Harry had expected his teammates to mock him about orchids and dandies that morning, and they didn't disappoint. When Darren and Suresh emerged from the locker room in their flying robes, each of them had affixed an orchid to the lapel.
'Snitchbottom, only you could find a way to make flowers macho,' said Suresh approvingly. 'I hope you know you're now a gay icon as well as a straight one.'
'Anything to bring wizards together,' replied Harry.
'Is it true you have a date tonight with a model?' asked Darren.
'Yes, we're going to a wizarding restaurant in Manchester called Revolutions.'
'Nice! I haven't been yet, but apparently it's the next big thing. I assume the meal will be free?'
'It will be, and I'm all right with that. They'll get a ton of publicity out of it, after all.'
'Good for you, Snitchbottom—it's time you realised your own worth. Have you seen her photograph yet?'
'Merlin yes, oh my god. She has a fiancé though, so I'm not getting lucky, but it'll be a pleasure just to stare at her.'
'Do us both a favour and find out whether she has any model friends looking for partners in peak physical condition,' said Darren. 'Muggle or witch—I'm not fussed, as long as she's completely perfect from head to toe.'
'That's very deep of you, Darren. How are things going with Romilda?'
'She's a handful, in every sense of the word—lots of fun, and an absolutely epic shag. She's of age, thank goodness, but she's five years younger than I am, and that's a bit iffy even for me. I'll probably keep her around another couple of weeks and then send her back to Hogwarts with a signed Quaffle she can show off to her mates. C-squareds love that sort of thing.'
'C-squareds ... yes, Hermione taught me that term. Is there an equivalent for Seekers?'
'No. "Seeker seeker" makes sense, of course, but S-squared doesn't roll off the tongue the same way.'
They continued chatting until they reached the pitch, but as soon as they were aloft Harry's teammates turned hostile. Or they at least tried to, but Harry felt so much better after the broadcast that they couldn't rattle him. Even the Helena taunts didn't bother him, and the dandy jokes were just plain funny.
'Hey Potter, will you be bringing breeches and plumed hats back into fashion as well?' shouted Gary.
'Do your homework, Wisenborn—dandies wore trousers, not breeches,' said Suresh.
'Are we really discussing Regency menswear above the pitch?' asked Renée.
'Yes, and it's about damn time,' said Janet. 'But remember, the fastest way to set off Snitchbottom is to call him a fop. Fop, fop, fop! Go powder your wig, you bloody ponce!'
'Helena dumped him because of his poor hygiene, you know. The perfume and freshening charms couldn't cover it any longer,' added Darren.
'She also got frustrated because she wanted a good shag but Harry kept offering her orchids,' said Janet. 'They're a symbol, Snitchbottom, not a substitute!'
That afternoon the practice match ended quickly—Harry caught the Snitch after only half an hour—but Owen's relentless taunting made it feel much longer.
'If your mum could see you now, she'd be downright embarrassed. Here she went to the trouble of fucking rich men to leave you a fortune, stringing along some poor bastard to keep you alive, and finally sacrificing her life for you, only to have you repay her by acting like a complete prat on the radio. Everyone was just laughing at you, you know. You used to be a hero, but now you've turned into a bloody joke.'
That last one hurt, but Harry didn't respond. He renewed his intentions and allowed broad awareness to overtake him.
'Your mates said you weren't arrogant, but they're just humouring you for free publicity. That's all you are to anyone now—a fucking commodity. Come to think of it, that's all you've ever been. You were Dumbledore's commodity too.'
That's true, thought Harry. Dumbledore wouldn't have given him the time of day if not for the prophecy.
'You think you're so special because you and your mates had a top secret mission during the war. "Oh dear, I nearly gave away a huge secret. I'm so special, I'm Harry fucking Potter." You know, the rest of us didn't have a bloody prophecy telling us what to do—we had to figure it out for ourselves.'
'Trust me,' said Harry, 'you really didn't want a bloody prophecy, unless you fancy growing up without parents and being targeted your entire childhood by a maniac.'
'Potter, I don't think you even realise how arrogant you sound. And I reckon your friends have given up pointing it out. They all grew up with parents, so they'll have normal lives, but you're just going to be stuck. So enjoy your bloody robes and flowers, because that's all you get.'
Harry was exhausted by the end of the short match, and Owen immediately apologised to him. 'I'll be glad when we're done with Gilstrap, because I'm tired of acting like such an arsehole day after day.'
'I agree,' said Harry. 'I haven't felt this much impending doom since the war.'
'It's just a game. Don't let him get to you—at the end of the day you're Harry Potter and he's Andrew sodding Gilstrap. I've met your friends and they think the world of you, so don't let him convince you otherwise.'
'Thanks, I appreciate that.'
Harry was glad to have some time to relax before his date that night. He'd slept poorly again, and he was worried his nightmares were becoming more frequent. But he slept soundly that afternoon and woke up refreshed at six o'clock. He washed and then fruitlessly moved his hair around before changing into sleek, pinstriped robes.
He'd instructed Kreacher to ask the florist for a blue boutonnière, and they obliged by sending a half-dozen to choose from. Harry's favourite was a thistle, and according to the book about flowers he'd found in the library, thistles represented bravery, loyalty, and endurance. That seems appropriate, he thought. He wasn't a Hufflepuff, but he'd presumably proven his loyalty, and hopefully his bravery and endurance were beyond question.
His date, whose name was Laetitia Weston, was to arrive at half past six, giving them a chance to talk before appearing in public. She arrived right on time and stepped gracefully from the fireplace, extending her hand. 'Harry,' she said, 'it's lovely to meet you. I'm Laetitia.'
Harry shook her hand but then took a moment just to admire her. She was very slim and taller than he was, even with flat heels, but she wasn't at all gangly. Her skin was reddish brown, and her dark, slanted eyes were utterly captivating. But her most striking feature was her hair: an enormous cloud that put Hermione's pre-Grimoire locks to shame.
'I'm very glad to meet you, Laetitia, and I'm looking forward to our evening.'
'Likewise. I couldn't believe it when my agent told me who she'd lined up for me. I'm certainly grateful for the opportunity, for a variety of reasons.'
'Yes, I understand you want to establish yourself as a wizarding model, in addition to your Muggle career?'
'That's right. The money's much better on the Muggle side, but the work is harder and longevity is almost nonexistent. Wizards, on the other hand, are much less youth-obsessed than Muggles, so my agent is hoping I can line up a longer-lasting career on the wizarding end for when my other jobs dry up.'
'Surely you have time before that happens!'
'I'm twenty-four, which means I'm reaching my sell-by date.'
'Are you serious? And that's considered too old?'
'I'm afraid so.'
'Well, I hope you won't mind spending the evening with a mere nineteen year-old.'
She laughed and said, 'I won't, if you don't mind being seen with an old spinster.'
'Hardly! But I understand you're engaged?'
'Yes, to a Muggle, which means he's not considered a suitable escort in the wizarding world.'
'That's a shame—I assume he knows you're a witch?'
She nodded. 'As of a few months ago. He started dropping hints about ring-shopping, and I wanted to make sure he'd be all right with the truth.'
'What would you have done if he hadn't been?'
'It would have been ghastly, but I suppose I'd have been required to Obliviate him and break things off. But fortunately he took the news just fine.'
'That's good. My teammate Ryan's father is a Muggle, and apparently he and his wife have an equal partnership.'
She smiled and said, 'I'm always glad to hear about wizards with a non-magical parent—it gives me hope for my own children. I can't say I'm entirely comfortable with the prospect of a non-magical child, but I love Eric and I'm willing to take the risk.'
'Does your family accept him?'
'They're not thrilled, to be quite honest, but at my age they're just grateful I'm getting married at all.'
Harry shook his head in amazement. 'I don't know if I'll ever fully understand wizards,' he said. 'By the way, did your agent explain why I wanted a date?'
'She didn't provide details, but she said you wanted to be photographed with someone new.'
'Yes, my girlfriend Helena didn't like publicity, and she asked me to be photographed as soon as possible with someone else, to draw the focus from her. You're aware of the risk of negative attention, I assume?'
'I am, and I'm fully protected. It's a necessity in my line of work—stalkers, you know.'
'I'm sorry, that sounds awful.'
'It is, but I'm much less vulnerable than a Muggle would be. If someone follows me into a dark alley or corridor, I can always Disapparate in a pinch.'
'That's true. May I show you around? We're not expected at the restaurant for another quarter hour.'
'I'd certainly enjoy a tour, particularly after reading about your house in that dreadful article. I should never have read it, but of course I couldn't stop myself.'
'That's what keeps Rita in business, I'm afraid.'
He introduced her to Padfoot, and she was delighted when he caught the dog treat she tossed him. 'I can't believe this is the Animagus form of Sirius Black. I'd never have been frightened of him if I'd seen him like this.'
'I know. It's a shame he didn't live to see himself exonerated. He's the closest thing I ever had to a father, that I can remember anyway, and I still miss him terribly.'
She looked at him tenderly and said, 'That's so sweet, Harry. I can't believe Rita Skeeter twisted your affection into something so perverse.'
'That's what she does,' he said, shrugging. 'I should point out the dining room before we go upstairs. This was the scene of the Chocolate Frog debacle.'
'I'm sorry that happened, but I must have heard the real story from three different people before listening to your broadcast—which was hilarious, by the way.'
After climbing the stairs, Harry was tempted to skip the drawing room due to the incriminating tapestry, but he showed it to her anyway. He needed to at least consider changing his name, and showing people the tapestry seemed like a good way to test the waters.
'Oh my goodness, is this the Black family tapestry? Remarkable!' She examined it for a long while, and he waited for her inevitable discovery. 'Hang on, your name is wrong. Or is it?'
'Good question,' he said. 'My name first appeared on it yesterday—the tapestry had been maliciously damaged, and we only just found the charm to repair it—and when I showed up it decided to rename me.'
'Are you going to change your name to Harry Black? I can't imagine you being called anything but Harry Potter.'
'Nor can I. But Sirius charged me with rehabilitating House Black, and my friends have pointed out that this would be the fastest way.'
'I see their point, but couldn't you at least be Harry Potter-Black?'
He made a face. 'It just sounds so pretentious. Harry Black is at least short and to the point, same as Harry Potter.'
'Maybe, maybe not. Loads of people have double-barrelled names nowadays, and not just toffs. My fiancé is encouraging me to hyphenate when we marry, and several of my girlfriends have done the same. I reckon in a generation it'll sound perfectly ordinary.'
'Interesting. And come to think of it, wizards don't even have double-barrelled names. To a pure-blood, Potter-Black probably doesn't sound any more posh than any other three-syllable name.'
'And nobody can accuse you of being a social climber after the Lord Black business,' she observed.
'Believe me, they'll accuse me of whatever they like.'
'I suppose you're right. But what's the next stop on the tour? This can't be all.'
'No, next there's the library,' he said, leading her there. 'It was locked during the party due to all the books on the Dark Arts, not to mention the family Grimoire. Don't touch it, by the way.'
'I won't,' she said, giving it a wide berth. She looked around and said, 'Forgive me, but do you mind showing me that bed of yours? Everyone's talking about it, and I just have to see it for myself.'
He laughed. 'Of course, follow me.' He led her upstairs and showed it to her.
'Good lord! That's really something. How did you even find bed linens for it?'
'It all came with the house. Do you want to lie down on it? I promise to stand over here.'
She smiled guiltily and nodded. 'You read my mind.' She lay down and stretched out on the bed. 'Oh my word, this is heaven. No wonder you kept it.'
'I know! I wish I could get more beds like it for the guest rooms. That's where I slept during the war, for a while at least, and they weren't nearly as comfortable.'
She pressed down on the mattress with her hand. 'What do you suppose it's made from?'
'I have no idea—probably ground-up unicorns or something. I'm scared to even look.' He checked his pocket watch and added, 'But we should leave for the restaurant now.'
She rose from the bed and said, 'Yes, though if we didn't need to be photographed I'd insist on eating right here. We could have a proper picnic.'
They went back downstairs to the fireplace and he allowed her to go first. 'Revolutions,' he said as he stepped into the green flames.
His Floo journey deposited him into the largest fireplace he'd even seen, if you could even call it a fireplace. It was more like an enormous furnace, with a wide-open cast iron door, and when he looked up he could see a large smokestack. 'Merlin!' he exclaimed. 'What is this?'
'Mr Potter, Miss Weston—welcome,' said the host. 'Please, step this way.
Harry saw Laetitia, and she too was looking in all directions. The space was several storeys high and appeared to be a very old factory building. Large antique machines were producing thread and weaving it into fabric, entirely without workers. Harry knew from the documentaries Uncle Vernon used to watch that the factory ought to be noisy and the air unbreathable—'Back before regulations ruined British efficiency,' he'd complain—but these machines were perfectly silent and the air was clear.
The host said, 'As you've no doubt realised, Industry is housed in an old Muggle factory, built in the early nineteenth century. It was originally powered by coal, as horrible as that sounds, and the fireplace you arrived in is the old furnace. But of course it's all powered by magic now, and the disadvantages of Muggle production methods have been removed.'
'Fascinating,' said Harry, who was still looking around with wide eyes.
'Mr Potter, Miss Weston, I believe you're expected in the courtyard. Please, follow me.'
He led them outside to a plaza, surrounded on all sides by buildings resembling the one they'd left, with the exception of a large opening to the main road. 'What is this place?' asked Laetitia.
'This is the hub of Manchester's wizarding community,' said the host. 'It's all hidden from Muggles, of course, and there are numerous businesses and dwellings within the complex. But please, come this way.'
He led them to a brick wall that was nicely lit by the setting sun, and a photographer awaited them there. 'Why hello!' exclaimed Harry. 'It's nice to see you again—those were great pictures you took for the Cannons. But I'm afraid I never caught your name.'
'I'm Amanda Bellows,' she said. 'And I'm glad you liked the team photographs—I was pleased with them as well. It seems you've warmed up to having your picture taken, Mr Potter.'
'Call me Harry. And yes, I suppose I have done,' he admitted. 'These photos won't look too staged, will they?'
'No, of course not. They'll just look like exceptionally good paparazzi photos.'
Harry and Laetitia were instructed to pose before the brick wall, and they were quickly at ease together, thanks both to Amanda's coaching and the rapport they'd already developed. Harry could see that Laetitia was remarkably photogenic, and he hoped he wouldn't look too ordinary by comparison. But then he very deliberately lowered his inner walls, which allowed energy to flow upwards from his lower abdomen into his chest and head, after which he felt quite at ease.
'Now we're talking,' said Amanda. 'Look right here, Harry ... perfect. And look at her ... yes, just so.' Harry knew from last time that Amanda took a lot of photographs, so he wasn't surprised by the quantity this time around.
'Can we have a kiss?' she asked.
Harry was about to protest, but Laetitia very comfortably wrapped an arm around him and kissed him on the cheek. 'You're doing great, Harry,' she whispered, and he smiled when she kissed him again.
'Yes, that's it!' said Amanda. 'You look great together, in spite of the height mismatch.' Harry and Laetitia both laughed, and Amanda snapped the camera once more.
They were finally permitted to go to their table, which was nestled privately amid several large machines. Everyone turned as they passed, and Harry could see their eyes flit back and forth, as if unsure whether her beauty or his celebrity were more compelling. But eventually they all settled on her, and he couldn't blame them.
When they were seated and had placed their orders, he allowed himself just to look at her again. 'I'm certain you know how beautiful you are, but I can't help saying it. And moreover you seem to be a lovely person—Eric is a lucky man.'
'Thank you, Harry, that's very sweet. And I appreciate the compliment—you wouldn't believe how often I'm criticised or even insulted in my line of work.'
'You can't be serious!'
'I'm quite serious. To start with, you'd be appalled if I told you what people have said about my skin colour and hair, and my "ethnic" features.' Harry's eyes shot open, and she continued. 'But even leaving that out, casting directors want perfection, and I've lost jobs because my hands are too large or my elbows too bony. And you wouldn't know it when my hair is down, but I have truly ridiculous ears.' She pulled her hair back to show him.
'I can assure you, they're charming,' he said sincerely.
'They might be charming, but they're definitely not the standard. And what's more, there are people who enjoy finding fault ... it makes them feel better somehow. I'm sure you can relate to this.'
'Nothing I've done even approaches perfection,' he said, 'but I certainly know what it's like to be criticised. And yes, I think it got worse after I entered the wizarding world—before that my relations criticised me, but otherwise I was completely invisible.'
'It's hard to imagine you being invisible, but I'll take your word for it.'
'Believe me, I was. But when I arrived at Hogwarts and everyone knew who I was, that's when the real criticism began. And of course I deserved it—I did nothing at all the first time Voldemort attacked. By rights I should have been called "The Boy Whose Mum Sacrificed Her Life For Him" rather than "The Boy Who Lived."' Harry didn't mention 'The Boy Who Shat,' deciding it was inappropriate dinner conversation.
'Perhaps, but we didn't know that until recently. Actually, one of my earliest memories is from the first time you defeated Voldemort—or your mum did, rather. My parents were so excited that they flew my brother and me on broomsticks to the beach for a big party with their friends. They lit fireworks and played music, and everyone toasted you.' She looked at him soberly and added, 'But that was your first night as an orphan, presumably with your Muggle relations. And of course they were grieving as well.'
'I don't know about that. My mum and her sister weren't close, and my aunt never told me a thing about my parents.'
'Are you joking? Surely you at least had photographs.'
He shook his head. 'No, nothing. The only reason I knew their names was because I once saw them on my school records.'
Laetitia looked heartsick, and Harry felt himself soften in response to her compassion. 'I didn't even know I was a wizard, or how they'd died,' he continued. 'My aunt and uncle hoped I wouldn't turn out magical, and I think that's why they mistreated me. They were hoping to stunt it out of me, I reckon.'
'How have I never heard this before?' she asked. 'I knew you weren't close with your relations, but I never knew they'd mistreated you.'
'I've never actually told anyone.' He looked at his glass of Butterbeer and said, 'Owen—the other Cannons Seeker—reckons my walls are starting to come down, and I think he's right. I can't say I've ever experienced something like this before.'
'You mean wanting to talk about it?' He nodded, and she said, 'I seem to have that effect on people—I've considered training to become a counsellor after my modelling career ends.'
'Yes, I can see that. You have such expressive eyes.' He looked down at his drink again and took a sip. 'But yeah, it was beyond awful growing up with them. And my cousin as well—he was a monster back then. They even tried to prevent me from receiving my Hogwarts letter, even though it was clearly too late. I'd been doing accidental magic for years, though I had no idea what it was.'
'I can't believe the Ministry doesn't intervene in situations like that. I can hardly imagine how the parents of Muggle-borns are able to cope.'
'My aunt and uncle knew what it was ... they just didn't tell me. And I don't know if the Ministry knew about my situation, but Albus Dumbledore certainly did. He's the one who sent me to live with them—he claimed it was because my mother's sacrifice lived on in my aunt's blood, but I still don't buy that. I know for a fact it lived on in my blood as well, otherwise Voldemort wouldn't have taken it from me.'
He took another sip of Butterbeer. 'I shouldn't be telling you any of this, of course. And I hope you don't think I'm just some attention seeker who pours out his life story to strangers.'
'No, that's not the impression I get at all. It sounds like you've had some heartache recently, and I know that can loosen things up.'
'Yeah, maybe so. Or maybe the fact that the Prophet comes after me with a wrecking ball every week. It's like they're determined to knock down my walls for me.'
Their starters arrived, and they laughed at the contrast. 'It's easy to tell which plate goes to the fashion model and which one goes to the athlete,' she said. 'That's another thing I won't miss about Muggle modelling.'
'I suppose not. I thought I was a big eater previously, but my appetite's gone through the roof since I joined the Cannons. My house-elf is delighted, of course.'
'That must have been difficult during the war, when you and your mates were just foraging.'
'It was hard, but that was nothing compared to the rest of it. I think I went months without even smiling. Our task that year put us in close contact with very Dark magic, which wasn't fun to be around.' Harry knew he was treading on dangerous ground, but Laetitia didn't strike him as someone with an interest in Horcruxes.
'I hope you realise how much we all appreciate it. All of Britain is forever in your debt.'
'Perhaps, but do you think that's going to age well? I was seventeen when I defeated Voldemort, and I'm nineteen now. At what point will I just become some wanker who's better known for—I don't know, three failed marriages, or being an arrogant twat?'
'Do you really think that's likely? I don't see that happening.'
'You may be right, considering two witches have turned me down already.'
'You're nineteen and you've already proposed marriage twice?'
'Not technically, but implicitly, yes.'
'Harry, you need to find yourself first. Don't just marry the first witch who'll have you.'
'That's what Helena said. She made me promise not to propose to anyone until I'm twenty-one.'
'Good for her,' said Laetitia. 'And witches your age probably grew up imagining they'd marry the Boy Who Lived, which must make things even worse. Whilst I only imagined you were my baby brother.'
'Really?'
'Yes, my friends and I used to pretend we were looking after you. I drew a scar on my doll and we'd take turns carrying you and telling you stories—that sort of thing.'
Harry was deeply moved. 'I don't know why, but that touches me to the core. To know that strangers were taking care of me, even though my aunt and uncle weren't.'
'I'm glad you see it that way—it makes me feel better about celebrating when your parents died.'
'Voldemort died too, at least by the look of things, so I can hardly blame you. And you were only five years old.'
She looked at him fondly and said, 'I can't imagine why Rita Skeeter said you were arrogant. You're an absolute sweetheart from where I'm sitting.'
'That's kind of you to say, but I don't think she's completely off beam. The fact is, I've become a lot more confident in the past month, and I worry I'm at risk of getting a big head.'
'Catching the Snitch three times in a row, you mean?'
'Yes, but more than that. The fact is, I've accomplished quite a lot already, except for my N.E.W.T.s of course.'
'Those hardly matter, in your case.'
'You're not helping! I know I didn't act alone—far from it—but it's hard not to draw a sort of unwholesome satisfaction from my own legend. And now witches are throwing themselves at me left and right. They might not want to marry me, but they sure as hell want a turn ... I'll admit it's rather intoxicating.'
'You're nineteen—of course it's intoxicating. I got caught up in something similar when I started modelling at eighteen. In a matter of months I went from being an ordinary student at St Egwine's to a newly signed model appearing in major shows. I found out later that my agent used Compulsion Charms to get me cast initially, which I wasn't thrilled about, but then I started getting jobs without cheating, and a fair amount of attention as well. Admittedly I had the significant obstacle of being black, but designers like to cast one or two of us to convince themselves they're progressive.
'And yes, I developed a big head, and I'm not just talking about my hair. Casting directors and editors insulted me regularly, and the other girls did as well, but I had men eating out of my hand. There were men who wanted to buy me things or spoil me in other ways, and a few who wanted to marry me, even though they barely knew me and would probably be disinherited for bringing me home. I wish I could say I'd risen above it all, but I didn't.
'The thing is, it wasn't me they wanted, not really. They wanted the feeling they got from parading a model around—and don't even get me started on the number of times I've been called "exotic." It's going to be different for you, of course, not least because the genders are reversed, but for a lot of witches you're going to be a sort of commodity.'
Harry sighed. 'Yeah, that's what my teammate Owen called me today at practice. Not for real, of course—he was preparing me for how I might get taunted during a match.'
Laetitia looked at him and said, 'I'd almost recommend you date Muggles for a while, since they won't have so many preconceptions, but I can't see how that would work.'
'No, I'd have to lie about nearly every aspect of my life. And I certainly couldn't take them home.'
'Heavens, no! But back to your earlier concern, about developing a big head. I like to think I've grown out of mine somewhat—Eric is certainly nothing like the men I used to date. And maybe I needed to go through that phase for a while, just to get it out of my system. But I think you're allowed to explore who you are right now, and you'd be lying to yourself if you pretended that being Harry Potter wasn't a big fucking deal. And unlike me, you earned your honours, instead of just winning the genetic lottery.'
'Don't be so hard on yourself,' said Harry. 'There's obviously a lot more to you than just your appearance. And actually, chance played a bigger role in my life than you might think. Yes, there was a prophecy naming me as the only person who could defeat Voldemort, but it could have applied equally to one of my classmates. The die was cast when Voldemort tried to kill me as a baby instead of him.
'I'm not going to say who he is—and I beg you never to tell anyone about this, because I don't want it getting back to him—but he was every bit as brave as I was during the war, only he didn't get a fraction of the credit. And his childhood was just as hard as mine, although in a completely different way.
'The funny part is he's probably happier than I am, even though he doesn't have a London townhouse or witches throwing themselves at him or any of the rest of it. He just has a sweet relationship with a witch who loves him and a career that suits him perfectly, although it would bore me to tears.'
She smiled and said, 'Clearly you have a different path than he does. But there's no reason to think you won't be just as happy one day.'
Their conversation flowed smoothly all evening, and when they walked outside to Apparate home they were photographed again—this time by paparazzi. But Laetitia didn't hide her face as Helena had, and Harry didn't reflexively whisk her to Grimmauld Place. Laetitia posed for the cameras, with Harry as a willing prop. He ignored questions about Helena, but he took the opportunity to rebut Rita Skeeter's article, and he even allowed reporters a closer look at his thistle.
He and Laetitia said goodbye in private from Grimmauld Place. Hugging him, she said, 'It's been absolutely lovely to meet you, Harry. It'll be my pleasure to spread the word about what a sweetheart you are, and I hope we can stay in touch.'
'I'd be happy to go out again if you like,' replied Harry. 'I enjoyed our conversation tremendously, and I appreciate your perspective.'
'Cheers, let's plan on it. In the meantime, get back out there and have some fun!'
'I think I will, thanks.'
After seeing her through the fireplace, Harry climbed the stairs to his room. Just three more days, and then I can forget about Andrew sodding Gilstrap and live my life again!