36

Harry arrived at practice on Tuesday morning with little time to spare, but Lara detained him at the front desk.

'I can't talk,' he said. 'Tuttle will crush me if I'm late.'

'No, she knows I need to speak to you first—she said you should start running as soon as you can and just stop when the others have finished.'

He relaxed. 'All right, what is it?'

'It turns out your owl post is too much for the existing staff to handle, so Darius decided to engage someone full-time.'

'A full-time staff-person, just to handle my post?' asked Harry, incredulous.

'Yes. There's been an increase in fan mail for all the starters, and some for Owen as well, so it's better to have someone completely dedicated to yours. And don't apologise for the added hassle or expense—team revenue has gone through the roof since you signed on, so it's only natural there'd be some added cost.'

'All right. Am I to help select them, or does Darius have someone in mind?'

'She's been hired already and today's her first day. I'm to introduce you.'

'Oh, I see! Is there anything I should know in advance?'

'Yes,' said Lara, with a very serious expression. 'I want you to remember the Cannons' ironclad rule: no fraternising. No matter how tempted you are, or how much she tries to reel you in, you need to keep your distance.'

Harry swallowed. 'Noted. But she can't be worse than a pubescent Veela, surely.'

'You'll see,' said Lara, leading him down the hallway. She knocked on a closed door and said, 'He's here. May I send him in?'

'Yes,' came a crisp voice through the door.

Lara opened the door to reveal a severe-looking elderly witch wearing a pointed hat, which didn't entirely cover her iron-grey hair. She had a stern, heavy brow and a tightly-closed jaw. 'Mrs Thwip, may I introduce Harry Potter?' said Lara, preparing to return to her desk.

'Yes, I'm pleased to meet you, Mr Potter,' she said firmly.

'Please, call me Harry.'

She shook her head. 'No, I prefer the formal style of address. I'll call you Mr Potter and you may call me Mrs Thwip.'

'Of course. It's very nice to meet you, Mrs Thwip.'

She was standing behind a large desk with numerous trays stacked on top, and there were several crates on the floor next to it. It appeared she was in the middle of sorting the post, because letters were flying from the trays one by one and arranging themselves into different categories. He read some of the labels and saw: Business proposals, Fan mail from children, Fan mail from adults, Charitable requests, Marriage proposals, Non-matrimonial propositions, and multiple sub-categories of hate mail.

'That's quite a lot,' he said. 'And you're able to sort it automatically like that?'

'Yes, up to a point. Some letters are trickier because they fall into more than one category.' She indicated a larger crate behind the desk, labelled 'Manual sort.'

'I can see you've a lot of experience with this sort of thing,' observed Harry.

'Indeed I do. Mr Sprott asked for the best of the best, and it seems I fit the bill. My previous employers include Celestina Warbeck, Gwenog Jones, and Gilderoy Lockhart.'

'Lockhart!' exclaimed Harry. 'He used to make me help with his post, back at Hogwarts.'

'Yes, that was after I sacked him.'

'You sacked him?'

'Yes, and the others as well. I don't tolerate nonsense.'

'Er, are you certain you're willing to work for me? I suspect you'll eventually want to sack me, for one reason or another.'

'Perhaps. But you've impressed me so far as someone who speaks his mind. Rather too much, perhaps, but that's better than too little.'

'Fair enough,' he replied. 'Is there anything I can do to help you get started?'

'Yes, I'd like to establish some ground rules. Please, sit down.'

He sat opposite her at the desk, and she used her wand to clear a path between the trays so they could see each other.

'It's entirely up to you whether you want to respond to anything personally. I understand you're a very busy man,' she said, with a slight cough.

'Er, I'm certain I'll want to reply to some letters personally. I've already started telling people to write to me in care of the Cannons, since my home address is fully protected.'

'Yes, of course. Please tell me in advance which letters you're expecting, so I can flag them specially.'

He told her about the letter he was expecting from Connor about werewolf rights, as well as a few other people he'd told to contact him through the team.

'Will you want to respond to fan mail from children?'

'Yes, as much as time allows. I can't necessarily write long replies, but I'd like to send something personal, to prove I read it.'

'There are charms to replicate your handwriting, if you'd rather I take care of those.'

'That seems a bit dishonest,' replied Harry. 'I'm sure I can write a few lines.'

'As you wish, Mr Potter. In that case I assume you'd prefer to sign photographs yourself.'

'Yes, as time allows.'

She looked at the piles and said, 'Right now I estimate perhaps four hours a week.'

'Blimey!' he exclaimed. 'But that's all right ... I usually have hours to kill on Saturday mornings before a match, and the occasional evening as well.'

'Are you interested in hearing about business proposals and investment opportunities?' she asked.

Harry sighed. 'I assume most of those arrived since Sunday's Prophet?'

Mrs Thwip nodded.

'My first thought is that you should just Vanish them. But perhaps a form response would be a better deterrent.'

'Very good. I'll write up something for your approval. What about charitable requests?'

'Could you provide a summary so I don't need to read every single letter?'

She nodded. 'Yes, that's easily done. I assume you've no interest in marriage proposals?'

No, I'm not allowed for two more years, he thought. 'That's correct. Is it better to send a form response or just to ignore them?'

'A firm rejection is normally best, signed by me,' she said. 'A letter from you might be considered encouragement.'

'Right, I can see that. Yes, as you suggest.'

'And non-marital propositions?'

'You can't be serious—of course I'm not interested.'

'Are you certain? A lot of them include photographs.'

Harry's eyes shot open but he shook his head quickly. 'No, absolutely not. Have any of your clients actually ... responded to that sort of letter?'

He could have sworn he saw her smirk, but when he looked again her expression was steely composure. 'It would be unprofessional for me to say.'

'It was Lockhart, wasn't it? Of course it was—no need to answer.'

She remained impassive and said, 'Over the next week or so, I'll compile the most frequently asked questions, so you can prepare responses. Then I'll include them in typewritten replies.' She paused and added, 'What about hate mail?'

'Er, what do you propose? Is it ever instructive?'

'As a rule, no. But the percentages can be revelatory.'

'I'm sorry, how do you mean?'

'For example, one week forty percent of hate mail might involve anti-Cannons sentiment, and twenty percent might be political—particularly in your case.'

'And some people might just be opposed to wearing flowers,' suggested Harry.

'Yes, precisely.'

'Right. I suppose the overall trends could be interesting. Would it be hard to compile that information?'

'Not at all,' she said. 'I can provide a summary every fortnight.'

'That sounds perfect, thank you. It's clear you know what you're doing—I'm glad Darius brought you on board.'

She nodded. 'I believe that concludes our business, Mr Potter.'

He rose and said, 'I can see I'm in good hands, Mrs Thwip. Thanks again, and welcome to the team.'

Harry felt unexpectedly relieved as he walked back to the entrance and out to the pitch. He'd never had any kind of steward before, excepting Dumbledore, who was less a steward than an overreaching meddler. He meant well, said a voice in his mind, and another voice added, I wonder how many marriage proposals he turned away.

He worked hard during practice, and his teammates taunted him brutally again. This time Helena was fair game, which was an added challenge, but he survived. In the practice match that afternoon, he and Owen spotted the Snitch simultaneously, but Harry was closer so he made the catch.

'Nice work, Snitchbottom,' said Darren. 'I'm feeling better and better about Saturday.'

'That's good, because I'm tempted to curse you with a new orifice after what you said about Helena and those thestrals. But I can wait until Sunday.'

After practice, Harry went home and took a nap before Hermione and Lucinda were to arrive. He'd slept poorly the previous night, but that afternoon his enormous bed worked its magic and he slept soundly for an hour. He rose and changed into a set of everyday robes, plain but well cut. He was tempted to wear one of the boutonnières his florist had provided as a courtesy—in thanks for having created a new furore—but he didn't want to give Lee and George further ammunition.

Oh screw it, he thought. I like flowers. He selected an orchid—pink and spring green—and slid it into his buttonhole. Who cares if they call me a ponce? I'm going out with a model tomorrow night!

Susanna had informed him after practice that they'd arranged a date with a witch who was successful in the Muggle modelling world but wanted to appear in wizarding publications as well. Susanna showed him her photograph and he was truly dazzled. Apparently she had a Muggle fiancé, so there was no possibility for romance, but he was sure he'd enjoy himself anyway.

He knew it was childish to take satisfaction in being linked with a model, but it flattered the part of him still stuck on Privet Drive, ignored and sneered at by his classmates for being less than nobody. He realised it was odd that his fame in the wizarding world had never scratched that itch, but there it was.

At six o'clock he stood in front of the formal fireplace to receive Hermione and Ryan's mother, Lucinda. Hermione was the first to arrive, and naturally her eyes went straight to the boutonnière. 'You devil!' she exclaimed.

'I beg your pardon?'

'Orchids have a particular meaning, you know.'

'Do they? I don't know anything about the meaning of flowers.'

'You should learn it,' said Hermione. 'Apparently wizards take great stock in that sort of thing, and orchids symbolise male fertility.'

'Oh, heavens! I can't say that was my intended message, particularly for a radio broadcast with Lee and George. Do you think they'll say anything? I certainly don't need to wear it tonight.'

'No, you can't remove it now—your robes will look hopelessly plain by contrast. And I doubt they'll say anything—George isn't that type of pure-blood.'

Lucinda arrived and stepped commandingly into the room. Her eyes caught Harry's boutonnière before she extended her hand. 'I'm Lucinda Bellamy,' she said. 'It's a pleasure to meet you. Ryan tells us you're nothing like what the Prophet depicts.'

'I'm relieved to hear it, and I'm happy to meet you as well. May I offer you anything?'

'You can offer me a crack at the Black family bookshelves, but I'll settle for the tapestry to begin with. Where is it?'

'It's just upstairs, follow me.'

They walked past Padfoot, who was inexplicably balancing a beach ball on the tip of his nose, like a seal, and they headed upstairs to the drawing room. 'Oh my goodness, yes! Now this is a tapestry!' exclaimed Lucinda. 'Toujours pur ... unbelievable. Are you sure you want to restore this thing?'

'I'd like to at least try. Seeing as I'm planning to upend nearly everything else about House Black, it only seems fair to give the tapestry one last chance to prove itself.'

'Fair enough,' said Lucinda. 'Did Hermione tell you about the charms?'

'Yes, she said we'd need something Middle Eastern, to match the tapestry. Would you like to go first?'

'I'd be glad to, although I suspect you're the only one who can fix it. But there's one way to find out. Where shall I start?'

Harry looked at Hermione, who said, 'Start with one of the names we don't care about, just in case there's a problem. Like that scorch mark over there.' She indicated someone who was only distantly related to both Sirius and Harry.

Lucinda aimed her wand, which Harry noticed was as long as Voldemort's, and performed a simple motion. 'Haliyi Tamiret,' she said in a clear voice. Nothing happened.

Squaring her shoulders, she performed a similar motion and incanted, 'Iislah al-basat.' Again, there was no result. 'This seems to be a job for the Head of House,' she said to Harry.

'Do you suppose I should make the ring visible?' he asked Hermione.

'I don't imagine it's necessary, but it can't hurt.'

He revealed the ring, which prompted Lucinda to start laughing. 'Good lord, what a monstrosity! Promise me you'll never start a fad for those. I'd be delighted to see Ryan in robes—other than orange ones, of course—but if he ever wears something like that ring I'll have to curse it off.'

'I can guarantee I'll never reveal this ring in public if I can possibly help it,' he said. 'Could you walk me through those charms please?'

She showed him the wand movements for the first charm. 'This one is Turkish, which seems like the best bet. The other is Arabic.'

Harry aimed his wand at the scorch mark Hermione had selected and said, 'Haliyi Tamiret!' Clear light surged from his wand and connected with the tapestry, causing the scorched area to glow temporarily.

'I think it's working!' said Hermione, clutching Harry's arm. 'Look at that, you can see the fabric weaving back together.'

They all stared in fascination as the scorch marks faded and the colours regained their original hue. After a minute, a name began to appear.

Hermione read aloud. 'Priapus Maximus Black ... oh my word!'

Lucinda laughed out loud, and Harry asked, 'What's so funny?'

Hermione was blushing but said, 'It basically means "huge erection." I assume his parents wanted to ensure they'd have grandchildren.'

'It didn't work,' observed Harry. 'It looks like the line ended with him.'

'I have another theory,' said Lucinda, still sniggering. 'Methinks our friend Priapus didn't fancy the witches. Certainly a name like that would have made him popular among a select crowd.'

'That would explain why he was obliterated from the tapestry,' said Hermione. 'Do you want to try someone else? Sirius perhaps?'

'Yes, I'd love that,' said Harry. He repeated the charm, and they watched with satisfaction as Sirius's name reappeared, along with a gold border identifying him as Head of House.

Harry's eyes grew misty as he read his godfather's name. 'Lucinda, I can't thank you enough.'

'Yes you can,' she said. 'Let me into your library.'

'Of course, I'm sorry to keep you waiting.'

'It's just next door,' said Hermione. 'I'll take you there and show you the Grimoire as well.' They left, and Harry proceeded to restore the tapestry. He silently asked Kreacher to send up some sandwiches, which soon arrived.

He took his time at the repairs, waiting for each name to reappear before fixing the next one, wanting to savour the experience. He was delighted to restore Andromeda's name and watch Ted Tonks's name gradually appear, and then their daughter's underneath. Nymphadora Vulpecula Tonks, he read with amusement.

Next he restored the two blots Andromeda had identified as his great-grandparents—Dorea Black and Charlus Potter. It was remarkable to see his own surname appear on the enormous tapestry, and he felt more closely connected to the Blacks than before.

Hermione had returned, and they watched the process together in awed silence. And then the next generation followed: Fleamont Potter and Euphemia Hart.

'Fleamont!' exclaimed Hermione. 'What kind of name is that?'

Harry laughed and said, 'Apparently it's my grandfather's name. No wonder I never heard it before—I doubt anyone could say it with a straight face. Do you suppose I should name my firstborn after him?'

'Good luck finding a wife who's willing to name a child Fleamont. I'd sooner go with Priapus.'

'Severus Priapus,' smirked Harry. 'He might have been a little more cheerful with a name like that.'

He was still smiling but grew teary again as his father's name began to form. James Balthazar Potter.

'Now that's a name!' said Harry approvingly. 'Balthazar Priapus!'

'Or Balthazar Maximus,' suggested Hermione. 'So many to choose from.'

They were stunned silent, however, when Harry's mother's name began to appear. Lily Rosamond Evans, read the tapestry, and Hermione took Harry's trembling hand.

'Look!' she cried, pointing at the legend on top of the family tree.

Harry was amazed to see that the word 'pur' had been replaced. 'Toujours puissant,' pronounced Hermione. 'Forever powerful.'

The new tapestry was a sight to behold, with bare patches filling in and names shifting to make room for restored branches. And Harry could see the beginnings of his own name. First the gold outline formed, indicating his status as Head of House, and then the letters became visible.

Harry James Black.

His jaw dropped. 'Are you fucking kidding me?'

Hermione was astonished as well. 'But your father and grandfather both appear as Potters! Perhaps it's because you're Head of House?'

'Bloody hell—I can't let anyone see this. Can we move a bookcase in front of it? Or maybe I can find the spell Walburga used to scorch the thing.'

'It doesn't mean anything,' said Hermione unconvincingly. 'It's just a tapestry.'

'Just a spooky omniscient tapestry that knows about my mother's Blood Status,' muttered Harry. 'Do we know where this thing keeps its brain anyway?'

'Walburga knew your mother's Blood Status, and she's not even sentient. Don't worry about it.'

'Ugh, I suppose you're right. I should head to Diagon Alley anyway—it's nearly time for the broadcast. But you and Lucinda can stay if you like.'

'No, I'm planning to go to Ryan's and listen to your interview, and Lucinda already has a heap of books she wants to borrow, so we'll leave right after you do. Good luck!'

'Cheers, I'll need it.'

'You'll do fine. Rita Skeeter set such a low bar that you only need to be remotely tolerable.'

'Remotely tolerable,' repeated Harry, nodding. 'I think I can handle that.'

He travelled by Floo to the Leaky Cauldron and then walked in plain sight to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, knowing that Lee and George were hoping for a crowd. But he needn't have bothered, because the shop was already packed.

'Excellent,' said George, who was waiting near the door. 'We were starting to worry.'

'Sorry, I got caught up in a project and lost track of time. Where do you want me?'

George started leading him through the crowd, shouting, 'Make way for the Man Who Lived … seriously arrogant wizard coming through,' which elicited laughter and cheers. In a normal voice, he told Harry, 'Lee constructed a soundproof broadcasting booth, which also serves an as enclosure for our friend Walburga.'

'Good idea!' said Harry. 'Why didn't we ever think of that, when she was still stuck to the wall?'

'Because destiny led her into my loving clutches,' declared George. 'I haven't told Rebecca yet that my heart is already claimed, poor thing.'

Before Harry could ask how things were going with Rebecca, they arrived at the booth. There was a coin slot outside with a sign that said:

Meet Walburga Black, mother to the famed mass murderer Sirius Black! Three Sickles for as long a visit as you like (up to an hour, at which point the management reserves the right to to take you to St Mungo's). Warning: Not for tender souls. She will insult you in every possible way. NO REFUNDS.

Harry was relieved to note that someone had written 'exonerated' between the words 'famed' and 'mass murderer.' 'Is she earning her keep?' he asked.

'Is she ever!' exclaimed George. 'I'd offer to buy you dinner sometime, but there's hardly any point, considering you're rich as Croesus. He had a Philosopher's Stone, you know, until he was murdered and it was lost. But I digress ... let's get inside and discuss the broadcast.'

Harry and George took their seats next to Lee in front of a complicated and somewhat makeshift-looking device, with carved runes and several crystals sticking out. Walburga was hanging on the wall behind them, fast asleep.

'Harry, so glad you made it,' said Lee. 'I'd like to go over a few things before we start.'

'I assume you got my letter?'

'Yes, and we also received a summary from the Cannons publicity department. We'll be glad to touch on the main points and try to clear up any gross misunderstandings. But you know we're not going to tread lightly, right?'

'No, of course not. I wouldn't be here if you did,' replied Harry. 'One request though: Nothing about Helena. She doesn't want her name in the media, and I'm honestly rather sensitive on the topic myself.'

'Yes, I'm so sorry,' said George. 'Rebecca told me about it.'

Harry nodded. 'And one other thing—the Cannons are playing the Magpies this weekend, and their Seeker is known for his vicious taunts. So please don't provide any fresh ammunition.'

'Understood,' said Lee. 'Now about your language ... our licence with the Ministry is fairly permissive, so you can say "bollocks" and "bloody" as much as you like. But try to avoid the F-word, if you can manage, otherwise we'll have to pay a fine.'

'Noted.'

'And is it all right if we reunite you with your adopted grandmother Walburga?' asked Lee.

'Good question. She's taken to chiding me about my loose morals, but I suppose the cat's out of the bag. So yeah, go ahead.'

'Brilliant,' said Lee. 'And thanks so much for agreeing to appear—I know how much you value your privacy.'

'What privacy?' replied Harry, only a little bitterly. 'On the contrary, I appreciate the chance to set the record straight.'

George was looking at his pocket watch. 'One minute,' he declared, before conjuring several drinking glasses. He filled them with water and Harry took a long sip.

'No Veritaserum, I hope?' he asked.

'Merlin, no! But don't give us any ideas,' replied George.

Lee held up his hand and said, 'On five,' before counting on his fingers. 'Good evening,' he announced, 'and welcome to the inaugural broadcast of Weasley's Wizard Wireless!'

Harry could see that the crowd was cheering wildly, but he couldn't hear them from inside the booth.

'My name is Lee Jordan, and my partner George Weasley and I are thrilled to introduce tonight's guest, whom I know you're all waiting for.' More cheers from the crowd, and he said, 'So allow me to introduce the man who needs no introduction, the Chudley Cannons' undefeated Seeker ... the Saviour of the Wizarding Robes ... the Boy Who Lives It Up ... Harry Potter!'

'Thank you, Lee,' said Harry, embarrassed. 'I must say, that was quite an introduction, but I'm glad to be here.'

'And we're glad to have you,' said George. 'You've caused quite a stir of late, haven't you?'

'I didn't mean to! I just wanted to bring young witches and wizards together.'

'You certainly succeeded,' said Lee. 'I counted twenty closed doors in your guest corridor before I left. I think it's safe to say you've changed the course of wizarding history, simply by helping create a new crop of wizards.'

'Surely they used Contraception Charms,' said Harry. 'Not everyone is as inept as George's parents were. Sorry, by the way, in case they're listening.'

'They most assuredly are,' replied George, 'and I think I hear a Howler heading your way at this very moment. But let's get back to the party everyone wants to hear about. I understand you had an uninvited guest.'

'I did,' said Harry indignantly. 'Rita Skeeter illegally impersonated my classmate and then attempted to dose Hermione and me with Veritaserum.'

'Right,' said Lee, 'although it appears you didn't need any truth serum to speak your mind. You were rather loose lipped.'

'I didn't reveal any classified information, thank you very much.'

'And what a disappointment that was!' proclaimed George. 'I can't be the only one dying to know what Voldemort's private nickname for you was. Obviously your pet name for him was "Riddle," which in retrospect should have warned us what an arrogant twat you'd become.'

'Am I really that bad?' asked Harry. 'The Chocolate Frogs were a complete accident, you know.'

'Of course we know that,' said Lee. 'And this brings us to our first point, so I'm going to ask all our listeners to repeat after me: Harry Potter ... did not know in advance ... that the Chocolate Frog Cards ... were all of him.'

'Thank you!' said Harry. 'I was completely mortified when I found out what had happened.'

'Next time, you should arrange that all the Chocolate Frogs contain the card for a single obscure wizard, like Crispin Cronk,' suggested George.

'Wasn't he the one they sent to Azkaban for keeping Sphinxes in his back garden?' asked Lee. 'That hardly seems like a reason to get his own card.'

'No, it's not as if he brought robes back into fashion, like our esteemed guest. But getting back to our guest, and his allegedly massive self-esteem, what do you have to say about Rita's claim that you have the biggest head since my elder brother Percy?'

'I'm not certain I'm qualified to answer,' said Harry. 'I didn't think I was that bad—surely Ron or Hermione would have said something.'

'I think they're both distracted by your exceptionally fit teammates,' said George. 'But I'll speak on your behalf, for old times' sake. Admittedly you're no longer the clueless git we so fondly remember, but you're hardly the monster depicted in the article. And I daresay you've earned the right to scuff your head on the sides of doorways from time to time.'

'That seems like a rather equivocal response,' said Harry. 'Lee, what do you think?'

'George is just taking the piss ... you're fine. But let's move on to the most burning question: the numbers! Were they accurate?'

'No, not even close!' said Harry.

'So you're even richer than that?' asked George.

'Very funny. No, they were grossly inflated. The Blacks pissed away almost the entirety of their fortune before I received it, and the Potter number was way too high as well.'

'Now that's a disappointment,' said Lee. 'I'm certain more than one member of our listening audience is currently brewing a Love Potion with your name on it, and now they're wondering whether it's worth the trouble.'

'Don't bother,' said Harry. 'I went to Gringotts this week and they informed me that the Black family ring is specially charmed to protect the wearer from Love Potions. Apparently it will whisk me into the presence of my bonded house-elf, who will be compelled to administer an antidote.'

'Interesting. It seems the Blacks wanted to protect their holy pure-blood seed from attempts at miscegenation,' said George. 'And speaking of the Blacks, I think it's time to introduce our next guest, who has quite a history with her current Head of House. Harry, I understood you and Walburga shared a love nest for several years.'

'Yes, on and off. But she was just too clingy—in the end I had to bring in an expert to forcibly remove her.'

'Witches, are you listening? Don't get too clingy with Potter, or this could happen to you. Remember the protocol: you get one night in that enormous bed, but after that it's up to him whether you're allowed to return,' said Lee. 'Harry, do you at least provide breakfast, or do you chivvy them out the fireplace before dawn.'

'Generally I provide breakfast, yes. My standard practice is to offer a choice between breakfast in bed or to cook something myself.'

'Such a gentleman!' proclaimed George. 'But let's hear from everyone's favourite portrait, Walburga Black. I'm certain she'll have strong opinions about your hospitality.'

Lee tapped his wand against the portrait. 'Good evening, Mrs Black. We've brought an old friend of yours to visit.'

Her eyes slowly opened, and they bulged in fury when she recognised Harry. 'You!' she cried. 'The architect of my current exile, all because you wanted to flaunt your manhood unobserved!'

'Hang on,' asked Lee. 'Are you implying that Harry kicked you out because he wanted to prance about starkers?'

'No,' she said, to Harry's great relief. 'But he's turned the sacred house of my fathers into a sybaritic playground for half-blood abominations like himself.'

'Can't you forgive me, Walburga?' asked Harry. 'I'm sure if my half-bloods and I try hard enough, we'll eventually produce a pure-blood.'

'Impossible! You will never overcome the stain of your Mudblood mother. The Blacks are ruined forever!'

'And, there we are, listeners,' said Lee, silencing the portrait with his wand. 'As promised, you may present our advertisement at the shop between now and Sunday to receive a ten-percent M-word discount, courtesy of the Lady Walburga Black.'

'Does she know what I did to the lords?' asked Harry.

'Yes, and she was furious,' said Lee. 'She threw a jar of pickled thumbs at me, and it smashed against the front of her canvas. But remarkably it reassembled itself by the following morning and was back up on the shelf.'

'In the portrait, that is. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes does not carry pickled thumbs,' noted George.

'Yes, thanks for that clarification,' said Lee. 'And now, I'd like to paint a picture for our listeners. Harry, would you be so kind as to stand up, for our in-store audience?'

Sighing heavily, he rose, and Lee continued. 'Harry is currently wearing a very smart, if plain, set of wizarding robes, a flower in his lapel, and—if I'm not mistaken—Doc Martens.'

'Yes, that's correct,' said Harry, sitting down. 'What's your point?'

'My point is that you've set the fashion world on its ear these past few weeks. You were not noted for your sense of style back at Hogwarts.'

'I think he was a little distracted,' said George. 'He couldn't very well say, "It looks like Voldemort will be abducting me at half six ... which cravat shall I wear?"'

'Very true,' said Lee. 'But now you seem to be making up for lost time. Would you care to comment? I know there's been considerable speculation on the reasons for the change.'

'I liked the fit and quality of my Cannons robes,' explained Harry. 'The shop gives team members a discount, so I thought I'd go see what else they had.'

'Did you hear that, listeners? He was enticed by a discount. More evidence that Harry Potter is not, in fact, richer than the Muggle Queen. But Harry, there must be a deeper meaning behind your new look.'

'Don't be so sure,' said George. 'Remember he recently got his eyesight fixed, so he might only have noticed just how slovenly he used to be.'

'Cheers,' said Harry. 'But there may be some truth to that. I never paid any attention to what I wore until I joined the Cannons and started going out more often. It turned out I only had one smart outfit, and I knew my teammates would start taking the piss.'

'Yes, but that doesn't explain the flowers,' persisted Lee. 'Listeners, he's currently wearing a very snappy little arrangement featuring what looks like an orchid, if I'm not mistaken.'

'Wait a minute,' said George. 'I used to know about the language of flowers ... my great aunt Muriel has an explanatory print in her guest toilet. Let me think ... orchids ...' His eyes shot open. 'You devil!'

'I swear, I didn't know until Hermione pointed it out earlier this evening. But she insisted I leave it on.'

'Listeners, for those of you not fluent in the language of flowers, allow me to inform you that orchids symbolise male virility.'

Lee burst out laughing, and Harry could see that the audience was doing the same. 'I like flowers, all right? I did a lot of gardening growing up.'

'Mate, you defeated Voldemort,' said Lee. 'Wear all the flowers you like.'

'Thank you! That was my primary motivation, after all.'

'But you have to admit, it's a bit foppish. Rita Skeeter said the same thing,' said George.

'I'm not a fop, I'm a dandy!' declared Harry before realising what he'd said. 'Oh, bugger.'

George and Lee doubled over with laughter, and some members of the in-store audience were leaning on one another to keep from falling down.

When Lee regained his composure he said, 'If Andrew Gilstrap is out there listening—and I'm certain he is—you can thank us by doing all your Christmas shopping this year at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. We also carry glow-in-the-dark pyjamas featuring Harry's legendary Patronus, Prongs. But Harry,' he continued, 'what the hell was that? You're a dandy?'

'This is all Hermione's fault. She explained the difference between dandies and fops, which apparently I'm now to explain to you. Fops were an eighteenth-century phenomenon, relying on powder and wigs and flouncy clothes to cover up their poor hygiene. Dandies, however, came later, and practised excellent hygiene—they made it popular, in fact—and they made a point of dressing impeccably.'

'Speaking as someone currently trapped in a very small booth with Harry, I can vouch for his exemplary personal hygiene. Full marks! Ten points to Gryffindor,' cried George. 'He is also not wearing any powder, and that could only be his own hair—Merlin knows they'd never make a wig like that.'

'Although that could be a great product for the shop,' suggested Lee. 'Harry Potter wigs. C'mon Harry, we'd even give you a portion of the revenue.'

'Absolutely not. You know how I feel about endorsements.'

'That's right—you turned down Silver Arrow. Which was kind of a mistake, seeing how you're not nearly as rich as we were led to believe. Are you sure you won't reconsider?'

'No, the only thing I'll endorse is my florist, which I'll do free of charge. Livingston's, on Diagon Alley.'

'Excellent, I'm certain you've guaranteed yourself a steady stream of lapel decorations from now on,' said George. 'But we still haven't covered a lot of the allegations in Rita Skeeter's article. What about the part where you greeted guests for hours, for the sole purpose of casting your nocturnal adventures?'

'That was decidedly untrue. My nocturnal adventures were cast in advance. I was merely trying to be a good host. And shame on Rita for insinuating that!'

'She also made some shocking insinuations about your mother,' noted Lee.

'Yes, she did,' said Harry indignantly. 'Not only did Rita insult my mother—who literally gave her life for me—she also insulted two of my dearest friends, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. They aren't here to defend themselves, but I can assure you there was never anything lurid about their relationship with my mother. Rita's the one with her mind in the gutter.'

'And you're a perfect angel,' said George. 'A veritable choir boy.'

'Naturally,' said Harry, blinking his eyes innocently.

'Ladies, you're currently missing some major eyelash fluttering,' said Lee. 'Harry, I'm starting to see why Snape fell head over heels for your mum.'

'Now what about the vampire?' asked George. 'Sorry about the abrupt change of topic, but we still have a lot of ground to cover.'

'That was Alistair, and he wasn't going to harm anyone,' explained Harry. 'The two thralls were there on purpose, to absorb his excess charisma, which allowed him to converse normally with the other guests. He has a well-established reputation as a Light vampire, and he was even a Gryffindor long ago. I met him once before and thought he'd be an interesting guest.'

'He was very interesting to the Prophet's audience,' observed Lee. 'But I'm glad to know that I and your fellow guests were in no actual danger. And the Veela?'

'I'll speak to that,' said George. 'She's the younger sister to my brother's wife Fleur. Yes, she has a crush on Harry, but let's face it—who doesn't? I'm told he behaved very properly towards her.'

'Thank you,' replied Harry. 'I didn't date fourteen year-olds when I was fourteen, so I don't see any reason to start dating them now.'

'Yes, you were exceptionally inept with the witches back at Hogwarts, weren't you?' said Lee.

'I was distracted! You try chatting up witches when you've got a madman chasing after you!'

'Fair enough,' said Lee. 'But fortunately you've found a way to make up for lost time ... two witches at once! Or do you deny the allegation?'

'I don't deny it. But I won't comment on it either, out of respect for the witches in question.'

'Gratitude, more like,' said George. 'And listeners, he's blushing! In fact, his colour now matches the virility orchid on his lapel.'

Harry could see that some members of the audience were hooting appreciatively, and he started laughing as well. What an absurd situation, he thought.

'This really is a far cry from Potterwatch,' said Harry. 'That was Lee and George's last radio programme, you know.'

'Honestly, we're doing a much better job watching you now than we ever did on Potterwatch. We were mostly grasping at straws back then,' admitted Lee.

'So were we,' said Harry. 'I can't believe this is my life now. Talking about phallic flowers on the radio instead of searching for—' He stopped himself abruptly. 'Oh dear, I nearly gave away a huge secret. Hermione probably had a heart attack just now—Ron too. I should probably wrap things up. Did you have any last questions, other than asking me to complete that sentence?'

'Yes,' said Lee. 'Our listeners want to know more about that bed of yours. Did you buy it somewhere? Are you willing to endorse it?'

'No, it came with the house, and I'm horrified to point out that our friend Walburga had sex on it at least twice. But we cleared the Dark magic from it, and it's remarkably comfortable. I've slept on some seriously crap beds in my life, and I refuse to give this one up merely on principle.'

'There you have it,' declared Lee. 'All your questions answered, and then some! I can't imagine any of our listeners are disappointed with tonight's interview, and Harry, I'd like to issue a standing invitation for you to join us on the air whenever you like.'

'I had a great time, and I'll very likely take you up on that offer, particularly if you invent that delay button I was telling you about.'

'You've got it,' said Lee. 'See you next time, mate. But listeners, stay right where you are, because we've lots more entertainment coming up.'

Lee continued announcing and George stood to let Harry out of the booth, giving him an enthusiastic thumbs up. When Harry exited the booth and closed the door, the in-store audience gave him a huge round of applause.

'I knew the Prophet was talking bollocks, describing you like that,' said a wizard wearing a Cannons t-shirt. 'And good for you, having fun on your own birthday.'

'Cheers,' said Harry, making his way to the door. He noticed what seemed to be a disproportionate number of witches in revealing clothing, several of whom he found attractive, but he deliberately didn't catch anyone's eye. He was still feeling fragile over Helena and had decided to wait until at least Saturday before finding someone new.

Once outside, he Apparated home to Grimmauld Place, and he sent his Patronus to get Hermione's opinion on the broadcast. Her otter arrived soon after with the following message:

'Yes, you nearly gave me a heart attack, but fortunately you stopped yourself in time. And I practically wet myself laughing when you explained the difference between dandies and fops, but I was very proud as well.' There was a pause and she added, 'Ryan says, "Great job, Snitchbottom."'

He also sent Ron a Patronus, and Ron's dog delivered his reply:

'Are you trying to kill me? Because you nearly did—but good save. And Janet split a side over your phallic orchid and she's preparing to mock you roundly about it. She's also very disappointed you don't prance starkers around Grimmauld Place. I reckon George and Lee are thrilled about the interview, though we'll never hear the end of the contraception thing from Mum.'

Kreacher insisted on serving him more dinner, since he'd only eaten sandwiches before, and afterwards Harry responded to fan mail. He felt much better than he'd expected to so soon after Rita's article—it was a relief to know he'd always be able to defend himself on Lee and George's broadcast, no matter what the Prophet threw at him. He wished he could ask Helena what she thought of it, since she'd surely been listening, possibly with Rebecca. Hopefully she appreciated his respect for her privacy.

Merlin, I miss her, he thought. He missed waking up with her most of all, and how much fun they had together, but at least he wasn't at loose ends the way he'd been after breaking up with Ginny.

This time around he had Quidditch practice to keep him entertained, and a date with a model the following night. He'd been instructed to wear something that wouldn't clash with a blue dress, which ruled out his Cannons robes of course, but he had plenty of other outfits to choose from. He was tempted to surprise everyone with a Muggle outfit, and he had half a mind to go to Thimble's or even Savile Row to order a three-piece suit, just to create future mischief.

On his way upstairs he stopped in the drawing room to look at the enhanced tapestry. There were a surprising number of Blacks still living who had never been there before, and he supposed he should reach out to them. He wanted to turn the Blacks into a Light family, and the disinherited progeny were likely prospects. Perhaps he'd draft a letter and ask Mrs Thwip to send it out.

He looked again at his own name on the tapestry—Harry James Black—and shook his head in frustration. I'm not changing my name, he thought defiantly. He was the last of the Potters, for one thing, and it would be a slap in his father's face to let the name die out. And he certainly wasn't a Black—the Blacks were Dark wizards like Phineas Nigellus, who'd probably caused the last two wars with his unforgivable tampering.

But then he looked at all the other Blacks who'd appeared on the tapestry that evening. Maybe he should get to know them before ruling out a name change. 'Harry Potter-Black' wasn't too awful, except for how pretentious it sounded, like 'Justin Finch-Fletchley.'

I don't need to make a decision tonight, he thought as he walked up to his bedroom. The name 'Harry Potter' has done the job for nineteen years, and a little longer won't make a difference.