5

Harry and Hermione had already walked the same block of Diagon Alley twice in search of the Optimancer, to no avail. They had only his address, and the numbers weren't marked.

'You'd expect an Optimancer to have better signage,' said Hermione disapprovingly. 'This seems a bit cruel, really.'

'At least he's not crassly commercial. I'm not sure how I'd feel about having a delicate ocular procedure done in a shop that looked like Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.'

On their third pass, Hermione finally spotted a faded sign labelled, 'Tertius Squint, Optimancy.'

'Do you ever wonder,' she asked, 'whether wizards are unduly pressured to choose career paths that match their surnames?'

'You'd better hope not, Granger.'

She pretended not to hear him. Harry grasped the door handle and they entered, and a grey-haired witch greeted them from behind a desk.

'Mr Potter, and Miss Granger I presume? Do have a seat. Mr Squint will see you presently.'

Upon hearing their names, another patient in the waiting room turned towards them with bulging eyes. Harry felt a bit annoyed as the man continued to gawk at them, until he realised the bulging eyes may have been a medical condition requiring Optimancy. Harry hoped he wasn't a repeat customer.

He had casually mentioned to Hermione the night before that he was nervous about the procedure, and so naturally she insisted on accompanying him. He knew, however, that she was only using his nerves as an excuse, and that she was actually dying to observe a Ministry-sanctioned blood ritual.

A second door opened and a white-robed man walked out. 'Mr Potter, please come in.'

'May I bring my friend Hermione with me?'

'Yes, of course. Step this way,' he said, directing them into his office. 'I'm Tertius Squint. It's a pleasure to meet you both. Mr Potter, please have a seat on the examining table, and Miss Granger, you can make yourself comfortable right there.'

Harry and Hermione made the appropriate replies and sat where indicated. and Squint continued.

'I'm delighted that Darius persuaded you to come see me. I can't tell you how upsetting it's been to see you wearing these horrible spectacles all these years. I'm only relieved that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named never thought to Summon them from you during the heat of battle.'

Both Harry and Hermione blanched—it was a risk they'd never considered. I suppose this confirms he's not a Dark wizard, thought Harry. Otherwise he'd surely have passed the tip along to Voldemort.

'I'd never even heard of vision-correcting rituals until this week,' confessed Harry. 'But once Darius explained that there's nothing truly Dark about them, I was keen to have it done.'

'Excellent,' replied Squint. 'Let's get started then. And please keep your wand to hand, as we'll need it.' He explained, 'One of the regulations around blood magic is that the blood must be drawn by the ritual subject, and not the practitioner. I'll also have you conjure a small vessel and eyedropper to handle the blood, to ensure I'm not stealing any of it for nefarious purposes.'

He added soberly, 'I suspect there are people still out there who'd do anything to get their hands on a few drops of your blood, Mr Potter. Mustn't let that happen.'

'They wouldn't be the first,' muttered Harry.

Squint pulled a wheeled cart towards the edge of the examining table. Several items lay on top: a small bowl, an eyedropper, and a flask containing a silvery potion.

'All right then, please conjure an eyedropper and bowl similar to the ones you see here,' he said, indicating the items on the cart.

'Excellent,' said Squint, after Harry had conjured the two items. 'Next I'll have you clean your fingertip using a basic Disinfecting Charm. Perfect, just so. And finally, please use a mild Cutting Curse to produce roughly five drops of blood for the ritual.'

Harry complied. Squint then used his own eyedropper to add potion to the bowl containing Harry's blood.

Enthralled by the procedure, Hermione predictably had a question. 'What potion are you using?'

'It's the Lenticulus Potion. The final ingredient, of course, is the subject's blood.'

He used his wand to cast a Stirring Charm over the bowl, and the potion soon turned gleaming red.

Like Voldemort's eyes, thought Harry. His joke the previous afternoon suddenly seemed more ominous.

'Now please lie back and remove your glasses, Mr Potter. You won't be needing them anymore.'

Harry smiled and lay back on the provided pillow.

Squint took the eyedropper Harry had conjured and drew the red mixture into it. He then released seven tiny drops into each of Harry's eyes. 'You can close your eyes now,' he instructed.

Harry felt the movement of a wand over his closed eyes. Hermione is probably disappointed he cast it wordlessly, he thought.

'Perfect. Now please lie here with your eyes closed until I return in ten minutes. Miss Granger, you're welcome to keep him company while he waits. But please, don't perform any magic.'

After Squint had gone, Hermione said, 'That was fascinating! Yesterday I reviewed the Ministry regulations on performing blood magic, and he complied with them to the letter—and then some. There's no requirement that the subject sterilise their own finger.'

'Yes, he's obviously legitimate, which is a big relief,' said Harry. 'But sweet Merlin, that bit about Voldemort Summoning my glasses! I'm glad Squint was on our side.'

'Do you have any plans for your day off,' she asked.

'I've got the portrait artist coming over this afternoon, and then later I'm visiting Andromeda, to tell her I'm giving her the gold from the Black family vault.'

'That should come as a pleasant surprise!'

'I only hope she'll accept it,' he replied.

Squint returned a few minutes later. 'Hold still, Mr Potter. I need to do one last charm.' Squint performed more wand movements over his eyelids, and Harry saw a faint green light.

'Open your eyes,' he instructed. 'Careful not to rub them right away.'

Harry slowly opened his eyes and immediately blinked a few times. Sitting up, he looked expectantly towards Squint.

'I can see!' he exclaimed joyfully.

'I never get tired of hearing that,' admitted Squint.

Harry looked at Hermione, delighted. 'This is amazing! I can see you perfectly. I'm not sure I've ever seen anything this clearly before.'

'I'm so glad, Harry.' She turned towards Squint. 'What else does he need to do today? Is there any risk of somehow fouling the outcome?'

'No, but he'll be sensitive to light for the first twenty-four hours.' Looking at Harry, he said, 'Definitely no flying today.'

'That's fine,' replied Harry, still enraptured. 'I'm sure I'll want to spend all day just looking at things.'

He let his focus land again on Squint. 'Thank you so much. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. I only wish I'd done it sooner—I wouldn't have needed these,' he said, gesturing towards his glasses.

Squint looked at the spurned eyewear. 'I don't suppose ..." he said, hesitating. 'Forgive me for suggesting this, but if you wanted to raise money for a good cause, you might consider auctioning off your old glasses.'

Hermione frowned in concern. 'Would there be any risk of someone misusing them?'

'That's a fair question, but with the proper Cleaning Charms the glasses could be fully stripped of any residue, magical or otherwise. I can provide those charms if you wish.'

Harry grinned. 'That's a great idea—maybe we could do it in conjunction with the Cannons.'

Hermione couldn't conceal her surprise. 'Harry, do you really want people bidding over your eyeglasses? That's not exactly your style.'

'No, it's not. But if it's for a good cause, and if it's safe I don't see why not. I've no further use for them, surely.'

'It's your decision, of course,' said Squint. 'And now one final request—please use your wand to Vanish the remaining blood mixture ... Just so, thank you. And my secretary outside will have you sign a parchment stating that I've fully complied with the listed regulations.'

'With pleasure,' said Harry. 'And thanks again.'

'It was an honour,' said Squint with a respectful nod.

They left, and Harry signed the provided parchment. Exiting the office, he craned his neck to look about in all directions.

'Unbelievable!' he exclaimed. 'It's like seeing Diagon Alley again for the first time. I hardly know where to look!'

Hermione beamed at him. 'I wish I could stay and watch you marvel at everything, but I must be off. Thanks for letting me accompany you.' And just before Disapparating, she barked, 'Be sure to head right home!'

In spite of Hermione's orders, Harry was sorely tempted to stay and explore Diagon Alley, but the sun was getting higher and he knew it would soon be too bright.

Fortunately I have somewhere dark to spend the day, he thought wryly and Apparated to Grimmauld Place.

He enjoyed a quiet morning at home. Kreacher was disappointed that Master wouldn't stay in bed and allow himself to be waited on, but Harry wasn't tired, and he was eager to explore the delightfully gloomy townhouse.

After a few hours, his eyes were a bit less sensitive. He had hoped as much when he'd scheduled the visit from the portrait painter for that afternoon. At the appointed hour, Harry went into the formal reception hall—only Harry's close friends Flooed into the kitchen—and stood expectantly before the fireplace. A burst of green flames heralded the painter's arrival, causing Harry to briefly cover his eyes, and she stepped onto the hearth.

'Thank you for coming,' said Harry. 'I'm glad you were able to visit on my unexpected day off.'

'The pleasure is mine, Mr Potter.' She briefly lowered her head and said, 'Louisa Gesso, at your service.'

Again with the wizarding career determinism, thought Harry. I should probably learn how to make pots.

'Please, call me Harry. I can tolerate being called "Mr Potter" in public, but not in my own house.'

'Then call me Louisa,' she replied. She walked a few steps and started to look around. 'So where is the portrait you wrote to me about?'

'It's in the front entrance hall, this way.'

They walked together, but Harry stopped before they'd reached their destination. He turned to Louisa, his expression serious.

'I should ask you ... are you sensitive about your blood status? She has an uncanny ability to identify that sort of thing, and she's not at all shy about using the M-word,' he said apologetically. 'Most frequently to describe my mother.'

'Believe me, Harry, I've seen it all. Last year I dealt with a portrait of a deceased wizard with certain ... proclivities. He'd posed as some kind of satyr and used a Permanent Sticking Charm to exhibit himself before everyone who entered the dining room. It was unappetising, to say the least.'

'Walburga keeps her clothes on, thank Merlin. But you've given me new nightmare fodder,' replied Harry, shuddering.

They walked into the entrance hall. Walburga was sleeping, but a sharp tap from Louisa's wand woke her.

'Behold the filthy, misbegotten half-blood and—what's this?—a blood traitor! Remove your vile selves at once from the sacred seat of my noble fathers!'

Louisa tapped her wand on the portrait again and silenced Walburga.

'How did you do that?' asked Harry, impressed. 'The only way we can shut her up is to close the curtain, but she always manages to open it again.'

'Trick of the trade,' replied Louisa. 'I'll teach you how if we can't manage her some other way.' She began performing a series of diagnostic charms on the sleeping portrait.

At length, Louisa turned to Harry. 'I've got good news and bad news.'

Harry nodded, steeling himself for whatever she was about to say.

The painter continued, 'The good news is she's not sentient. This is an important distinction, because there are ethical guidelines concerning portraits, and I wouldn't be allowed to materially tamper with her if she were self-aware.'

'Right,' said Harry. 'And the bad news?'

'The bad news is that she's never going to leave that frame willingly.'

Harry's shoulders slumped. He was stuck with Walburga for good.

Louisa asked, 'Have you considered moving that section of wall entirely?'

'Yes,' replied Harry, 'but it's a load-bearing wall. And there are already too many magical enhancements on the house to risk altering it.'

'Right. Have you tried reversing the plaster, so the portrait is trapped inside the wall instead of on the surface?'

'We did, but it didn't work. It seems she prepared the wall somehow before she died,' said Harry glumly. He'd been through all this with Bill.

'Hmm, you've clearly done your homework. Give me a moment to think on it.'

Louisa wore a thoughtful expression for some time, and at one point she consulted a large book she'd pulled from her robes. Her eyebrows shot up momentarily, and Harry was hopeful she'd found something, but Louisa's expression was serious when she turned towards him.

'I'll tell you upfront, this is a long shot, so don't get your hopes up ... It seems the only way to remove her from this particular canvas would be to frighten her from it and then capture her into a new canvas.'

'That sounds great!'

'Not so fast. It's not easy to frighten someone out of their own painting. We'd need a portrait of someone who would be singularly motivated to make it happen.'

Harry thought a moment. 'Does it need to be an existing portrait, or could it be a new one?'

'If an existing portrait could work, it already would have done because it was singularly motivated. No, we'd need a new portrait. And then there's another problem. The ethical guidelines are quite clear about just how sentient this portrait could be. Painting a human for this purpose would be absolutely forbidden.'

Harry sighed. 'So where does that leave us?'

Louisa looked thoughtful again before replying. 'In order for it to work, we'd need a new portrait of some kind of intimidating animal. And it would have to be an animal with a particular motivation to unseat this woman from her own frame.'

A smile curved across Harry's face. 'Some kind of intimidating animal? Like a large dog?' He was almost bursting with excitement. 'A Grim perhaps?'

'That would be ideal, but you've forgot the bit where the animal has to be single-mindedly determined to frighten her.'

'No, I haven't,' replied Harry, and he gleefully told her about Padfoot.

Louisa's eyes gleamed with delight. 'An Animagus would be perfect! Mind you, we'd have to dumb him down a bit. He wouldn't be a wizard appearing as a dog—he'd be a dog. But from what you've described, even in his most animal state he'd be highly motivated to attack and banish her.'

'Definitely.'

'Right,' said Louisa. 'What I'll need then are memories of your godfather in his Animagus form.' She pulled a flask from her robes and offered it to him. 'As many as you can provide. As I've said, I can't make him sentient, but the more memories you can provide, the more personality I can give him.'

They went down to the sitting room, and Louisa occupied herself with paperwork while Harry gathered memories of Padfoot. He took his time at it, and the liquid memories were bright and dense when he handed them to her.

Louisa looked at the flask's glowing contents. 'Impressive! I can see you spent loads of time with his Animagus form. This should give me plenty to work with.'

'Thanks,' replied Harry, who was extra cheerful after spending the previous half hour reminiscing about Padfoot. 'When can you have it ready?'

'I should be able to complete it within a fortnight. Will you also want me to dispose of the canvas we trap her in?'

Remembering the promise he'd made to George, Harry said, 'Would it be all right if I kept it? I know someone who has ideas about how to use her.'

'Be my guest. She's not sentient, so there aren't any ethical concerns. I would have just Incendioed her.'

'A fitting end,' acknowledged Harry. 'We'll consider that our Plan B.'

A few hours after Louisa left, Harry was able to look out the front windows with only medium discomfort, but he still wasn't fit to leave the house. Closing his eyes, he Floo-called Andromeda and asked whether she could come to Grimmauld Place instead.

'I'd be glad to. But is it all right if I bring Teddy?'

'Of course,' said Harry. 'That is, as long as he doesn't start glowing.'

'No, fortunately that's not in his bag of tricks yet.'

She stepped through the fireplace several minutes later, carrying a sleeping Teddy Lupin in both arms, his head resting on her shoulder. His hair was short, with grey and white stripes, and at his bottom he had a long, fluffy tail.

'He's going through a cat phase at present,' Andromeda explained. 'He doesn't transform entirely, thank Merlin, but it's unsettling nevertheless. Dora went through a similar phase, only she also had the ears.'

They proceeded to the sitting room, where Andromeda lay the sleeping infant across a blanket on the floor. Harry wasn't certain, but he thought he heard him purring.

'Sorry again about the change of venue, and thanks. I'm sure it can't be easy with Teddy to look after.'

'No, it isn't. But he's lovely—most of the time, anyway—and I'm glad for the company. There's seldom a dull moment with the offspring of Dora and one of your Marauders.'

They chatted for a bit, until Harry came around to his point. 'I've a specific reason for wanting to talk to you ... I was finally allowed back into Gringotts last Saturday, and the banker presented me with the Black family ring. It accepted me,' he said simply.

Andromeda smiled warmly. 'I'm glad to hear it, Harry. I'd hoped it would.'

'Did you know about this, then?'

'No, but I suspected it.'

He continued. 'The banker provided me with documents pertaining to the Black family vault, which I went down to visit.'

Andromeda's expression revealed nothing. She may have married a Muggle-born, but she was nevertheless raised a Black.

'It contains a sizeable fortune,' he said, handing her the parchment he'd been provided. 'I'd like for you and Teddy to have it.'

Her neutral expression vanished and was replaced by one of astonishment.

'No, Harry. That's a very generous offer, but Sirius left that for you. I can't accept it.'

'Nonsense,' he replied. 'I've already got gold in the Potter vault and, speaking frankly, my prospects are good. I don't need this gold and I don't want it.'

Andromeda tried again to protest, but Harry cut her off.

'Sirius told me specifically—in writing—that I was to take care of Remus. Surely that would extend to his orphaned son.'

She sighed. 'Would you consent to splitting it? I can't accept the entire amount, even for Teddy's sake, but perhaps one quarter?'

'Half,' insisted Harry. 'And I won't go lower.'

Andromeda closed her eyes and said, 'All right. For Teddy.'

Harry sighed with relief. 'Thank you, I know Sirius would approve. But I still don't feel comfortable taking what belongs to a family that isn't mine—it's bad enough I'm keeping the house. After all, Teddy is more of a Black than I'll ever be. Sirius was just my godfather, not a blood relation.'

'That's not true,' replied Andromeda.

Harry looked at her blankly, not understanding. He was a Potter, not a Black.

Reading his expression, Andromeda explained. 'Harry, you're forgetting how much intermarriage there is among old wizarding families. Didn't you know your great-grandmother was a Black?'

He shook his head.

Glancing for a moment at Teddy, who was still sound asleep, she rose from her armchair. 'Let's go to the drawing room. I'll show you.'

They went upstairs and stood before the vast tapestry that depicted the Black family tree. It was blotted with scorch marks, where Sirius's mother had obliterated the names of everyone who'd offended her.

Andromeda scanned the tapestry, mumbling. 'Dorea Black ... let's see. She was Pollux's sister, making her my second cousin thrice removed, so she should be right here ... no, what's this?'

She frowned, looking at a scorch mark. 'Yes, I can guess what happened. Aunt Walburga must have cursed your great-grandmother off the tapestry when Sirius ran away and moved in with your grandparents.' She indicated an adjacent mark. 'This must have been your great-grandfather's name.'

Harry looked at the scorched area almost tenderly. He had so little to connect him with his own family.

'If you think about it,' she continued, 'you're no less a Black than you are a Potter. If your great-grandparents' genders were reversed, your surname would be Black.'

It was a surprising point but he couldn't refute it. The logic was no different from his claim to the Peverell line, which was undeniable.

'So you and I are related then?' he asked.

'Yes, distantly.'

'I suppose that means I'm related to Draco Malfoy as well,' he said, mostly to himself. He was amused that Malfoy was related by marriage to the Dursleys.

'Yes, you are. Incidentally, Draco would probably have been named Head of House if Sirius hadn't designated you.'

Now there's a sobering thought, mused Harry. He'd never realised he was so closely linked to his onetime nemesis.

'Speaking of House Black,' she said, 'are you wearing the ring? Is it as ghastly as I remember? I tried describing it to Ted once but he insisted I was exaggerating.'

Harry revealed it to Andromeda, who unexpectedly burst out laughing.

'Yes, that's the one,' she said. 'And they thought I had bad taste for marrying a Muggle-born.'

'Can you tell me more about this Lord Black business?' asked Harry. 'All I know so far is that it gives me access to the vault, and it's also smoothed off one of Kreacher's remaining rough edges.'

'Harry, you're conflating two separate things: Head of House and the lordship. Being Head of House is important, because it gives you a seat on the Wizengamot and control over the vault. But the lordship...'

She smiled mischievously, and Harry saw a flash of the headstrong girl who'd defied her family. 'I'll tell you what a wizarding lordship means: not a blooming thing. They'll try to convince you otherwise, but the truth is that British wizarding titles were all granted in 1707, when the Ministry of Magic was established. They needed money to construct the Ministry around the ancient Wizengamot chamber, so they canvassed the old families and essentially gave out lordships to the highest bidders.'

'Are you serious? I assumed there was more to it than that.'

'No, there really isn't. Lords have the right to sit in a special section of the Wizengamot, and a few other arcane privileges, but otherwise lordships are a pile of nonsense. They're not even that old—1707 was last week as far as wizards are concerned.'

'That's a relief,' said Harry. 'And now I'm properly forearmed if anyone finds out.'

'If anyone finds out?' she said sceptically. 'They'll find out when you turn up at the Wizengamot.'

'Ugh, do I have to? The Light faction has plenty of votes right now.'

'No, you can wait. But you can't keep it secret forever.'

Andromeda turned again to examine the family tree. Running her fingers along a particularly tangled set of branches, she said, 'Don't marry a pure-blood if you can help it, Harry. Hybrid vigour's the thing—I married Ted and gave birth to the first Metamorphmagus we'd had in generations. And then Dora married a werewolf and got another one on the first try.'

Harry was silent, thinking again of Ginny and their erased future together.

Andromeda gestured towards one of the scorched areas. 'Have you tried repairing it, now that you have the ring?'

Harry shook his head. 'It hadn't crossed my mind—I almost never come in here. What do you suggest, Reparo?'

'You could try that, although it's more likely you'll need a charm that's specifically for textiles, or one for magical tapestries in particular.'

As predicted, Harry's Reparo had no effect. 'I suppose you're right. I'll ask Hermione to look into it—she's always up for a bit of research,' he said. 'Which reminds me ... I hope it's all right, but I let her take a look through the family Grimoire. It was in the vault at Gringotts.'

'And it didn't try to hurt her?'

'No, I was able to grant her access using the ring. She spent half of Sunday looking through it and has already tried a few charms and a potion.'

Andromeda frowned. 'None of the recipes, I hope! One of my earliest memories is helping Great-Aunt Belvina make a Yule pudding, and she sent me to the larder to me fetch a jar of dried troll calluses.'

They were interrupted by a series of infantile squawks from downstairs. 'That'll be Teddy,' she said, and they returned to the sitting room where he'd been sleeping.

Nothing could have prepared Harry for what they found. Teddy—or what he assumed was Teddy—was sitting on the floor clapping his hands and bouncing while Kreacher entertained him by Apparating about the room. The infant had exchanged his earlier feline markings for a bulbous, snout-like nose and long, bat-like ears, generously tufted with white hair.

'Sweet Circe's ghost!' cried Andromeda. 'Is that you, Teddy?'

Harry couldn't help laughing. 'I see what you meant when you said there's never a dull moment.'

'There certainly isn't,' she replied, taking a seat on the sofa.

They knew better than to interrupt Teddy while he was having fun, so Harry and Andromeda made arrangements to meet at Gringotts on Saturday to sort out her access to the Black family vault.

'Thank you, Harry. It really is awfully generous of you to provide for Teddy like this.'

'It's the least I can do, really—particularly since I'm keeping the house. But I feel better knowing I have a Black family connection,' he admitted. 'I could do without the inbreeding, though.'

'You've done all right,' she said, looking at him. 'Hybrid vigour, after all.'

They chatted for a few more minutes until Teddy's shrieking laughs turned into shrieks of horror, and he started crying. Andromeda scooped him up and said, 'There's no point staying when he gets like this. I'd best bring him home—he'll be easier to quiet there.'

They said their goodbyes as best they could with a flailing infant between them, and Andromeda disappeared through the fireplace. Teddy's wails were instantly replaced by a blessed silence.

Before turning away, Harry caught his reflection in the gilt-framed mirror above the mantelpiece, and for the first time he really saw what he looked like without glasses.

He'd never troubled much over his appearance. His hair was a lost cause, and his enchanted razor meant he didn't need to examine himself closely while shaving. Ginny hadn't been particular about his appearance either, but whenever they were seated or lying down together she'd always removed his glasses first. 'I love this version of you,' she'd say. 'Everyone else gets Eyeglasses Harry, but this one is all mine.'

Looking at his reflection above the fireplace, he could see her point. His eyes looked bigger without lenses to distort them, and his lashes were more noticeable as well.

His mother's eyes. Snape's dying wish had been to look at them one last time. Harry still hadn't come to terms with what he'd learnt that terrible day—that Snape had loved his mother, even beyond her death.

His mind strayed back to Ginny. How would she react when she saw photographs of 'her Harry' in the newspapers? Not hers any longer, he thought bitterly. He wondered when the hurt would go away.

Returning to the sitting room, he again considered his new teammates, and specifically Janet's 'prophecy.' The prophecy had appeared in his thoughts rather frequently, truth be told. It's certainly a vast improvement from the last one, he mused, and a delicious sensation rose through him.

He resolved to make it an early night. The sooner he turned in, the sooner he'd be back at training with his teammates. He could hardly wait.