41

When Harry awoke at dawn on Penelope's horrible futon, he was tempted to sneak into the toilet and Apparate home. Penelope was lovely, but he was running out of safe conversation topics. Admittedly he'd achieved his goal, but he'd prefer not to be outed as a liar.

He ran his thumb over his scarred hand. I must not tell lies. It was fortunate Penelope hadn't noticed it—he'd have to glamour it the next time he went Muggling. And rent a bloody hotel room, he thought. Her futon is even worse than the bed in the tent.

At the same time, he was in no hurry to go home and face reality. The Prophet would arrive soon, followed immediately by a flood of owls and letters from his friends. He had no idea how to spend the day; perhaps he should embrace his Lord Black story and take Penelope shopping and then shag her brains out at a posh hotel. But he didn't have much Muggle currency on him, and he couldn't just pop into Gringotts while she drank a shandy in the Leaky Cauldron.

No, I need to read the bloody article, he thought glumly. It was better to fully digest it so he'd be ready for practice on Monday, when he'd have to explain to Tuttle why he'd lost his temper and punched Gilstrap.

But he couldn't just sneak home before Penelope woke up. I might be a liar, but I'm not an arsehole, he thought. For a while he tried falling back asleep, but it was to no avail and he was getting hungry. He supposed he could look in the kitchen, but he didn't want to risk encountering Lionel, or anyone else.

Perhaps I could summon Kreacher, he mused. No, he Apparates too loudly—and so do I for that matter. But Kreacher could send food, which would arrive silently.

A frightful realisation hit him. I never warned Kreacher I wasn't coming home! The last time Harry had failed to return was during the war, after they'd taken the locket from Umbridge, and they didn't return for months.

Kreacher! he called silently. I'm so sorry—I never told you I wasn't coming home last night.

Harry felt a distinctly miserable new presence in his mind. Master has abandoned Kreacher! Kreacher is all alone! Woe, woe is Kreacher!

No, I'll be home soon! replied Harry soothingly through their mind link. I'd never leave you, Kreacher—not if I could help it.

Really? Master is coming home?

Not this minute—I'm currently detained. But I'll be home later this morning. Could you do me a favour, though?

Kreacher would be overjoyed to serve Master! Kreacher was afraid he'd never have the privilege of serving Master again.

Harry wordlessly told Kreacher he needed something to eat, but that it was to be delivered discreetly to a Muggle setting. Kreacher promised to send over a breakfast sandwich in five minutes, which Harry could eat unobserved.

Ten minutes later Harry returned to Penelope's room after hastily eating his sandwich in the hall toilet. Sunlight was streaming into the bedroom, and Penelope had begun to stir. 'Hey you,' she murmured.

He removed the clothes he'd worn for his bathroom visit and lowered himself back onto the futon. 'Good morning, sleepyhead.'

'Aren't you up early!' she said. 'You're doomed when you get back to America.'

'Why am I doomed?'

'Jet lag, silly. Assuming you're actually returning to America and not just to your infested townhouse.'

'It's not infested—I just had it fumigated.'

She pulled him into an embrace, and a short while later she said, 'You're an absolute devil, do you know that?'

'Yes, I've been told.'

'You must be the despair of your parents,' she said, running her hand through his hair.

'On the contrary ... they're quite proud of me.'

'For representing England so admirably abroad? I suppose they did you an enormous favour moving you there. Your American rivals must loathe you.'

No, Gilstrap's English too, he thought sadly. Changing the subject, he said, 'I'm certain you've broken some hearts in Sheffield.'

'I'm hardly qualified to say,' she said, rising from the bed and donning a dressing gown. 'I'll only be a moment ... hold your horses.'

Harry did a better job with the condom the second time around, but he would demand that Lee and George develop a magical version. Would it be inappropriate to suggest it on their radio programme?

When they lay together afterwards, Penelope said, 'You know you talk in your sleep.'

'Did I say anything incriminating?'

'You mean did your castle of lies come tumbling down? No, just more mysteries. Something about three dead fathers, and there was a strange word ... horcox? No, that sounds obscene.' He tensed and she said, 'Horcrux, that was it. What does that mean?'

'I've no idea,' he lied.

'Then why is your heart racing?'

'Because I'm in bed next to you.' He tried kissing her to end the conversation, but she pulled away.

'Nice try, Lord Black. I thought your father was alive.' She was being playful, but to Harry it felt like an accusation.

'My godfather's dead.'

'Yes, but there's two more,' she replied saucily, but her face fell when she saw his expression. 'Oh no, I'm sorry. I was only joking—I didn't mean to touch a nerve.'

'It's all right,' he said, wishing he could tell her everything. Merlin, he hated lying!

'Was it the car accident?'

He nodded. 'My mum too.'

'Oh my god, this is the truth—I can tell. What about America?'

'I've never been there. I've never left Britain.'

'And the townhouse?'

'It's not being fumigated, but I can't take you there. And please stop asking questions, because I'm not allowed to answer them—I've said too much already.'

She was silent for a minute. 'What can you tell me?'

'I grew up in Surrey. My aunt and uncle ... neglected me ... they abused me. My cousin too—he used to beat me up.'

'Didn't you have any other relations?'

'No, none at all.'

'What about the authorities? Shouldn't they have noticed something?'

'They did, but it never went anywhere. And I escaped to boarding school when I was eleven, so it was only summers after that.'

'Where was your school?'

'In Scotland—you wouldn't have heard of it.'

'Do you attend university now?'

'I can't answer that.'

'Are you in danger?'

'Not anymore,' he said. 'But I was for a long time.'

Penelope kissed him and said, 'You're a terrible liar, you know. You should at least research Chicago before claiming you live there.'

'I'll do that next time. Maybe I'll even visit one day.'

'Too bad you won't see Michael Jordan play,' she said.

'Yes, I understand he retired. What sport did he play?'

'That's a complicated question, but the short answer is basketball.'

'Oh right, him! Yes, I know who that is.'

She laughed. 'If I were sensible I'd kick you out and ring the police. You're probably a cat burglar ... my stepfather has a hunting rifle, you know.'

'Yes, I already stole the silver. I brought it to my fence before dawn.'

'Nice try, but we haven't any silver.'

'Not anymore,' said Harry, and she laughed again.

'Is that how you pay for clothing and taxicabs? Stealing?'

'No, I'm not a thief,' he said. Except for that time I robbed a bank.

'So you did inherit from your dead fathers.'

'Two of them. One was broke.' He turned towards her and lifted himself onto one elbow. 'I can't take you home, and I can't see you after tonight. But I'd love to spoil you today, and then shag you in a proper bed somewhere. What's a good hotel?'

'Claridge's,' she said, still laughing. 'Are you serious?'

'Deadly serious. Do they take cash?'

'Cash? Are you certain you're not a criminal?'

I had a ten-thousand Galleon price on my head, came a voice. 'I promise, I'm not a criminal.'

'And you didn't inherit from criminals?'

'My godfather was exonerated. But you won't read about it anywhere.'

She sat up and said, 'You're seriously proposing we spend a mad day together and then spend the night at Claridge's?'

'Yes. I just need a couple of hours at home and then I'll meet you wherever you like.'

'How about Harrods at noon? We can meet in the food halls, near the chocolates.'

'That sounds perfect,' he said, kissing her. 'I can't answer your questions, but by god I can give you a wonderful day.'

They used her telephone to reserve a room at Claridge's, with the requirement that he arrive with cash before noon, since he didn't have a credit card or identification. 'All right,' he said, buttoning his shirt. 'I'll see you at noon—I promise.'

'I'm counting on it,' she replied, and she kissed him once more before escorting him to the front door. He walked outside and ducked into an alley to Apparate home.

When he arrived he was promptly greeted by Kreacher, who burst into tears and threw his arms around Harry's legs. 'Kreacher was afraid Master would never return.'

Harry patted the weeping elf on the head and said, 'I'm so sorry, Kreacher—it won't happen again.' He felt the elf nod in relief before letting go.

'More letters arrived for Master. Would Master like to read them?'

'No, just the Prophet. In the bedroom please, with some cut-up fruit and a scone.'

'Yes, Master!' replied Kreacher, hastening to the kitchen.

Harry climbed the stairs and passed Padfoot, who was playing tug of war with a dog Harry had never seen before—a very fluffy lapdog with its hair tied in a small ribbon at the top of its head. They seemed to be tugging on a newspaper, which made Harry smile.

When he reached his bedroom he took a long shower and then changed into another smart Muggle outfit, suitable for his day and night on the town. It had been weeks since he'd worn the shirt Ginny had selected, which was now hidden behind his new robes.

A gong sounded and his breakfast appeared on the small table. He sat down and, taking a deep breath, he began reading Rita's article. It was longer than what he'd read a year earlier, and she hadn't previously shown him the photographs. Merlin, I was so small!

Harry became emotional when he saw the illustration of the knight and the dragon. It had been on the cover of a discarded magazine he'd found in a bin near school, and he'd carefully torn it off and hidden it inside his voluminous sleeve. He'd spent countless hours imagining different scenarios around it—in some versions he was the knight fighting the dragon, and in other versions the knight had come to rescue him from the dragon, who was holding him captive.

He supposed both versions had come true, at least in part. During the Triwizard Tournament he'd fought a Hungarian Horntail, although with his broomstick and not a sword. As for the version where he'd been rescued, it was Hagrid who'd freed him from Privet Drive, without any need for armour.

It was impossible to contemplate that all of wizarding Britain was reading about his childhood that morning. Rita hadn't omitted a single detail, and for once she hadn't made anything up. He didn't know what he'd say to his teammates the next day, or how he'd even look them in the eye.

'Harry is reluctant to make eye contact with others, and his classmates largely ignore him.' Had he instinctively avoided eye contact because of people's reactions to the Horcrux? None of his teachers reported being frightened of him, but maybe they were too inherently kind to be affected by Voldemort's soul fragment.

Kreacher sent up a basket containing even more letters, including one from Gringotts reporting that there had only been one attack so far—on Dudley outside the cinema—and that it had been discreetly repelled. There was also a letter from Hermione, which he reluctantly read.

He felt bad about pushing her away the previous afternoon, but he couldn't bear her intrusive sympathy. It had been hard enough when she'd insisted on seeing the cupboard, even though she'd obviously meant well.

After reading the article, Harry lay down on his blessedly comfortable bed and asked himself, Why is it so awful that people know? The answer came quickly: Because I was powerless. He wasn't raised by immortal warlocks—he was raised by shitty relations who'd abused him, and Dumbledore had allowed it to happen.

Harry had to admire Rita's analysis, particularly her theory that Dumbledore had attempted to replicate Voldemort's own dismal childhood. The prophecy had nothing to do with it, of course—Harry had already been marked as an equal. But there were things Harry had understood better about Voldemort for having suffered as a child. He understood Voldemort's feelings towards Hogwarts, and why Gringotts would have appealed to someone who'd felt like an outsider.

He thought about Rita's final pronouncement: 'We must pause to appreciate the noble young man who miraculously emerged from such an environment. He could easily have turned out as Dark as the wizard he defeated, but instead he is the standard-bearer for the Light.'

Why didn't I turn out Dark? Harry wondered. Not only did he grow up unloved, he'd also toted around a piece of Voldemort's soul. But the answer was obvious: his mother's protection. Voldemort might have borrowed it when he took Harry's blood, but he didn't take it away. Lily Potter's sacrifice flowed through his veins and had kept him from turning Dark.

So it wasn't me, he thought sadly. It was all her. But he knew that wasn't true either. It was both of them, and neither of them. Furthermore, it was her sacrifice that killed Quirrell, the man he'd literally killed with his bare hands at the age of eleven.

'Are you certain you're not a criminal?' Penelope had asked. No, thought Harry. But I've killed. I've tortured. I punched someone just yesterday, but he was a dick who deserved it.

And yet he'd also cast a Patronus for a pair of little girls and played with them as if he were whole and not irretrievably damaged. He knew in his bones that he'd be able to give parental love when the time came, even though he hadn't received any after his parents died.

Hang on, that's not true. I had Sirius. And Remus, for that matter. He'd had three sources of paternal love, and that wasn't even counting Arthur Weasley and Mad-Eye Moody and everyone else who'd looked out for him. Or Dumbledore, for that matter, or even Snape. As much as Harry hated to admit it, Snape had sacrificed everything to keep him alive, just as his mother had done. It wasn't out of love for Harry, certainly, but it was from love nonetheless.

Alistair had asked him, 'How do you honour your three fathers?' Harry couldn't very well take all three of their names—Potter-Lupin-Black definitely wouldn't fit on his Quidditch robes. And Teddy would carry on Remus's legacy better than he could.

Harry seldom saw his godson Teddy, and he realised he'd been remiss in providing continuity between Remus and his son. Admittedly babies were boring, but Teddy was more entertaining than most, with his Metamorphmagus ability. Harry wondered when he'd be old enough to take flying.

He still had an hour before he needed to leave, so he started reading the letters people had sent him. As he opened successive envelopes, he felt less and less shame that yet another person knew he'd been mistreated. It wasn't his fault, after all. He wrote replies to some of them—it would take too long to respond to everyone—and sent them off with Lysander.

When it was time to go to Gringotts, he decided to travel by way of the Leaky Cauldron. Apparating to Diagon Alley was a risky proposition midday, in case of collisions—he'd done it the day before in his panic, but for some reason he didn't fear visibility that morning.

He stepped out of the fireplace at the Leaky Cauldron and within seconds all conversation stopped. But instead of dashing out the door, he said, 'Don't hurt them. That's all I ask. I could have hurt them myself if I'd wanted, and I didn't.'

There was a silence, and then a grey-haired witch said, 'You're a good lad, Harry.' Some of the other bar patrons nodded. 'And don't let anyone talk you out of wearing robes,' she added.

'Yeah,' said another witch. 'Why aren't you wearing them now?'

He smiled and said, 'I have a date with a Muggle,' before slipping out the back door.

It was only a short walk to Gringotts, and he was promptly greeted by a goblin. 'How may I help you, Mr Potter?'

'I'd like to withdraw some Muggle currency.'

'Yes, of course,' said the goblin, leading him to the counter. 'Are you satisfied with the charmed jewellery we provided yesterday?'

'I am, thank you. Actually, that gives me an idea ... would it be possible to add a charm to the family ring I'm stuck wearing?' He indicated the invisible ring on his left middle finger.

'What sort of charm?' asked the goblin.

'A glamour to hide the scar on my other hand. It's a souvenir from Dolores Umbridge that I'd just as soon forget.'

The goblin examined Harry's scar and said, 'Yes, it's very faint. That won't require strong magic to conceal. If you complete your withdrawal at the counter, I can find someone to charm your ring.'

Harry went to the counter and withdrew the highest amount of Muggle currency he could imagine needing that day, plus another twenty-five percent for good measure. An image flashed in his mind of the scrawny waif wearing Dudley's oversized school uniform, and Harry imagined how shocked he'd have been to see his future self tucking so much money into his wallet. It's less than I earned from the Cannons last week, he thought incredulously. And Merlin strike me down if I ever cease to be grateful.

Another goblin met him at the counter and led him to a small office, where Harry revealed the ring. 'It's not possible to make the ring less gaudy, is it? For future generations, you know.'

'I'm afraid not, Mr Potter. It's a very old ring, and altering its form would very likely destroy it.'

'Tempting ...' said Harry, but he dismissed the idea. 'Incidentally, I'm unable to remove the ring myself, but it's been suggested that a goblin could do it for me. Is that right?'

'Yes, I can remove it if you like. But removing it would signal that you're rejecting your claim as head of House Black, and you almost certainly wouldn't be able to put it back on.'

'Oh dear, I can't do that.' He sighed and added, 'I guess I'm stuck with it—thank goodness I can conceal it.'

The goblin performed magic over the ring, and Harry was thrilled to see his scar disappear. I wonder if it would work on my other scar, he thought idly, but he knew he'd never hide the scar on his forehead. It had become his emblem, and over time it reminded him less of Voldemort and more of the life he'd created since the war.

After leaving Gringotts, he stopped at the newsagent's opposite and purchased an updated guidebook to UK Apparition points. He seemed to be travelling more in the Muggle world, and it would help to know where he could safely appear. Everyone at the newsagent's gaped when he entered—they'd clearly been talking about Rita's article—and after completing his purchase Harry repeated what he'd said at the Leaky Cauldron.

'Why not hurt them?' asked a surly-looking teenage wizard. 'After everything they did to you?'

'Because there's been enough violence in my life,' said Harry. 'It won't end until we end it.'

'But they're just Muggles,' said the teenager, which caused some of the other customers to whisper.

'My mother's parents were Muggles. I'm about to go on a date with a Muggle. We're all humans, for heaven's sake. Have you ever met any Muggles?'

'No.'

'Maybe you should. Not all of them are good—my aunt and uncle certainly aren't—but there are plenty of wonderful Muggles, same as with wizards.'

'Could you autograph my newspaper?' asked a witch.

Harry looked at her with disbelief. 'Are you really asking me to sign an article about how I was abused? I'm a human too, you know.' The witch turned red, and he added, 'I'm sorry, I have to run. If you want an autograph you can owl me in care of the Cannons.'

She nodded, tears forming in her eyes, and he left. Ugh, I was doing fine and then this happens. He walked to his preferred alcove near Gringotts and consulted the guidebook for the Apparition point closest to Claridge's, and moments later he was there.

He took a deep breath of the polluted air and smiled. Ah, the smell of Muggle London. Sweet anonymity. Here he was just another nineteen year-old, albeit an unusually well-dressed one who was about to pay cash for a room at Claridge's.

When he entered the hotel, Harry's heart rate spiked. Sweet Merlin, it's a well-lit version of Malfoy Manor! There were even chandeliers resembling the one Dobby had downed, allowing their escape. Harry had to breathe deeply for a minute and expand into awareness to feel comfortable again.

There were no challenges paying for his room, which would be ready in several hours. The clerk didn't seem surprised to see someone Harry's age paying for a room in cash. I suppose they're accustomed to rich tossers with dubious credentials. He probably thinks I'm connected to the Russian mob.

'Is there anything our concierge can arrange for your stay, Mr Black?' asked the clerk. 'Dinner reservations or theatre tickets, for example?'

'Er, dinner reservations would be nice. Somewhere romantic.'

The clerk glanced at Harry's outfit. 'You'll need a jacket and tie, sir.'

'That can be arranged,' said Harry. 'My next stop is Harrods.'

'Very good, sir. Alternatively, we're a short walk from Savile Row, if you'd prefer something more distinctive.'

Harry raised an eyebrow. 'Would I be able to buy something off the peg, or would it need to be tailored?'

'They can sell you something for tonight, and you can bring it back for alterations.'

After the clerk took down his restaurant preferences, Harry exited and ducked into a nearby alley, from which he Apparated to a discreet spot near Harrods. He had a few minutes to explore before meeting Penelope, which was fortunate, since she'd probably have laughed at his goggle-eyed astonishment.

Harry glanced at prices and saw that he'd budgeted correctly, so he took the escalator to the fabled food halls, which even he had heard of. He found the chocolates counter and positioned himself in plain view of the escalator.

Penelope arrived several minutes later. 'I can't believe it,' she exclaimed. 'You actually turned up.'

'Of course I did! Do you take me for a liar?'

'Well, yes. At least in some respects. And you have to admit, the part about spoiling me and then taking me to Claridge's was a bit far-fetched. Not providing a credit card number over the phone was an enormous red flag.'

'I suppose it was. But look!' He fished a receipt from his pocket. 'I paid for the room and everything!'

She read it. 'Harry Black. Interesting ... I see you left off the title.'

'It's a bit dubious,' he confessed. 'But the townhouse is real.'

'Right, I think we need some ground rules for our mad adventure ... no more lies.'

'That suits me. I abhor lies.'

She started laughing. 'Are you serious? Tell the truth.'

'I really am. I was lied to my entire life by a variety of people, and I won't tell lies if I can avoid it.'

'Are you saying you couldn't avoid lying to get me into bed last night?'

'I don't know ... perhaps a straightforward approach would have worked, but we've no way of knowing. I should point out, however, that I didn't get you into bed.'

'Yes, you did.'

'Now who's lying? It was a futon.'

'A futon's a bed.'

'No, it's not—trust me. I confirmed we'll have a proper bed tonight.'

'I'm sure we will,' she said. 'Claridge's isn't known for their futons.'

No, just their uncanny Malfoy decor, he thought. 'Getting back to your ground rules, you realise there are some things I simply can't answer.'

'Yes, understood. If I ask you a question that would require a lie, just say "Pass."'

'That seems fair,' he said. 'And do you promise not to complain if I have to say "Pass" too often?'

'In principle, yes, but I reserve the right to change my mind.'

He nodded. 'That's acceptable. Are there any questions you want to ask straight away? I want you to feel comfortable.'

'Yes. Quite a few, in fact. First: Are you married?'

'Married! Good lord no, I'm only nineteen.'

'Some people get married that young,' she argued.

Sodding wizards do, he thought irritably. 'Well, I certainly didn't. Next question?'

'Do you have a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend, for that matter.'

'No, neither.'

'Is Harry your real name.'

'Yes.'

'Is Black your real surname?'

'One of them.'

'Is the other one Evans?'

'No.'

'What is it, then?'

'Pass.'

'Why? Would I recognise it?'

'Probably not. But it's well-known in certain circles.'

'Which circles?' she asked.

'Pass.'

She took a deep breath. 'I can see this is going to be frustrating.'

'I promise, tonight will be anything but frustrating.'

'You're right,' she said, smiling. 'And I forgot to kiss you.'

'Yes, it was a terrible oversight. But I'll forgive you under one condition.'

She leaned in and kissed him. 'Was that the condition?'

'It was. Do you have another question?'

'How do you intend to spoil me today?'

He smiled. 'I've arranged for dinner somewhere nice, which means we're expected to dress accordingly. Your current outfit is lovely, but I'd be glad to buy you another one if you'd like, assuming I have sufficient cash.'

'What about shoes?' she asked.

'Yes, shoes too.'

'Undergarments? I don't know if what I'm wearing will work with the new clothes.'

'Oh my god, yes. Can we do that first?'

She laughed and said, 'No, not until we've chosen the outfit.'

'Fine,' said Harry, pretending to sulk. 'What about accessories? I'm prepared to buy you a matching handbag and a small item of jewellery that's appropriate to our ages.'

'No tiara, then?'

'I'm afraid not.' I have one, but it would probably kill you.

She looked at his outfit. 'Won't you need a jacket and tie? Or did you leave yours at the hotel?'

'No, I need to buy something as well. I'm counting on your taste, which I've already told you I admire.'

'Are you certain you're not a criminal?'

'I've answered that already. I am definitely not a criminal. Like my godfather I've been completely exonerated.'

'So you used to be considered a criminal?'

'Yes, I'm afraid so.'

'By whom?'

'Pass.'

'And you've never left Britain?'

'Correct.'

'Interesting. Would I be able to find all the answers if I knew your secret surname?'

'Probably not.'

She smiled and said, 'You realise I'm going to ask you a million questions tonight.'

'I look forward to it.'

They wandered the store for a long while, and she laughed when he confessed he'd never been there before. 'You grew up in Surrey and you've never been to Harrods?'

'That's right.'

'How is that even possible?'

His face fell, and she said, 'Oh, of course. I'm so sorry. How long since you've been free of them?'

'Two years.'

'And you've lived in London ever since?'

'No.'

'Where else have you lived?'

'Pass.'

'Do you attend university?'

'No.'

'Do you intend to?'

'No.'

'Why not?'

'Pass.'

'Did you take your A-levels?'

'No.'

'Did you finish school?'

'No.'

'Do you have a job?'

'Yes.'

'What kind?'

'Pass.'

'Is it something illegal?'

'I'm not a criminal! No, it's not illegal.'

'Would I have heard of it?'

'No.'

'Are you an athlete?'

His eyebrows shot up. 'Yes.'

'Professional?'

'Yes.'

'Lacrosse?'

'No.'

'Have you ever played lacrosse?'

'No.'

'How did you meet Phil?'

'Pass.'

'Does he know your secrets?'

'Yes.'

'How long have you known him?'

'Eight days.'

She looked astonished. 'And he knows your secrets?'

'Yes.'

'But you can't tell me?'

'Correct.'

'And I can't earn your trust?'

'I'm afraid not. It's nothing personal, I assure you.'

'What sport do you play?'

'Pass.'

'Would I know it?'

'No.'

'It's not cock-fighting or something, is it?'

'What the devil is that?' he exclaimed, imagining the worst.

'Not what you're picturing!' she said, laughing. 'It's illegal basement fights between roosters.'

'Chicken roosters? Who would even do that?'

'Don't ask me,' she said. 'I'll take that as a no.'

They started looking at outfits for her and found several to try on. Penelope was led into a dressing room and Harry waited on a bench nearby.

She opened the door slightly and said, 'Psst!'

He looked around. 'What?'

'Come in and see.'

'I'm not allowed,' he said in a whisper.

'Yes, you are—come on!'

He made sure nobody was watching and slid into the dressing room. She was wearing a very fetching skirt and top they'd selected. 'What do you think?' she asked.

'I like it. Have you tried on the others?'

'No, this is the first. I like it too, but I'm not ready to commit,' she said, pulling off the top.

His eyes widened. 'You can't just invite me in here and expect me not to kiss you.'

'Of course not. Why do you think I called you in?'

Harry obliged her for several minutes before the sales assistant knocked on the door. 'Do you need any other sizes?' she asked.

'No, I'm fine,' said Penelope, trying not to laugh.

'You should really try on the second outfit,' whispered Harry.

She changed, and they both looked at it appraisingly. 'No, I prefer the first. How about you?'

'Agreed.'

She tried on the third outfit, and they had a hard time deciding until she declared, 'I'll get the first one. I already have shoes at home to match this one, so there's no point in getting something similar.'

'Good thinking,' he said. 'Today is all about practicality. But will you need a new bra and knickers? Please say yes.'

'Honestly, no. But I could get something else in the lingerie department if you insist.'

'I absolutely, unequivocally insist. It's a requirement, in fact. Can we go there now?'

'You have to pay for the outfit first,' she laughed, and he was impatient the entire time.

They spent way too long in the lingerie department, and Harry had to duck momentarily into an alcove to charm his trousers. The sales assistant was more stern there, so he wasn't allowed into Penelope's changing room, but she promised he wouldn't be disappointed.

He paid for the lingerie, and she asked, 'Can you afford to do this sort of thing every weekend?'

'If you mean including the hotel, probably not.'

'Have you done this sort of thing before?'

'No, never.'

'Have you ever stayed in a hotel before?'

'Yes, once.'

'Was it a five-star hotel like Claridge's?'

'No, it was a tavern.' The Leaky Cauldron, in fact.

'A tavern? How quaint!'

'Very.'

'Where was it?'

'London.'

'Was this before you had the townhouse?'

'Yes, several years prior.'

'Who brought you there?'

'I went there alone.'

'How old were you?'

'Thirteen.'

'And you stayed alone in a tavern?'

'Yes.'

'Why?'

'I'd run away.'

'For how long?'

'Three weeks. Until I left for school.'

She sighed. 'Oh, Harry. I'm so sorry. That sounds awful. Where was your godfather then?'

'He'd just escaped prison. I hadn't met him yet.'

'Did you ever get to live with him?'

'Only briefly.'

'And that was in the townhouse?'

'Yes.'

She shook her head and said, 'I may need to change my area of study to Creative Writing, just to try to make sense of everything you've told me.'

'Good luck,' he said. 'Shall we look at shoes?'

'Definitely.'

They took the escalators to the shoe department, and she spent a while trying out different styles. 'Will you mind if I end up taller than you?'

'No.'

'How tall are you anyway?'

'Five foot seven. Not counting the hair.'

'Same height as me,' said Penelope, and she laughed when he scowled at her. 'You're clearly not a basketball player.'

'I'd probably have heard of Michael Jordan if I were.'

'Yes, good point. Are you certain I won't know your sport? Is it one of those obscure Olympic sports like curling?'

'Curling? Are you making that up?'

'No. Curling is played on ice, and it somehow involves brooms. But please answer the question.'

'It's not an Olympic sport. And we're getting dangerously close to the point where I have to say "pass," so tread lightly.'

'All right. What do you think of these shoes?'

'I can't say I'd enjoy wearing them, but they're certainly charming.'

'Is the price all right?' She handed him the shoe and he turned it over.

'Yes, but you only get one.' Her eyes widened and he said, 'Just kidding.'

After he paid for the shoes, they selected a handbag and then took their time choosing a pair of earrings.

'That's it,' he said afterwards. 'From now on it's just food and sex.'

'That's fine with me. I'm not greedy. And I'll be the envy of my girlfriends when I tell them about this.'

'What will you tell them exactly?'

'I hardly know, but we'll have no end of fun speculating about you. I'm certain you've already given away some incriminating detail.'

'I'm not a criminal!' he insisted. 'How many times do I have to tell you that?'

'Are you an exiled Russian prince?'

'No, I'm thoroughly English.'

'Is your mysterious surname interesting?'

'Not at all. There are probably hundreds of people with the same name as mine.'

'Then why won't you tell me?'

'Pass.'

'You realise how maddening you are, right?'

'Yes,' he said, smiling. 'And I'm having a brilliant time. Yesterday was pretty awful until I met you.'

'What happened?'

'Pass.'

'Did someone die?'

'No.'

'Were you sacked?'

'No.'

'Did your girlfriend dump you?'

'No, that was last weekend.'

'Really? Did she know your secrets?'

'Yes.'

'Is that why she dumped you?'

'Pass.'

'Are you still friends, or does she hate you?'

'We're still friends. In theory, at least.'

'Was it a serious relationship?'

'Hard to say.'

'How long were you together?'

'Two weeks.'

'Was that your longest relationship?'

'No.'

'How long was that?'

'More than two years, with a long gap in the middle.'

'Why the gap?'

'Pass.'

'Was that when you were considered a criminal?'

'Yes.'

'Were you in hiding?'

'Yes.'

'What did they suspect you were guilty of?'

'Pass.'

'Have you killed anyone?'

He was silent a moment. 'Pass.'

Her face grew sad and serious. 'Was it self-defence?'

'Yes.'

'Was it one of your relations?'

'No.'

'How did you kill them?'

'Pass.'

'Do you regret it?'

A silence. 'The first time, yes, but it was unavoidable. The second time, no.'

'Do you expect to kill again?'

'No.'

'Were you paid to kill?'

'I received rewards. But that's not why I did it.'

'Why did you do it?'

'Defence.'

'Self-defence?'

'That too.'

'Are you part of a secret government organisation?'

He paused. 'No.'

She narrowed her eyes. 'Was that the truth? If you'd said "pass" you'd basically be admitting it.'

'Yes, it's the truth. I'm not part of a secret government organisation.'

'Were you part of a secret government organisation?'

'Yes.'

'Can you tell me about it.'

'No.'

She looked at him carefully. 'And you're really nineteen?'

'Only last week, yes.'

A pause. 'Should I be afraid of you?'

'No,' he said, and he mentally added, Not anymore.

'Are you political?'

'Pass.'

She shook her head. 'How do I even interpret that?'

'I don't know. Are you hungry?'

'I am, actually. Shall we find a café somewhere?'

'That sounds perfect, yes.'

'But wait, shouldn't we get you a jacket and tie?'

'The hotel clerk recommended I check Savile Row.'

She raised her eyebrows but said nothing.

'I know,' he said. 'I've never been, and I'm curious to have a look. I'm a dandy, you know.'

'You are,' she said admiringly. 'I wish more men were. At uni it's all baggy trousers and baseball caps.'

Harry grimaced. 'That sounds horrible.'

'It really is. May I take your picture before we part company? I'm not certain my friends will believe me otherwise.'

'No, I don't show up on film.'

'What?'

'Just kidding. Yes, of course you can take my picture. Do you have a camera?'

'Yes, in my bag. But I'll wait until we're dressed for dinner.'

They ate at a café overlooking Hyde Park, and Harry admitted he'd never heard of the Chicago neighbourhood until the night before. 'I didn't believe your America story for a second,' she said.

'Then why didn't you throw your drink at me and leave?'

'I was mostly curious. And you have lovely eyes. You're certain they're not contact lenses?'

'I told you, I have my mother's eyes. No, they're not contact lenses.'

She leaned over the table and examined them closely. 'You're right. I should have trusted you.'

'Thank you!' he replied indignantly. 'I should probably ask you the same question. Your eyes are beautiful, you know.'

'I wear contacts but only for vision correction.'

'I wouldn't care either way. I think you're very pretty—that's why I approached you, after all.'

'You really are a charmer!' she exclaimed. 'It's a good thing you haven't been to America ... they'd be helpless over there. Have you always been like this?'

'No. Only recently.'

'You mean you weren't some kind of gigolo assassin?'

'Good lord no!'

She tilted her head and asked, 'Did your parents really die in a car accident?'

'No. But they are dead.'

'And that scar, it's not from a car accident either?'

'No.'

'What's it from?'

'Pass.'

She sighed heavily. 'I hope you realise I'll go crazy trying to figure this out.'

'Please don't,' he said. 'You're better off not knowing. I really shouldn't be telling you as much as I am, but I'm having too much fun.'

'Are you a space alien?'

He burst out laughing. 'No. I told you, I'm English.'

'Are you sure? This could be a "Men in Black" thing.'

'I don't know what that is,' he admitted.

'Interesting. You're ignorant of mainstream pop culture. Were you familiar with any of the band posters on my wall?'

'No.'

'Were you brought up in some kind of religious cult?'

'In Surrey? Hardly.'

'Are you or have you ever been part of a secret society?'

'Yes. Well, junior member,' said Harry. He was never technically inducted into the Order of the Phoenix.

'Would I have heard of it?'

'No. It was secret.'

'Was? Has it disbanded? Or were you kicked out?'

'Disbanded.'

She smiled and said, 'I have to say, this is easily the most entertaining date I've ever been on. You needn't have bought me anything, you know.'

'But then we wouldn't have snogged in the changing room,' he argued.

'Excellent point. But we should start eating and get you a jacket and tie. I'm dying to visit Savile Row with you.'

An hour later, they entered a promising looking men's shop. Harry doubted they'd take him seriously because of his age, but Penelope assured him he was well enough dressed that they'd at least approach him.

'May I help you, sir?' asked the sales assistant.

'Yes, I need a jacket and tie for tonight, and I'm wondering whether you have anything.'

The sales assistant sniffed and said, 'We only sell bespoke garments.'

'Right. I was told at Claridge's that some of the shops here might carry jackets I could wear tonight and have tailored afterwards.'

'Yes, some of the other shops do.' He provided several names, with a hint of disdain, and Harry and Penelope walked out.

'That bodes ill,' he said. 'But I suppose there's no harm in asking.'

They entered one of the recommended shops and were greeted by a sales assistant. Harry immediately explained, 'I need a jacket for tonight, and I'm wondering if you carry anything off the peg, or near to it. I can bring it back for tailoring later.'

The sales assistant said, 'Yes, but our selection's not large. You'll find them over here.' He led Harry and Penelope to a section near the back.

Some of the jackets looked good and appeared to be the right size, but when Harry saw the prices he nearly swore out loud. Great Merlin, I could buy three sets of robes for that much money!

He whispered to Penelope, 'I'm sorry, the cutlery I stole from you this morning didn't fetch a good price—this is more than I can afford. Would you mind going back to Harrods, or somewhere along the way? I can at least pay for a taxi.'

'Hang on, I've an idea,' she whispered back. 'Excuse me,' she said to the sales assistant. 'This is more than my friend can afford, but do you have any samples he might look at? From last season perhaps?'

'How much can you pay?'

'About one-third the cost of these jackets,' said Harry. Which is still a bloody fortune, you vipers, he thought.

The assistant quickly measured Harry with a tape measure and said he'd be back. They wandered over to the neckties, which were only brutally overpriced but at least within Harry's extended budget. Worst case scenario, at dinner I can nip in to the toilet and Apparate to Gringotts for a bit more cash, he thought.

'I'm relieved you've demonstrated you're a mere mortal,' said Penelope. 'I was starting to wonder.'

Well, I have survived two Killing Curses, he thought smugly, but he kept his mouth shut.

The sales assistant returned with two jackets, both of which Harry liked. 'No,' said Penelope, 'this one fits better. In fact, I don't think you'll need it altered at all. It's clearly designed for someone who plays whatever your mysterious sport is.'

'Curling,' he replied, and they both laughed.

After they selected a matching necktie and pocket square, Harry paid and they went to the hotel.

'Oh, Harry!' she exclaimed when she saw the lobby. 'I've never stayed anywhere like this. Have you?'

Yes, he thought, but I was held captive in the cellar.

'Yes,' he said simply.

'Really? Where? Certainly not your infested townhouse.'

'It was never infested.' Except with doxies. 'But no, the townhouse is nowhere near this grand. It was at a manor house.'

'What brought you to a manor house?'

Snatchers, he thought. 'I was captured.'

She looked at him. 'You're serious, aren't you?'

'Yes.'

'How long were you there?'

'Only hours, fortunately.'

'How did you escape?'

Dobby gave his life to rescue us. 'Pass.'

She saw his downcast expression. 'Did someone die in the escape?'

'Yes. He rescued us.'

'You weren't alone then?'

'No.'

'Did your mates ultimately survive?'

'My closest mates, yes. Others, no.'

'Is that how your godfather died?'

'Two years earlier, yes.'

She shook her head. 'My god. I don't know why I believe you, but I do.'

'I'm a terrible liar,' he said. 'But we should get our room key.'

They walked to the counter and Harry showed his receipt to the clerk, who summoned a porter to show them to their room. Penelope was enchanted by the old-fashioned lift but Harry was unimpressed—it was similar to the lifts at the Ministry. But they were both impressed with their room.

'Now this is a bed!' proclaimed Harry. 'I'm tempted to skip our dinner reservation and eat up here.'

'After all the trouble and expense of buying new clothes? That would be a shame.'

'You're right. But may I at least see your lingerie now?'

'You can do more than see it,' she said, pulling the small tissue-paper bundle from her carrier bag and stepping into the bathroom.

She took her time, and he waited impatiently in front of the window. But when she emerged he wasn't disappointed. 'Oh my god, this was worth the wait,' said Harry. 'I think today is the best day of my life.'

She laughed and embraced him, and they stood snogging for a long while. Her hands wandered freely and then settled low and in front for a surprisingly long time, until he realised the problem. Finite incantatem! he thought with all his magical strength, cancelling the charm on his trousers.

'Wow!' she exclaimed. 'That was sudden.'

'Oh, Penelope,' he moaned, guiding her onto the bed. He climbed on top and began running his hands over her body.

'What's that?' she asked. 'Are you wearing a ring?'

Bugger! he thought. I ended the Concealment Charm on the bloody ring!

'Er ...' he began. Shit! I'm going to have to Obliviate her!

She shifted onto her side for a closer look. 'What the ... where did that even come from? Surely I would have noticed something that ghastly. Did you put it on just now, when I was in the loo?'

'Er,' he stalled, his right thumb poised to release his wand from its charmed holster. 'Yes? I mean, pass.'

'Pass?!' she exclaimed. 'Pass?'

Harry sighed. If he had to Obliviate her, at least he'd tell her the truth first. 'No, I've been wearing it the whole time. It's the Black family ring.'

Penelope took a deep inhale. 'I knew it.'

'Knew what?'

'You're a faerie!'

'I'm sorry?'

'Fae,' she declared. 'Like in urban fantasy novels.'

'Er, pass?' What the hell is she talking about?

'Are they true then?' she asked.

'Are what true?'

'Urban fantasy novels. Authors like Charles de Lint and Neil Gaiman.' He gave her a blank look, and she continued. 'Terri Windling, Emma Bull.'

'I've never heard of them. What's urban fantasy?'

'Books about the secret world of dark and light faeries, hidden in plain sight.'

What is she on about? he thought. Fairies are tiny. They lay eggs. Surely she knows enough about my anatomy to realise that's not how I work.

'Go on,' he said, hoping this meant he didn't have to Obliviate her.

'The BBC ran a television series a few years ago—"Neverwhere." Fiction, supposedly. It was about "London Below"—a whole city beneath London with night markets and warriors, and angels, and there was a Marquis ...' Her eyes grew wide and she exclaimed, 'You are a lord!'

'Pass! Pass!' Merlin, please let her believe this rubbish!

'No wonder you can't take me to your townhouse! It's probably in London Below, and then I'd be trapped, like the main character in "Neverwhere."'

'Pass. What happened to him?'

'As soon as he interacts with someone from London Below, he becomes virtually invisible to everyone he knows and his entire life falls apart. He has to go through a quest to get his normal life back.' She thought for a moment. 'But that's not what happened with you. People saw me today just fine. So it must only happen if I go to your townhouse, or into your world.'

'Pass.' Yes, this is perfect! he thought.

'Your aunt and uncle ... were they Above or Below?'

'I'm sorry? Er, pass.'

'You made it sound like they were normal. Surrey, after all. I'm guessing Above. But then that tavern you stayed at in London ... that had to be Below.'

'Pass.'

'Why couldn't I see the ring before?'

'Pass.'

'Can you even remove it?'

'Pass.'

'Am I in danger now?'

'No.'

'So that's how you know Phil? And your ex-girlfriend?'

'Yes. I mean, pass.'

Penelope flopped onto her back, smiling. 'This is the most fantastic thing that's ever happened to me! No wonder you didn't know how to put on a condom ... you probably have a completely different method where you come from.'

'Pass.'

Her eyes shot open. 'You didn't bypass it somehow? You're not trying to plant your seed or something?'

'Good lord no! I wouldn't dream of getting someone pregnant against her will!'

She studied his expression. 'That's the truth. At least I think it is.'

'Of course it is. I swear I wouldn't do that to you, or to anyone else.'

'All right, I believe you.' She was quiet a long moment and asked, 'How old are you really? Are you immortal?'

'No, I'm nineteen. I've been completely honest with you since this morning.'

'Do you even use British currency normally? That's why you don't have a credit card or identification, isn't it!'

'Pass.'

She looked carefully at him. 'Your eyes! They're glamoured or something. That's how they're so green!'

'No, they're just green eyes. Other people have green eyes. You have remarkable blue eyes, and I assume they're not glamoured.'

'You're right,' she said. 'I suppose other people have eyes that green.' She was quiet again before exclaiming, 'You're famous in your world! That's why you won't tell me your surname. Because you don't want me to research it, and then get dragged Below and stuck there.'

'Pass.'

'And that sport you play. It's some kind of faerie sport. Do you fly?'

'Pass!'

'That's how you know Phil—he plays it too.'

'Pass.'

'Hang on a minute ... faeries can't lie. And you lied about lacrosse, and Chicago, and your townhouse being fumigated.'

'I don't know what to tell you, Penelope. I didn't write those books you're talking about.'

'Fair enough. The folklore might be inaccurate.' There was a gleam in her eye, and she asked, 'Is that why you're so good in bed? Is that a faerie thing?'

He smiled cheekily. 'No, that's just me. My first girlfriend trained me.'

Penelope raised one eyebrow and said, 'Be sure to thank her for me. Or perhaps I'll write her a note on the hotel stationery.'

Harry laughed at the idea of handing Ginny a note. The Girl Who Trained the Boy Who Goes Down on Witches. Or Women, rather.

She gave him an appraising look. 'Are you Light or Dark?'

'I'm sorry, what?'

'Light or Dark Fae. Seelie or Unseelie Court.'

What the hell is she talking about? All we have is the Wizengamot.

'Definitely Light.'

'But one of your surnames is Black. Surely that's a Dark family.'

'It is. But I'm changing that. That's why Sirius made me his heir.'

'Lord Harry Black, of the Seelie Court,' she murmured, but he shook his head.

'The lordship is rubbish. Only tossers use titles in my world.'

'Same with this one, frankly. Is there a sovereign in your world?'

'Like Queen Elizabeth? No.'

'Then who presides at the court?'

'Pass.' I really don't want to get into wizarding politics right now, he thought. Or ever, for that matter. He was relieved he wouldn't have to Obliviate her, but Harry was hoping she'd stop asking questions and they could resume their previous activity.

'Have you learnt enough for the moment?' he asked. 'We can keep talking about this over dinner if you like, but be warned I'll have to say "Pass" a lot.'

'You're right, I'm wasting valuable time.' She smiled and added, 'So what else did your old girlfriend teach you?'

The rest of their afternoon and evening progressed as he'd hoped, with sex and a romantic dinner and conversation and then sex again. Penelope enjoyed their conversation immensely, asking innumerable questions which Harry couldn't answer. Every time he said, 'Pass,' her eyes lit with delight, since it confirmed some new theory.

He felt bad about misleading her, but this was infinitely better than having to Obliviate her, and she was clearly having the time of her life. And Merlin knew it beat sitting around Grimmauld Place stewing about the article and wondering how he'd face his teammates and friends over the days to come.

He also appreciated getting some distance from his own problems—wizarding Britain always felt very insignificant when viewed from the Muggle world. Penelope was a good listener, and it was a relief to speak plainly about what he'd experienced growing up. Harry knew he wouldn't instantly feel comfortable with everyone knowing his history, but he could imagine not feeling quite so ashamed anymore.

He warned her that he needed to leave early the next morning. 'To catch your flight back to America?' she asked.

'No, I have practice at nine o'clock for my mysterious sport. But then my flight's after that,' he added, smiling.

'You should travel,' she declared. 'I know you've seen all sorts of things I haven't, but there's so much more to the world than just Britain.'

'I know. I never had the opportunity before now, but I'd like to see more of the world.'

'You should go to France. There's a train, you know ... You can take trains, right?'

'Yes, I took a train to school every year.'

'So take the train to Paris sometime. If you were impressed by Harrods and this hotel, you'll be completely gobsmacked by the cathedrals and museums. Go to the Musée d'Orsay ... it's in an enormous old railway station.'

'I'm fond of railway stations,' he said, remembering his vision of King's Cross.

Harry slept wonderfully that night on the hotel bed, which he had to admit was almost as comfortable as his own. He and Penelope had an early breakfast in the room, and they said their tender goodbyes at half past eight.

'You promise you'll show up on film?' she asked. 'I'll be very disappointed if I get those photos developed and in your place there's a sheaf of wheat or something.'

He laughed. 'I promise I'll show up. I went to a normal school until I was eleven, after all, and I'm visible in my school photographs.'

'Good. I know I'll treasure them. Can I send you copies somewhere?'

He frowned. Not in care of the Cannons, certainly. But inspiration struck. 'Yes, in care of a dentists' office, in Hampstead.'

'A dentists' office?' she exclaimed. 'Any specific dentist?'

'Yes,' he replied, and he scrawled Hermione's parents' names onto a piece of note paper. 'Just address it to Daniel and Emily Granger and include a note that they should give the photos to Harry. They'll know how to find me.'

She frowned. 'But I shouldn't try to find you myself?'

'No. I've already revealed more than I ought to.'

'I understand,' she replied, nodding. 'I may take up Creative Writing, you know. You've given me any number of ideas.'

'I'm glad.' He smiled and added, 'You've been just what I needed. I won't forget you, Penelope.'

'And I certainly won't forget you,' she said warmly. They kissed one last time, and he left.

She needn't forget me, he thought gratefully, before entering the stairwell and Apparating home.