6

When Harry awoke the next morning, he reflexively reached for his glasses on the nightstand. His hand fumbled about for a few moments, succeeding only in knocking his wand to the floor. He turned to have a better look, and when he opened his eyes it all came back to him—he could see without glasses!

It seemed like an inconceivable luxury to open his eyes and see clearly without an intermediary step. He couldn't believe he'd missed out on this for so long. As far as he was concerned, joining the Cannons was already the best decision he'd ever made.

When he reached down to retrieve his wand, however, he reconsidered that opinion. Pain shot through his muscles, and he realised he'd overdone it on Tuesday. Severely.

He should have known this was coming, as he'd been a little stiff the day before. But he hadn't felt this wretched since those first few weeks of Auror training, when he'd awakened every day into some new and exciting agony. The Healer who supplied his nutrition potions had taken pity and given him draughts for muscle pain as well. He wondered if there were any left in the bathroom cabinet, and whether or not they'd gone off.

Lying back down, Harry had never been more tempted to allow Kreacher to serve him breakfast in bed. But he immediately rejected the idea—what would his teammates think?

He attempted to sit up again. Sweet mother of Merlin! This was not going to work.

'Kreacher!'

Crack. 'Yes, Master?'

'Would you be so kind as to serve my breakfast up here, on a tray?' asked Harry sheepishly.

Kreacher's fluffy eyebrows shot up, and his ears extended in delight. 'With pleasure, Master! Kreacher has long dreamt of the day when Master would allow him to serve breakfast in bed! Would Master like the usual breakfast?'

'That would be lovely, Kreacher,' said Harry, a bit worried about the can of worms he'd just opened.

He manfully resisted the urge to stay where he was and conjure a bottle to relieve himself in, but instead he dragged his aching body to the toilet and congratulated himself on doing so. He found an old pain-relieving draught in the cabinet, but when he sniffed the contents he decided not to chance it. Surely the team had a well-stocked potions cabinet, or even a Healer on staff.

By the time he'd returned to his bed and propped himself up on a stack of pillows he'd magically enlarged, he felt he'd earned his leisurely breakfast, which Kreacher arrived presently to deliver.

'Kreacher has long been preparing for this glorious day, Master!'

Breakfast was served on a large tray, which hovered over Harry's lap through the power of house-elf magic. Several other trays floated alongside it, topped with great crystal vases full of flowers that looked suspiciously like the ones sold at the corner shop. I'll have to speak to Kreacher about that, he thought.

A fresh copy of the Daily Prophet floated before him at eye level, on a special stand Harry had never previously seen. He was pleased to note that neither his name nor his photograph were on the front cover.

After scanning the news articles, he flipped to the sport news, curious whether there was anything about the Cannons. He groaned when he saw the headline: 'The Boy Who Quits?'

Just days after unceremoniously departing the Auror training programme at the Ministry of Magic, it appears Harry Potter has given up his new job as Seeker for the Chudley Cannons. Team observers reported that Potter did not show up for practice on Wednesday, prompting rampant speculation that Potter has already quit the team.

Reactions within the Quidditch community varied widely, from disappointment to fury to jubilation. Xavier Spinthroft of Leicestershire, who described himself as a life-long Cannons fan, said, 'I should have known it was too good to be true. 'Twas surely the curse's doing. I only hope the poor lad is all right.'

By contrast, Janelle Leturgis of Norfolk, saw a darker motive behind Potter's move. 'Personally I've never trusted that Harry Potter, not really. Anyone that could defeat You-Know-Who twice is clearly another Dark Lord in the making. He's probably already started gathering followers.'

Meanwhile, Sylvester Chiffle, team manager for the Montrose Magpies, expressed relief that Potter will not be playing professional Quidditch. 'It would have been a circus, having him in the league. Quidditch deserves better than to have an attention-seeking glory-monger like Harry Potter barging in.'

Cannons team manager Darius Sprott emphatically denied that Potter had resigned. 'This is utter nonsense from start to finish. Potter is merely taking the day off to undergo a minor medical procedure in London and will be back for practice tomorrow.'

However, a spokesperson for St Mungo's Hospital told the Prophet that there was no record of Potter visiting yesterday, which clearly confirms that Sprott is covering up Potter's hasty departure. The Prophet can only speculate as to what Sprott hopes to gain from this feeble attempt to hide the truth.

Harry closed his eyes and lay back on his pillow, uncertain whether to laugh or cry. He wondered whether Ron would turn up presently or if he were already at work. Hopefully Ron wouldn't fall for it, knowing that Harry was indeed getting his eyes fixed yesterday.

He resolved to finish eating as quickly as possible and Apparate to the training grounds straight away. At the very least, it would give him earlier access to their potions cabinet.

When he arrived, he lurched haltingly into the building, where he found Lara looking highly amused. She had the Prophet on her desk, open to the article about him.

'Have you come for practice,' she asked archly, 'or are you here to recruit me for your rising Dark army?'

Harry instantly relaxed. 'The latter, of course,' he said. 'You will now kneel before me.'

She laughed. 'Why do I have a feeling this sort of thing is going to be a regular occurrence?'

'Perhaps because it's already happened twice in one week,' answered Harry. 'Welcome to my life.'

'Did the Prophet even try to contact you?' she asked.

'Where would the fun be in that?' he replied. 'The Prophet wouldn't have anything to print if they had to check facts all the time. But really, I've no right to complain. After all, I wouldn't be here now if they hadn't printed those rumours on Sunday.'

'You're right,' agreed Lara. 'All hail the Daily Prophet, Newspaper of Record and Arbiter of Truth!"

Feigning outrage, Harry said, 'Not two minutes after I recruit you into my Dark army and you're already hailing someone else? That's it, you're sacked!'

Lara pretended to sulk but suddenly exclaimed, 'Hang on, you're not wearing your glasses! How are you feeling? I assume everything went all right?'

'Yes, it went perfectly, thanks. But I do need one thing ... is there a supply of pain remedies at hand? I seem to have over-exerted myself on Tuesday.'

'Yes, of course,' she said, walking towards a large cabinet. 'Do you need to see a Healer as well, or will a pain-relieving draught do the job?'

'Just the draught, thanks. And be sure to tell the Prophet that I'm some kind of potions addict who turns up early to get a fix.'

'Consider it done,' she replied. She pulled a phial from the cabinet and handed it to him.

Harry drained it in one go, and within thirty seconds he was sighing heavily with relief. 'Oh … yes ... there's nothing like when a pain draught kicks in. I've been in the wizarding world for nearly eight years and I'm still amazed by how quickly they take effect.'

'There's a reason they call it magic,' remarked Lara.

Harry was about to head for the changing room when the main door opened and Tuttle walked in.

'Potter—there you are, and without glasses. How are things looking?'

'Crystal clear,' he said. 'I never realised how poor my vision was, even with glasses. Merlin only knows how I managed to find the Snitch as often as I did.'

'Excellent. Can't wait to test you again with the Launcher this afternoon.'

The other players began filing in, and unlike on Tuesday, most of them greeted Harry as they passed.

When Janet saw him she immediately gasped. 'Harry, you look fantastic! Mark my words, the witches will be gagging for it!'

Tuttle, who was still in the room ordering Lara around, glared at Janet but said nothing. Harry reddened, and not just because Tuttle had overheard.

'How are you feeling?' asked Janet. 'Can you see all right?'

'I can see perfectly. My only problem this morning was that I could barely walk from Tuesday's practice, but Lara got me sorted with a draught.'

Ryan walked in and said, 'Welcome back! I'm glad to see you haven't quit the team. I was out to dinner in Diagon Alley last night and was accosted by more than a few grieving fans.'

'Ugh, sorry about that,' said Harry. 'Have you tried using a Notice-Me-Not Charm? That's my personal favourite.'

'Normally I would have done,' replied Ryan, 'but I was glad to offer reassurances. Still, I think we're going to have to prepare for a new level of attention now that you're on the team. Reflected glory, and all.'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Glory-mongering, you mean.' That was the one part of the article that had truly irritated him.

Ryan scowled. 'That was vile—Sylvester Chiffle was a right twat for talking about you that way. We'll have to teach the Magpies a lesson next month.'

'Agreed,' said Harry emphatically.

Their morning training session was similar to Tuesday's. Once again, Harry felt the strong sense of connection with his teammates during the flying drills, and he suspected they felt the same. As they flew towards the ground after the final drill, Ryan approached Harry from behind and clapped him heartily on the shoulder before landing.

At lunchtime the starters returned to the pub, where Candice greeted them warmly. 'You look much nicer without those spectacles, Henry,' she said. 'Definitely stick with the contacts.'

'I agree!' chimed Renée. 'Doesn't Henry look great?'

Numerous jokes were made about the Prophet article. Suresh and Darren argued about who would get to be Dark Lord Harry's second-in-command, and Janet bemoaned Harry's insatiable need for attention. 'It's sad, really. I reckon killing You-Know-Who was just a cry for help.'

As promised, Tuttle took charge of the Seeker training session after lunch. She tested Harry's spotting ability using the Launcher and was pleased to find his percentage had improved.

'You're better, Potter, but I still think there's a lot Barrowmaker can teach you.' She was silent a moment before turning to Owen. 'Well what are you waiting for? Get to it!' she barked before departing.

Harry looked at her as she walked away and asked Owen, 'Does anyone have Pensieve memories of Tuttle interacting with Ludo Bagman? I would give my eye teeth to see a few of those.'

'I hear she's actually mellowed out quite a bit since then, believe it or not,' said Owen. 'Anyway, let's head over to the benches ... apparently I'm to teach you everything I know about spotting a Snitch, so we might as well sit down.'

Once they were seated, Owen asked, 'So Harry, tell me what you do when you start looking for the Snitch during a match. When you're not trailing after the other Seeker like a strip of loo roll, that is.'

Harry paused a moment to reflect before answering. 'I suppose I sort of broaden my vision to take in a wide area. Like I'm focussing on a distant object, but without actually having one. And then I just scan for that flicker of movement.'

'That's a good start,' said Owen, 'but there's more you can do. Have you ever practiced any mind arts?'

Harry groaned. 'Yes, and I was complete rubbish at them. I was trained in Occlumency during the war and it was, to put it mildly, a disaster.'

Owen looked at him thoughtfully. 'That doesn't sound like a very conducive learning environment.'

Harry snorted. 'Now there's an understatement! I was taught by a professor who, to all appearances, detested me. He and my father had been rivals back in school, in literally every respect, and he'd had it in for me since day one. It was more like a battle of wills than proper Occlumency training.'

'Oh dear. And I'm assuming he was preparing you to withstand Legilimency from Voldemort?' asked Owen.

Harry nodded.

'Right, I can see why that was doomed to failure,' said Owen sympathetically.

Harry felt something unclench in his chest, just a bit. He still felt awful about his failure to learn Occlumency in fifth year, which had cost Sirius his life.

'Let's assume then,' said Owen, 'that you've never learnt any mind arts before. Because, frankly, it sounds like you haven't.'

'Agreed.'

'The biggest challenge with learning the mind arts is that most instructors have a kind of survivor bias,' began Owen.

'You've lost me already ... what's a survivor bias?'

'Survivor bias can mean a lot of things, but in this case I'm referring to what happens when somebody who's naturally gifted in a particular skill tries to teach someone who isn't naturally gifted.'

Harry thought a moment. 'So it's like when I try to give my friend Hermione flying lessons? She always gets frustrated and says I give rubbish advice like "Just relax and trust the broomstick."'

'Exactly,' said Owen. 'Similarly, with teaching the mind arts, there are too many instructors who give crap instructions like "Clear your mind" or "Try not to think about anything."'

'Sounds familiar,' grumbled Harry.

'I imagine your instructor was a natural at the mind arts,' observed Owen. 'He was probably able to learn Occlumency from instructions like that. But they clearly didn't work for you, and I know they wouldn't have worked for me either.'

On hearing this, Harry felt another small release of internal tension. But with it came another wave of sorrow, and a fleeting image of Sirius falling through the Veil. Owen seemed to notice his downcast expression but didn't say anything about it, which Harry appreciated.

'In a sense you already know the first step for Occlumency, or any other mind art. It's what you described earlier, when I asked what you do when you're looking for the Snitch. You simply relax your focus and expand your field of awareness.'

Harry nodded. This was already more useful than anything Snape had taught him.

Owen continued, 'Listen carefully, because I'm going to use these two terms in a very precise manner. When I refer to "attention" I'm talking about a very sharp and precise focus, like when you've already spotted the Snitch and start accelerating towards it.' He looked at Harry to confirm that he'd understood.

'Got it.'

'The other term I'll define is "awareness." Awareness is the broader view, that expanded field you were describing earlier. It's not looking at any one thing—instead it's taking in a wide range of things, although without any precision.'

'So attention is the sharp focus, and awareness is the broad, open ...' Harry paused, searching for the right word. 'The broad, open awareness,' he said lamely.

'No, that's good,' Owen reassured him. 'If you're already using the word "awareness" to describe awareness, it shows you understand it on an intuitive level.'

He went on. 'When your professor told you to clear your mind, you couldn't do it. But clearing your mind's not actually important, no more than we need to clear the arena of other flyers in order to look for the Snitch.'

'Er, you've lost me again,' said Harry.

Owen thought a moment. 'Think of it this way. When we're watching the arena using our awareness, there are still other players flying back and forth. But you'd be a pretty poor Seeker if you forgot what you were doing and just watched the Chasers the entire time.'

'Right.'

'Or—and I'm exaggerating to make a point—if you pulled a set of Omnioculars from your robes and started reviewing the Chasers in slow motion or watching replays.'

Harry smiled. 'That would truly be a piss-poor Seeker.'

'Right, so let's return to how you currently look for the Snitch. You survey the arena using your awareness rather than your attention, and you don't let the other players distract you. And furthermore, you've set a strong intention to spot the Snitch. This is why you're able to notice the slightest flash of gold from across the arena, but not get distracted when the Quaffle flies past.'

'I guess so, yeah.'

'Now the reason I said it's not really necessary to clear your mind is the same reason you don't demand all the other players vacate the arena before you can look for the Snitch. You allow the players to stay in your field of awareness, but you don't let them capture your attention.'

Owen paused a moment and shook his head quickly, as if to return to the present. 'Sorry, I'm dangerously close to losing the plot and teaching you Occlumency instead of how to spot the Snitch. I don't think Tuttle would appreciate that.'

Chuckling, Harry said, 'I can just imagine losing a match and telling her, "Sorry about missing the Snitch, but the good news is the opposing Seeker didn't make a dent in my mind shields!"'

Owen smiled and resumed his instruction. 'You're already fairly experienced when it comes to setting an intention to spot the Snitch and then maintaining an open awareness, rather than searching desperately through those Omnioculars. The final step is to put your complete trust in this intention.'

Harry interjected, 'Er, you haven't said anything about Bludgers. And I'm starting to wonder if I should take advice from someone who's been sidelined by injuries.'

Owen laughed. 'You raise an excellent point. But to answer your question, it's about intention again, same as with the Snitch. You firmly resolve not to let a Bludger catch you unprepared, and then you let go and trust your awareness to keep an eye out.'

'Yes, and the Beaters,' added Harry.

'Right, them as well. Anyway, my main point—and the point of this entire disquisition—is that you need to fully trust in your intention to spot the Snitch, the same way you trust your broomstick not to fall down for no reason.'

Owen looked Harry in the eye and said, 'You're already a highly instinctive flyer. One of the best I've seen, actually. When we were flying into that knot of Chasers the other day, you didn't hesitate like I did. You had complete confidence you'd be able to avoid them—you didn't give it a second thought.'

'I suppose so,' acknowledged Harry.

'So now do the same when it comes to finding the Snitch. Trust your awareness. The less you can think about it, the better. The same way I'd have been better off if I hadn't thought about how not to hit those Chasers.'

Harry took a deep breath and said, 'Wow, you've given me a lot to think about. Which seems ironic, given the actual instructions.'

Owen smiled and stood up. 'You're right, we probably should start flying before Tuttle sends the Beaters after us.'

At Owen's suggestion, they spent a while just racing around and practicing aerobatics, and Harry appreciated the opportunity to clear his head. Now that Owen had pointed it out, he realised his mind became very quiet when he flew, and that he inhabited his entire body rather than just his head. He invited himself to fully experience the sheer pleasure of flying, to see whether it had an added quieting effect, and he found that it did.

Tuttle's whistle sounded. 'Meet back here in ten minutes for a practice match! Except you, Potter—I want to talk to you.'

Under different circumstances, Harry might have been thrown off-balance by her request, but he was still elated from all the free-form flying he'd just done. He needn't have worried, though—Tuttle merely instructed him to look for the Snitch rather than tracking Owen in the practice match.

'It was a good strategy last time, but you need to practise finding it yourself,' she said before dismissing him.

Unlike the match on Tuesday, this time Tuttle mixed up the teams. Harry was initially surprised that she shuffled the Chasers and Beaters, instead of letting the starters hone their formations. But then he recalled that last-minute substitutions are common in league play, and that it made perfect sense for the reserve players to practise alongside the starters.

Unfortunately for Harry, this meant Suresh and Gary were no longer on the same side. Instead, Suresh was paired with someone named Titus, and together they didn't have the best rhythm. After a few close shaves with a Bludger, Harry found he wasn't able to relax his thinking mind the way Owen had instructed him.

In the end, it was Owen who got the Snitch. Not only did he spot it first, but he was also closer, so he made an easy catch. Harry was disappointed, and Owen flew over to cheer him up. 'That was a tough break with those Bludgers.'

'I guess so,' said Harry, still feeling lousy. He'd never missed the Snitch before, except during that match in his third year when Dementors had swarmed the pitch.

Owen gave him a serious look. 'Listen to me, Harry. You're going to miss the Snitch sometimes. Not often, I suspect, but sometimes. You can't let it bring you down. It really is just a game.'

Harry nodded, feeling a bit better. 'You're right, thanks. This isn't exactly life or death.' He narrowed his eyes and looked at Owen. 'Rematch tomorrow?'

'You can count on it, Potter,' said Owen before zooming off.

-––—––-

As was becoming tradition, Harry chatted with Lara before practice the next morning.

'How are you feeling today?' she asked. 'Do you need another pain-relieving draught?'

'No, I think I can manage without one,' he replied.

She looked at him sceptically. 'Are you sure? There's no need to be a hero. Besides, the reporters are coming today before lunch, and we'll want you on your best behaviour.'

'Oh right, that's today.' Harry sighed heavily. 'Yeah, in that case I'd best take one. The last thing the team needs is for my temper to make an appearance.'

Lara's eyes lit up mischievously as she handed him the bottle. 'By any chance had you forgot your pain draught when you spoke to that Prophet reporter last year? Your diatribe was ... memorable.'

Harry groaned, knowing exactly which diatribe Lara was referring to.

The previous autumn, Rita Skeeter had contacted Harry about a tell-all article she was preparing about Harry's childhood with the Dursleys. Her research had been thorough—she'd used Compulsion Charms on the Dursleys, their neighbours, and Harry's schoolteachers and classmates. She'd learnt all the details about his endless chores, the cupboard under the stairs, Dudley's bullying, and even 'Harry hunting.'

When she approached Harry for comment, he was furious and he knew he had to to stop her. The details of his childhood were nobody's business, and he feared reprisals against the Dursleys from an outraged wizarding populace. He suspected Rita was just bluffing about publishing it, but he couldn't risk it—he wanted to keep his early history private. He therefore agreed to grant her an exclusive interview in exchange for killing the piece.

Although the interview had mainly covered his months on the run with Ron and Hermione, the resulting article was a lurid exploration of a scandalous 'love rectangle' (as Rita had called it) between Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny. The Prophet editors had allowed Rita Skeeter's broad hints at homosexuality, but they had at sensibly drawn the line at incest.

The article was nevertheless appalling—'It would require the utmost naïveté to believe that four hormonal teenagers, sharing a dormitory against a backdrop of war, would not have seized every chance for mutual comfort. And then when Harry and Hermione found themselves alone in the forest during those cold, winter months, with nothing but a tent for shelter, their undernourished, velvety limbs must surely have twined together.'

Harry had been livid, of course, and Mrs Weasley—bypassing her usual Howler—had ambushed Rita with a Body-Bind Curse, cast a Sonorous charm on her own voice, and berated the cowering journalist for half an hour.

A junior reporter from the Prophet subsequently waylaid Harry at the Ministry to get 'his side of the story' and was verbally shredded for his efforts. Harry's tongue-lashing—which was printed in its full, uncensored glory—was praised by wizarding linguists for 'savagely combining both magical and Muggle vulgarities,' and for its 'colourful anatomical imagery involving Merlin, a herd of Thestrals, and the reporter's mother.'

Harry looked sheepishly at Lara. 'That was ... not my best moment,' he acknowledged.

'Nonsense, it was brilliant,' she said. 'My younger brother and all his mates learnt it by heart. But not to worry ... I'll be standing near the reporters and can send you meaningful glances if you start getting testy.'

Not long after, Tuttle set the players to running laps around the pitch, and Harry used the time to mentally prepare for the press conference. He intended to focus his remarks around the team and to discourage questions about his change of career. He knew he'd be pelted with probing personal questions, but he resolved to answer them as tersely as possible. It would surely help to have Lara present, and his teammates as well.

During the break between their calisthenics and the flying drills, Darius pulled Harry aside.

'How are you feeling? Are you ready to meet with the reporters?' He was clearly questioning Harry's skill at public relations.

'Thanks for asking, but I'm all right,' replied Harry. 'I'm aware that I'm representing the team, so I'll do my best to keep steady. Besides, we're starting flying drills presently, and they always leave me in good spirits.'

'Splendid! Carry on then,' said Darius, and Harry returned to the pitch.

As predicted, the aerial drills were just what Harry needed to clear his head. One was a complex weaving manoeuvre with Darren and Janet, and it was possibly the most exhilarating experience he'd ever had on a broomstick. After that he was paired with Owen to practice feints, and they had a great time taunting each other. Once again, Harry was impressed by how smoothly Owen could alternate between deep insights and taking the piss.

Harry lost track of time and was surprised to hear the whistle signalling the end of training. He and Owen had been practicing 'near fouling'—interfering with an opposing player without quite drawing a foul. It was great fun, and they kept at it even after the whistle blew.

When Harry landed he was flush with pleasure from the drills, and even the sight of the gathered reporters couldn't dampen his mood. Lara, who was standing between a pair of photographers, grinned cheekily at him, and Harry automatically smiled back. Tables and chairs had been set up for Tuttle, Darius, and the starting players. Roughly a dozen reporters were there, and nearly as many photographers.

The question and answer portion went better than Harry had expected. Most of the reporters were from Quidditch publications, and so their questions focussed more on the sport than on the team's newest celebrity. Harry spoke glowingly about his teammates, and he gave high praise to Owen for his ability as both Seeker and mentor. Naturally there were nosy questions from the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly, but Harry handled them with unusual aplomb.

The most entertaining question, however, came from Xenophilius Lovegood, representing the Quibbler. 'Harry, is it true you left the Ministry because you uncovered plans to replace Aurors with former Minister Fudge's army of Heliopaths?'

'No,' replied Harry. 'But do you really think I'd admit it if I had?' he added with a wink.

Next, photographs were taken, and then Darius announced, 'We've got a schedule to keep, and I'm sure the players are keen to shower and get some lunch.'

After the reporters had gone, Darius caught Harry's attention and said, 'Well done! You really showed yourself to be a team player—and I was glad to hear no mention of, er, centaurs.'

'Thestrals,' corrected Harry.

During lunch at the pub, the starters spoke mainly about the press event, and Suresh started a betting pool on what would get the most prominent coverage.

Gary, ever the Hufflepuff, believed Harry's mentoring relationship with Owen would be most popular, at least in the Quidditch journals. 'Cannons fans are loyal, and they'll appreciate that Owen hasn't been forgot.'

Ryan disagreed. 'No, I say the big story's going to be about "the curse," and how the Saviour of the Wizarding World has come to break it. Harry's always reeked of destiny—sorry, Harry—and they're going to want to play that angle.'

'You're both wrong,' said Janet. 'It's going to a be straight-up glamour piece. Harry's no longer working for the Ministry, he's newly single, and this will be his first public appearance without those horrid eyeglasses.'

'Oi! I'm right here!' protested Harry.

Suresh said, 'Sorry, Harry, but it's true. Those glasses looked like something you found in a bin.'

Harry grumbled but said nothing.

'Do you think there's any Dark wizard potential?' asked Renée. 'This might fit with Ryan's curse angle—that the losing streak is some kind of apocalyptic omen, and Harry joining the team is going to somehow unleash the demonic hordes.'

'I like it,' said Darren. 'Count me in.'

'On the wager or the demonic hordes?' asked Suresh, who was taking notes.

'Why not both?' was Darren's reply.

'It's your turn, Harry,' said Suresh. 'What can I put you down for?'

Harry sighed. 'I have learnt through vast experience that I am unable to predict what new horrors the papers will come up with. So just put me down for a wildcard option involving ...' He thought for a moment. 'Involving Celestina Warbeck and an island colony of Squibs.'

'Got it,' said Suresh as he wrote. 'Warbeck, Squibs.'

The conversation eventually turned to everyone's plans for the weekend. When it came around to Harry, he said, 'My friend Ron is dragging a group of us to the cinema to see a film called "The Matrix." He saw it last week and was completely gobsmacked. Mind you, he's a pure-blood and has hardly seen any Muggle entertainment, so he'd be equally impressed by an episode of "The Wombles."'

'Actually,' said Ryan, 'I saw it with my cousin a fortnight ago and it was fantastic, like nothing I've ever seen. I think you'll love it.'

'Oh good, glad to hear it,' said Harry. 'And then on Saturday I'm having some friends round to dinner. You're all invited, if you like.'

Gary, who was married with a young child, gave his regrets, and Renée and Suresh were otherwise engaged. But Ryan, Darren, and Janet eagerly accepted, and Ryan suggested asking Lara as well.

'Does this mean you know how to cook?' asked Janet. 'Or will we be eating from takeaway cartons?'

'In fact I do know how to cook. Breakfast in particular,' replied Harry. 'But I won't be cooking on Saturday—my house-elf Kreacher will take care of it.'

'You have a house-elf?' exclaimed Suresh. 'What, did the Ministry give you one they'd confiscated from a Death Eater, as payment for services rendered?'

'No, I inherited him from my godfather, along with his house,' replied Harry.

Janet said, 'And by "godfather" I assume you're referring to the notorious mass murderer, Sirius Black?'

'The exonerated mass murderer,' corrected Ryan.

'Details,' shrugged Janet.

'Yes, the very same,' said Harry. 'I should warn you that Kreacher's a few gobstones short of a set. But his cooking is rather good now, and he's been hinting he wants to prepare a banquet for a crowd.'

Suresh shook his head. 'Your life is genuinely weird, Potter.'

Renée, who had been quiet, said, 'I wondered where you lived. I'd heard you didn't get on with the Muggles who raised you. And I saw what happened to your parents' house in Godric's Hollow, on a class trip.'

'You took a class trip to the house where my parents died?'

'Yeah, for History of Magic. I reckon most wizarding schoolchildren do.' Some of the others nodded.

After a pause, Harry said, 'I'm not sure what's more surprising—that you've all visited my parents' house, or that you took class trips for History of Magic.'

Gary laughed. 'Harry, can you imagine a class trip with Binns? I suppose he could have brought us round to some of the goblin battlefields near Hogsmeade.'

'That's true,' said Harry, 'but I suppose not being able to leave the castle without disintegrating would have put a damper on things.'

'Without disintegrating?' asked Darren. 'Are you saying your History professor was a ghost? That's so cool!'

'Believe me, it wasn't,' corrected Gary. 'He was literally as boring as the grave. And I don't think he taught us about anything that happened after 1750.'

Suresh smirked and said, 'That's Britain's finest wizarding school for you.'

Their food had arrived, and for a while everyone concentrated on eating. But eventually Janet said, 'Where should we go after dinner tomorrow night? Somewhere wizarding or Muggle?'

'No idea,' replied Harry. 'I don't go out much. Until this week I was on an early schedule for Auror training, and this past year I spent most of my leisure time with my girlfriend at Hogwarts. Former girlfriend, that is,' he added with a sigh.

'That simply won't do,' insisted Janet. 'You'll get nowhere with our little project if you stay home all evening with your unshaggable teammates and a house-elf. And don't get any ideas about Lara—she's off limits too.'

Harry's denial was instantly cut off by Janet. 'Don't even try, Potter. I saw how you were looking at her this morning after practice. Without your glasses it's much easier to see the gleam in your eye.'

Harry, who was turning red by this point, said 'I know Lara's off limits—we were just having fun. And yeah, under different circumstances I might be interested, but I'm not ready to date anyone seriously.'

Darren said, 'You've clearly spent too much time around pure-bloods, Harry. You're what, nineteen?'

'At the end of this month, yes.'

'Right ... do you think anyone expects a nineteen year-old Muggle footballer to settle down? No, I didn't think so,' said Darren. 'Don't forget that Tuttle ordered you to have yourself a holiday!'

They returned to the training facility soon after, and Lara accepted Harry's invitation to dinner on Saturday. He was looking forward to having everyone over.

During practice, he found himself marvelling at how much his social life had changed in less than a week, on top of the career change. He'd known for a long time that circumstances could change on a sixpence, but most of the sudden changes he'd experienced had been for the worse, not for the better.

Except for when I found out I was a wizard, thought Harry. That had been an enormous shift for the better, in spite of Voldemort and all the crap he'd encountered in the wizarding world. Was he now experiencing another shift of the same magnitude?

In some ways it seemed like his post-war fog was finally lifting, and his grief as well. He'd begun thinking of Fred, Remus, and Tonks—and everyone else they had lost—as people who'd lived rather than people who'd died. Until this week, it seemed like everything he'd experienced since the war could be described as 'the aftermath,' but now he felt as if he were entering a new phase.

Ron was stunned that night when Harry told him who was coming to Saturday dinner. 'Are you telling me we're actually having dinner with Ryan Bellamy, Janet Lindhurst, and Darren Rogers? That's un-bloody-believable! I won't even know what to say to them. I reckon I'll be tongue-tied or—worse—make an idiot out of myself.'

Hermione sniffed. 'Ronald, you're perfectly capable of talking to Harry, and he's far more famous than any of those people.'

'Harry doesn't count,' he said dismissively. 'These are the Cannons we're talking about!'

Rolling her eyes, Hermione said, 'I can't believe what a child you are! You seem to have forgot that you're famous too. You've been awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class, for heaven's sake.'

Ron took a deep breath. 'Of course, you're right. Thanks for reminding me. Old habit, I reckon.' He turned to Harry and said, 'If I say something stupid, do me a favour, mate, and bring the conversation back round to how I helped save humanity.'

'I will, but you needn't worry—they're lots of fun, and easy to talk to. Same goes for Lara ... she's the team assistant.'

Looking at her wristwatch, Hermione said, 'You'd best be leaving for the cinema. The film starts at half-seven, you know.'

'Yes, Mum,' said Ron, and Hermione scowled at him.

'You're sure you won't come with us, Hermione?' asked Harry.

'No thanks, once was enough for me. Besides, I need to do more work on my potion. I'll come round first thing tomorrow as well—I hope that's all right.'

'It's fine,' said Harry. 'See you then!'

Harry and Ron Apparated into an alley near the cinema, and they soon found their friends near the front entrance. Ron had persuaded George, Lee, Neville, and Luna to accompany them.

'Hannah wanted to join us,' explained Neville, 'but her family is celebrating her grandfather's birthday.'

'You'll have to show her the film some other night,' said Ron. 'I can guarantee you'll want to see it again.'

Luna spoke, in her usual airy style. 'The film sounds very interesting. I read a review in a Muggle newspaper Dad subscribes to—he likes to keep an eye out for any mention of unusual animal sightings. It seems that Muggles are starting to recognise that ordinary experiences are not as real as they might appear.'

'Er, yeah,' said Ron, in the usual tone he used when responding to Luna. 'By the way, Hermione insisted I warn everyone that there's a lot of violence, mostly from guns and other Muggle weapons. She had to close her eyes in places.'

George said, 'I reckon it'll be odd watching battle scenes from a comfortable seat, rather than in the middle of the action. Sounds like a nice break, actually. All the adrenaline without any of the mortal peril.'

'Yeah,' said Ron, 'that's how I felt about it. Awful things kept happening to the characters, and a part of me just felt relieved that it wasn't my job to fix any of it.'

They purchased their tickets, and George and Lee—always looking for new product ideas—took their time perusing the Muggle sweets. Before long they were all seated, and the film began.

Harry was enthralled from the start. The special effects were leagues ahead of anything he'd seen before. He knew vaguely that they were produced using computers, but this was nothing like the graphics on Dudley's old video games. One of the fight scenes reminded him of Dumbledore's duel against Voldemort in the Ministry, only the characters were using Muggle weapons rather than wands.

Harry knew it was normal to identify with the main character in a film, but he had to admit there were strong similarities between himself and Neo. As soon as Neo joined the rebels, Morpheus told him that he was the One, and that he alone could save humanity from the machines. Harry could relate to that kind of pressure and responsibility.

The Agents seemed invincible, with their ability to Apparate and their invulnerability to weapons, and Harry was reminded of the Death Eaters who'd chased them through the Department of Mysteries.

The most powerful moment, however, was at the end, when Neo died and came back to life. The Agents' weapons no longer worked against him, just as Voldemort's curses had all failed after Harry's sacrifice.

As Harry watched the climactic scene, when Neo effortlessly halted bullets mid-trajectory and caused them to fall harmlessly to the floor, he was overcome by a sensation he'd half-forgot. It was a sense of wholeness, of knowing, and of indescribable peace.

He realised he'd experienced it once before. It was after he'd returned from his vision of King's Cross Station, in the clearing where Voldemort had killed him. He'd had no fear, and not simply because he'd survived death. He'd known in that moment that fear had never been necessary, and that everything that had ever happened was fundamentally perfect. His parents' death, his childhood with the Dursleys, everything he'd suffered and everyone he'd lost—at its core was an indescribable perfection, by virtue of its mere existence.

Harry wondered how he could have forgot. Had it been lost in the aftermath of the battle? Harry's grief, and his empathy towards everyone else's suffering, had been overwhelming. Furthermore, it would have been unthinkable to tell George or Mrs Weasley, for example, that Fred's death was utter perfection. Perhaps he had set aside his realisation in the face of more pressing needs.

But watching the film reawakened it, and he couldn't imagine ever losing it again. How could you forget ultimate truth?

Ron tapped Harry on the leg. 'So what did you think, mate?' he asked, as the house lights came back on. 'Was that amazing or what?'

Harry could hardly find words. 'Yeah,' he exhaled. 'That was something.'

Somehow he got to his feet and exited the cinema with his friends. He heard Lee and George praising the special effects, and Luna expressing surprise that most people hadn't previously realised that there is no spoon. Ron and Neville laughed about the scene where the Oracle tells Neo not to worry about breaking the vase, and how it was just like when Professor Trelawney had warned Neville about the teacup.

They went for ice cream afterwards in Diagon Alley, and Harry was too preoccupied to bother casting his usual Notice-Me-Not Charm, even though they were seated on the terrace.

Unfortunately he was noticed by a rowdy pair of wizards leaving a tavern. They both wore Wimbourne Wasps jerseys, and prior to spotting Harry they were loudly debating whether or not the coach should put O'Connell in as Keeper.

'Oi, Potter!'

Harry and the others turned.

'Yeah, you. Boy Who Lived!' said the second one.

'Nancy Boy Who Lived, more like,' said the first, and they both laughed.

Neville and Ron both pulled out their wands, but Harry motioned for them to stay still. 'Just ignore them,' he muttered.

'You can fuck right off, Potter. The Cannons are a shit team and you're a shit Seeker, you fucking tosspot.'

'Tosspotter,' said his companion, and they both laughed again.

Neville couldn't take it any longer. He stood up and faced them with his wand. 'I think you should stop now,' he said firmly.

One of the men fumbled for his wand and aimed it towards Neville. It was pointed in the wrong direction.

'You bloody wanker! You can't even hold a wand the right way round,' shouted his companion, who had managed to drop his own wand. He bent down to retrieve it and unexpectedly heaved onto the pavement.

'That's what you get for hogging all the chips, arsehole.'

At Ron's signal, Neville backed away. Although the men were obnoxious, it was clear they weren't a threat.

Harry quickly cast a Notice-Me-Not Charm, and Ron raised several other privacy wards.

Nobody spoke. Neville was still rigid with fury, and George and Lee were casting dark glances at the two men, who were struggling to stand up.

'I was hoping to have swizzleberry ice cream, but unfortunately all they had was strawberry. But I suppose that's better than no ice cream at all,' remarked Luna.

Although Luna's non-sequitur relieved some of the tension, they were mostly quiet as they ate. Harry was very tired all of a sudden, and it felt like his pain draught had worn off. It had been a long week.

They said their goodbyes, and everyone headed home. Harry was relieved to return to Grimmauld Place without attracting Kreacher's attention. He was soon in bed.

His thoughts drifted towards the film he'd just seen. The special effects really were amazing. And the ending had been brilliant, although looking back he couldn't quite recall why it had affected him so much. Probably because Neo had come back to life, just as he had. Or something like that.