Unofficial Portkey Archive

Wherein people react to where Hermione lives; Harry learns interesting enchantments; Ministry security malfunctions; Hermione apologizes; there is backstory about Hermione's family; Hermione tells Harry to shave; Hermione gets buried in cement; Bill gets a promotion; Harry rides Sirius' flying motorcycle; Snape gets angry; Uncle Vernon makes a disturbing announcement; they learn to program Portkeys; Harry considers the meaning of life; Harry goes to Harrods and has dinner at Gordon Ramsay; Harry's relatives find out he's not a pauper; Harry has a date with Eliza at Kew Gardens, a romantic candelight dinner, and a snog; Harry turns down more; Hermione bests Harry in a duel; Harry visits Diagon Alley to shop for Hermione and Neville.

Disclaimer: I neither own nor claim any other rights in the characters and other concepts created by J.K. Rowling. I make no money, nor do I seek any commercial advantage from this work. As such it constitutes "fair use" as defined in 17 U.S.C. §107.

Chapter 16 - Anticipation

Harry's week was shaped by what was scheduled for its end - the formal high tea/dinner event at Hermione's Knightsbridge home in London. Everyone else's responses to this event did little to quell the rapidly multiplying butterflies that inhabited his stomach.

Dung's reaction was to withdraw altogether. "Juss too much des res fer me. I wouldn' fit in. Ya best find somebod' else ta mind ya."

Shak commented, "As my friends in America might say, `Boy, you is chopping tall cotton.'"

His relatives' reactions were little different. Uncle Vernon nearly swallowed his mustache and had to be excused from the dinner table to recover from a coughing fit. When he returned, he would not meet Harry's eyes and would say only, "Don't embarrass this family, boy." Aunt Petunia was more sympathetic, "Well, I'm sure they're nice, or they wouldn't have invited you."

Dudley positively shrank (solely a figure of speech) from the news. His reluctant response reflected his parents' ambivalence. They had reproached Dudley along the lines of, "Why that freak, and not you?" But Dudley's own ignorance also contributed, since he knew Hermione's neighbourhood only by reputation.

Bill gave Harry the best advice when he collected him for his Monday training. "People are intimidated by `Knightsbridge' because it's synonymous with `money' - particularly old money. You needn't worry. You're looking at enough sterling to buy the whole ruddy block she lives on without batting an eye. In fact, I'm surprised the Grangers even live there. They're dentists aren't they?"

"They're a bit more than just dentists, I gather," Harry responded. "Her dad's head of some sort of national board, and her mum's published a bunch of scientific papers with titles full of words I couldn't understand."

"Could be worse. At least he's not a ruddy war hero. You'll do just fine, Harry," Bill said reassuringly. "We know from the other night that you clean up pretty well when you have to. Come to think of it, you could use a really top-drawer Muggle suit for this dinner, since it's by engraved invite and all."

Harry hesitated. "I don't know anything about that," he replied warily.

"Probably the best Muggle store in all England for that sort of thing's only a few blocks from where the Grangers live," Bill continued. "We could also take a stroll through her neighbourhood to get the lay of the land, so to speak. I can't do it tonight because I'm making … er … other arrangements…, but I can relieve Dung tomorrow night and escort both you and Hermione home from training."

Their training that day consisted of a rather eclectic course of "interesting enchantments." This mélange of charms had less of a central theme than most of the lessons. This particular magic operated on objects or persons, and its range was limited only by the imagination.

One particularly useful spell detected the influence of the Imperius Curse - most of the time. The mental tension between the curse and the victim's free will triggered it, but that also meant it failed whenever a curse victim was ordered to do something he or she already wanted to do. There being no tension, this Unforgivable Curse faded into the background and became undetectable even by the victim.

That, Harry learnt, was yet another reason that the Imperius Curse was so insidious.

Other more straightforward enchantments involved physical objects. He learnt, for example, how Hermione's "Chez" charm - the one that brought all the yogurts - worked. Whilst showering after his morning run with Dudley, Harry used a modified version of another of the enchantments before he even left Privet Drive. He charmed his towel to stay warm and dry no matter how much he used it. The effect was quite strong enough to work even directly under the showerhead itself.

Things like that were just extra advantages. This lesson appeared in the Auror curriculum because these charms had a wide variety of combat usages. A typical example put trees and shrubs in motion to provide cover for forces advancing in battle. Hermione was called upon to demonstrate this particular application, and muttered something about "Birnam Wood marching on Dunsinane."

At that, Harry gave her a quizzical glance, but the superior look he received in return deterred him from asking what her additional incantation was all about.

By fortunate accident, Harry and Hermione had much more time to talk over lunch than usual. The Ministry's innovative Security Charms turned what was supposed to be an hour's break for the noon meal into more than two hours' delay. Whilst Fudge hushed up the actual Death Eater attack over the weekend, he did raise the Death Eater Activity Alert Code to Orange. A Code Orange declaration also activated the newly installed lockdown security wards in the main Ministry building - which immediately malfunctioned.

The two of them, and scores of others, were thus detained in the main Ministry cafeteria until the whole complex was searched and the offending security wards were reset. The cause turned out to be ridiculously simple. A flying interoffice memorandum accidentally struck a poorly positioned sensor. Since (as the Quibbler had often pointed out) the contractors responsible for these wards - and for the entire new system - had far more experience in making political contributions to Fudge and his faction than they did in performing security work, the slipshod functioning of the system was hardly surprising.

On the one hand, Hermione swore never again to forsake the Auror cafeteria for the greater culinary selection of the main cafeteria. But on the other hand, she sorely needed the extra time to muster enough courage to make some amends. By newly learnt Legilimency, Hermione privately apologised to Harry for some - but not all - of her previous day's outburst.

`I'm… I'm sorry for being so … indiscriminate,' she said haltingly. `I wasn't trying to condemn Sirius. I can only imagine how much he means to you….'

`Well, he lived in a cave and ate bloody rats for me for me, so I suppose that's something…,' Harry said silently, annoyed that she was picking at the wound. `He only passed along the money; he didn't create the problem.'

`I know, Harry, you're right and I…. Well that's just the way I am sometimes. Sirius was special. For you, he even tolerated Snape - in his own house no less. Would you do that? I'm sorry; I didn't mean to besmirch his memory. I just get rather worked up at times, and I don't realise what I'm doing…. I don't mean to drive you away….'

`Oh, Hell, Hermione, just leave well enough alone,' replied Harry (who had briefly considered taking up a troglodyte's lifestyle himself whilst she was in Hong Kong). `It's done. It was bad enough the first time. Don't go beating yourself up again.'

`Well, I suppose there are occasions when I deserve getting beat up,' she persisted. Seeing the sceptical look he was giving her, she hastily added, "Figuratively speaking, of course."

`Figurative … right,' Harry sighed. `Don't forget, you're talking to the all-time champ at getting `rather worked up.' At least you didn't draw down lightn … er … I didn't have to knock you to the ground like you did me. I don't want you to change. Really…. You're one of very few people I can trust always to give it to me straight. You're not a suck up….'

To avoid the touchy subject (and to satisfy his curiosity) he silently told her about another recent experience.

`You know Hermione, what you think means a lot to me. After you left, I was worrying about what you said when I went walking by the Room of Requirement,' he explained. `It sensed my need and the door to the Room appeared.'

`That's … that's wonderful, Harry,' Hermione replied, until she saw a rather uncharacteristically fearful look on the normally fearless boy's face. `Er … at least I think it was….'

`The Room showed me a slave ship,' Harry declared with a shudder.

`Well that would have been educational, at least,' Hermione replied uncertainly.

`I got to see it from a new slave's perspective,' Harry revealed. `It was awful. The stench…. The despair. They thought I had gotten loose and started flogging me.'

True to form, she became quite concerned for his welfare - so much that she reminded him of Molly Weasley. `Oh, are you all right then? Do you have any new scars? Do you need any healing? A Disinfecting Charm…? Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry that I gave you yet another set of horrible memories.'

He did not want to deal with the worrywart version of Hermione any more than the apologetic one. `It's okay…. I passed out, and when I came around, everything was back to normal.'

Again changing the subject, he asked her how she had solved the mystery of the Black fortune. This diversion was more successful, but Harry received a far more detailed account than he bargained for - a veritable deluge of telepathically transmitted words.

`Oh, it wasn't all that hard in the end. I can do both Muggle and magical research with about equal proficiency. My only mistake was to start with the magical side of things. I began with transcripts of the Wizengamot litigation. But it turned out that almost all of the transcripts of those hearings were sealed - off limits to anyone but the parties…. To outsiders, they only listed the case caption, the names of the testifying witnesses and transcriptionist, and the date.'

`You could've asked me,' Harry commented. `I probably could've gotten those for you.'

`Oh that really doesn't matter,' she told him. `It was a stupid idea anyway. If I'd thought it through, I'd have known that those hearings were all about only what Lucius Malfoy wanted them to be about. Of course, you couldn't expect Malfoys to be interested in slavery at all. In any event, with only the cover pages available, they were useless. I quickly reached a dead end.'

`So what did you do that worked, anyway?' Harry asked.

`The key was the Muggle Internet,' she told him proudly. `It was just like what you did with Hong Kong. I used it to track down a number of the place names on the handwritten list you gave me. St. Domingue … it became Haiti after a slave revolt - the only completely successful such revolt in the history of mankind, in fact. Elmina and Old Calabar were notorious African slave entrepôts, and the Black castle in Elmina turned out to have the largest slave corral on that tortured continent….'

Harry felt queasy again. All this, he really had no desire to know - although he sensed that he probably should know it. Thus, he let Hermione carry on. Carry on she did.

`Minas Gerais in Brazil, a hellhole…. They worked enslaved gold miners to death in two to five years….'

`New Orleans and Charleston were the two largest American slave markets…'

`Newport … that turned out to be in Rhode Island. It was the main northern American slave port, and the northerners weren't nearly as blameless in all this as they'd like everyone to believe. They provided the ships, the sailors, and the financing. All the South provided was the market. The Newport operations were run by Colonials allied with the Blacks - the Brown family mostly - slavers so rich that they endowed a university named after themselves.…'

And so on and so forth…. Harry lacked the heart to stop her. Guiltily he soaked in the bloodthirsty history of the fortune he stood to inherit. Finally, he could stand it no longer and changed the subject by giving her his mobile number. She wrote it down on a piece of paper, circled it with her wand, and touched her wand to the side of her head - thus committing the number to memory.

The conversation moved to this Friday's high tea. Harry wanted to know what he should do, since he had never been to anything of the sort.

Here, she seemed to be hesitating - as she chose her words very carefully.

"Yes, Harry, a present … not too extravagant … would be appropriate," she agreed. "And a contribution to the meal as well; all things considered, Bill's idea of magical bubbly should be excellent…."

"Okay," Harry said uncertainly. "Do you have any idea what he might like…? Because I don't."

"As for the present, I'd recommend something small, but magical - unthreateningly magical, that is. He's not the obverse of Arthur Weasley, but he is interested. Your suggested would contribution to the meal, sounds excellent, quite sufficient," she advised. "Nothing too strong though - and please don't overdo it by buying sort of rare and outrageously priced wine."

"Well, what Bill's suggesting is something charmed so that it can't get anyone really wasted…."

It did nothing to calm Harry's nerves when Hermione responded. "That's a good thing, Harry; after all you don't want to see my father drunk. Remember, he picked up that nasty Yank habit of collecting Muggle firearms."

"Umm…. Maybe this isn't such a good idea after all…," Harry squeaked. He was teetering on the verge of canceling the whole thing.

"Er … sorry, Harry. That was supposed to be a joke," Hermione hastily confessed. "But a rather bad job, I'm afraid…."

At least she hoped it was a joke - her father's views about Harry had been subject to abrupt mood swings in recent weeks. She knew why the invitation had issued, and she desperately hoped that Harry would make a good first impression. A tendency to snap judgments was a family trait.

"I'm also a little concerned about the way everyone's reacting to you living in that Knightsbridge place," Harry confessed. "It just sets my nerves on edge … that I might not be good enough … or something…."

"Remember, you're Gryffindor," she reminded him. "That means no fear - at least not of my folks…. They're not bad people. You just need to understand where they're coming from. Neither of them was born to this…. Quite the opposite. Both Mum and Daddy started with practically nothing. They both attended Cambridge on merit scholarships, and then went to really top-notch dental schools."

"Where'd they go?" Harry asked. Anything that would help him understand her parents - and thus keep from making a fool of himself - that was good.

"Daddy crossed the Pond to America, and attended the Harvard School of Dental Medicine…. He stood first in his class," Hermione told him proudly. "Mum stayed in London and matriculated at the UMDS, where she had stood second…. Whilst still in school, she won a Leatherman for original dental research."

"What's that?" Harry wondered.

"It's a little involved, but - trust me - it's really hard and really good," Hermione replied.

"Well, now I know where you got it from, at least," Harry said with a smile.

"Why thank you, Harry," Hermione returned an even bigger smile. "Anyway, they were acquaintances at Cambridge, but only that. They didn't see each other in a … well, romantic way, until they found themselves in the same post-graduate dental program once Daddy returned to England."

That much of her parents' background she could recite with great pride. Hermione cautioned Harry that, as with many self-made, successful people, her parents were very hard-charging - particularly her father.

"You see, Harry, he's always been rather … er … acquisitive," Hermione sighed.

"You mean greedy," Harry clarified. "Like the Blacks."

"Now that's perceptive," Hermione replied. "Actually, that may be another reason why I blew up at you yesterday. That kind of behaviour…. It strikes pretty close to home…."

"Speaking of homes," Harry broke in. "It's got to be a rather.…"

"Posh place," said Hermione, finishing Harry's sentence for him. "Too right. It's part and parcel of their striving, I guess. A house half the size would do quite nicely, but only the best for them … no matter how harsh the debt service."

"I hope I don't get lost in it," Harry commented.

"I'll never let you get lost, Harry," Hermione responded, "… never…. Er … in fact I'll give you the grand tour."

"I'd like that, Hermione," Harry replied

Harry kept mum about his plan to drop by ahead of time to check out the locale, as Hermione moved on to the matter of Harry's appearance. She thought it a capital idea that he planned to dress as nattily as possible short of formal wear. And she had another suggestion.

"You're getting older, Harry; you need to shave," she instructed matter-of-factly.

"Shave?" Harry replied, his voice climbing an octave.

"Yes, shave," Hermione repeated. "Your peach fuzz has gotten much darker lately. My parents might not react well to it…. They're rather conservative … in a number of ways."

"I know the type," Harry grumbled, thinking of his Uncle Vernon.

The all clear signal sounded, and they had to hurry back to their now rather behind-schedule training. The shaving issue stayed with Harry. Nobody had ever told him to shave before, so Hermione's request made him feel satisfyingly mature. On the other hand, he lacked the slightest idea how to go about it, and that made him feel juvenile. The only thing he associated with shaving was the unpleasant-looking cuts that sometimes appeared on his Uncle's face when he was in too much of a hurry.

Once the afternoon session finally recommenced, Harry and Hermione put their practical enchantments to work. As before, she gave him as good as she got - but once again he managed to squeak out a win by the slimmest of margins. Enchanting various objects to have a go at her, Harry finally backed her into one of the room's concrete walls. This had not been easy, as Hermione had managed to charm Harry's shoes so that he involuntarily turned cartwheels every ten seconds or so. Instead of aiming at Hermione, who had conjured a Protego Reversis Shield, Harry fired a Disassociatus Hex at the wall itself. A large section instantly dissolved into sand, gravel and Portland cement.

The resultant avalanche of non-magical material went right through that kind of Protego Shield - something Harry had recalled from the night of the lightning strike. It buried her past her armpits, and (he found out later) briefly threatened the structural integrity of part of the Auror headquarters. Still Hermione fought on. Only after Harry used a Fluvius Charm to drench her with water and start the concrete reforming about her did she finally concede.

After the session, Bill had a surprise for Harry. His guardian was grinning so broadly that Harry initially thought the redhead had worked things out with his would-be father-in-law. The actual news was not quite that good for Bill, but even better for Harry.

"How would you like to pay a quick visit to Hogwarts?" Bill inquired - with the obvious implication that Harry should agree.

"You're not tying the knot this soon?" Harry cracked. "I don't even have my tux."

"I wish," Bill responded, "but it's not that. This one's for you. The Headmaster was hesitant, but I just convinced him to agree that you could learn to ride Sirius' Gus Kuhn Norton."

Harry had no thoughts of doing anything else after hearing those words. Upon arriving at Hogwarts, the two of them almost broke into a run as they hurried to Hagrid's hut. After confirming that the half-giant occupant was still away, they went behind the building, where they saw several woodpiles.

Bill expressed doubt that Hagrid would use anything more complicated than a standard Concealment Charm. He pointed his wand at one of the piles. "Restoro!" Nothing happened. Trying the next woodpile, he repeated the spell, and instantaneously a large classic motorcycle appeared. It was black with red trim, but to Harry's regret it sat only one person.

In the heat of the moment, even that detail hardly bothered him. Excitedly, he leapt on the motorbike and grabbed the handlebars. Then it occurred to him that he had no idea what he was doing. Even retracting the dual kickstands was a mystery.

Bill laughed. "Harry, at minimum, you're going to need the keys for the bike and a helmet. There's no way I'll let you ride bareheaded, and if I did Dumbledore would have my arse for that. Don't forget, we're only here at his sufferance."

Harry frowned.

Bill added, "But it just so happens…."

Reaching into his pockets, Bill produced two objects that resembled marbles. They enlarged into two state-of-the-art helmets - Harry got a black helmet with red trim for Harry, which matched the bike's colors. Bill got a bright yellow one, which clashed horribly with his orange-red Weasley hair.

To recover the keys, Bill cast the same spell Harry had used on his signet ring the day before. "Aparecium chez Hagrid GKN keys."

To Harry's amazement, the keys immediately appeared.

"No great shakes," Bill responded to Harry's expression. "I know what the keys look like. I've seen Hagrid working on the bike before. Hagrid wouldn't have done anything with them other than just leave them in his hut, so I also knew where they'd be. And that's all I needed to make the spell work."

It must have been his Seeker's instinctive balance. For someone who had never ridden so much as a bicycle before (not after borrowing Dudley's trike at age four and being beaten severely for it) Harry learnt how to ride the big motorbike quite quickly - but not flawlessly. He laid it down once early on when he popped the clutch without raising the kickstand, but had only one minor accident after that. The charms on the bike automatically took care of the cosmetic damage Harry caused.

After a half an hour, Harry went tearing up the path from Hagrid's hut to the Quidditch pitch at considerable speed, leaving substantial ruts in the wet grass. The racket was tremendous. A number of curtains fluttered in the Castle's nearby staff apartment wing.

Bill had not anticipated being left behind. He had to create a quick Portkey to take him to the pitch so he could keep pace with his ward.

"Harry, stop! You're making too much noise too close to the Castle!" Bill ordered.

Over the din, Harry was unable to hear his guardian ordering him to stop.

"Stop, dammit!" Bill yelled impotently. "Oh Hell…. Accio keys."

That put an end to Harry's joyride.

"You can't do that here," Bill scolded. "Not this close to the school. A lot of the staff is still here. You'll annoy them and they'll complain to Dumbledore … or worse…." Bill's voice trailed off as he looked towards the Castle.

Harry's eyes followed Bill's, and the reason for his guardian's concern almost immediately became apparent to the miscreant teen. Striding towards the two across the pitch was an exceptionally angry Professor Snape, his usual black robes billowing behind him.

"Weasley and Potter, what's the meaning of this?" Snape asked, in a tone clearly meaning that no explanation would be enough.

"I'm Harry's legal guardian, professor. I'm teaching him to ride a motorbike," said Bill with a straight face.

"I see," replied Snape. "And is this motorbike what it appears to be?" The professor's upper lip fairly curled in displeasure as old memories resurfaced.

"If you mean, did this belong to Sirius Black?" Bill responded, "Yes, it did. Harry's inherited it."

"Indeed," snarled Snape. "Following the same path to perdition, no doubt. I suppose you have the Headmaster's permission for this little escapade?"

Bill nodded.

Snape continued, "Need I remind you both that when Hogwarts is in session, all students are strictly forbidden from keeping any sort of vehicle on campus. That rule applies even to students old enough to operate such vehicles legally under Muggle law, which I know for a certainty Potter is not."

"Right," said Bill.

"Need I also remind you that this is a charmed Muggle object, and if either of you operate it in the presence of Muggles you'll be guilty of misuse of a Muggle artifact?"

"Yessir." said Harry. `Bloody, greasy git,' he thought.

Snape rounded on Harry. "And you, Potter. You've already exhibited a number of unfortunate traits - particularly impetuosity - that you've undoubtedly inherited from your father. If you wish to live long enough to save the world again, you should avoid combining those traits with the worst of Sirius Black."

Harry was angry, but held back. Compared to past insults from Professor Snape, these comments were relatively mild.

"And one more thing…."

"Yessir?"

"You will put a Silencing Charm on that … that thing, unless you wish to have me, on behalf of the entire staff, petition the Headmaster to revoke your latest - special - privilege." With that, Professor Snape turned on his heel and stalked off back towards the Castle.

Bill gave his ward a rueful smile. "See? I know of what I speak," he said quietly enough that Snape did not hear.

"And how," Harry agreed.

"Anyway, before you rev the bike up again, let me show you a couple of its … shall we say … more unusual features."

"Great," Harry agreed once more.

"All right," Bill continued. "You need to familiarise yourself with these three settings," he said, pointing to a toggle switch on the bike's minuscule dashboard. "Right now, you've got it set straight up. That's the configuration for a single rider. Naturally, the bike will have the best speed and performance in this setting."

"Okay," Harry murmured, whilst trying to memorise everything.

"Sometimes, you might not want to ride alone," Bill added meaningfully. "Sirius sure didn't. So there's setting two - a quarter turn to the left."

Bill toggled the switch in that direction and instantaneously the bike elongated so that it could accommodate two people.

"Now this would let you and, most likely, a lady friend ride together. But you need to be careful because this setting degrades the bike's performance. That's because the GKN was designed as a Muggle racing bike, and it's not really supposed to carry more than one rider. Now toggle the switch the opposite way, to the right."

Harry did as instructed and positively gaped when the bike grew a sidecar.

"That's the other way that you can carry a passenger - or a spot of cargo," Bill told him. "But again, you've got to watch out. I've never ridden it that way, but Hagrid says, whilst the ground handling's passable in this mode, the sidecar makes the bike a rather unstable flyer. Under no circumstances, save a life threatening emergency, are you to take the bike airborne in this third setting."

"All right," Harry agreed, "but you know that life threatening emergencies tend to follow me around."

"Well, we can hope, can't we?" Bill replied.

Acceding to Snape's demand, Bill cast a Silencing Charm on the GKN, set it on the second setting and rode pillion with Harry all the way back to Hagrid's hut. As soon as they arrived, he removed the charm.

"All right, Harry," Bill said as he lifted the silencing spell. "To true initiates, motorbikes, like rock 'n roll music, are both best appreciated when they're really loud."

Harry responded by revving the engine.

"GKN should have trademarked that rumble against those Yank invaders," Bill commented mostly to himself. "They might still be in business…."

Bill allowed the boy about twenty more minutes of riding around Hagrid's paddock. After that, he was permitted to take the bike aloft for one simple flight around the Hogwarts grounds. He was to stay strictly within the wards and to avoid any "fancy" manœuvres.

After bringing the 1200cc magically enhanced GKN engine thundering to life once more, Harry lifted off for the bike's first flight in well over a decade. It was an exhilarating, if bittersweet, experience. Sitting in the same seat that Sirius had occupied so many times, Harry could not help but bask in his godfather's bright memory whilst simultaneously wallowing in the sorrow of his absence. As much as he liked Bill, he loved Sirius. But what was done was done, and no amount of wishing was going to change the fact that Bill, not Sirius, would greet him upon landing.

All too soon the circumnavigation of the Hogwarts grounds was over. Harry and Bill magically repaired the tire tracks that scarred the paddock and locked up the motorbike until the next time. Although they could have performed more advanced Concealment Charms, they wanted to avoid confusing Hagrid when he returned. They therefore decided to leave things exactly as they found them.

When he returned to Number Four Privet Drive, Harry was still pumped up from the ride. He tried to replicate the Occlumency technique he had stumbled upon in Elsinore. This time he was disappointed. Evidently Ministry surveillance devices were a good deal more sophisticated than the Twins' Extendable Ears. Occlumency was entirely unable to detect them - the only spell that did that was the one Hermione had taught him.

Shortly before bed, he was incredulous when Uncle Vernon invited him to attend a family meeting about something "serious." Looking at his aunt and cousin, Harry could tell in a trice that they were as clueless as he was. Everyone sat in awkward silence until Uncle Vernon entered. He cleared his throat once, twice - then pulled nervously at his mustache.

"Well, I've asked to see you together because it seems that there's going to be an inquiry at work." Uncle Vernon paused to let that fact sink in, and then continued. "As best I know, the constabulary … bloody idiots … seem to have mistaken some of Grunnings' sales incentives as rather more than they are. They think that these incentives are … well … that they are kickbacks, actually. I'm not personally implicated - I've never bribed anyone in my life - but since I'm Director of Sales, it's my department that's under investigation."

There was at first stunned silence. Then Aunt Petunia and Dudley asked a few questions. Uncle Vernon professed puzzlement at who supposedly received the illegal gratuities, since the Scotland Yard detectives were not talking. There was nothing immediate. No, it was unlikely that their home would be searched without notice. `That would be rich,' Harry thought, wondering how the wards surrounding the house would react to a Muggle police raid.

Nor was Uncle Vernon likely to lose his job. The papers ("babloids," Vernon called them) knew nothing, a state of affairs he was quite content to let continue. Harry stayed mum throughout the family meeting, as he felt out of place inquiring after his uncle's strictly Muggle business dealings. Still, this revelation left him with an odd sense of impermanence. He was used to drastic changes in the magical world, but boring and obnoxious as it was, Uncle Vernon's plodding Muggle existence had been a source of stability - and now even that seemed threatened by unseen, uncontrollable forces.

After excusing himself for the evening, Harry sought to reach Eliza. This time she answered, and to his relief did not make him grovel too pathetically about their extremely disrupted date the previous Sunday. She readily agreed to see him on Wednesday - although only in the afternoon, as she had a hearing to attend that morning. She "had something in mind," but was keeping it a secret - she told him just to call her before Apparating, and to wear ordinary, casual clothes.

Tuesday's training session was devoted to programming Portkeys. These charms were highly technical and had to be performed in precise sequence. This type of exercise greatly favored Hermione's strong intellect, and she far surpassed Harry at mastering the complex subject. He had also lost time by reviewing an unassigned chapter about Muggle combat techniques (mostly firearms - a waste of time, he thought), to the detriment of a third repetition of the actual assignment.

Any non-magical object could be charmed to become a Portkey - even portions of larger objects, such as a doorknob on a door. Elementary Portkey programming required concentrating on the intended destination, and on an available timepiece. One cast a Transferable Charm initially on the timepiece and then moved it to the would-be Portkey. This set its activation time, travel location, and the duration of useful life. A skilled programmer did all of this mentally, with only the single incantation, Portus, but only Hermione attained that level by the end of the lesson.

Privately prepared Portkeys were also a magical grey area. They were technically illegal under wizard law, but since they were so useful, this was one law that was honoured mostly in the breach. Even the Aurors looked the other way. "As long as you don't go overboard, nobody but a Captain Queeg type would give a damn," Betsy Greengrass told him when he asked. "It's rather like the Muggles and their speed limits for motorcars."

Useful they were - but not easy for beginners to master. Every Portkey parameter had to be individually set, since the charms worked only upon mundane objects with no inherent magic. Repetitions and modifications of this basic procedure allowed the creation of single use, multiple use, or round-trip Portkeys. The only major security limitation on Portkeys, at least at the level they were being taught, was that they could not be restricted to use by specified individuals.

Even with Hermione's help, Harry despaired of being able to keep pace. Thus, he daydreamed a bit about the most significant Portkey in his life - the Triwizard Cup. He realised he was alive only because the false Moody (really Death Eater Bartemius Crouch, Jr., in disguise) had inexplicably, and probably accidentally, programmed the Cup as a round-trip Portkey. If the Cup had been a simple one-way Portkey, like almost every other one he had ever used, he would never have escaped his graveyard encounter with Voldemort and more than a score of his Death Eaters. In short, he probably owed his life to an accident.

This insight led Harry to contemplate the meaning of life - woolgathering he rarely indulged in. If random error and accidental mistake loomed so large in something as critical as his own life or death, how could he expect to fulfill a prophecy uttered before he was even born? How could anything be that deterministic when chance played such a large role?

Harry understood that, if Hermione's father had not left that pistol unloaded, or if she had been flung from her broom slightly more in the direction of the ground, Hermione would be dead….

"If she dies, then … what's the use…?" he muttered to himself, so quietly that nobody could hear.

Hermione was not the only one whose life depended upon chance, he realised. If Hagrid's little brother Grawp had not providentially appeared to chase off the centaurs last term, soaking Harry and Hermione in blood during the process, there never would have been any trip to the Ministry, and … and … Sirius would still be alive.

Caprice and happenstance so often decided matters as important as life and death.

"Harry…? Harry! Harry!!"

With a start, he found himself dragged back to more prosaic matters. Hermione looked at him with concern as she Legilimenced, `What on Earth were you doing? Is it your scar? The instructor and I have been trying to get your attention for the last thirty seconds.'

Harry attempted to explain himself, "Er…. I was just thinking about how much dumb luck plays in everything, and how I have to…. Er…. How people live or die because of mistakes."

Philosophical issues did not impress Madam Wrexham, the immensely practical Auror who was instructing them at the time. "Well, I'm sure that's interesting to consider, but I must ask you to please pay attention to your training and, if you must contemplate your navel, to do it in your free time…. I and your other instructors are here to train you, and we'll be damned if we fail at that because you'd rather pursue the deeper meaning of life."

Hermione felt a brief flash of the kind of magical power that emanated from Harry when he was provoked, but it was gone almost as quickly as it came. He seemed to take to heart the message that he needed to stay focused.

She waited for Harry to say something, but when he bit his tongue she just gave him a quizzical glance. After he made no effort to continue, she finally patted his hand and advised, "Well you'd best pay better attention then. You wouldn't want to make a mistake with one of these Portkeys."

That was true, but he was thankful that Barty Crouch, Jr. had.

At lunchtime, Harry was surprised to see Bill Weasley waiting for him in the Auror's cafeteria. As he approached them, he was even more surprised to see his guardian dressed in brand new business robes - worsted grey and white herringbone. Bill always dressed neatly for work (never garish like the Twins), but Harry had never known him to spring for such obviously dear clothing.

Evidently Hermione concurred. Harry heard her call out, "Why look who just stopped off at Saville Row."

Bill was grinning from ear to ear. "You're looking at the new Head of Collections and Curse Breaking," he announced. "I just got promoted to one of the most senior human positions at Gringotts."

"Well, that's wonderful!" Hermione gushed. Only for a fleeting moment did she have any concern for the fate of the prior placeholder.

"Couldn't happen to a nicer or more deserving bloke!" Harry agreed. "I'd offer to buy you a drink, but I'm not old enough to buy."

"I think this means you'll definitely need that tux," Bill told Harry happily.

"Umm…. And just what tux would that be?" Hermione asked. She had never seen Harry in a tux, and certainly would like to.

Bill comprehended he had just accidentally doubled the number of people he had to take into his confidence about his intentions towards Fleur.

"Hermione, can I trust you to keep a secret?" Bill asked. "It's about a personal matter…."

"In that case, yes," she replied quickly.

"Well…. You see, I've become quite serious about my … er … relationship with Fleur. I've just got a major promotion…."

"Well congratulations … on everything," the perceptive girl allowed.

"…But more than the promotion itself…. I'm frankly over the moon about it because with the new position, there's no longer much chance that Fleur's father will regard me as an English nobody. I'm going to France shortly, in less than a fortnight, to seek Fleur's parents' approval of my asking her to marry me."

"That's wonderful, Bill!" Hermione exclaimed. She kissed Bill on the cheek.

Harry might have turned as red as Bill did.

"Actually, I think this is as much Harry's doing as my own," Bill confessed.

"What could Harry possibly have to do with Fleur?" Hermione asked, nonplussed.

"Er … not that part of it, I meant - just that he was probably instrumental in bringing about the promotion. It all started the Monday after the Ashrak, when I reported for work. All of a sudden, the goblins I was working for addressed me as Drasuk, both orally and in writing. I'd never heard that title before, and I thought I knew just about all the goblin ranking terms by now. By that afternoon, I was so perplexed that I finally asked my boss what the unusual Gobbledegook word meant. He told me that the closest English equivalent was `regent.' I was stunned…."

Harry was acutely embarrassed. "Bill I'm sure you won that promotion on merit," he said - not really being sure at all.

"Stop play acting, Harry," Bill told him. "I know how the world works. I'm just happy it worked for me for once, not against me."

Bill turned back to Hermione. "What happened is that Harry became a royal prince in the eyes of all my goblin superiors at the bank. Since I was his guardian, I was looked upon as his regent. I'm no fool. When I was informed of the promotion, the senior goblin present left the impression … by implication, as they're not nearly so crass as to say such things directly … that my relatively low-level clerk's position was insufficiently exalted for someone serving a regent's role in goblin society. Anyway, I don't give a damn what the reason is. I'm certainly in no mood to look a gift horse in the mouth. I really want to marry Fleur, and now at least I have the resources to make a go of it…."

"That's just marvelous, Bill," Hermione congratulated him. "I'm so happy for you." She stood up and this time gave Harry's guardian a sincerely meant hug.

"You know what?" Bill asked rhetorically. "I feel like celebrating. How would you both like to go out for dinner - my treat?"

"I'm afraid I can't," Hermione demurred. "I'd love to, really, but it's such short notice and I don't see my family enough as it is…."

"I'll take you both to Chelsea," Bill offered, mentioning one of London's funkier nightlife areas.

"It's terribly tempting, but my father's travelling between now and the end of the week. This was my night to be with him…."

Bill persisted. "I'll treat you both to dinner at the Gordon Ramsay - and that's my last, best offer…. It's been on the Beeb, you know."

"Oh, come on, Hermione, it'll be fun," Harry pleaded. He added uncertainly, "Whatever it is…."

"You couldn't possibly get reservations on this short notice," Hermione quibbled. "That requires weeks…."

"Sure I can," Bill replied briskly. "Goblin connections."

"I'm sorry, it's just … I can't," Hermione said with finality. Turning to Harry, she added, "I'm sure it would be wonderful, but if you want our little soirée this Friday to go well, I can't be skiving off my father tonight."

"But you told me about that before," Harry protested. "It's only a bunch of mindless Muggle paperwork - you said so yourself."

"Granted all these NHS forms are a bit much," Hermione conceded, "but sometimes Daddy trusts me with more medically relevant tasks…. I've inventoried drugs, set up the drills, and other equipment. He's even showed me the rudiments of reading dental x-rays. You need to understand, Harry, that ever since starting at Hogwarts, I've spent very little time with my parents, and especially Daddy. I'd really like to go…. It's a place everybody's heard of…."

"Er … I haven't," Harry admitted.

"…All right, a place everybody but Harry's heard of," she flippantly amended her statement. "What with the telly and all. But family time is just more important right now."

Hermione had momentarily overlooked how tactless such comments were when directed to Harry. She cringed when she saw the expression on his face. It was one of those lost puppy looks he wore when he thought about being an orphan. Fortunately, Bill caught it as well and sensed the need to lighten the mood. He jokingly gave Hermione a rain check, and only slightly more seriously told Harry that he should set himself a Portkey for Hogwarts tomorrow.

Harry knew what Bill was implying, and he dearly wanted to fly - but he had arranged a date with Eliza beginning at noon. He had no desire to discuss that in front of Hermione, because it made him feel unaccountably guilty. He simply told Bill that the Portkey would have to be set no later than 9:00 a.m.

Unlike most training days, Harry and Hermione did no duelling. Instead, their time in the Situation Room was spent programming Portkeys from one part of the room to another and making sure that they mastered single use, round trip and multiple use spellwork. Harry, who had never been particularly fond of such devices as a mode of magical travel, nearly became nauseous on several occasions and had to pause to avoid actually getting sick. It was one of those rare days during which Hermione plainly outclassed him on every aspect of the Auror lesson.

Harry really could care less, because his mind was elsewhere - on what was becoming a more and more promising Muggle-oriented evening with Bill. Before they left Auror Headquarters, Bill showed them the most interesting feature of his new robes. On command ("Mugglise") the robes transfigured into a stylish three-piece Muggle suit made from the same material.

"Er … that's easy for you, but I've only got jeans and a T-shirt under these robes," Harry confessed.

"I suppose I should have warned you," Bill admitted, "but I figure I can at least get you in the door with a `cleaning up' spell I know."

Harry unfastened his robe, and Bill winced as he saw what he had to work with. "I'm telling you right now that your scruffy togs would probably get you a security escort to the nearest exit at the place we're going. I'm just glad we're doing this here, since there'd be too many Muggles about later."

Bill waved his wand and performed a silent spell. Harry's jeans became khakis. The design on his T-shirt flowed together and morphed into a little alligator as it changed into a burnt orange polo shirt. His feet felt strange indeed as his trainers converted themselves into topsiders.

True to his word, Bill first had them accompany Hermione to her home. Seeing it for the first time in daylight, Harry was mightily impressed. It was practically a mansion - two storeys high, brick, with white stone corners. It was set back from the street behind a wrought iron fence that enclosed a small grassy garden. The front garden harboured several massive oak trees with branches that overspread the sidewalk and part of the close. Hermione would have invited the both of them in, except she knew that they had errands to run and Harry would be there in only a few days.

The walk to Harrods took only a few minutes. They entered the lower level from Brompton Road through a very elabourate entryway beneath some sort of ornate tower. They dodged the souvenir racks, but Harry could not help but stop for a ride on the most unusual escalator he had ever seen - not that he had seen that many - decorated in Egyptian style friezes. At first he thought they were real, but upon closer examination he concluded that, whilst extravagant, they were just Muggle fantasy. Nevertheless, he could not resist riding the escalator as far as it went, so he could get a good look at the constellation-inscribed ceiling. When he got back down, he found Bill waiting for him impatiently.

Bill more firmly guided Harry to the designer men's shop at the back of the store. Almost immediately a liveried sales assistant accosted them and greeted them superciliously.

"May I be of assistance," the man said, casting a suspicious eye over both Bill's shoulder-length red hair and single fanged earring, and Harry's unruly black locks.

"I … er… I need to buy a good suit," stated Harry.

"Quite," replied the man (whose nametag read "Morgan"), not making eye contact. "We have the largest selection in the world of finely tailored designer suits. Where would you like to start?" He started edging Harry and Bill towards the discount racks nearer the food courts.

"I, I don't know," stammered Harry, clearly uncomfortable. If the man would just look at him it would help. "I have a rather important engagement, and I don't own any suits…."

"Very well," answered the man laconically as he led Harry towards a rack of nondescript two-piece grey and blue suits.

"I rather think not," said Bill, breaking in. "That's bog standard. I believe that young master Harry would do better with a summer-weight more along those lines." He gestured towards the display of Dolce & Gabbana and Gucci silk suits at the center of the department. "A word, if you please."

Bill and the sales assistant moved away from a rather embarrassed Harry. Bill put one arm around the man's shoulder and they chatted for about a minute in low tones that the boy could not hear. When "Morgan" returned, he was much more helpful. Harry selected a dark indigo coloured D&G lightweight two-piece with a two-button jacket with a six-inch drop and a center vent. There was just a trace of a hexagonal design woven into the fabric. The pants were flat front, no pleats with button down pockets. The suit felt very comfortable even before tailoring.

Harry also selected several shirts, two ties, matching indigo socks, black patent leather shoes, and two pairs of cufflinks - gold and silver. The department had a computerised engraving machine. Fascinated, Harry watched it custom engrave "HJP" on the cufflinks in ornate lettering.

Now that the sales assistant had started pampering him, Harry felt much better - until he had to deal with a Muggle tailor. He was quite unused to being poked, prodded and pinned, especially in places where he was not accustomed to other people (with the sometimes exception of Eliza) touching him. Magical tailors, like Madam Malkin, let the measure itself do all of this work. This rather uncomfortable experience dragged on for some time.

With the hour approaching their dinner engagement, and the restaurant being some half an hour away, the tailoring was still incomplete. Mindful of the time, Bill shooed the tailor and sales assistant out of the changing room.

"You'll be needing this for this evening, Harry," Bill said, "otherwise I'd let the Muggles handle this."

Bill uttered a couple of spells as he moved his wand over Harry's suitpants and coat. Harry felt a tickling sensation as the fabric moved gently until it fitted him perfectly. Bill said another incantation, touched the shirt Harry was wearing, and then touched the other shirts he had selected. The shirts started rippling and writhing for about thirty seconds.

"Muggles have invented many ingenious ways of compensating for lack of magic," Bill informed Harry, "but tailoring simply isn't one of them."

Both of them jumped at the sound of a throat clearing. "Morgan" was standing in the doorway, with his eyebrows raised so far they almost disappeared under his fringe.

"Don't bother, he'll wear them out," said Bill airily to the astonished sales assistant as they exited the dressing room. "I'm an accomplished tailor myself, and I took care of everything."

"That's quite all right," Morgan replied. "It's just, had I known, I would have shown you to our … er … Hogsmeade Shop designs."

It was Bill's turn to look thunderstruck. "You mean…? You…."

"Serve both worlds, yes sir," Morgan replied. "And you, young man, what did you say your name was…?"

"He didn't," interrupted Bill, flashing his BoE card at Morgan the nosy Muggle. "Please ring everything up."

Harry intervened. "No, Bill, I insist," he said rather more loudly than necessary. He reached into his pocket for his own BoE card, extracted it rather hastily, and sent the remaining contents of his pocket cascading to the floor in a shower of bank notes and other bits of paper and parchment.

"That reminds me," said Bill, struggling to suppress a nervous laugh as he addressed Morgan. "I'd like to add to the purchase the finest folding wallet that you have. You may select it - so that it goes with his suit."

Bill stubbornly paid the tab - for security reasons, he indicated discreetly. As the selection was rather dear, Harry insisted upon reimbursing him. He also hefted the packages containing the items not currently in use. Whilst exiting Harrods, he asked Bill the question that had been on his mind for more than an hour.

"Bill, what did you say to that sales assistant that made him stop being bored by me and actually start paying attention to what I wanted?"

"He was being difficult, so he needed some persuading," Bill explained. "A right brown-nosing bastard, he was, just like anyone else who works on commission. I told him a number of things, each less true than the last. First I explained that you were the presumptive Baron of Blackwalls, I was your legal guardian, and you were soon to turn sixteen - all true enough. I next said that you had been invited to a posh coming out party, which was not exactly true. Then I told that Muggle that the party was at Sandringham, which was not true at all. Finally I implied that you would be meeting the owner of this establishment there, which was the biggest whopper of them all. Still, he had no business acting like that. He was hired help and you were the customer. I made sure he got no gratuity. Such behaviour was inexcusable."

Whilst in the taxi to Chelsea, Harry's mobile rang. Harry tensed and answered it. His cousin was on the other line.

"Bloody hell, Harry - I tried to reach you all during the day and all I got was some prerecorded rot that your mobile was out of order and `the customer is unavailable.' A group of fr … er … your kind came over this morning and took over the whole bloody house!"

"Oh bugger!" Harry exclaimed. "What happened?"

"I don't rightly know," Dudley said. "Something about wards was all I heard. I thought they were talking about you at first. Anyway, for a while they didn't know I was there. My father had a corking fit when they told him to leave and not come back until evening, and Mum was in a right state. From the noise, dad started throwing things at them, and eventually your kind did some spell that restrained them both."

"I was scared out of my skull that they were those death beaters or something. When they found me, I thought I was going to die. Then I suddenly remembered that I was late for an urgent event at the gym, and they let me go. When I got there, I couldn't remember what the bloody appointment was, and nobody could tell me. But I couldn't go back either, not until just now. Now my parents are walking around just as normal as you please acting like nothing ever happened. What in the name of God is going on?"

Harry kicked himself for not at least telling Dudley that the Order was going to come and reset the protective wards around the house. He kicked himself again for being able to Apparate through those wards. Even though that was supposed to be impossible, he had done it, and he suspected he would be able to do it again. He told Dudley as much as he dared.

"The people who visited… They were friends, not enemies. They thought that there was a security breach in the house, and they repaired it. That's as much as I can safely tell you. Don't bring anything up with your mum and dad. I'm pretty sure they've had their … er … they've forgotten all about it. Just act normal, and everything will be all right."

"I've been … running some errands, and I'm meeting my … er … legal guardian for dinner to discuss … things in my world, so tell your parents I will be late. Bye."

Harry scowled. He had made a promise to Uncle Vernon not to let his magical world invade their Muggle one, and he felt that his promise had just been violated. Harry tried hard not to make promises that he would be unable to keep.

The black cab stopped. Bill paid the fare before Harry had time to react. He had not gotten used to the wallet. Somewhat annoyed, he threw a £50 note at Bill. As they stepped onto the kerb, Harry took him aside.

"I don't care how high you've been promoted," he hissed, "I've still got more money than you, so let me pay my own way." Ever since learning of it, Harry had been uncomfortable with being so rich. After the problem it had caused with Hermione, he was beginning positively to detest it. It seemed he could not even give the accursed stuff away. At minimum, he did not need other people spending their money on him.

Bill hissed right back, "Harry, if you're not going to let me foot this bill, then we can go home right now. I'm a bloody Weasley, remember - never having two Galleons to rub together. Until just now, I've never been able to do anything for anybody that cost more than a couple quid. You helped make my big break, and more than that, you're the reason I won't be trembling in front of Fleur's father, afraid I'm not good enough for the woman I love…. And I'm your bloody guardian, dammit. So let me thank you properly. Okay? This is supposed to be a celebration of my good fortune, not yours."

Chastened, Harry said nothing more. Money was hard to understand. It affected people so differently….

The dinner was grand, and their little tiff soon forgotten. Harry had never experienced such fine food - at least not among Muggles. He had the house salad, buttered artichoke hearts (possibly his one mistake), French onion soup, potatoes Lyonnais, lobster tortellini, and chocolate parfait mousse pie with milk ice cream.

The only things off-limits were alcoholic. Those did not particularly interest him, but on principle he did not like that restriction. Harry considered mentioning that Bill had agreed to buy the champagne he was taking to Hermione's, but thought better of it. He was determined to avoid anything that might cause the man to reconsider that agreement.

Other than that, however, Bill was being quite consistent. On his way to the loo, Harry finally found someone who would take his money.

"Sir?" he said to the maitre d,' "I've a favour to ask…." He had been watching what other customers did, so he slipped the man the same £50 note that Bill had spurned. "We're here celebrating my friend's big promotion, so I'd like to get him something congratulatory."

"Well, you're a spot late," the tuxedoed man said - even more superciliously than Morgan from Harrods. "Still, I think we could arrange a cake of some sort on short order…." The man palmed the £50 note, and Harry never saw it again.

The maitre d' may have been a snob, but he was a competent snob. The restaurant arranged a very nice, quite fancy "Congratulations Bill" rum cake. Despite the ensuing celebration, neither partook of anything intoxicating - beyond the lightly flavoured morsel itself.

When Harry returned to Number Four Privet Drive after his night out with his guardian, he was not greeted warmly by his relatives.

Uncle Vernon growled, "Boy, where have you been, we were about to…."

Their displeasure, which Harry thought might be residual anger bleeding through their recent Memory Charm, almost instantly turned into stunned silence. The Harry that walked in the front door was not the Harry that they had expected. He was dressed to the nines like something out of an Italian fashion magazine, and was wearing a tie - something else that was entirely out of character for the scruffy boy they knew.

"Sorry I'm late," he started, richly appreciating his relatives' reaction to his appearance. "I told Dudley to tell you. I had to do some shopping for Friday night."

With that he set down the two large shopping bags he was carrying. Uncle Vernon, whose habit it was to take the measure of everyone according to their social status, suffered a virtual cognitive disconnect when he saw the Harrods logo on the bags. For emphasis, Harry fished from a suit pocket a couple of matchboxes with the purple and white logo of the Gordon Ramsay restaurant on them and handed one to each of his relatives.

"They have nice food," Harry told them. "I highly recommend them." He picked up his shopping bags and started for the stairs.

"Not so fast, boy," grumbled Uncle Vernon. "Sit."

Harry did as he was told. He was quite expecting this, and was ready to get it over with. Given what was happening in with his life, it was becoming harder and harder to conceal his newfound wealth from them. Just as he was sick of being lied to himself, he was also tired of lying to his relatives. It took so much energy merely trying to remember all the lies.

"What is the meaning of this, boy?" asked Uncle Vernon rhetorically. "When we agreed to take you in, all those years ago, we were under the impression that you hadn't a farthing to your name. It's now rather apparent that we were, or are, mistaken."

Harry gave his relatives the two-minute thumbnail description of how his life had changed with the death of his godfather and the imminent devolution of the Potter family trusts. Uncle Vernon protested, "Well I think, now that you have come into all of this money, you should bloody well pay us back rent for all we've done for you over the last fifteen years."

Harry had fully anticipated this and replied coldly, "Not on your life…. You beat me for years, locked me up in that dirty, spider infested cupboard under the stairs, half starved me, gave me nothing but Dudley's hand-me-downs, and never tired of calling me worthless and my parents worse than that…. You gave the neighbours the impression I was some sort of hooligan…. You made nasty remarks about Hermione…. And I won't even mention the spoilt milk incident…. Pay you back rent? You should both count yourselves bloody lucky that I didn't report you to the authorities long ago."

Harry's eyes were flashing, his hair sticking up, and it appeared to Vernon that his fingertips were starting to glow. For once, he wisely said nothing as Harry delivered his rant.

As he hated the money worse than his relatives, he was willing to pay a reasonable rent going forward. After some bargaining, full of exaggeration and posturing on both sides, the sum of £100 a month was agreed upon. Harry coolly pulled out his new wallet and laid out three rather crumpled £50 notes on the dining room table. "There, we're even - rent through September," he said. Then he hefted his purchases, and climbed the stairs to bed.

He was starting to change into his pyjamas when he noticed that Dudley had followed him. "What do you want?" he snapped, "and thanks for passing along my message, by the way."

"Sorry mate, I forgot," explained Dudley. "Too many blows to the head, I reckon. You got this letter today in our post."

Harry snatched the letter from his cousin's beefy hand and opened it. Several pictures fell out and a short note. Harry wadded up the envelope, thought about binning it, but instead put it down on the bed beside him.

"Well, holy shite…."

Dudley was gawking at the pictures, some of which had landed right side up on the threadbare carpet. Colin Creevey had taken them at Diagon Alley on the night of the Ashrak. They showed Harry and Professor Dumbledore in their dress robes alighting from the Silver Spur limousines. Harry was mugging a little for the camera. Dumbledore was standing there looking serene.

"Th…. That's you?" Dudley finally managed to choke out.

"None other," replied Harry, somewhat annoyed by his own lack of discretion. The last thing he needed was for Dudley start fawning over him. As much as Dudley could vex him, Harry preferred a moderately abusive cousin to a toady. At least the abuse was honest.

"Who is the other bloke?" asked Dudley - practically shielding his eyes from the photograph of Dumbledore's glittering robes.

"That's the Headmaster of my school, Albus Dumbledore," Harry answered. "Among other things, he's the one responsible for my being here all these years."

"Where did you get that Rolls?"

"From our Ministry," replied Harry. "These were taken last week, on the night I was out so late."

"Damn," exclaimed Dudley. "The runt I used to know is gone. I think my parents are regretting their ways. If you'd give them another chance, I'm sure they would do better."

Harry bit his tongue at the insult and half-scowled at Dudley. "Not bloody likely," he growled, "too late for second chances now. It wouldn't be honest. I'd never be able to trust them. It's hard to trust anybody I didn't know before all this happened. Money changes everything."

Dudley thought for a second. "Spect you're right - even about my own folks. But it's not just them. You've changed too, though. If it wasn't for your ugly mug, I wouldn't have recognised you when you walked through the door a little while ago."

"True enough, Dudders," said Harry slowly, as he thought about how his own changes would affect (or had already affected) his friends. "Now goodnight. I'll be up to run with you tomorrow."

The next morning, after their run, Harry was concentrating on using what the Aurors had just taught him to create a Portkey out an empty roll-on deodorant bottle when his cousin walked into his room and asked him what he was doing.

"Blast it all, Dudders, you ruined my spell," spat Harry. "If you must know I'm preparing to transport myself to Hog … my school, in Scotland. From there I'm setting a second trip - to London to see my … er … a girl."

"Wow!" exclaimed Dudley. "You mean you can jump all over Britain?"

"Close enough," said Harry. "Now be quiet or go away. I have to concentrate on this. It's hard; I've just learnt it; and I'm not very good." Dudley shut up, and Harry continued - struggling just a bit with the still not totally familiar spell sequence. Harry first primed the bottle that would serve as the Portkey.

"Portus Primus."

He envisioned Hagrid's hut at Hogwarts.

"Portus Locatus," he said. Then he charmed his alarm clock and set it to 9:00 a.m.

"Portus Tempus."

Next, he primed the Portkey for his second destination.

"Portus Secundus."

He thought of Eliza's flat and repeated the Portus Locatus portion of the spell. Harry then reset his alarm clock for 12:30 p.m. - the time he had agreed upon with Eliza - and repeated the Portus Tempus portion of the spell. That was the end, since he could simply Apparate back from Eliza's. He pronounced "Portus Finite" to end the spell and also removed the enchantment from his alarm clock.

Seeing that Harry was done, Dudley snidely asked him, "Which girl is it this time, the clever one or the older one?"

Harry nearly made a very rude hand gesture. He thought that Dudley was quite mistaken and jumping to unwarranted conclusions. The question implied that Eliza and Hermione were interchangeable when, to him, they were currently filling quite different roles in his life. Still, it would take more time than he had to explain the situation to his sometimes-thick cousin, so he just gave him minimal facts.

"The older one today; the clever one on Friday."

With his cousin's interruption, Harry barely had time to prepare himself before the Portkey activated. Harry grabbed the deodorant bottle - nearly fumbling it - felt the familiar jerk behind his navel, and was transported almost instantaneously to Hagrid's hut. He did not even bother bringing his Valkyrie. That omission was not for lack of interest in flying. Bill was waiting for him, and his guardian's hair and clothes betrayed that he had already been riding the GKN motorbike.

This session went better than the last - particularly because Professor Snape did not make his presence known (assuming that Snape was still at Hogwarts at all). Harry flew around the Hogwarts grounds twice, startling the Thestrals in the Forbidden Forest the second time. He also flew with Bill riding pillion, not so much because he had any desire to show Bill around (Bill would rather ride alone anyway) as to get some experience flying the GKN in that configuration. As long as he avoided extreme speeds, acceleration, and turns, he found it easy to control the GKN in its passenger-carrying mode. He also tried out the sidecar feature on the ground. It really did muddy the bike's performance, so he was not very fond of it.

Harry had other things to discuss with Bill. The first, relatively minor, was to pick an appropriately small, appropriately magical, and appropriately useful present for the Grangers. After some back and forth, they came to an agreement.

"How about Omnioculars, then," Bill suggested. "I think Hermione's parents might find them useful."

"I don't think they'd care to watch Quidditch highlights," Harry quipped.

"The kind I'm thinking of would do more than that," Bill explained. "When Hermione graduates from Hogwarts, don't you think they'd like to see the full magical ceremony?"

"You mean there are Omnioculars that let Muggles see through Concealment Charms?" Harry asked, more interested.

"Just the simple ones used on events attended by both wizards and Muggles," Bill went on. "In fact, I wouldn't be at all surprised if your mum bought your grandparents a pair they could use when she married your dad."

That was enough to convince Harry. Bill agreed to select a pair at Diagon Alley.

The other issue was both more expensive and more unexpected. At first, Bill was inclined to be dismissive of Harry's rather radical idea.

"I've been thinking, and I've decided that it's unfair for Hogwarts Quidditch teams to have to supply their own brooms. Some teams are so much better equipped than others that the matches aren't being decided on talent or strategy anymore."

Bill initially dismissed his complaint. "Stop worrying about it. You're starting to sound like Hermione. Anything that helps Gryffindor beat Slytherin, I'm cool with it."

"Well, I'm not," Harry persisted. "I think that brooms should be standardised."

"Pie in the sky, if you ask me," was Bill's grunted response. "The School's got better things to spend its money on than keeping all four teams in brooms."

"There's no reason that Hogwarts would have to pay a Knut," Harry declared.

"Oh, so you think Firebolt Unlimited and the other broom companies would just give brooms to the School in return for an endorsement or some such?" Bill answered contrarily. "A pro team maybe…."

"No endorsements, Bill," Harry corrected. "I intend to put up the money myself. I've got it. I don't much want it. And it's something I can do to fix a steadily worsening problem…."

Bill was astonished. "You're serious, aren't you?"

Harry nodded.

"You know? That's a crazy enough idea that it just might work," Bill added as he thought it through more carefully. "You'll need some sort of formal gift … some kind of trust, I reckon. Have you discussed this with Blackie Howe? That's the kind of thing he's best at. The goblins speak highly of his skills…."

"Not really. I wanted to get you're opinion first," Harry admitted. "He's always so busy. I really don't want to bother him…."

Bill snickered out loud at Harry's naiveté. "Harry, believe me, he wants to be bothered. First of all he gets paid a gorgeous Galleon for it. Second, to set up a donation - to Hogwarts - on behalf of - Harry Potter…. Well, most solicitors would do that for free just to have their name associated with a venture like that."

Harry was surprised at the thought of having someone so distinguished … so much older … so, well, adult … essentially at his beck and call. "You really mean it? If it were me, I think I'd get annoyed at being interrupted by some uppity kid so often…."

"If that is what he really thinks, rest assured he'd never say so outside of the loo," Bill reassured. "As long as you're paying him, he'll dance to your tune. Harry, you've got to get used to the fact that all that money brings with it a great deal of power. You pay a solicitor; you're the boss, no matter how exalted he or she might be. And you'd better get used to thinking that way - especially with lawyers - or else you'll be taken advantage of."

Abashed, he pulled out his mobile straightaway. Bill yelled, "stop!" and reminded him that he was at Hogwarts. The magical interference would at best render the mobile inoperable and at worst might permanently damage it. Harry made a mental note to call Howe as soon as possible after he left Hogwarts, which would be at Eliza's flat.

As soon as he reached Eliza's, Harry excused himself and made that call. Blackie Howe was in his office and, as Bill had predicted, was only too happy to talk to him. Harry described what he wanted to do, and Howe (who had been in Ravenclaw) was enthusiastic. The solicitor knew just what documents to draw up, and even had a business contact at Firebolt Unlimited Ltd., the manufacturer. "Let me do the deal, Harry," Howe advised. "I'm sure that, by buying direct from Firebolt at wholesale, rather than … say … marching into Quality Quidditch Supplies, I can get you forty top-of-the-line sporting brooms for probably 750 Galleons each. That's less than half the retail price."

Harry agreed with some hesitation. "Er … all right…."

"Something else that might reduce the pricetag even further," Howe continued, dropping his voice conspiratorially, "if you're up for an endorsement deal, I rather think the Firebolt company would jump at it. You've been getting…."

"No, I don't think so," Harry quickly cut across. "Anything I'd save wouldn't be worth it."

"Well then … even with no further discount, the 30,000 Galleon total price is only a small fraction of the cash Bill says is currently on hand in your vault…."

Harry frowned at that. He had yet to receive any of the Potter family inheritance, let alone the Black fortune. Disposing of all this money was going to be harder than he thought - especially if the goblins insisted on not debiting his accounts.

Eliza only caught snatches of Harry's end of the call - enough to know that he was talking to a lawyer about an expensive proposition that involved Quidditch and brooms - but no more. What was more, she did not even care. Such talk bored her. Her interest was not in the wizard side of Harry's life, and she certainly had no desire for his money (although she did permit his reimbursement of the cost of renting the Lexus for aborted trip to Brighton).

She was feeling a little better about things … more relaxed. Conversations with her confidante had convinced her that, whatever would happen with Harry would just happen. The poor kid already had too many demands on him, and she would not impose any more. As far as she was concerned, the two of them would have as much fun together as possible. Whatever boy/girl - make that man/woman - attraction Harry wanted would just flow naturally.

Eliza had planned an outing to the Royal Botanic Gardens at Kew, followed by another trip to the cinema, after which she intended to collect the "rain check" - a cozy dinner for two at her flat, and then who knows what…. Her bustling about whilst Harry was on the phone had ensured that everything for the meal was in good order before they left.

They took the Tube, since Kew was farther than Eliza cared to travel on her Aprila. Harry was impressed at how easily she navigated the maze of Muggle underground trains. They took the Jubilee train, and changed to the District line at Westminster Station. At Westminster they bought crumpets whilst waiting for another connection.

When they alighted at Kew, Harry was shocked…. He actually recognised the place! He had been there before, on a field trip when he was still at his Muggle primary school - thus it had to be quite close to Surrey, he deduced. The field trip had not been very enjoyable, because Dudley's gang kept threatening to throw him into the lake (they had been bluffing). Harry knew that this second visit would be much better.

It was. Harry and Eliza spent most of the afternoon strolling through one spectacular exhibit after the other. Harry was enthralled by the giant water lilies in the aquatic garden, and intrigued by the exhibit on plant evolution. What he liked most though was the enormous and pungent collection of all kinds of orchids. He enjoyed the orchids for their beauty, to be sure, but he appreciated even more the way they entranced Eliza. It gave him courage. He tentatively grasped her hand whilst she was exclaiming about one epiphyte or another. When she did not pull away, he held onto it for most of the rest of the afternoon. Given how much Eliza liked them, Harry decided to study the orchids quite closely.

Eliza finally told Harry that they had to leave because they were going to see "The English Patient." He first thought that meant visiting one of her relatives at St. Mungo's. Then she explained that it was a film - one with excellent reviews that was playing to sold-out houses. She had pre-ordered tickets, which required them to be at a will-call window in Canary Wharf by 6:15. Dependent upon the Tube, as Eliza had not even brought her wand. Fighting the London rush, they just made it.

It was a rather romantic film - not at all like "Independence Day." The two were cuddling close together well before the film was finished. After they walked back to her flat, Eliza put on some Beethoven and busied herself in the kitchen reheating the dinner. Harry got his hands slapped when he tried to stir the puttanesca. She absolutely refused to allow Harry to help her.

Feeling somewhat at loose ends, he sat on the davenport for little whilst listening to the symphony. Then he had an idea. He put a Silencing Charm on the living room and then repeated the Orchideous spell over and over again - thinking of the different orchids they had seen that afternoon, and trying to remember which ones Eliza had liked the best. By the time she had the first course ready, her conjoined living/dining room was literally awash with brilliantly coloured and fragrant smelling orchids.

Eliza gasped as she entered the room, and almost dropped a full dish of pasta. Putting it on the table she grabbed Harry's hand and began moving around her completely redecorated apartment smelling one bundle or another. It was a spell with which she was obviously not familiar. She could barely believe the beauty of the flowers and told Harry so - by kissing him.

Harry thought he was floating on air. Eliza's kiss felt much more natural than Cho's. It was incomparably more romantic than anything he had ever actually scraped together the nerve to do with Hermione. It was more like his daydreams….

More than that, even. It was closer to what he had just seen at the cinema.

Eliza had kissed him before - twice - but both times had been abbreviated. This was much different…. Now he had all the time in the world….

Instinctively Harry started kissing back, something he had never really done before - the only other time he had ever been more than passive was just too … different.

Here he was in terra incognita, and for once he found himself not minding it a bit. Eliza responded in kind, and he noticed the tingling sensation in his naughty bits was back - the one he had felt with Hermi.… He willed himself to focus on the present.

Their lips separated briefly and reluctantly. He looked into her sparkling blue eyes - but only for an instant, as she tugged at Harry's spectacles. With the Auror charm they had on them, they did not budge. She sighed, and dove back into him. Breathing was becoming an annoyance. Neither wanted even so much as to come up for air.

One of his hands was stroking the back of Eliza's neck, becoming entangled in her generous blonde tresses. The other was sliding up her back. She grabbed him around his shoulders. Her lips were soft and sweet, like nothing in the world he had ever tasted. She was inviting him in, and he followed. Totally engrossed, Harry was not paying any attention to his surroundings, and he backed into the davenport. They half fell and half slid into it, with her landing partially on top of him amongst all of the orchids.

He had no idea how long they snogged. The sensation was so delicious, he utterly lost track of time. It might have been half an hour (but was probably more like five or ten minutes) before Eliza gently pulled away. With a giggle, she traced the outline of Harry's jaw whilst reminding him that dinner was getting cold. Between the look in her eyes, and the butterflies in his stomach, he would have forgotten about the meal if she had given him the option.

The dinner, which they ate by non-magical candlelight, was excellent. Harry hardly thought about it, however. His mind was racing throughout the meal. He thought about their kisses, imagining more. Is this was what love is really like? He had little to compare it with. He thought he had been in love with Hermione, but she had never done anything that made him feel so lightheaded and warm at the same time.

Of course, he had never really pressed the subject.

He was a git, but now it seemed not to matter.

He had never really loved anybody else, romantically. For him, orphaned so young, any kind of love had always been unusual. Whilst his parents surely had loved him, they were forever beyond the reach of his memory.

Sirius had loved him too, but mostly from afar and once again all too briefly.

Harry thought about what else might happen between him and Eliza, maybe even tonight. He felt anxious, expectant, needy, and scared all at the same time. He knew the expression, "every dog has his day," but had never expected to live to see his. As fatalistic as he was about his own prospects, the track record of those caring for him was worse - far worse.

With all of these thoughts scurrying about and colliding in his head, Harry said very little. He sat there, in silence; mechanically eating the tasty meal Eliza had obviously spent a great deal of time preparing.

All the while he looked at her with what he hoped was a not-too-goofy expression on his face.

She blushed quite a bit, but did not disturb his thoughts

For dessert, she served ice cream, added hot fudge sauce and then, on top of that, poured a small cup of amber liquid. Then she struck a safety match and touched it to the concoction. The entire bowl burst into bluish flames - a particularly dramatic effect in the darkened, candlelit flat. Startled, he abruptly pushed his chair back and flicked out his wand. Eliza gestured for him to do nothing, so he watched as the flames gradually diminished and finally died.

One taste of the ice cream, and Harry had a pretty good idea what had happened. Mixed among the delicious taste of pineapple-vanilla ice cream and chocolate was the distinctive, much sharper taste of alcohol.

His lips curled involuntarily. "Ugh … this has spirits in it," he complained.

"You're right," Eliza confirmed. "Sorry if you don't like it, it's brandy - so alcoholic it's downright flammable. Even the fumes burn. But you should try again; almost everything's burned off…."

Harry did as told, and she was right. He quickly finished that spoonful and took another. "It's better now," he opined. "What's left is light enough that it's just another flavour in the ice cream."

"That's what's intended, Harry," she said with a sly grin. "All things in Moderation. Moderation in all things."

It was one of her favorite phrases.

He insisted on taking care of the dishes. She agreed, as long as he used no magic, because she feared that any more of it would damage the appliances. Since the flat had an automatic dishwasher, Harry soon returned to her side. He was nervous. He knew it, and Eliza could sense it as well.

"Er…. Is this what you want to do…? I-I mean the two of us and all?" he asked tentatively.

She smiled at his shyness. "Harry, if I hadn't wanted to kiss you, I wouldn't have done it."

"You…. You…. You could be in danger, you know," he stammered. "People who get close to me tend to … to die." Voicing that fear, he had some trouble keeping his composure.

"So what, Harry?" she retorted. "I could get killed any day riding my motorbike through this awful London traffic. Someone told me once…." She thought of a conversation with Lucinda. "…Whatever happens will happen. That's how I feel right now. From the beginning - the first moment I offered to help you - I knew I was getting into things I couldn't hope to control. So I never tried. You don't have to either. Just relax, Harry, you think too much sometimes…."

She leaned into him and captured his lips again.

It was the best therapy in the world. All those delicious feelings came flowing back. After a few more minutes, they came up for air. This process was repeated several times before Harry thought of something that he wanted to say.

"Eliza, I've got something I'd like to show you."

She tensed just a bit as she asked what it was.

He continued, "I've … I've got a motorbike of my own now, and I've been learning how to fly it over the last couple…."

When Harry mentioned the motorbike, Eliza relaxed. She did not think he was the sort, but the first words out of his mouth could have been a proposition. She was uncertain how she felt about that - just yet. Her relaxation lasted only for a matter of seconds. "You've been learning to do what?" she asked.

"To fly it," Harry responded. Then he appreciated how odd that phrase sounded. "Oh … it's a magical motorbike. It was left to me by … by … by my godfather when he d-d-d … died." Harry silently cursed himself. This was hardly the polished delivery he was trying for.

"It's all right, Harry," she cooed. "I felt the same way when my parents divorced. It just takes time…." She kissed him again.

Eliza's brand of medicine was very effective in helping Harry over those thoughts. After a few silent seconds, he continued.

"Anyway, I'm still underage. I've got the bike at Hogwarts. I feel I'm just about skilled enough to fly it safely with a passenger.… I'd … er … I'd like you to be that passenger."

Her answer stunned him.

"No, Harry, that won't work. Not at all. As much as I want to be with you here, I can't be with you at Hogwarts … or anywhere else in the magical world. I-I-I … can't live like that…." She was obviously flustered.

"But why, Eliza?" Harry pleaded. "I thought that you and I…."

"If I did that I could never go back," she said, also in pleading tones. "I'd lose my job … but worse than that, I can't live like you, Harry. I'd be a moth to your flame. I'd no longer be my own person. I can see how your life is.… Under constant guard because You-Know-Who is trying to kill you…. You've learnt to live with it - or at least you've had no choice. But I can't be a bird in a very gilded cage. I'd go mad. I want to be here for you Harry, but I can't be there for you. Do you understand…?"

On a rational level, he understood, but nevertheless he was bitterly disappointed. It was a replay. He was rich, famous, and once again facing rejection because of it. He detested it all. At this moment, outside that very building - or even outside Eliza's very door - somebody from the Order was minding him.

Harry's own his first reaction had been to rebel. That was how he actually met her in the first place. After an all-too-brief moment of euphoria, it simply hurt - on a most basic level - that his girlfriend (after this evening, that was how he viewed her) was telling him in so many words that she did not want to be seen in public with him … wizarding public at least.

Up until that point, he had been doing a good job convincing himself he was in love. But Harry still idealised love. He wanted love to be like it was in færie stories - forever and for all things. He was not a halfway person, yet he felt he was being offered a halfway relationship. Things had been moving quite far quite fast - until he ran headlong into this brick wall.

Eliza had not wanted to tell Harry any of this - especially not on the night of their first serious snog - but he had unwittingly forced her hand by bringing up Hogwarts and the flying motorbike. She eyed him warily, not sure how he would react.

"I hate being rich, and I hate being famous," Harry muttered. "I have everything I don't want and nothing I do want."

"Harry," Eliza chided, "don't judge yourself so harshly.…"

"It's no harsher than you've judged me," Harry lashed out. "Not to be seen in public, that's all. Still, I suppose it's for the best…." He moved towards the door.

"Harry, I'm not asking you to leave," Eliza blurted out. "Far from it." As if for emphasis, she physically blocked his path to the door.

He felt completely demoralised. "I know, but I, I … I'm not looking for a back street girl…. It just doesn't feel right to stay. It's always going to be the same with me in the end, I guess.…"

"Please don't leave like this, Harry." Then she said more softly, "If that's the choice, I'd rather you not leave at all."

Harry had been too busy feeling sorry for himself to listen closely. "It's just that you sounded so much like…. Huh? What do you mean, not leaving?"

Harry's reaction had been far worse than she expected. Maybe she could fix it, maybe not, but she if she let him leave like this, she probably would never see him again. As different as he was, Harry was nonetheless a man, and there was one thing that tended to keep men from leaving.

As Lucinda had reminded her on several occasions, "Nothing ventured, nothing gained."

"It means just what I said," she replied nervously. "I-I don't want you to be angry or insulted because I told you the truth. That doesn't change how I feel about you…. I want you to know that, and if it takes you spending the night to prove it, well I'm ready…. I guess."

Harry had not seen that coming. He was stunned by the proposition. More than stunned…. Shocked was more like it. Or scared to death. It was too much, too soon. He never envisioned it occurring that way - not his first time and not with her. He backpedaled furiously.

"I'm sorry, I-I-I shouldn't have gone off on you like that," he croaked. "I-I-I know where you're coming from…. I understand…. But … but … I don't want you to think for one minute that you have … to `prove yourself' to me in any way. That was never my intent, and I won't have it be like that. I think too highly of you…. I won't be spending the night, not … not now, anyway. I ought to be going, but I need you to know that … I do want to see you again."

Eloquent, it was not, but he had finally said what she needed to hear. They kissed again, even more passionately. With this kiss, Harry was newly tempted - he found himself starting to work his hands underneath the back of her jumper to caress the smooth skin on her back. When he became conscious of it, he stopped himself, and gently broke the embrace. He needed time to think, and perhaps to prepare.

As he was making ready to leave, Eliza asked him a question that confirmed that she had listened to him more closely than he had listened to her:

"Who did I sound so much like, Harry?"

"What?"

"A bit ago…. You said I sounded like someone," Eliza persisted.

Harry squirmed a bit, but told the truth nonetheless.

"Hermione. I thought that you sounded like Hermione. She can't get beyond my being rich and famous, either," he said with transparent sadness.

She had more or less expected that answer. It confirmed her suspicions about why he had reacted so badly - and why she had any chance at all.

"She wouldn't date you because of your fame and fortune, and you're still bearing the torch?" she diagnosed.

"Something like that," he mumbled.

"Don't worry, Harry," Eliza said in a half-whisper, placing her hand on Harry's cheek. "I'm not trying to replace her." She paused and spoke very carefully. "I know I can't be what she can for you, but maybe she can't give you some of the things that I can, either."

Harry looked at her with an unsure expression, and then he swallowed and nodded. Harry took her hand and kissed it gently. Maybe the Chinese solution was not actually so far fetched after all.

"I hope you're right," he said, not sure exactly what he was hoping for. He checked to make sure he had everything he had come with. "Bye."

As he Disapparated with a pop, Eliza said, "Till we meet again."

It was late when Harry trotted home from his Apparition point behind Mrs. Figg's house. His head was swimming, and all he wanted to do was get his Occlumency over and go to bed - maybe take a cold shower as well.

Tomorrow's training session with Hermione would be difficult enough, given the emotional spectacle in Eliza's flat. He only hoped that she would be in her withdrawn mode, rather than asking searching questions. Truthful answers could be embarrassing, and Hermione had proven fully capable of using her emotional link to him as a polygraph.

Thus, Harry had little patience for Dudley sauntering into his room just as he was folding himself into his lotus position. Stating the obvious, his cousin commented, "You were out late, mate. Did you get any?"

"No," Harry responded truthfully, but incompletely. He had no intention of telling Dudley that, for the first time in his life, the answer could have been "yes" - and that the decision to defer had been more his than hers. His cousin would never let him live that down.

"Well, better luck next time, eh?" Dudley leered. "At least you've got options. I'd settle for just one bird right now."

Harry said nothing. As he waited for his cousin to leave, he found himself wondering if Muggle Repelling Charms could be done wandlessly.

As it turned out, Thursday's training session with Hermione was better than expected - until the last ten minutes, that is. She was indeed in withdrawal mode. Whilst he noticed her furtive and pensive glances on a number of occasions, she never questioned him about the previous night's events. Their conversations were quick, guarded, and mostly consisted of her telling him not to go all twitchy over the upcoming tea.

The day's lesson was improvisational duelling. There were only a few new spells. Instead, the emphasis was upon new and unusual amalgamations of already-learnt magic. The two trainees were mastering techniques for putting multiple spells together - mixing transfiguration with a Banishing Charm so that, for example, a single wand movement could both change dead leaves into circular saw blades and send them whirling at an opponent.

The daily duel between Harry and Hermione was fought entirely with new combinations of old spells. He thought he was going to prevail after he successfully created a swarm of fire breathing mosquitoes and sent them over her makeshift revetment. She had conjured the fortification with a combination spell that transformed her leftover French fries from lunch into large logs and stacked them neatly around herself.

Expecting that she would be driven from cover any second, Harry noticed too late that not all of the little bright lights over the revetment were buzzing insects. She had responded with a quadruple spell - transfiguring the pesky insects into small mirrors, levitating the mirrors, positioning them so she could see his reflection, and splitting a stunning spell into dozens of separate beams. He was trapped in a hail of stunners reflecting off the mirrors. Whilst his reflexes made Harry one of the best at dodging spells, there were simply too many of them. Hit by three different stunners, he fell unconscious. He never heard himself being disarmed by Hermione's triumphant, "Accio wand."

Fortunately, Harry had other things to do than listen to Hermione's almost terminally smug dissection of her first-ever duelling victory ("I didn't use Expelliarmus of course because I might have hurt you"). Unbeknownst to her, he was going to Diagon Alley immediately after training to get the present he would give her on Friday.

Bill had told him about etiquette dictating that the young man invited to such an event brings a gift for the young lady. Hermione had confirmed it. Harry had also decided to buy something for Neville's upcoming birthday, which was the day before his. He had already decided what he was going to get Hermione - and this time it would not be a book. He still had no clue what to get Neville, so he was hoping for inspiration from something in a shop.

That was going to be difficult.

Given Harry's ability to attract a crowd, the Order was facing quite a chore just getting him in and out of Diagon Alley without causing some sort of riot. The entourage accompanying him included not only Bill and Dung, but also Tonks, Shak, and two other people whom he thought were also active-duty Aurors. Harry was under strict orders to stay out of sight until his handlers decided otherwise.

Harry was self-conscious that a relatively trivial shopping trip to Diagon Alley demanded so much scarce Auror time. He tried to apologise. "Shak, I'm really sorry that you … and everyone have to go through this. I mean, this is crazy. Four Aurors just so I can go shopping. What if somebody gets killed because I've pulled all of you away from what you should be doing…?"

Shak told him not to worry. "We're better off now than we have been in months, thanks to you. The goblins just took over guard duty in Azkaban. That's freed up over sixty Aurors for other duty."

"That's just great," Harry responded, feeling considerably less like a dead weight. "But still, my little frolic here must be tying up Aurors who really should be somewhere else."

"Think nothing of it," chimed in one of the men Harry did not know. "Dustin Redford, by the way…."

He stuck out his hand, and Harry shook it.

"…We're all volunteers here - working on our own time…. Time we wouldn't have if we were still stuck playing Dementors at that awful place."

"Yeah. Not to worry," Tonks added cheerfully. "Even with the heightened security level, there are still more Aurors than ever available to focus on Voldemort."

Two at a time - with Dung bringing up the rear - they Flooed to a large fireplace in the Leaky Cauldron's private dining room. Only Tom, who obviously had a part in the arrangements, was there to greet them. Exiting, Harry noticed that the Cauldron's public areas were virtually deserted. A first, he thought.

Even with Harry thoroughly Disillusioned, it was hard for a coterie of seven people, four of whom were active-duty Aurors, to travel through Diagon Alley without people figuring out that something was afoot. There were not very many witches and wizards on the street, and those who were walked fast, kept to themselves, and reacted to anyone they encountered as anxiously as a lone skinhead lost in Brixton.

The scrum that surrounded Harry was all the more noticeable on the otherwise uncrowded street.

Making his way through the warm summertime evening in the Alley, Harry kept close to Bill, staying only a step or two behind him. Diagon Alley was different, and not in a good way. The vibrancy that he always associated with the place was missing. The street vendors were all gone … except for a few shady pushcart peddlers selling protective talismans of dubious quality.

Almost every square metre of available space, even some of the shop windows, was posted with ugly Ministry bills - in purple, black and white. Somehow, the Ministry had managed to make even the colour purple look drab. Some of these posters were Ministry self-defence instructions. Harry's escorts snorted upon reading them, and then ignored them. Others were Death Eater wanted posters similar to what Harry had seen before, when his godfather had been a fugitive.

More than anything else, having a dozen animated images of Bellatrix Lestrange all leering at him at once made Harry wish he could conduct his business by owl post instead.

Shak led the way, which was probably a mistake because he was the best-known of the bunch - with his high rank in the Auror Corps and his naturally outgoing personality. That would be particularly necessary since he was likely to be seeking the Minister's job in the relatively near future. Sure enough, an irate witch stopped Shak in the middle of the High Street to complain about the recent Death Eater attack on Florean Fortescue.

When Shak stopped, Bill and Harry had to do the same. Then Tonks had to feign a talk with Bill so he did not appear to be aimlessly - and suspiciously - standing around. The two other Aurors stayed on either side, close to the shop entrances, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. Dung, under no such restrictions, prowled anywhere he wished.

The break in their progress gave Harry a chance to report to Bill that he had reached Blackie Howe and gotten the Potter Quidditch Trust off square one. Bill recommended that Harry hire other professional help - making a quite specific suggestion.

"Harry, you really ought to consider hiring yourself a good forensic accountant as well. I think you're going to need one," Bill warned.

"A what accountant?" Harry asked cluelessly.

"A financial accountant with experience in sorting out criminal or other types of questionable financial dealings," explained Bill.

"Why?" asked Harry, "I haven't done anything dodgy."

"Stop being a git, Harry," said Bill seriously. "Of course you haven't. But both the Black and Potter estates have operated for quite some time with nobody minding the till. I wouldn't even describe the Ministry's minders as providing oversight. You know how the prospect of easy Galleons corrupts Ministry bureaucrats. The affairs of the Black Estate are particularly likely to be bollixed. For years, everyone assumed it was going to belong to the Malfoys. Who knows what funny business has gone on with all that money? That's why you need…."

Bill stopped in his tracks. Tonks ran into him and they both fell down in a heap in the middle of Diagon Alley, drawing more suspicious stares. Only Harry's cat-like agility allowed him to avoid their fate.

Bill had a gleam in his eyes as he picked himself up. "Actually, you don't need an accountant at all - not a wizard one, anyway."

"What do you mean?" questioned Harry, puzzled by Bill's abrupt about face.

"What you need…" Bill said, grinning, "is someone expert in sorting out financial schemes … somebody absolutely loyal to you - and who can set things right immediately, without involving the Ministry's inept and sticky-fingered officials. I know just the right… er … being."

"Who might that be?" asked Harry, becoming more intrigued.

"I don't know his real name - I don't think any human does," said Bill. "Everyone calls him Bladvak. He's in charge of dealing with delinquent wizard accounts at Gringotts."

Finally, they reached Eeylops Owl Emporium, their first stop, and the only shop Harry was sure about. He stood on the threshold for several seconds allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim light within. Although festooned with the Ministry's posters on the outside, inside Eeylops remained one hundred percent owl.

Most of the shop was crammed with all sorts of owls in all sorts of cages. There were barn owls, horned owls, scops owls, and screech owls - even a couple of snowys whose white feathers that practically glowed in the half-light. A large cage contained a score of owlets resembling Ron's owl Pigwidgeon. Eeylops even had a couple of rare breeds Harry had never seen before. One cage had a sign identifying a Sumba Boobook, and another disclosed its resident as a Papuan Hawk Owl.

Above the Eeylops cashbox was a large sign reading, "Eagle owls shown by appointment only." Given the sheer number of birds, Harry was surprised by the relatively tolerable odour. He supposed there must be a Scouring Charm for that.

There were no shelves at all. Some cages rested on plinths, but most were suspended from the ceiling on chains of varying lengths - it recalled the Ashrak chamber after the battle, with dozens of severed chains hanging down. Against the far wall were a variety of owl supplies: cages (including a new self-cleaning variety, according to the sign on a particularly fancy one), feeding devices, toys, collars, delivery pouches, and other gear for working owls. For Hedwig, Harry selected a charmed plastic vole that actually moved.

Like the rest of the shops on Diagon Alley, Eeylops was almost deserted, with only a couple of other customers in the aisles. Bill and Shak approached a man who appeared to be the most senior sales assistant. After about fifteen seconds of whispered conversation, Harry saw the man's eyes grow wide. He strode quickly into the back room, and soon reappeared with an older man whom Harry supposed was the proprietor. Between the two of them, they hastily shooed out the other customers and levitated a "closed" sign into the window. Tonks then ended Harry's Disillusionment.

Once Harry had reappeared, he saw the older man's eyes make the familiar sweep across his forehead. The man introduced himself, "I'm Cameron Stanbury, and I've owned this shop for the past twenty years. I'm certain I can help you with any and all of your owl-related needs."

"I want to buy an owl for a friend of mine," Harry told him. "Er … I guess you've heard that enough times."

"Of course I have," Mr. Stanbury answered in a kind fashion. "I've even memorised a set of questions for just this occasion. Now this friend … male or female?"

"Female," Harry answered quickly.

"Related?"

"No."

"Your age, younger or older?"

"My year," Harry replied.

"Okay," he said thoughtfully. "Is she intellectually inclined, athletically inclined, or both?"

"Much more intellectual," Harry answered, adding, "But she's been working out more lately."

"Does she like jewelry, flowers … that sort of thing?"

"Umm … not really."

"Where's the owl likely to be kept?"

"At Hogwarts most of the year…," Harry answered mechanically. Then the reason for the question came to him. "…But during holidays, she lives in a Muggle house in a Muggle neighbourhood."

From Harry's answers, the old shopkeeper played a hunch. "This owl, Mister Potter, it's for Hermione Granger, is it not?"

Harry was taken sufficiently aback by the older man's intuition that to lie would have been impossible, even if he had been so inclined. "Er … yes," he answered.

"I read the papers," Mr. Stanbury explained, "and not many witches could fit her description. Not only does Miss Granger fill that bill; her being with you is not exactly a secret."

Harry was annoyed by this last remark, and had to bite his tongue. That was a good thing, as in his next breath Mr. Stanbury remarked that he had "just the bird." He disappeared again into the back room, and emerged with a large squarish cage containing an orange and brown patterned owl about two-thirds the size of Hedwig.

"This is an adult female Aluco Tawny," he explained. "She is from powerfully magical stock. Unless I use a particularly robust charm, she is capable of opening this cage by herself with only the touch of a talon, as far as I can tell. I bought her and a clutch of five chicks from a Greek wizard in sudden need of ready Galleons. He said the mate had been killed. I've sold off all of the chicks, but I've been keeping the adult female segregated - for some special customer. She's had quite a loss, since her kind normally mate for life. She answers to Athena."

"Why a special customer?" Harry asked with some suspicion.

"As I said, this breed normally mates for life," replied Mr. Stanbury. "Since she's lost her mate, she'll imprint strongly on the next living thing that acts like a mate - by providing her with food and closeness. Because of the strength of Athena's magic, I will not bond her with another owl in the shop, since that bond would only be broken again. It would be even worse to sell her to some frivolous Hogwarts underclassman with no appreciation of the bond. Miss Granger, however, seems to be a perfect solution."

Harry was agreeable. "How much?" he asked.

"Ordinarily, I would charge 25 Galleons for as capable a bird as this, but for you I will reduce the price to twenty."

Harry scowled as he reached for his wizard coin purse and carefully counted out 25 Galleons. "Here," he said coolly, "I don't require special consideration."

Before they returned to the Alley, Tonks grabbed the cage. Harry started to protest that he could carry his own purchases, but Tonks gave him her "use your head" look. Harry realised that if he carried the cage whilst Disillusioned it would look like it was bouncing along of its own accord. Whilst such things were hardly unheard of in Diagon Alley, they did attract attention. Attention would defeat the purpose of the Disillusionment Charm.

Having made the only purchase he had thought out in advance, Harry was unsure where to go next. A shop two doors down from Eeylops caught his eye. With its lurid yellow and purple décor it could hardly do otherwise. The purple stripes on yellow background - or was it yellow stripes on purple background - formed patterns of circles, squares and spirals that slowly moved in, out, and around. The sign over the door explained all: "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes" in half-metre-high red lettering. Harry told Bill that 3W would be his next destination.

If not packed, 3W was at least amply endowed with customers - doing far better business than the other shops. George was behind the counter manning the cash box as Bill and Shak entered. Looking up, George noticed them.

He loudly greeted Bill, "Oi, if it isn't my big brother, the French kisser. What brings a newly-minted bank executive to a humble joke shop? I can't see a goblin appreciating a Puking Pastille."

"It's not my choice, I assure you, little brother," bantered Bill. "I'm here because my ward wants to be here."

George had never been particularly fast on the uptake where Bill was concerned. "Wards?" he said. "Well, you're in luck. Our crack research department just invented a `Weasley Ward.' It's completely personalised … combination of Shield and Incognitus Charms. Guaranteed to stop all Grade 7 or under unfriendly curses and hexes for thirty minutes - of course, once you use it, everyone else sees you dressed in fuchsia leotards. Now Bill, I think you could manage that look, but Shacklebolt there.… I think he could do better. I'd have to modify…."

"No, you prat," complained Bill. "I'm with a ward, not looking for one. That ward just happens to be rather well-known to you - and quite Disillusioned right now."

George finally understood. He wordlessly mouthed "Harry" to Bill, who nodded. George seemed nonplussed - but only for a moment. With a "eureka" expression on his face, he turned the cash box over to a young lady he called "Verity." Looking around furtively, he slipped his wand into his hand and pointed it at a box on a nearby shelf that read "Deflagration Deluxe." He muttered an ignition spell.

Almost instantly the shop erupted in a multi-coloured blaze. Starbursts flew in all directions, trailing red and gold sparks as they ricocheted off of the walls stacked with merchandise from floor to ceiling. Stacks of Skiving Snackboxes and Nosebleed Nougats toppled. A shooting star crashed into a display of WonderWitch love potions, sending violently pink phials crashing into an adjacent cabinet of Weasley U-No-Poo constipation lotion. The combination produced a very odd - but not particularly unpleasant - odour.

"Still, I wouldn't want to touch that mess," George commented to nobody in particular as he regarded the ugly brown goo. "Until I've tested it … on some Death Eater."

Green and purple dragons burst forth, roaring and breathing bright yellow fire as they headed for the front doors. International orange Catherine wheels whirled through the air like so many UFOs. Several sparklers were writing very rude words in midair.

George screamed, "Magical accident! Everyone evacuate!" All the customers stampeded for the exit, nearly trampling Harry in the process.

It was all Bill could do to stop Shak and the other escort Aurors from cursing George into the next millennium. But Harry was almost doubled over in laughter.

In an instant, the shop was free of customers. Tonks - who alone among the Aurors appreciated George's efficient, if unorthodox, way of clearing the premises - took this opportunity to end the spell hiding Harry.

Someone else most assuredly did not appreciate George's technique. "You great prat, I'll snap your wand for this! What good is it for us to stay open late in times like this if you go scaring off all the customers?! At least we had some!" A furious Fred Weasley burst into view, the look on his face suggested that he just might carry out his threat.

Looking chastened, George mutely handed the wand he was holding to his twin brother. It discharged loudly and started beating Fred about the head and neck. Fred grabbed a Shield Hat from behind the counter for protection, and then ended the spell wandlessly. The fake wand fell to the floor.

Fred glared at George. George returned the furious look. For an instant it looked like the two of them would be at each other's throats. Then, without warning, both Twins burst out laughing. Fred also noticed Harry for the first time. "My most esteemed partner…," he began - and then stopped….

A residual red firework was whizzing straight for Harry. In less than the blink of an eye, Harry's wand was in his hand, and he shouted out, "Evanesco" as he ducked out of the way. The spell caused the firework to miss him, but only because it split into ten pieces, each as large and as loud as the original.

"No!" screamed Fred. "Disflagratus!" he shouted waving the useless fake wand in a wide circle. When nothing happened, Fred disgustedly threw it on the ground. He repeated the process with his own wand. Mercifully, the entire collection of blazing magic vanished.

"Great form, but wrong spell, Harry," Fred observed. "To what do we owe the honor of your presence in our humble establishment?"

"I was just in the neighbourhood," the boy explained. "I thought you would be offended if I didn't stop by."

"Spot on," agreed George, "but it would be far preferable for you to give us fair warning that you were coming. After all, we'd rather you attract customers, not drive them away."

"Sorry, but it was sort of a spur of the moment thing," Harry apologised. "I couldn't miss your premises, though. Who is your decorator?"

"Oh, that," Fred replied. "You can thank Lee Jordan for that. He's turning out to be quite the artist, but his day job.…"

"I'm looking for some unique party favours," Harry interrupted. "Do you have anything I haven't seen before?"

"Not only do we have something you've never seen before," spouted George. "We have something you'll never see at all."

"What's that?" asked Harry, confused once again.

"Shall I?" asked Fred.

"Please do," answered George.

Fred walked over to a box by the door. "And now, presenting the latest invention of Weasley Wizard Wheezes - the Portable Hole."

Fred scooped up a handful of small, flat black objects. He spent the next few minutes sticking Portable Holes in various locations around the shop and demonstrating their usefulness. He put one on the front door, and Harry could see out. He put one on the wall by the back door, stuck his hand through and opened the door from the outside. George grabbed one of the holes, stretched it out to about four feet in diameter, put it on the floor and leapt through it into the cellar. Then he pulled the hole in after him and vanished altogether. Fred put one in his robes and in a moment the contents of his inside pocket came crashing to the floor.

"I've got a hole in me pocket," he said, fighting back a laugh.

Harry laughed himself. He remarked, "If there'd been Portable Holes last summer at Grimmauld Place, your Extendable Ears could have been used much more effectively."

"Bloody brilliant!" Fred exclaimed.

"A born salesman," agreed George.

"An entrepreneur extraordinaire," Fred called back.

After complimenting Harry for his brilliant commercial acumen, the Twins immediately made plans to sell their holes and their ears in packaged sets.

Harry bought five of the holes at nine Sickles apiece, the hardest part being to get the Twins to take his money. They were very grateful for his assuming the expense of the patent lawyer they had so desperately needed. Now nobody else could sell Portable Holes.

The only thing left was a suitable birthday gift for Neville. Harry thought about a game of chance, maybe a wizard backgammon set - but found it incomprehensible.

He considered something associated with Herbology, Neville's favorite subject. A wizard dry goods store up the Alley had a magical transpotting kit in a dingy window display. But Harry rejected that idea as uninspired. Then Fred's threat to George flashed back into Harry's mind, and Harry knew what he needed to do. He asked his minders to take him to Ollivanders.

The Ollivanders wand shop - makers of fine wands since 382 B.C. - was just as narrow and shabby as Harry remembered it. Nobody else was in the shop when Harry and Bill entered. The shop was so cramped that the rest of Harry's minders decided to stay outside, except for Tonks, who thought Bill should have some on-site backup, just in case. A bell tinkled somewhere in the bowels of the shop as they entered. In due course, the tintinnabulation brought a wizened old wizard with silvery eyes shuffling to the counter.

"Harry Potter, eleven inches, holly, supple, with a phoenix feather core. How are you, and how is your wand?" asked Mr. Ollivander.

"You can check it for yourself," Harry replied, and with a flick of his wrist his wand was in his hand.

"A wrist holster, and obviously you know how to use it," remarked Mr. Ollivander. "Very impressive…. Very impressive, indeed…. Of course I expected no less. Extraordinary wands belong to extraordinary wizards." He touched Harry's scar with his long, pale fingers. Of all the wizards Harry had seen, only Voldemort himself had longer, paler fingers than the wandmaster.

"What can I do for you?" Mr. Ollivander asked. "You certainly don't need a replacement. Are you looking for a backup wand?"

Harry knew that he should buy a second wand. His Auror trainers had been after him to get a spare for weeks. Then he remembered the question Dumbledore had been unable to answer.

"I'm considering ordering a number of wands…"

At the prospect of a large sale, Mr. Ollivander grew even more attentive.

"If I got more feathers from Fawkes, could you make wands that would stop Voldemort with the Priori Incantatem effect? I'd outfit … some people … with them," Harry declared.

The bright look in the man's eyes vanished in a trice. "An excellent idea, Potter, but it ignores one crucial detail."

"What?" replied Harry, slightly petulantly.

"I'm sure Fawkes has gone through quite a number of burnings since yours and You-Know-Who's wands were turned," Mr. Ollivander explained. "Once a phoenix goes through a burning, the effect vanishes. You see, it's no longer the same animal - at least for wand core purposes. Believe me, if it were that easy, we would have made those ages ago."

That answer reminded Harry that he had not really been looking to buy a backup wand.

"That's too bad. It did seem too easy," said Harry thoughtfully. "Anyway, I'm actually looking to buy a wand as a present for a wizard who recently had an accident and lost his. Do you remember what kind of wand Frank Longbottom used?"

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mister Potter, every single one," declared Mr. Ollivander, examining Harry intently. "But I daresay, Mister Longbottom is not in a position to use a wand, and hasn't been for quite some time. What kind of accident could he have had? To give him a wand, in his present condition, would create a danger to himself or to others. I'm sorry, Mister Potter, I can't do that."

"Oh," gasped Harry. "It's not for him, it's for his son Neville. He'd been using his father's wand until recently, when his wand was snapped in an accident. He hasn't been able to replace it yet, and his birthday is approaching, so I thought I'd save him the trouble."

"Hmm…" Mr. Ollivander murmured. "It is not exactly optimal, since every wizard gets the best results with a personally selected wand. But since he was already using his father's wand, it can't help but be an improvement… All right, it was teak with a core of woven Occamy-shell silver, fourteen inches long and firm. It was an excellent wand for Defence against the Dark Arts. I have none like it in stock, but I can have one turned. How soon do you need it?"

"Er… His birthday is a week from today. How soon can you get it?" Harry asked.

"That depends entirely upon how much you are willing to pay, Mister Potter. Anything made to order is more expensive than an off-the-shelf wand. Ordinarily, I would say fifteen Galleons for the wand, with delivery in two weeks. I can special order it and move your order to the front of the queue for 25 Galleons."

"When would I get it, then?" asked Harry somewhat warily.

"I will place the order immediately, with highest priority, and it should be available by Monday, Tuesday at the latest. You won't be able to pick it up though, I'm afraid. How would you like it delivered, Mister Potter?" he asked.

Harry hesitated. He wondered about Mr. Ollivander's cryptic remark. But more than that, he had been instructed never to disclose his Muggle home address for any reason short of dire emergency. Before he could say anything, Bill intervened. "You can send the wand to my attention, care of Gringotts Bank."

Harry handed over 25 Galleons.

"Very well," Mr. Ollivander said, "but I don't consider this final."

"Why not?" Harry asked curiously.

"As I said, it is not optimal," the wandmaster replied. "Giving someone another person's wand does not produce the best magical results, I'm sure you know that. There are, however, things that can be done to improve matters. For that, I need to see Mister Longbottom personally, and I need to leave certain finishing touches undone until then. When the wand arrives, have the boy contact Albus, and he'll arrange something. Does that meet with your approval?"

Harry thought about all the times that Neville had looked so magically hopeless. He wondered if the problem might have been his wand as much as his ineptitude.

"Yes," he answered. "I'll get word to Neville and arrange it."

* * * *

Author's notes: Using Knightsbridge as a posh location is from the reference in the Rolling Stones "Play with Fire."

"Des res" is short for "desirable residence"

"Chopping tall cotton" is an African American phrase from my youth about possibly being in over ones head

The Imperius discussion is foreshadowing

Birnam Wood marching on Dunsinane is from Macbeth

Political influence by shoddy contractors exists everywhere

Brown University (Providence, RI) bears a slaver family name

The slavery factoids are from "The Slave Trade," by Hugh Thomas

Britain bans private firearms, but Hermione's father has a rather relaxed view of legality

Lafayette-Granger was deliberately chosen. The Marquis de Lafayette came to America in a ship named "Hermione"

The dental school references are accurate, including the Leatherman award

Harry's shaving becomes important

Sand, gravel and Portland cement form concrete. Add fluvius and the mix hardens

The "trademark the rumble" line is a reference to Harley-Davidson, which tried and failed to do precisely that

The line about rock `n roll being played loud is from the slip cover of the original Stones' "Let it Bleed" album

Harry's inability to detect Ministry surveillance by Occlumency is more foreshadowing

Captain Queeg is the martinet character in "Caine Mutiny"

The Portkey issue struck me as odd when I first read GoF, since I can't see any use Crouch had for the odd two-way Portkey

Harry ponders the age-old question of free will, as implicated by prophecy

Saville Row is a street in London known for upscale tailors. The Beatles frequented the place

Gordon Ramsey is a top London restaurant, at least now. I don't know about 1996, so call it creative license

The little alligator is the Izod emblem, beloved by preppies everywhere

All descriptions of Harrods (except magical references) are accurate

The cock and bull story Bill told "Morgan," contains clues

The spoilt milk incident will be revealed in time

Much later, in greatly changed circumstances, the Omnioculars do come in useful

"Money changes everything" is a Cindi Lauper song, and a suspicion that continues to haunt Harry

Gorgeous Galleon = pretty penny

The London Underground route to Kew Gardens is accurate, as are the exhibit descriptions, and the location in Surrey

The English Patient is another 1996 first run movie

Puttanesca is mentioned with a bow to A Series Of Unfortunate Events

Harry's prior non-passive snog will be revealed in time

In America we call the dessert Harry had "Baked Alaska"

The saying "moderation in all things" goes back to the Romans

The backstreet girl line is from an old Rolling Stones song

Dustin Redford is from the two lead actors from "All the President's Men"

Bladvak = "pickaxe" in Gobbledegook - a good nickname for a goblin debt collector

Owl species names are accurate

Portable Holes, including the "hole in me pocket" line, are from "Yellow Submarine"

Harry will pay for not obtaining a backup wand

If Voldemort's wand could be duplicated, it would have been tried; I give a reason why it can't be done

"Danger to himself or others" is the standard for civil commitment

- 72 -

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