Chapter 50 - 50

Harry didn't get nearly enough sleep that night, as Vera was both enthusiastic and tireless. He knew he should have stopped things at a reasonable hour, but neither of them wanted to, so they didn't.

Eventually they slept, but around four o'clock Vera woke him from a particularly active nightmare. He didn't describe it to her, as he'd done with Sophie, but she stroked him soothingly. Initially her touch was maternal, but then it wasn't, and before long they resumed their earlier activity. They finally slept another two hours before the alarm clock sounded.

'I'm too knackered to cook you breakfast,' groaned Harry, 'so you'll just have to take my word for it that I know how.'

'Does this mean we get breakfast in bed?' she asked, rubbing against him.

'Yes, but breakfast only. I have a full day of practice today, starting with ten laps around a Quidditch pitch and calisthenics, and I've no idea how I'll get through it.'

'Fine,' she said, ceasing her advances. 'You've more than earned a leisurely breakfast.'

He requested breakfast wordlessly from Kreacher and the trays appeared soon after, with the customary vase of flowers and the Daily Prophet. Harry wasn't on the front page, but there was a photo of him in the gossip column.

'Aren't you a busy boy!' exclaimed Vera.

The photograph showed him and Sophie kissing goodbye in the portkey terminal. He was wearing his striped Breton shirt, and they were considerably more demonstrative than he remembered being in public. That's France for you, he thought.

'Someone enjoyed himself in Paris! Are you returning soon? Will she object to you spending the night with me?'

'No. I have no present plans to return, and it was just a weekend fling.'

'How do she and I compare?' asked Vera saucily. 'I've heard things about French girls.'

'I'm not going to kiss and tell, so you won't have any answers from me. But you're undoubtedly the most demanding woman I've ever encountered. In a good way.'

She seemed content with his assessment, and they continued eating in silence. Harry felt bad about exhausting himself so thoroughly on a weeknight, but he was mostly pleased. It's a necessary part of my journey as a Light wizard, he told himself with mock solemnity. Just imagine all the protective magic I'll be able to perform.

Nevertheless, he didn't think he wanted to see her again. They hadn't actually had much to talk about, and he realised he valued conversation in addition to physical intimacy—Helena had spoilt him in that regard. Fortunately, Vera also seemed satisfied with a one-night stand, and Harry got the impression she wanted a notch on her bedpost more than anything.

She even asked for a souvenir. 'Might I have that gardenia you were wearing last night? As a keepsake?'

'Er, it was actually a gift from another witch.'

'The one in Paris?'

'No, someone new.' She looked at him in amazement, and he said, 'Not like that. She sent it to me with a letter. I'm seeing her later this week.'

'You devil!' she said admiringly. 'I'm sorry I don't have a keepsake for you. I take it you don't collect trophies from your conquests? Knickers, for example?'

'I'm afraid not,' he said, recalling Voldemort's fondness for trophies, which he eventually turned into Horcruxes. 'And besides, I think I was the conquest, not you.'

'You're right! Then I must have something from you. What can you give me? Something identifying.'

'Not much, actually. Mostly just boutonnières and books about Dark magic, and I'm not likely to sign one of those for you.'

'Then sign a photograph for me—you must have heaps of them, right?'

Reminded of Lockhart, Harry vehemently denied her accusation. 'I have not!' he said, before suddenly turning red. 'Oh bugger, I do! I have a stack of team photographs downstairs.'

'That's perfect!' she said, and after getting dressed they went downstairs and he signed a photograph for her.

'Include the date,' she insisted. 'I want my great-grandchildren to discover it after I'm gone.'

'Shall I write something scandalous, for posterity?'

'Definitely.'

She left at half-past eight, and he lay down on the sofa to rest a bit longer before practice. Unfortunately he dozed off and woke ten minutes after practice had begun. In a panic, he Apparated to the training facility and dashed into the building to get his trainers.

'There you are,' exclaimed Lara. 'Where shall I send your remains, once Tuttle's through with you?'

'To Hermione,' he replied without thinking. 'She can bury them in Godric's Hollow, with my parents.'

He sprinted to the field and immediately joined the others running laps. His heart was already beating quickly from panic, and the cool morning air meant he no longer felt sleepy.

'And where were you?' smirked Darren. 'Did you have a late night?'

'I overslept,' he said, not answering the question. 'How dead am I?'

'Exceedingly. Doornail-like. Voldemort-like.'

'First time or second time? I can come back if it's like the first time.'

'Sorry, Snitchbottom, you're completely fucked,' replied Darren. 'Actually, that's a lie—I'm not at all sorry. Last time someone was late it was me, and everyone had a laugh when Tuttle tore me to bits. I reckon I'll enjoy being a spectator.'

'At least someone will enjoy it,' muttered Harry, running ahead. He was genuinely upset about arriving late—he took his responsibility to the team seriously, and it was unprofessional to turn up like this.

Eventually Owen ran alongside him. 'Are you all right? You've never been late before.'

'Bloody Light magic,' he grumbled.

Owen chuckled. 'I take it you didn't get enough sleep last night?'

'Not even close. I swear, you'd think she'd taken some kind of stimulant.'

'And did she hold you at wandpoint the entire time?'

'Well, no. But I can't help it! Light magic!'

'I think you're overly fond of your new excuse,' said Owen.

Harry smirked. 'It's an awfully good one, you have to admit.'

'It is. I'm certain your future biographer will enjoy writing about this phase of your life.'

'It sure beats dragging that Horcrux around. But Merlin, Tuttle's going to tear me to pieces.'

'Expand into awareness,' said Owen. 'You'll get through it. It's even sunny out, so you can get away with glowing, if that'll help.'

'Which part of "I can't control it yet" don't you understand?'

'Fine. Were you able to talk to Alistair?'

'Yes. He's going to try to find me a teacher.'

'Did you let him try Legilimency on you?'

'I did, and he declared me safe. But he said I shouldn't talk about it publicly yet. It won't be a disaster if it gets out, but that doesn't mean I should shout it from the rooftops.'

'So I shouldn't tell Jill?'

'No, you can tell her. But don't blame me if she starts demanding you learn Light magic as well.'

'At least now we'll be able to afford babysitters more often. Four-year-old twins can be an impediment to marital relations.'

'Did you meet with Darius yet?' asked Harry.

'No, but he invited me to lunch today.'

'Somewhere nice?'

'Very,' said Owen, and Harry grinned. 'I really have to thank you for talking me up to reporters so often. This would never have happened otherwise—I'd probably have been cut soon. I had some ideas about my next career, but I'm stupidly fond of Quidditch and would rather keep at it in some way.'

'You realise this is just my scheme to take you out of the running for the job driving the Knight Bus. That job is mine.'

'Understood. I'll try to return the favour by talking up your driving skills at every opportunity.'

'Er, I don't actually know how to drive,' admitted Harry.

Owen shook his head scornfully. 'Harry, I can't help you if you won't help yourself.'

'I know, I know.'

Harry wasn't certain whether to keep running after his teammates finished their laps, but Tuttle removed all doubt. 'Potter, get your sorry arse over here!' she called from the benches.

He sprinted over and did his best to expand into awareness before her lecture began. 'I didn't think your head could get any bigger, but five wins in a row have proven me wrong. I'm willing to overlook your antics as long as you work hard, but showing up late for practice completely knackered is unacceptable. Maybe you didn't have time to look in the mirror this morning, but you've circles under your eyes and the cocky expression of someone who was up shagging all night, and probably drinking as well.'

'I didn't have any alcohol,' protested Harry, and his teammates laughed at the implied admission.

'So you made a rational decision to shirk your responsibilities? Getting your wand polished five times in a row was more important than doing what the fans are paying you for?'

It's a medical condition, he thought defiantly, but he knew he was kidding himself. He could have stopped at any time—he just hadn't wanted to.

'I realise you're Harry fucking Potter,' she continued, 'and the fans would probably pay to see you sit on the ground picking your nose, but I thought you had a better work ethic than that.'

'I do,' he blurted. 'And I'm sorry. I knew how late it was and I didn't care. You're right, it was completely unacceptable.'

'I suspect one person didn't mind,' muttered Suresh. 'And she'd almost certainly praise your work ethic.'

Some of the other players sniggered but Harry didn't. He felt genuinely bad about treating the fans and his teammates so shabbily.

Tuttle wasn't amused either. 'Some of you might think Potter's antics are funny, but I sure as hell don't!'

'There's an extenuating circumstance,' blurted Owen, and everyone looked at him in surprise.

'No, I could have stopped any time,' said Harry. 'There's no need to talk about that.'

There was a long silence before Janet said, 'You can't not tell us. That's just cruel.'

Tuttle barked, 'Potter, Barrowmaker—we'll talk in private. The rest of you, calisthenics.'

The two Seekers followed Tuttle away from the benches. Harry was still uncomfortable blaming his bad behaviour on Light magic, but Tuttle deserved an explanation, which Owen provided.

Tuttle laughed out loud. 'I thought I'd heard every excuse from Bagman, but this takes the biscuit. And the best part is that, unlike all his whoppers, this one's actually true.'

'Mind you, Harry's also nineteen,' said Owen. 'That's probably a factor as well.'

'I know, that's how old Bagman was when we were first paired.'

'It's not an excuse,' said Harry. 'I'm sorry, I really shouldn't have let down the team like that. It won't happen again.'

'It had better not,' she warned. 'Don't make me extract a blood oath from you.'

'Could you keep this private for now? There's probably no danger if people find out, but the longer we can delay it, the better.'

'Understood. But personally I can't wait to see what the Prophet does with this one,' she chuckled. 'Is that why you were practising Occlumency yesterday?'

'Yes,' replied Owen. 'Fortunately he's mastered it, so there's no risk there.'

'I'm glad. I want you to live a good long time, Potter.'

'Thanks,' he said sincerely. 'I should go start calisthenics.'

'You should,' she said. 'But don't hurt yourself, and I'm being serious. Take it easy today, but then go to bed early and work twice as hard tomorrow.'

'I will. But remember I have the Wizengamot tomorrow morning, so I'll be late.'

'Right—there's another reason to get some rest. And make sure your robes cover that love bite on the back of your neck, or glamour it.'

'Bugger! I mean, thanks.'

Harry got through the rest of the morning, but of course his teammates were merciless during lunch, and they had no end of fun speculating about his mysterious condition.

'It's a curse, isn't it?' said Gary. 'Some late-breaking Voldemort thing, and the only treatment is a steady stream of partners, right?'

'No, I think it's the opposite,' said Ryan. 'Harry's blood contains an important cure that can only be administered directly via bodily fluids. And it treats a rare disease only affecting attractive young women.'

'That's why he went to France,' added Janet. 'So they could research it, and to treat that poor suffering model.'

'Blimey, it affects models in particular, doesn't it?' said Darren. 'How do I get this cure? I'm sure they need other delivery agents, if it's keeping Harry so busy.'

'I'm not convinced by the cure theory,' said Suresh. 'I think it's a breeding programme. Harry, this is the real reason you left the Ministry, isn't it? They knew you'd get more partners as a Cannon, and so they deliberately unleashed you into the wild to impregnate witches, and Muggles as well. And I'm certain the Department of Mysteries is involved.'

'I'm not going to dignify any of these theories with a response,' replied Harry.

'It has to be something good,' argued Renée, 'otherwise Tuttle wouldn't have eased up on you. I'm thinking it has something to do with the war. Or being an orphan.'

'Good point,' said Gary. 'I've heard of psychologists—Mind Healers—who encourage their patients to work through their emotional issues physically. Perhaps Harry found one who takes this approach to its logical extreme.'

'You mean his Mind Healer is prescribing all-night shagathons?' asked Suresh. 'Harry, what's their name? I think I need a Mind Healer too.'

'I'm not seeing a Mind Healer!' protested Harry.

'Are you serious?' asked Janet. 'Why on earth not?'

'Because I have no desire to whinge to some stranger about my problems, and then have them charge me ten Galleons and say it's because Voldemort killed my parents.'

'Don't be silly—Mind Healers charge more than that,' said Ryan. 'Good ones, anyway.'

'But Snitchbottom has a point,' said Janet. 'Why should he pay for therapy when busybodies like Doctor Niffler analyse him for free?

'Yes, and she's been so incisive,' grumbled Harry. 'The Prophet was kind enough to send me the full transcript from her interview, and she said I'm stuck in the oral phase of development, since my mum died before I was weaned.'

'The oral phase?!' blurted Renée, and his teammates started laughing. 'I can't believe they didn't print that part. Honestly, it should have been the headline—something salacious about Harry Potter's oral fixation.'

Darren added, 'If you want to ensure your ongoing popularity, you should demand they print it. What's the opposite of a retraction?'

'Maybe you can send in a statement,' suggested Suresh. '"I, Harry James Potter, am tragically stuck in the oral phase of development, as diagnosed by a respected Mind Healer who has never met me. But attention witches: my loss is your gain!"'

Gary's eyes shot open. 'Wait a moment ... the oral phase? Potter, remember the first time you caught the Snitch at Hogwarts?' Harry turned bright red, and Gary explained, 'He caught it in his mouth.'

Group hysterics followed, and Ryan finally managed to ask, 'Which phase comes after the oral one?'

Janet, who was weeping from laughter, replied, 'Anal.'

Suresh and Gary simultaneously cried, 'Snitchbottom!' and even Harry had to laugh.

'Someone needs to tell Doctor Niffler about the Snitchbottom incident,' said Janet. 'It's a clear indicator of developmental progress.'

'I can think of a good way for Harry to convince her he's attained the anal phase,' offered Suresh.

'I'm certain you can,' said Harry. 'But I just don't see that happening.'

'No, you're hopelessly straight. But I should thank you for being an excellent conversation starter whenever I'm in public. I can't go anywhere without some bloke asking me whether you swing both ways.'

'Do you think people asked Voldemort's mates about that?' mused Ryan.

'Voldemort didn't have mates,' said Harry. 'Not since he was at Hogwarts, and they ended up becoming his followers.'

'So there's still time for you to convert us into your Dark army?' asked Janet. 'Sorry, your Dark sex army.'

'Definitely not Dark,' mumbled Harry, smiling.

'Your Light sex army?' said Darren. 'Now there's a way to unite wizards under the Light banner! It's a shame Albus Dumbledore never thought of that.'

'I think you're onto something,' said Gary. 'Admittedly I'm Muggle-born, so I don't understand the wizarding world as well as someone born to it, but the Dark Arts definitely give off the stronger sex vibes.'

'He's right,' said Darren. 'Even after Azkaban, Bellatrix Lestrange was seriously hot, and I can only imagine how many people she drew to the Dark banner before then.'

Renée nodded in agreement. 'And we've seen the effect of pure-blood decorating.'

'Harry, you really have a unique opportunity here,' observed Gary. 'If you can convince the younger generation that Light magic is sexier than Dark magic, you'll have won the battle before it's begun.'

Janet rolled her eyes at Gary. 'Where have you been for the last month? That's exactly what Harry's been doing. He even turned Death Eater robes into the official Light wizard seduction costume.' She turned to Harry and said, 'Are you planning to rehabilitate the Cruciatus Curse as well?'

'Absolutely not,' said Harry, with a sternness that surprised him. 'Never, ever perform that curse. I'm lucky I survived it.'

'Survived being tortured?' asked Renée.

'Survived casting it. Performing Dark magic can ruin a person.'

'Auror Potter, reporting for duty!' chirruped Janet. 'Seriously, Snitchbottom, we know.'

Harry sighed. 'Sorry to get on a high horse ... I've just been particularly convinced of it lately.' He looked at his chastened teammates and added, 'Carry on taking the piss.'

'I'm sorry,' said Janet sincerely. 'It's easy to forget what you've been through. Ron too.'

'That's probably a good thing,' said Harry. 'I'd rather people think of me as a sex-mad Seeker than a war-damaged orphan.'

'Now there's a quote I'd love to see in the Prophet,' said Gary. 'It's a shame Ryan warded the pub against Animagi, otherwise Rita Skeeter could have shared it.'

'Yes, I'll have to add it to my next statement to the Prophet,' replied Harry. 'Or perhaps I could announce it at the Wizengamot tomorrow.'

'Oh right, that's tomorrow,' said Suresh. 'Are you ready?'

'I think so. I have a first-rate set of robes, at the very least. Whoever is betting that I'll be on the cover of tomorrow's Prophet is sure to win. As for my complaint against Rita Skeeter, I'm hopeful the other Wizengamot members will vote to allow a full hearing. Fortunately the entire court votes on my request and not just the lords.'

'You're not going to sit with them, are you?' asked Darren.

'No, I don't need to invoke lordly privilege for this request.'

'"Lordly privilege,"' smirked Janet. 'Please tell me you use that term in the bedroom.'

'No, lordships are bollocks,' retorted Harry, and everyone laughed again.

After lunch, he was keen to talk to Owen and find out how his meeting with Darius had gone, but he hadn't yet returned. I hope that's a good sign, thought Harry anxiously. He realised how much he'd come to rely on Owen, and not just as a Quidditch trainer. Is this what having an elder brother is like? he wondered.

Tuttle set him to practising with the Launcher, but Harry grew increasingly distracted the longer Owen was away. He even started to worry something had happened to him. Did they Apparate to the restaurant? What if Owen got Splinched? Do people die from Splinching? Harry's thoughts turned to Owen's two daughters. At least they still have a mother, he thought mournfully.

He almost wept from relief when Owen turned up wearing practice robes and carrying his broomstick. Harry flew to the ground, ignoring the Launcher, and had to restrain himself from throwing his arms around him. 'You're back!' he cried joyfully. 'Are you all right?'

'I'm fine,' said Owen. 'But are you all right? You seem a bit overwrought.'

'No, I'm fine too. It's probably just the fatigue. But tell me, how did things go?'

'It's not official yet—I said I'd have to discuss it with Jill—but you're looking at the Cannons' new Seeker coach.'

'Coach?' exclaimed Harry. 'How is that different from a trainer?'

Owen smiled. 'The pay is higher. And I'll wear Cannons robes during matches, like Tuttle.'

'Will you keep your player number?' asked Harry, overjoyed.

'No, that goes back into the pool of available numbers. We have to find my replacement, you know.'

'Blimey! I won't play practice matches against you anymore. Would it be wrong for me to request you choose the new reserve based on personality? I don't want to spend hours every day with some stupid gobshite.'

'We can take that into account. Darius already has a list of prospects—apparently they were about to start recruiting when you turned up. He's hoping to start trials next week.'

'How do trials even work?' asked Harry. 'Obviously I didn't go through that process.'

'They'll hold them at the stadium, in order not to disrupt practice. Normally they invite about a dozen prospects and test their flying skills and spotting ability. They'll do that over two days, to test for consistency. Then on the second afternoon, they'll narrow it down to two or three candidates and make a final decision.' He smiled and added, 'I should say "we." We'll make a final decision.'

'Will I participate at all?' asked Harry hopefully.

'Yes, during the second afternoon. We'll have you fly against the top candidates and also interact with them a bit, to see if the alchemy is there.'

Harry recalled his own hiring process and felt a little sheepish. 'I'm realising you never had the chance to evaluate me before I joined the team. Sorry about that.'

'Firstly, I don't think they trusted my judgment, since I recommended Spencer last time around. He performed brilliantly at his trials, believe it or not. And secondly, Darius didn't even give Tuttle a vote when you turned up. It was only out of sheer desperation over the Spencer crisis than she didn't hex Darius for bypassing her like that.'

'I had no idea there was so much drama behind my arrival,' admitted Harry. 'Though I suppose it was an extraordinary sequence of events.'

'It really was. Are you certain there wasn't another prophecy guiding matters?'

'I couldn't say. We destroyed most of the prophecies during the battle at the Department of Mysteries. But I'm glad you're not leaving—I can't even tell you.'

'I'm pleased as well. And thanks again—Darius said your recommendation played a big role in their decision.'

Harry didn't fly particularly well that afternoon, due to fatigue and his overstimulated nervous system. Fortunately Owen caught the Snitch in short order, so Harry had time to sleep before having dinner with Hermione, prior to the broadcast.

He awoke to a tapping on his shoulder, and Hermione was standing next to his bed. 'Harry, it's half five. Do you need to sleep some more?'

'What?' he mumbled groggily.

'Kreacher told me you were sleeping, and he didn't dare wake you. But I have no such compunction, particularly since Ryan told me why you were so tired.'

'Oh right,' said Harry, returning to reality. 'It's still Tuesday. We're having dinner together.' He sat up and realised he was only wearing boxers. 'I should probably get dressed.'

'Robes, I assume?' she asked. 'Shall I choose your boutonnière?' She looked at the selection on top of the dresser.

'Actually, I thought I'd wear Phil Routledge's jersey tonight, as a show of support.'

'You're going to wear a Quidditch jersey in public? That's not very dandyish.'

'Dandies liked to create a stir,' he said. 'Sophie told me about them. Admittedly they probably weren't very keen on sports, except perhaps to ogle the players, but I'm not a typical dandy in that respect.'

'Sophie? Is that the French witch you were photographed with?'

'Yes. She's brilliant.'

'And yet you threw her over the first night after returning to England? You really are shameless!'

'It was just a fling,' he said defensively. 'And I had other reasons.'

'Yes, Ryan told me you have an extenuating circumstance. He was hoping I'd know what it was, but all I could come up with is that you're a nineteen-year-old professional athlete with no self-control.'

Harry had emerged from bed and was pulling on blue jeans. 'I only just learnt about my extenuating circumstance,' he replied tartly. 'But now I'm not sure I want to tell you.'

'I won't press you for details—I wouldn't dream of invading your privacy,' she said. 'Although I realise how ironic that is, considering I just barged into your bedroom and am watching you get dressed.'

'You're as bad as Rita Skeeter. Are you considering a career change?'

'Do you mean after last week's goblin fiasco? No, I've decided just to wait and see. Some of the best things in my life have been complete accidents, so I'm trying to stop over-planning for once and see what happens.'

'Were you hit by a Bludger? That doesn't sound like you.'

'No, it doesn't. And I'll probably crack after a couple of days and start making lists again, but for now it's my strategy.'

'It probably helps that you're calling it a strategy. That's better than saying you're doing fuck-all about it.'

'Harry, there's no need to be insulting!' she exclaimed. 'Oh, right, you're still in your obnoxious Seeker phase. Carry on.'

'Cheers,' he said, straightening his Puddlemere jersey. 'Do I look like a complete wanker in this thing?'

She looked at him appraisingly. 'You look younger. Less dignified.'

He studied his reflection in the mirror. 'Laddish. I look like a great bloody lad. This is probably how Dudley would dress if he were a wizard.'

'You're right! Do you think your ego can handle it?'

'Honestly, I don't know. I guess my ego is more fragile than I realised. But I suppose that's why I should wear it, to build character.'

'Yes, you've had so few character-building opportunities in life.'

They went downstairs, and Harry asked Kreacher to serve dinner in the dining room, which surprised Hermione. 'Did you choose a formal setting to match your outfit? Shall I go home and change as well?'

'No, I want your opinion on which wallpaper to use in there.' He led her to the entrance hall and explained what Kreacher had done, and how he now had six patterns to use throughout the house. 'I hadn't even planned to redecorate, but here I am.'

'Not the Snitches, surely,' she said as they looked at the patterns Kreacher had installed.

'Merlin, no!' replied Harry. 'But I can use that in the guest room I'm going to empty for Teddy to fly in.'

She lit up and said, 'I love that you're taking more of an interest in him.'

'I'm trying. Babies are dreadfully boring, but Teddy's all right. And when he's a little bigger I can take him on an actual broomstick. I wonder if they make child seats like on bicycles.'

'Accidental magic would probably protect him,' she said. 'He might even sprout wings!'

'You're probably right. I'd just hate to break him somehow. But which wallpaper do you think I should use in here? I like all of the non-Snitch options.'

Hermione tilted her head in consideration. 'Which other rooms do you want to change?'

'Any of them, I suppose. But I don't want to ruin what I like about the house.'

'You mean that it's a shadowy den of seduction?' she smirked.

He glared at her and said, 'No, I like how much character it has. You saw the Dursleys' house—it had no personality at all. And yes, I know this house has a terrible history, but the Dark magic is gone. Now it just feels like home.'

They both looked at Padfoot, who was curled up and taking a nap, his eyes covered with a satin sleep mask. 'Yes, I can see that,' said Hermione. 'It seems hard to believe, considering what the house was like when we first arrived. It really was horrid back then.'

'True. But I actually have fond memories of it, which I know sounds completely daft.'

'It's not daft,' she said gently. 'I have fond memories too. Of Fred, and Tonks, and Sirius of course.'

'And Moony,' said Harry. 'And hearing Mad-Eye stomping around.' He sighed and added, 'Even Snape.'

Hermione raised an eyebrow but didn't comment.

'I never had a home before where anyone cared about me,' he said. 'At least not that I can remember. And even though Grimmauld Place back then was awful, at least I was cared for. I was wanted.'

'You were,' she agreed. 'Sirius lit up whenever he saw you. I used to watch him—most of the time he looked like a waxwork, but then you'd enter the room and he came to life.'

'I looked like my father,' he protested, but Hermione shook her head.

'If that were all he saw in you, he'd have lost the light in his eyes the next moment and turned into wax again. No, he loved you.'

Harry sighed. 'I know he did. It just feels like I dreamt it all, like he never existed except in my imagination.'

'You wouldn't own a house if he'd been a figment of your imagination.' She smirked and added, 'Maybe you should keep the ring visible, to remind you of him.'

'Not bloody likely! He'd probably curse it off my finger from the great beyond, for having such bad taste.'

'The ring would make an interesting contrast with your current outfit. A political statement even, although I have no idea what it would mean. But we've got off topic again ... which wallpaper to use where.' She narrowed her eyes and said, 'Do you want to keep the existing wallpaper anywhere, now that Kreacher can fix it?'

'That's a good idea. We could keep the reception room as it is. Maybe even keep some of the peeling edges, for ambiance.'

'All right. And what about this room? I'm torn between the dragon and the peacock feathers.'

'The dragon is nice,' admitted Harry. 'And he'd make good company for Padfoot.'

'Yes, but I'd love to see the dragon coiling around the dining room. And the peacock feathers will go well with all the wood panelling down here. I think they're a bit too sybaritic for the dining room.'

'What does sybaritic mean? I think Walburga used it once, but I forgot to look it up.'

'It means extravagantly sensual. Like the inside of an expensive brothel.'

'I didn't realise you'd visited any brothels,' he said. She stuck out her tongue at him, and he added, 'Would it be too much for the master bedroom?'

'Yes, but not as bad as the dragon.'

Harry chuckled and said, 'I should have Kreacher install the dragon as one of the options up there, just for laughs.'

'Oh right, you can install more than one in a room. In that case, I say peacock feathers and dragon in the entrance hall, and the dragon and botanical print in the dining room. And you really need to install the star pattern in the drawing room, to go with all the celestial names on the tapestry.'

'That sounds good. And then the botanical print, the peacock feathers, and the dragon in my bedroom. I'll probably mostly use the botanical print up there, since it's the least gloomy. What about the library?'

'The walls are covered almost entirely by bookcases, so you could either have Kreacher repair the existing wallpaper or install the blue damask print.'

'Yes, and the blue damask can go in some of the guest rooms as well.'

Hermione sniggered. 'I can't believe this conversation. We used to have to decide between chasing Horcruxes or Hallows, and now we're trying to figure out which wallpaper to hang in your sybaritic pleasure palace.'

'You seem to be fixated on my private life. Is there something you want to say?'

Hermione sighed, and her expression turned serious. 'I just don't want you to get in too deep. In the six weeks since you joined the Cannons, you've developed quite a reputation.'

'I've always had a reputation for one thing or another. At least this one is fun.'

'Perhaps, but you might want to be more discreet. I heard a pretty awful word used to describe you.' Her eyes flitted downwards, as if she were reluctant to continue.

'What was it?' he asked. She was silent and he persisted. 'Just tell me—I can handle it.'

'Manwhore.'

Harry took a breath. 'I assume they don't mean it in the prostitution sense.'

'No. Just in terms of frequency.'

'It's no one's bloody business,' he grumbled.

'That's why you should keep it private.'

'I can't keep it private! I can't go anywhere without being photographed! I was approached in the Musée d'Orsay, which isn't even a wizarding setting, or in Britain for that matter. If I hold hands with a girl in public, everyone's going to assume I'm shagging her anyway, so what's the point of trying to hide it.'

'People don't assume that about us,' she argued feebly.

'Yes they do! We've told everyone the truth but that's still what they assume. On the bright side, if I'm open about everyone else I've shagged, at least maybe they'll finally believe me about you!'

'Harry, you don't need to shout at me.'

'Why shouldn't I, when you're being such a hypocrite?'

'Why am I a hypocrite?' she snapped.

'I've seen you and Ryan together! You're having sex just as often as I am, only nobody criticises you because you're in a relationship. But guess what, I tried having a relationship—twice—and I was rejected. First by Ginny, and then by Helena.'

Hermione didn't respond, and Harry continued. 'Tell me, what's the appropriate interval between failed relationships? Is three weeks long enough, or will people still call me a manwhore?'

'Harry, I'm sorry. I should never have brought it up.' She was quiet before suddenly digging through her handbag. 'I have something for you, actually—it arrived for you at my parents' office, oddly enough.' She pulled out an envelope and handed it to him.

Puzzled, he opened the envelope, which was addressed only to 'Harry.' But he smiled when he saw the Muggle photographs Penelope had promised to send him. There was a note as well.

Dear Harry,

I'm so pleased you actually show up on film, not least because it means you weren't lying to me. I know I'll cherish these keepsakes of a truly unforgettable weekend, and I hope you'll remember me fondly as well.

Yours always,

Penelope

Harry noticed Hermione was deliberately looking away to give him privacy. 'Do you want to see them?' he asked. 'They're photographs from Penelope, the Muggle I met the weekend before last.'

'Yes, if that's all right.' He showed her the photographs: one was taken in the restaurant by their waiter, and another was taken by a porter in the foyer at Claridge's. And there were two more, taken under a streetlamp by a friendly tourist. One showed Harry with his arm around Penelope, and the other showed them kissing.

'Look at you, in a jacket and tie!' exclaimed Hermione. 'You look like a perfect Muggle gentleman. And she looks lovely as well.'

'She was. Er, is. She's not dead or anything. We had a really nice time together.'

Hermione sighed and said, 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply you're just having meaningless sex with a series of strangers. Obviously there's an emotional connection as well.'

'Not always,' he admitted. 'Not last night. But usually.' He was quiet before adding, 'I have a present for you, actually. From Paris.'

'That wasn't necessary,' said Hermione, but he waved his hand dismissively and pulled out his wand.

'Hang on, let's see how my Summoning Charm is these days. Accio Hermione's present.'

Moments later, a slim box flew from the stairwell into Harry's hand, and he proudly handed it to her. 'Oh Harry,' she said, opening the box and folding back the tissue paper. 'This is beautiful!' She pulled out the silk scarf and held it up.

'It's magical,' he said. 'Look at the pattern ... it changes over time.'

'You're right! I love it—thank you. Did you choose it yourself?'

'I narrowed it down to two and let Sophie decide.'

'And she's the one from today's Prophet?'

'Yes ... she was brilliant too. She showed me all around Paris, including a flying carpet tour.'

Hermione looked at him fondly. 'You're really very romantic. I hope people can see that, along with everything else.'

Kreacher arrived to tell them dinner was ready, and they entered the dining room and started to eat. There was no further discussion of Harry's loose morals, and he was reluctant to tell her about Light magic. But he told her he wanted to find a general tutor.

'I'm tired of not knowing things I ought to have learnt, either at Hogwarts or in secondary school or sixth form or whatever I'd have attended in the Muggle world. At least I have a good vocabulary, probably thanks to you, but I feel ignorant a lot of the time. I'm hoping a tutor can help.'

'Harry, that's wonderful! Do you have any idea how you'll find one? I can't say I know anything about engaging tutors in the wizarding world.'

'I thought I might start by asking the FLOOF people, since it's a big part of their mission to help werewolves find jobs.'

'Good idea. And it would be a nice way to practise what you preach, as opposed to just telling other people to employ werewolves.'

He nodded. 'I'll have Mrs Thwip owl them about it tomorrow, although she'll probably lecture me because I've fallen behind on my correspondence. That was the problem with disappearing to Paris over the weekend. But how was your weekend?'

'I missed Ryan, of course, but it was productive. And last night I went to Hogwarts.'

'You went to Hogwarts? How did it go? What's the situation with the wards?'

She smiled. 'They're gone. Myrtle did it—the water too. She was even able to travel through the pipe leading to the tree Phineas Nigellus planted, and Hagrid cut it down. With a single axe blow, apparently.'

'They're really gone? Are you sure?'

'Yes, we even scolded Phineas Nigellus's portrait for a long time until he blew us a raspberry and disappeared.'

'Fantastic. And how is Myrtle doing? Will there be an article about her in the Prophet, or are their wards still up?'

'The Prophet wards will come down later this week,' said Hermione. 'But I don't know if Myrtle will see the article ... she's been nowhere to be found these last few days.'

Harry nodded. 'I suspected as much. And I certainly hoped it would. We talked about that on our date.'

'Really? And did she seem amenable to moving on?'

'In the end, yes.'

'Minerva said she was delighted with last week's article, and she made certain all the other ghosts saw it. But otherwise she worked incessantly on the wards and apparently went through every pipe twice, just to make sure.'

Their conversation continued over dinner, and Hermione asked if he had special plans for the radio broadcast that night.

'No, other than not to antagonise Malfoy this time. Andromeda lectured me about that. Whether I like it or not, he's a relation now, and he'll also be powerful someday.'

'Yes, and I suppose he's well positioned to play both sides. He can claim he was coerced by his father to take the Mark, but privately he can tell people he did it on purpose.'

'You're right, and I wish I'd realised that sooner. Andromeda is going to try to contain the damage by inviting Narcissa here and showing her the tapestry. Apparently it's a big deal that my name showed up as Black and not Potter—she says it means even Draco can't challenge my legitimacy. She's coming over on Sunday, and Andromeda says the next step is for me to propose meeting with Draco.'

'At Malfoy Manor? Do you think you can handle that?'

'I can't say I'm looking forward to it. I started hyperventilating when I went to Claridge's with Penelope, because the decor is so similar. I suppose I can prepare myself by going there for afternoon tea.'

'Thanks for the warning,' said Hermione. 'I don't anticipate going to Claridge's, but it's good to know I should avoid it for now.'

'Merlin only knows what I'll say to Draco ... I almost wish I could invite a semi-neutral party like Theo Nott.'

'Maybe you can, eventually,' said Hermione.

'You mean go back?'

'If you want to cultivate him as an ally, then yes.'

'Cultivate Draco Malfoy as an ally? Blimey, that sounded even weirder than talking about wallpaper.'

'You're the diplomat,' said Hermione. 'Look at how much the goblins like you now.'

'I suppose you're right. Which is good, since I want to hire one of their electric-power devices again. Isla Preston urged me to host another party, this time for all the Quidditch teams.'

'Will you want music again?'

'Yes, she insisted, but I might just buy my own stereo system. You and Ryan shouldn't have to drive four hours round trip every time I want to play music for guests.'

'He'd probably do it happily, but that's thoughtful of you. I'm sure he'd be glad to help you choose what to get.'

'That's good, since I don't know the first thing about stereos. Though I suppose Dudley could point me in the right direction.'

'I'm certain he could.' She looked at her wristwatch and said, 'When do you need to leave for the broadcast? It's twenty to seven.'

'I should wash up and go.' They walked together to the reception hall fireplace and he said, 'I'm sorry I shouted at you earlier. I know you're only looking out for me.'

'I shouldn't have been sanctimonious like that. People are going to think what they want to, and you should live your life however you choose.'

For a change, thought Harry bitterly, remembering how Dumbledore had manipulated him. Hermione left through the fireplace, and minutes later he did the same.

The crowd at the Leaky Cauldron did a double-take when they saw Harry wearing a Puddlemere jersey. 'You haven't switched teams, have you?' asked a wizard.

Harry smiled and turned around, revealing Phil's surname and number. 'Just showing my support,' he said. 'Routledge is a friend of mine.'

'He took a beating on Saturday, that's for certain. Allie Hobbs is one to watch.'

'Yes, I'll probably be wearing her jersey next,' said Harry.

'Don't stop wearing robes though,' said an older witch. 'I see too many young people running around in trainers and jerseys, looking like hooligans. Thanks to you my grandson has started dressing respectably, except he deliberately messes up his hair,' she added, glaring at him.

'I can't help my hair. And I promise I'll keep wearing robes—tonight is a special exception.'

When he arrived at the shop there was a larger crowd in the street than the previous week, and it looked as if Lee had rigged some kind of magical loudspeaker.

'There he is!' shouted a witch, and the crowd started cheering. People approached him for autographs, but Harry had to wave them away.

'Sorry, I'm running late. But I'll try to sign them afterwards, and if not you can write to me in care of the team.'

'Which team?' asked a wizard. 'Chudley or Puddlemere?'

'Chudley,' said Harry, turning around. 'This is just a nod to Phil Routledge.'

George arrived at the door and whisked him inside. 'Glad you made it, Harry.' He looked at his jersey and said, 'Don't tell me you've switched teams.'

'No, I'm just wearing Phil Routledge's jersey for a lark.'

'Brilliant, you've started another trend. Come on, to the booth with you.'

George ushered Harry through the crowd and into the radio booth where Lee was waiting. After asking the same question as George, Lee said, 'Is there anything new that's off limits this week?'

'I don't know. What do you have in mind?'

'Let's see... there's the girl you were with in Paris.'

'That's fine.'

'Are you still seeing her, long distance?'

'No, it was just for the weekend.'

'Excellent, our female listeners will be delighted. How about your date with Moaning Myrtle.'

'Also fine, but please refer to her as Myrtle.'

'All right. What about Draco Malfoy?'

'Off limits. I should never have sent that Patronus.'

'Are you serious?' said George. 'That was hilarious! And everyone wants to see Prongs again.'

'I'm happy to generate Prongs and send him on another mission—in fact I have a destination in mind—but I won't send him to Malfoy Manor again.'

'Fine,' said Lee. 'We have a new idea for the Walburga segment, but I'd rather surprise you with it. Is that all right?'

'Yes, that's fine. Worst case scenario we can use the delay.'

'Can we do the same with the listener post segment? We've received quite a few questions for you, but again, I'd rather keep the surprise.'

'All right, but I mightn't answer all of them.'

'That's fine—a refusal is equally entertaining. Do you need to make another announcement about your relations? Asking people not to attack them?'

'The attacks stopped last Wednesday. But I'd like to thank everyone for respecting my wishes. We can get that out of the way at the start if you like.'

'Yes, all right,' said Lee. 'Do you want to talk about your Wizengamot appearance tomorrow?'

'No, I don't want to jeopardise the outcome. Anything else?'

George and Lee exchanged glances. 'What about your reputation?' asked George. 'Regarding witches.'

'You've never held back before. Why are you asking now?'

'My dad insisted I ask,' admitted George. 'I think Mum pushed him into it.'

'Why is it any of their business?' asked Harry, annoyed.

'They still see you as family. And I think they feel responsible somehow, because of Ginny.'

'Since when has Ginny done anything on account of your parents?' scowled Harry. 'That was between her and me, and my personal life doesn't have anything to do with your parents. And in answer to your question, go ahead and take the piss. People are going to jump to conclusions about me anyway, so you might as well have fun with it.'

'I'm glad to hear it,' said Lee, looking relieved. 'As if Molly and Arthur Weasley were in a position to lecture someone about bedroom shenanigans.'

'They're in all sorts of positions, based on the evidence,' said Harry, earning a grimace from George.

'Are you ready for your Veritaserum?' asked George, brandishing a water glass.

'Yes, why not,' said Harry, taking a sip. 'Just don't ask me why we robbed Gringotts.'

'Understood. One quick question—why did you rob Gringotts?'

'We were looking for the Philosopher's Stone. For old times' sake.'

'Excellent. I can see why you wanted to keep that a secret.'

'Thirty seconds,' said Lee. They chatted a little longer until Lee held up his fingers and counted down.

'Good evening, and welcome to another instalment of Weasley's Wizard Wireless. First I'd like to acknowledge the absolutely tremendous crowd here at the shop. Our listeners can't see them, but they've squeezed themselves into every square inch of floor space, and I actually see a few people hanging in mid-air atop brooms. There's also an overflow crowd in Diagon Alley, and they're having a proper party out there.' Harry could see the crowd cheering wildly.

'I'm certain they're all here to gaze upon the majestic painted form of our patroness, Lady Walburga Black, and not at all because of our other guest, who's just some tosser wearing a Puddlemere jersey. I know I have his name written down here somewhere.' Lee noisily shuffled some papers before saying, 'Here it is. Please welcome Harry Popper. I'm sorry– Potter.'

Lee motioned for them to stay quiet until some of the cheering had died down, and George spoke. 'Harry, you're looking a bit different this week. In fact, I'm having trouble believing it's actually you, and I imagine our audience is equally concerned. Would you be so kind as to verify your identity with your Patronus?'

'I'd be glad to,' said Harry, standing up. 'Expecto Patronum!'

The crowd parted as Prongs sprang from his wand, and the glowing stag turned expectantly towards Harry.

'Prongs, I want you to deliver this message to a pair of very special four-year-olds named Kate and Liza Barrowmaker.' In a silly voice he said, 'Good evening, ladies! It's wonderful to see you again. I hope you'll go to sleep promptly tonight and give your mum and dad privacy until morning. That means no running into their bedroom after bedtime, unless there's a real problem—and you're definitely old enough to know the difference between a real problem and a pretend one. Good night, and sweet dreams!'

Prongs leapt forth and vanished, and the crowd cheered. Lee said, 'I'm happy to report to our radio audience that Harry has successfully proven his identity. Which brings us to the question on the minds of our in-store audience: why the hell are you wearing a Puddlemere jersey? Have you switched teams?'

'I have not. I'm still a Cannon and have no intention of changing that. But if you look at the back of the jersey I'm wearing you'll see I'm paying homage.' He stood and turned around.

'Aha,' said Lee. 'The back of Harry's jersey reveals a number 8 and the name Routledge, referring to Puddlemere Seeker Phil Routledge. So this is a tribute?'

'It is. Phil's a friend of mine, and I wanted to tell the world what a high opinion I have of him. Just because we're rivals on the pitch, that doesn't mean we can't support each other off of it.'

'What a tremendous show of sportsmanship,' said Lee. 'Now Harry, before we continue, I know there's some serious business you'd like to get out of the way.'

'Yes. I'd like to thank everyone for stopping the attacks on my relations. The wards and protections are still in place, and always will be, but I'm hugely relieved the attacks have stopped. And I'm grateful to Lee and George for giving me a platform.'

'We're glad to provide it,' said Lee. 'And I should point out that end of the attacks on Harry's relations meant he was able to leave town for a few days. Would you like to tell us more about that, Harry?'

'Yes. I left town for a few days.'

'That wasn't more,' said George pointedly.

'You're right,' said Harry. 'I went to Paris. It was the first time I'd ever left Britain.'

'And did you enjoy her? I mean it?' asked Lee.

'Yes to both.'

'How did you meet her? I assume she's French?'

'Yes, her name's Sophie and she's friends with Laetitia, the model I was photographed with two weeks ago.'

'And Sophie's a model as well?'

'Yes. And a lovely person.'

'And now the question at least half our audience is dying to know the answer to: Are you and she now an item? Should we expect to see you two running around London together?'

'No, it was just for the weekend. She told me about an old American film, in which the couple has a splendid love affair in Paris but is forced apart by circumstances. The line is, "We'll always have Paris." That's what she said to me, just before that photograph was taken at the portkey terminal.'

'I don't know about our listeners at home,' said Lee, 'but I see some of our in-store audience members dabbing their eyes right now. I daresay you're more romantic than most people realise ... which brings us to our next segment! George, please tell Harry what we'd like for him to do.'

'Thank you, Lee. This is a new twist on an old favourite, which we're calling "Marry me, Walburga!" It's quite simple, really—Harry, we want you to propose marriage to Walburga Black.'

'And before you protest,' said Lee, 'we looked up the relevant laws and confirmed there's no prohibition against marrying your adopted grandmother. In fact, the Blacks had a particular fondness for what might delicately be called "intrafamilial matrimony."'

'In other words, inbreeding,' said George.

'And we couldn't find any laws prohibiting marriage between a wizard and a portrait,' added Lee. 'So Harry, would do us the great honour of proposing to Lady Walburga Black?'

'As much as I'd like to make her my own, I'm afraid I can't,' said Harry.

George looked heartbroken. 'But why? Don't tell me you're already married!'

'No, I'm not. But I'm under strict orders not to propose to anyone until I turn twenty-one.'

'Strict orders?' said Lee. 'From whom?'

'I shan't say.'

'It was Sirius, wasn't it?' said George. 'That sounds like something he'd do.'

'It was not. I'm certain Sirius would have been overjoyed if I'd married his late mother's portrait.'

Lee looked at Harry appraisingly. 'Would you be willing to tell us why you're under these orders?'

Harry took a long breath before answering. 'It was recommended that I grow up a bit before entering a lifelong commitment. And I'm inclined to agree. The fact is, I fall in love too easily, and I probably shouldn't make any hasty decisions. If it's the right match, it'll keep for another couple of years.'

'George, is it my imagination, or did some of the witches in the audience just faint from romantic overload?' asked Lee.

'It's not your imagination. Harry Potter just declared himself unavailable for matrimony but easily conquered by Cupid's arrow, which nearly made me swoon.' He paused and added, 'You know, we'd hoped to have Harry talk with Walburga, but I feel like we ought to skip to another segment. Lee, do you agree?'

'I do. So allow me to introduce a new feature on Weasley's Wizard Wireless: listener post. You won't be surprised to learn we've received quite a few letters in response to our radio programme, nearly all of which are directed towards our illustrious guest. This conversation has touched on two major themes in our listener post, so we'll dive right in.' Lee rifled through a stack of papers and pulled out a letter. '"Dear Harry,"' he read. '"My girlfriends and I are dying to know whether you consider yourself likely to marry, or if you plan to remain a bachelor. Yours sincerely, Jeanine M." Harry, I think you already answered that, but would you care to repeat it for anyone who may have nodded off?'

'Jeanine, I'm glad you asked,' said Harry. 'There seems to be a misconception that I'm only interested in cheap encounters, but that's not true. I would very much like to marry and raise a family one day. But not yet.'

'Fantastic,' said Lee. 'And this brings us to a related question, which we heard from multiple letter-writers: Do you have a type?'

'Yes,' said Harry. 'Women. Not that there's anything wrong with men, or the men who love them, but I don't happen to swing that way.'

'Now there's a revelation!' declared George. 'You've undoubtedly disappointed a segment of our audience, but it's best to clear the air. Could you tell us a little more about your type? I know you've been accused of favouring redheads.'

'I think that was a coincidence more than anything. My first girlfriend, back at Hogwarts, had black hair and looked nothing like my mother. And Sophie has brown hair, as did the Muggle from the weekend before last. It's possible a pattern will emerge over time, but I haven't found it yet.'

'Would you say you're currently in the data-gathering phase?' asked Lee.

'Do you mean, am I currently meeting as many women as possible in the hopes of identifying a trend?'

'I might have used a verb other than "meeting," but yes.'

'My answer is that data-gathering is very low on my list of priorities.'

'That's a shame,' said George. 'I can just imagine the line you'd use on your quarry. "Excuse me, miss, but I'm collecting data for a large-scale research project. Would you mind completing a particularly exhaustive survey in my enormous bed? In recompense I can offer you either a breakfast I cook myself or an elf-made breakfast, also in my enormous bed."'

'Surely that's not all they're getting in recompense,' said Lee, prompting Harry to grin roguishly. 'Our guest isn't answering, but his expression speaks volumes.'

'I'm sorry, I have to laugh because you're proving a point Sophie made last weekend.'

'And what point is that?'

'That Anglo-Saxons—which is a blanket term French people use for the British and North Americans, regardless of ethnicity—are simultaneously uptight and obsessed with sex.'

'Interesting,' replied George. 'And would you care to explain how we've proven her point?'

'I'd be glad to. From what I could tell, sex isn't that big a deal in France. Make no mistake—they're doing it, and they're rather public when it comes to foreplay, but they don't feel the need to talk about it or speculate about what other people are up to.'

'So you're saying that the moral outrage over your new nocturnal habits is uniquely British, or Anglo-Saxon, rather?'

'Yes, and I hate to break it to you, but these aren't new nocturnal habits. I dated Ginny for a solid year after the war ended, and we were every bit as active as I am now, if not more so.'

George scowled at him. 'Potter, it's only out of long years of friendship and my wager on the Cannons' upcoming match that I'm not hexing your bits off right now.'

'I appreciate that. But my point is that nobody criticised me back then for being sex-mad. On the contrary, everyone approved that I was on schedule to get married before my twentieth birthday. But then Ginny decided we weren't suited to one another, and now my choice is either to rush into another serious relationship or investigate "charms for the single wizard," as they're euphemistically called.'

'Or just shag whoever you like and be criticised for it,' said Lee.

'Exactly. And don't tell me I should be more discreet, because that's not an option. I was trying to be discreet the night George and I had dinner at a pub and I joked about quitting the Ministry and joining the Cannons—we'd used privacy charms and everything—but during the ten seconds the charms were down, someone overheard us and told the Prophet about it. So unless I want to only date Muggles, which requires more lying than I'm comfortable with, or drink Polyjuice Potion whenever I leave the house, my private life is going to be on public display.'

'Clearly we've touched a raw nerve,' said George. 'But I feel compelled to point out that most people who talk about your private life don't seem to disapprove of it—I certainly don't, now that my sister is no longer involved. Quite the opposite ... they're pleased you're having a good time, and they even admire it, albeit in a sexist "boys will be boys" way.'

'That's what I've observed as well,' said Lee. 'The only thing I'd add is that there's a certain amount of envy directed your way.'

Harry groaned. 'Don't get me started on envy. Lately I've heard myself described as "the most envied wizard in Britain," or some variant thereof, and I have to roll my eyes. I mean yes, I can understand why someone might want to be a league Seeker or own a townhouse, but in my case that's not all you get. You also get the dead parents and the crap childhood and years of being targeted by Voldemort,' he said hotly. 'You get a godfather who was stuck in Azkaban for more than a decade and wasn't exonerated until after he died. A death I witnessed, by the way. And don't forget the bloody nightmares.'

Lee pressed his finger to the broadcast delay rune. 'You sound agitated. Do you want to broadcast all that?' he asked.

'No, censor it.' Harry took a long sip of water and added, 'Sorry, I didn't get enough sleep last night. Thanks for stopping me.'

Lee performed the wand movements to restart the broadcast. 'I apologise to our audience at home, who just missed an epic rant on the part of our guest. His excuse was that he didn't get enough sleep last night—a mystery we'll leave as an exercise for the listener. But perhaps we should read another letter.' He flipped through the letters and read, 'Dear Harry, I am fifteen years old and have never had a girlfriend. Do you have any advice on getting a girl to like me? Unfortunately I'm not a good flyer or rich or anything like that. Sincerely, M.T.'

Harry thought for a moment before answering. 'First off, I didn't have a girlfriend until I was fifteen, and frankly it was a failed mess of a non-relationship, so it barely even counts. And I apologise if she's listening, but I know she'd agree. That said, I think confidence is more important for attracting witches than any of the things you mentioned. The reason she and I got together was because I'd begun teaching defensive magic—secretly, since our real professor was useless—and it made me a lot more confident. I'm certain there's something you're good at, like Potions, or drawing, and so you should try generating confidence from that.'

He continued, 'But let's face it, we're all shallow, and it's worth trying to look good as well. I knew a fellow who had a crush on a girl for years, but he had seriously greasy hair and never bothered finding a decent shampoo. I honestly have no idea why he never made the effort, and it's too late to ask, but either he expected her not to care what he looked like—even though part of why he liked her was that she was pretty—or he had so little self-confidence that he didn't see the point of fixing something that was clearly under his control.

'I should add that nothing is more deadly to self-confidence than pining over someone who doesn't like you back. So if there's a specific girl you like but she's not interested, just accept it and find someone else. I've been rejected too, most notably by George's sister, and yes, I brooded about it for a while. I can guarantee I wouldn't be very confident right now if I were still desperately trying to get Ginny back, but fortunately my teammates helped me move forward.'

'And by "move forward,"' said Lee, 'you mean move back and forth repeatedly.'

'Merlin, I hope so,' said George. 'If all he does is move forward a single time, it's no wonder he can't keep a girl interested.'

Harry glared at them and Lee said, 'Sorry mate, we're Anglo-Saxon! Though I can't say I ever thought the term could apply to me.'

'And our listeners are Anglo-Saxon as well, unless they're also tuning in from across the Channel,' said George.

'They are,' said Harry. 'And I should say hello to the crowd at Merlin's Quaffle in Paris. Sophie dragged me into a British pub on the Îlot Gicale—that's the magical district—and I met a bunch of expats.'

'Not exiled Death Eaters, I hope?' said George. 'I suppose not, if you've returned in one piece.'

'No, they were very friendly. A lot of them moved abroad during one of the wars, but others left in search of better opportunities, due to the rampant favouritism in Britain towards Hogwarts alumni.'

'Yes, about that,' said Lee. 'We'd like to hear more about your date with Myrtle Warren, the Hogwarts ghost. My first question is whether you recommend dating ghosts, particularly to young witches or wizards hoping to develop confidence.'

'I do not. But I do recommend being nice to ghosts, particularly if they're really suffering. A lot of them died under tragic circumstances, and they may be stuck reliving that trauma again and again. I wish I'd been nicer to Myrtle when I was at Hogwarts, but at least I was able to listen to her properly last week.'

'Do you know whether she was successful at removing the interfering wards?' asked Lee.

'She was. Hermione went to Hogwarts last night and says they're completely gone. Myrtle was incredibly thorough, and she deserves to be remembered as a heroine.'

'And the wards are also gone from the Ministry, and presumably from the Prophet as well,' noted George.

'The Prophet will be later this week,' said Harry. 'But I think the removal of the wards is just the start.'

'What are you suggesting?' asked Lee.

'An active effort to give schools other than Hogwarts the credit they deserve. The sad truth is that I got a seriously patchy education at Hogwarts. Admittedly I dropped out a year early, and of course things have improved significantly under Professor McGonagall, but otherwise its only unique merit is that it's the oldest wizarding school in Britain.'

'And that it turned out Voldemort,' said George. 'They can never take that away from us.'

'You're right,' said Harry. 'They should really change the school motto to reflect that.'

'I'm not sure our non-Hogwarts listeners want to hear us prattling on about the school they've been hearing about their entire lives,' observed Lee. 'As the resident Charms expert at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, I'm wondering whether we might ward the shop to make people forget about Hogwarts.'

A large portion of the audience began cheering and nodding enthusiastically. 'That's an interesting proposition,' said George. 'I like it in theory, but it might interfere with our owl order business. We can't very well address parcels to "Beauxbatons, or somewhere in North America."'

'You're right,' said Lee. 'But perhaps we could ward the broadcast booth. Or experiment with a different ward every week, just to see what happens.'

'I like it,' said George. 'Can you ward the booth one week to make us forget who Harry Potter is?'

'That sounds alarming,' said Harry. 'I'm not sure how I'd feel about forgetting my own name. Lockhart threatened to Obliviate me, back in the Chamber of Secrets, and he very nearly succeeded.'

'It needn't be permanent,' said Lee. 'And perhaps it would give you some much-needed perspective. It might also deflate that ego of yours, at least temporarily. After all, it must be fatiguing to look in the mirror every morning and think, "Great Godric, there's the bloke who defeated Voldemort! And didn't he also lead the Chudley Cannons to their longest winning streak since Grindelwald's War? And what's this? Why it's some new and gorgeous witch in my bed. Tra la la!"'

Harry scowled at Lee, which drew roars of laughter from the audience. 'Folks, you can't see the face Harry is making at Lee, but we've clearly struck another nerve. I'm certain Harry won't come back if we keep abusing him like this.'

'No, I'll come back,' he said. 'I always have a great time here, and of course I can't resist Walburga. Might I say hello?'

'Of course,' cried Lee. He tapped the portrait with his wand and said, 'Excuse me, Mrs Black, your old friend Harry has come to see you.'

'The debauched half-blood returns!' she shrieked. 'If you had any decency, you'd renounce your Mudblood bitch of a mother and settle down with a pure-blood and sire a family.'

'Don't call my mother a bitch, you painted cow,' snapped Harry.

'Relax, I think she was using the "female dog" meaning of the word,' said George. 'You mustn't take it personally.'

'Fine, I'll let it pass,' grumbled Harry. 'But Walburga, are you saying I still have a chance to redeem myself, if I disavow my mother and marry a pure-blood?'

'As much as it disgusts me to admit it, yes,' she said with a glower.

'I can't believe it,' said Harry. 'This is the most civil thing you've ever said to me. But why would a pure-blood witch want to associate herself with the degenerate son of a blood-traitor?'

'Because you bear the sacred name of my fathers,' she spat.

Harry's eyebrows shot up. What does she know? he wondered.

'Does he?' asked George. 'Last I saw, the name on the back of his Quidditch costume was Potter.'

'Actually it's Routledge,' replied Harry. 'But George is right, my name is Potter, not Black.'

'You can't deny the family magic,' she said ominously. 'Although it offends me to the core, you are the head of House Black. And it's your highest duty to carry on the family line.'

'I'm sorry, but you're going to have to wait several years at least. I'm under strict orders to engage exclusively in premarital sex until I'm twenty one.'

George looked at him sceptically. 'I think you've conveniently reworded your two-year ban on proposing marriage.'

'Who dares issue orders to the head of House Black!' shrieked Walburga.

'Besides yourself?' asked Lee.

'That's none of your business,' retorted Harry, tapping the portrait with his wand.

There was a brief silence until George said, 'That was a surprising plot twist.'

'Yes, she's never been that nice to me before,' said Harry. 'For a moment it was almost like having a real mum.'

'The shrieking is certainly accurate,' said George. 'But tell me, Harry—are you considering changing your name?'

'I'm not prepared to say,' he replied, knowing he'd already decided.

'Fascinating,' said Lee. 'When the time comes, I hope you'll consider making the announcement on our programme.'

'That all depends on how the booth is warded,' said Harry. 'It won't be much of announcement if I can't remember what I'm changing it from. But on another topic, I notice you haven't mentioned a store discount this week. Did I fail to trigger it? If so, I'm very sorry.'

'I'm afraid you did,' said George. 'It had to do with the flowers you selected, but you aren't wearing any.'

'No, they didn't go with the jersey, and there's no buttonhole.'

'I hope your sole sponsor isn't too disappointed,' said Lee.

'Actually, they're not my sole sponsor anymore. Due to a mishap involving my house-elf, I now endorse Wendell and Sons, a home decor shop on Diagon Alley.'

'A mishap involving your house-elf?' asked George. 'Does this mean your endorsement is some form of restitution?'

'Not quite, but almost. Kreacher went overboard installing wallpaper at my house while I was away, and I agreed to repay the shop with an endorsement. Fortunately, I'm happy with the wallpaper he chose, and it's a very nice shop.'

'Harry, in a short time you've truly redefined wizarding masculinity,' said Lee. 'Will you endorse a perfumer next?'

'No, perfumes are foppish. Flowers should be sufficient.'

'What about aftershave?' asked George. 'You run the risk of getting Howlers for a blanket denunciation like that.'

'Oh right, aftershave. I can't say I bother with it—my razor has built-in Soothing charms. I don't object to other wizards wearing it, but for Merlin's sake take a shower first.'

'Words to live by,' said George. 'I daresay that would have helped your greasy-haired friend, although I'm certain I made the same suggestion numerous times, including once in a fireworks display.'

'Why don't I remember that?' asked Harry.

'Good question. I think we did it to cheer everyone up after some calamity, which means you were probably in the hospital wing. You should really have a commemorative plaque there.'

'They could name that charmed bedpan after you,' suggested Lee. 'You know—the one that automatically Vanishes the contents.'

'I remember it well,' said Harry. 'But I'd just as soon not have it named after me.'

'Fine, but this is a missed opportunity to bring glory to the Potter name. Or the Black name, if you prefer,' said George.

'Enough about my name,' grumbled Harry. 'Maybe you should make me forget it next week.'

'So you'll return next week?' asked Lee. 'In spite of our juvenile and typically Anglo-Saxon obsession with your private life?'

'Yes, and I'll wear flowers as well.'

'Brilliant!' said George. 'In the meantime, our listeners can receive a ten percent discount through Sunday by batting their eyes at the sales clerk and saying "We'll always have Paris."'

Lee said, 'And Harry, thanks as always for joining us, and good luck with that research survey we discussed earlier.'

'Cheers, see you next time.'

Harry let himself out of the booth and walked through the cheering crowd towards the exit. As promised, he spent a while signing autographs, but to his disappointment Lydia Travers wasn't there. It's just as well she can't see me like this, he thought, looking down at his Puddlemere jersey. It was clear several of the autograph seekers didn't mind it, but Harry politely ignored their advances and went home for an unaccompanied night's sleep.