28

When Harry arrived at the training facility on Monday morning, Lara was affixing a sign to the cupboard where she stored the healing potions. He was too far away to read the text but he saw a large numeral 2.

'What's this?' he asked, approaching her.

A closer look revealed the legend: 'Days since Harry Potter was on the front page of the Prophet.'

'I'm giving you a free pass for the sports item on Sunday,' she said. 'Even though the word "Potter" was technically on the front page.'

'I assume I don't receive an exemption for when they call me Lord Black?'

'Nice try. No.'

'Does this tie into Suresh's betting pool, by any chance?' asked Harry.

'Yes, directly. The Cannons staff wanted in on it as well.'

'I thought it was just an honour bet.'

'It is,' said Lara. 'Honour is very important to the Cannons organisation.'

'I suspect the streak will end soon—the lords can't keep quiet much longer.'

'No, I don't think they will. They're probably just arguing about whose owl should deliver it.'

'Am I eligible to join the wager?' asked Harry.

'No. You have too much power to throw the outcome.'

'By showing up somewhere in robes you mean? Or telling off the entire wizarding peerage?'

'For example.'

Harry sighed and went to the locker room. 'Good morning,' said Owen. 'Are you ready for Seekers' night out?'

'I can't wait!'

'That's good—I've heard from a few of them and they're dead curious about you, particularly after Saturday's match. There's apparently a pair of Omnioculars making the rounds.'

'Literal or figurative Omnioculars?'

'The literal variety, with recordings of your various feints.'

'Well then, I suppose there will be lots to talk about,' said Harry. 'By the way, how did you and Hermione get on at the Spyglass? I saw you sitting together.'

'Brilliantly. She cares deeply about you, as I'm sure you already know.'

'It's mutual. What do you suppose Tuttle will throw at us today?'

'Stay the course, I'm guessing. Though we're playing Puddlemere on Saturday, and they're in first place.'

'How's their Seeker?'

'Good. Really good. Strong flyer. Probably not quite as good a spotter as you, though. He's a lot like how you were when you started a few weeks ago.'

'And what kind of person is he?'

'Solid bloke. You'll probably meet him tonight. Phil Routledge, Muggle-born. So you needn't take the Mudblood taunts seriously.'

'Good to know.'

They walked out to the benches together, and soon afterwards Tuttle appeared. 'Good work on Saturday, everyone. I hope you all got some rest, because we're going to push it harder than ever this week. We'll be playing in Puddlemere, and until three weeks ago they assumed playing the Cannons would be an easy win. By now they've learnt otherwise, but you can bet they're going to scrutinise the hell out of our last match to figure out how to stop Potter in his tracks. So we need to stay ahead of them.'

'And how do you reckon we'll do that?' asked Darren.

'Stamina.'

Harry heard several of his teammates swallow.

'Fifteen laps. Now.'

Harry started running, but not fast enough to avoid Janet. 'This is all your fault, Snitchbottom.'

'You mean if I hadn't helped devise a winning strategy, we'd still be doing only ten laps?'

'Exactly,' said Janet. 'We had a good life until you showed up. Practice all week, show up for matches, get trounced, get plastered. Repeat.'

'You'll never get your own figurine with that kind of attitude.'

She shook her head. 'And to think, just three weeks ago you were the bespectacled Boy Who Lived who just wanted to get along with everyone. And now you're a robe-wearing, lord-antagonising, trash-talking menace.'

'What's your point?'

'I'm just so proud.'

Harry laughed and ran ahead of her. Fifteen laps wouldn't be a problem—it was a bit more than three miles instead of two, and the pitch was flat.

Saturday night with Helena had been tremendous. She'd been so aroused from the nightclub that she forgot to demand a foot massage, and her makeup was a massive turn-on as well. The false eyelashes didn't last the night, and her attempt to apply them to Harry was a hilarious failure. Later on he had another nightmare, but she wrapped herself around him and they fell asleep soon after.

In the morning they were temporarily dumbstruck by the lack of gossip about Harry in the Prophet—Helena had been convinced the lords would have their revenge. They had breakfast in bed again, this time with a sensible amount of flowers, and Helena pretended to cry in disappointment.

She's brilliant, thought Harry, and he was having trouble remembering why it was supposed to be just a fling. Admittedly he still didn't know very much about her—he wasn't even certain whether she had siblings, and for some reason he never remembered to ask. It was probably because they were always living in the present moment, whether it was with witty banter, emotional connection, or physical pleasure.

Was it possible to build a relationship on that? And could she overcome her aversion to publicity and be willing to stay with him? Truth be told, he didn't entirely understand her aversion. He'd hated publicity for most of his life, so he could relate in theory, but the hardest part had been when they were lying about him and about Voldemort. People had died because of that. But when the Prophet lied about him now, it didn't have the same effect—he and Helena could laugh about it within minutes.

What was so wrong with being known as Harry Potter's beautiful girlfriend? She'd probably receive some Howlers, but a single visit to Gringotts would put an end to them. And in the meantime they'd have all sorts of fun—nights out together and nights in together. He knew she'd get on with his Hogwarts mates, and he'd enjoyed meeting her friend Rebecca, who was apparently still dating George, so it seemed likely he'd get along with her other friends as well.

All in all, Helena seemed like a perfect fit. He was excited to show her off at the party, if she'd let him. But he got the impression she was going to spend most of the evening with her mate, and just slip upstairs with Harry at the end. Either way, it was still likely to be his best birthday by far.

By the time he finished his laps he wasn't any more tired than usual, but the calisthenics were another story. The trainers were downright brutal, and Harry suspected he'd need a little something from Lara's cabinet. Perhaps he could put Kreacher on the task, although the elf was already busy preparing the house for the party. Or, to be more accurate, for the Hogwarts house-elves he was planning to boss around.

Kreacher had decided he was superior to the Hogwarts elves because he was Harry's sole bonded elf and not merely one in a crowd. Furthermore, he was exceedingly proud of his ability to receive silent orders from his Master, which he insisted was proof he was the most devoted of servants. Harry occasionally caught Kreacher looking longingly at him and then closing his eyes, as if he were waiting for Harry to just pop into his mind and say hi.

So far this hadn't caused a problem, and Harry didn't think he needed to punish Kreacher anytime soon. But he'd also learnt that nothing in his life was predictable, and so he occasionally found himself storing up punishments for a rainy day. For example, 'That upper bookshelf looks awkward ... I wonder if Kreacher would enjoy stuffing himself inside it for a few hours.' Or, 'I bet nobody's cleaned out that drainpipe in centuries—that should be a real treat.'

The flying drills were predictably gruelling, with a special emphasis on potential disruptions from Harry. Tuttle hoped to expand their repertoire for Saturday's match, assuming Puddlemere would prepare for everything he'd done against the Arrows.

After showering, the starters all lumbered into town for lunch. Suresh and Gary made noises about needing a pint after their brutal morning, but of course they didn't order anything besides the usual water or soft drinks.

'At this rate we'll all be comatose for your party on Saturday,' grumbled Darren. 'Do you suppose you could hire some extra sofas for everyone to lie down on?'

'Nonsense,' said Ryan. 'It's always like this at the beginning of the week. Tuttle is hard on us, but by Thursday she eases up and we're perfectly relaxed by Saturday.'

'Why are you violating our inviolable right to whinge?' moaned Janet. 'I realise you're extra smug because you were photographed snogging an Order of Merlin recipient, while I was discreet enough to snog mine in private, but do you have to torture us with platitudes as well?'

'Ryan's right,' said Gary. 'We'll be fine in a few days. Tuttle's not going to send us into a match completely knackered. Which means we should be fine for Harry's party as well.'

'Have you heard back from people yet?' asked Renée. 'Is everyone you've invited planing to attend?'

'Yes, except for a pair of exceedingly shy classmates from Hogwarts.'

'Are you serious?' asked Suresh. 'How shy would you have to be to skip the party of the century?'

'I believe Harry said, "exceedingly,"' noted Darren.

'Potter, tell me more about these classmates,' said Janet. 'I want to understand what makes them tick.'

'I don't know anything about them, to be honest, They were in Hufflepuff, same as Gary, and they apparently kept to themselves.'

'Who are they?' asked Gary.

'Sally-Ann Perks and Lily Moon.'

Gary shrugged. 'Never heard of them. Which is odd, because I was a Prefect.'

'And apparently you never learnt what "exceedingly" means, particularly where shyness is concerned,' said Darren.

'I think we've beaten this topic to death,' said Suresh. 'But is everyone else coming?'

'Yes, everyone I've heard from so far.'

'The Exceedingly Shy twins could earn some serious gold selling their portkeys on the black market,' said Janet. 'Do you suppose this is just the long con?'

'Are you implying that they feigned shyness for eight years just in case Voldemort didn't kill me and I would eventually throw a huge party, for profit?'

'That's exactly what I'm implying, Snitchbottom.'

Suresh looked at Janet and said, 'I'm glad we don't need to worry about how you'll support yourself after your Quidditch career ends. You're quite the hustler.'

'I prefer the term "entrepreneur."'

They perked up again towards the end of lunch and were fairly lively by the time the practice match started. Harry tested the modified feinting strategies, and the Chasers and Beaters did a tolerable job recovering from his attacks. He caught the Snitch relatively early—after only forty-five minutes—which meant they'd all have plenty of time to relax.

'You're forgiven, Potter,' said Janet. 'For now.'

Walking back to the building, Owen provided more details about Seekers' night out. 'This month it's at the Surly Bowtruckle, which is a little more rustic than usual, so you should leave the white robes at home. Nobody drinks much because—let's face it—we're all lightweights. I shudder to imagine what Beaters' night out is like.'

'That is a frightening thought,' said Harry.

'Would you like to go there together?' asked Owen. 'It might take a bit of the pressure off, on both sides.'

'I'd like that, thanks. Shall I meet you at your house or do you want to come to mine?'

'You should come to mine. Jill is dying to see your house on Saturday, and she'll pepper me with questions if I get to see it first.'

'It's mostly just vast and gloomy. But I've grown weirdly fond of it.'

Harry showered and went home, and after resting on the sofa he decided to indulge Kreacher by requesting dinner silently. He supposed it was good to keep in practice, since it might be useful during the party to communicate discreetly with the elf.

Eight o'clock finally rolled around, and Harry travelled by Floo to Owen's house. He'd dressed casually in Muggle clothing, not wanting to invite future taunting by wearing something too flamboyant.

'Harry, welcome,' shouted Owen. He was carrying two wriggling girls—one under each arm—and they were squealing rather loudly. Harry noticed one of them was wearing glow-in-the-dark Prongs pyjamas. 'We're just getting them into bed, in spite of their best efforts to postpone it. You can wait here and I'll be out in a few minutes.'

'Cheers, take your time,' said Harry. He was alone in the kitchen of what appeared to be a cottage, not unlike the one he always pictured when he imagined Sirius had adopted him as an infant. It was warm and very magical, a bit like the Burrow but far less chaotic. He wondered whether it were possible to imbue Grimmauld Place with a similar warmth without ruining what he liked about it.

One of the kitchen walls had numerous children's drawings Spellotaped to it, and Harry saw evidence of more than one cat. He realised with a start that the house was similar to his parents' house in Godric's Hollow, except that it wasn't half destroyed by Voldemort. If Harry's parents hadn't died, and if he'd had a younger sibling, he was certain that James Potter would have carried them into bed just as Owen was doing.

This is what normalcy looks like, thought Harry. He almost felt like an intruder, and a wave of longing overtook him.

A woman about Owen's age stepped into the kitchen. 'Harry, I'm Jill—it's good to finally meet you.'

'I'm glad to meet you as well. Sorry to steal Owen from you tonight.'

'Not to worry. He never misses Seekers' night out, and I know he's looking forward to introducing you to everyone.'

'I honestly can't imagine my Cannons career without him. He's been enormously helpful, and I've grown very fond of him as well.'

'He feels the same way about you, Harry. He had no idea what to expect when you signed with the team, and I was nervous on his behalf that first day. But he came home and said you were a good egg, which from Owen is high praise.'

'I'm just grateful to have met him, and to get to work with him all week. He's remarkably good at taking the piss, I might add.'

'So I'm told. Fortunately he's learnt to keep it on the pitch, otherwise we'd need a spare bedroom or even a shed. You don't have a dungeon by any chance?'

'No, it appears the Blacks weren't inclined towards that sort of hospitality, thank Merlin.'

'I have to confess that my school chums and I can't wait to see your house. My friend Fiona's grandmum attended a reception at the Black townhouse back in the forties, and apparently it turned her off the Dark Arts forever.'

'Wow, I'm almost sorry now we removed all the Dark magic from the place. It could have stood as a warning.'

Owen reentered the kitchen and said, 'Jill, they're ready for their second story. Don't let them convince you I didn't read to them.'

'Nice to meet you, Harry, and have a great time tonight.' She gave Owen a quick kiss and left the room.

'Sorry to keep you waiting like that. I suppose now we'll make a grand entrance, which wasn't exactly my intention.'

'That's all right,' said Harry.

'I should warn you, everyone is going to be scrutinising you, looking for an advantage they can use during a match. They'll be friendly, and it'll be sincere for the most part, but don't reveal any vulnerabilities they don't already know about.'

Harry had a fleeting mental image of the Dursleys, followed by memories of how Cedric and Sirius had died. 'Thanks, that's good to know.'

They stepped through the fireplace one after the other and arrived at the Surly Bowtruckle, which was seedy-looking but fortunately a good deal cleaner than the Hog's Head. There was a collective shout from two round tables that had been pushed together.

'Barrowmaker, I see you've delivered the goods as promised,' said a wizard, whom Harry assumed was one of the Seekers.

'I'm a man of my word, Wainwright.'

'Make yourselves comfortable—we saved you the place of honour,' said Wainwright, pointing out the two cramped seats where the tables met.

Harry and Owen squeezed into their chairs and everyone introduced themselves. There were about eighteen Seekers present—starters and reserves—representing most the teams. All but four were male, and Harry could see that nearly all of them were roughly his height.

'Welcome to the league, Potter. You've certainly made a splash,' said one of the Seekers whose names Harry was struggling to remember. Selden Puttick? Banchory Bangers?

'A splash?' said Barnwistle, whom Harry had played on Saturday. 'More like an explosion! My wife asked me to convey some sharp words to you, Potter—you scared her half to death.'

'I'm sorry, that wasn't my intention. I only meant to scare you half to death.'

'Everyone, raise your hand if your coach forced you to watch Omniocular recordings of Potter today,' said one of the Seekers. Kieran Sheppard? Ballycastle? Nearly every hand went up. 'What, not you, Wither?'

'No,' said Wither. 'The Wasps have a Pensieve.'

'Aren't we fancy,' said Allie Hobbs, the Harpies Seeker.

'So about those feints, Potter,' said Sheppard. 'Why in Merlin's name didn't they call you on Blatching? You were obviously trying to crash into other players.'

'No I wasn't—I was trying to almost crash into the other players. Not the same thing at all.'

'That's a technicality if I've ever heard one,' said Sheppard. 'Well done.'

'Yes, cheers,' added Wither, raising his glass. 'Your technicality has officially ruined all our lives.'

'Have the Skele-Gro people offered you an endorsement contract yet?' asked Wainwright.

Harry laughed. 'No, but I hear they have their eye on Owen.'

The others laughed. 'Is it true Silver Arrow made you an offer?' asked one of the female Seekers. Isla Preston ... Kenmare? No, Caerphilly.

'Yes, but I'm not going to accept it.'

One of the Seekers spit out his beer. 'Are you insane? That's the most lucrative sponsorship you can get, bar none.'

Harry looked down at the pint glass someone had handed him. 'I know. But I'd rather not receive that kind of attention.'

'You're on the front page of the Prophet three times a week and you're worried about attention?' exclaimed Puttick.

'Furthermore, you publicly told all the wizarding lords to piss off and you're worried about attention?' added Wither.

Harry sighed. 'I've been accused of attention-seeking since my first day at Hogwarts. Putting my name on a broomstick and appearing on store displays would just add fuel to the fire.'

'I'm sorry to break it to you, Potter,' said Hobbs, 'but everyone already thinks you're an attention seeker. So you might as well just take the Galleons.'

'That's not true,' said another one of the female Seekers. Sarah something? Pride of Portree? 'Other than the lordship letter, Potter doesn't seem to try to get into the newspapers.'

'You're assuming he doesn't tip off reporters,' said another Seeker. Can't remember his name at all, but he's with the Magpies. 'That was pretty savvy, Potter—giving the Prophet an exclusive about quitting the Ministry to join the Cannons before you'd even spoken to anyone. I assume you picked the team with the worst Seeker and made your move?'

'That's not even remotely true,' said Owen. 'Harry was overheard joking with a mate, and the Prophet ran with it. He hadn't any intention of quitting the Ministry before that.'

'And they just hired you the next day? No trials or anything?' persisted the Magpies Seeker. Andrew Gilstrap. Merlin, what a wanker!

'They tested my flying and my ability to catch the Snitch.'

'And how did you feel about this, Barrowmaker?' asked Gilstrap. 'You would have been next in line.'

'No, I haven't started in years, due to my injuries. The Cannons just keep me around in case of dire emergency.'

'I'm glad they did,' said Harry. 'You're the best mentor and practice partner I could have asked for.'

'It's been my pleasure,' said Owen.

'Get a room,' jeered Sheppard. 'But back to the main point ... I can't believe you're turning down Silver Arrow. What the hell is wrong with you?'

'Read between the lines,' said Hobbs. 'Potter inherited a fortune from the Blacks and doesn't need the gold. He's a bloody lord, after all.'

Everyone looked at Harry, who remained silent.

'There's your answer,' she continued. 'Next question?'

'What in Merlin's name possessed you and your mates to break into Gringotts?' asked Wainwright.

'Sorry, that's classified,' said Owen. 'Nice try.'

'We had a good reason, I swear,' said Harry, trying to lighten the mood.

'Apparently, since it triggered the end of the war,' said Wither. 'Did you even sleep between breaking into Gringotts and killing Voldemort the next morning?'

'No, once the chain of events started, there was no stopping it.'

Puttick shook his head slowly and looked at the other Seekers. 'We are well and truly fucked.'

'No argument here,' said Barnwistle. 'Potter ground me into bits on Saturday.'

'Sorry, nothing personal!' said Harry.

'No, the personal bit was that taunt, which I'm going to share with the others as a public service. "At least I did something during the war besides playing Quidditch for a bunch of Death Eaters,"' he quoted.

The other Seekers winced, and Sheppard said, 'Ouch!'

'You know, during the war I literally had anxiety dreams about that,' said Puttick. 'That I was playing Quidditch and suddenly Harry Potter would turn up looking ... disappointed.'

'I had that one too,' said Sarah, 'only it also included Hermione Granger.'

'I've had dreams about Granger as well, but they were considerably more enjoyable,' said Wainwright.

'Save it for your next Cannons match,' said Wither. 'That's good taunting material.'

'Forget it,' said Owen. 'I've been taunting Harry mercilessly about Hermione for a fortnight. He's immune.'

'Oi!' protested Harry. 'Whose side are you on?'

'Good point,' said Owen. He turned to the others and said, 'Be sure to call her the M-word. That always sets him off.'

'No, it doesn't,' said Underhill. 'I tried.'

'You'd better not mess with Granger anyway,' said Sheppard. 'She's with Ryan Bellamy now, and he eats Seekers for breakfast.'

'Hermione can take care of herself; trust me on this,' said Harry.

'Why, what did she do to you?' asked Underhill.

'She sent me a Howler Saturday before last. It arrived at an inopportune moment, to say the least.'

'Hats off to Granger,' said Preston, laughing. 'What did you do to deserve that?'

Harry glanced at Owen. 'It was related to the house-elf incident.'

Owen shook his head and said, 'Your funeral, Potter.'

'What? There's nothing they can use against me.'

'They're inventive,' said Owen. 'But fine, go ahead.'

'Thanks to my godfather I have a house-elf, who's gone so far around the twist that he's back where he started. The morning before the Cannons' match against the Falcons, he revealed his masochistic streak and more or less begged me to punish him. So I offered to lock him in a cupboard for several hours, but I forgot to release him until just before the match, so I had to Summon him to the stadium. Hermione got wind of it—without any of the extenuating circumstances—and sent me a Howler for committing house-elf abuse.'

'Mind you,' added Owen, 'this was about thirty seconds after the Lord Black revelation. And about five minutes before the match started.'

Underhill was flabbergasted. 'And then you flew out and immediately wiped the floor with us? Bloody hell, Potter!'

'It would appear that You-Know-Who missed his true calling training Seekers,' said Withert. 'Do you think we could get some Death Eaters out of Azkaban on a work release program, to train up the rest of us?'

'Speak for yourself, Wither,' said Gilstrap.

The conversation continued for a while along these lines, mostly revolving around Harry. Andrew Gilstrap from the Montrose Magpies was the most hostile—Harry would play against him the weekend following the party. Phil Routledge from Puddlemere wasn't present, so Harry wasn't able to get a read on him.

Allie Hobbs from the Holyhead Harpies also rubbed Harry the wrong way. If she were friendlier he might have asked her about Ginny's first day, but he knew he was too vulnerable on that front, so he kept his mouth shut.

During a lull, Harry decided to change the topic. 'Do your Chasers hassle you about Quidditch scoring rules as much as Owen's and mine do?'

There was a collective groan. 'All the bloody time,' said Puttick. 'As if we had any say in the matter.'

'Do you think we could have a say?' asked Harry. 'Or is it a lost cause?'

Preston looked at him appraisingly. 'Are you really proposing a change? Normally I'd say, "Forget it, impossible," but with Harry Potter on the task, there might be hope.'

'Is your ego really that huge, Potter? You think you could change the rules of a centuries-old sport?' asked Gilstrap.

'No, my ego isn't that huge,' snapped Harry. 'I was thinking if enough of us banded together, and maybe got Seekers from other countries involved, we might be able to make some headway.'

'And who do you know in other countries?' sneered Gilstrap.

'Viktor Krum.'

That got everybody's attention. 'Why would Krum be in favour of it?' asked Sheppard.

'Same reason we all are,' replied Harry. 'Quidditch needs better scoring and—dare I suggest it—a clock. Do you think the fans like it when a match ends after ten minutes?'

'Forget about the fans,' said Preston. 'How do you think the owners like it when the beer vendors have to close up shop so early?'

'But how would that even work?' asked Hobbs. 'Are you suggesting that catching the Snitch wouldn't end the match? What would we do until the clock runs out?'

'Er, good question,' replied Harry. 'Thoughts?'

'Disrupt the other players?' said Wither.

'That's a new skill set for a Seeker, don't you think?' said Preston.

'Not for Potter,' said Barnwistle ruefully.

Owen shook his head. 'No, you can't have Seekers without a Snitch. Release another one.'

'But that would just make the scoring problem worse,' said Wainwright.

'Not if we change what the Snitch is worth,' said Harry. 'Fifty points, say.'

Many of the other Seekers were nodding, but Trent said, 'It needs to be an odd number, to reduce the likelihood of a tie.'

'Forty-nine,' declared Puttick. 'It's seven squared, which makes it magically powerful.'

'I like it,' said Preston. 'How long would the clock run?'

'Football matches are ninety minutes,' said Harry. 'Give or take.'

'What happens if nobody catches the Snitch in ninety minutes?' asked Wainwright.

'Keep going,' said Underhill. 'The fans love a long match. It's just the short ones nobody can stand.'

'I like it,' said Wither. 'That's still a nod to traditional Quidditch. Otherwise all the old fogeys will complain we've ruined the sport—they love swapping stories about eighteen-hour matches.'

'That's because they didn't have to play in them,' grumbled Puttick.

'That could work,' said Owen. 'Harry, do you reckon you could get Krum on board?'

'I haven't seen him in nearly two years. But there's no harm in asking.'

'Are you actually serious?' asked Gilstrap. 'How would you even go about it—send another statement to the Prophet?' He cleared his throat pompously and said, '"I, Harry James Potter, hereby request to completely upend the rules of Quidditch because I don't like being responsible for whether or not my team wins. I'd much rather wear Death Eater robes and shag my girlfriend, even though she's ashamed to be seen with me."'

Harry pushed back from the table in anger, but his chair bumped into Owen's. Before Harry could say anything, Owen said, 'Gilstrap, that was uncalled for. You're not on the pitch.'

'Seriously, Andrew,' said Underhill, 'are you really accusing Harry Potter of dressing like a Death Eater? He's earned the right to wear whatever he bloody well likes—he could wear a skull mask and I wouldn't complain.'

'Fine,' said Gilstrap. 'I'll save it for the match. Saturday after next, Potter.'

'I look forward to it,' said Harry, glaring at him.

There was a long and awkward silence until Sheppard said, 'So Potter, on a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your first Seekers' night out? One being "I'd rather drink Skele-Gro" and ten being "I just killed Voldemort."'

Harry chuckled, and everyone seemed to relax. 'Definitely better than Skele-Gro. Particularly the time I had to regrow every bone in my right arm.'

To Harry's relief, everyone started swapping Skele-Gro stories, and there were no further tense exchanges. Gilstrap was first to leave, and several of the other Seekers apologised on his behalf. 'That was completely out of line,' said Barnwistle. 'Barrowmaker can tell you, there's a vast gulf between how Seekers behave on and off the pitch.'

'I know,' said Harry. 'And believe me, I've heard a lot worse than what Gilstrap said.'

'I don't doubt it. You'll come back, then?'

'Of course.'

'Good,' said Preston. 'I'm feeling oddly optimistic about our plan to reform the Quidditch rules. Definitely get in touch with Krum.'

Harry went home with Owen, where they sat at the kitchen table and reviewed the evening.

'You'd better watch out for Gilstrap. I've never played him but he's notorious, as you can well imagine.'

'What's his story?' asked Harry. 'He's not a Death Eater sympathiser, is he?'

'No, I don't think so. I'm pretty sure both his parents are Muggle-born, but don't quote me on it.'

'Was my behaviour all right? My life has been so ... atypical that I'm not even sure I know how to interact normally, particularly with people I've just met.'

'You did fine, overall. Though I can see why Gilstrap was upset by how quickly you were signed to the team and named starter. The rest of us went through trials and then paid our dues in the reserves for a year or more. Whereas you appear to have woken up one morning and said to yourself, "By Merlin, I think I'll play Seeker for the Cannons!"'

'Actually, that's more or less what happened,' said Harry. 'I saw that article in the Prophet and thought, "Why the hell not?"'

Owen chuckled. 'More power to you. Your flying is good enough. And you certainly paid your dues elsewhere.'

'I suppose I did.' Harry looked at the clock and said, 'I should get going. Thanks for bringing me along, and I'll definitely go back. Most of the other Seekers were terrific.'

'You have to go back—you promised to contact Viktor Krum.'

'Good lord, you're right.'

Harry returned home, and as he prepared for bed he reflected on his evening with the Seekers. A thought popped into his mind: I'm never going to please everyone.

This shouldn't have been a revelation. He'd been targeted for one thing or another since the day he was born. Furthermore, he'd never been able to please Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon growing up—the highest praise he'd received from them was silence, which meant they couldn't find anything to criticise.

Out of nowhere, Harry thought of Lucius Malfoy. If I'd wanted his approval, what would I have had to do? First he'd have needed to befriend Draco on the Hogwarts Express, even though Draco had just insulted Ron's entire family. Then Harry would have had to allow himself to be Sorted into Slytherin, even though he'd been warned about its bad reputation. He would have had to disavow his own mother, since she was Muggle-born, and probably call Hermione a Mudblood.

In short, he'd have had to reject all his own values and convictions to gain Lucius Malfoy's approval. And in so doing, he'd lose the approval of dozens or even hundreds of others, including Ron, Hermione, Minerva, Sirius, Remus, and Dumbledore. So what did it matter if a tosser like Andrew Gilstrap didn't like him, or if Allie Hobbs from the Harpies was convinced he was an attention seeker?

But it does matter, said a small voice inside him, and he had a visceral recollection of being back in the cupboard under the stairs. Harry reflexively expanded into broad awareness, as Owen had taught him, and although it provided relief he also felt a painful longing he couldn't let go of. He remained in this balance for a while, allowing the opposing sensations to uncomfortably coexist.

In the end he just felt tired. He wished Helena were there—not necessarily for sex but just for company—but it was too late to call, and even if it weren't he didn't have her Floo address. The house felt very large and empty, except for Kreacher of course, and Harry thought enviously of Owen's warm and cozy cottage.

He fell asleep, and fortunately no nightmares disturbed him. When he awoke just after seven o'clock he felt rested and a little sore. Kreacher! he called silently.

Yes, Master! came the voice.

Would you be so kind as to serve the usual breakfast, in my bedroom on the table?

Kreacher would be overjoyed, Master. Breakfast for one?

Yes, thank you. Dismissed. Kreacher's presence disappeared from Harry's mind.

He washed and got dressed, and before long his breakfast appeared on the small table, with a modest floral arrangement and the Prophet displayed on a stand. The front headline read, 'Lords Urge Potter to Fulfil Sacred Duty.'

Harry sighed heavily before reading the article, which consisted only of an open letter:

We, the undersigned Lords and Ladies of wizarding Britain, feel compelled to respond to our esteemed young peer, Harry Potter. Although Magic itself has granted him the title of Lord Black, we will respect his current request not to be addressed as such.

We do not pretend to understand the workings of the deep magic at the heart of the Wizengamot, our nation's most august institution, but as its sworn and anointed stewards we urge Potter to reconsider his impetuous rejection of it. For that is what young Potter has unwittingly done—in spurning the trappings of a wizarding lordship, he is denying the noble governing body that serves as magical Britain's very foundation.

It is with humility that we ask Potter to serve his nation in this highest manner: as a titled officer of the Wizengamot. We trust that Merlin himself guided the unknowable chain of events that elevated a wizard of Potter's surprising provenance to so high a role.

We understand that young Potter has secondary demands on his time, but we hope he will not let these activities distract him from his most sacred duty to all Wizardkind.

Yours in abiding service,

Lord Xanthus Fawley

Lord Pontius Flint

Lady Violetta Greengrass

Lady Amortentia Ladue

Lord Cyrus MacMillan

Lord Ozymandias Selwyn

Lord Romulus Wynter

Harry ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to collect his thoughts. It didn't work. Sighing, he took his wand, called to mind a recent memory featuring Helena, and incanted 'Expecto Patronum.'

Prongs appeared, and Harry charged him with the message, 'Hermione, sorry to bother you this early, but did you read the Prophet? I could use a second brain, yours preferably, as mine doesn't seem to be working. I'm on the third floor. Cheers.' The glowing stag galloped off into nothingness.

About five minutes later Hermione peered through the open bedroom door. 'Are you in here?' she asked.

'Yes, I'm eating breakfast. I hope I didn't take you away from yours—I'm sure Kreacher can provide something if you like.'

Hermione had entered and was looking around. 'I've never actually seen the master bedroom before,' she said. 'Did you choose that bed?'

'No, it came with the house.'

'Merlin, they probably had to build the house around it. Is it comfortable?'

'Yes, very much so, otherwise I would have probably destroyed it with Fiendfyre. Fortunately Bill was able to remove all the Dark magic,' he said. 'Do you want breakfast, then?'

'No, I already ate. And yes, I read the lords' statement. What do you make of it?'

'I hardly know what to think. I get the impression they've insulted me from here to Sunday, but I'd like your opinion before I take offence.'

'I'm afraid I reached the same conclusion,' she said. 'If I were asked to provide an executive summary, I'd say they completely sidestepped the 1707 question, which means it's true and they know it. So instead they responded with a lot of blather about Merlin and Magic itself to make it sound like they're not just a bunch of posturing prats. Furthermore, in an impressive display of sloppy reasoning, they equate lordships with the Wizengamot, which they're depicting as infallible and not a glorified kangaroo court, and they flat out accuse you of rejecting it.'

Hermione had said all this without stopping, so she needed a break before continuing. 'To add a dash of drama, they made an oblique reference to your mother's Blood Status, which they called "surprising provenance," and then they finished things off by sneering at your Quidditch career and suggesting you drop everything and show up at the Wizengamot to get fitted for one of those funny hats.' She paused and added, 'I think that about covers it.'

Harry nodded. 'So would I be overreacting if I inferred that they think I haven't yet served Britain in the highest manner? By defeating Voldemort, for example?'

She looked again at the lords' statement. 'No, you're right. I'm not sure how I missed that.'

'Why do you suppose there's no article accompanying it?'

'I suspect the Prophet is in the pocket of one or more of the lords, which means they can't just tear the statement apart. But they can't figure out how to defend it either, so they're just printing it without commentary.'

'Should I send a reply?' asked Harry.

Hermione shook her head. 'No, you've clearly got the upper hand. People were still talking about your statement yesterday at work, and everyone wanted to know if the bit about 1707 was true. I contrived to spend all day in the archives doing research, and at least a half dozen people came through to consult the same records I did. There was a lot of sniggering, and one elderly wizard actually did a sort of victory dance.'

'Brilliant. By the way, did you notice the names of the lords and ladies who signed it?'

'Yes. I wonder how closely related Daphne Greengrass and Ernie MacMillan are to them.'

'And Marcus Flint,' added Harry. 'Was he a Death Eater? I can't remember.'

'Unclear, but he was certainly unpleasant. I think it's likely they also consulted with lords who didn't want to sign their names, or who were asked not to.'

'Death Eater families, you mean?'

'Yes,' replied Hermione. 'I looked up which other families have lordships, and they included Travers, Yaxley, and Rosier. And Malfoy of course.'

'Of course.'

'So I'd say you won—for now at least. Well done!'

'Thanks. As always, I couldn't have done it without you.' He was still eating and said, 'Are you sure I can't offer you something? A scone perhaps?'

She sat down. 'All right, if you insist. May I have this one or do you want to send for Kreacher?'

'Go ahead. I'll just grab another one downstairs—I want to look in on Padfoot before I leave for practice.'

'Do you often take breakfast up here?'

'No, only once before, when I was sore from practice.' She looked at him sceptically and he clarified, 'Once before on my own. I suppose I was just in the mood for it today. It's rather pleasant up here.'

'Yes, I suppose there's marginally more daylight this high up,' she said. 'And the flowers are lovely.'

'They are. I set up an account with a wizarding florist, to stop Kreacher from stealing flowers. There were a few bumps on the road but he finally has the hang of it.'

Hermione smirked. 'Are you going to start wearing a boutonnière with your formal robes? Or offer a corsage to your dates?'

'Very funny,' said Harry. 'Wizards don't really wear flowers with their robes, do they?'

'Historically, yes. I've seen it in some of the portraits. Do you want to bring that back into fashion as well?'

'It's a little tempting—I rather like flowers—but the Seekers would never let me live it down. I met a bunch of them last night, and one of them gave me a hard time about my Death Eater robes.'

'He's just envious. You looked smashing in them.'

'Well, I have to play against him the weekend after next, so I'll probably wait until after that before I start wearing flowers.'

'I look forward to it. George Brummell would approve. Nothing big, mind you. I'm certain you don't want to look like a bridegroom.'

'No, I suppose that's a bit premature,' he said absently.

She raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. 'I should get going. I want to do a bit of extra research today, on strategies for dealing with pubescent Veela.'

'Gabrielle? Surely you're immune.'

'Yes, but Ryan and I are dining at Shell Cottage tomorrow night. Do you think he'll have a problem? And please, be honest.'

'Before I saw her on Saturday I would have said no. I don't recall having trouble with Fleur, or even with the Veela at the World Cup. But Fleur was older then, and I was rather more downtrodden.'

'I gather things were different on Saturday?'

'I'm afraid so. I had to consciously think about Helena and internally scream "Fourteen!" a few times in order to get ahold of myself. But it might be easier for Ryan if you're there with him. Perhaps you could maintain physical contact—a foot under the table even.'

'Poor Ryan, I know he'd hate to lose control like that. I'd offer to let him out of dinner, but I suspect he'll want to prove his loyalty.'

'Wish him luck. And definitely don't take it personally if he slips—it was like being under an Imperius Curse.'

'Thanks for the advance warning. I'm off!' she said, heading for the door.

Even after Hermione had gone, Harry felt relief from the sense of loneliness he'd experienced so acutely the night before. He realised in hindsight that he'd eaten breakfast in his bedroom to simulate living in a reasonably-sized flat rather than a vast townhouse. Not that he didn't like Grimmauld Place—he'd grown fond of its threadbare grandeur and had no desire to live anywhere else. But he looked forward to filling it with people at the weekend, and over the years to come.

This house hasn't been a proper home in decades, he thought, thinking of Regulus who only had Kreacher for affection, and Sirius who had no one at all. Harry experienced a flash of a far-off future, when Grimmauld Place would be noisy with children and perhaps a real barking dog, and nobody who visited would call it gloomy.