Chapter 44 - 44

Harry was ambushed by Susanna on Wednesday morning. 'Do you have a moment?' she asked. 'Thaddeus and I have a quick question before you start practice.'

'Er, yes?' he said, following her down the corridor to her office, where Thaddeus was waiting. 'Did I say something wrong in last night's broadcast? Bugger! It was the condom thing, wasn't it? Are parents going to boycott the Cannons now? I'm so sorry!'

Thaddeus sniggered, and Susanna said, 'No, the condom thing was fine. But we're wondering what you have in mind regarding your surname.'

'Oh, right,' said Harry sheepishly. 'That.'

Susanna and Thaddeus looked at him expectantly. 'Are you considering changing it?' she asked.

'I'm considering it, yes. But I haven't made a decision—I'd like to talk to some of the other Blacks first.'

'Harry Black?' prompted Thaddeus.

'No, Harry Potter-Black.' They looked at him questioningly, and he continued. 'It's been pointed out to me that changing my name would be the fastest way to establish House Black as a Light family.'

Thaddeus momentarily choked on his tea. 'You really think that's possible?'

'I honestly don't know,' said Harry. 'But Sirius very specifically wanted me to try, and I owe him that. I've recently identified a number of Blacks from disinherited branches of the family, and I owled them to see whether they're interested in a reconciliation. So that's the first step, and I'll proceed from there.'

'All right,' said Susanna. 'Just keep us informed, if you don't mind.'

'Of course—I'm sorry if this causes problems for you and the team.'

Susanna shook her head reassuringly, and Thaddeus said, 'It's actually a canny move, if you want to increase merchandise sales. People who already bought Potter-branded merchandise might also want the Potter-Black version.'

'Ugh, that's not my intention! Do you think people will accuse me of changing my name simply for profit?'

'You should know by now there's no predicting how people will react,' said Thaddeus. 'I'm certain most people will know it's legitimate, but you'll hear some complaints as well.'

Harry frowned. 'How much would it cost to alter the items that have already been purchased? Perhaps I could subsidise it.'

Susanna and Thaddeus looked at each other. 'Good question,' said Thaddeus. 'Probably not much. I suspect that people with the old Potter merchandise will want to keep it as a collector's item. Limited edition, you know.'

'He's right,' said Susanna. 'I've heard your original Chocolate Frog card is highly sought after.' Harry gave her a blank look and she said, 'They issued an updated card with a new photograph and which says you play for the Cannons.'

'Didn't you see it at your party?' asked Thaddeus. 'I understand they sent you the new version.'

Harry groaned. 'No, I never actually saw the cards—I only heard about them.' He looked at his wristwatch and asked, 'Do you need anything else from me?'

'No, just give us advance warning about the name change if you decide to do it,' replied Susanna. 'And of course we can help you with the announcement.'

Harry thanked them and rushed to join his teammates outside. Normally he preferred to run alone, but that morning he found Titus. 'Good morning,' he said, running alongside the reserve Beater.

'Good morning, Harry. Is something on your mind?'

'Yes. Do I recall hearing you attended Stodgings?'

'I did, yes—I finished two years ago. Why do you ask?'

'I met someone from Stodgings last night, and I'm wondering whether you know anything about her.'

Titus grinned. 'What's her name?'

'Lydia Travers.'

'Are you serious? Where did you meet Lydia Travers? Not in a dark alley, I hope.'

'No, I met her outside Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. She approached me for an autograph after the broadcast.'

Titus shook his head in astonishment. 'Either she's rebelling or she's laying a deadly trap. I assume you recognise her surname.'

'Yes—she said he's her great-uncle. I encountered him several times during the war.'

'Right … she was a few years behind me, but I was classmates with her sister Esme. And they have a brother as well.'

'Did you ever meet her?'

'Lydia? No, but everyone at Stodgings knew of them, because of their uncle. He was in and out of Azkaban, of course, and then he was high up at the Ministry during the final year of the war. But that was after I finished school.'

'And what was her sister like? Esme?'

'A pure-blood princess. They're Sacred Twenty-Eight, you know.'

'No, I don't know,' replied Harry. 'Is this another wizarding concept I'm completely ignorant of?'

'Apparently. It refers to a list published back in the thirties of twenty-eight families who were considered impeccably pure-blooded. I'm certain you'd recognise most of the names, either as Death Eaters or people you knew at Hogwarts. The Weasleys, for example. And the Blacks of course.'

'No Potters, I gather?'

'No, nor my family. Most people disregard it, but certain pure-bloods are obsessed with it and will only allow their children to marry within those families.'

'Not the Weasleys, certainly,' said Harry. 'They take pride in their blood-traitor status. I can't fathom how they stayed pure this many generations. But you're saying Lydia and her sister are considered pure-blood princesses?'

'Yes, absolutely. Sacred Twenty-Eight, wealthy, and good-looking? That's not always easy to find ... a bit too much inbreeding, you know.'

'Sounds like the Gaunts,' mused Harry, remembering Voldemort's mother's family as he'd seen them in the Pensieve.

'Yes, they were on the list as well,' replied Titus. 'Esme married Charles Selwyn, and they were prominent socially during the war, among the younger set anyway. I know I saw them in the stands at several Quidditch matches that year. But they've been less public since the war ended, for obvious reasons.'

'Do you know if they were Death Eaters?'

'Not Marked, certainly. And I don't think they were active participants either. But they were more than compliant, which means they're no longer welcome on the Prophet's society pages.' Titus looked at Harry and added, 'It sounds like Lydia might be trying to take her sister's place, only with a different affiliation. I gather she flirted with you?'

'To put it mildly.'

'Did you take her up on it?'

'No, but I was tempted.'

'Proceed with caution,' said Titus. 'Perhaps she's just rebelling, but she might be out for revenge. It's also possible she's not acting alone—she'd be the ideal bait for someone else's trap.'

'Yes, I can see that. And I appreciate the advice, thanks.'

'Of course. Don't mention it.'

Harry ran ahead to ponder what he'd just learnt. Lydia was definitely the perfect trap, particularly for someone with a reputation for promiscuity. Yes, she was attractive, and he enjoyed how she'd been the aggressor, but he knew better than to risk his life.

I'm certain there's a way to verify her motives, he thought. Because if she was what she appeared to be—a sexually adventurous pure-blood princess—he definitely wanted to learn more.

But not tonight, he sighed. He had a very different type of date that evening. Myrtle was also rather forward, although not in a good way. She had a habit of spying on people in the Prefects' bathroom, for example, and her insistence on their date made Harry wonder just what she had in mind.

Practice went smoothly, and he was able to find the Snitch more quickly than the previous afternoon, which gave him plenty of time to fret before heading to Hogwarts. How on earth do these things happen to me? he wondered. Angry seers, came the answer, and he shook his head ruefully.

Harry went to his bedroom to dress, and his mood improved slightly when he saw that his new Wizengamot robes had arrived. He tried them on and was once again pleased with Thimble's handiwork, which looked nothing like the ghastly traditional robes. He almost felt bad for the other Wizengamot members—the younger wizards in particular would certainly feel dowdy by comparison.

He began to worry that the robes were a miscalculation. I need people to vote with me, he thought, and not resent me for making them look they're wearing upholstery. It wasn't too late to order traditional robes, he knew.

But then he remembered how hideous they were. No, I can't do it. People have already formed their opinion of me, good or ill, and what I wear won't make a difference.

Harry changed into his dove-grey robes and floral waistcoat, and he slid the rosebud boutonnière into his lapel. He almost laughed at his own reflection and how effeminate he looked, but both Althea and Helena had assured him he could pull it off.

When he was ready, he summoned Kreacher wordlessly to his bedroom.

Crack! 'Yes, Master! Is it time for Kreacher to be of service?'

'It is, thank you. First I'd like for you to transport the flowers to the spot I described, near the second-floor girls' bathroom at Hogwarts. And then I'll summon you to Madam Puddifoot's when I'm ready for dinner.'

'With pleasure, Master! Kreacher is a much better cook than horrible Madam Puddifoot.'

'I suspect you're right,' said Harry, 'but please don't say anything to her about it. Hermione said she was very offended when she heard I was bringing my own food.'

Kreacher smiled slyly before bowing. 'Yes, Master. Will Master require anything else?'

'No, thank you. See you soon.'

Kreacher Disapparated with a loud crack, and after reaching for his broomstick Harry did the same.

He arrived just outside the Hogwarts gates, where he was met not only by Minerva but by nearly all the other professors, including Hagrid and Madam Hooch. Everyone greeted him warmly, but the Flying instructor skipped the formalities. 'Is that your Silver Arrow?' she asked crisply.

'It is,' he said, handing it to her. 'Feel free to try it out while I'm walking to the entrance.' Madam Hooch mounted the broom and immediately took off.

'Harry!' boomed Hagrid as they began walking towards the castle. 'Good ter see yeh! Yeh're a good lad ter do this.' He looked at Harry's outfit and chuckled, 'I see yeh've got yehrself all dudded up fer the occasion.'

Bugger, I look like I girl! thought Harry irritably. 'Hermione told me to dress formally,' he replied, stretching the truth.

'You look very nice,' said Professor Sprout. 'The myrtle leaves were a thoughtful touch. But remind me what pink roses signify—I've never bothered with that rubbish.'

'Dark pink roses signify appreciation and gratitude,' explained Harry. 'I can't say I ever knew anything about the language of flowers, but I've had to learn it quickly.'

'Yes, the orchid incident,' said Professor Flitwick with a chuckle. 'On another note, I understand you're going to Gringotts on Friday to hand over goblin-made artefacts on behalf of the Ministry.'

'That's right. Apparently the goblins actually like me now.'

'I'm not shocked—they appreciate both action and blunt communication. I'm sure they loved your takedown of the wizarding lords.'

'I have to admit, that went better than I expected. I was afraid the Lord Black thing would dog me for years.'

'I was surprised as well,' said Minerva. 'And Harry, thank you again for taking Myrtle to dinner tonight. I know you'd rather avoid this type of publicity, but you're doing the world a tremendous service.'

'It's more than worth it, to be rid of those wards once and for all,' he replied. 'And as for the publicity, I don't think Isla Preston will be too hard on me. But my teammates will be merciless, and thank heaven I'm done with Gilstrap for a while.'

Minerva scowled. 'Between him and Chiffle I'm ready to give up on the Magpies entirely. I never thought I'd support an English team, but you may have converted me.'

Harry laughed and asked, 'Will you hang a Cannons poster in your office, then? Or wear bright orange at the Sorting Feast?'

'I shan't wear bright orange—ever,' she replied. 'But I may have displayed a photograph of you and Oliver Wood in plain sight of Severus's portrait.'

'Oh dear, how did he react?'

'It varies, actually, depending on how your photograph is behaving. Most of the time you're just smiling and laughing with Wood, which of course irritates Severus but doesn't usually invite commentary. Other times you glare at his portrait, and I once caught you making a rude gesture at it.'

'Are you serious? My photograph did that?'

'Yes, but Severus started it,' she said. 'And sometimes you just stare at each other fixedly.'

Interesting, thought Harry, recalling Snape's dying wish to look into Harry's eyes. 'How does that affect him?'

'He'll stare for a long while and occasionally furrow his brow, and then say something like, "Minerva, get that damnable photograph out of my sight! It was bad enough having to look at Potter whilst I was alive!"' she said. 'Naturally I don't move it, so he just leaves his frame until he cools off.'

'That seems a bit cruel, forcing him to look at my picture. He might have hated me, but he did protect me all those years.'

'I know, and I actually moved your photograph the first time he asked, but when I returned the next morning it was in its original spot. I assume he ordered a house-elf to put it back—I suspect he enjoys having an adversary.'

They had reached the castle steps, where they waited a minute for Madam Hooch to land. 'Potter, this broom is top notch,' she declared, handing it to him. 'Silver Arrow really outdid themselves. And thanks again for inviting me to the match tomorrow.'

'I'm glad you can make it,' he said, before turning to Minerva. 'What can I expect after entering the castle? Will I even remember why I've come to Hogwarts?'

'You'll know you're taking Myrtle out to dinner, but you won't remember why until after you leave the castle.' She turned to the other professors and said, 'Harry doesn't need an honour guard. I'll take him the rest of the way.'

Everyone said goodbye, and Harry and Minerva crossed the threshold into the castle. They were silent as they walked until he finally asked, 'Have you any idea why I'm going on a date with Moaning Myrtle? I know I haven't.'

'I can't say I do,' replied Minerva, 'but apparently it's quite important.'

'Yes, that's my impression as well.' They took the main staircase to the second floor and walked towards Myrtle's bathroom. 'I had Kreacher drop off some flowers I can give her. I'd normally have offered her a corsage, but I didn't know if she'd be able to wear them, so I ordered a bouquet instead.'

'That was prudent. Is that it, over there?' A large vase filled with flowers was standing at the corner ahead.

'Yes, but you may want to hold your nose. I asked my florist for their most pungent flowers.' They approached the bouquet, and immediately their eyes began to water.

'Merlin, what are those?' asked Minerva, covering her nose and mouth. 'I recognise the stargazer lilies and hawthorn blossoms, but what are the others.'

Wincing, Harry said, 'The large yellow ones are skunk cabbage, and these white ones are durian flowers. The rest are magical plants—the tall sprays are rotblossoms, the tiny pink ones are carrion daisies, and those are footberries.'

He was reluctant to touch the vase, for fear of coming into contact with any of the flowers, so he used his wand to levitate it as they walked to Myrtle's bathroom. When they arrived he knocked politely on the door.

Myrtle poked her head through it. 'You came! You're really here!' she exclaimed. 'I was certain it was all a cruel joke, but here you are.' She floated the rest of the way through the door and hovered in front of them. 'Flowers!' she cried rapturously. 'For me?'

'Yes,' replied Harry, nudging the horrible bouquet towards her. 'Do you like them?'

She buried her face deep into the flowers, going right through them. 'I can smell them! Oh, Harry … they're wonderful.'

'Shall we put them in the bathroom somewhere?' he asked, desperate to be rid of them.

'That would be perfect,' said Myrtle, beaming at him. But then she turned towards Minerva and glared. 'What are you doing here? Harry asked me out, not you.'

'Of course, I was just leaving,' replied Minerva, stifling a smirk. 'Don't get her home too late,' she said before walking towards the Great Hall.

Harry opened the door to the bathroom and floated the bouquet onto a flat surface near the window. 'May I leave them here?'

'Yes, Harry,' she said, her eyes gleaming. 'Leave them wherever you like. I'm so happy you came. I was certain it was all a joke and that you'd stand me up, and I was preparing to flood all the bathrooms. But here you are!'

'Er, shall we go to Hogsmeade?' he asked, extending his arm. He could still smell the flowers and wanted to get away from them.

She reached for his arm, and he tried not to grimace as her cold limb passed through him. 'Yes, please.' She noticed his broomstick and said, 'Did you fly all the way from London?'

'No, I Apparated, but I thought we could fly to Hogsmeade together. I don't know whether you're able to, though, so we can walk if you prefer.'

Myrtle's eyes grew round within her eyeglasses. 'I don't know either. Is that your racing broom?'

'It is,' he said, leading her towards the main staircase. 'It's the same one I use during Cannons matches.'

'They wanted to sponsor you, but you turned them down!' she exclaimed. 'None of the ghosts could believe it. You're all they talk about, you know.'

Oh for Merlin's sake! thought Harry. They must get bored when school isn't in session. 'Do they know about our date tonight?' he asked.

'Oh yes! I didn't want to tell them, because I was certain you'd disappoint me, but you talked about it on the wireless last night, and of course we were all listening.'

'What did they think of the broadcast?'

'They were scandalised, of course. The portraits as well.' She scowled and added, 'Some of them made fun of me—they said Harry Potter was surely taking the mickey and wouldn't actually come. They taunted me once you were off the air, and I fled to my toilet and blubbered for hours.'

'I'm so sorry, Myrtle. That was very cruel of them.' They arrived at the front doors, and although Harry opened one for her, she passed through before he'd even finished.

Wards! he thought, the moment he stepped outside. I'm doing this so she'll remove the wards, and people will know about the other schools.

Myrtle's face fell. 'You're only taking me to dinner so I'll remove those wards!'

Harry wasn't certain how to reply. It was true, of course, but he didn't want to hurt her feelings. 'Er, Myrtle ...' he began.

She started to cry. 'I knew Harry Potter would never want to go out with me. I'm just a dead, ugly, spotty outcast.'

'No, Myrtle, you're brilliant,' he said. 'Do you have any idea how special you are?' He didn't add, Because nobody else can remove the wards, and we're screwed without you.

She frowned, as if unsure whether to believe him.

Please, he implored silently, if I have any power the way Helena claimed, please let Myrtle believe she's special. He allowed the coiled energy to rise from his abdomen and fill his torso. I'm turning on all the charm, he thought. This had better work.

'Oh, Myrtle,' he said imploringly, his eyes fixed on hers. 'Yes, the original reason I asked you out is because of the wards. But I'm also terribly flattered you wanted to spend the evening with me, and it's my goal to show you a wonderful time. And we'll be photographed together for the Prophet, and everyone will know what a hero you are.'

She had stopped crying but was still looking at him sceptically. He suspected she was trying to decide whether he was sincere.

Mum, help me! he thought desperately. Dad, you too! You managed to win over Mum, after all.

He felt energy flow upwards into his face, along with a hint of magic, and in her eyeglasses he saw his eyes twinkling. Good lord, is this how Dumbledore did it? 'Myrtle, I could have gone out with anyone tonight. Now that I've defeated Voldemort, witches are throwing themselves at me right and left. But I chose you, Myrtle. I chose you.'

She raised her hand to her chest and sighed. 'Oh, Harry! I knew you weren't like the others. You never threw books at me or made fun of me, like everyone else.'

'No, I could never hurt you like that.'

'Of course you couldn't,' she said, gazing earnestly at him. 'Not after all you've endured.'

'You've endured worse,' he replied. 'You're so brave.'

'Not as brave as Harry Potter,' she said admiringly. 'You're a Gryffindor, after all.' His stomach began to growl, and she laughed. 'I forgot, you're still alive. You must be hungry—let's see if I'm able to ride on your broomstick.'

He stepped over his Silver Arrow and said, 'Would you prefer the front or the back?'

'I don't know,' she replied. 'I always hated flying. The school brooms were horrid, and I'm Muggle-born so I hadn't flown before, and the other students made fun of me.'

'Why don't you try sitting behind me, and I'll start slowly to make sure you don't fly off.'

'All right,' she said, floating onto the broom and grasping his shoulders.

Sweet Merlin! he thought, as her icy hands passed through him. He lifted off slowly. 'Are you still with me?' he asked.

'Yes,' replied Myrtle hesitantly. 'So far.'

They were flying at a glacial pace. This is slower than walking, he thought irritably. 'I'm going to fly a little faster now.'

He still felt her icy hands within his shoulders, so she apparently hadn't fallen off. 'Yes, I'm still here,' said Myrtle. 'This is wonderful! Can you fly faster?'

'Gladly!' He accelerated to a normal flying speed. 'Are you still there?'

'Yes!' she cried. 'Go faster! Do a feint!'

They were already approaching Hogsmeade, so he didn't have far to go. 'All right,' he said. 'Hang on.' He zoomed ahead and then angled sharply downwards before finally slowing down to land. 'Er, Myrtle? Where are you?'

It was a minute before she arrived. 'I fell off,' she grumbled. 'Did you do that on purpose?'

'No, of course not! You asked me to feint.'

She seemed uncertain whether to be angry or not, so he widened his eyes again and slightly tilted his head. 'Please, Myrtle, don't be cross.'

'All right,' she said coquettishly. 'Shall we go to Madam Puddifoot's?'

'Of course,' he said, extending his arm. A crowd of onlookers had formed, and they followed Harry and Myrtle as they walked to the tea shop.

'Oi, Potter! Is this your newest girlfriend?' cried a teenage wizard. 'She's a step down from the model, eh?'

Harry turned and said, 'I'll ask you not to insult my date. Miss Warren is a rare young witch.'

'Actually, I'm seventy-one,' whispered Myrtle as Harry led her past the chastened teenager.

'But weren't you fifteen when ...'

She scowled. 'When I died, you mean? I can't believe you brought that up on our date! You really have terrible manners.'

'I'm sorry, Myrtle. Please, I didn't mean to offend you. I just thought of you as being closer to my own age—I'm only nineteen, you know.'

'Oh, of course,' she said. 'It would be completely unsuitable for you to take out someone so much older than you.'

Not if I were a gigolo, like Owen suggested, he thought idly. They arrived at Madam Puddifoot's and he held the door open. 'Please, after you,' he said.

Myrtle floated into the tea shop, which was full except for one table in the centre, which had a small framed card on top that said 'Reserved' in loopy writing. Everyone was looking at them, and Harry suspected they'd mostly come to watch.

'Mr Potter, Miss Warren, welcome,' said a stout, black-haired witch he recognised as Madam Puddifoot. 'Before you sit down, there's a reporter and photographer whom I'm told you're expecting.'

'Yes,' replied Harry, and he saw Myrtle hastily smoothing her hair and straightening her eyeglasses.

'Miss Warren,' said the reporter, 'how is your date going so far?'

She looked at him cautiously. 'All right, I guess. Harry brought me flowers, which were lovely, and he's wearing awfully nice robes. But he hasn't tried to kiss me yet.'

'On the first date?' protested Harry. 'What do you take me for?'

'I know all about your first dates,' scowled Myrtle. 'No wonder you want to think of me as being only fifteen—it means I'm too young for you.'

'Is this trouble in paradise?' asked the smirking reporter, and the photographer snapped Harry and Myrtle's photograph.

'Myrtle, please, there's no need to make a scene. Don't you want Olive Hornby to read about our nice evening together?'

'Oh dear,' she said. 'You're right. Excuse me, reporter? Please revise my last statement and say Harry's been exceedingly romantic. He gave me flowers and told me how brave and special I am, and how witches throw themselves at him right and left but he only wanted to go out with me. And then he flew me here on his broomstick.'

Harry felt his face turn red, and the other patrons started chuckling. 'Er, shall we have our photograph taken properly? For Olive to see?'

'Yes, of course,' replied Myrtle, taking his arm again. 'Is that a floral waistcoat?'

'Yes, it is,' said Harry dully. So much for subtlety, he thought.

'Be sure to mention that in the article,' she told the reporter. 'And his boutonnière as well. But can you say it had red rosebuds instead of pink? That's the colour of passion, you know.'

'Of course, miss,' replied the reporter. 'I'm certain my editor won't mind if I change it. We can alter the photograph as well.'

Harry was flabbergasted. The colour of passion? What on earth is happening? he thought. 'They're pink rosebuds, symbolising gratitude. And myrtle leaves ... see!' He pointed them out, hoping that would resolve matters.

'I've never cared for myrtle plants,' sniffed Myrtle. 'But I'll forgive you because of the red rosebuds.'

She floated next to him as they posed for photographs, and he tried to let go of his annoyance. Expand into awareness, he thought, remembering what Owen would have advised.

'Very nice, Mr Potter,' said the photographer. 'You've got a lot better at being photographed in the last month. You hardly ever sneak out of the frame anymore.'

Don't give me any ideas, he thought irritably. But then he felt his compassion stir. The poor girl was murdered by Voldemort. She's stuck forever as a spotty teenager in a loo. The least I can do is take a decent photograph with her.

He smiled warmly and attempted to put his arm around her, ignoring the icy sensation. 'I'm very grateful to Myrtle for coming out with me tonight. She's a rare individual, and wizarding Britain is lucky to have her.'

The photographer snapped another picture and said, 'That should do it. Thanks, and enjoy your evening.'

When the reporter and photographer had gone, Madam Puddifoot reappeared and said, 'Please, have a seat.'

Harry moved to pull Myrtle's chair from the table, but she passed through it and floated as if she were seated. 'I can't believe I'm at Madam Puddifoot's,' she said rapturously, looking around the excessively frilly tea shop.

'Neither can I,' he said, sitting opposite her.

'Did you never come here as a student?'

'Only once, and it went poorly.'

'Was that with Ginny Weasley?' she asked, her eyes narrowing.

'No, it was with Cho Chang.'

'I remember her,' grumbled Myrtle. 'She was in Ravenclaw. I once saw her in the Prefects' bathroom with Cedric Diggory.'

Well done, Cedric! thought Harry, before he realised just how inappropriate that was. 'I hope you don't still spy on people,' he admonished.

'You mean you hope I never spied on you and Ginny Weasley.'

'Er, did you?' he asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

She smiled lasciviously at him. 'Why do you think I wanted to go on a date with you.'

Bloody hell! thought Harry. There has to be another way to get rid of those wards.

'I'm only joking,' said Myrtle. 'I never watched you with Ginny Weasley. I would have done, but last year someone warded the Prefects' bathroom to keep me out.'

Thank you, Hermione! thought Harry. It could only have been her.

He showed Myrtle the menu. 'Would you care to order anything? I need to bring my food from home, because I have a Quidditch match tomorrow and I'm not allowed to eat outside food. But perhaps there's something you'd like?'

Myrtle looked at the menu and frowned. 'None of this will taste like anything to me. But some of the cakes have fancy decorations, and then perhaps I could take one back to my loo and let it decay.'

'That sounds lovely,' said Harry in spite of himself. 'You're welcome to order more than one if you'd like.'

Her eyes lit up from behind her glasses. 'Of course I can!' she exclaimed. 'You're rich! I should order all the cakes!'

'Er, you should really save some for the other patrons,' he said, looking around sheepishly. Everyone was still watching them.

'Do you want me to remove those wards or not?' she asked testily.

Harry realised he needed to be firm. 'Myrtle, this won't be a very pleasant evening if you keep threatening me. Can we agree that you'll remove the wards and I'll do my best to show you a good time?' He quickly added, 'A good time appropriate to our ages?'

Myrtle scrunched her mouth and glared at him but then nodded. 'All right. I agree. I'll remove the wards even if you don't buy me all the cakes.'

'Thank you. Would you like your order served at the table, or should we have my house-elf bring it back to Hogwarts for you?'

'You can have your house-elf do it,' she said. 'That way we can fly back together on your broomstick.'

'Do you mind if he delivers my dinner now? I'm rather hungry.'

She nodded. 'That's fine.'

Kreacher! he called silently. Would you please bring my dinner now? But please Apparate outside, to avoid startling anyone.

Yes, Master! replied Kreacher. Right away!

Harry heard the loud crack outside, and there was a tinkle of bells as the door swung open. Kreacher used magic to keep the door from closing as he pushed in an enormous tea trolley laden with dishes and a large vase of flowers.

'What's all this?' said Madam Puddifoot as Kreacher entered. She looked disapprovingly at everything he'd prepared, which included starters, a full rack of lamb, multiple side dishes, and several elaborate desserts.

'I'm sorry,' said Harry, 'my house-elf seems to have gone overboard. He was only supposed to bring food for me, because Cannons regulations forbid me from eating outside food before a match.'

'As if I would have poisoned you,' muttered Madam Puddifoot. 'Of all the insults!'

'We'd like to order some cakes, though,' he said hastily. 'Myrtle wanted to bring something back to Hogwarts with her, for later.' Slightly mollified, Madam Puddifoot took Myrtle's order while Kreacher began serving Harry.

He was embarrassed to eat such an elaborate meal while the other patrons were sipping tea and nibbling on dainties. Several of the wizards looked longingly at all of Harry's extra food. I'd gladly offer them some, if I weren't afraid of getting kicked out.

After glancing around the shop to see if Madam Puddifoot was visible, Harry motioned to one of the other wizards. 'I can't possibly eat all this,' he whispered. 'Would you like some?'

'I'd love some,' said the wizard, 'but I don't think outside food is permitted, except in your case.'

'I'm good at Transfiguration,' whispered another wizard. 'I could make it look like the pastries we already ordered.' Harry nodded, and the wizard pulled out his wand and got to work.

His companion looked up from her plate and said, 'I'd much rather have lamb and veg than these macarons.'

Another witch used her wand to Vanish the contents of her teacup. 'Could I have some soup?' she asked. 'This tea is way too sugary.'

'Cheers,' said the first wizard, helping himself to some mashed potato disguised as blancmange. 'We arrived early to get a front row seat, and I didn't realise they only sold sweets.'

Myrtle couldn't take it any longer. She floated up from her seat to address the crowd, who were all clamouring for food while someone kept watch for Madam Puddifoot. 'Leave us alone!' she cried indignantly. 'This is my date, and you're interrupting us!'

'You're right,' said Harry apologetically. 'I'm sorry, Myrtle, I just hated to waste all this food.' He turned to the other patrons and said, 'Please just help yourselves and let us alone. And don't take all the lamb—Myrtle will enjoy it in a few weeks.'

Still glowering, she floated back into her chair. 'You're not treating me very well. I'm certain you treated that model better. Or that witch who hid from the camera.'

'You have all my attention now,' he said. 'Is there anything you'd like to talk about?'

Myrtle's expression softened, and she said, 'I want to know what happened during the broadcast last night, when it went quiet for a moment. You were talking about me and said you had a lovely evening planned, but then it went silent, and the host said you hadn't said anything inappropriate. What happened?'

Oh bugger, thought Harry. That was when George asked whether I'd need a condom. After a pause, he said, 'George Weasley cast aspersions on your virtue. I activated the broadcast delay out of respect for you.'

To Harry's alarm, Myrtle looked fascinated. 'Really? What did he say?'

Ugh, do I really have to answer this? he thought. 'It's not worth repeating,' he said quietly.

She replied at full volume. 'You like fast witches, don't you? Everyone says so. Ginny Weasley was fast, after all—she had more boyfriends than you had girlfriends.'

'Ginny wasn't fast!' he said, louder than he'd intended. Was she? he wondered inwardly. She did teach me quite a bit.

Myrtle shrugged. 'Believe what you like. But I've another question: How old were you the first time you kissed a girl? I bet I know, but I want to hear your answer.'

'I was fifteen,' he admitted quietly.

'Fifteen?' she blurted. 'Really? All those girls fancied you and you didn't kiss anyone until you were fifteen?'

'I was distracted!' Lowering his voice again, he said, 'How old did you think I was.'

'Thirteen at the latest,' she said. 'For Merlin's sake, you were at a boarding school!'

'Hogwarts was surrounded by Dementors when I was thirteen! They didn't exactly create a romantic atmosphere.'

'That didn't stop your classmates,' said Myrtle. 'Draco Malfoy was up to all sorts of hanky-panky when he was thirteen.'

'Malfoy didn't hear Voldemort murdering his parents every time he passed a Dementor!' snapped Harry. 'Why are you hassling me?'

'Because it's fun to make you angry,' admitted Myrtle. 'Your nostrils are flaring and your forehead is all wrinkled. You'll probably have those same wrinkles when you're older. That's what happened to Olive Hornby, you know.'

'Why are you so obsessed with Olive Hornby?' he asked irritably.

'Because she made fun of me!'

'Yeah, but Tom Riddle killed you! Why didn't you haunt him?'

'I didn't know he killed me. I just saw big yellow eyes. And when I came back I knew I needed to haunt Olive, and so I did!'

Harry sighed. Of course Myrtle had needed to haunt Olive—she'd died with a strongly held belief, and it stayed with her. 'Do you still need to haunt her? She's dead now, isn't she?'

'I wish I could haunt her forever and ever, for what she did to me!'

'Can't you stop?' he asked.

Myrtle started to cry. 'I don't want to stop. She made my life miserable at Hogwarts.'

'She's still making you miserable. I wish you could let her go.'

'That's easy for you to say! What would you know about it?' grumbled Myrtle.

'I know everything about it!' he said sharply. 'Didn't you read the Prophet on Sunday?' Everyone in the tea shop was silent and Harry knew they were listening, but he didn't care.

'I read it,' she said quietly.

Harry looked her in the eye. 'I got called names too.' Remembering tearful nights in his cupboard when he was little, he said, 'I cried too.'

'But you're Harry Potter,' she said, beginning to sob. 'None of those names were true.'

'They called me a freak, and they were right. I was a bloody Parselmouth, for Merlin's sake!'

'No, that makes you special,' said Myrtle. 'You're not a freak.'

He shook his head. 'If you knew even half of what I experienced and saw ... you'd call me a freak too.' His hand drifted automatically towards his scar.

'But you're a hero,' she said miserably. 'I'm just a spotty, speccy ghost.'

'No you're not, Myrtle—you're a hero too. You're the only person who can remove those wards and interrupt that pipe.' He looked at her imploringly and said, 'Do you know how many deaths you're going to prevent? A far sight more than I did.'

She sulked for a long while before floating from her seat. 'Where's the loo?' she asked, looking around. 'I need to be alone.'

He rose and said, 'You'll come back, right? You're not trying to end our date early?'

'No, I'll be back. I just need to be alone for a few minutes.'

Harry ate while Myrtle was in the loo. He could see the other patrons studying him, but he kept his eyes fixed firmly on his plate. Poor Myrtle, he thought. Teased by her classmates and then murdered by Voldemort. If I'd been murdered right after Dudley had pounded me, I might have turned out just like her.

She eventually returned to her chair, and Harry could see she'd had a long cry. After a silence she asked, 'Why don't you want to hurt your relations? I heard you on the wireless—you begged everyone to leave them alone.'

'I just want to forget about them,' he said. 'They're in the past and I never want to think about them again. But that's not possible when I have to worry about wizards attacking them.'

'So just kill them,' said Myrtle. 'Or let someone else do it for you.'

He looked squarely at her. 'Did you feel better when Olive Hornby died?'

She averted her eyes. 'No.'

They were both quiet as Harry ate a slice of the treacle tart Kreacher had prepared. Madam Puddifoot brought out two boxes containing the cakes Myrtle had ordered, and she looked suspiciously at Kreacher's tea trolley. 'You certainly eat a lot, Mr Potter,' she said. 'You'll have to come back and try something from our menu, when you don't have a match the next day.'

'Yes, definitely,' he said without thinking. Ugh, now I need to come back.

Sensing that Myrtle was ready to leave, he paid for the two cakes and silently instructed Kreacher to transport them and the leftover lamb back to Hogwarts. Leaving a generous tip—mostly to apologise—he rose and invited Myrtle to follow him outside.

'How would you like to return to Hogwarts?' he asked. 'You can float beside me as I walk, or we can fly back on my broomstick together.'

'I'd like to ride on your broomstick,' she said. 'But not as fast as last time.'

He mounted his broom and allowed her to hold him from behind. Her arms and body were unpleasantly cold, but he tried not to stiffen as he had before.

'You feel warm,' said Myrtle. 'I'd forgotten what that feels like.'

Harry flew slowly, hardly faster than a walking pace. He could hear Myrtle crying again but he didn't say anything.

'Nobody ever kissed me,' she said. 'I was fifteen when I died and I never kissed anyone. I was ugly and the boys all made fun of me.'

Her icy arms sank into his torso, and he allowed the energy from his core to surround her.

'Tom Riddle was handsome,' she continued. 'The girls all fancied him, but he never noticed. He spent all his time in the library or with his Slytherin mates.'

His future followers, thought Harry. The first Death Eaters.

'You're not as good-looking as he was,' she said. 'Your face is thinner, and you don't have nice floppy hair like he had. But you're so much kinder looking ... I could look at you all day. No wonder the witches all throw themselves at you.'

They arrived at the castle but he didn't land. He flew over the grounds and through the various towers, most of which were dark. There was no moon, but the stars were visible and his eyes had grown accustomed to the dim light. 'Can you see?' he asked.

'Yes. Ghosts can see in the dark, much better than living people can.'

He kept flying around Hogwarts. 'I'm so sorry, Myrtle. I'm so sorry you died when you were fifteen, on a crap day during a crap year. You deserved a much better life than that.'

She started crying harder and didn't reply.

'I nearly died more times than I can recall,' he continued. 'It's a bloody miracle I'm still alive. I hardly understand why I survived all those times.' He wasn't referring to his two Killing Curses—he was thinking of all the other times, when he'd only survived by dumb luck or Hermione's quick thinking.

'I wished you'd died in the Chamber of Secrets,' admitted Myrtle. 'I wished we could have haunted the lavatory together. It's awfully lonely, you know.'

He didn't reply but allowed more warmth and energy to flow into her.

'You wouldn't believe how lonely it is,' she repeated.

'Can't you leave?'

He felt her shake her head. 'The rest of the castle is even worse,' she said. 'The other ghosts are horrid, and the portraits too.'

'I don't mean the rest of castle. I mean leave off being a ghost. Why can't you move on like most people who die?'

He half expected her to get angry, but she didn't. 'I needed to haunt Olive Hornby. She was awful to me.'

'Yes, but now she's gone. Can't you move on too?' She stiffened, and he hastened to add, 'I'm not trying to get rid of you, Myrtle. You just seem so unhappy, unlike the other dead people I've talked to.'

'Ghosts?' she asked.

'No, I talked to Dumbledore after my second Killing Curse. And I saw my parents through the Resurrection Stone, and also Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.' He paused and said, 'They seemed more ... whole. I wish you could experience that too.'

'I feel whole now,' she said, sniffling. 'Why can't I feel like this always?'

'I think you could,' he said without understanding how he knew. 'You need to find the rest of yourself.'

'But I want to be with you.'

He shook his head. 'That's not how it works. It's like the Resurrection Stone, only in reverse. The dead and the living aren't meant to be together. I'd have loved to keep my parents around—and Sirius, and Remus, and any number of others—but it would have hurt them and probably driven me mad. You need to finish things here and move on.'

'The wards?' she asked quietly.

'I think so. I reckon that's why you're still a ghost.'

'That's probably why you're still alive,' she said. 'Not because of the wards, but for some other reason.'

He shrugged. 'I survived so I could defeat Voldemort. Everything else is just a nice bonus.'

'Maybe. Or maybe not. I'm certainly no expert.'

'You're the Ravenclaw. I'm just the Gryffindor.'

'You're less stupid than most Gryffindors,' said Myrtle, and he laughed.

'I should bring you inside,' he said, flying to the front entrance. He landed, and she drifted off the broom but still hovered close to him.

'Yes, I should get started on the wards. I've found heaps of them already.'

'How does that work, if you can't even remember them when you're inside the castle?'

'I remembered them,' she confessed. 'Not well, but enough to find them and get rid of them.'

'Then why did you get upset the moment we walked outside the castle, before dinner?'

'I'd forgotten about them until we were outside,' she said. 'It's easy to forget unless I'm trying not to.'

He looked up at the castle door. 'Would you like me to walk you to your bathroom?'

'No, it's nice out here. We can say goodbye out here.'

He nodded but didn't speak. This was her date, and she was allowed to decide when he left.

After a silence, she finally asked, 'Would you kiss me? I know I'm a ghost, and ugly and spotty and all the rest, but could you pretend for a moment I'm one of your beautiful witches?'

Nodding, Harry closed his eyes and expanded fully into awareness, allowing all his inner energy to flow into the icy girl standing before him. He wrapped his arms around her, feeling her thin shoulders and back, and gently pressed his lips to hers. He felt her tears on his cheeks and held her for a long moment before finally withdrawing his energy back into his own body.

'Thank you for coming to dinner with me, Myrtle. I had a lovely evening.'

She was crying too hard to reply. Instead she just looked at him through her large glasses, which were nearly opaque from the starlight.

'I'll miss you when you're gone,' he said. 'But I'll always remember you.'

'And I'll remember you too, Harry,' she said between sobs. 'Always.'

She floated through the castle door, leaving him alone on the stone terrace. He still felt the broad expansiveness he'd come to associate with flying, and he mounted his broomstick and lifted off. If he'd been sensible he'd have landed just beyond the Hogwarts gates and Apparated straight home, but instead he flew over the castle grounds a while longer.

I almost died there, he thought, flying over the edge of the lake where they'd been swarmed by more than a hundred Dementors. And there as well, he thought, over the dark recess within the forest where Aragog's children had nearly devoured him and Ron.

He saw where he'd evaded the Hungarian Horntail, and the spot on the Quidditch pitch where he'd returned with Cedric Diggory's body. I could have died so many times, just like Myrtle.

And finally the clearing within the forest where Voldemort's curse had struck him. That's where I first knew peace, he thought, remembering the deep acceptance and love he'd felt upon his return from King's Cross.

His mind was silent after that, and eventually he landed on the path to Hogsmeade and Apparated home. The silence held him as he climbed the stairs to his bedroom and removed his dove-grey robes and his floral waistcoat. He felt only stillness as he prepared for bed, and he slept undisturbed until morning.