Chapter 37: Bloom to Gloom

There is an aspect of my life upon which I have erred greatly and it is one of utmost importance for young men: love and marriage. Love is where we should start. What is love?

Love is an action, a verb, a choice. Love is not some magical feeling that results upon finding some mythical soul mate. Love is not a feeling at all. It is a choice, an action. Kindness is a choice, an action. You choose to be kind, you act a specific way as to be kind, to those deserving of it and those who may not be deserving of it.

Love is the same way. I married for love. I believed I had fallen in love with a beautiful woman. She was fetching, good natured, diligent, and tender hearted. I knew when I laid my eyes on her that I would have her as my wife. I believed my own self delusions, that it was love at first sight. It was no such thing, it was infatuation at first sight. How can you love what you do not know? How can you develop a deep connection that will stand the test of time? I tell you, you cannot.

Like a seed, love begins as something small, something vulnerable and perishable. You must care for it, water it, provide nutrients and protect it. There are no gargantuan trees that did not start out as a seed or a sapling. I grew to love my wife, I grew to care for her more than any other who walked this earth and laid beneath the stars. Yet, as I look back, I can admit, it was a mistake to fall in love with her, to marry her.

Her lineage brought no benefit to our union. If anything, her lineage brought a blight. I have since come to know that her sire is unstable. There is something within their magic that makes them so. Their family is not widely known and has always been reclusive. I had thought I had made one of the best decisions of my life, for once, by following my heart instead of my head. Not worrying about the power or prestige I could gain and instead acting for the purest of emotions, love.

Oh, how I deluded myself. In time, I grew to truly love her and the child she bore. Yet, could I not have loved another? Would it be so hard to love another beautiful maiden? Could they not be just as lovely, as kind, as hardworking and a dutiful wife capable of being loved? I find, even though I do not, that I could have come to love Rowena. Intelligent beyond means, more than just fair to look at, and a friend that could plausibly have been more. It is the same for Helga, though I do not love her, I could well imagine a scenario where we were betrothed and grew into love.

Why do I tell you this my heir? I tell you this so you learn from my errors. My wife was a Gaunt, a family who lacks stability. They are wrong in the head, loving then hating, kind then cruel, sane and then mad. I was infatuated and grew to love a good woman. Though, it is her family's nature that I believe partly responsible for what befell my son. Had I used my head, had I chosen better, I may have had an heir who could have been worthy of the position.

I am not one who has lived life perfectly, in some cases, I did not even live aspects of it well. I had but a single son with my wife. I have had dalliances since her death and I suspect it possible I have other progeny. If I do, their mothers have not sought me out and by what right would I claim to do better, when it is known I took the life of my own son? No, heed my words. Do not let an infatuation lead you astray. Weigh the decision, ensure it is best for you, your future, your children and then choose to love them. If you love a woman, or women, as they should be loved, how could they not learn, in time, to love you as well? Having a wife of virtue, character, integrity and upstandingness, she would not repay love with malice, she would repay love with love.

When you select a wife, be sure she is a maiden, unspoiled by any other. There are options for rituals, at the bottom of the page is a spell to confirm a potential match is unspoiled and eligible for virginity rituals. Though my library will have a score of options, ranging all the way to the most perverse and defiling repercussions that are an affront to magic itself, there are two that I would recommend for your consideration.

The first is the one which is the most widely used of them all. Most Houses are concerned that when a daughter of another marries into their House, their allegiance would not change with their name. For this reason, it is the most common, though it would not be fair to claim it is common, even with arranged marriages. The ritual must be entered into willingly, by both parties, and it uses the symbolic act of a woman giving herself, the willing shedding of her own blood and accepting of himself into her, culminating in the giving of her physical, mental, magical and emotional selves.

To do this, using the first ritual, is for the woman to bind herself to her new House, her new husband. Like all rituals, it is permanent, irrevocable, and binds her to him. It will change the young maiden, all rituals bring about changes to those who undertake them. It is for two reasons that it is falling out of favor as time progresses. First, it is singular, the man gives up nothing to have her bound to him. He can be as unfaithful as he would like and she would remain ever faithful. Secondly, it must be willing. If the subject is forced into it, their magic will fight and the ritual will botch, and you, my heir, should not need warnings on potential repercussions for failing to do a ritual correctly.

The other virginity ritual is one that is far less prevalent. In fact, it has fallen so far out of favor, I expect it will be lost to the annals of history. Within the magical world, there are traits passed down by blood. While the ones that would readily come to mind would be one of my own, Parseltongue, every single person has some type of magical trait. A proclivity for herbology or potions, a mastery of charms or transfiguration, an affinity for fire or water, and so on and so forth. The second ritual allows both participants to share their most prominent trait with one another. An equal exchange among the two, but not among the Houses a party to the marital agreement.

Maintaining a monopoly on bloodline traits is, has been, and will always be, important for Houses. They do not wish for their gifts to be 'stolen' and they do not wish for others to come to be known for what, in their mind, is 'rightly theirs', theirs and theirs alone. It is madness, however. You cannot hoard a gift and let it flourish at the same time. As they try and protect their monopolies, they breed brother to sister, cousin to cousin, aunt to nephew, and niece to uncle. Such barbaric practices, all in the name of 'protecting their blood' will lead to the destruction of their gift. You cannot have a tree grow in the dark, you cannot have a flower flourish without the sun. The ritual is meant to strengthen magical lineages, it is meant to allow for the possibility of the mixing of traits. Would a metamorph and a parseltongue be able to blend together, allowing the inheritor to speak to any magical creature?

No, the folly of our society is their hoarding. They protect and actively stifle their magical gifts. They hide away their most precious knowledge. It is only with Hogwarts that there has been greater cross training amongst the magical arts. Houses would train their own and not allow others to learn their 'family magic'. Leaving knowledge to be lost, skills to not be passed down, and a desire to destroy their own works rather than let it fall into the hands of another.

Let me not tarry too long, for my words are never ending on the asinine proliferation of idiocy within the magical community. Listen my heir, love is not infatuation, it is your own choice. There are many who could love you and be deserving of your love. Use your head, think it through and protect yourself from your heart.

"Well then, how did it go?" Horace said, starting the official meeting, the first one with Patrice in attendance.

"Exactly how we expected," Harry responded, it was one thing to intellectually know you were setting yourself up for disappointment, it was another to experience it.

Horace reached over and patted Harry's left forearm. "I'm sorry, my boy. I am." There was no smugness or prattling on about how correct his prediction was.

"Did you discuss the information we had planned to plant?" Cyrus questioned, speaking up for the first time beyond greeting the others.

Harry nodded, "Yes. They saw the wording we wanted before I destroyed it." Harry looked at his right hand and lifted a finger, un he mentally counted. "They know I'm still hanging around Natalia and that I declined a contract from them." He lifted a second finger, his fore and middle fingers now raised, deux. "I planted the idea of five women." A third finger joined the other two, trois, he completed his inner monologue for a set of three.

"They believe Fleur is my main pursuit." His pinky finger joined the others, un. "I didn't have to point out that they don't know who my mystery tutor is, they brought it up, as proof of why I don't trust them." Harry's thumb was extended, all five fingers on his right hand now extended, deux was counted for a second time. "I told them I have nothing going on with the Ministry right now." Harry's left hand raised and he lifted up just the thumb, the rest of his fingers were closed, trois, the second set of three, and the final point, completed.

"Excellent, excellent." Slughorn boomed out, he raised his glass to Harry. Cyrus, the man who had asked, gave him a respectful nod and took a drink of his firewhiskey.

Harry glanced over at Patrice and he could see the man wasn't quite sure what was being talked about here.

"Excuse me, but what is being talked about, exactly?" Patrice Delacour asked, breaking into the conversation.

"Sorry Patrice, I had tried to recruit my father's best friends to join us here. It's possible that if I had let them know about horcruxes, they would have," Harry paused and let himself debate that idea before shaking his head, after realizing he'd never utter the word without an adequate vow in place. "But, anyway, we expected they wouldn't and will bring up what we talked about to Dumbledore. Knowing this, we had discussed what should and should not be discussed with them; I only revealed things that we'd agreed upon ahead of time."

Patrice's eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes filled with confusion when he inquired further, "Dumbledore is a problem? Wouldn't he be an invaluable ally?"

Harry sighed, knowing this would be difficult to address. "Honestly, I'm not sure what to make of him." Harry began, not helping to clarify things in the least, "He knows Riddle is after me, he's always known more than he's ever let on with me and we suspect he's known about the horcrux issue for some time."

He saw Patrice's head quirk in question and he elaborated on that, "If I was hidden away in the muggle world, with my mom's sister's blood protecting me, why would that be necessary if it was just renegade Death Eaters who were left to attack me?"

Harry had spent a lot of time thinking about these things while he trained. He'd found he could work through his rigorous exercises while his mind was focused, or thinking, about something else, it allowed for a lot of time for thought. He used the time for things like trying to make sense of what had happened to him in his life and to see if there was something he missed, or could pick up from, looking back at his life.

"After the Longbottom's were attacked, I should have been safe, like everyone else. Even if there was still a worry, I could have been taken to live abroad, I could have been raised behind a Fidelius charm, or any manner of things. I didn't have to be tucked away, kept ignorant and mistreated by the only blood relation that I still have, one known to have been hostile to anything magical." Harry explained quickly, the words tumbling out of his mouth as he just wanted to get through that.

"We had always wondered…" Patrice began his reponse slowly, looking pensive, his eyes shifting downward as he collected his thoughts. "Albus always spoke on your behalf and assured the wizarding world you were being cared for and protected."

"He did, and when you became a seeker in your first year, something that shouldn't have been accomplishable, the Daily Prophet covered it, making us all assume you must have had previous flying experience, quite a bit of it." Cyrus interjected into the conversation, looking at Harry first, as he started out and then his eyes shifted away, addressing both of the others in the room.

"And you believe the fact that you were hidden away, needlessly, is evidence of him knowing your Dark Lord is still around?" It would have been hard for anyone who heard Patrice to believe that he wasn't skeptical.

"It is one of the supporting points. The most damning would be his lack of disbelief when I confronted Riddle in my First Year. He'd laid a trap for him, enticed him to try for the Philosopher's Stone. After the confrontation between us, I asked Dumbledore if that meant Riddle could never return. He responded with: ' I'm afraid there are ways in which he can return.' " **

Harry let that sink in for a moment before he punctuated his point. "He knew prior to my first year that he would be back at some point. The question is when did he know, not whether he knew or not." The Head of House Potter could help some of the frustration from leaking into his voice.

The Frenchman didn't question that but he did look quizzically at the others.

"The question of timing is what has us concerned," Cyrus started to explain, his voice quiet and contemplative. "He was the Chief Warlock and it is well known many of those who were actually loyal to that mad man did not end up in prison, only the fanatics and truly irredeemable." He twirled his drink, staring at it for a few seconds, before taking a mouthful of it. "What is worrisome is that if he knew that back then, he either allowed the men to walk free, so that he could try and monitor them, or he allowed an enemy he knew he'd have to face again to get away to fight again."

"On one hand, we know, or believe at least, that Dumbledore is aware of the horcrux situation." Harry looked at his left hand while he said the first part. He turned his neck and looked down at his right hand now, lifting it up, "Yet, on the other hand, we don't see anything being done to combat what he knows is coming." Harry pushed his hands together, rubbing them against each other briefly before clasping them.

"Taking the two together, we are left with a man purported to be the only reason Riddle never won in the first place, the only one he feared, the Supreme Mugwump of the ICW, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, a man most would claim as one of, if not the, most respectable magical figures of our time, and we see nothing ? No action taken against his future enemies? No training for a child that was targeted?" Harry shook his head and brought his hand up to his forehead, rubbing it against his head. It was just hard to believe the sequence of events.

"Dumbledore knows but doesn't act. For now, he's not an ally. There is potential, the expectation even, for cooperation. But, we will never follow his lead when he has pissed away the opportunities to cripple our enemies." There was some bite to his words, his frustration evident on his face, his forehead creasing as he looked darkly at his drink.

"You expect a confrontation with him?" Patrice asked after some time processing what he'd heard.

"A verbal one, yes." Harry answered, he knew they'd have to hash things out at some point. They realized they more than likely needed his assistance with the horcrux issue too.

"There has to be, he's meddled with my life since before I was born." He saw the raised eyebrow from Patrice, but continued on, "He was the one that had my parents go into hiding. Dumbledore was the one that decided to place me with my magic-hating relatives," Harry spat that word out, "and he was the one that tried to keep me from becoming emancipated, this year. Has he not already spoken to you about me, Patrice? Has he not been meddling around in the life of an emancipated minor that no longer has any affiliation with his school or person?" Harry leaned forward, his neck craned and turned slightly as Harry's own eyebrows lifted in challenge to his words.

Patrice didn't seem pleased with the answer, but neither was he immediately discrediting any of the words that were being said.

"While we hope Albus will not act against us, we understand caution is required and we will be wary of him, and those who follow him," Slughorn smoothly cut into the conversation, "I've known Albus for many a year… he has never been forthcoming with knowledge and keeps his own counsel."

"The Chief Warlock and I have never gotten on." Cyrus bluntly stated. "He champions for change but it is more rhetoric than anything else," he paused and frowned. "Rhetoric might be the wrong word. I believe he does believe in the causes he champions, just not in the same way that they would like him to."

"How so?" Harry asked immediately, his attention heavily drawn now.

"It's about the discrepancy between words and actions," he began to explain, taking a quick drink as his voice had gotten a little dry. "He claims muggleborn should not be looked down upon but hasn't put any bills forth to legislate it. For instance, the Ministry has always been known to not hire Department Heads that are no pureblood by birth. It was Dumbledore that championed Dirk Cresswell into the position of Head of the Goblin Liaison Office and now he has just been promoted to the Head Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

"Wouldn't that be a point in favor of Albus following up his words with actions?" Patrice asked, though the way he did so left it clear that he was not doubting Cyrus' words.

"One would think so," Cyrus responded amusedly, a sly grin growing onto his lips. "But if one had a English pureblood upbringing, they would know that having to sully oneself to comport oneself with filthy half breeds and dark creatures was a form of punishment. If you screwed up horribly, or upset someone like the Minister, you could find yourself transferred to that department."

Harry could see that the half breed comment hit too close to home for Patrice to not react, even if it was not meant in a derogatory way.

"Ah yes, Cuthbert Mockridge, Fudge's former boss, when he first entered the Ministry," Horace quickly clarified, and went on. "He was a right bastard to his underlings. It was one of Cornelius' first moves, to transfer his former overlord there," he chuckled and held his belly as his laugh deepened. "He would always take such glee in ordering him to go and negotiate with the vampires and werewolves especially. I heard tales of all his comments. I'd even heard of him having to be checked over for bite marks after visiting them, before he was allowed to head into the Ministry."

Harry frowned, not liking what he was hearing.

"Dirk is a good man. I once even heard him complimented as the least dirty of all the filthy mudbloods," Cyrus said, though there was no humor in his voice as he did so. "My point stands, Dirk was given the prestigious position of shit shoveler. He got to be the liaison to the goblins and then, under Dumbledore's championing, he got the position of Chief dragon dung sifter. I believe the argument within the Wizengamot was that nobody had earned the position, so why not give it to Cresswell."

"So he was like the broom boy for a quidditch team? He can get his own jersey and can be made to feel part of the team but really he is a grunt who does all the work the others do not wish to do?" Patrice clarified with an analogy of his own.

Harry saw both Cyrus and Horace nod in agreement.

"Look, it's not like we want to be at odds with Dumbledore. We just can't have him lead us. He tried last war and lost. When he had a chance to put them all away, he gave them mercy. Now, we are on the brink of an upcoming war and I can't, I won't, put my life in his hands. I don't know why, but, I do know that Riddle will keep coming for me until one of us is dead, for good, and I will be the one to survive." Harry's eyes were hard and he could feel his magic churning, he could feel it pool around his body. Whenever he got too emotional his magic responded, it layered around his body, ready and waiting for his will, his intent.

Things got quiet as Harry calmed himself. Harry noted they took uneasy sips of their drinks and watched him somewhat wearily.

"I don't see any issues with facing Dumbledore. Though he could be a powerful ally, if we are able to cultivate the relationship well," Patrice said after a time, his lips scrunched and off centered to the left. "What else has been considered, as far as preparations go?" He asked, looking between the other three.

"Well, Horace and Cyrus have been handling the political and financial components. Though the two families I am Head of, have wealth and power, I don't know how to wield them, nor do I know how to fight financial battles. So, if you three all want to tackle that and keep me in the loop, from time to time, that works just as well for me." Harry said. He couldn't be in the thick of everything. He already knew what he had to do, he had to be their powerhouse, their wand that could defend and face any others.

"That I can do." Patrice said, and he could see Harry was going to continue.

"That leaves two real issues: horcruxes and a plan of action against the Death Eaters that escaped." Harry said, scarcely whispering the forbidden word for the desecrating soul magic.

"Oh ho! Not going to tell him of your plan for Malfoy?" Slughorn asked and chuckled, though there was no merriment in his eyes, nor his laugh.

Harry shut his eyes. He knew they thought him foolish, they thought Malfoy untouchable, but he was actually their most accessible. He didn't listen to the words, whatever was being said against his plan to kill Lucius wasn't worth hearing. They'd talked his ears off and he wouldn't budge.

"I can get to Malfoy in his home. Dobby, his former elf, can pop me outside the wards and I can get in undetected," he let the incredulity of his words take root but cut them off before they could blossom into words of their own. "I'm actually more concerned with how to frame it?"

"Sure, how to frame it, that's the issue, not the wards that have protected them for generations," Cyrus' broke in sarcastically, being critical with his dry humor.

"For me, it won't be." Harry stated with resolution, he eyed everyone with thinned lips.

Just as he could begin to hear their rebuttals, Harry held up his hand to forestall any lecture about it. "Look," he started out in a strong authoritative voice, "have you known me to be boastful or claim I can do something when I could not? Have I not listened to your advice and acted upon it?" He could see their countenance fall, their worry and frustration stymy at his words.

"I know what you will say; but, I'm telling you, Malfoy isn't going to be an issue. Believe me and leave it at that. If I wasn't sure, I wouldn't have brought it up."

This was a difficult decision for Harry. He wanted to tell them about his cloak, that he knew he could get in undetected. With Dobby's assistance, he'd know the layout and where to find Malfoy's office, his bedroom, or anywhere else that he might be. The cloak was something he couldn't speak of, vows or not. It's abilities could never come to light, it was a trump card he'd have to do his utmost to protect, like all of his previous ancestors had.

"I have not been a part of these previously and I trust," he eyed the other two men, "you are as true to your word as you have always been with my family. While I will trust you are capable of what you say, I have two primary concerns," Patrice trailed off and took a sip of his drink, inviting a response from anyone else.

Having heard none, he continued, "The first concern is you are both tied by family connections, you being Regent Black and his wife being born a Black. I surmise direct action would lead to repercussions from breaking the contract."

Patrice looked at Harry to respond but Harry turned his head to Cyrus, a sly grin tugged at his lips.

Cyrus' eyes gleamed in amusement as he cleared his throat to answer the question that wasn't originally directed at him. "Harry had requested that I check into this. I have found the contract and saw that this term has already been violated."

Harry couldn't help as the sly grin stretched into a rather wide one. "Let Cyrus finish, then I'll comment," he deflected attention back and gestured for the man to continue.

"Beyond that, I found another term violated by the Malfoy family. The accords for cooperation were also breached, in the most intentional of ways. From what I can gather, the Black family can use the breaches to reclaim the dowry and financial compensation from the considerations within the agreement. While I have not reviewed the numbers, it does look like the Black family will be able to ruin any financial liquidity the family currently has and I expect to also foreclose on land or properties, given the weight of the debt." It wasn't hard to hear the glee in his tone as he explained the financial implications.

"I worked with the information Cyrus passed, through Daphne, his heiress, and I think I have a good idea of the specific breaches," he said, starting out what he knew to be a longer explanation.

"I'll give them in chronological order, so you'll have a good idea of what occurred. The first breach was before Riddle's fall, before the night he attacked my parents, though only by weeks. As far as I can tell, no other Blacks were harmed or killed other than Regulus Black, Orion's second son." Harry let his words wash over them. He hadn't actually covered this with Horace yet, it was something he'd spent time working out with Daphne.

"Reggie… he was such a bright boy. He was always quiet and such a people pleaser. It was always rumored that something happened to him, killed by You-Know-Who was the rumor." Slughorn said forlornly, his face drooping.

"Well, given the date of death and the matching date for the breach of contract, we can assume the two are linked. He must have physically or magically gone against the familial alliance, his first breach." Harry shot his eyes over each one of them.

"The next series of breaches are all related. Without an acting Head or Regent of House Black, when Arcturus passed away, Malfoy defaulted on his financial cooperation obligations and it has worsened over time. Cyrus is still working out what will be owed."

Cyrus grinned ferally and both Slughorn and Delacour laughed knowing full well how joyful the undertaking would be, especially when it came to presenting evidence for recompense.

"The final one, and this one has the most dire consequences for Malfoy, is that he tried to cast the killing curse at me, at the end of my second year. It was only the intervention of his former elf, Dobby, that stopped the incantation." He forestalled any comments as he wanted to keep this focused and not get into the events around his second year, at this point they were irrelevant to the future plans they needed to make.

"Whatever happened with Regulus wasn't enough to trigger the clauses that state a member of the Malfoy family fully intended and willed for the death of a son or daughter of House Black, he knowingly worked against House Black, but not to that extent. His attempted casting of the killing curse at me did trigger that level of contract breach."

"Meaning, you are free to act against Lucius with impunity," Slughorn said with realization, a look of utter glee coming to his face, pride evident in his tone. "You're learning, playing the great game that is politics."

"Yes, well, I've had good teachers," his eyes sought out Horace and then flicked over to Cyrus,, though Slughorn had been spending his nights for potions lessons to drill him on politics also, not to mention every other opportunity he had as well.

"But I've a lot to learn and this is why I'm asking for help. I know I can get to Malfoy… but I'm not sure how we should try and frame it," he paused and squinted his eyes, as he thought back to what he and Daphne had come up with. "Probably the most believable option was to try and ruin him financially, for his failings to live up to the marriage contract with a daughter of House Black and then offing him, trying to make it seem someone working for him was unhappy at the turn of events and put it that way. I mean, he must have unsavory types around him that'd stab him in the back the second he looked to be in a position of weakness, wouldn't he?"

Harry wasn't really sure that plan was fully believable but he had faith in the collective brain power of the other three men, all were more than capable, adept even, at leading their families.

"It would be believed by some," Patrice said slowly, his forefinger and thumb stroking his chin. "Having him die within his own wards will make it more believable, perhaps with two drinks poured, spilled even, but it would have to be a precision strike. Once anyone had tried to kill the ward-holder, there would be trouble. Elves, portraits, and Lucius himself was known as a competent dueller. A single strike, preferably non-magical, would make the scene believable." Patrice said knowingly, giving the idea careful consideration.

"You'll want to leave a false trail as well," Cyrus added quietly. "A message to those of his ilk. A bar of fudge stuffed in his mouth might suffice."

Slughorn chuckled darkly. "Pin the assassination on political aspirations… yes, that would be convincing, especially after we try and ruin him financially."

"Okay, so, I'll plan for shortly after Cyrus does his best to destroy him financially and legally?" Harry asked more than he stated.

The question gave pause to the men around him. Eventually Patrice broke the silence with an answer. "The same night that it is announced. He'll be angry, stupid and will more than likely drink in his office while he works through things, late into the night even. Take him then, a quick strike when it looks to be the worst will be for the best."

"Without Lucius, Narcissa, a daughter of the House you are Regent of, will be left to fend off the consequences. Without Lucius, her position will be weak, she'll be, hopefully, emotionally compromised and any hope of the Malfoy family regaining the prestige and power they held before Fudge's dismissal will be dead. It would take an able man half a decade of maneuvering in favorable circumstances," Slughorn added thoughtfully.

"And few would consider the Malfoy heir capable," Cyrus piled on.

"No, he is not, not if what my Fleur says is true," Patrice agreed easily, a smirk adorning his face. "Speaking of my Fleur, she has asked me to expedite negotiations, now that we are fully in the know and joining you in this endeavor."

Harry sighed and gave a half-hearted smile, running his hand through his hair. "Let, uh, let's cover one more thing first."

"D'accord." Patrice said, slipping back into his native language. His face was schooled but Harry was sure he was less than pleased, especially when offering his eldest daughter's hand in marriage.

"Cyrus and Horace have known we need a general. Cyrus covers financial matters, Horace is masterful at politics and now we have added you, as well. Together, the three of you make a robust group of counsellors, but we are trying to seize an advantage before Riddle has a chance to come back."

He was saying something that two of the three of them knew but this was new to Patrice, so he was covering it one more time.

"I've looked. I've followed up suggestions and the closest I have come to find someone that might be willing to join our cause is Alastor Moody. By reputation a hard nosed man willing to wade into the deepest shit-filled sewers to fight. But, even he isn't a perfect match," Harry said, frustration, annoyance and weariness battling for supremacy in his tone.

"How so?" Patrice asked immediately, his face stiff and a blank mask still.

Harry ran his hand down his face and breathed out heavily. "Because he's a career auror. He might have fought against the rules the Ministry imposed on him, but he's fought and bled with them. From what I can gather, he's very loyal to Amelia Bones, a former trainee of his. With her rising to Minister, I can't imagine he'll be swayed to our cause easily. In fact, just approaching him could put Dumbledore and the Ministry onto us, which would be more problematic than him flatly turning us down."

"Aberforth Dumbledore?" Horace asked, it was a man he'd suggested looking into.

Harry shook his head. "No, he's a barkeep and has a weekly get together with his brother. They may not like each other but they are still blood. We can't trust he'd not speak of it to his brother. He's too cautious and cagey to swear anything fully binding before getting information."

"Then who?" Patrice asked but Harry could see the question on Patrice's and Cyrus' lips.

Harry braced himself, internally, he knew how well this was going to go over. "Ivan Pavlov," Harry said and it was total silence in the room, after he spoke. The two advisors he has been trusting for some time were already aware but they knew how well this may go over for Patrice Delacour.

The Pavlov family was at the center of the bloc that ensured the ICW did not recognize Veela as full equals to witches across their member nations. They were a part of the political oppression for the Veela conclaves in Bulgaria and the two families got on like oil and water.

"You would trust such a man?" Patrice said, his voice like iron, his words grit out as his fleed jaw barely moved.

"I have searched and searched and searched some more. I have spoken with Horace and Cyrus, I have casually questioned others and have sought anyone that has experience with running a war like this," Harry said, his eyes hard and resolute. This was his show and he knew this was going to be incredibly difficult but it was his life on the line. It was their lives and their families that were pledging themselves to his faction. They could run, they could bail, but Harry never could.

With his neck on the line, he was going to make tough decisions and do what was most likely to ensure he survived, no matter how much he disliked doing it.

"Tell me of another family that is willing to bind itself to me? Tell me of another family that won't balk at getting their hands dirty, at interrogating people, illegally, that will make people disappear and have no scruples about ensuring the outcomes they need to happen do, in fact, happen. Name me someone else that isn't law enforcement that could assist us in what is essentially a criminal type undertaking, a gang war, a vigilante masterwork."

He could see that Patrice was taking in his words but the reddening of his checks, the grinding of his teeth and the fury in his eyes made it clear just how well he was taking it.

" Name someone else. Name me anyone, Patrice," Harry was standing now, his palms pressed into the desk and his upper body was leaning over his elbows. It wasn't that he was furious or even truly angry. This wasn't about fighting or combatting for leadership but just not backing down. He had done his research, he had done everything he could to try and find anyone else. If Patrice could name one, he'd gladly look into it.

"Sirius Black," Patrice spat the name. "Your father's friend, and he fought in the last war."

The elder Delacour wasn't standing but he was leaning forward and his drink cup was being mauled by the grip of his hand. The Frenchman was livid at the thought of including the Pavlov's and had come up with a viable alternative.

"I tried," Harsy said tiredly, dropping his head. He shut his eyes and swallowed the moroseness that had welled up from within. "He won't swear the oath. Neither he nor Remus Lupin will. Remus is firmly with Dumbledore and Sirius… well, he isn't what he was… he needs help. The decade in Azkaban hasn't been kind to his fitness, both mental and physical."

"Arcturus, Charlus, Frank Longbottom, Edgar Bones, and a whole list of other prime candidates just aren't around to fill the void," Slughorn said, his melancholic tone palpable. "Can you imagine what Charlus would do to me if I advised his grandson to marry a Pavlov?" He actually shuddered at the thought.

"He'd string you up by your intestines, that would be, after your head was removed from your arse and his boot had taken itself out of your mouth, from being so far up your arse in the first place," Patrice gave a mirthless chuckle, his eyes downcast as he slumped forward, his free hand rubbing his forehead.

"Why do you think we have you here, first?" Cyrus asked rhetorically. "You will be a part of our negotiating team for the contract between Natalia and Harry."

Harry could always well imagine that Cyrus was the kind of person you didn't want as your enemy. He could understand why Voldemort didn't make an enemy of him, even when he refused to support his position. His ruthless cunning would be horrific to have aimed at yourself. His pragmatic and shrewd words helped to fully resolve the earlier tension.

"I don't think it will be possible for you to marry Fleur," Patrice said after a few moments of silence. His words came out as the realization came to his brain. "Apolline would never allow it… and Fleur… no, I don't see how it's possible, not if you make a match with Natalia Pavlova," his words came out as tired as they were soft. "I'd love to join our families, Harry, but not with this," he sat up and took a swig of his drink, finishing it, before muttering, "Apolline et Fleur n'accepteraient jamais une telle situation."

Harry nodded, he couldn't form words. Not now, anyways.

"Shall I tell her, or will you?" Patrice asked, his eyes fixated on Harry's.

Harry swallowed, his throat was dry and the lump that was there was just imaginary, just his emotions. "I… I will," he was barely able to whisper the words, his eyes not able to look above the floor.

The meeting could have gone on, he could have explained more about Malfoy and what Natalia had told him but he couldn't continue, not now. His eyes were open but he was not seeing, his ears were hearing but they were not listening, the words filtered through his brain but he was not processing.

He knew what his decision was going to lead to and now he was facing it. His eyes were dry but only because he was willing himself to not allow them to leak. It would come but not now.

With a heavy heart he stood and began to leave, he didn't know what else they were discussing and he didn't care. He had to talk to Fleur before he lost the will to do so.

There was only one thought he had running through his head, one that repeated over and over and over: 'Was it worth it, mom?'

Harry knocked on the door after staring at it for more than a minute. His mouth was dry and his stomach was in knots. He didn't know how he was going to do this. He felt he should, he felt this was what was right but now that he was here, could he do it?

Fleur answered the door, her angelic face lighting up, so radiant and ecstatic to see him. "'Arry! I wasn't expecting you, or I would have prepared!" She dropped her chin and stared at the bust of her chest suggestively, winking at him as she caught his eyes roving to where hers had just been, his cheeks reddening on his ghostly pale face.

She took in his appearance, he was standing there and hadn't moved towards her. Harry's hands were wrapped around his stomach and his skin was lacking its normal healthy hue.

"Are you alright, 'arry?" She asked, her hand reaching out to rest on his shoulder.

Instinctively, Harry flinched away from her touch, he didn't want her to feel the war going on inside of him.

It didn't matter what he wanted, Fleur took a quick step forward and mashed her body against his, wrapping herself around him. Harry's body, the traitor that it was, leaned in and relaxed into her embrace, his eyes shut and he breathed in her wonderful scent.

Damnation! This was not going to be easy.

He'd won her heart, he'd gotten a woman that would stand shoulder to shoulder with him and fight for him, fight with him.

How could he give her up?

How could he break her heart?

"'Arry? What is it? What is wrong?!" She detached herself from the hug, pushed her body back and brought her hands up to his shoulders, keeping a strong grip on him as she gazed at him, worry plainly written across her gorgeous face.

"C-c… can we sit down?" He struggled to find his voice as he avoided answering her question.

"Of course," she said, her worry filled eyes roving up and down his body, searching for anything that would explain.

Her left hand dropped down his back, falling to the base of it and ushering him into the room, her free hand grasping onto his. Quickly she led him to a couch and sat him down. She sat beside him, her body touching his, her upper body turned to his as she stared at him compassionately.

"I've come from meeting my advisors… your father included among them." Harry wanted to look at her but he feared he'd succumb to her, he'd fail to do what he had hardened his heart to do.

"Did something 'appen? Was someone 'urt?" She asked quickly, the words firing out of her mouth with barely any space between them. Her blue eyes were so soft and earnest in their concern for him.

"No, nothing like that," Harry said, his voice scarcely more than a whisper.

"Then what is it? If you are fine and nothing 'as 'appened…" Her eyebrows knit together in confusion, "is it money troubles?" Fleur asked doubtfully, as heiress she would be at least somewhat privy to the financial discussions Cyrus, Horace and Patrice had been having for their possible betrothal.

"No," Harry said, falling back into the couch, his head lifting and neck craning backwards resulting in him staring at the roof, or they would have been if his eyes were not shut.

Fleur stroked up and down his arm in a comforting manner, "Why don't you start from the beginning? You can tell me anything, you can trust me 'arry, you know that."

Her soft caring words were like knives punctuation him over and over. What she said was true and it hurt to hear it.

How could he reject her? How could he act knowing it would leave to breaking her heart?

"The beginning," Harry stated, fatly.

"Oui, as good a place 'as any," Fleur said with warmth, still running her hand up and down his arm.

Harry exhaled, deeply, and brought his head back down to a normal level as he did so. "Well, you know I have a dark lord after me, and that he's not gone," Fleur bobbed her head, allowing him to continue without breaking. "And you know that I'm trying to assemble a team of people to be proactive about it, to not rely on Dumbledore like everyone else did."

"Oui, Papa had said your team 'ad worked to get a more favorable Ministry as well, one less likely to be bribed, and one that 'eld a grudge against the Death Eaters. Is that not so?"

Harry gave her a strained smile. "It has worked out that way, yes," he was not giving full credence to the work of removing Fudge. It hadn't been the play, per se, but it had been a boon to their cause, and one he didn't mind jumping on when the opportunity had arisen.

"Well, now, now I need someone to help with our covert efforts to weaken, destabilize, or outright destroy their sources of power and wealth."

Fleur frowned again, it was such a horrible thing. Her face was too beautiful to be upset. The foreign look had never looked as it would on others. Somehow, it came closer to a cute look than one of being upset for any reason.

"And you 'ave someone for this spot?" She asked, carefully, more than likely seeing the agitation Harry was exhibiting at her question.

"Ivan Pavlov."

The name sent a ripple of shock through the room, it was as if everything stopped, froze. Fleur's widened eyes flashed through a number of emotions, too many to name quickly but there was certainly hurt there. Her hand stilled, at first, then withdrew from him, both of her arms withdrew back to her body.

"And what would 'e ask, to do such a thing?" She asked, her voice only quivering at the end. Fleur was too smart to not know the answer. Perhaps she just wanted to hear it from him.

"An action showing I'm serious about being willing to get my hands dirty, financial considerations for his family businesses and," he gulped before steeling himself, he'd be a man and face the consequence of his decision, "and, his daughter's hand in marriage." Harry's jaw snapped shut and he watched Fleur's reaction to the words she knew were coming.

"Non!" She gasped aloud, her hand flying to her mouth. "Non, non, non, non, non!" She repeated the word over and over and over, as if futilely saying the word would change something, anything.

"You can't, 'arry! You-you c-c-can't d-do this to me! Non, not you, 'arry!" She was responding rapidly, in denial as to what this meant to their marriage negotiations.

She reached forward and grabbed his hand. "Non! I can feel it. I know 'ow you feel about me!" She waved his limp and unresponsive arm as if it was indefensible evidence. Sadly, if she could truly feel how he felt about her then it would seem like it. He cared about her, he truly cared for her. And this, this, was leaving him feeling cold, empty, vacant. It wasn't so much that there was a void that was now empty, one she had previously filled, as much as there was just a blanketing of pure nothingness. He just didn't feel.

"Why, 'arry? Why? Why do this?!" She was frantic in her questioning and her yearning to understand was physically affecting Harry. He could see tears leaking down her face now and her hand had refused to give up the grip on his, not that she was hurting or squeezing him too hard or anything.

Harry blinked back unshed tears of his own and ran his free hand through his hair. "To survive, Fleur. To give me the best chance at reaching twenty, thirty, fifty…" he let his voice trail off.

"To survive?!" She sounded offended to Harry's ears. "Not for love? Not because you want to be with, with that-that, putain ?!" Fleur had searched for a word and though Harry didn't know what the word meant, he was entirely sure it was not a kind way of referring to Natalia.

Harry gave a miserable shrug. "What would you have me do Fleur?" He asked softly, the question rhetorical, both from them both knowing exactly what she wanted from him and that he pressed on before she could fully open her mouth.

"There is a Dark Lord," he began punctuating each word, "after me! And not just any old dark lord. No, this is one that has already gutted the best and brightest of the last two generations. This is a monster that decimated a country and could only be stalled, I'll say it again, stalled, not beaten, by the man who beat Grindelwald." He stopped for a moment, his voice was getting heated and he wasn't here to unload on Fleur. She didn't deserve any ire.

"Dumbledore outdueled Gellert Grindelwald. And the best he can do against Riddle is stalemate. Is that sinking in? Are you getting the depth of the shit that I'm in? Do you get that I've already met his disembodied spirit. I've already met and beaten him, through sheer luck, and, at some point, he will be back, back with all of his followers and a powerbase that will be unassailable if left intact?" His words weren't heated any longer, they were still filled with conviction but, like his face, placid and equanimous.

Fleur's hand clasped his hard. "We can do it 'arry! I'm the best Beauxbatons 'as seen for some time, Madame Maxime would not lie. And you, you have a dragon . You are a dragon. Powerful, fierce and unstoppable," her eyes didn't betray any form of disbelief, the words she spoke were spoken perfervidly.

"We can do this, 'arry, together. Papa, Maman, Horace and Cyrus. We don't need them! We'll find a way, 'arry! Believe me!" She was holding both of his hands now and was fully turned to him, her blue eyes fiery and willing him to agree.

"Please 'arry," she whispered, tears forming in her eyes, her chest heaving slightly following her impassioned plea.

Harry stared at her, wondering if his mother had to do this. From everything he had heard she hated, detested and loathed his father, prior to the contract. Her plan had worked, to a degree. Her parents and sister outlived the war, her progeny was a part of a distinguished House.

Did she have to give up her love, her hope of love even, when she swallowed her pride, her dislike, and agreed to try dating James Potter? Did she have to sit on a couch with a person she loved and take their heart, the one they had willingly placed in your hands, and then crush it in front of them?

Harry's eyes met Fleur's and he steeled himself. "I love you, Fleur. I know I do. I want to believe the little group we have now is enough. I want to believe that there is a way forward where we marry, have three children, fulfilling careers and die together after a long happy life."

Harry could feel it now, the shift in the air, the feel in the room as it changed. He took a breath and then went along with it. "All I've known is life as an orphan. All I've known is toil and trouble. Every year, I'd almost die and some haphazard miracle allowed me to survive. My eyes are open and I've seen a glimpse of what is coming."

He closed his eyes and thought of what Flitwick had showed him. He recalled Grindelwald's overwhelming storm painting the ground red with the blood of the defenders. He thought of the feats of magic Dumbledore could accomplish. He remembered what was said about Voldemort at the height of his power. He heard the call of his father, he saw the green flash and the begging of his mother, the cold cruel laugh and the ending of her life.

No, this was how it has to be. His parents sacrificed their lives so he could live. If he had to give up a loving marriage with Fleur, he would. Natalia wasn't completely trustworthy; her family even less so. But once the ritual was complete, once all of her magical allegiances shifted to him, he knew she could find no other. She'd be loyal to him for the rest of her life, regardless of what happened to him. Would they be as happy and he and Fleur could be? Probably not, but that wasn't definite. Maybe they would be, maybe they wouldn't. At the end of the day though, the cost was something he was willing to bear.

"I love you, Fleur, and a part of me always will," he dropped his hand and Fleur's previously tight grip was gone. Her fingers had no strength, no hold on him any longer. He withdrew his hand and stood.

"I'm sorry, Fleur. I won't ever regret something again in my life as much as I do this. You deserve all of me, not sharing. Your parents would never agree, you'd never agree." Tears fell down his face and the only noise that could be heard in the room was them dropping onto the floor.

"I'm sorry," Harry said once more as his body turned to leave. He looked at Fleur one final time. Her knees were hugging her chest, her arms hugging her legs and her chin was tucked between her knees. Her body was shaking and sobs were starting to come from her.

Harry wanted to go back to her. He wanted to comfort her and tell her everything was going to work out. He wanted to tell her she was beautiful inside and out and every man on the planet would be lucky to have her. That she was too gorgeous, driven and smart to not get past this, that she'd find another, someone better than him, one that would put her above himself, something he couldn't do.

But he couldn't. He was the source of her pain. He was the one that brought her so low, to such a state.

One foot stepped forward and the next stepped past it. One foot after another he made his way to the exit and made his way out. He closed the door and fell back into it. His legs gave out and he slid down the door.

"I respect that it was you doing this, but know I'm not particularly happy with you right now," a voice broke Harry out from his crouched position. He looked up and saw Patrice standing before him. "I understand why you made the choice; I don't agree with it but it is not mine to make."

Harry couldn't bring himself to respond. He moved his head and hoped it was enough of a nod to get across that he had heard what was said.

"You must really care about my daughter to be in this state."

Harry heard the words and almost snorted. If he was such an emotional wreck, he would have. He must look a mess.

"You told her the truth?" Patrice asked, his words coming out more harshly than his previous ones.

"Yes." Harry said, his voice hoarse. "That I love her, but understand… you and Apolline won't accept it, and I can't ask that of Fleur," Harry added before he stood up. He'd have to move to let Patrice pass and he should get back to the Chamber. He could blast targets and pass out with Cuddles curled up against him.

Harry felt a hand land on his shoulder and followed it back up to see it was Patrice and it was a comforting type gesture. "If there is one thing I have learned in my marriage, it is that Apolline is Veela, not a witch."

Harry gave him a quizzical look, his head tilted and his eyebrows rose. He couldn't fathom why he would make that comment and didn't know how to respond.

"Fleur is Veela, there is no doubt about that," Patrice squeezed his shoulder and with that cryptic comment he opened the door, stepped past Harry and shut the door, perhaps symbolic of his time with Fleur as a romantic interest.