“Harry! Come on in!” Hermione greeted him at the door. She led him into her parents’ house and up to the first floor where Ron sat cross-legged on the rug, packing books into boxes.

“It’s unbelievable,” Ron muttered. “It’s like she ’as every book Flourish and Blotts ever sold! Sometimes two copies!” He looked up. “Oh, hey Harry. Come give a hand, will ya?”

“Why don’t you just use a Pack Spell?” Harry asked as he stepped in and around the many piles on the floor.

“Uh…Hermione’s afraid of damage,” Ron said, glancing carefully up at her.

“Is your Pack Spell any better than his?” She demanded of Harry, blinking at him expectantly.

“Uh, let me just…help Ron, then,” Harry said. He took a seat on an already taped box to easily reach the teetering towers of books, presorted by size beside flattened boxes and a roll of tape.

Hours later, they hovered the last box down the stairs to a stack beside the front door. A rumbling shook the house, and Ron looked around in alarm.

“It’s just the garage,” Hermione said with a laugh.

“Oh.”

Mr. and Mrs. Granger came in from a side door. Mrs. Granger surveyed the many stacks of boxes. “Hermione, dear, I told you you could keep as much here as you wanted.”

“I want them all with me, though,” Hermione insisted sheepishly.

“Do I smell food?” Ron asked.

Mr. Granger waved two large paper bags. “We stopped for some take-away.”

As they settled around the small table in the kitchen to eat, Mrs. Granger said, “So how have you been, Harry dear? We don’t see you around nearly often enough, and I’m afraid with our baby…” She gave Hermione a half-hug. “…moving out, we probably won’t get much chance to see her friends either.”

Hermione lightly rolled her eyes. “It is just too complicated to commute, Mum. And we can’t have the hearth put on the Floo Network. We’ve been over this.”

Ron gave Harry a secret smile as Mr. Granger chastised his wife. “She’s not a child anymore. If you can’t let your kids go when they get a good job at a solicitor’s office, when can you?”

Harry opened one of the little white boxes in front of him. A solid mass of transparent noodles filled it to the brim. Mrs. Granger handed him chopsticks and a plate.

“I think I need a fork,” Harry admitted.

“Me too,” Ron also confessed. Hermione used chopsticks deftly to serve herself some rice and gave them both a superior glance. “I don’t eat with wands,” Ron said.

“So, are you still living at home, Harry?” Mrs. Granger asked, still sounding misty.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh, what a dear boy,” Mrs. Granger praised him.

Hermione rolled her eyes again as she ate a chunk of chicken soaked in thick brown sauce. “Mum, you are making me wish I’d moved out sooner.”

“Ah. Well. It is awfully nice of you two to help Hermione get her things moved.”

Harry was grateful for the hearty food, because by the end of the evening, he had carried more heavy boxes than he could count from the boot of Mr. Granger’s car up three flights of steps. Hermione insisted they couldn’t use any magic in such an open Muggle place. The one time Ron tried to cheat on this, a Muggle came down the building steps at a run and Ron had to pretend to drop the box and stash his wand inside while acting like he was trying to catch it.

Eventually, the three of them collapsed between stacks of boxes in the flat. “Can we order more Chinese?” Ron asked hopefully.

“I’ll make something,” Hermione said as she pushed herself to her feet and wandered over to the kitchenette.

“Oh dear,” Ron muttered.

“Hey, it comes out of a box, all right?” Hermione snapped, shaking the package of pasta. “I can follow directions as well as the next person. Better even, I should hope.”

“Can you bring Winky next time you visit?” Ron muttered.

“Are you moving in too?” Harry asked.

“Are you kidding?” Ron asked disbelievingly. “My dad nearly disowned me just for hinting at that. Aye.”

Harry arrived home to the darkened dining room five minutes after curfew. The hall was also nearly in darkness with only two candles lit in the chandelier. Harry crept up the steps past Snape’s room, risking a glance inside rather than ducking down, only to stop when he saw the room was unoccupied. Harry looked across at the darkened rooms on the opposing balcony, then leaned over the rail and saw that light shined in a line under the closed door to the drawing room.

“Huh,” Harry whispered to himself and continued on to his room and changed for bed.

A large box arrived in the post sporting a staid clothing company seal. Harry took hold of it to free it from the three burly owls carrying it. One of them nipped him as he untangled the last of the string from its feet.

“Hey, there,” he said sharply.

Harry set the box on the table to open it, sucking his finger between attempts to unknot the twine. Snape looked up from his evening tea, pulled out his wand and tapped the box, which obediently untied and sprang neatly open.

“Thanks,” Harry muttered.

“It amazes me what you do by hand,” Snape said as he tucked his wand away. “Especially considering your magic.”

Harry studied the contents of the box: a set of neatly folded black robes. Memory set in and he said, “It’s my official Auror’s robes,” as he pulled them out and laid them across his books.

They were made of a black silky material with velvet edging. He fingered the strange thin gold chain that ran from the side of the collar to the shoulder.

“Dress robes. Full Aurors have three chains, juniors have two. Tonks said we almost never have to wear them,” he added, thinking how odd they looked. When he moved to set the empty box aside, he asked, “What’s this?” of a black cloth bar spellotaped into the bottom of it. It had three bronze pips on it, each bearing a tiny pattern of stars.

Snape held his hand out for the bar and examined it. “They represent your three medals for special service to Hogwarts packaged in a more convenient form.” He put down his teacup and stood up before the robes.

Harry took the pin back and looked at it again. The black cloth fixed to the bar had tiny ridges on it and space for more pips. “Why would the Ministry give me this?”

“Hogwarts is operated for the Ministry of Magic, Harry, so they recognize that your service was to them as well.” He took the bar back and affixed it to the upper left breast of the inner robe before holding it up to Harry’s shoulders. “Try it on.”

Harry shucked off his house robe and pulled the new one on over his t-shirt and denims. It had looked too big despite being measured for him, but it fit perfectly. Snape tugged on the shoulders to pull it taut on him.

“Come,” Snape said, leading the way to the decorative mirror in the main hall.

Harry’s first thought upon seeing himself was that the chain on the shoulder wasn’t nearly as strange when he was wearing the outfit. It in fact looked rather official. His second thought was that he didn’t look like himself. His reflection was much too broad in the shoulders and strong in the jaw, accentuated as it was by the high collar of the cape-like outer robe which had long red-lined slits for his arms to pass through.

Snape stepped up behind him and considered Harry in reflection. The memories and yearnings this churned up unbalanced Harry and he glanced away, down at the sleek fabric.

“What is wrong?” Snape asked.

“I…Uh…” Harry hesitated, shaking the material out even though it hung perfectly.

“Does the robe evoke something unpleasant?”

Harry turned around to face Snape, putting his back to the mirror. Snape tossed his wide sleeve aside, reached out and unhooked the bar to pin it on straighter and a little lower. He again tugged on the thin velvet rolls at the shoulders to square it and straightened the cape over top after Harry freed his arms from it.

“It fits you well. I assume it was made to measure.” Snape took him by the shoulders and turned him around.

Harry allowed himself to be rotated. A side tug on the outer robe allowed his medal bar to show. It caught the light the way the chain did.

“Harry? What is it?”

Harry breathed in and said, “It reminds me of the Mirror of Erised.”

“What?” Snape blurted in near total disbelief.

“The mirror in the attic—”

“I am aware of the mirror to which you refer.” He touched Harry on the forearm and studied him in reflection before asking quietly, “You imagine this to be the Mirror of Erised?” as though stunned by asking. “You truly are that happy with your situation?”

Harry raised his hand. “This is what I’ve wanted. For years. I’m actually going to be an Auror. I have…you…looking proudly over my shoulder.” He swallowed hard and met Snape’s black eyes in the mirror, felt again the acute emptiness of losing the reflection of his proudly gazing mother and father when Dumbledore took the Mirror away. Remembered even more acutely the starved absence of its companionship for weeks, even months, after.

“What is wrong, then?”

Harry looked down suddenly.

“Legilimency doesn’t work in reflection if that is your concern,” Snape said.

“It’s not that. It’s just...” Harry said the first thing that rose up in him. “The Mirror of Erised wasn’t real. It was a lie. It was a trap.”

Snape considered Harry for a time. He sounded befuddled when he spoke. “I admit I am not understanding your difficulty. Getting everything you wanted is distressing you?”

Harry shrugged. “Seeing myself getting it. Seeing you…looking at me proudly.” Harry met his gaze fully this time. The writhing had settled into a steady ache just below his heart.

“Are you feeling guilty for appreciating this because it is me instead of them?” Snape asked, sounding curious only.

Harry lowered his brow and glared, surprised at how unbendingly willful he looked that way. No wonder people were reacting to him differently than they used to. “I thought you said you couldn’t use Legilimency.”

Snape sounded easy going, if not smug. “I can piece this together well enough from only your words and expression.”

With a larger toss of his hand, Harry said, “Maybe I feel guilty. I don’t know. But when they were in the mirror it was nothing but a horribly cruel lie. So maybe not. The reflection just brought it all back. And I had forgotten, really, how hard it all was.”

Snape slipped an arm around him, half covering Harry’s midnight black robe with the broad flared sleeve of his faded one. “This is not a lie what you see. And you are allowed to appreciate what you’ve become.”

Shoulders back, Harry said, “I know.” He smiled faintly. “And I do.”

Snape patted Harry’s chest twice. “Better?”

Harry considered the image again, the way he appeared to be shielded by his adoptive parent, the way that parent appeared fiercely unyielding.

“Better. Yes. Thanks,” Harry said.

Harry sat mixing practice potions in the Auror’s office. Behind him, Aaron was urging Kerry Ann to mix something hazardous for him to drink to get out of visiting his mum’s for dinner that evening.

“Purple spots with green stripes?” Kerry Ann suggested, half-serious, as she sorted through the bottles and baskets before her.

Glumly, Aaron said, “She won’t notice that.”

“Um, boils are easy, but you won’t want them on your bum, just your face.”

“Did that as a kid,” Aaron grumbled. “Worked the first four or five times, but I think she’s got wise.”

Bottles clinked as Kerry Ann went through the stocks on the supply table again. “Take Harry with you, then she won’t notice you’re there.”

Harry finally turned around. Aaron appeared thoughtful before shaking his head sadly. “I like Potter too much to do that to him.”

“You know,” Harry said, “there’s Weasley Wizard Wheezes for some real help.”

“That place the hordes of tykes are always gathering in on Diagon Alley?” Aaron sounded doubtful.

“I’ll take you there this afternoon if you want. Fred and George will be thrilled to help.”

“Can they charm me to turn into a man-sized chicken every time my mother utters the words, ‘find a nice to girl to marry’?”

“Uh…” Harry scratched his head, wondering if he should rein Aaron in before things got really bad, or just let the Weasley twins have a go. “Maybe. Be actually careful what you ask for, though,” he felt obliged to warn.

“All right,” Tonks said, rushing into the room. “We have to let you all off an hour early.” She started to leave then stuck her head back in the door. “Don’t get in anybody’s way as you go out. Everyone’s on edge.”

“What’s going on?” Harry asked before the door could close.

It reopened. “That would qualify as getting in my way, Harry,” she said, then once again nearly departed but stuck her head back in a second time. “But, someone’s cursed the Bakerloo tube line…Muggles’re trapped…it’s a mess.” She left for good then.

Aaron tapped his fingers on the narrow bench before him and said in annoyance, “Think we’ll ever be useful?”

Vineet said, “Presumably after our three-month examinations, the field experiences will prove more meaningful.”

“What?” Aaron said.

Vineet repeated, “We begin field shadowing in just a matter of weeks—”

“No, not that. I heard the word ‘examination’.” He sounded distraught.

Kerry Ann crossed her arms and considered him. “You didn’t take some kind of potion to pass the application, did you?”

“No. Couldn’t risk it, honestly. I just hate examinations: revising, reviewing, cramming, cracking…caffeine. I thought I was done with that,” he groused.

Harry hadn’t remembered this was looming either but he had not reread the training schedule booklet since he had scanned it in a happy daze when was first handed to him.

“Let’s go up to Diagon,” Harry suggested, “since we are getting off early.”

Everyone agreed and they walked through eerily quiet offices to the workout room to collect their things.

Diagon Alley was at its sunniest yet and Harry was super glad he had suggested this. Aaron and Kerry Ann stopped before the Apothecary window just inside the alley. Harry and Vineet waited behind them. A fully laden shopper stopped before Harry and, in apparent shock, dropped all of her packages.

Harry flinched, but Vineet took it in with his usual detachment, picking up two parcels that had rolled his way as Kerry Ann and Harry helped.

“Oh dear!” the witch, portly with very large glasses, kept repeating. Kerry Ann settled the packages back in the witch’s arms and opened the wall for her.

Aaron patted Harry on the back. “I take it back…you are dangerous.”

Harry growled and followed behind as they moved slowly through the crowd. “Harry!” a familiar penetrating voice called out, followed immediately by a unintelligible admonishment.

Harry turned and found Suze at a table outside Fortescue’s, her parents beside her, Mum leaning over to whisper something with an expression that put Harry in the mind of Aunt Petunia. Smiling, Harry crossed the alley.

“Haven’t seen you in a while. How are you?” Harry asked.

Suze grinned back. “Not bad. Bummed that summer’s going so so horribly fast. Boy you’ve got tall,” she said, voice tinted with jealousy.

Harry, who had no desire to spawn such jealousy, moved to introduce Vineet. “He’s in the Auror apprenticeship with me.”

“These are my parents,” Suze said. Harry shook each of their sober hands. “Want ice cream?” Suze asked brightly.

Mrs. Zepher began, “Suze, dear, I’m certain—”

“Sounds good. Great day for it.” Harry turned to Vineet. “Ice cream?”

Vineet nodded solemnly and Harry pulled over chairs for the two of them. Aaron and Kerry Ann must have gone on ahead. Harry couldn’t see them through the many shoppers. He pulled his chair closer to Suze’s and waved to the proprietor, who came bustling over and insisted on bringing Harry his usual free sundae.

Mr. Zepher, an average looking man in above-average robes, cleared his throat. “Very honored to make your acquaintance, Mr. Potter.”

Harry was saved from responding to this proclamation by the ice creams arriving. He settled for a polite smile and nod.

Vineet intoned, “You will be corrupted by such special treatment.”

Harry really could not tell if he was serious. “Um,” Harry stared at the dish, at the faint smoke wafting off the freshly scooped spheres of white in their pool of black sauce. “It’s melting. We’ll debate it later.”

“So, um, Vin…eet, right? Where are you from?” Suze asked, seeming fascinated by him.

“Cuttack,”

“Ah. Where is that?”

“Very close to Bhubaneswar, which is very famous, so maybe you have heard of it.”

“Nope. Sorry,” she confessed and ate the last two spoons of her ice cream quickly. “So you are going to be an Auror too?”

“I do hope to manage this,” he stated, sounding far less certain than expected.

“Don’t let his modesty fool you,” Harry teased and gave his companion a nudge with his elbow, which softened his stern expression. Harry, however, had learned to look for subtle clues in dark eyes, and saw the taint of doubt there. He frowned and said, “Vineet’s taken me down many times.”

“Only if you do not have your wand out.” Vineet crossed his arms. “Which is rarely the case. My magic inheritance is not so powerful, you see.”

Suze looked doubtful about this statement as she looked up at his dark countenance.

“Wondered where you’d got to,” Aaron said, coming up from behind, Kerry Ann in tow already laden with two big packages from Madam Malkin’s.

“Aaron, come meet Suze,” Harry said. “She’s the Slytherin Seeker.”

Aaron shook her hand vigorously and then pulled over yet another chair. It had grown very crowded around their tiny table.

Leaning far forward so they were eye-to-eye, Aaron keenly asked, “Thought maybe I recognized you. So, tell me about next year’s team.”

Suze’s eyes fairly glowed as she explained each expected team member and her hopes for new replacements. Her parents smiled weakly through this. Finally, she wound down and asked, “Are you coming to the matches?” while her eyes darted from Aaron to Harry.

“Most certainly,” Aaron replied gallantly. “Harry? Coming to watch Gryffindor lose miserably without you?”

Harry asked, “You’ve been going to all the matches since you finished school?”

“Nearly all. I rather like Quidditch and my house used to always win. And they will again, right Suze?”

“Oh, definitely,” she agreed, grinning at Harry.

“How ’bout you, Vishnu?” Aaron asked. “You have the physique of a Chaser. Do you play?”

“I thought you said your name was…uh…” Suze said.

“Only Mr. Potter…and my father, refer to me by the name Vineet,” he dryly explained.

Harry accused, “You introduced yourself to me that way.”

“Well, it is my name, but it is not what I am accustomed to being called.”

“Why didn’t you say?” Harry asked, pushing the last of his melted ice cream aside.

Vineet hesitated, an unusual thing. “I did not wish to correct you,” he finally replied.

“What?” Harry blurted. “Why not?” The Indian appeared suddenly quite uncomfortable. Harry couldn’t accept that someone with the calm confidence of this man would hesitate. “Vineet, you…can say whatever you want to me.” Harry balked simply at having to say that and at the same time, shook himself for still using his name. “It seems like an appropriate name for you though,” Harry observed, half to himself.

“Yes,” Vineet agreed as though Harry had said something more meaningful than Harry could grasp.

Aaron clapped them both on the shoulder. “Well, ice cream’s finished. Let’s get on to that store you were keen about.”

Kerry Ann laughed. “Everyone is overawed with Harry, except Aaron, who behaves like a boar.”

Harry, shaking his head, stood, said goodbye to the Zephers and told Suze he would see her at the first Hogwarts’ Quidditch match. On the way down the alley to the twins’ shop, Harry glanced at Vineet and found him as calm and detached as ever. “Do you want me to call you Vishnu?”

“It does not seem appropriate now,” came the quiet response.

“Okay,” Harry gave in.

They skirted an outside display of used broomsticks that took up half the alley.

Eventually, Harry uncomfortable with the notion of someone he was a little awed of being in awe of him in return, tried to say, “You aren’t…you can’t…ugh.” Harry remembered their very early conversation after the written test, when Vineet admitted he had been inspired to apply because of Harry himself. “Oh well,” Harry said.

They had reached the shop anyway.

Fred was minding the store and he greeted Harry warmly. “And who are your fine companions today?”

“These are the other apprentices,” Harry explained. “This is Kerry Ann, Aaron, and Vineet.”

Fred leaned close to Harry’s ear. “This isn’t some kind of bust, is it?”

Harry laughed. “No.”

“Ah, good,” Fred said jovially. “’Cause if they are half as good as you, I’d just turn over my wand now.”

Aaron leaned forward and said cockily, “We are all better at magic than Harry is.”

Fred looked alarmed. “Dark magic will never be the same.” He then smiled broadly. “But, what can I do for you?”

Grimly, Aaron said, “I require…assistance.”

“Sounds intriguing,” Fred breathed, rubbing his hands together. “I like a man with broad ideas about his needs.”

Kerry Ann, who had wandered over to the joke magical-object shelves and was examining a joke Remembrall, quipped over her shoulder. “He just wants to fake illness to get out of dinner with his mum.”

“Ah,” Fred said with happy relish and swooped around to collect a box from behind the counter, which he presented like a prize to Aaron. “Let me introduce you to our Advanced Skiver’s Snackbox.” He flipped open the lid with a practiced hand, revealing wooden dividers with multicolored sweets in each. “Arrayed before you is the world’s foremost collection of artificial illness concoctions available anywhere. Well, at least in Europe…we aren’t sure about the Asiatic Regions,” he added as an aside. “Well, anyway…each column affects a different part of the body. Depth of color affects degree. You may stagger, mix and match. Whatever’s needed. All are rigorously tested to guarantee the minimum of negative side effects. That is, other than the ones you’re trying to simulate.”

Aaron leaned over the box and read the little brass labels on each column. “Hands, Face, Hair, Stomach & Tract…” Here he stopped to grimace. “Musculature, Skeleton, X-tra limbs.” He looked up at Fred. “Seriously?” he asked.

“Oh, skeleton is not as hard as you might think. Nor as painful.”

“I meant the limbs.”

“I’ll let you know a little secret. That column was the end result of the accidental combination of the previous two concoctions.” Fred closed the lid. “Gets you out of anything though.” He held the box out, politely with two hands. “Interested?”

Aaron sighed. “Yep, I’ll take a box.”

Fred swooped away to wrap it up in a nice bag. He dropped in a scroll as well. “Included is a free sample of our latest invention, Hidden Insult Letter Parchment. The first time the receiver of your letter reads the middle sentence of your missive they will believe it contains one of three random insulting phrases, but when they subsequently reread it, it will have disappeared forever. Custom insults are available upon request for volume orders.” With a pleased grin he handed the bag over.

Aaron had pulled out the innocent looking sheet tied with a bit of blue ribbon and appeared terribly thoughtful. Kerry Ann hooked her arm through his and dragged him from the store. Fred called Harry’s name as they reached the door and when he turned, he tossed Harry a bag of watermelon sweets and gave him a little salute.

Out on the street, as they made their way back down the alley, Aaron said, “I remember those nutters from school. How did Hogwarts survive?”

“The twins quit early,” Harry explained with a laugh and held out his bag of sweets. Aaron immediately accepted one. Kerry Ann declined with a look of alarm. Vineet hesitated while giving Harry a bit of judgmental scrutiny, then took one as well.

“Hallo, Harry,” a familiar voice said from behind him.

Harry turned to greet Ginny, then introduced her to the others. She shook each of their hands, giving Aaron a second amused look when he acted overly formal and bowed.

“You here alone?” Harry asked, seeing Ginny’s Hogwarts list in her hand and no other redheads in sight.

“Yep.” With a sly look, she said, “You could keep me company…”

Harry chuckled, “I suppose. We finished early today, so I’m free now.”

“They abandoned us, you mean,” Aaron drawled.

At Ginny’s questioning look, Harry explained, “Our trainer got called away for an emergency. They’re really shorthanded.”

“That’s presumably why there are four of you,” Ginny said, eyeing them all again as though sizing them up.

“We know that’s why there are four of us,” Kerry Ann replied.

Aaron was examining his hands. “Hey, this might work, and they taste great.”

“Only five minutes of effect,” Harry warned him.

Someone bumped hard into Ginny as he passed in the crowd. “Excuse me,” Ginny sarcastically commented.

The figure turned and Harry recognized Nott Jr. “If there weren’t quite so much disgusting riffraff the street would be clearer,” he muttered directly to Ginny.

What happened next, Harry almost missed by blinking. Ginny dropped her wand out of her sleeve and started to raise it but a blue sphere of light appeared to restrain her. She jerked her hand hard against the resistance and it was released, but Vineet was holding her wand.

“Truly you do not wish to do that in such a crowded place?” he intoned with an undercurrent of threat.

Ginny was gaping at her empty hand. “How’d you do that?” she asked in complete surprise. Nott too was considering Vineet with intent curiosity. Vineet handed her wand back without a reply. Harry and the other apprentices exchanged impressed looks.

With a glance at Nott, Harry said, “I’ll follow you to the bookstore. Come on.”

Harry waved goodbye to his fellows. Ginny pocketed her wand with a faint blush and a dark look at Nott before she stepped away with Harry.

At Flourish and Blotts, Ginny headed to the textbooks, while Harry wandered upstairs. On a small table at the end of a shelf Harry found Muggle-proof book covers—self adjusting to any size from tome to trade. Harry picked up a package of these and not finding Quidditch books as interesting as expected, headed back downstairs.

Ginny was crouching before a bargain bin that looked unlikely to hold books for any years past third. When she spotted Harry, she stacked the loose ones back in quickly and turned to the table of new releases, appearing flustered. She turned to Harry and after a moment asked quietly, “Do you still have your seventh-year Potions texts?”

“Yep. Do you want to borrow them?”

“Could I?” Her voice was still low.

“Sure. I’ll owl them over or you can grab them on your way home.”

She turned back to the table, turning a book called Quick Magical Meals over to stare at the back of it. “There are so many new books on the list this year,” she said with a frown.

“You can borrow the Defense ones as well, or did you get those from Ron?”

“They’re all different this year. Professor Snape said he found much better ones…but much better means…”

“More expensive?” Harry finished.

She frowned. “Yep.” She flipped through the books in her cauldron and huffed. “Bill’s buying a house and Mum and Dad gave them part of the money for that, and I stupidly said…well anyway, I thought I had enough.”

“What other books do you need?” asked Harry.

“I don’t want you to do that,” she said, reaching for the list in her pocket, but not pulling it out.

“How about…as a birthday present,” Harry suggested just a bit playfully.

It had the desired effect. Ginny blushed and curled her lips into her mouth. “I suppose…I need Tabor’s Triumphant Intermixes yet.”

“For what class?” Harry asked, taking the list from her.

“Potions. I swear if Lockhart had written Potions texts, Greer would be assigning them.”

Harry peered into her cauldron. “You have everything for Defense, it looks like. Except the optional book.” He went off to find Prodigious Protection by Basel Batteringsly.

When they had checked out and stood at the store’s hearth, Ginny held her hand out for the other shopping bag Harry was carrying for her.

He withheld it and said, “You can stop by and get the others right now if you want. You need to start reading ahead.”

“You must be a fun date, Harry,” Ginny said, but she dropped her arm.

In the dining room in Shrewsthorpe, Harry pulled her books out of the bags and arranged them on the table in a grid by subject. “I’ll fetch the others for you.”

“Thanks.”

As Harry’s footsteps faded up the stairs, Snape stepped in. “Ms. Weasley.”

“Hello, Professor.”

“Prepared for another year?” he asked, almost amiably.

“Yes, sir. Looking forward to just being finished, to be honest.”

Airily Snape said, “We will certainly make every attempt to insure the additional time is worth your while. If possible.” He noticed the books on the table and picked up the Potions one. “Is this what Greer assigned?” he asked in dismay as Harry returned.

“Hello, Severus,” Harry greeted him.

“Yep,” Ginny confirmed. Harry gave her the other books he had, including his N.E.W.T. preparation books. “Too early to think about that,” she groaned but picked one up to peruse it.

“Staying for dinner, Ms. Weasley?” Snape asked.

Ginny froze, mid-page turn. “Sure,” she replied, mood immediately brightening.

At dinner, Ginny sat beside Harry and across from Snape. As she served herself from the heaping platter of golden roast chicken, Ginny dreamily said, “I have to have a house-elf when I get a place of my own. I’ll just hide the thing from Mum when she visits.”

“And your dad,” Harry, sitting across from her, pointed out.

“Think so?”

Harry nodded knowingly.

“Piffle,” she breathed. After several silent bites, Ginny said, “So, Harry, I gotta ask, why Ms. Fashion Queen?”

Harry froze, believing she was referring to Tara and utterly unable to fathom how she knew they had gone to a party together, although it had turned out to be a rather nonromantic evening. Snape too seemed interested in the answer to this.

“What?” Harry managed to ask.

“Betty C., the winner of the essay contest?”

“Oh,” Harry said and then huffed. “I don’t know how to explain this—”

“I mean really,” Ginny criticized. “So not your type. Come on, didn’t the second runner-up just have you pegged?”

Harry bore the accusing look from his guardian, started to speak, but then heard something in Ginny’s tone. “You wrote the second runner-up essay? I glanced at it. I’m certain I didn’t see your name.”

Ginny blushed fiercely. “I used a pen name…wait, you glanced at it?” Harry didn’t reply. Ginny frowned and muttered, “I was going to win the contest and surprise you at the date.”

“Skeeter didn’t promise a date with me,” Harry returned.

Ginny served herself seconds of potatoes. “She implied, I thought.” She forked potato into her mouth, swallowed and asked Snape, “So what do you think of Romeo here?”

Snape lifted his chin and said, “As long as he stays out of trouble, he may do as he pleases.”

Harry focused firmly on his bean salad. Ginny followed up with, “So what do you consider trouble?”

Sternly, Snape replied, “Harry is well aware of what constitutes trouble.”

“Hmmmhmm,” Ginny hummed. “So funny to see someone actually keeping you in line like this, Harry,” she mused. “As opposed to just the teachers at…oops, I guess that’s still true.”

After seeing Ginny off, Harry, despite great reluctance, went to the library to review. Snape followed and took a seat at the small desk in the corner and opened an unusual purple-covered leather book and began to read.

The first book Harry pulled out, one on the history of Wizengamot decisions involving detention, didn’t hold Harry’s interest. He reached down to the shelf where his new gold bookmarks were arranged, started to grab the one with an outline of a Welsh Green, but then decided on the Bulgarian Burcock instead.

None of the books he needed to read from seemed all that interesting. Yawning, Harry decided to write a few letters instead. Because his nose was buried in his file of loose letters, Harry did not notice the odd attention Snape gave to this sequence of activities.

Harry found his most recent letter from Penelope. It was almost two weeks old, the longest gap in their correspondence yet. The letter was only one page and talked a lot about the changes of summer, which she observed more than anyone Harry knew, or maybe in the mountains these things were more impactful.

When Penelope mentioned at the end of her letter that her parents were off to Egypt for three weeks, Harry’s thoughts slid to Elizabeth. After visiting her rather often, Harry had stopped, and he wished he felt better about doing so. As baldly upfront as she was, he missed talking to her. Or perhaps it was because she was so blunt and made others around him seem to be extra careful of his sensibilities. Well, except Snape, of course.

Harry picked up a quill from the shelf beside him and penned a letter asking Penelope for advice. He dearly hoped she wouldn’t be offended but once he considered it, he found he wanted her thoughts on the situation of his desire to avoid a conflict with Mr. Peterson. Just writing it all out seemed to help reduce his frustration, although he had probably not described his neighbor’s father in a particularly fair light.

He sealed the letter up and called Hedwig down to take it away. She hadn’t gone any great distance lately and she flew off agreeably, the letter clutched in her claws.

A barn owl arrived shortly after. Harry recognized it and found himself eagerly opening the letter from Tara. She wanted to know if he was free that Saturday. Doesn’t give much warning, Harry thought to himself, as this was Thursday. Ron and Hermione had discussed getting together, but nothing definite.

Harry mulled over being the odd one in a threesome versus inviting Tara along, which he resisted doing before he himself had got a chance to get to know her. In the letter Tara suggested visiting a castle followed by a quiet dinner in the village where she lived, which sounded easy and appealing. Harry penned a note back saying he would be happy to join her. Her owl took the note back out the window as though ordered by its mistress to return quickly.

Harry found himself not reading very much after that, but spending a lot of time staring at the page before him. He had to admit that having someone as attractive as Tara wanting to spend time with him made it easier to give up the battle with Mr. Peterson. He resisted weighing the two women in his mind since he didn’t really know if Elizabeth liked him more than just friends.

Well, he was looking forward to Saturday, anyway.

Friday, after helping Hermione and Ron assemble furniture—mostly bookshelves, lots of bookshelves—for Hermione’s apartment, Harry gratefully sat down to dinner back at home with Kali on his shoulder.

Ron’s and Hermione’s patience had grown short with each other and Harry had insisted that Snape wanted him home for dinner as a way of giving them some space and getting himself some relief.

The clouds hung dense overhead so candles had been lit on the table even though it was not particularly late in the evening. Harry liked the candelabra. It was a heavy, soot-blackened ironwork figure that made one think of flying serpents. His Aunt Petunia would have tossed it in the dustbin while wearing a thick oven mitt, just in case.

Snape came into the room, and held out a letter addressed to both of them. It was from the Weasleys and it invited them to dinner next week.

“Sounds nice,” Harry said, hoping they didn’t feel obliged after the two of them had hosted Ginny.

“I will respond to them, then,” Snape said, putting the letter into the pocket of his dressing gown.

As the meal arrived, Kali climbed down to perch on the back of the neighboring chair and sampled the scents from closer in. Harry fed her some choice strips of tender roast beef which were quickly devoured. Snape didn’t seem to care that she was there. In fact, he seemed distracted.

Before the dessert course he went out of the room with purpose and returned as Winky carried in a tray with ice creams, including a tumbler with a teaspoonful, which the elf placed before Harry. “For the beast,” she squeaked.

Harry laughed and held the small glass up to his shoulder where the now sleepy Chimrian was drooping lazily. She sniffed the tumbler curiously but didn’t seem to grasp that it might be edible. Harry put the tumbler back down and reached for a spoon from the tray, which Winky had unusually left on the table and more strangely, had six spoons on it in a little pile. Thinking that he would never understand elvish behavior, he selected one from the bottom of the pile and dug into his ice cream.

Saturday, Harry carefully put on nice Muggle clothes, followed by his cloak to protect them, even though it was too warm. He had accidentally spent so much time getting ready that he was in a rush when he called out to Snape that he was going and wouldn’t be back until late. Snape was ensconced in the drawing room as usual and Harry didn’t wait to hear a reply.

Harry was in a hurry because he had to use the Floo to get to Twickenham, then use a broom to get to the village of Appledown where he was meeting Tara. In Appledown, after a rushed flight, Harry landed in a shadowy alley and tried to straighten his wind-blown hair with his hands. He gave up with a sigh, put an Obsfucation charm on his broom and, just in case, set it upright beside a shop dustbin.

Just before the street, he backed up and tucked in his starched white shirt more carefully and shook out his cloak, thinking with a twinge of how smartly dressed Tara always was. With another sigh, he stepped onto the pavement and walked along toward the castle.

As he passed a pub with tables crowded up to the street, someone said, “Nice cloak,” in a less-than-complimentary way.

Harry turned, hesitated, and then fixed his gaze on a soft-fleshed man in his twenties, holding a cigarette and a beer glass in the same hand. His mates were chuckling. Without intending to, Harry studied each of them as though gauging whether they represented real trouble. They all sported red-rimmed eyes as though the drinking had been going on since lunch. Harry took in their clothes and appearance as he had been instructed: colors of hair, shirts, jackets, who had facial hair or glasses or scars, who seemed nervous. None of them looked bright enough to make any decent trouble, frankly. By the time Harry’s careful scrutiny returned to the original speaker, the man looked wary. Harry scoffed and with a swish of his cloak, walked on.

At the gate leading to the museum, Tara greeted Harry warmly, all smiles. She had already paid the admission, so he simply followed her inside the grounds. They wandered across the open exposed lawn to a half-ruined tower, its fair stone lit attractively in the late afternoon sun. It wasn’t necessary to read the cracked plastic signs as Tara was happy to impart all kinds of local history as they circled what had once been a dovecot. Harry found himself liking how unselfconscious Tara seemed now, it was a nice change from how she had been before.

They crossed over to a white gravel path that led to a small fountain surrounded by a few sculpted shrubs. “I’m doing all the talking, I think,” she finally said sheepishly.

“If you want me to give the tour,” Harry teased, “it will either be very short or very silly.”

With a bright laugh, she said, “Go ahead then.”

They were just at the heavy oak doors leading into the main castle. Only a smaller, man-sized door was actually ajar, built into the larger door at the seam. Harry stalled until they were inside, beside a grotesquely ornate, eight-foot high chest. Harry turned from the sight of it and the pained faces carved into the corners.

Taking a deep breath, Harry began, “Well, who’d you say…oh, yes, the Whithershin’s family crest, seen here…” He gestured at a faded wooden shield on the back of the massive door, composed of a rearing white dog beside three black blades. “Portrays the dreaded sword fighting Chihuahua—”

Tara’s burst of laughter, quickly covered, echoed through the large hall. An older couple turned from where they stood before a large red tapestry and gave them dismayed glances.

“…that protected the family fortune, formally hidden in the keep.”

They moved from the entrance toward the center of the hall, where a very long table surrounded by age-discolored chairs barely made a dent in the space. Tara forced a straight face and pretended to listen attentively.

“Unfortunately, the family suffered a serious blow in the fifteen hundreds, when the doves, which the Chihuahuas had been trained to not attack, carried the jewels away to a rival’s kingdom.”

The other couple had moved on so the two of them stepped to the tapestry which had been considered important enough to be printed on the ticket. It displayed a hunting scene with many dogs milling in a pack and one dashing figure on horseback large in the foreground with a horn just hovering at his lips. The trees behind him obscured the other riders.

“Then what happened?” Tara asked.

“Oh, well, the duke was forced to ransom all the attractive furniture to his rival. Hence, we are left with what you now see here. All but the famous…”

“Call to the Hunt,” she supplied, fighting a grin.

“All but the famous Call to the Dogs which was the duke’s most prized possession. For reasons that are unclear.” Tara still looked expectant, so Harry went on as he thought things up, “The tapestry survived only because when his rival came to take away the home decor, it had been folded up to be used as a bed for the attack Chihuahuas. The rival’s famous words are remembered to this day, That is a very big dog bed for such small dogs. But he was fooled, and we can be grateful that we can still enjoy this tapestry here today…rather than ten miles down the road at the next castle museum.”

Grinning, Tara shook her head. “Okay, so I’ll take over the commentary again…for a little while.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

“Really?” she said, laughing, “I didn’t get that sense at all.”

After seeing what Harry hoped was every last room of the castle, they sat outside on a stone bench in the fading light. Swifts dodged around overhead, black against the deep blue of the sky. The darkness pressed in as it settled over the grounds.

“The reservation’s not for another half an hour,” Tara said, glancing at her dainty wristwatch. “They’ll light the torches when it gets darker. It is a really romantic spot when they’re burning.” Her gaze was far away as though seeing the scene in her mind.

Harry glanced around them and seeing no one watching even though it felt exposed, pulled out his wand and aimed an Ignitio at each of the torches framing the doors and the corners of the castle. Tara stiffened and glanced quickly around before relaxing with a snort. After Harry stashed his wand he looked over at her again, surprised to find her smile gone.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked.

“Nothing.” She shifted as though thinking of standing up. “We can go a little early…”

“You didn’t like me doing that?” Harry asked.

“No, it was really sweet of you to do that.”

“Oh.” Harry remembered Penelope’s sudden sad turns and swallowed a sigh.

Despite her words about departing, they sat in the quiet, flickering light until it was time to leave. Harry had toyed with the thought of shifting a little closer, but Tara seemed too inwardly focused.

Tara returned to herself when they reached the warmth of the restaurant. It was finished inside with glass and wood and despite being rather elegant still felt boisterous.

As they ate Harry felt attention on himself and looked casually around the room as if admiring the decor. No one seemed to be looking their way. Used to being the center of attention when he didn’t want to be, Harry ignored the feeling. Tara watched him scan the room a second time and excused herself. She returned from the ladies room in a quieter mood.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She pasted on a smile. “Nothing. It’s a nice evening.” But her expression became distant again soon after.

Harry said, “Should I start giving you the history of this restaurant?”

Tara nearly spit out her potatoes, but her smile was worth it.

After the long meal Harry fetched his broom and re-met Tara on the pavement. “You’ve got it?” she asked.

Harry nodded. He was holding his hand behind his back so he didn’t draw attention to his Obfuscated broom. “I should get going. I have a bit of a flight to get to the Floo network, although I could try and Apparate, I usually only do that when I’m super familiar with someplace. I don’t want to be a headline.”

“Don’t go all the way back to Twickenham on just a broomstick. You should just take the Floo from my parent’s house.”

“If that’s all right. It would be easier.”

Strangely resigned yet determined, she said, “Come on,” and gestured for him to follow.

He did, until the end of the road where she stopped beside a Citroen parked before a shuttered bakers.

“You have a car,” Harry said.

“Yeah,” she said, unlocking his door by leaning over inside. “Get in. My parents live two kilometers out of town.”

Harry took the passenger seat, which seemed to wrap around him, unlike the big seats in either the Weasley-borrowed cars or his Uncle Vernon’s car.

“This is yours?” he asked conversationally, adjusting the little louvers for the air vent beside him. The car seemed full of little adjusters.

She put the key into the ignition, but dropped her arm without turning it. “I’m afraid, Harry, that you may be mistakenly thinking that I’m a witch.”

Harry froze with his hand on a little knob beside the window whose little movements seemed to magically make big movements in the side mirror. “Maybe.” And maybe it was that they were wrapped up in the car, but now it seemed obvious she wasn’t.

She breathed out, which sounded loud in the enclosed space. “I also am thinking that you probably wouldn’t go out with a Muggle, or even a Squib,” she stated slowly.

“Oh, no. I don’t care,” Harry quickly said.

She stared at him in the dim light. “How can The Great Harry Potter not care?” she challenged.

“The what?” Harry asked, sounding dangerous.

Her mouth worked silently before she said, “You really don’t care?”

He let go of the interesting little mirror adjuster after getting the headlights approaching from behind to not shine in his eyes. “No. I really don’t. I haven’t thought about it at all because I really like you.”

“Oh.” She finally turned the ignition. “I should have said something sooner. I’m sorry.”

“I think because Rick…and then the owls back and forth. Well, I probably assumed like an idiot that everyone who knows me is magical. I just knew that it was okay to use magic around you and didn’t think beyond that. You never really lied about it so don’t apologize.”

She leaned one way then the other before pulling out of the parking spot. “True.”

They rode in silence until slowing on a quiet street where the houses were far apart.

Tara said, “My mum and dad are only weakly magical. They moved here because they wanted me to grow up a normal Muggle. We only got on the Floo Network a few months ago. When I was young I wanted horses when I turned twelve because I couldn’t ride a broomstick, so they bought me and my brother one each even though I’m certain it was a strain to manage it.”

“You have two horses?” Harry asked, glancing into the dark shapes that could be barns behind the house they had parked beside.

“I have three now. Do you want to come over and ride them?”

“I’d love to,” Harry replied, remembering the beasts at the Freelander estate. Wanting her to not feel like she was missing out, he said, “In some ways they seem better than a broomstick.”

“I’ll owl you. I’d really like that. I don’t get out here much I’m so busy. I keep expecting my parents to suggest selling them.” She got out of the car and came around to Harry’s side. Lights had come on in the front of the house. Quietly, she said, “Okay, second confession of the night. I did not tell my parents I was out with you, and I hope they don’t utterly embarrass me, but I couldn’t make you fly back to Twickenham, so please bear with them.”

She opened the front door of the house and a female voice from the back called out, “Hello dear. I didn’t think you’d have time to stop by.”

“My date is just going to use the Floo, if that’s all right,” Tara called out, gesturing quickly for Harry to go into the room on the right, which was small and decorated with curly antique furniture.

Harry moved toward the grey marble hearth along the inside wall. Many ugly vases lined the mantle as well as a crystal ball and a family portrait taken in front of what must have been a Quidditch stadium although a Muggle might think it a Middle Ages fair.

The voice was closer, “Of course dear, but shouldn’t you offer the young man or woman some tea?”

Shouting back, Tara said, “No, he really has to get going.” She whispered, “If I tell her you have curfew, that’d be worse.” She kissed him quickly on the lips, “I had a nice time.”

“Me too. Thanks for the tour,” Harry said, fighting a flush. He propped his broom in the crux of his arm to take out his canister of Floo powder. He stopped rushing when a matronly woman came into the room, drying her hands on a tea towel.

“Well, dear, you should introduce us at least. You think your dear mother doesn’t take an interest in your dates because you are moved out, but she does. Hello, dear,” she said kindly, holding out a hand, which Harry shook after juggling the canister back into his pocket.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

Her smile faded after her eyes roamed his face. “My goodness, you look…just…you are, aren’t you?”

She hadn’t released his hand and her grip had grown tight. “Yes,” Harry admitted, relaxing his hand in the hopes that she would give it up.

“Mum,” Tara prompted and Harry was freed.

Harry expected some kind of impressed pleasure at her recognizing him, but it failed to materialize.

Tara’s mother backed into the hall with a polite smile and shouted. “Gerald, come down here.”

Harry found Tara equally confused. Footsteps sounded on the stairs and then a very average looking wizard in a worn dressing gown, holding a smoldering pipe, appeared in the doorway.

“Yes, dear?”

“Come and meet Tara’s date for the evening,” she said evenly. She seemed to have recovered herself, because she did a proper introduction.

“My stars,” was Mr. Terrance’s reaction, also thoughtfully subdued.

Harry found himself going on alert, even to the point of feeling around himself for anything dark, although he only ever sensed things at random rather than at will. It seemed an ordinary house.

“Harry really can’t stay for tea,” Tara prompted. “He has to get going.”

“Perhaps next time, dear,” Mrs. Terrance said kindly, sounding normal now. “Although it would be interesting to hear how you met.”

“At a coffee shop,” Tara supplied at the exact instant Harry said, “At a dance club.” He fell silent and let Tara amend. “Well, we did meet very briefly earlier this year at a dance club, but uh, we had more chance to talk at the coffee shop. Well, Harry needs to get going,” she insisted, steering Harry around to face the hearth. “I’ll owl you,” Tara said as Harry departed.

An owl arrived from Tara the very next morning. She apologized for her parents and asked if Harry wished to go riding the last Friday of the month. She promised her parents would be on better behavior, that they were somehow harboring the notion that being around Harry for any amount of time could be terribly dangerous. Harry sighed and replied on the back of her letter that he would love to try riding and sent her family’s owl back to her.