Breakable Heaven 03

III.

Harry & Eloise

(March to April 1811 … Three years and three months earlier)

Harry first noticed her during a Quidditch match.  He was looking for the golden snitch when he flew past a section of Ravenclaws, and he caught a glimpse of her bright blue eyes and pale pink lips.  He almost flew back across the section to get a better look at her, but a match was on and he had his Gryffindor pride to consider.

After the match was won, Harry flew down and tried to find a glimpse of her again, but she was gone.

That did not stop Harry from searching for the elusive beauty. 

Ron was of the opinion that it was only a matter of time before Harry and Ginny got back together (they had broken up rather publicly during a Hogsmeade weekend when Harry had caught her snogging her ex-boyfriend, Michael Corner)—but Harry was well done with her.  The more he considered Ginny, the more he considered her a poor copy of his mother, Lily Evans Potter. 

Lily had been vivacious with long auburn hair and bottle green eyes, and she had loved Harry so much she had given her life for him when Lord Voldemort had threatened his life. 

Ginny Weasley’s hair was not auburn but instead was a true Weasley ginger, which was harsh on the eyes.  Her gaze was a dull brown, and instead of excelling at academics, she was Quidditch-mad.  Quidditch was everything, but Harry preferred soft curves to Quidditch toned muscles.—which brought him to the mysterious Ravenclaw beauty.

The celebratory party in Gryffindor Tower lasted all night.  If Ginny tried to get him alone to kiss him, Harry assiduously avoided her. 

The next morning, Harry got up before anyone else in his dorm, got dressed, and went down to the Great Hall.  He sat down and had a cup of tea and looked over at the Ravenclaw table, watching as each and every Ravenclaw showed up for breakfast.  Not even Hermione coming in and greeting him could distract Harry from his observation.

Shortly after seven-thirty, two Ravenclaw girls walked in.  One was slight with strawberry blonde curls with small spectacles on her nose.  The other witch had brown hair that was elegantly placed on top of her head, bright blue eyes, and pale pink lips.  They were both dressed in pureblood black.  As if sensing Harry’s gaze, the beauty looked up and locked eyes with him, a question in her gaze, before turning back to her friend.

And so began the campaign.  Harry had to learn the mysterious witch’s name.  The problem was he did not know many Ravenclaws.  Terry Boot was one, but he needed someone who would like to gossip—because romance, and this would indeed be a romance, always started (and ended) with gossip.

The first person he approached was Parvati Patil, whom he had taken to the Triwizard Tournament.  She was the Queen of Gossip in Gryffindor Tower along with Faye Dunbar, another Gryffindor sixth year.

Pavati was fortunately sitting with Faye Dunbar in the Gryffindor common room that night, and Harry took a seat across from them.

“Ladies,” he greeted.

Pavati looked up in curiosity.  Dunbar kept on scribbling until she finished her sentence and then gave Harry her attention.

“What can we do for you, Black?” Dunbar asked, her light green eyes flashing.

Harry would never get used to being called ‘Lord Black’ or even ‘Black.’  Some of the pureblood students called him ‘Black’ because of the title he inherited through his paternal grandmother, Dorea Black, once his godfather Sirius Black had died.  He was still ‘Potter’ to Muggleborns and half-bloods, and he was still called ‘Potter’ in class, but the old guard called him ‘Black.’

Still, that was neither here nor there for his campaign.  The mysterious beauty was undoubtedly a pureblood, so until he got on first name basis with her, Harry would most likely be ‘Black’ to her—or so he assumed.

“I was wondering,” Harry asked Pavati and Dunbar carefully, “if your sister Padma could help me with something.”

Pavati raised her eyebrows in confusion.  “What could she help you with?”

“The name of a Ravenclaw student.  I don’t know her year,” he confessed.

Dunbar smiled slyly and exchanged a quick glance with Pavati.  “Is she your next girlfriend, Black?”

He looked at her.  “I don’t want to be part of the rumor mill,” he warned, even though he was well aware of whom he was speaking to.

Dunbar held up her hands in surrender.  “I am the soul of discretion.”  This, Harry knew, was patently false, but he didn’t say anything.  Still, he was on a mission.  The mysterious Ravenclaw was quite possibly the most beautiful witch he had ever seen, and he definitely wanted to pursue her, especially since he had defeated Voldemort the summer before his seventh year.  He was unfortunately more famous than ever—as the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, and now the Defeater of the Dark Lord—but now he didn’t have potential death weighing on him.  It was time to live his life.

“I can ask Padma to come over during breakfast tomorrow when I see her,” Pavati put in, once again glancing at Dunbar.  “I’m sure she knows who you’re looking for.  You sure you don’t know her year?”

Harry shrugged.  “Fifth year?  Sixth year?  I would know if she was a Seventh Year.”

“Hmm,” Pavati mused.  “We’ll get this sorted.”  She smiled at him kindly.

Dunbar then moved to the side as if she had just been kicked under the table.  “I won’t say a word,” she promised again.  “Though I am interested to know who this Ravenclaw is.”

“Not a word,” Harry warned as he stood up from his seat.  “I need to get back to my N.E.W.T. essays.  Hermione will have my head if I don’t.”  And wasn’t that just the truth?

Harry stayed up late into the night perfecting an essay for Professor Wigman, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and finally got to crawl into bed at two in the morning… only to get up at six-thirty so he could try and catch the mysterious witch at breakfast.

He was half asleep in his tea the next morning when the same two witches came in together, this time in their uniforms.  However, this time Malfoy appeared right behind them and grabbed the strawberry blonde around the waist and escorted the two witches to the Ravenclaw table.

This definitely had Harry’s hackles rising.  He watched as Malfoy took a seat next to the strawberry blonde and poured her a cup of tea, and then witnessed as the mysterious beauty with the sharp blue eyes stole a piece of toast from Malfoy’s plate.  She was friends with Malfoy?  That only made sense, he tried to reason, if her friend was dating the blighter.  Still, Harry didn’t have to like it.

He glanced down the table and made a signal to Pavati urgently, and she quickly jumped up from her seat, coming to where he was sitting, and leaned over to talk to him.  Unfortunately, Hermione was sitting right next to him, reading a textbook.  Ron hadn’t made it down to breakfast yet.

Harry pointed to the Ravenclaw table.  “See Malfoy,” he indicated.

Pavati looked over.  “With Astoria Greengrass, yes.”

“Is she the one with the glasses?” Harry checked.

Pavati looked at him worriedly.  “…Yes,” she replied hesitantly.

“The Ravenclaw I mentioned is the one with the blue eyes and dark brown hair across from her.  She seems to be good friends with Greengrass.”

Letting out a long breath in what seemed to be relief, Pavati then patted him on the shoulder.  “I’ll go check with Padma now.  No time like the present.”  She stood up and walked away down the table.

Hermione was looking at him with her eyebrows raised.  “What are you up to, Harry?”

“Er—” he tried and then glanced at the Ravenclaw table.  Pavati was approaching her twin who was further down the table from Malfoy, Greengrass, and the mysterious witch. Taking a sip of his tea, Harry looked at his friend.  Harry took her in, and then figured she would probably find out anyway.  “I’m trying to find out the name of a Ravenclaw student.”

Hermione looked at him and glanced over at the Ravenclaw table.  “Why?” she asked.

“I fancy her,” he admitted.

Hermione’s brown eyes whipped back to Harry.  “Oh, Harry,” she sighed.  “You know you can probably date any witch at this school.  Why don’t you go up and talk to her?”

“Can’t.  I don’t know who she is.  Wouldn’t that be awkward?”

“I suppose,” Hermione agreed.  “Poor Ginny.”

“She snogged Corner,” Harry argued.  “I know you’re friends with her, but—”

“Yes,” Hermione agreed, putting her hand on Harry’s arm.  They’d had this conversation many times before.  Hermione was Ginny’s friend, but she could understand that Harry could not accept the fact that Ginny cheated on him.  “Good luck.”

Harry returned his attention to the Ravenclaw table.  Pavati and Padma were now clearly in conference.  Padma was nodding and gesturing with her hands and then Pavati nodded and began making her way back to the Gryffindor table.

Waiting for her, Harry took a few bites of sausage and washed it down with milky tea.  When Pavati reappeared next to him, he looked up hopefully.  “Eloise Bridgerton,” Pavati told him.  “Old pureblood family.  She and Astoria Greengrass are inseparable, have been since their first ride on the Hogwarts Express.  Padma thinks they may have known each other before they arrived here.  As I said, old pureblood family.  Her brother is the ninth Viscount Bridgerton.”

“Does she have a boyfriend?”

“Viscount Bridgerton will challenge you to a duel if you don’t ask permission first,” Pavati told him carefully.  “And he’s a Squib.  Apparently when Aurelius Prewett tried to take Daphne Bridgerton to Hogsmeade, they met at dawn and Prewett lost.”

Harry’s eyebrows rose.  “I can talk to her, though, right?” he checked.

“Oh, you can talk to her,” Pavati assured, taking the seat next to him and filling her plate.  “You see she’s talking to Malfoy, and he hasn’t been challenged to a duel.”  She paused and took a boiled egg.  “Malfoy, though, is going with Greengrass.  However, you just can’t date Eloise Bridgerton without stating your intentions first.”

“What are my chances?” he asked, glancing back over at Eloise, Greengrass, and Malfoy.

“Well, everyone says Malfoy is going to propose marriage to Astoria Greengrass as soon as she turns seventeen,” Pavati gabbed, clearly in her element.  “You see how close the two are, and wherever Greengrass goes, Bridgerton goes.  Her older sister is a sixth year,” she pointed discreetly up the Ravenclaw table toward a group of witches.  “Some say Daphne is going with Marcus Flint, though of course he’s graduated.”

Harry’s eyebrows rose.  “Are there any other Bridgertons?”

Pavati leaned in.  “There are eight.  Francesca is a first year, also in Ravenclaw.  There are two who are too young to attend.  Then, hmm,” she clearly was thinking, “Benedict and Colin have already graduated.  I think they were also in Ravenclaw.  The entire family is Ravenclaw, except for Viscount Bridgerton, who, as I said, is a Squib.”  She sighed.  “It’s so sad, because any witch worth her magic would love to be Viscountess Bridgerton if only he had magic!”

Harry didn’t say anything.  He really did not care for gossip, but the more he knew about Eloise Bridgerton, the better.  He looked over at her again.  She was looking up the table and taking a sip of orange juice.

“I don’t suppose Padma has her schedule.”

Pavati looked at him incredulously.  “I have the schedule of every house for every year,” she told him.  “What do you take me for?”  She flipped her hair.  “I’ll make a copy for you during lunch, and then you can ambush her to your pleasure.”

Ambush.  Right.  Maybe it would be best to find her in the library—but then Malfoy might be there.

“I appreciate it, Pavati,” Harry told her sincerely, finishing his tea.  “I know you don’t have to do this.”

“Anything for an old flame,” she teased.  “Just invite me to the wedding, and if Bridgerton needs an extra bridesmaid, do think of me.”

Harry grimaced despite himself.  “Of course, Pavati.  It seems like she has enough sisters, however.”

Pavati paused, thinking.  “Yes, you do have a point.”  She sighed.  “To think, you fancy a Ravenclaw.  Everyone in Gryffindor thinks you’ll forgive the Weaslette and get back together with her.”

Looking at her incredulously, Harry nearly screeched, “What?”

Pavati put up her hands.  “I don’t think that,” she promised.  “Some people do.  It’s just you’re so close to the Weasleys, it’s assumed there will be an inordinate amount of pressure for you to forgive past wrongs.”

Harry grumbled.  “I withstood Voldemort.” (Pavati flinched at the name.) “I can withstand the Weasleys.”  He knew Mrs. Weasley and, indeed, Ron would like nothing better than for him to forgive, get back together, and marry Ginny, but that frankly was never going to happen.

He bit his lip and looked back over at Eloise.  Unfortunately, he caught Malfoy’s grey gaze and Malfoy was definitely looking directly at him. 

Malfoy leaned over and whispered something to Greengrass who then turned her attention to Gryffindor table as well, but Eloise seemed to remain oblivious as she put down her orange juice and picked up her utensils.  Eloise stilled, her brunette head looking across the table at her friend Greengrass and at Malfoy before she herself turned and her sharp blue eyes searched the Gryffindor table, finally alighting on Harry.

“Bridgerton’s looking at you,” Pavati warned a second to late, leaning toward him. 

“Very well aware of that, thank you, Pavati,” he hummed, never losing Eloise’s gaze. 

“Malfoy’s looking at you, too,” she mumbled into her tea.

“Yes, aware of that, too, thank you,” Harry hushed.

Still, he held Eloise’s gaze until Greengrass reached out over the table and shook Eloise’s shoulder and she broke the eye contact, turning back to Greengrass and Malfoy.  Malfoy continued to stare at Harry for a good three seconds until he turned his attention back to his girlfriend and Eloise.  What Harry would give to have his invisibility cloak at that exact second so he could overhear their conversation.  However, his cloak was up in his trunk, and there was no way he could slip it on in a crowded hall with no one catching on.

He glanced over to Pavati who was eating oatmeal.  “How many people do you think noticed?” he asked.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and pretty.  She shrugged.  “Not many.  It’s breakfast.  Everyone is asleep or looking over their essays for class.”

Harry nodded, looking back at his breakfast.  He sliced through a sausage and ate a bite.  Part of him wondered where Ron was.  Ron, if he didn’t show up soon, was going to miss breakfast entirely.

When breakfast was over, Harry shoved two pieces of buttered toast in his pockets and gave one to a half-asleep Ron when they were waiting outside the dungeons before Potions.

“Thanks, mate,” Ron mumbled as he began chewing on toast.

“I know you didn’t stay up writing our essay for Professor Wigman,” Harry told him.  “Why are you asleep?”

“Strangest dream—” Ron mumbled, stuffing the rest of the toast in his mouth.  “There were flowers, made out of paper—”

Harry felt a gaze on him and he turned to see Malfoy leaning up against the opposite side of the corridor, his attention placed entirely on Harry.  It wasn’t that surprising given that Harry had been staring at Eloise not half an hour ago.  Malfoy’s gaze was curious, but for once he didn’t start a fight.  Ever since the Battle of Hogwarts when Narcissa Malfoy had told Voldemort Harry was dead (but he wasn’t), Malfoy and Harry had a truce.  It seemed that it was still holding.

Ron pulled at his pocket and Harry broke Malfoy’s gaze.

“Hey, do you have any more toast?”

Harry turned his attention back to his friend.  “Yeah, mate.  Brought you two,” he told him, sticking his hand in his other pocket and producing the second piece of toast.

“Oh, you are wonderful, mate,” Ron crowed as he took a large bite of the toast.  “I owe you one,” he mumbled through the toast, talking with his mouth open.

Harry wondered how Lavender Brown ever found Ron attractive.  The same went for Hermione, come to think of it.

When they were finally released from Double Potions, it was time for lunch, and they all trekked up to the Great Hall.  Harry looked around, trying to catch sight of Eloise.  He finally saw her sitting halfway down the Ravenclaw table, thick as thieves with Greengrass, Malfoy coming up to the duo and taking a seat on Greengrass’s other side.

Harry saw the easy smiles between Eloise and Malfoy before he turned to the Gryffindor table, sitting with Ron and Hermione.  It was when he was drinking his pumpkin juice and looking over at Eloise through his fringe that Pavati showed up with a piece of parchment.

“As promised,” she declared, waving it in front of his face.

“Pavati!” Ron exclaimed.  “What are you doing here?”

She barely gave him a glance, and Harry took the parchment.  On it was a schedule labeled “Fifth Year Ravenclaws.”  He smiled up at Pavati and said, “Thank you.”

“Invite me to the wedding,” Pavati said airily before she disappeared off down the table.

Ron was halfway through stuffing his face, but he looked at her with confusion on his face.  “Wedding?  What wedding?”

Hermione sighed in exasperation.  “Harry,” she explained, “fancies a Ravenclaw.”

Ron looked suddenly unhappy.  “Right on, mate,” he encouraged, though he didn’t seem to mean it.  “Is she foxy?”

“Ronald!” Hermione chided.

“What?  It’s a fair question.”

Harry laughed as he slipped the Ravenclaw schedule into his bag.  “I’m going to try to take her to the last Hogsmeade weekend and then you can decide for yourself.”

Ron harrumphed but went back to his meal.  He shared a look with Hermione and Harry knew that they were both thinking about Ginny.  Harry was just going to have to disprove that theory by going with Eloise Bridgerton.

The Fifth Year Ravenclaws had a free period after Charms on Thursday, which they shared with Slytherins.  When Harry showed up to catch Eloise (and he still was uncertain what to say), Malfoy was already leaning against the wall, flipping through a Qudditch Quaterly.  He looked up and didn’t seem remotely surprised.

“Tell me,” he drawled, “that you fancy Bridgerton, otherwise I’m going to call you out.  You seem to be looking at her, but it’s difficult to always tell.”

“I’m aware you’re as good as engaged to Greengrass,” Harry promised.  “It is Bridgerton.”

Malfoy nodded.  “Eloise is a good sort,” he said, switching to her given name.  “I’ve known the Bridgertons since I was a child.  I should warn you, she chases off men, both wizard and Muggle, for breakfast.”

Intrigued, Harry asked, “Really?”

“Oh, yes.  Daphne is the good sister.  Proper, accomplished, serene.  Eloise, in contrast, wants to work for the Ministry and is interested in women’s right to vote.”

Well, Eloise seemed to share that in common with Hermione.

“She also spends her summers in the Muggle world because her mother and eldest brother are pureblood Squibs.”  This he threw out as a challenge.  “Although she hates dancing, she wants a London Season.”

“You’re not scaring me off,” Harry told him flat out. 

“It would scare most wizards off,” Malfoy told him bluntly.  “I suppose I can introduce you so you don’t blunder through it.”  He looked Harry over.  “Lord Bridgerton will like that you’re the Earl Black at least.  He’ll hate that you’re a half blood.”

Harry laughed at that.  “Isn’t that the story of my life?”

A bell went off in their heads and they both looked toward the door.  The class would soon let out.  Harry could hear chairs scraping and then the first students began to exit.

Greengrass came out first, and Malfoy immediately wrapped his arm around her waist.  He pressed his cheek against hers—the pureblood form of sharing a kiss in public.  Then Eloise was coming out, glancing to the left at the two of them, rolling her eyes, and then making to continue into the hall until her gaze fell on Harry.  She immediately stopped in confusion, her sharp blue eyes looking at him in question before she returned her attention to Malfoy and Greengrass.

Malfoy crooked his head to the side and Eloise (along with Greengrass and Harry) followed him to the side so they were no longer in the way of exiting students.

When everyone had left, Malfoy cleared his throat.  “Eloise, Astoria, this is the Earl Black.  He’s wanted to meet you, Eloise.”

Eloise’s eyes blew wide as she turned back to Harry.  As if considering, she took a moment and then offered her hand. 

Harry immediately took it, raised it to two inches below his lips, and then released it, leaving her knuckles unkissed.  Purebloods never kissed in polite society, unlike Muggles.  If Harry had met Eloise in the Muggle world, he would have kissed her knuckles, but in pureblood society—even though Harry was technically only a half blood (which given his mother’s trip to The Wicked Stepmother was debatable)—it would be an insult to lay a kiss on her hand.

Eloise looked surprised but claimed her hand back.  “I,” she began before she licked her lips, “I understand you haven’t held the Earlship for that long.”

“No,” he agreed, “just over a year.”

She smiled, looking down.  “We’re all so used to calling you ‘Potter,’” she confessed.  “Is that not so, Astoria?”

Astoria Greengrass, who had been watching the exchange, glanced at her friend, and murmured, “Indeed.”

“I don’t mind being ‘Potter,’” he told Eloise, looking over at Greengrass to include her.  “Malfoy calls me ‘Potter’ as we’ve been acquaintances for so long.”

Eloise nodded.  Then she put her hands behind her back and asked, “How can I help you, Potter?”

“I don’t need—” he began.

“Oh, good,” she declared, turning to Malfoy and Greengrass.  “I’ll be in Ravenclaw tower if anyone needs me,” and with that she walked past Harry and all he could do was watch her walk away.

“I told you—” Malfoy sighed, but Harry wasn’t listening.

Instead, he was running to catch up to Eloise and he took her bag off her shoulder before she could even register what he was doing.  She turned to him, her pale pink lips dropped in shock, but he only smiled at her cheekily.  “Allow me to help you, Miss Bridgerton.”

She blinked and regarded him, but she didn’t argue.  She turned and walked onward. 

Harry smiled to himself and continued on his journey, happy to walk beside her, even if she was ignoring him.  Of course, he knew where Ravenclaw tower was, but when they arrived, he did hand back her bag and left so that she could solve her riddle.  Harry did, however, take her hand and lift it to below his lips in pureblood nicety, just to make his point, before leaving Eloise.

When he reached Gryffindor tower, he found Dunbar painting her nails bright pink.  After she blew on them with what was clearly magical breath, she came and found him, sitting beside him in front of the fire.  “Did you find her?” she asked.

“Looking for gossip, Dunbar?” he questioned.

“You’re smiling.  It must have gone well,” she noticed.

“Well,” he told he, looking up from his textbook.  “I carried her bag for her back to Ravenclaw’s tower.”

Dunbar’s eyes widened.  “Eloise Bridgerton let you?”

Harry just looked away.  “She didn’t let me.  I rather insisted.”

Dunbar patted his should.  “Bridgerton isn’t going to know what hit her,” she murmured before leaving.

And it was true.  Bridgerton wasn’t going to know what hit her.  Harry had started a military campaign and he would follow her into the Muggle world if necessary.  He had won his last military campaign against Voldemort.  It had taken him six years, but he had won.  Surely, he would win this one faster.  Surely.

The campaign began in earnest that weekend.  Harry got up early to stand by the doors to the Great Hall and waited for Eloise to enter.  She appeared directly at seven-thirty with Greengrass, and he fell into step with her.  “Eloise,” he greeted.

She turned and looked him directly in the eye.  “Potter.  What are you doing here?”

“Having breakfast with you,” he told her boldly.  “Or would you like to have breakfast with me?”

She licked her pale pink lips.  Then her eyes scanned to her friend before focusing on Harry.  “I haven’t invited you to breakfast with me.”

“I’ve invited you to breakfast with me,” he countered, placing his hands behind his back and stepping forward so that she had to crane her head up to look him in the eyes.

“We’re not going,” she told him carefully.

“We could be going,” he argued.

“Why would I want to go with you?” she asked in absolute consternation.  Her eyes once again cut to Greengrass before she refocused on him.  Eloise really was the perfect height.  If he pulled her close, he could nestle her head perfectly under his chin.  However, now, though, was the time to focus.

“Why wouldn’t you want to go with me?” Harry questioned in turn. 

It was Greengrass who answered him.  “You’re not a pureblood, Black.”

He turned to her and blinked, but gave no other recognition to her words, instead turning his attention to Eloise.  If she didn’t mind that he wasn’t officially a pureblood, he could care less what her friend Greengrass said on the subject.  Plus, he had Malfoy’s endorsement, and he could probably get Malfoy to silence Greengrass’s objection.

Eloise was looking at Harry intently.  “You really want to know?”

“You could tell me over breakfast,” he bargained, and this caused Eloise to chuckle. 

“Go back to the Gryffindor table, Potter,” she chided, turning, the scent of lavender hanging in the air. 

Harry, however, wasn’t going to listen.  As soon as she began to walk away, he hurried forward and fell right back into step with her.  She looked up at him in exasperation.  He smiled at her.

In the end, Harry ended up sitting next to Eloise and across from Greengrass and Malfoy (and Malfoy certainly seemed amused by the entire situation).  Eloise ignored Harry entirely, speaking exclusively to Greengrass and Malfoy, but she did pass the raspberry jam when Harry asked Malfoy for it, as it was actually closer to her. 

When Eloise got up at the end of the meal, she looked over at Harry and asked, “Don’t you have Quidditch practice or something?”

Harry was, in fact, wearing his Quidditch robes and had his Firebolt with him.  “How very astute of you, Eloise.  Would you care to come and wish me luck?”

“And watch your ex-girlfriend moon over you on a broomstick?” she asked, clearly referencing Ginny who was a Chaser on the team.

At this, Harry brightened.  “Are you jealous?”

“Hardly,” she drawled.  “Everyone—even us Ravenclaws—know you’re going to marry her.”

In exasperation, Harry asked the general area, “Where did this rumor come from?”

It was Malfoy who answered.  “The Weaslette.  She put it about.”  He smirked as he came around with Greengrass, his arm around her waist.  “She’s put a claim on you and no witch dares to go near you.”

Harry took in Malfoy.  “You can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious, Potter,” he responded casually.  “It’s all over the dungeons.”

“Right,” Harry muttered to himself, a plan forming in his mind.  He turned to Eloise and caught her sharp blue gaze.  “I’ll sort this.”  He picked up her hand, even though she hadn’t offered it, and lifted it to just below his lips and then released it in a pureblood nicety.  Harry heard her breath hitch and his green eyes looked up to catch hers.  “I’ll see you at dinner,” he promised, “if you would be kind enough to sit with me at dinner, if you can bear to abandon Miss Greengrass for one meal.  I need to make a point.”

Harry didn’t wait for her answer.  Instead, he nodded to both Greengrass and Malfoy before lifting his broom over his shoulder and leaving the great hall.

He kept an eye on Ginny throughout the practice.  As team captain, he paid attention to all his players.  Ron was still a little shaky as Keeper, even after the Felix Felicis incident the year before, but Harry wanted to see what everyone else saw.  To Harry, he and Ginny were completely through.  It seemed to the entire castle, though, there was an understanding between them.  He couldn’t understand how this was possible given the epic nature of their breakup, but the evidence of Pavati, Dunbar, Malfoy, and Eloise seemed to point to another conclusion.

He had never “gone” with Ginny.  They had never been “going,” which is what purebloods called courting when they were still at Hogwarts.  They had never been that serious.  They had dated.  Harry had wanted nothing more even though he was now the Earl Black, and Ginny seemed to be content with that. 

Now he wondered if Ginny was playing some sort of long game, a game that Harry was determined to stop in its tracks.

He sighed as he saw Ginny look his way and he made sure not to make eye contact.  She certainly did look at him enough when she was not passing the Quaffle.

After a long shower in the locker room, Harry dressed casually in britches, shirt sleeves, and a waistcoat, and began to wonder if he shouldn’t be dressing in pureblood black, given his position as Lord Black.  Would Eloise like that more?  Would she prefer it if he didn’t dress like a common Muggle?  She was a pureblood herself and she certainly kept company with purebloods.  She hadn’t agreed with Greengrass’s assessment that Harry not being a pureblood was a problem, but did she secretly think that?  Or did the fact that she had a Squib brother change her opinion on blood status?

Harry spent the rest of the day doing homework and just before it was time to go to dinner, he went up to his trunk and got his photo album out.  Then he hurried down to the great hall, hoping to catch Eloise before she had a chance to go to the Ravenclaw table.

Surprisingly, she was waiting for him by the doors, Greengrass astonishingly absent.

“I’m doing this so you can make a point, Potter,” she told him in greeting.  “I don’t think anyone should be trapped in a relationship against their will.  My mother famously believes in love matches—Father married her even though she was a pureblood Squib and everyone told him not to.  Don’t make me regret this.”  Her eyes sparked blue and she pointed a finger at him, so that he understood the importance of what she said, and Harry nodded.

“I wanted to show you something.”  He indicated the book.

Harry led her toward the middle of the table where they sat down and they served themselves dinner.  Harry made a point to serve her pumpkin juice, being solicitous to her every need, and they chatted about her brother’s Abraxans.  It seemed that the Viscount Bridgerton, despite being a Squib, enjoyed breeding Abraxans at their estate in Hampshire.

Once they had finished dessert and their plates had melted away, Harry picked up the album that was resting on the bench and set it in front of him.  The hall was full of chatter, but he took a breath and looked at Eloise. 

“My dad believed in a love match, too.  He fell in love with my mum at first sight on the Hogwarts Express their first year—and he actively pursued her.  Mum didn’t give him the time of day until they were seventh years.”  He noticed that the more he spoke, the more voices hushed around him to listen, but Harry kept his attention fully on Eloise.  “Mum hated Dad.  She called him a ‘toe rag’ their fifth year.”  He opened up the book to the first page and showed her the picture of James and Lily Potter dancing together in the snow.  “We Potters never give up, though.  Dad never gave up.  And it paid off in the end.” 

He leaned forward and Eloise scooted closer to get a better look.

“Mum was the prettiest witch in the world,” he told her.  “Auburn hair, green eyes—I would never marry a second-rate copy,” Harry told Eloise decidedly.  He turned the page and showed Eloise another picture of his parents together and in love.

Glancing up at her, Harry saw that Eloise was entranced by the moving photographs.

Their section of the table was completely hushed, and he could feel dozens of eyes on them, but Harry only turned the page. 

“That’s the cottage in Godric’s Hollow,” he told her.  “It’s destroyed now, nothing more than rubble.  My parents are buried in the graveyard just up the lane.”

“Is there a wedding picture?” she asked carefully as he turned the page to show Lily and James with Sirius and a woman with platinum blonde hair and purple eyes.  The inscription labeled her as “Lady Lux Kingsley.”

“No,” Harry said.  “I’ve never seen one.  I don’t know if Mum wore a Muggle wedding dress in yellow or the blue wizarding robes.”  He shrugged, turning the page to show a beaming Lily Potter pregnant. 

“Someone must have it,” she murmured, leaning forward to look at a photograph of what must have been the Order of the Phoenix.  “Who are all these people?”

“People who were fighting Voldemort in the first war,” Harry told her.  (Eloise flinched when he said the name “Voldemort”.) “There’s Dumbledore,” he pointed out and she gasped. 

“He looks almost young.”

“He must have been young once,” Harry reasoned, turning the page again to show a picture of Harry as a baby in swaddling clothes.  “That’s me.”

“You have your mother’s eyes,” Eloise told him, looking now at him as a baby in Lily’s arms, James standing behind her.  The photographs were in sepia tones as all photographs were, but Eloise had somehow been able to tell that Harry shared Lily’s eyes.

“Everyone says I look like Dad but with Mum’s eyes,” Harry agreed.  “My hair’s messier though.”

Eloise looked over at him and then back at the photograph.  “Yes, I think you’re right.”

Harry turned to the last picture of the little family before he closed the album.  “That’s us.”  He looked up at her.  “I’m sure your family has loads more pictures.”

“There are eight of us,” she agreed quietly.  “Thank you, Potter, for showing me this.”  Her blue eyes looked into his, a strange quietness to them, before she glanced away again.  “This doesn’t change anything, though.”

“Of course not,” he agreed.  “Now you know, though, why I’ll never marry someone with ginger hair and why I’m mad on you.  I saw you during the Quidditch match and it was over for me.  I decided.  It’s you or nothing, Eloise.”

“You know,” she pondered, ignoring his declaration of love, “I never gave you permission to use my name.”

“I give you permission to use mine,” he countered.  “It’s not ‘Harry’ by the way.  It’s ‘Harrigan.’”

Her mouth fell open, her pale pink lips a desperate invitation to be kissed.  Harry, however, was a gentleman, and he would restrain himself.  He certainly wasn’t going to ruin Eloise’s reputation—he knew that purebloods did not kiss before an engagement—and he also didn’t want to be called out by Lord Bridgerton (even if Harry was the Defeater of the Dark Lord).  Still, his green gaze fell to her lips and then flicked back up to her eyes.  “You’re staring,” he noted.

She closed her mouth.  “Harrigan?” she questioned.

“Yes, please use it,” he pressed, turning back to the album to pretend a casualness he certainly didn’t feel.

“What does that mean?” she asked, her voice curious.

Harry turned to her.  “Mean?”

“Wizard names have power.  Their meanings are important.”  Eloise said this as if this should be obvious.  “For example, ‘Eloise’ means ‘sun.’  It is related to ‘Helios.’  What does ‘Harrigan’ mean?”

He paused and realized he had no idea.  “No one’s ever told me,” Harry said honestly.

“And you never bothered to find out?” she checked, her eyes searching his.

He just shook his head.

“Right,” Eloise determined, nodding her head and pushing herself to her feet.  “Library, I think, Potter.”

He looked at her in question.

“Potter.  Library.  Now.”

Not needing to be told a third time, Harry quickly got to his feet and picked up his photograph album.  Holding his hand out to indicate she should proceed him (which was only right and proper as she was a pureblood lady in society), he waited for her to step away from the table and promptly followed her.

Whispers were erupting around them at the Gryffindor table, eyes searching them as everyone turned around to look, but Harry could only smile to himself.  He had the attention of the witch he adored, and now that he had it, he wasn’t going to let go of it again. 

He was sure to open the door to the corridor for her and Harry even dared to place his hand at the small of her back as he walked alongside her.  She glanced at him, her eyes slits of blue, but she didn’t object, which Harry took as a definite win.

Once they were in the Library, Madam Pince looking at them suspiciously over her glasses, Eloise immediately veered off to the left and over to a half-shelf.  Pausing a third of the way down, she dropped to her knees and began to pull a thick tome off the shelf.  Harry hurriedly fell to his knees, put down his album, and helped her.

“Thanks,” she murmured, as she scooped up his album for him and they walked with the large tome to a deserted table. 

When Harry set it down on the table, he read the title.  Spungen’s Guide to Pureblood Names, English and Germanic. His eyebrows rose.

“I knew of Spungen’s Guide to Pureblood Dynasties,” he admitted.  “I didn’t know there were other guides.”

“Spungen’s,” Eloise informed him as she opened the book and a cloud of dust rose up causing her nose to twitch adorably, “has a whole line of books for purebloods.  Let’s hope your name is a pureblood name.  I’ve never heard of it before so it may not be.”  Her fingers were now flipping through the pages.  “H—H,” she muttered to herself before she opened up to a page.  “Hadrian,” she declared.  “That’s close.”

Harry leaned forward.  It seemed Hadrian was from the Latin.

Eloise ran her finger down the line of names until she got to Har—and then she stopped.

“Harrigan,” she read.  “Irish.  Anglicized version of—” she paused.  “I can’t say that.”

Harry leant over the book and tried, “O hArgain?”

“We need the Irish edition,” she murmured, pushing the book away, but leaving it open.  She turned and disappeared back into the half shelves and Harry quickly followed her.  They were back down on their knees, scanning the editions of Spungen’s until they found ‘Celtic and Irish names’.  It was a great deal thinner than the ‘English and Germanic names’ had been.

There were a lot of O’s.  However, Eloise was acting like she had a bee in her bonnet, and she soon sniffed it out.  “O hArgain,” she read carefully.  “Did I say it right?”

“No idea,” Harry admitted.  “I wonder why the ‘A’ is capitalized.”

“We need to find someone who speaks Irish.”

“There’s a boy in my year, Seamus Finnegan.  He might know.  He’s always trying to turn water into rum.”

“Hmm,” she mused, looking at him before returning to the book.  “It says—meaning unknown.”

Her shoulders slumped and she glanced up to him.  “Do you have any idea why you were named that?”

“Not entirely,” he admitted, drawing a seat for her and then sitting down himself.  “My parents died when I was a toddler and Sirius never said.”

“Sirius?” she question.

“Sirius Black, my godfather.  He died over a year ago.”

Eloise looked forlornly at the book.  “I wish I could say more.  I wish Spungen’s said more.  We can’t look up Harry—”

“Why not?” Harry asked.

She looked at him strangely.  “It’s the Medieval nickname for Henry—which is nothing like ‘Harrigan.’”

Harry looked at her hard.  “How do you know that?”

“Everyone knows that,” she told him as if it were obvious.

“I didn’t know that,” he refuted.

“Everyone who’s anyone knows that.”  She shrugged.  “Henry the Eighth was called ‘Harry’.—Anne Boleyn was a witch, you know.”

He looked at her cross-eyed.  “I have seen her portrait.”

Her sharp blue eyes lit up.  “Ever talk to her?”

“Once or twice.  She wanted to know if I was royalty since everyone was talking about me.”

Giggling, she looked horrified and pressed a hand against her lips.  “I—” she began to apologize, but Harry put a hand on her arm.

“No, laugh.  It is funny.”  Harry smiled at her.  “I like it when you laugh.”

Eloise blushed and looked away.  Harry was content to just sit with her.

The library eventually began to fill up after dinner, so Harry and Eloise put the Spungen’s dictionaries away before leaving, side by side, stopping in front of the doors in the corridor.

“Can I walk you to Ravenclaw tower?” Harry asked, smiling at her.

Her breath caught.  “My brother—”

“I’ll write to him tonight.  The Ninth Viscount Bridgerton, yes?  He does accept owl post, right?” Harry asked hopefully.

“That really isn’t necessary,” Eloise murmured.

“Of course, it’s necessary.  A duel was fought over your sister Daphne just last year.”

Her eyes widened, appearing even more blue in the half-light of the hallway.  “Is that what happened?” she breathed, clearly interested.  “No one said.”

“That’s what I was told—” Harry informed her carefully.

She grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hall until they reached a tapestry of horned lambs frolicking with a shepherdess, who was watching over them. Eloise pulled the hem of it away and then pushed him through into an alcove Harry had been completely unaware of, even with the Marauder’s Map.

“Lumos!” Eloise whispered and then a ball of light appeared between them on the end of her wand.  “Tell me,” she demanded.

“Well,” Harry admitted, licking his lips, “I was told someone named Aurelius Prewett, who must be a Weasley cousin—”

“What?”

“Mrs. Weasley is a Prewett,” he added, feeling a little silly, but she just waved him off.

“All right, so Aurelius Prewett, he graduated last year.  Hufflepuff,” Eloise confirmed.

“Hufflepuff?” Harry wondered aloud.  “Does your sister like Hufflepuffs?”

Her eyebrows furrowed.  “How am I supposed to know?”

“She is your sister,” he pointed out.

“I have three sisters and four brothers.  Daphne is the only one who seems remotely interested in romance and that is a recent development as far as I was aware.  Clearly, I haven’t been very well informed.  Well,” she prodded him.  “Aurelius Prewett.”

“Right.”  Harry cleared his throat, wondering if she should really be telling Eloise this.  “He asked your sister Daphne to Hogsmeade.  I have no idea if she went.  However, Prewett did not first ask permission of Lord Bridgerton—who was offended—”

Eloise hummed.

“There was a duel of honor for the perceived slight, and your brother won.”  He paused and then added, even though it might have been obvious, “Without magic.”

She made a sound at the back of her throat.  “You know.”

“That Lord Bridgerton is—”  He didn’t say it.  “Yes.”

Eloise looked away from him before she turned back to him resolutely with her blue gaze.  “This doesn’t seem to bother you.”

“Why should it bother me?”

She hummed again, but this time didn’t remove her eyes from him. 

Silence stretched between them. 

Not wanting to leave it on a bad note, Harry reached out and took her free hand, “I should very much like to go with you on our last Hogsmeade weekend.”

“You wish to take me,” she clarified, looking down at their joined hands, “or you wish to go with me?”

“Both,” he told her firmly.

“And what am I supposed to do when you leave?” she asked.  “Am I supposed to be like Daphne and wait for letters and see if you’re available for Hogsmeade weekends, and then expect a wedding as soon as I graduate?”  Eloise’s eyes became hard as she questioned him, her voice implacable.  It was clear she did not approve of her sister Daphne and her relationship with—Marcus Flint, Harry believed the rumor mill said it was.  “Is that what I am to you?  A pretty witch who sits around and waits?”

She withdrew her hand from his and quickly blew out the light at the end of her wand.

Harry heard rustling and was suddenly aware he was alone behind the tapestry.

He quickly fought his way out, but by then Eloise had already disappeared.  He sighed to himself and ran a hand over his face before he turned back in the direction of Gryffindor tower.  At least Eloise had left behind his photograph album.

Of course, when he arrived through the portrait hole, Harry was met with hushed silence.  Everyone’s eyes were turned on him, and Harry wasn’t going to give an inch.  He had meant every word he had told Eloise at dinner, and this was just a setback.  His father had never given up on his mum, and he certainly wasn’t giving up on Eloise.

First things first, he had to write to Lord Bridgerton.

Once Harry had fetched his school bag, he found Hermione sitting by herself at a table, her books spread out around her.

“That was brave of you,” she said in greeting.  “Ginny’s been crying in the dormitories for over an hour.”

“I don’t see why, it’s been over for months,” he sighed, setting his bag down.  He took out some parchment and a well of ink, trying to get in the right headspace for good penmanship.

Hermione looked over at him.  “Which essay are you writing?  I thought you were caught up.”

He glanced over at his friend.  “I’m writing to Lord Bridgerton.”

Her brown gaze immediately snapped up.  Leaning forward, Hermione whispered, “For Merlin’s sake, why?”

“I want to take Eloise to Hogsmeade.”

Confused, she said, “Then take Bridgerton to Hogsmeade.”

“Can’t,” he told her.  “I have to ask her brother first.”  He dipped his quill in the ink and then wrote the date at the top upper corner of the page: 8 April 1811.

“How Medieval,” Hermione commented before going back to her work.

Harry, however, was writing, trying to sound like the Earl Black and not an orphaned schoolboy.

Dear Lord Bridgerton,

You may know me by reputation although we have never before met, but I attend Hogwarts with three of your sisters.  I am acquainted with your sister Miss Eloise Bridgerton in particular and would like to ask your permission to squire her to Hogsmeade on the weekend following next.  I assure you I will show her all courtesy and consideration as befits a pureblood maiden of her station in life.

Yours Sincerely,

Harrigan Potter, the Earl Black

Looking it over, Harry was suddenly glad that he had read a Mrs. Radcliffe novel in boredom two summers previously.  He blew over the ink, adding his magical signature to the letter (although he was uncertain whether or not Lord Bridgerton would be able to read or even recognize a magical signature), and then sealed the letter with the Black seal.

“Hedwig,” he muttered.

“Ron said she was in your dormitory,” Hermione told him helpfully.

Nodding, Harry wrote the direction and went up to the seventh year dorms, where Hedwig was helpfully waiting with a letter for him.  Taking off the letter, Harry gave her the new one, petting her softly.  “Can you take this to Hampshire?—or possibly London?” he asked her.  “It’s for Eloise’s older brother, Lord Bridgerton.  He’s a Squib, but you must be polite to him.”  She nibbled at his fingers and hopped back and forth.  She was ready to go.

He opened the window and watched her fly off.

Eloise had become standoffish since their conversation behind the tapestry.  Harry waited for her patiently in front of the Great Hall, taking her bag, but she rarely interacted him during mealtimes even though he took a seat next to her.

She seemed to only be tolerating him.

Malfoy began to take longer and longer gazes at him until one day, when the four of them (Greengrass, Eloise, Malfoy and him) were leaving the Great Hall, Malfoy pulled him aside down a different corridor.

“I have Eloise’s bag,” Harry objected.

“Ngg,” Malfoy complained, taking the bag and running after Eloise and Greengrass.

He was gone no more than three minutes, before he arrived huffing back.  He swiped his hand over his forehead, displacing his platinum blond fringe, showing just how human he really was.  “Now,” Malfoy began, “Bridgerton.”

“She’s your girlfriend’s best friend and you still call her ‘Bridgerton’?” Harry asked, bewildered.

“You call Astoria, ‘Greengrass,’” Malfoy pointed out.

“I’ve known Greengrass for less than a month,” he pointed out, “and I’m not going with Eloise.  She hasn’t agreed yet.”

“Which is exactly what I want to talk to you about.  Lord Bridgerton has written me for a character reference.”

Harry was utterly flabbergasted.  Lord Bridgerton was writing Draco Malfoy, a former Death Eater, for a character reference on the Savior of the Wizarding World?  Something of what he was thinking must have shown on his face, because Malfoy immediately answered,

“I am sacred twenty-eight and I’ve known the Bridgertons since childhood.”

“All the Bridgertons?” Harry asked, curious.

“Oh, yes,” Malfoy agreed as he began to lead Harry down the corridor toward the kitchens, of all places.  “I remember when Lord Bridgerton didn’t get his letter.  Or, rather, I almost do.  I remember my parents talking about it when I was little.  Lord Bridgerton is a good eleven years older than we are.—He got his founding stallion for his Abraxans from our stables.”

“Founding stallion?” Harry questioned, picking up the end of the conversation.

“He bought a mare, and he rented our stallion to impregnate her.  That’s a founding stallion.”  He shook his head in derision.  “He now has the finest Abraxans in England, better even than our small venture.”

Harry took this in, and then returned to the question at hand.  “What are you going to tell him?”

Malfoy looked over his shoulder.  “About you, you mean?”  He flicked his hair out of his eyes.  His fringe really was getting long.  “Well, that all depends on you, Potter.  Bridgerton seems to have gone right off the idea of you.”  Harry meant to object but Malfoy held up his hand to silence him.  “I introduced you like you wanted.  I’ve complimented you to Astoria and Bridgerton by proxy.  Everything seemed to be going well with your photograph album but then,” and now he turned, pointing his finger directly over Harry’s heart, “you managed to fuck it up.  Explain,” and Harry opened his mouth to do just that, “and know that your answer,” Malfoy interrupted, “will influence my letter to Lord Bridgerton.”

Harry breathed out through his nose.  “We went to look up my name.”

“Harry,” Malfoy mused, rolling his eyes, “such a common name.”

“My name,” Harry stressed, “is Harrigan, and it’s not common, as you say.  My grandmum Rose was from Northern Ireland and I was given an Irish name.”

Malfoy looked at him with a sliver of respect.  He waited.  “Well,” he teased.  “What does it mean?”

“It’s from an Old Irish surname, and the meaning of it is unknown.”

Shoulders slumping, Malfoy admitted, “That is disappointing.”

“Not completely,” Harry admitted.  “I did some research the last couple of days, and the Old Irish surname was Grandmum Rose’s surname.  She was Rose O hAgrain.  I was named for her.”

“Squib?” Malfoy asked hopefully.  “You’d still be a half-blood but Rose is a wizarding name.”

Harry shrugged.  “No idea.  She died the year before I was born.”

Malfoy hummed.  “Well, if you were named for your slightly less than magical grandmother, that is actually quite fascinating.—Still, you looked up your name.  Hit a dead end.  Then what?”

“I asked Eloise to Hogsmeade.  Said I wanted to go with her, officially.  Then, something happened,” Harry confessed.  They had stopped in the corridor and Harry leaned up against the stone wall, clunking his head against the wall in his aggravation.  “She said something about her sister Daphne.  How I would expect her to go with me while I wasn’t here and have a wedding straight out of Hogwarts.  I mean—she wasn’t wrong.  Ideally, I’d show up on Hogsmeade weekends and we’d write letters. It wouldn’t be perfect, but we would still go with each other, and when we’re ready—”  He let his words hang.

“Ah,” Malfoy announced.  “Eloise Bridgerton is not Daphne Bridgerton.”

“I know that,” Harry exclaimed.  “I’ve never met Daphne Bridgerton. I wouldn’t know her on sight.  I just know she’s a sixth year Ravenclaw.”

“Oh, Potter,” Malfoy sighed.  “Daphne Bridgerton is perhaps the loveliest girl at Hogwarts.  There’s a reason why Lord Bridgerton fought more than a single duel over her.”

Harry’s eyebrows rose.  “More than one?”

“Decidedly.”  Malfoy paused.  “I’ll point her out to you when the ladies aren’t around.—But that’s neither here nor there.”  He went to lean against the opposite wall.  “Daphne Bridgerton is the perfect witch.  She is loveliness itself.  She sings, she plays the pianoforte, she can magically embroider, her calligraphy is truly beautiful, she can arrange flowers, and she is competent in all Hogwarts subjects.  She is, in one word, a ‘lady.’  Bridgerton, that is Eloise Bridgerton, has a complicated relationship with her perfect sister, being only one year behind her.  I cannot read Bridgerton’s thoughts, but she may have thought you were trying to mold her into her sister.  She may have felt you were putting undue expectations on her.  She may have thought, perhaps, that you were making her into something she was not.  Who knows?  She may just not want to be separated from you for two years, for all I know, and is trying to save herself the heartbreak.  I’ll ask Astoria.”  He pushed off the wall and turned around to go back in the direction of the Great Hall.

“What are you going to tell Lord Bridgerton?” Harry called after him.

Turning around and walking backward, Malfoy replied, arms open, “That you did me a good turn in the war and I’m convinced Bridgerton fancies you.”  He then saluted Harry before disappearing around a corner. 

Harry, finally, felt a little hopeful.

He still carried Eloise’s books to class.  He still sat next to her at breakfast and lunch, leaving her to the other Ravenclaws at dinner, and Hermione asked him three days before the Hogsmeade Weekend, “So, is Bridgerton going with you?”

“She’s playing hard to get.”

“Ah,” Hermione breathed, checking her textbook for a reference, “she’s one of those.”

Harry looked at her askance.  “One of what?”

“She’s making herself more desirable by keeping you hanging.”  She glanced up at him.  “I’m a girl and friends with Ginny Weasley.  Trust me, I know all the tricks.”

“This is not a trick.  I accidentally said something to compare her to her sister, Daphne, who I’ve never met, and now she’s angry at me.”

“Oh,” Hermione went back to her scribbling.  “They say Daphne Bridgerton is going to be Head Girl next year.  She’s one of my prefects.”

“Never met her,” Harry told her honestly. 

However, it was then that an owl swooped in through an open window and landed directly in front of him.  It was a rather majestic creature, and Harry petted it before taking the letter from its leg.  “I’ve got treats up in the seventh year dorm.  You’ll find them in a bowl on my bedside table,” he told the owl.  “Water is in the owlery.”

The owl hooted at him and then flew up to the dorms, clearly knowing where to go.

Harry looked at the letter and saw that it was addressed to “The Earl Black.”

He turned it over to see a rather elaborate seal.  Cracking it open, he read:

Dear Lord Black,

I was surprised to receive your correspondence, but knowing your reputation and having made inquiries about you, I give you permission to escort my sister, Eloise, to Hogsmeade this upcoming weekend.  I understand that she has not yet given her answer and you may give her proof of this letter if she gives an excuse for lack of permission.

Sincerely,

Anthony, 9^th Viscount Bridgerton

A smile formed on Harry’s lips and he knew he had to find Eloise somewhere private to ask her again. 

That opportunity came the morning of the Hogsmeade Weekend.  Harry was dressed in pureblood black because he was almost certain Eloise would like it.  He felt a little silly dressed in black britches, silver shirtsleeves, a black waistcoat, a black coat, and a black cloak—but there was nothing for it.

“Eloise,” he murmured, as he reached out to touch her arm as she was going into the Great Hall alone for once, neither Greengrass of Malfoy in attendance.

Her sharp blue eyes took him in.  Her hair was beautifully coiffed on top of her head with small clips in it.  She was wearing a black dress in the regency style with a grey pelisse with black clasps, black gloves on her hands and black slippers on her feet.

“Potter,” she greeted.  “You’re not following me to the Ravenclaw table?”

“Of course, I’m following you to the Ravenclaw table,” he teased.  He reached out and took her gloved hand.  “You never told me your answer.”

She blinked.

“—whether or not you would allow me to escort you to Hogsmeade.”

Eloise looked down at their hands.  “I don’t want to be my sister Daphne.”

“So you’ve said,” he agreed.  When she didn’t explain further, he prompted, “You’re going to have to tell me what that means.”

“I don’t want—romantic entanglements.”  Eloise licked her pale pink lips and then glanced up to meet his green gaze.  “I’m not like Astoria.  I don’t know what I want.  I’m only sixteen years old.  Mama says I don’t have to.”

He smiled at her sadly, but he didn’t release her hand.  “Are you going to follow around Greengrass and Malfoy all day?”

“We may go to Honeydukes,” she agreed.  “But Colin is coming to have lunch with me at the Three Broomsticks.  I don’t believe you’ve met Benedict or Colin.”

“No,” he agreed.  “I haven’t.”  Harry took a deep breath.  “I hope you enjoy your time with your brother, Colin.”

Her eyes whipped up to his, the sharp blue gaze confused.  “Just like that you’re going to let me go?”

“I can’t say I’m not going to follow you to Honeydukes,” he admitted carefully, “just like I can’t say I’m not going to follow you over to the Ravenclaw table like I do every morning, but I’m not going to come between you and your plans with your brother.  What do you take me for?  You know how much family means to me.”

“Yes—” she agreed.

“Well, then,” he agreed, finally releasing her hand.  “I hope you enjoy your lunch with Mr. Bridgerton.”

She looked at him again in confusion, but then went back into the Great Hall, over to the Ravenclaw table.  Harry promptly followed after her as he always did. 

Harry did follow Eloise, Greengrass, and Malfoy to Honeydukes, and if he did pay for all of Eloise’s candy, she was the only one who needed to know, although Malfoy may have been smirking at him.  He took lunch in the Three Broomsticks and he saw Eloise dine with a man who must have been her brother, there was indeed a family resemblance there, and he knew he just had to let Eloise grow up.  She would be seventeen or eighteen one day.  She would leave Hogwarts and would be prepared to meet men and want more from them than just friendship, and when that day came, Harry would be there to catch her.