All of that sounds so terribly familiar, the names of the Institute and the man rattling around inside Harry's head like an echo that won't quite fade away and he frowns for a moment, trying not to let himself go to that uncomfortable place. The nightmares are bad enough and he remembers John, the man who asked for his story and to whom he gave it so willingly without the slightest idea why he would do such a thing.

That's Martin's friend. The one he wants to take to a party.

Harry's mouth quivers, just his lower lip and just for a moment, and he considers saying something. But Martin must know, he thinks, he must. His memories of telling John what happened to him are vague, as if he's actively worked to forget them, but he knows John said something about the Magnus Institute.

"Yes," he says abruptly, then forces a smile. "Yes, the party. I... well, I've invited a friend to attend with me. Although not as simply a friendly companion. I invited her as a date. I've not... I haven't courted many women and I know it's not longer referred to as courting, I just can't think of it all as anything else."