourself.' He looked Kreacher in the eye and mentally added, 'I know you've been itching to clear out that horrible drainpipe. Go on then! But only after you've fed us.'
Bowing low, Kreacher said, 'Yes, Master,' and immediately set to preparing food.
Moments later, Ron's head poked from the kitchen fireplace. 'Harry, you're back! May I come through?'
Ugh, more spectators. 'Yes, of course.'
Ron stumbled into the kitchen and asked, 'Are you all right? What happened exactly?'
Harry sighed. 'Andrew bloody Gilstrap happened. I was fine for two hours, but then Gilstrap found a sore point and hammered on it.'
'Blimey, I was scared you were going to pull out your wand and curse him.'
'That didn't even cross my mind. I just wanted to punch him, pure and simple.' He cast his eyes downwards and asked, 'Did you hear about what I said to him?'
'Yeah. I'm afraid everyone knows. It spread through the stands like Fiendfyre before the match was even over.' Ron looked at Harry and asked, 'Why didn't you tell me? I wouldn't have told anyone—you know that.'
'I know. It's just not something I ever wanted to talk about. I still don't, to be quite honest.'
Ron shook his head sympathetically. 'I'm sorry, but you probably can't avoid it now. It's all over the radio, apparently—my parents were listening at home, and Dad sent me a Patronus so I could warn you.'
'Bugger,' said Harry with a heavy sigh. 'Have they mentioned the Dursleys by name?'
'I don't know—I only heard about it second-hand. I've been at the Spyglass since the match ended, and of course everyone's talking about it there too.'
'Harry, I hate to suggest it, but should you go there and make an announcement, urging restraint?' asked Hermione.
Harry's throat clenched shut and he shook his head rapidly. 'No, I couldn't possibly.'
'I could do it,' said Ron. 'Everyone knows we're best mates. Apparently I'm a hero among Cannons fans for getting you to sign.'
'That would be great, if you're willing,' said Harry. 'Just tell them I've asked that nobody look for my relations or try to ... retaliate.'
Ron nodded. 'I assume that's where you were? Setting up wards?'
'Yeah. Ryan warded the house and I went to Gringotts for protective amulets.'
'Blimey! Did you actually have to see them? The Dursleys?'
'Yeah,' said Harry dully, still reeling from the Horcrux discovery. 'Could you go to the Spyglass and make that announcement? And ask people to spread the word?'
'On it,' said Ron, taking a pinch of Floo powder. 'And find me later if you want to talk, all right?'
'Thanks,' said Harry, knowing he wouldn't.
Ron left, and Harry started eating the leftovers Kreacher had served. 'Master,' said the elf, carrying a pile of letters. 'Kreacher begs Master's forgiveness for not bringing them earlier, but Master received numerous letters by Floo this afternoon. Kreacher would have delivered them sooner but Master asked for dinner first.'
'That was the right decision, Kreacher. Thank you,' said Harry, taking the letters. Between bites he flipped through them and saw there were letters from nearly everyone he'd given access to his Floo port.
His heart sank as he read the return addresses. Every one of them knows, he thought sadly. He knew they meant well, but he felt horribly exposed.
Ryan looked up and said, 'Harry, do you know your uncle's work address?'
'No, but I can tell you exactly how to get there,' he said, and Hermione took notes.
'Right,' said Ryan. 'I'll just have a bit more to eat and then ward his business. I'll do your cousin's residence hall afterwards, since that's the least likely place to be attacked.'
'Thanks, I can't tell you how much I appreciate it.' He sighed and added, 'If only I hadn't lost my temper.'
'Harry, you need to forgive yourself,' said Ryan. 'Gilstrap is notorious, and you've had a much harder life than most people, and far more public.'
Harry snorted derisively. 'On the contrary ... he said everything's been handed to me.'
'Are you serious?' said Hermione. 'He actually said that?'
'For hours, yes. It didn't bother me until he finally said my Muggle relations probably worshipped me for being a wizard, and that they'd spoilt me.'
Hermione gasped, but Harry continued. 'That wouldn't have done it on its own … I don't know if this is true, but he said his father was tortured into insanity just five days before the end of the war.'
Hermione and Ryan looked at him in horror. Harry's heart started racing and his throat was dry. He drank some water and added, 'He said if we hadn't wasted so much time planning the Gringotts break-in...'
'No,' said Ryan, 'You can't think that way. You did your best.'
Hermione turned pale, and Harry could see her mentally reviewing the time they'd spent at Shell Cottage just before the end of the war. 'I don't know,' she said. 'We spent weeks planning ... I suppose it's possible we could have gone sooner.'
'I know. As soon as he said it, a small part of my mind started wondering the same thing.'
'It was probably a lie,' said Ryan. 'The bastard.'
'All's fair above the pitch,' quoted Harry glumly. 'Thank heaven Owen caught the Snitch. I can't imagine how much worse I'd feel if we'd lost.'
Ryan shook his head reassuringly. 'Believe me, the Cannons can handle losing,' he said, and Harry smiled in spite of himself. 'But I should go set up those wards.'
Hermione rose to kiss him goodbye, and Harry made a point of not listening to their private conversation. He opened the letter from Neville, who offered his support and said he was available if Harry needed company. Good old Neville, he thought. Neville certainly knew what it was like to have a painful secret—it was years before his friends learnt about his parents' condition.
Kreacher appeared with another sheaf of letters, which had arrived in the interim. Harry looked at the senders' names, and his heart caught when he saw Helena's. Her note was brief:
Dear Harry,
I heard about what happened—I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do? I'm available this evening if you need a friend.
Yours,
Helena
A friend? he thought bitterly. He realised he wanted nothing more than to curl up in her arms, their bodies pressed together, but that wasn't what a friend did. He had no interest in tea and sympathy.
There were also letters from Owen, Ginny, and, to Harry's surprise, Phil Routledge. For some reason he felt more inclined to confide in his new friends rather than the people he'd known for years. Hermione returned to the table after seeing Ryan off, and Harry felt a wave of dread.
'Oh, Harry,' she said sympathetically, sitting next to him. She looked at him earnestly, and he could tell she was waiting for him to confide. But he didn't want to.
'Should I send a statement to the Prophet?' he asked, by way of changing the topic. 'Urging people not to retaliate?'
She blinked. 'Oh, right. Yes, good idea.' She pulled some note paper from her handbag.
Together they prepared a brief message urging restraint, and also asking that everyone respect Harry's privacy. He knew there was no hope on the latter point, but at least it would provide ironic counterpoint to Rita's article.
'How should we send it?' asked Harry. 'I don't know how promptly they read incoming owls. I suppose the Cannons publicity team would know who to contact—in fact, they've probably already sent something on my behalf. But I'd rather not deal with them right now.'
Hermione nodded in understanding. 'It's a shame you don't have a more distinctive owl. That way they'd know at a glance who'd sent it. Lysander is attractive enough, but he's nothing out of the ordinary.'
'No, he's rather common.' Harry smiled briefly, remembering the raven Helena had suggested. 'I wonder where Fawkes is these days. He'd make a good messenger.'
'Prongs!' exclaimed Hermione. 'Send the letter by owl, but send Prongs to let them know you've sent it.'
'What, something like, "Attend my owl!"'
Hermione chuckled. 'Exactly. Though now that you mention it, you could ask Kreacher to deliver it.'
'I could, but "Attend my elf!" doesn't have the same ring to it. And we're so close to the Prophet office that he'll scarcely be faster than Lysander.'
They went upstairs to the owlery and sent off the letter. True to his word, Harry sent Prongs with his ominous message.
Walking back down to the sitting room, he asked Hermione, 'What do you make of the Horcrux? It explains a lot.'
She exhaled slowly and shook her head. 'It doesn't explain everything. You saw your uncle—he couldn't see anything different in you.'
'No, but that might have been habit.'
'Perhaps. But didn't you say Dudley improved before you defeated Voldemort?'
'He did, you're right. I think the Dementors changed him.'
Hermione nodded. 'And what about the other Muggles you interacted with? Your classmates and schoolteachers, for example?'
'They mostly ignored me. Except for Dudley's mates, who liked to beat up on me as well.'
'Did they ever say anything negative about your eyes? Or, for that matter, did any of the girls say you had pretty eyes?'
'The girls didn't say anything. They either made fun of my clothes or acted like I didn't exist. Usually the latter.' He looked up suddenly. 'But now you mention it, there was one girl who used to criticise me. Said I was unnatural, and that I had freaky eyes. But she was nasty to everyone.'
'Interesting. I wonder if people with more innate darkness saw your Horcrux more clearly. Voldemort's Horcrux, that is.'
'Maybe so. And come to think of it, Minerva watched my aunt and uncle all day before Dumbledore left me on their doorstep, and she could tell they were unfit. So it must have come from them as well, and not just the Horcrux.' He and Hermione took their usual seats in the sitting room and he asked, 'Did your parents ever say anything? I know I only met them a couple of times back then, but maybe they noticed something was off.'
She shook her head. 'No, they never mentioned anything, good or bad. Although my mum complimented your eyes recently.'
Harry shrugged and said, 'I guess it doesn't matter. The Horcrux is gone now, and we already knew Voldemort wrecked my childhood. One more thing hardly makes a difference.'
Hermione sighed heavily, and Harry regretted giving her the opening. 'Do you want to talk about it?'
'Honestly, no,' he replied curtly. 'You can read about it tomorrow, when everyone else does.'
She looked hurt but he didn't acknowledge it. 'Are you sure the article contains everything?'
'Yes, I saw a draft version last year, and it was spot on. If anything she's turned up more since then.'
Kreacher arrived with still more letters, and Harry smiled when he saw one from Laetitia. He'd probably told her more about the Dursleys than he'd ever told Hermione. Same with Owen. That's who I want to see, he thought. Owen.
'Er, I should probably reply to some of these letters,' he said, hoping Hermione would take the hint.
'Oh, all right,' she said, a little flustered. 'Ryan said I should wait for him at his flat—I'll just go there.'
He rose and started walking her to the fireplace. 'Thanks for your help this afternoon. I couldn't even think straight. And please thank Ryan again.'
'Of course, you're welcome. Are you sure you'll be all right this evening.'
'Yeah, I might go talk to Owen.'
Hermione looked hurt again, but she didn't mention it. 'All right. Please send Prongs anytime if there's something I can do to help.'
'I will, thanks.'
After she left, Harry opened a few of the letters but not nearly all of them. The only people he replied to were Owen, Phil, and Laetitia—he thanked her for her kindness and expressed a wish to see her again in the next week or so. Owen had invited him to dinner, with the apology that it would be at home and therefore chaotic, but Harry liked the sound of that. A normal family, he thought.
He particularly appreciated the letter from Phil, who proposed going out flying on Sunday if Harry needed to blow off steam. 'But no punching,' he wrote. He also suggested getting together for drinks that night, with the reminder that he too had been on Gilstrap's receiving end.
Harry asked Kreacher to deliver his replies, since Lysander still hadn't returned from the Prophet, and Harry lined up plans for the evening. I'll go mental if I just sit here at home.
He was still wearing his tracksuit, so he changed into a smart Muggle outfit—suitable for drinks with Phil—and Flooed over to Owen's house. The family was at the table, and Owen was cutting up food for one of the girls. 'Welcome,' he called when he saw Harry. 'Please, have a seat.'
'Cheers, thanks for having me.' He turned to Jill and said, 'Forgive me for not bringing anything, but all I had lying around was Firewhisky, boutonnières, and books about the Dark Arts.'
She laughed and said, 'Next time bring any unwanted boutonnières—I'm certain the girls would love them.'
'I will,' said Harry. 'In fact, I've decided to accept a sponsorship from my florist. It's to be my only one.'
'Fantastic! Owen told me about all the flower-themed banners.'
Harry asked after their daughters, who were identical and named Kate and Liza. They took turns describing their day, finishing each other's sentences as Fred and George had done. 'And we played with a baby Niffler in the back garden ... and Mummy gave us shiny wrapped sweets for him to find ... but he wasn't very good at it yet because he's just a baby ... so we found the sweets ourselves ... except I found more than Kate did, and she started crying, so I gave her one of mine ... and then Mummy shouted at the radio and said Daddy caught the Snitch ... and Aunt Fiona came round with Matthew and we flew on toy brooms near the brook,' and so on.
Harry asked them questions at intervals, which they were very happy to use as launch points for non-sequiturs. Owen and Jill seemed grateful for the opportunity to eat uninterrupted, and Harry wasn't hungry, having eaten pizza and curry an hour earlier.
After the girls finished eating, Harry joined them on the floor with a jigsaw puzzle, which was made more challenging by having a moving picture on the front rather than a stationary one. Owen did the washing up and Jill folded several baskets of laundry that had taken over the sofa.
'Welcome to the glamorous life of a mature league Seeker,' said Owen. 'A far cry from yours, I suppose.'
'It's lovely,' he said sincerely. 'I never tire of observing normal families in their natural habitat.'
'Yes, I daresay it's your version of going to a museum or a zoo.'
'Actually, I've only been to a zoo once, and I accidentally set a boa constrictor on my cousin. That wasn't long before I received my Hogwarts letter ... I shouldn't have been so surprised, really.'
They continued chatting for a while, interrupted periodically by the girls, and eventually Jill joined them as well.
'Did you hear the entire broadcast?' asked Harry.
'I did, yes. And the commentary afterwards.'
Harry sighed. 'How was it? I haven't listened to the radio at all today.'
'Sympathetic, by and large. It's no secret that Andrew Gilstrap taunts hard, and everyone could see was tracking you the entire time. He certainly received a lot of scorn for not finding the Snitch during the penalty window, particularly since Owen spotted it right away.'
'Harry must've rattled him pretty thoroughly,' said Owen. 'He deserved it.'
Jill picked up a stray sock from the floor. 'The stadium correspondent reported what you said, about your family, and the main presenter was shocked silent for a moment. But then that was all they could talk about, and they barely covered the match until Owen entered.'
Harry sighed. 'Did they reveal my aunt and uncle's names or whereabouts?'
'They knew it was your mother's sister, and that her maiden name was Evans, and they deduced from your accent that you're from the south, but that's as far as they got during the match. But I understand someone unearthed the details later.'
Owen shook his head in disgust. 'I can't believe how irresponsible that was, announcing their name on the radio, knowing someone was bound to seek retaliation. The Cannons made a statement on your behalf, by the way.'
'Really? What did they say?'
'They urged restraint and also respect for your privacy.'
'That's exactly what I wrote to the Prophet this afternoon. I'll have to thank Susanna.'
'Will you know if anyone tries something?' asked Jill.
'Yes, Ryan's something of a Charms expert, and he has a system for knowing whether anyone tries to breach the wards. And I'll receive an owl from Gringotts if anyone attacks them personally.'
Jill said, 'It certainly says a lot about you, that you'd bother protecting them after everything they did.'
You don't know the half of it, thought Harry. Just wait until you read Rita's article tomorrow.
'There's been enough violence in my life,' he said simply.
'One of the presenters said it was ironic you'd turned out Light, given your history of abuse at the hands of Muggles,' said Jill.
'Are you kidding? Like I was supposed to become a Death Eater because I had shitty relations?' Harry noticed the girls started giggling. 'I beg your pardon ... lousy relations.'
Jill smiled. 'Don't worry, I've said worse. But yes, I think some wizards have such a narrow view of Muggles that they're willing to tar everyone with a single brush.'
Owen said, 'I hate to ask, but did anyone suggest that Harry might yet turn out Dark because of his history?'
'Actually, yes. But then another presenter argued that this all happened in the past, and that if you weren't Dark already, you're not likely to change sides now.'
'Thank you!' said Harry sarcastically. 'I'm glad at least someone thinks I've proven my Light affiliation. Did they mention House Black as well?'
'Not in that context, but someone pointed out the irony that you were treated like a house-elf when you'd go on to inherit one, and plenty more besides.'
'Yes, of course ... can't go a minute without mentioning that,' he said bitterly.
Owen turned to Jill. 'Shall I get their bath started?'
'No, I'll do it. You and Harry should have some alone time. And, besides, you caught the Snitch today.'
'I suppose I did,' he said, smiling.
Jill led the protesting girls from the lounge, leaving Harry with Owen. 'Do you want to talk about what happened up there?' Owen asked. 'With Gilstrap?'
Harry sighed. 'Most of the time I was fine. It was fun, even. Until the end he didn't say anything I hadn't heard all week from you and the others, although you could never have imitated his tone. You just aren't that calculating. By the way, the portkey was deliberate.'
'That's despicable,' said Owen. 'Why not also have you dodge Killing Curses as you walk down the corridor before flying out? Or hide a Dementor in the locker room? Honestly, you probably have grounds for a formal complaint.'
With a shrug, Harry said, 'I think we got our revenge, between me punching him and you catching the Snitch.'
'True. And apparently he was criticised on the radio for abusing you to that degree. "Unsportsmanlike conduct."'
'My punching him wasn't very sportsmanlike either.'
'No, but it wasn't premeditated. And he clearly deserved it.'
Harry was quiet a moment. 'He said his father was tortured to insanity five days before the war ended. He blamed me for dragging my feet.'
Owen inhaled sharply. 'I gather he said that near the end of the match?'
'Yes, just prior to the killing blow, when he accused me of being spoilt and worshiped by my Muggle relations. Do you know if that's true, about his father?'
'I know his parents are both Muggle-born, but I don't know anything else about them.'
'Maybe Routledge will know ... I'm seeing him later tonight.'
'That's good—he'll understand better than anyone what you went through. I think his last match against Gilstrap lasted more than three hours.'
'Bloody hell, I can't even imagine.' Harry was quiet again and said, 'I saw my aunt and uncle this afternoon, and my cousin. When we went to protect them.'
'How was that?'
'My cousin is downright friendly now, which I never would have imagined. My uncle was unchanged. He accused me of trying to steal his wristwatch when I wanted to bring it to Gringotts for protective charms. I'm sure you can imagine how Hermione responded.'
Owen chuckled. 'I certainly can. And your aunt?'
'That was the tricky bit,' said Harry. 'She at least trusted my intentions, though she still doesn't like me. But I learnt something today that I can scarcely wrap my brain around.'
'Oh?'
'I'll preface this by saying I'm not supposed to tell you any of this, by direct order from Kingsley Shacklebolt. But bugger that, it's my life.' He took a deep breath. 'I've alluded to this already, but when Voldemort killed my parents and attacked me, a part of his soul broke off and latched onto mine. It resided right here,' he said, pointing to his scar.
Owen raised his eyebrows but didn't say anything.
'Voldemort's soul was already unstable because he'd broken it into seven separate pieces, to ensure his immortality. That's what Ron and Hermione and I were doing the final year of the war, trying to find and destroy the other pieces. That's why we broke into Gringotts.'
'That explains it. When did you learn about the piece behind your scar?'
'The night of the final battle. That's why I had to die, to destroy it.'
'Good god,' murmured Owen, slowly shaking his head.
'Dumbledore had suspected it for years—since I was a baby, actually.'
'So he raised you ... to die?'
'Apparently. He didn't want me to, of course. When I saw him in King's Cross he was overjoyed I wouldn't have to.'
'I'm sorry, you've lost me. King's Cross?'
'That's where I went when I died. I had a vision of King's Cross station, and I saw Dumbledore and what was left of Voldemort's soul. We talked a long time, actually. Dumbledore and me, not Voldemort.'
'And when you came back, that's when you had the experience we talked about? Where you felt total peace and acceptance?'
'Yes, and that everything was perfect, including my life with the Dursleys,' said Harry. 'Though I can't say I've been able to hang onto the feeling very consistently.'
'That's normal. These things tend to come and go for a long while.'
'Anyway, that year, when we were looking for Horcruxes– bugger, I shouldn't have said that. But oh well ... that's what the soul fragments are called, and if you ever run across that word in a book, burn it. They're extremely hard to destroy, so we had to carry one of them—a locket—for months. And it nearly sucked the life out of us. It was literally a piece of Voldemort's soul, and we had to take turns wearing it around our necks.'
'Oh my god ...'
'Yeah,' said Harry. 'Hermione and I have occasionally wondered if I had a similar effect on people, since I carried part of Voldemort's soul as well. Until today I didn't think I had, since my interactions with people haven't changed beyond what could be explained by the war ending.'
Harry sighed heavily. 'But today I found out that it affected my relations. Apparently Muggles are more susceptible to Horcruxes than wizards are. My aunt and uncle were literally frightened of me from the day I turned up on their doorstep as a baby. My eyes looked different, uncanny.'
'And that's why they mistreated you?'
'No, not entirely, or even primarily. Minerva McGonagall watched them for an entire day before I was brought to live with them, and she saw they were unfit. But Dumbledore made me live with them anyway, ostensibly because my aunt shared the same blood as my mother, which protected me.'
'But he also sent you there to keep you downtrodden?' asked Owen.
'So it seems. Otherwise I mightn't have given my life.'
'Oh, Harry ... when I think about your trajectory, and then arseholes like Andrew Gilstrap call you entitled. I've half a mind to go punch him myself.'
Harry laughed. 'I actually hit him pretty hard considering the awkward angle. Auror training, you know.'
Owen smiled before his expression turned serious again. 'You said this afternoon that Rita Skeeter was going to publish something. Are you sure?'
'Yes, she showed it to me last year and used it to blackmail me into giving an interview, which she turned into that lurid sex article. As opposed to last week's lurid sex article, which at least was partly true,' added Harry, smirking.
But his face fell again. 'Her article about my relations was completely accurate. For once she didn't need to exaggerate. And the Prophet is certain to run it tomorrow.'
'Is there anything you want me to know before I read it?' asked Owen.
Harry felt his chest clench, remembering the cupboard. Everyone already knows, he reminded himself. 'The part that's hardest is the cupboard,' he said shakily. 'I know it wasn't my fault, but I can't think about it without feeling ashamed. Like I could have prevented it somehow, or fought back.'
'How old were you when you got a proper bedroom? They gave you one eventually, right?'
'Yes, when I got my Hogwarts letter. The first one was addressed to me at the cupboard under the stairs, which made them paranoid.'
'The first one?'
'Yes, they tried to keep them from me. I must have received hundreds but they prevented me from getting any of them, which in retrospect boded poorly for my future career as a Seeker, considering they were flying about the room at one point.'
'You finally got one, though. And that's when you learnt you were a wizard and all the rest?'
'Yes.' Harry's heart sank again as he remembered another mortifying detail. 'And another thing … I was forced to wear Dudley's cast offs. Not hand-me-downs, mind you—that would have been fine. But Dudley was hugely overweight back then, and I had to wear whatever he'd outgrown. So now Doctor Niffler and everyone else is going to analyse my preference for fitted clothes.'
'Doctor Niffler?'
'That Mind Healer they quoted in the robes article a few weeks back. The one who said I was simultaneously reclaiming my lost innocence and announcing my sexual maturity.'
'Right, I remember. And yes, I'm certain people will draw conclusions, but there's no reason to feel ashamed.'
'I suppose not. But I just feel so ... exposed. Like I haven't any secrets left, or I won't after tomorrow's Prophet comes out.'
'I'm certain they'll uncover more soon enough,' said Owen, and Harry grimaced. 'I can only imagine how uncomfortable this is.'
'It really is. You said my walls were coming down, but Merlin knows I didn't want them to drop this quickly.'
Owen nodded. 'I'm afraid these are your Bludgers.'
'You're probably right. How do I endure it? I received a stack of kind letters this afternoon from literally everyone with my home address, but the only ones I wanted to respond to were from people I've met in the last month. I even chased Hermione out of the house—I'm sure I offended her.'
'She'll survive,' said Owen. 'As for how you endure it, I'm going to sound like a broken record, but expand into awareness.'
'All right ... and then what?'
'Let the difficult feelings arise. You don't need to examine them, or resolve them. Just allow them to coexist with the rest of it. Look at their outer dimensions without diving into the content, if that makes sense.'
'I think so, but I'll have to try it. I think it's easier whilst flying.' He sighed and said, 'I really need a better broomstick at home. Can I interest you in a Firebolt Ultra, barely used?'
'No thanks, I tried it as well,' said Owen. 'Do you want to borrow my home broom? It's a Cleansweep Twelve—not the most exciting I'm afraid.'
'Thanks, but I'm liable to break it ... I need to fly like a maniac. Maybe I'll see if the Silver Arrow is available for purchase.'
Owen smirked. 'You really blew it, Snitchbottom. If you'd only accepted their offer, you'd have your own Harry Potter Edition waiting at home.'
'Yeah, Gilstrap hassled me about that as well. He said I'd need the gold for maintenance payments after my three divorces.'
'No, you won't. Just take your time, and you'll do fine.'
Jill entered and began fishing through the folded laundry. 'They both want to wear their Prongs pyjamas,' she explained.
'Would they like to meet Prongs?' asked Harry. 'Or would that be too much excitement before bedtime?'
'They'd love it! And they still have half an hour of stories before I turn out the lights, so they should settle down by then.'
'What should I have him say?'
'He should lecture them sternly about the importance of obeying one's parents,' said Owen. 'But wait for Jill and me to go to their room—I have to witness this.'
After they'd gone, Harry pulled out his wand and generated his stag Patronus. In a silly voice, he said, 'Good evening, ladies. My name is Prongs, and I just wanted to say hello. Be sure to mind your parents, and give them both a big hug. Sweet dreams!'
Moments later he heard happy squeals from the corridor and what sounded like jumping. Jill appeared and said, 'He was a hit! Of course now they'll beg to see him every time you visit.'
'That's fine. It's always a pleasure to cast a Patronus without Dementors breathing down my neck.'
'I'm glad you came round,' she said. 'I'm certain you'll get through this. You have so many friends who care for you—we talked to a lot of them at the party.'
'Ugh, did Owen apologise to Fiona on my behalf? I can't handle my liquor, I'm afraid.'
'You were fine, and Fiona thought it was hilarious. We'll have to introduce you properly one of these days.'
Harry nodded, but he knew he wasn't ready for more than a fling, and Owen had made it clear that Fiona was off limits in that respect.
Owen returned and said, 'Thanks, Harry—the girls were delighted. You'll have to teach me to cast a Patronus as well.'
'I'd be happy to. And thanks for inviting me over—this was just what I needed. Sorry to burden you with all the Voldemort stuff.'
'Nonsense, it's not a burden. I'm just glad to help.'
Harry said goodbye to Owen and Jill, and then made his way to the Muggle pub he and Phil had agreed on. He spotted the other Seeker at a table with a full pint glass. 'Good timing, I just sat down,' said Phil. 'You can get a drink at the bar.'
Minutes later Harry returned with his own pint and took a seat. 'Thanks for your letter. I heard from all my friends, but I realised I wanted to talk to someone who's experienced Gilstrap before. How many times have you played against him?'
'Four or five. I suppose the only good thing about having to hide during the war was that I didn't have to face him that season.'
'And how's your track record? Have you beaten him every time?'
'All but the first time. The good news is he's easier to take after that, because you'll have learnt not to believe anything he says.'
'Really? He told me his father was tortured to insanity just five days before the war ended, and that I should have acted faster.'
Phil was aghast. 'Are you serious? No, that was a barefaced lie ... he introduced me to his father after a match last season.'
'Ugh, I should have known. For two hours I was fine, but that was where things started going downhill.'
'I can't imagine hearing something like that during a match. I know all's fair above the pitch, but that was downright inhumane. I'm starting to wonder if the Seekers should develop ethical guidelines around you.'
Harry shook his head emphatically. 'No, the last thing I want is special treatment.'
'But you're a special circumstance. You've probably had more trauma than the rest of us combined, and you haven't a shred of privacy.'
'It's been fine during my other matches. Only Gilstrap was a problem, and I'll be prepared next time.'
'Fine,' said Phil. 'But really, he should be ashamed of himself, particularly since both his parents are Muggle-born. I wonder whether that's why he couldn't spot the Snitch during those five minutes.'
'I like to think it's because I flattened him with my powerful right hook, but I suppose the Healer had already seen to him.'
'He's lucky you didn't curse him. How are you doing with all the publicity? I'm afraid everyone was talking about you at the Puddlemere Arms this afternoon.'
'Was there any talk of retaliation?' asked Harry. 'That was my first concern.'
'Unfortunately there was, but a lot of people pointed out that you're perfectly capable of getting revenge on your own, if you wanted.'
'I mostly just want to avoid them, although my cousin turned out better than I expected. I had to go see them immediately after the match to set up protection. Hermione and Ryan Bellamy did the charms and all the thinking for me. All I did was go to Gringotts.'
'Yes, and I heard about your Patronus. All the fans will be demanding them at the end of matches from now on. Can you teach the rest of us how?'
Harry chuckled. 'It would be worth it just to see Gilstrap's warthog Patronus. But of course, Owen asked me to teach him as well.'
'So when shall we go sparring? If you're anything like me, you're probably desperate to get back up on a broomstick.'
'I'd love to, but all I have at home is a Firebolt Ultra, which I really need to replace. I should go to Diagon Alley and see if the Silver Arrow is available yet.'
'Don't bother—just have your team assistant ask Silver Arrow for another. You probably did them a favour anyway by turning them down.'
'Because of my loose morals?'
'I was going to say because they get a ton of free publicity whenever you're photographed on it.'
They talked brooms and publicity for a long while, and both of them drank another pint before switching to water. 'I forgot to ask,' said Harry. 'How did you enjoy the party?'
'I daresay you enjoyed it most of all, but I can't complain. I should inform you, however, that your guest rooms get a bit weird once you reach the far end of the corridor.'
'Really? Just how far are we talking?'
'I was about the twentieth door down. The room was usable, make no mistake, but I felt like I was in a work of modern art. Slightly impossible geometry, that sort of thing.'
'Excellent! I don't think we ever used more than six or seven guest rooms during the war, and they were all relatively normal, except for being riddled with Dark magic. But that's gone now, thank Merlin.'
'Watch your language,' said Phil. 'We're in Muggle territory—you'll need to blend better if you want to interact later on.'
Harry raised an eyebrow. 'What are you proposing? I've never gone Muggle before.'
'Really? I'd have thought you in particular would like a break from gawkers. It's bad enough being a starting Seeker, but throw in the Boy Who Lived ...'
'You're right, and I can definitely use a distraction. Unfortunately a huge article is likely to be published tomorrow morning ... Rita Skeeter researched my childhood last year and blackmailed me to kill the piece. But it's certain to run tomorrow.'
'Yes, I know. They interviewed her on the radio earlier this evening. She only teased what was in it but promised all the details in the morning.'
'Right,' said Harry, sighing deeply. After a moment he added, 'So, pulling Muggles. What do you advise?'
'That all depends. How good a liar are you?'
Harry looked at the faint scar on the back of his hand—I must not tell lies. 'Not good at all,' he said. 'I'd make a terrible politician. Though apparently the goblins like me now.'
'Right, but we're talking about pulling Muggles,' said Phil, and they both laughed. 'You'll have to tell some lies, of course, but it's easier if you don't plan to see her more than once.'
'A single night of sweet Muggle oblivion sounds perfect right now.'
'Then I recommend saying you're from out of town. Where are you from originally? If it's far enough you can just tell the truth.'
Harry shook his head. 'Surrey.'
'Oh right, they were saying that on the radio. Then unless you're familiar with another part of England, you'll have to say you're visiting from abroad. America perhaps.'
'No one will believe I'm American.'
'Of course not, but you could say your parents moved there a few years ago and you're home for a visit. You can tell her you're staying on my sofa.'
'Oh right, I can't exactly bring her home to Grimmauld Place.'
'Good lord no!'
'Where do I tell her I live? I'm not at all familiar with America, other than what I saw on television growing up.'
'Then you probably know more than you think. But just say you're from Chicago—everyone's heard of it but no one knows anything about it, except that there were gangsters in the thirties.'
'I actually knew that!' exclaimed Harry. 'I saw "The Untouchables" on the telly once. I liked Eliot Ness, but my cousin Dudley preferred Al Capone.'
'See, you know as much about Chicago as every other British person does. So just say you go to university there, and if she figures out you're an athlete you can tell her you play lacrosse.'
'Lacrosse? I don't know the first thing about lacrosse, except they have those big sticks with nets at the end.'
'Exactly. She won't know anything either, and if she starts asking questions, just turn the conversation back to her. Women love that.'
'You clearly never met Helena. I scarcely knew a thing about her until the night we broke up.'
'Then she's the exception that proves the rule,' said Phil. He pulled a small Durex box from his jacket and handed it to Harry. 'Have you used one of these before.'
'Oh god no ... are you sure this is worth it?'
'They're fine actually. Well, not the same as without, but highly enjoyable nonetheless. Use a Contraception Charm as well—the poor girl doesn't need to wind up a single mum dealing with accidental magic. But do you know how to put it on?'
'Yes, they showed us in primary school using bananas,' said Harry. 'We were ten ... talk about jumping the gun.'
'Just remember to pinch the tip as you're unrolling it, to avoid breakage. Obviously there's no real concern if you're using a charm, but you don't want the girl freaking out for the next three weeks.'
'Got it. Can I keep these, or shall I duck into a corner shop?'
'They're all yours ... consider it a late birthday present.'
'Cheers.' Harry looked around the bar and spotted several young women he found attractive. 'Now here's the tricky bit ... I don't have my usual advantage here.'
'You mean nobody recognises you?' said Phil. 'Yes, you're going to have to put in some effort instead of just casting a Summoning Charm.'
'What do you suggest? Here I'm just another bloke. A short one, in fact.'
'Women don't care about height as much as tall blokes like to believe. As long as you're taller than they are, they'll be fine. Ironically I've found it's the really short birds who want tall men—I think they're trying to reverse the trend in the next generation.'
'I'm definitely not here to procreate. But what do you think of those two girls over there?' asked Harry, indicating a pair waiting at the bar. 'I could fancy the brunette, and the blonde's not bad either.'
'Actually the blonde's more my type, so we're well matched. Let's go offer to buy their drinks.'
They rose and approached the two young women. 'Hi, I'm Phil and this is my mate Harry. Might we buy you some drinks?'
The women looked at each other and giggled. 'All right,' said the blonde. 'I'm Rachel and this is Penelope.'
'It's nice to meet you, Penelope,' said Harry. 'What can I get you?'
'A half-pint of cider,' she said. 'Will you be having anything?'
'I'm set for alcohol, but I might have a soft drink.'
'Not a heavy drinker then?'
'No, two pints was already past my limit.' He placed their order at the bar and turned to face her. 'Are you from around here?'
'Yes, though I return to Sheffield next month—I attend uni there. What about you?'
'I'm visiting from America.'
'You're not American,' she scoffed.
'Well spotted!' he said, but not unkindly. 'No, I'm English obviously, but my parents moved there several years ago.' That felt weird, he thought. Referring to my parents as if they were alive.
'Whereabouts?'
'Chicago.'
'Really? I visited Chicago last year.'
Bugger! thought Harry. 'Wow, how did you like it?'
'I thought it was brilliant. Nothing like England of course. I mean, we have high-rises in London, but not nearly as many as they have there.'
'No, certainly not.' Their drinks were ready, and he handed her a glass.
She took a sip of cider. 'So you must be a big Michael Jordan fan. Everyone I met there was mad for the Bulls—I was there during the finals and watched a game in a bar with my mates. I can't believe he retired though.'
That name sounds familiar, thought Harry. But it's not exactly distinctive, and Merlin only knows what sport she's talking about.
'Yes, nobody can believe he retired. But tell me more about yourself.'
'Well, I'm starting my second year at Sheffield—English Literature. What about you?'
Bloody hell, I don't know any American universities. 'I'm starting next month at the University of Chicago.' Surely a city like Chicago has a university, he thought. Unless they're called colleges over there. Blast! I think they call them colleges.
'Oh, University of Chicago! You must be clever.' Huh, I guess I picked a good one. Well done, Harry! 'Do you think you'll fancy living in Hyde Park?'
Why would I have to live in a park? he thought, puzzled. 'I hope so, if that's my future,' he said uncertainly.
'When I was visiting it took me a while to realise Hyde Park was a neighbourhood and not a park,' she admitted.
'Yes, I made the same mistake.' Just now, in fact.
'Where are you staying in London?'
'With my mate Phil. I'm staying on his sofa until Monday.'
'Oh, so you're leaving soon.'
'I'm afraid so. It seems a shame, having just met you,' he said, looking at her meaningfully.
She laughed and said, 'Does that really work?'
If you were a witch I'd have your bra off by now. 'Sometimes, yes.'
'Sorry, you'll to have to try harder,' she said playfully.
That's promising, he thought. He sipped his drink and said, 'How about if I told you that's a really pretty dress?'
'I'd think you were gay. And besides, anyone can pick out a dress.'
Surely she realises I'm attracted to her, otherwise I wouldn't have approached her. But I suppose witches like praise. Women, rather. 'You're right, anyone can pick out a dress, but I doubt anyone looks as good in it as you do. It brings out your eyes, for one thing.'
She suddenly closed her eyes. 'What colour are they?'
'I'm sorry?'
'My eyes—what colour are they?'
'They're blue, with a dark rim,' he said triumphantly.
She opened her eyes and smiled. 'Well done. And yours are green. Remarkably so, I might add. I bet they're coloured contact lenses.'
'They are not! I have my mother's eyes.'
'She must be a real charmer, then,' said Penelope. 'But whose hair did you get?'
'My father's.'
'Well, I suppose that must be your real eye colour—nobody would go to the trouble of wearing coloured contact lenses but not comb their hair.'
'I did comb it! It just doesn't have any effect.' He ran his fingers through his hair to demonstrate.
'Impressive! And I suppose it makes you look taller. That and the Doc Martens ... how tall are you anyway?'
'I'm beginning to tire of this conversation,' said Harry stiffly. 'I didn't come here to be insulted.'
Her eyes gleamed. 'Then why did you come here?'
'Because you're mad cute and I wanted to get to know you better.'
'Even though you're returning to America on Monday?'
'That's two whole nights,' he said, raising his eyebrows suggestively.
'You're a cocky bastard, aren't you? You're probably used to American girls falling for your accent.'
'I suppose I am. Is it working on you?'
'Not particularly. There's nothing wrong with your accent, but it's rather ordinary.'
'Should I talk like this, then?' he asked in his best Malfoy drawl. 'I apologise for not presenting myself earlier ... my full name is Lord Harry James Black. May I take you to my opulent but threadbare London townhouse where my senile servant can attend us?'
She burst out laughing. 'That was oddly specific. Why is your townhouse threadbare?'
'The Blacks squandered most of their assets before I inherited them. And someone stole all the silver.'
'I thought your parents were still living. How did you inherit if they're still alive?'
'I inherited from my ne'er-do-well godfather, Sirius. He was charmed by my mother's green eyes.'
'Is that who you got the untameable hair from?'
'Are you casting aspersions on my mother's virtue?' he said with mock indignation. 'I can assure you that with the exception of my eyes, I'm the spitting image of my father.'
'And what's his name?'
'James Evans.' Ew, that sounds incestuous.
'So James Evans and Lord Sirius Black,' she recited. 'Hang on a moment, wasn't there an escaped killer named Sirius Black?'
Bugger! he thought, recalling that Sirius had been in the Muggle news as well. 'There was,' he said. 'You can imagine how awkward that was for the family.'
'Of course. They probably spent the last of their assets on his appeal. Or perhaps they sold the silver to cover it.'
'The silver was stolen,' said Harry. 'Haven't you been paying attention?'
'I can assure you, I've been enthralled from the very start.'
'Good. This suggests I'm seducing Americans with more than just my accent.'
'Seducing! Now that's a bold claim, Lord Black!'
'Do I need to provide testimonials?'
'I don't know ... what would they say?'
That I'm famous for the wrong reason, thought Harry smugly. 'Let's just say I'm representing the UK admirably overseas. Several women are likely to be very disappointed with the next Englishman they encounter.'
'Will they have to close their eyes and think of England?' she asked saucily.
Is that a literary reference? he wondered. Damn Hogwarts and its lack of well-rounded education! 'I couldn't say,' he replied, and she smiled.
Harry noticed that Phil and Rachel were getting on well. He was holding her hand and stroking it intimately, and she was whispering something in his ear. Ugh, he's winning! thought Harry competitively. Time to close the deal.
'How far do you live from here,' he asked in a low voice.
'Not far,' she said breathily. 'But why can't we go to your townhouse?'
'It's being fumigated,' he said, and she laughed. 'That's why I'm staying with Phil. That and the America thing.'
'I have no idea why, but your Lord Black story sounds more plausible than the one about living in Chicago.'
'Are you calling me a liar?'
'I might be, but I have a way to test it. But first you have to tell me how you met Phil.'
'I'm sorry?'
'It's a simple question ... how did you meet Phil?'
'We both play lacrosse.'
'Lacrosse? You mean the sport with sticks?'
'Yes.' And that's the extent of my knowledge, so please don't ask me anything else, he thought.
'Excuse me, Phil?' she said, tapping his shoulder. 'I have some questions about Harry that I want you to verify.'
'Really?' replied Phil, looking inquisitively at Harry.
'Yes,' said Penelope. 'First, how did you two meet?'
'Playing lacrosse.'
'All right. But he's given me two different stories, and I'm not at all certain which one is true.'
'What are they?' asked Phil, looking again at Harry.
'One is fairly tame—that he moved with his parents to America several years ago and is about to start at the University of Chicago.'
'Yes, that's the one I'm familiar with,' said Phil. 'What's the other story?'
'That his real name is Lord Harry Black and he's the heir to his escaped-prisoner godfather—dead, I suppose—and he lives in a dilapidated townhouse that's currently being fumigated.'
'I'd describe it as threadbare rather than dilapidated,' said Phil.
'Oh, right. That was the word Harry used as well.'
'See?' said Harry. 'Now do you believe me?'
'Yes, but I have no idea which story.'
'Why not both?' he asked. Phil had returned to his hushed conversation with Rachel.
'That seems contradictory.'
'You've left out my third claim.'
'Which one was that? I've lost track.'
He looked at her through lowered eyelashes and murmured, 'The one about how I've been representing England admirably overseas.'
She blushed. 'Oh right, that one.'
'I'd love to prove it to you,' he said. 'May I?'
'I don't know. I'd like to sample the merchandise first. There's not much point if you're not a good kisser.'
'All right. Should we do it here or somewhere more romantic, like a toilet or an alleyway?'
She laughed and said, 'How about that dark corner over there?'
He took her hand and led her there without speaking. Then he brushed her hair back from her face and began to kiss her.
'Oh,' she breathed. 'Yes, quite.'
They kissed some more, and he said, 'Your flat, then?'
'Yes.'
They left the bar and she said, 'It's about a twenty-five minute walk, or we could take a taxi if you're impatient.'
'I'm very impatient,' he said, holding up his arm. He'd never actually hailed a taxicab before, but it didn't seem complicated. A taxi arrived soon after and they climbed in, and Penelope provided her address.
'You're paying, right?' she asked. 'It's not my fault you can't wait.'
'On the contrary, it's entirely your fault. But of course I'm paying.'
'How's the exchange rate anyway? It was only so-so when I visited last year.'
'I've no idea,' he answered, leaning towards her. 'I'm spending the British currency I inherited from my godfather.' He told me to squander some, thought Harry.
They snogged in the taxi but the ride was short and they soon arrived. He paid as promised, and she led him into a small vestibule and up some stairs.
She unlocked the door and opened it. 'Penny, is that you?' said a man's voice.
Harry's eyes widened in alarm. His instinct was to grab his wand, but obviously that was out of the question.
'Yeah, and I've brought someone with me.'
Are they going to steal my kidneys? thought Harry, remembering a news item that had shocked Aunt Petunia and prompted her to warn fourteen year-old Dudley to avoid strange women.
'Harry, this is my stepdad Lionel,' said Penelope, indicating a middle-aged man on the sofa watching television. 'Lionel, this is Harry. Don't hassle him.'
'Er, hi,' said Harry, hoping for only a brief exchange.
'Hiya Harry,' said Lionel. 'Have you known Penny long?'
'Er ...' started Harry, but fortunately Penelope interrupted him.
'Lionel, that's hassling. We're going to my room now.'
'I was just making conversation,' said Lionel. 'Nice to meet you, Harry. I have a hunting rifle.'
'Lionel!' cried Penelope. 'Harry, just ignore him.' Gladly, he thought, following Penelope down a short corridor to her room.
It was clearly her childhood bedroom, with posters for rock groups Harry wasn't familiar with, and what he suspected was a less recent shrine to ponies. The room could have comfortably accommodated a single bed, but instead there was a futon mattress placed directly on the floor.
Merlin, that bed! he thought. And I thought the condom would be uncomfortable!
Penelope plugged in a string of fairy lights and turned off the overhead lamp, which significantly improved the ambiance. It's not pure-blood decorating, but it'll do.
'The toilet's down the hall, if you need it,' she said. 'Just ignore Lionel if he pesters you—he's all talk.'
Fortunately Lionel did not appear, and Harry took advantage of his loo visit to perform a Contraception Charm. When he returned to Penelope's bedroom, music was playing—presumably one of the featured bands—and she greeted him enthusiastically.
A while later she said, 'You're really slumming, aren't you?'
'You mean because I'm a lord with a townhouse?'
'Well done, you've stuck to your story. I may have to go to the library and check whether there's really a Lord Black.'
'What do you think?' he murmured.
'I'm torn. Your accent is off, but if he was your godfather and not your father that would make sense. Your clothes are high quality, certainly.'
'Yes, I've turned into a real dandy.'
'It suits you,' she said, and they didn't speak for a while longer.
The time finally arrived for Harry to unwrap the condom, and it turned out he didn't remember the details very well. Surely it wasn't this gloopy, he thought.
Penelope noticed his fumbling. 'Here, let me do it,' she said, and he was quickly sorted. At first he was uncharacteristically distracted, musing about how Lee and George could produce self-applying condoms for wizards, made from reinforced materials with built-in Contraception Charms, but eventually his inner monologue stopped and he lost himself in the experience.
'You're a credit to your sovereign,' she murmured afterwards. 'Assuming your Chicago story is true.'
'Of course it's true. It's much more plausible than the Lord Black story. That one has an escaped murderer, after all.''
'I know. But look at you ... you have mysterious scars and everything. How do you even get a scar shaped like that?' she asked, pushing back his fringe.
'Car accident,' he said automatically. 'When I was little.'
'Oh, you poor thing!' she exclaimed, wrapping him with her body and her free arm. 'That must have been a serious accident, to leave a scar like that.'
'It was,' he said. 'But it was ages ago, and I'm fine.'
'So you've had a normal life otherwise?' she asked. 'Except for the lordship, of course.'
'Yes, perfectly normal,' he said, curling into her and allowing himself to believe it.