When Harry returned to London on the nine o'clock portkey, the first thing he heard was 'Welcome to London. Local time is eight o'clock.'
Back to reality, he thought, as he adjusted his pocket watch. No more illogical islands. No more travel by Magi. No more masculine and feminine, just boring old English.
But he wasn't depressed. He'd had another brilliant day in Paris—that morning they bought ingredients from a local market and he cooked an enormous English breakfast, which Sophie hardly made a dent in.
'How can you eat so much in the morning?' she asked. 'Don't you need to sleep afterwards?'
'No, this is exactly right. It's the French who've got breakfast wrong. I'll admit you got all the other meals right, but the English have this one.'
He wore his striped Breton shirt, but the weather was too warm for him to wear the long scarf she'd insisted he buy as well. 'You will wear them together in England and remember me.'
'Oui, ma chère Française. Ma jolie demoiselle.'
'You are learning well! This is the real way to learn a language.'
'Is that how you learnt English, from an Englishman?'
'No, from an American. And also in school.'
'I didn't learn anything in school,' he said. 'I mean, I learnt enough Charms to get by, and Transfiguration, and I'm your man if you ever want to know about British goblin rebellions, but otherwise I'm shockingly ignorant.'
'Et alors? You can keep learning.'
'What, and sit my N.E.W.T.s? Not bloody likely.'
'I don't know what that is. Is that an exam?'
'Yes, and I never took them because I was off fighting Voldemort and I couldn't be arsed to take them afterwards.'
'You don't need to take exams to learn,' she said. 'You just pick something and study.'
'What would I study?'
'That is for you to decide. What do you want to know?'
'Everything,' he sighed. 'I want to know about art and which paintings caused a scandal, and how many years it took to build St Paul's Cathedral even though it looks like Gringotts and probably won't make me glow. I want to know literary references, because I sound like an idiot when I talk to Muggles. And I want to know wizarding culture, because I've never heard of things like marriage bonds or the Sacred Twenty-Eight or all the other rubbish that everyone else seems to know.'
'So find a tutor. I am sure someone will want to teach Harry Potter how not to be an idiot.' She pronounced the last word in French, which made him smile.
'Perhaps I will.'
They went sightseeing that morning with Laetitia and Eric, and everyone had a good laugh remembering how Eric and Harry had kissed in the nightclub. 'Potter, you're a good kisser,' said Eric. 'I'm relieved Laetitia sees you as a baby brother—I needn't worry you'll lure her with your irresistible glow.'
They visited an enormous park on the outskirts of the city that was fashioned from an old quarry and then ate lunch along the Canal Saint-Martin. Eric and Laetitia had to catch their train, but Harry and Sophie enjoyed a leisurely afternoon that culminated with dinner and a stroll in Montmartre.
She accompanied him to the portkey station, and they attracted attention by kissing goodbye in public. Harry might have heard the snap of a camera, but he didn't care. He hoped the photo would turn up in the Prophet so he'd have a copy of it. I need a camera, he thought idly.
After arriving in London, he Apparated directly to Grimmauld Place, where Kreacher tearfully welcomed him. 'Master has returned! Kreacher's punishment is finished. Would Master like to see the wallpaper Kreacher repaired?'
'I'd love to,' said Harry indulgently, walking towards the entrance hall. Padfoot was wearing a jaunty striped shirt and a foulard around his neck, and he wagged his tail in pleasure at Harry's return.
Kreacher was looking expectantly at him, so Harry examined the wallpaper. I'm not certain he did anything, he thought. It's still peeling. 'It looks great! I'm curious, could you show me exactly what you did?'
The ancient house-elf beamed and said, 'Kreacher fixed the wallpaper so it won't peel off any more. It will stay exactly like this until Master decides he wants something different. Then Master just needs to say, 'Attach wallpaper,' and it will stick to the wall just like when Mistress was a bride.' He looked up at Harry and nodded encouragingly.
'Attach wallpaper,' ordered Harry, and within seconds all the curled edges were properly adhered, and the faded spots darkened as well. His eyebrows shot up in surprise—this was impressive magic. He followed a hunch and said, 'Detach wallpaper,' and it returned to its previous state.
'Kreacher, that's brilliant! Well done!'
'There is more,' said Kreacher, puffing out his chest. 'If Master says, 'Change wallpaper,' different styles will appear. Kreacher hopes Master likes the styles Kreacher selected.'
Harry was nervous—the house-elf had questionable taste, particularly in his appreciation for the severed, mounted heads of his ancestors. 'Change wallpaper,' he said uncertainly.
The dark, formal wallpaper was replaced by a blue and gold print, patterned with Snitches flapping their wings in place. 'This is lovely,' he said weakly. I would look like a right tosser inviting people into my Snitch-themed entrance hall, he thought.
Kreacher kept nodding, and Harry repeated, 'Change wallpaper.' This time the pattern was replaced with a much larger depiction of a green dragon, coiling around the room against a smoky grey background. The paper was still peeling, and Harry said, 'Attach wallpaper,' which caused it to adhere perfectly.
'This is magnificent! Kreacher, you've done a fantastic job.'
'There are more,' said the house-elf proudly, and Harry cycled through them. In total there were six new variants, including a pale botanical print, a rose-coloured background patterned with shimmering seven-pointed stars, and a truly gorgeous pattern of metallic peacock feathers against midnight blue.
'Kreacher, you've absolutely outdone yourself,' said Harry. 'These are outstanding—I'm hard-pressed to choose a favourite.' But an unpleasant thought crossed his mind. 'Where did you get the wallpaper?'
'Kreacher went to the home furnishings shop on Diagon Alley,' he said cheerfully. 'Kreacher told the clerk it was for Master.'
At least he didn't steal it, thought Harry. 'Did you pay for it? If so, how much did it cost?' he asked, not certain he wanted to know the answer.
'They said Master could have it for free in exchange for appearing in their advertisements. Kreacher is very thrifty.'
'You agreed to an endorsement on my behalf?'
'Yes, Master. Just like with the flowers.'
I'll deal with this in the morning, thought Harry wearily. 'Thank you, Kreacher. The walls look lovely.'
Kreacher delivered Harry's suitcase to the bedroom, and Harry went to the library. He remembered seeing a book on Thursday that he hoped might explain his strange new habit of spontaneously glowing. It took him a while to find it, but he finally spotted the slim volume: Defence Against the Light Arts.
The book was published in the early twentieth century, which made it relatively new by the standards of the Black family library. But the layer of dust on top suggested it hadn't been opened in nearly as long, and Harry made a mental note to ask Kreacher to clean the shelves more thoroughly.
He started reading the introduction:
In our modern era, there is no need for further texts on the Dark Arts, which are well understood in all their richness and depth. Proponents of Dark magic rightly praise it as a noble and powerful practice that all wizards should master. To potter along the edges of Dark magic without delving into its mysteries is to waste our glorious heritage as magical beings. And yet this is the path taken by many self-righteous wizards, who decry Dark magic but still nibble at its fruits. They sanctimoniously avoid the Dark Arts but nonetheless practice deadly curses, albeit less powerful ones. And where is the virtue in attempting to eliminate an enemy with a messy Blasting Curse, rather than cleanly dispatching them with a Killing Curse?
Practitioners of the Dark Arts are well-equipped to defeat such feeble wizards, but there exists a more serious threat: the Light wizard. Like their Dark counterparts, Light wizards draw upon primal human emotions, but instead of transmuting anger, hatred, and envy, they imbibe the infinitely more elusive emotions of love, compassion, and selflessness. The difficulty of this task means true Light wizards are rare, but they are of unequalled danger to even the most powerful wielder of Dark magic.
It has been theorised that even Unforgivable Curses could be thrown back upon their caster, given a confluence of remarkable circumstances. If the intended victim were truly innocent, and another person knowingly and unreservedly gave their life to protect them, the Dark wizard who foolishly persisted might instead receive the full strength of his own curse. Furthermore, the magical residue from such an act might endure, depending on its initial strength. This would have the dual effect of protecting the beneficiary and priming them for future Light magic, thus perpetuating the Light threat even after innocence was lost.
Harry had to stop reading—he was stunned by what he'd learnt in only three paragraphs. Thank goodness Voldemort never saw this book! he thought. It answered longstanding questions, such as why more people hadn't survived the Killing Curse as he had done. James Potter, for example, gave his life to protect his wife and son, but strictly speaking it wasn't a sacrifice, since Voldemort never gave him the choice. Lily, however, turned down Voldemort's offer to save her, which met the requirement of "knowingly and unreservedly" sacrificing her life. This, combined with Harry's own innocence as a baby, turned Voldemort's Killing Curse upon its caster, just as the author described.
The text continued:
The Light Arts are therefore far more dangerous than most Dark wizards realise. Because many of those who spurn the Dark Arts inaccurately describe themselves as Light, Dark practitioners tend to dismiss the threat of the true Light wizard. When Light magic is wielded at full strength, not even the Darkest curses can touch it. Furthermore, unlike Dark magic, the strength of Light magic is not ultimately correlated with the caster's magical strength. This dissimilarity between Light and Dark magic is not clearly understood. Both practices draw upon the strength of the underlying emotion, but a Light wizard of middling strength will have the advantage over even the most prodigiously endowed Dark wizard. Proponents of Light magic attribute this to the alleged superiority of positive emotions over negative ones, but no proof exists to validate this claim.
Harry paused his reading again. This explains why my mediocre magical strength wasn't an obstacle. He wondered nonetheless what would happen if someone like Hermione practiced the Light Arts, or whether Dumbledore had fully explored them.
The next paragraph said:
How then does the Dark Arts practitioner defend himself against a Light wizard? The aim of this book is to promulgate a strategy which relies on three-pronged approach. First, undermine the Light wizard's positive emotions. Second, isolate and estrange him from those he would seek to protect. Finally, identify and exploit the Light wizard's emotional vulnerabilities, particularly through the use of Mind Arts. This assault on multiple fronts will weaken the Light opponent and divide him from his otherwise superior arsenal. Provoke your opponent's anger, and he'll lose access to his more powerful weapon of love.
Harry had to agree with the author's assessment. Whether deliberately or by accident, Voldemort had executed this strategy perfectly during Harry's fifth year at Hogwarts, when he'd been a bundle of anger towards his friends and wizarding society in general. This explained how Dolores Umbridge had been nearly as dangerous as Voldemort himself.
The author continued:
If the Light Arts are more effective than the Dark Arts, and less dependent on innate magical strength, the reader might ask why they are not taught and practised more widely? Some Light practices are, in fact, quite common. The Patronus Charm is the hallmark of the so-called Light wizard, even though he may be ignorant of the true breadth of the Light Arts. In cases of a corporeal Patronus Charm, it is agreed that the strength of the simulacrum depends more on the strength of the underlying emotion than upon the magical strength of the caster. A wizard of average strength might produce a stunningly powerful Patronus, while a more powerful wizard might not even achieve the corporeal version of the charm.
Returning however to the question of why the Light Arts are not more widely taught, we encounter the three aforementioned prongs. The Light Arts are exceedingly difficult to cultivate in a mind distracted by anger or by someone who is already isolated and feeling demoralised. Magical education is generally transmitted during adolescence, when the apprentice's emotions are least stable. Furthermore, learning any subtle skill necessarily engenders frustration, which means the struggling student will be increasingly less likely to succeed. This is why the Dark Arts are much more easily taught, since negative emotions are readily accessed during adolescence, and later as well.
Harry couldn't help noticing the author's use of the word 'prongs,' and also the verb 'potter,' which was used in the first paragraph. He also wondered whether the book's author had lived long enough to see his theory proven about how one might survive a Killing Curse, and he looked for his name on the book's title page: Jacobus Filch.
Filch? thought Harry. Could he be related to Argus Filch, the incurably grumpy Hogwarts caretaker? Harry suspected a Dark Arts proponent like Jacobus Filch would have been less than thrilled to have a Squib in the family, but at least he hadn't weeded him out by using the potion for determining an infant's magical strength.
He thumbed through the book and saw that it mainly outlined techniques for rattling one's opponent. I wonder if Andrew Gilstrap has read this, he thought, but he didn't think it was likely. Harry wasn't interested in learning how to play with people's emotions and well-being, so he skipped those instructions, but he was curious about the section called 'Hallmarks of the Light wizard.'
Our task in identifying the Light wizard would be easier if he could be persuaded to wear white robes and have a phoenix familiar, but often the Light wizard is not identifiable even to himself. Because Light magic is seldom taught, it more typically manifests spontaneously, long past the age where a young witch or wizard would normally be prone to such outbursts. Accidental Light magic may take the form of unexplained impregnable Shield Charms, as well as other wordless or wandless protective measures that effectively whisk the threatened party from danger. Wands may behave strangely in the presence of Light magic, even when wielded by their own powerful master.
The classic expression of accidental Light magic is uncontrollable glowing on the part of the practitioner, starting in their hands but sometimes spreading over the entire body. This presents both an opportunity and a hazard for their Dark opponent. The Light wizard in the throes of the experience may be distracted by ecstatic sensations, allowing the Dark wizard to escape or attack. But attacking the glowing wizard is a risky proposition, as the Light magic may provoke unexpected wand behaviour or rebounding curses.
Some have advised taking advantage of a glowing Light wizard's distracted state by attacking one or more of his companions. If the companion is your primary target, then by all means seize this opportunity. The risk of immediate protective magic is low when the wizard is so thoroughly enthralled. However, we advise you to Disapparate immediately afterwards, as the ensuing emotional reaction may prove devastating: strong grief in the breast of the wizard previously overcome with love can unleash a storm of annihilating power. There are few accounts of such incidents, as the initial perpetrators are invariably killed or incapacitated. But eyewitnesses uniformly describe one or more dazzling bolts of light emanating from the heart of the Light witch or wizard. The light strikes only the participating Dark practitioners and spares all onlookers, and the Light witch or wizard may be unaware or even entirely insensible.
In one such incident, the glowing Light witch began to float unaided before the deadly beams burst forth. If you observe something similar, it may be your only opportunity for escape, which we urge in lieu of attempts to shield against the annihilating beams. In the one case involving survivors, the Dark practitioners not killed by the deadly beams were afflicted with incapacitating feelings of remorse which almost entirely extinguished their magical power. Both individuals retained the ability to use a wand and perform simple charms, but they never regained their prior level of mastery. They were said to lead lives of quiet contentment afterwards, but they were no longer useful in battle or any other challenging circumstances.
It should be mentioned that the maturing Light wizard may experience highly libidinous states and behave accordingly. This presents an excellent opportunity to trap and disable him, as he will likely be at a remove from his wand. (We note that the same phenomenon applies equally to maturing Light witches, but we observe the usage of masculine pronouns for ease of communication.) Those considering attacking a Light wizard in an intimate setting should be warned that the glowing state is occasionally transmissible and may result in a reduced future ability to practice the Dark Arts. When apprehending a Light wizard, it is recommended to employ more than one Dark practitioner: One in the participating role, and the others Disillusioned or otherwise concealed.
The most fearsome Light wizard, however, is the one who no longer manifests accidental Light magic. He retains the ability to glow, which is by all accounts extremely pleasurable, and he will continue to enjoy the carnal aspects should he so choose, but he will no longer be subject to involuntary manifestations of the phenomenon. More dangerously, he will learn to harness the glowing state and its attendant powers, enabling him to conceal the outer manifestation and retain higher mental functions whilst experiencing all the benefits of the state. Such a wizard will be capable of extraordinary protective magic, including snapping the wands of all attackers and other disabling methods. If you witness such an occurrence in battle, it is highly recommended to escape and devise new plans.
Harry's emotions bordered on triumph. So I'm not just a sex-crazed accro, he thought with satisfaction. I'm manifesting accidental Light magic! He had to admit that Jacobus Filch was spot on about how pleasurable it was—just reading about the state was making Harry's hands glow, and he felt a contentment that both encompassed and surpassed ordinary arousal.
Unfortunately the book didn't provide instructions on how to advance from accidental Light magic to the controlled version, and Harry doubted he'd find a guidebook at Flourish and Blotts. He chuckled at the idea of a self-help manual on the topic by Doctor Niffler—You're Not a Pervert, You're a Developing Light Wizard! Or maybe Fantastic Glowgasms and How to Hide Them.
No, he needed to find a teacher. But how? He couldn't just ring Minerva and say, 'Excuse me, I have a perpetual hard-on and I've recently started glowing. Do you know anyone who can teach me the Light Arts, which apparently nobody teaches?' It occurred to him that Owen might be a resource, but he'd never specifically mentioned the Light Arts. Alternatively he might ask Dumbledore's portrait, but he had a feeling the former headmaster had relied more on his prodigious magical strength than on arcane Light practices.
Alistair, he thought suddenly. Alistair would know. Harry could go to Penumbra on Monday night and ask the Light vampire for advice. And there were additional benefits to visiting the decadent bar; normally Harry would feel sheepish about pulling on a weeknight, but the discovery that he was experiencing accidental Light magic removed his hesitation. It's a medical condition, he told himself. It would be wrong not to treat it.
He recalled, however, what the book said about traps. Lydia Travers, he thought warily. Surely the Blacks weren't the only family to own the book, and the introduction alone was enough to identify Harry as a potential Light wizard. His now-famous loose morals were another clear indicator, although they could equally be attributed to his age and situation. Either way, the Travers family may well have devised plans to lure him into bed with Lydia and then attack.
Harry knew that if he were clever he'd forget about her, but the temptation was too strong. I could bring her to Grimmauld Place, he thought. I could demand she take Veritaserum first. He still had the bottle of Firewhisky that Rita Skeeter had given him, but he could never administer a truth potion against someone's will. If Lydia is as motivated as she appeared to be, she'll gladly submit to a brief interrogation.
Throwing caution to the wind, he wrote her a short message proposing they meet in public on Thursday evening. He suggested a restaurant he knew was near an apothecary, allowing him to procure Veritaserum if she consented. If she proved innocent—or at least innocent of harmful intent towards him—then they could proceed with their evening. And even if it turns out to be a trap, he thought, I can knock her out with my glowing death ray.
'Kreacher!' he called aloud.
Crack! 'Yes, Master.'
'Would you please deliver this letter to Miss Lydia Travers?' asked Harry, handing him the envelope he'd just sealed. 'But only if she's alone. And then wait for her reply, if she's willing, and bring it back to me.'
'Yes, Master,' replied Kreacher. Crack!
Harry went to his bedroom to unpack his suitcase and prepare for bed. He'd just finished brushing his teeth when Kreacher returned with his usual loud crack.
'Kreacher has a letter for Master from Miss Lydia Travers,' said the elf, handing Harry an envelope.
'Thank you, Kreacher. Good night.' Crack!
Harry climbed into bed—Oh, this is heaven! Much better than Sophie's mattress! Once settled, he opened the envelope, which included not only a letter but also a newly-opened gardenia blossom.
Dear Harry,
I would be delighted to join you for dinner on Thursday, and I agree wholeheartedly with your proposal to meet in public. As a token of my anticipation please accept this gardenia, which I was wearing in my hair.
Yours,
Lydia
Harry still remembered his Auror training well enough to check the flower for curses, and when it proved safe he inhaled deeply from it. Sweet Merlin, he thought blissfully, knowing he had begun to glow again. Thursday can't come soon enough.
The next morning he brought a large box of French pastries to the Cannons practice facility. Sophie had taught him a Stasis Charm specifically for baked goods, so he'd bought a wide variety of items from her favourite boulangerie to bring home to his teammates and the Cannons staff.
Lara selected an almond croissant and immediately declared it the best thing she'd ever eaten. 'Harry, you are hereby forgiven for all past and future wrongs. You can turn into the most arrogant prat in Britain, but I'll defend you to the skies.'
'That was my goal,' he said. 'But I'll wait until tomorrow before turning into a complete monster.'
'Thanks for the warning. Is there anything I can do for you before then?'
'Yes, I'd like to meet with Darius when he's available.'
Lara's expression turned serious. 'Is everything all right? You're not moving to Paris, are you?'
'Merlin no! First, I can't speak the language. And second, how would I ever move my bed? I'm pretty sure it's impervious to shrinking charms.'
'All right, I think he's available now.' She touched a rune on a panel atop her desk and said, 'Darius, Harry would like to talk to you. May I send him in?'
'Potter? Yes, by all means,' replied Darius's voice.
Harry opened the door to Darius's office, where he found the team manager at his desk, rising to his feet. 'Good morning, Harry,' he said uncertainly. 'Is there something I can help you with? Please, have a seat.'
They both sat down, and Harry said, 'I've heard a rumour about Owen, and I'm wondering if you've heard it as well.'
'Go on.'
'I heard that other teams are trying to recruit him to train their Seekers.'
Darius took a deep breath. 'Yes, I've heard that as well. I assume you have an opinion on the matter?'
'Yes. I'd like for the Cannons to keep him if at all possible.'
'I'm glad you brought it up,' said Darius. 'And I'm also relieved you didn't come in to tender your resignation. I heard you were running around with some French girl, and there are already rumours about French teams trying to scoop you up.'
'No, I haven't any intention of leaving England,' said Harry, astonished by the speed at which gossip crossed the Channel. 'So, about Owen?'
'Yes, I spoke with Tuttle for a while on Friday, and we wanted your opinion before approaching him. I assume you'd like for him to stay?'
'Definitely. I also don't want to fly against anyone he's trained.'
'Right. And do you have a preference as to whether he remains as a reserve or a trainer?'
'Whatever he prefers is fine with me, although I'd miss playing against him during practice matches.'
'Yes, of course. I'll talk to Victor and we'll draw up an offer.'
'I'm glad to hear it,' said Harry. 'Make it a good one.'
'Understood. Is there anything else?'
'Yes, I brought heaps of pastries from France. They're on Lara's desk—you should try one.'
They left the office together and Harry went outside to the benches, where Tuttle was poised to deliver her Monday morning lecture. 'You've had a long weekend,' she began, 'and you probably forgot what positions you even play. And I'm certain some of you overindulged as well.'
'Potter!' coughed Darren.
'That was a good win against the Catapults, but I saw some sloppy manoeuvres. And I didn't like how close the competition was for the Snitch. Potter, the only reason you caught it was luck, and we need more than luck to keep winning. We're playing the Wasps on Saturday, at home again, and among other things I want you to beat those sons of bitches as a personal favour to yours truly. I made my name as a Wasp, but we're making history as Cannons, and that's where my loyalty lies.' She glared at them and barked, 'Ten laps, now!'
The players began running, and Harry didn't dart ahead as usual but instead ran alongside Janet. 'How was your weekend getaway with Ron?' he asked.
'That bloody ginger,' she scowled. 'He finally figured out I've been provoking him on purpose, and now he's doing the same. Did you tip him off?'
'No, not at all. I have much better things to do than stir up discord,' he replied. 'What did he do exactly?'
'We were at a Muggle nightclub, and I decided to make him jealous by letting some bloke buy me a drink. So what does he do? He goes and buys a drink for some Muggle bird. And I'd swear he used a Compulsion Charm on her, because within ten minutes they were against the wall snogging.'
'Are you serious? Ron kissed another girl when he was out with you?'
'Well, to be fair, I started it by snogging my Muggle. But that red-headed bastard deserved it! He was getting complacent, and I had to put him in his place.'
'And what place is that?'
'At my feet, of course.'
'Good luck with that. Ron's not a worshiper.'
'Apparently not,' grumbled Janet.
'So what happened after you caught him?'
'I threw my drink at him and marched off.'
Harry smiled. 'And what did Ron do?'
'He followed me and grabbed someone else's drink and threw it at me.'
'Did he buy them a new drink?' asked Harry, fascinated.
'Yes. And a bag of crisps.'
'Just how big were these drinks? Are we talking pint glasses? Were you soaked?'
'He threw a gin and tonic at me, so I was fine. But my drink was fruity, and a bit sticky. And the little umbrella got stuck in his hair—I didn't tell him until later.'
'And how did this all end?'
'In bed, of course,' said Janet. 'It was fantastic.'
'Honestly, I'm not seeing a problem here. You seem like a good match.'
'Whose side are you on?' she replied, indignant.
'Er, mine? What exactly do you want me to say?'
'That you're on my side! And then go tell Ron he needs to grovel and bring me flowers.'
'So you do like flowers! Ron and I were wondering about that ages ago.'
'Of course I like flowers. I gave you a nasturtium, didn't I?'
'You're right. I stand corrected,' he said. 'I can probably talk him into giving you flowers, but any grovelling will have to be of his own accord.'
'Fair enough. So how was Paris?'
Harry smiled. 'Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Have you been there?'
'Yes, but with my grandparents. Probably not the same as your experience.'
'Are you rubbing in the fact that I'm an orphan? I thought better of you, Janet.'
'You thought wrong, Snitchbottom,' she said, and he ran ahead to finish his laps.
Over lunch they all shared tales of their weekend adventures. Harry provided the broad outlines of his, but he didn't tell them about wearing makeup or kissing Eric, or glowing, for that matter. They'd probably find out about the last one soon enough—he'd felt it happen during the flying drills, but the sunshine had concealed it. He was bound to start glowing on a cloudy day, though, and then everyone would know.
He asked Owen about the Light Arts after lunch. 'Interesting,' replied Owen. 'Other than the Patronus Charm, or maybe Healing charms, I'm not certain I could identify any specifically Light magic.'
'I don't know if Healing charms even count, unless they require a strong positive emotion.'
'You're right. But why do you ask? Is this just out of curiosity, or do you want to study them?'
'The latter. I found a book in the Black library about the Light Arts, and it explains some new experiences I've had.'
'There was a book in your library about the Light Arts?' exclaimed Owen.
'Yes—about what a menace they are, and how to defend against them.'
'That makes more sense. What are you experiencing, if you don't mind my asking?'
Harry described the glowing and what he'd learnt in the book, including the bit about increased libido, which caused Owen to laugh out loud. 'Oh please may I tell Jill about this?'
'Wait until I talk to Alistair tonight. It's possible my enemies have already figured it out, but I'd don't want to tip my hand too early.'
'Of course not,' said Owen. 'But it sounds like they'd only fear you more if they knew you were a true Light wizard.'
'Perhaps, but I'd rather they didn't target me with Mind Arts and everything else the book proposes.'
'Good point. Do you suppose you should learn Occlumency properly? You have a strong foundation now—I suspect you'd pick the rest up quickly.'
'Actually, I got pretty good at it towards the end of the war. The emotion that finally worked was grief, when Dobby died. Although Dumbledore would have said it was love.'
'Do you want me to test you?' asked Owen. 'I'm a fair Legilimens, believe it or not.'
'Why am I even surprised? Yes, go ahead.' He expanded into awareness and allowed feelings of love to arise.
Owen pulled out his wand and pointed it at Harry. 'Legilimens!'
Harry felt a presence at the edge of his mind, but it was no more disturbing than the gentle brush of a cat's tail. It grew stronger and more insistent over time, but Harry just felt an increase of the pleasant energy flowing up from his torso into his head. Before long he ceased to be aware of Owen's attack and was instead lost to the pleasant sensations.
Eventually he opened his eyes and saw that Owen was holding up a hand to shade him from the sun. 'You're glowing, Snitchbottom. Please don't tell me you also have an erection.'
'Yes, but I charmed my trousers,' joked Harry. 'Just kidding. But I feel great.'
Tuttle suddenly appeared. 'Potter, Barrowmaker—what the hell are you doing?'
'Er, practising Occlumency?' said Harry.
'I'm going to pretend you didn't say that. Launcher, now.'
Harry accompanied Owen to the shed to fetch the Launcher. 'What was that like?' he asked Owen.
'I threw everything I had at you. I tried looking through your memories, and it was like trying to stare at the sun. And from the outside it looked like you were barely making an effort.'
'I wasn't,' admitted Harry. 'It was all automatic.'
'That's what I thought. Obviously I'm not a Voldemort-tier Legilimens, but if you were able to withstand him, I suspect you can withstand anyone. You might ask Alistair to test you tonight, if you trust him.'
'Good idea. And thanks, that was fun.'
'I could see that! Maybe you can teach me the Light Arts one of these days.'
'I can see it now: the Cannons' two glowing Seekers!' said Harry. 'If we weren't already selling out games, we would now.'
'Or we could drive the Knight Bus together,' said Owen. 'We wouldn't need headlamps.'
During Seeker practice Harry experimented with his glow to see whether it had an effect on his Spotting ability. Unfortunately it did—he was too blissed out to care whether the Snitch appeared in his field of awareness. Another reason to get past the accidental Light magic phase, he thought.
He was mostly able to suppress his glow, so it didn't pose a problem during the practice match. But of course Owen taunted him mercilessly.
'So, Potter, about that libido of yours ... were you disappointed to learn it's just accidental magic and not your raging masculinity?'
'Why can't it be both?' retorted Harry. 'Or are you hoping the Light Arts will cure your marital woes?'
'I beg your pardon, I'm the one who fathered a family.'
'Yes, but they're twins. That's just one time—for all I know you've had sex fewer times than Walburga Black. Whereas I've shagged someone new nearly every week since I joined the Cannons.'
'True, but you're probably just paying them. Everyone knows you're desperate to stay famous.'
'Fame has its perks, actually. I got a last-minute flying carpet tour that way. And free wallpaper.'
'Did you really just say free wallpaper? Or was that the Light magic talking?'
'No, I really said that. Kreacher negotiated a new endorsement on my behalf. I now flog home decor as well as flowers.'
'Brilliant!' replied Owen. 'Have you decided what's next? Tea cosies perhaps?'
'Don't they fall under the home decor umbrella?'
'No, they're kitchen accessories.'
'Good point. I could flog those too.'
'You do know how to cook,' said Owen. 'What about gourmet foods?'
'There's a thought! I've been flooded with offers to invest in pastry import schemes. That's certainly a good use of the Potter family name.'
'Can't you do all your crassly commercial activities under the Black name?'
'Interesting … it's almost worth letting George and Lee put my name on the condoms, just to drag the Blacks down with me. Muggle-shagging, you know.'
'Your godfather would be proud.'
Owen ended up catching the Snitch, through no particular fault of Harry's. 'It was a pleasure as always, Barrowmaker. I'm going to miss flying against you.'
'I'm sorry, what?' asked Owen.
'Bugger, I didn't mean to say that. I heard about the other teams trying to recruit you.'
'Yeah. I haven't made a decision yet.'
'I take it you've had some good offers?'
'Very good offers. But I don't want to leave the Cannons if I can help it.'
'I talked to Darius this morning and told him to fight for you. Negotiate hard.'
'Cheers,' said Owen. 'I'd certainly love to stay.'
'Would you rather stay as a reserve or a trainer?'
'Trainer. As much as I enjoyed beating Gilstrap to the Snitch, I'd just as soon never have a Bludger come near me again.'
They flew to the benches for Tuttle's notes, and afterwards Harry showered and went straight to Diagon Alley. He needed to talk to the owner of the home furnishings store Kreacher had trapped him into endorsing.
Nobody was in the showroom when he entered, so he took some time to look around. It's a nice shop, he thought. I wouldn't be embarrassed to be associated with them. And this is almost as ludicrous as endorsing a florist.
He found the wallpaper display and discovered Kreacher had chosen the best ones, except for the Snitch pattern. The price for a single roll looked reasonable, so he'd just have to find out how many rolls Kreacher had used of each pattern and perhaps pay and be done with it.
A wizard finally emerged from the back. 'Mr Potter! I apologise for keeping you waiting.'
'That's fine, I enjoyed looking around. It's a lovely shop you have.'
'Thank you—we're proud of it. My name is Wendell, and I'm the owner. I assume you're here to finalise the details of your endorsement contract?'
'Er, about that ... my house-elf isn't actually authorised to enter contracts on my behalf. I hadn't intended to endorse any other businesses.'
'Oh, I see,' said Wendell. 'Then perhaps we should discuss your purchase.' He led Harry to the counter and opened a large volume that looked like a sales register. 'Let's have a look. It appears your house-elf purchased one roll each of six different patterns.'
'Really? Only one roll each? I'm sure I can pay for that. What's the total?'
Wendell turned the register around and showed Harry the number.
'Blimey!' exclaimed Harry. 'I'm actually not bad at doing maths in my head, but that's not what I came up with. Could you walk me through it?'
'Yes, of course. You must have calculated using the posted price, but there's a surcharge for house-elves.'
'A surcharge? Why?'
'Unlike wizards, house-elves are able to permanently duplicate a roll of wallpaper, hence the need to buy only one roll. And as you're aware, house-elves usually belong to ...' He hesitated.
'Rich people?' suggested Harry.
'I was going to say "old families,"' replied Wendell.
Harry frowned. The total was considerably more than he'd hoped to spend. He was all for squandering money, as Sirius had suggested, but wallpaper wasn't his preferred indulgence.
'Just what were you envisioning for the endorsement contract?' asked Harry.
Wendell relaxed. 'We'd like to include your name in our advertisements, and depending on where you use the wallpaper we'd like to display photographs of your house in the shop.'
'Where in the shop?' asked Harry, knowing what the answer would be.
'In the window.'
'With my name?'
'Ideally.'
Harry took a deep breath. 'I see. For how long a period?'
'One year, initially. We could extend the contract if you like, and you'd be entitled to more merchandise.'
Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. 'I don't know if you realise this, but all the wallpaper is in a single room. Kreacher used house-elf magic to allow me to rotate between patterns. So you wouldn't have much to display in the front window.'
'Ah, but that's where you have an advantage. Your elf could use any of those patterns throughout your entire house. That's why there's a surcharge.'
'Interesting. So he could put the dragon paper in the dining room, and the star pattern in the library, and so forth?'
'Exactly. And we'd be glad to sell you coordinating items at a discount. But your house-elf should be able to re-colour your existing furniture and upholstery to match.'
Harry had never considered himself a shrewd negotiator, but he had an idea. 'If you're going to display photographs of my house, I'm certain you'll want it to look good, and not just be thrown together by a nineteen-year-old and a house-elf.'
'You've a reputation for having excellent taste, Mr Potter.'
'I've learnt to trust my tailor,' said Harry. 'I couldn't say whether I'm capable of putting things together myself. You saw how I used to dress before last month.'
Wendell paled. 'What are you proposing?'
'The one-year endorsement contract should include expert advice on how to adapt my existing furniture and upholstery, as well as a steep discount for additional purchases. The Prophet greatly exaggerated my assets, and I'd much rather give money to charity. I'm perfectly happy with the house in its current threadbare state, after all.'
A long silence. 'Would a forty-percent discount be acceptable?'
'Yes. And the name displayed in the window would be Harry Potter.'
'As opposed to?'
'Any variant that includes the name Black.'
Wendell looked at him appraisingly. 'Is a change forthcoming?'
'I'm not prepared to say. But I think you'll agree my birth name is sufficiently well-known.'
'It is.' Wendell pulled a fresh parchment from the drawer and began writing down the terms they'd discussed. 'Shall I owl you the contract directly or would you prefer to work through Gringotts?'
'Gringotts, please.'
Harry rose and shook hands with Wendell. 'You're an interesting young man, Mr Potter,' said the shopkeeper.
'I've had to be,' replied Harry.
He went home, and Kreacher was overjoyed to serve Harry a traditional English dinner. It's not French cuisine, he thought, but there's something to be said for comfort food.
It was time to go to Penumbra and talk to Alistair. Harry changed into his green-trimmed robes and slid Lydia's white gardenia into his lapel. Is it tacky to wear a flower from one witch when I'm planning to shag another one? he wondered.
But he shrugged. Immature Light magic. I can't help it.
He went first to Flourish and Blotts, which was still open, but a glance at the bookshelves revealed nothing useful about the Light Arts. Thanks for nothing, Doctor Niffler! He caught the attention of the other customers, including an attractive couple roughly his age. But he left the book shop without purchasing anything and walked down the passage to Penumbra.
Harry had no idea what to expect there. His previous visit had been on a Saturday, which seemed the appropriate night for otherwise upstanding witches and wizards to indulge in a bit of decadence. But to his surprise, the bar was nearly as crowded on a Monday.
'Good evening,' said the hostess. 'Would you like a table?'
'Actually, I'd like to talk with Alistair if he's available.'
She looked at him coolly. 'If you'll have a seat, I'll tell him you're here, and he'll decide whether he's available.'
'That's fine,' said Harry, enjoying the contrast from the usual flattery.
She led him to a table and he began perusing the cocktail menu. I really mustn't drink alcohol on a weeknight, he thought, particularly after all the wine I had in Paris. But he wasn't certain whether any of the drinks could be made without alcohol.
Several minutes later Alistair appeared. Harry rose to greet him, and then they sat opposite each other. 'I see you're alone,' said Alistair.
'So are you,' replied Harry. 'May I ask you to dial back the charisma while we're talking? I'd like to keep a level head.'
'Of course. And how are you? I understand you went to Paris this weekend.'
'Yes, I'd never been there before. It was brilliant.' Harry realised he was slipping into small talk and brought himself back to the reason he'd come. 'But I'm here to talk about something specific. What do you know about the Light Arts?'
Alistair's mouth curved into a smile. 'I know all sorts of things about the Light Arts. Perhaps we should start with what you know about them.'
'I know I'm experiencing accidental Light magic.'
'I wondered whether that might happen,' said Alistair. 'You seemed ripe for it.' He paused and added, 'I assume you're not just talking about the symptom that might otherwise be explained by your age and circumstances?'
Harry chuckled. 'I certainly have that one covered, but yes. As of Saturday I've been glowing. Often.'
Alistair frowned. 'Can you control it at all? It's a vulnerable state, not to mention the Secrecy concerns.'
'I can suppress it, at least in part. Though obviously I'd rather not.'
'Indeed. What else do you know about Light magic? Broadly speaking.'
'I found a book in the Black family library called Defence Against the Light Arts, by Jacobus Filch. Honestly, it made me sound like a menace who needs to be decapitated and buried at a crossroads.'
Alistair laughed and said, 'I think you've got us confused. But yes, I'm certain that was an interesting source. I knew the author.'
'Really? What was he like? How long ago did he die?'
'He died about forty years ago, I think. As for what he was like, he had a shrewd mind, and he didn't underestimate Light magic as most Dark wizards do. But I consider him a tragic figure.'
'Why?'
'He probably understood Light magic better than any Dark practitioner, but he couldn't experience it.'
'Did he want to?'
'No. He'd been ruined by Dark magic. He'd experienced and even mastered its greatest pleasures, and he assumed they were as good as the Light equivalents.' Alistair looked Harry in the eye, and Harry felt his Occlumency shields rise automatically. 'Have you ever practised Dark magic? Successfully?'
'Yes, twice. The first time was by accident, when I cursed a classmate out of anger, without knowing what I was doing,' replied Harry, referring to the time he'd nearly killed Draco Malfoy with the Sectumsempra charm. 'The second time I tortured a Death Eater, right before the Battle of Hogwarts.'
'How did it feel, the second time?'
'Satisfying. Exhilarating. But not for long ... there were too many other things happening all at once.'
'Try to isolate the memory of how it felt to torture someone you thought deserved it. Can you see how a Dark wizard might consider that pleasurable?'
'I don't need to bother with my own memories,' said Harry. 'I know how much Voldemort enjoyed it. I felt it through him.'
'Yes, of course. I'd forgot. And how did they compare? Voldemort's pleasure in torturing, and your pleasure when you glow?'
Harry took a deep breath and felt a wave of bliss rise through him. 'No comparison. None at all … oh god, no.'
'Exactly. You see then why I consider Jacobus Filch a tragic figure.'
'That hardly seems fair,' said Harry. 'Most wizards never experience Light magic, according to the book anyway, and they're not tragic.'
'Aren't they? Don't you wish everyone could experience it?'
'Yes, of course. But they have other pleasures. Love, and family, and all the rest. I assume Jacobus Filch had those as well.'
'He was a father, and a grandfather. Though he had disappointments.'
'You mean Filch? Er, Argus Filch?'
'His grandson, yes. Like everyone, Jacobus had pleasures that didn't last and disappointments that didn't last.'
'Are you saying Light magic is different from other pleasures?'
'Yes and no,' said Alistair. 'It also comes and goes. But you'll find it doesn't depend nearly as much on outside circumstances as other pleasures do. If I might ask, what caused you to experience it?'
'It first happened at the Sainte Chapelle, in Paris. It was just so beautiful.' Harry paused to remember it. 'Then it was at dinner with friends, and later at a nightclub. And when I was turned on. And then while flying. Oh, and when my teammate Owen tried Legilimency on me.'
'I'm sorry? Your teammate tried invading your mind?'
'I gave him permission,' said Harry. 'We wanted to test whether I'm vulnerable, in case someone tries messing with me that way. In fact, could you give it a go? I withstood Owen just fine.'
Alistair raised his eyebrows. 'Are you sure? I'm quite powerful.'
'Take it slowly. I was able to withstand Voldemort in the end, but I have no idea how you compare.'
'Neither do I,' said Alistair. 'This should be interesting.'
Harry felt powerful energy rise from his abdomen into his head, but along the edges of his mind he felt almost nothing. When Owen had tested him, Harry had felt a gentle pressure, but this was no more than a faint breeze. Over time it grew stronger, however, until it was like fingers pushing the sides of his head. He felt conflicting sensations—a firm resistance to the invading energy, but also a deep desire to allow it in. Voldemort was never like this, thought Harry. This feels like a seduction.
He felt a surge of defiance. Two can play at this game, old man! I'm no slouch in the seduction department. He pushed forward with the same energy he'd begun using to charm women, only with the goal of keeping Alistair out. It initially required effort, but then something clicked and Harry knew he could sustain it indefinitely. He'd been maintaining eye contact with Alistair the entire time, and he felt his own eyes gleam with impertinence.
'Is that all you've got?' he finally asked, and the vampire laughed.
'That was most of it. I didn't bother with the frontal assault, since I assume you had plenty of that from Voldemort.'
'Try me,' said Harry. He felt a sharp jab behind his scar, but it felt clumsy compared to Alistair's previous attempt. A surge of love rose within him, and Alistair's attack was irrelevant.
'Waste of time,' said Alistair. 'No, the only method that could work on you is loving coercion, and I don't think a Dark wizard would be capable of it.'
'Did you see anything?' asked Harry. 'Any memories?'
'Indistinct moments of passion, but nothing else. More of a sensation than a memory. Quite nice, actually.'
'I'm glad you liked it. So does this mean I'm Legilimency-proof?'
'From anyone who'd want to harm you, yes. Voldemort trained you well.'
'I should owl him my thanks,' said Harry. 'So this brings me to my next question: How secret do I need to keep this? My Light magic, that is?'
'Not very,' said Alistair. 'Consider it like this. Your enemies fall into two camps: those who underestimate you and those who don't. In the first category, I'm certain there are people who think you defeated Voldemort either by fluke or by prophecy, or because Dumbledore was pulling the strings.'
'I'm in that category,' said Harry. 'I worked hard, but it was mostly luck and my mother's sacrifice. And my friends, of course.'
Alistair waved his hand dismissively. 'No matter. The point is that if someone from that camp tries to attack you, they probably won't succeed, unless you're truly sloppy. But your Light magic will probably protect you anyway.'
'And the other camp?'
'They fear you. They mightn't understand why, but they feared Voldemort enough to know he wasn't defeated by accident. And some of them might already know you're a true Light wizard, albeit immature. I'm certain every Dark family owns a copy of that book. In fact it's probably still in print, although you'd only find it in places like Knockturn Alley.'
'Really?' exclaimed Harry. 'Do you think Voldemort read it?'
'If he read it before he tried killing you as a baby, he obviously didn't take it seriously. But he was exceptionally arrogant back then. And he'd have been mad not to take it seriously afterwards.'
'Actually, he was mad,' noted Harry.
'True, but he was canny, and he learnt from his mistakes. But returning to your question, you probably shouldn't broadcast that you're experiencing accidental Light magic. And I'm using the word "broadcast" literally.'
Harry laughed. 'Fair enough.'
'But if it comes out some other way, you needn't worry. The real question is what you plan to do with it.'
'That's the other thing I wanted to ask you,' replied Harry. 'Can you recommend a teacher? Accidental Light magic is brilliant, but I'd much rather have the mature version.'
Alistair folded his hands together and looked thoughtful. 'The last Light master I knew died decades ago. I'd have to make enquiries. Discreet ones, of course.'
'I'd appreciate that. Do you think there's any point in asking Dumbledore's portrait?'
'I doubt it. He may have been the leader of the Light, but he wasn't an actual Light wizard. He certainly didn't employ the Light Arts in his duel against Grindelwald, and I never heard about him studying them later.'
'Are you sure? He knew that the power I had that Voldemort didn't was love. Oh bugger, I just revealed the main part of the prophecy—can you keep that to yourself?'
Alistair smiled. 'Of course. And it was obvious to any sufficiently observant onlooker. You sacrificed your life, after all. But to your original point, I'm certain Dumbledore was well informed about the Light Arts. He just didn't practice them, other than a few peripheral spells.'
'Right. So I shouldn't bother asking his portrait?'
'Give me a week,' said Alistair. 'If I can't find you a teacher, by all means ask him.'
'Cheers.' Harry looked down at the drinks menu, which he'd forgotten about during their conversation. 'Oh dear, I've been freeloading this entire time. I haven't even ordered a drink. Can you recommend something without alcohol?'
'Are you planning to stay longer? I had the impression our conversation was drawing to a close.'
Harry didn't miss Alistair's amused expression. 'What do you think? I'm experiencing accidental Light magic—which is bloody brilliant, in case I haven't mentioned that yet.'
Alistair surveyed the room. 'Many people noted your arrival. And several followed you here. That young couple, for example.' He indicated the pair Harry had seen in Flourish and Blotts, who were standing in the arena.
'I'm afraid I prefer witches. A bloke would probably feel left out—or I would.'
'He won't lack for choices here,' said Alistair.
Harry looked critically at the witch, knowing she couldn't see him behind the table's privacy charms. Yes, definitely, he thought. 'So what drink do you recommend?'
'Don't order one for my sake,' replied Alistair. 'But if you're thirsty, ask for a virgin Patronus. If nothing else, it'll give you an excuse to walk to the bar.'
'Perfect,' said Harry, rising from his seat. 'It's always a pleasure. Even at my party, when I told you off.'
Alistair stood as well. 'You're consistently entertaining. I'll listen to your broadcast tomorrow night.'
After finishing with Alistair, Harry walked purposefully to the bar. Several witches tried catching his eye, but they didn't approach him while he waited for his drink. The young couple, however, joined him there.
'I have to thank you for bringing robes back into fashion,' said the wizard. 'Fitted robes, that is. The loose ones are pointless as far as I'm concerned. No better than a cloak, really.'
'Yes, I never cared for them until I got my Cannons robes,' replied Harry. 'Though I didn't expect to start a fashion.'
'And yet you did,' said the wizard. 'Flowers too—look around.'
Harry rolled his eyes. 'Wizarding Britain needs more celebrities. It's probably because we don't have television or films.'
The bartender served his drink, which was in a round goblet and glowed brightly, and Harry left several coins on the counter.
'What is that?' asked the witch. 'I've only tried this one,' she said, indicating the half-full glass she was holding.
'It's a virgin Patronus. Alistair recommended it.' He took a sip and said, 'And with good reason. I'm glad to know that drinking blood hasn't ruined his palate.'
The wizard looked at him sceptically. 'A virgin Patronus?'
'Yes, I drank too much over the weekend, and I've a low tolerance. So it's a virgin night for me.'
'We can't help you there,' laughed the wizard. 'Why did you come to a bar, if you didn't want alcohol?'
Why do you think? thought Harry. 'I couldn't let this gardenia go to waste,' he said dryly.
'Just ignore him,' said the witch. 'Jack hasn't any manners.'
'And what's your name?' asked Harry.
'Vera. Vera Chappell.'
'And does that make you Jack Chappell?'
'Merlin no!' exclaimed Jack. 'I'm what my grandmother calls a confirmed bachelor.'
'I suppose I'm not currently the marrying type either,' said Harry, 'but not in the way you're talking about.'
'Interesting,' said Jack. 'Up until a couple of months ago, you seemed so earnest. Young Auror, on track to marry his sweetheart before he was twenty, like a good wizard. You dressed abominably, of course. But now you're an absolute rogue—I simply had to see you up close.'
'Is that why you followed me in here?'
'You noticed?' asked Vera.
'No, but Alistair did. I saw you in the book shop, though.'
'And what did you think?'
'I took you for a couple. An attractive couple.'
'So, are you interested in wizards as well?' asked Jack.
'They're a distant second, I'm afraid.'
Vera smirked at Jack. 'I told you so—you owe me a Galleon.' She turned to Harry and said, 'He was convinced you fancy men every bit as much as you fancy women.'
'That's setting a high bar,' said Harry. 'I'm awfully fond of women.'
'Yes, two at a time even,' said Jack. 'I've had nightmares to that effect, but you seemed to enjoy it.'
'I did. So, did you follow me to settle a wager?' He looked meaningfully at Vera.
'No,' she said, returning his gaze. 'We were hoping to see your enormous bed. But you just dashed Jack's hopes.'
'Are you a package deal?' asked Harry.
'Not unless you can promise equal time,' replied Jack. 'And it sounds like you can't. I should never have trusted Rita Skeeter.'
'Oh right, last year she described Ron's and my torrid nights in Gryffindor Tower, and then in the tent. Pure fiction.'
'Hopefully the other rumour is true,' said Vera.
'And which one is that?' asked Harry. 'I can't keep track.'
She leaned close to him and whispered, 'That you're famous for the wrong reason.'
Interesting, thought Harry. 'And where did you hear that?'
'A friend of a friend. Word travels fast.'
It couldn't have been Helena, he thought. And obviously not Penelope. Either Elizabeth or Vanessa—probably Vanessa. Though it could equally have been Ginny.
'I feel honour-bound to satisfy your curiosity,' he said. 'But will Jack be all right?'
'I'm in Penumbra,' said Jack. 'I'll be fine—every gay man here is going to ask me about you as soon as you're gone.'
'I just need to finish my drink,' said Harry. 'We should get an early start—I have practice in the morning.'
Vera took a long sip through her straw, until her drink was nearly empty, and Harry watched as she pursed her lips around it. 'What are you waiting for?' she asked.
Harry drained his glass and smiled. 'Nothing at all,' he said, taking her hand.