Harry sat alone, watching quietly, further back in the empty theater. His eyes were occasionally drawn away from Natalia but, for the most part, they were glued to her. Watching her work on her routine, over and over and over again. It was mesmerizing and he found it oddly relaxing.
Lacroix had helped him get in here. Harry was in a private studio in France. She knew he had been wanting to visit with Natalia and helped to arrange a portkey for him. This was a private production company that put on small scale productions for the wizarding elite. They often cooperated with Lacroix's studio. Madame Lacroix herself had commented on how it was a partnership, they needed an extra body for a production and Lacroix had sent Natalia, commenting to Harry, that this opportunity would be an invaluable experience for her career, being only fifteen and already having the opportunity to dance with a professional ballet company was unheard of.
It had been an interesting conversation, as so many of them with her tended to be. Now he was content to just watch the practice, at this point in the morning they were doing what looked to be more of a workout and technique training than anything else. Lots of repetitive motions and Harry saw one of the older women assisting her, taking a few moments to show her something about a movement and discussing it with her.
Natalia had been razor focused, she had acknowledged his presence when he came in, with a short wave and slight smile, but hadn't looked to him even once. This hadn't bothered Harry, not in the least. This was something he could see himself getting used to, not that he would spend day after day watching ballet rehearsals but having something to watch while he spent time reflecting was appealing. There was an effortless grace and beauty at work, their fluid movements and dedication was equal parts relaxing and impressive to watch.
He watched as Natalia was doing some more complicated footwork, her ankles turning quickly and feet pivoting from flat to only her toes touching the ground. He let his eyes stay affixed to her as he thought back to the end of the day at the Delacour home.
His team of advisors were coming together quite well, each man had something to offer. Horace's main focus was the political world and using his numerous connections to assist where he could. Cyrus had an in with the more business orientated contacts in the wizengamot as well, and he and Patrice had put together some plans for the war, on the business front.
From what he understood, they were working towards gaining something of a monopoly on potion ingredients. The Malfoy family owned some of them and they were going to be targeted. Part of the reason they had wanted to delay the Malfoy assassination, not that they had told him ahead of time, was that the Nott and Parkinson families had some minor holdings that they were aquiring for the Black and Greengrass families, before they tried to pry the rest from the Malfoys. It wouldn't give them a true monopoly, not even by combining all of their factions businesses, but it would remove the Voldemort supporters hold over any of them and, potentially, set them up to deny easy access to potion ingredients, at wholesale cost, or even off the books, from the opposing side.
They had discussed that brewing medicinal potions was paramount to their ability to keep their terrorist actions away from the ministry. The Death Eaters couldn't go to Saint Mungo's and get patched up and they'd have to rely on healers who wouldn't betray their confidence and supplies that they could get without being able to be traced by the aurors. It was fortuitous that Dumbledore's side had Hogwarts, a school that could purchase large quantities of potions or supplies without any questions being asked.
The men had explained that if Patrice was able to do similar feats in France then they'd gain greater control and would be able to partner together and increase the efficiency and effectiveness of their businesses. With a larger control of the market they would have profitable businesses that generated capital whether another war happened or not. If the Pavlov family got in on it, they could hold a strong share of the market through a much larger area, denying even the opportunity to try and smuggle in potion ingredients from outside the country.
All Harry knew for sure, was the purchases were not straightforward. There were laws in place to prevent monopolies from forming, both the Ministry and ICW had them, and they were a highly regulated industry. The legwork going into the plan was immense and being entirely handled outside of him. As the Regent Black and Head of House Potter he would have final approval but that was a rubber stamp procedure at this point, if they were able to make this all work.
Those talks were tedious and the details blurred as they debated and discussed them again. His mind drifted and his thoughts brought him back to the dinner. Cyrus had begged off, having already had plans for his evening, while Horace had stayed for the evening. He still couldn't believe when Gabrielle demanded to be allowed to sit on Cuddles, instead of a chair, at dinner. Well, that wasn't wholly unbelievable, it was Apolline agreeing that her youngest could sit on his dragon, provided he made her of suitable size and ensured Cuddles would behave properly.
That had guaranteed that Harry had sat beside the adorable girl, who loved his dragon more than humanly possible, and he had a lovely dinner sitting across from Patrice and Horace, who had been sat opposite he and Gabrielle, while Apolline had sat at the end of the table, positioned to possibly control and entertain her daughter, not that she had needed it, having passed out, due to exhaustion, shortly into dinner.
It had been a nice meal, with easy conversation taking place and the only part that had been anxious was wondering where Fleur and Daphne had gone. Apolline had told him Daphne had returned to Hogwarts, before dinner, and Fleur had taken the time to go and visit her grandmother and friends who had not made it to Hogwarts.
It was something that still plagued his thoughts. What had been Daphne's purpose for the visit? Was Cyrus aware?
Harry's attention was drawn back to the stage. The workout and training session had ended, and he saw that Natalia had dropped off the stage and was making her way towards him.
"Harry!" She exclaimed and actually jumped into his arms. She wrapped herself around him, as Harry's arms came up to grab hold of her, her chest pressed up against his and her weight being supported by Harry. He was holding her up and she was looking down at him, her eyes full of warmth.
"It's been too long! I've missed you!" She squeezed him just after saying it and pressed her lips into his cheek.
"Natalia," Harry murmured, "I've missed you too," he squeezed her back with affection. They held onto each other, Harry holding up her weight, for a few more seconds before Harry planted her feet back on the ground, gracefully.
"Did you have fun and learn something this morning?" Harry wasn't really sure what to ask. Lacroix had said they were in a warm up but she had also called it class so he didn't really know.
"Yes," she gushed, "everyday I learn sooo much!" Her eyes were sparkling with delight and her grin was so infectious a smile spread across his face. "It's just so amazing, it's everything I've ever wanted! My dreams are really coming true!" she launched herself into him and kissed him soundly!
"It's all thanks to you, Harry!" she told him breathlessly and wrapped herself around him and there was no indication that she was letting go anytime soon. "Thanks, Harry. Really, thanks," she whispered in his ear.
After another minute she let go and they broke apart for the second time but this time she sat on the back of the seat right beside where Harry had been sitting. Natalia gestured for him to sit down again and he did just that, not minding sitting opposite to her so he could see her.
"So what did you just finish up then? You're not done for the day, are you?" he quickly questioned, the last part in doubt, it was too early in the day for them to call it quits.
"No," she laughed, "that was just morning class. We go through technique but it's really more of a light warm up to prepare for rehearsal. We have about a half hour off now and then aside from short breaks we'll be dancing till sometime in the evening, usually five, six, or seven."
"Five days a week?"
She shook her head, "No, six," she said excitedly. "I'm hoping to get some extra tutoring on the seventh too," she was so ecstatic, bouncing with energy.
"Oh, is there going to be any free time for you?" He questioned, leaving it unsaid, free time to spend with him.
"Yeah. For muggle ballerina's there is more time for keeping their body healthy but for us it's a few potions, if necessary, and I'm free. I mean, at this early stage in my career, I need to put in all the extra hours to strengthen my body and improve my technique as much as I can handle," Harry nodded, that made sense but left him feeling hollow, hearing her words.
Did he just trade away Fleur for a girl that couldn't even be bothered to make time for him? He knew this was a political decision but it was still a punch to his gut.
"Don't worry Harry. I won't be free every night, after dance, but seven isn't too late," she used her pelvis to push herself off from resting against the back of the seat, closing the distance between them. "Besides, maybe you'd want me to sleep over sometimes," she said sultrily at him.
Harry smiled as she pushed closer and sat sideways on him. Natalia planted a series of soft kisses on his lips and then leaned back, her face schooling into a more serious look. "Father was really impressed. Hell, my whole family was. My whole family threw out ideas but none could fathom how it was pulled off. If they had any doubts about you, they're gone now."
Harry didn't indicate anything positive to that, no nod, no words of agreement. He thought back to if he had established his standard privacy spells, this was not something that he could allow to be overheard. He breathed a sigh of relief when he recalled he had already set up the spells. He focused on the feeling of the magic around and was doubly assured his privacy spells were in place.
"The day it broke in the papers, they knew. Who else but Harry Potter could pull off a miracle like that. I know my family pulled strings, they tried to find out if anyone had a legitimate lead. When they found out there were none… well, Father set this in motion that very day." Natalia gestured at the theater that they were in.
"Did it take much doing?" Harry asked, honestly curious.
Natalia shrugged. "I don't know the details… but, I'd wager some ongoing financial assistance and the prospect of having you attend performances," she beamed the last part at him, a massive smile lighting up her face.
"Oh, you think I'll come?" Harry asked teasingly.
"I do," she said, staring into his eyes, her words said entirely sincerely.
Harry didn't answer with words, he tilted his chin and leaned forward, capturing her lips and using his free hand to reach around and pull her upper body right into it.
"I wouldn't miss it," he said, right after breaking the kiss.
She used her left hand to grab his right, the one that had slid around her upper body and clasped their hands together, her chin dropping and eyes staring at their joined hands.
"I have a lot to be thankful to you for. Without you, my family wouldn't have made this happen. You might not know, but working with professionals at my age… it's a big deal. I should be at least seventeen and graduated before this happened."
Her words were soft and her eyes downcast as she shyly continued to explain this to him. "I shouldn't be here. I know that. I'm not quite ready for this, for the quality of the others. I'm good, very good for my age even, but, I'm not quite here yet."
Harry turned his attention to the hand holding his, her fingers were holding his while her thumb worked up and down the back of his hand, more in an agitated, nervous manner than anything else.
"This is going to help my career, more than you can imagine, more than I could, really," she mumbled out the last part to herself. "That is, as long as I put the work in. And, I promise you that, Harry, I won't screw this up. I'll learn my part, however minor they may be, and dance with perfection." There was a fire and determination to her declaration, Harry believed her and from what he had seen this morning, he had nothing to doubt it.
"I'm sure you'll be great," he told her in a gentle voice, taking his left hand and raising it to her cheek, grabbing hold of her face and delicately running his thumb across her cheek, back and forth.
"Thanks, Harry," she brought her chin up and gazed into his green eyes while her hand caressed his cheek in return for his ongoing affection. "This is all possible because of you," she kissed his cheek again, letting her lips linger.
She released his cheek and leaned into him, cuddling into him and they both enjoyed each other's warmth.
These were the moments that Harry liked, Natalia, when politics were not rearing their ugly head, just made things feel so simple and natural. They liked each other. They showed their affection for one another and it was just for them. Yes, they had shown off, attending two balls together but that's not what he saw Natalia as. She wasn't just a pretty dancer who happened to be gorgeous. She was passionate, diligent, hard working and had the character to persevere in difficult circumstances.
When her family derode her for pursuing ballet, she ducked her head and bore the criticism. When she developed a reputation of being the black sheep, for defying her family to pursue her love of dance, she didn't let it deter her.
In many ways he envied her strength and resolve. It was something he was trying to emulate himself. Early on at Hogwarts, he had bowed to the pressure. He'd become who everyone thought he should be. He listened and became the consummate Gryffindor. Harry didn't regret his actions, he didn't think he had become someone distorted. Rather, he wondered what his life would have been like if he had a goal in mind like Natalia when he entered Hogwarts.
Would he have had a passion for something like Natalia had for ballet if he grew up with a family? Would he be into quidditch as much as Krum was, if his dad had played it with him from the time he could walk?
Harry would like to think he would, but so few, this young, did. It was something that so very few found, or, perhaps, so few were willing to relentlessly pursue to the detriment of things like their social life and academic excellence.
"Harry, I have to get back now. It's a short break and I need to get a snack and keep my body limber. Plus, Father just arrived." Natalia gestured toward the door that had opened behind and to the right of Harry.
"Before I leave you to it, can we hang out tonight? Can I… maybe… stay over, I liked last time." Natalia ducked her chin when she wasked the last part and broke eye contact but she hadn't gotten up off him yet.
"Sure, I'd love that," her eyes lit up and a smile sprouted on her face. "Just message me," Harry added.
"I will." She replied and then she quickly pecked him on the lips. Right after she stood up but didn't turn as she wanted to say one more thing first, "Don't be nervous. He's incredibly impressed and knows you have a very astute team backing you. Always be careful, but I have complete confidence in you."
She turned and bounced away stopping just at the end of his privacy ward. "I'll see you tonight Harry." she waited for him to reply the same and with a short wave she was headed back, practically skipping down the aisle to get back to the stage.
Harry disbanded his privacy charms, allowing for Ivan to see him and make his way over. The man settled a seat away from him with only a handshake as a form of greeting being exchanged.
Harry recast the full suite of privacy spells and waited for Ivan to kick things off. As he waited he watched as the stage transformed, walls of mirrors, came up, with bars for supports, lighting intensified overhead and instruments rose, seemingly out of mid air, and took a ready position, even though there was no-one to play them.
A piano began to play, though Harry could not see one, the sound coming from all around him and everywhere at once. All the girls on stage got in place, Natalia on the back left, when the instructor began calling out.
"Back, further back," Natalia and the three others in the third line of dancers stepped back a couple half paces and the instructor called out, "good, hold there."
The few slow notes began to progress, picking up rhythm and beginning to build, yet the pace was slow and quiet, a beautiful artistic type start, though Harry really had no idea how to describe this style of music. He had no experience with muggle classical music. It sounded like a song he might have heard in some fancy store, ones that Petunia would have never allowed him into in the first place.
"Check arms, feet, lines," the commanding voice of the woman leading things shouted out.
Harry watched as Natalia made an 'o' shape with her arms, held out down toward her hips, almost like she was holding a large ball and then, as she lifted her arms up high over her head, she rose on her feet, stretching her neck to match the lead hand. The forward arm stretched out and her upper body contoured to follow it, her back leg lifting as she maintained her balance and rose to her toes.
"Left arm, keep those arms up," the stern lady called out once more.
"That's Madame Beaufort," Ivan said, his deep voice breaking the silence between them. He was aware of whom Harry was looking at without actually turning to see him. "She had a long distinguished career with Salle Le Peletier, the Paris Opera Ballet, and hopes to make this into a prestigious wizarding production company," he jabbed his chin toward the woman and continued to look towards the practice, keeping his focus on the dancers.
"I have agreed to finance their first production, an original work, a rendition of The Fountain of Fair Fortune," he didn't know how, but the man sounded annoyed, excited and displeased all at the same time.
"Is that odd? I thought Madame Lacroix did some small productions too," Harry remembered hearing a bit about it but hadn't really paid attention to these things.
Ivan let out a derisive grunt. "Muggle productions put on by wizards and witches. That hasn't gained traction over the centuries and it will never catch on."
"Then why allow Natalia to join ballet? Why give financial support to this production?" Harry asked, trying to gain insight into what the man thought about this.
Ivan let out a heavy breath and looked over, his upper lip pushed up and his lower lip protruding slightly. "Beaufort isn't putting on a muggle production," he sneered the word as if it was an insult. "She's spent her time figuring out how to make ballet magical ."
Harry bobbed his head slowly. He could understand that the purebloods wouldn't be into a form of art that was essentially muggle. Finding a way to make it more magical would make some sense, though, if he was reading it right, Ivan Pavlov didn't necessarily believe in it as well.
"As for my daughter… many pureblood families find hobbies that are productive to their child's development. Many families send their daughters to Madame Lacroix. Beyond the obvious benefit of learning to dance, they are taught discipline, have opportunities to build connections, and learn the value of hard work and perseverance, amongst other things," he paused and let out a mixture of a sigh and a growl. "Natalia… she didn't take to it as a hobby. It became her sole passion… much to her mother's and my consternation."
"Why is that? Why would you prefer she wasn't so into ballet?" He hoped he wasn't prodding the man for too much information. The entire conversation had been far more relaxed than Harry had expected. There wasn't even a whiff of business discussion yet.
"Dance is a hobby . Look at Beaufort. She's at the pinnacle of her profession, or so I'm told. If everything went well for my daughter, she could only hope to achieve that. To live in the muggle world for decades and become renowned there for her dancing. But then, when she ages out, what will she have? Not fame or fortune, at least not in the wizarding world. Her skill will not provide her a respected career and she'll have many more decades to be around with nothing to fall back on than a meager savings and her family."
It was a rather clinical reply, cold, full of facts and the bare bones truth. Harry thought about that, if Beaufort was the best she could do, the woman was relying on the financial generosity of others to be able to try to achieve something. It was more likely that the Pavlov family decided to contribute, financially, for Natalia hooking Harry than anything else. It left Harry with a bit of a sour taste in his mouth.
Should Natalia's pursuit be weighed solely on the financial and career opportunities that could arise from the pursuit of her passion?
Harry got lost in thought, his eyes tracking Natalia as she twirled on her toes, as she brought her second leg down and shifted her weight to it, beginning a movement that was fast and slow at the same time. It felt like his eyes were being deceived. The grace and elegance that she moved with made it seem as though she was gently floating around, drifting wherever the winds were taking her, the others too, of course, but her body was getting around the stage quite a lot faster than it appeared she was moving.
"But that will soon be your problem," he said, leading the change in direction of their conversation. "When Natalia told me you would show your resolve… I, we, would never have expected Malfoy of all people. And so creatively done too," he chuckled darkly as he relaxed back into his chair.
Harry's lips quirked towards a smile but he was still having some difficulties with his actions. In the heat of the moment he had felt justified, good even. But after, well, his nights were more restless than he'd like, his thoughts wondering if he had crossed a line or was heading down a dark parth he wouldn't be able to escape from.
"The loss of opportunity to forcibly gain knowledge from the man is… unfortunate, but, it's part and parcel for the lack of leads. Though, the man's absence would have brought too much attention," he mused out loud.
Harry did not want to be slipping up or saying anything that could ever be used against him. He'd kept his mouth shut, he'd been in perfect control of his bodily reactions but this was too precarious a position to be in. The man beside him was one he had been warned about, on multiple occasions, and he wasn't to be underestimated.
"I hope you don't mind that I have Horace, Patrice and Cyrus jointly working on the marriage contract, my legal representation will be looking it over as well." Harry didn't expect the man to react but he couldn't imagine that he was pleased to have a political opponent negotiating terms for a marriage that you wanted to make happen.
"Some business arrangements are pleasant, others, however, are not. But business is business and you don't turn away from good opportunities because of a personal reason, that is, if it can be avoided." The man said passively, still watching the stage, where they had continued to do complicated motions.
Harry watched as they completed some spinning motions, he snuck a glance over at Ivan who was still lounging in the chair two over from him.
"How do you attack an enemy that is stronger than you, more numerous, has more resources, and, honestly out classes your side in almost every way?" Harry just bluntly asked the question. He knew Ivan would be smart enough to understand the situation but, hopefully, he was not aware Voldemort was imminently returning.
Ivan's head dropped toward his left shoulder and he rolled his neck up and over to bring his head around to bear on Harry. His face was like stone, passive, hard and unmoving. His forehead creased, the only visible sign, other than the movement of his head, that he acknowledged Harry's words.
He dropped his chin and allowed it to lead him to looking back down toward the rehearsal. He drew in a breath and a low growl accompanied the exhaled air.
Harry turned back to look at the stage as well, leaning, once again, on the chair in front of him, though his fingers strongly gripped his chair's armrests.
"You don't." Ivan's deep voice rumbled out after a minute or so of quiet between them.
Harry relaxed the grip on his chair and turned his head, looking at the elder man, who either ignored or did not notice his action. He sat, staring forward, lips pursed and arms resting on the places designated for them to do so.
"You cannot take overt action against them, you are weaker and will lose on attrition alone. If it provoked them into overt action of their own…" Harry didn't need Ivan to explain that and the man agreed with him, letting his words fall off.
If Harry kept assassinating Death Eaters, the ones left would figure it out pretty quickly, regardless of evidence, and begin striking back.
"To have any chance, you'd need to create division within their camp. Have them so focused internally, potentially even fighting each other, to notice that it is your external influence that is guiding their actions, leading them to their eventual end."
That sounded lovely. Get the Death Eaters to turn on each other. That sounded so simple, but, pulling it off… that wasn't going to be easy, if it was even possible in the first place. What would they even cause them strife? Money? Power? Politics?
Harry's mind turned the ideas over and over in his head, solutions not forthcoming.
The ballet dancers were all crouched on a single leg, their free leg out and pointed, before it flowed back toward their body as they stood, their closer arm gliding along, rounded and almost touching their outer legs' pointed toes before it was brought in as well, though the two hands clasped together up over their heads.
But how could he solve that issue? Harry wouldn't just admit he was doomed to die and fail. There must be a way for his side to prevail. He just had to think of it, his faction needed a strategy that could actually conclude with a happy ending. He frowned as he kept watching the ballerinas practice.
They were on their toes now, right on the points, or that's how it looked to Harry, and they were, for lack of a better word, shimmying. Standing still but almost vibrating in place, their body at full height, neck extended, arms held in a tight ellipse at their maximum reach.
What he needed was a way to divide them, something that was distinguishable. His eyes were following the dancing on the stage but his mind was whirling. He could feel his subconscious had stumbled upon something. There was gold right around him somewhere, he just needed to let his mind work. He could feel it coming. But as it was, Harry's attention was drawn to the dancers more deliberately, not in the half-focused way he had been observing them.
Merlin, that looked like hell. Bouncing on your toes and Beaufort is calling out the timing to the song as the music builds, deeper notes being struck on the piano in long half-notes while the higher octaves were driving with eighth and sixteenth notes. Harry could feel the tension of the song rise, he could see the exertion taking a toll on the dancers, the music gaining, building toward the crescendo, the dangers matching it with fortitude.
He watched with narrowed eyes, his mind supplying the first inklings of an idea. Didn't Lucius' death already show how divided they were? Were the Death Eaters vulnerable in other areas? It wasn't like Lucius and his ilk would have been throwing dinner parties with the bottom feeding scum, the despicable beings like Greyback.
Weren't they already divided?
His eyes widened and he could feel his heart begin to race. That… this was exploitable.
The music couldn't keep building, the dancers couldn't keep up their pace, and right as it pressed on, the pressure, reaching its zenith, suddenly snapped. Two whole beats of stillness, no music was heard, no movement from any of the dancers was taken, they stood atop their toes and waited, Harry's mind frozen with them. His thoughts stuck on a single salient solution.
Beaufort's voice was the only thing piercing the frozen moment in time as she counted out, instructing her charges, "Hold, two, three, and. Hold, two, three, four annnnnd… now!" She had counted out the first bar, the second and the fourth beat had dragged out until her loud voice had brought it all back into action.
The dancers twirled, coming together as they did so. When they were close together, they linked arms, their movements perfectly coordinated, feets, arms, shoulders, heads and torsos all working in perfect coordination between the three lines of dancers. They turned, joined together, they dropped and dipped one way, and then another, always together, always in sync.
Meanwhile the music drove on, it had built to its height, dropped off to nothingness and then picked itself right back up, as if a hiker had sprinted to reach the top of a hill and was taken aback by the sight before them. Speechless, breathless, they were held until their body kicked back into motion and they were frolicking gaily with their friends on a mountain plateau of bliss.
Harry sat mesmerized, lost between the incredible sight he was witnessing and his mind cementing the early foundations of his plan.
When he had leaned forward and rested his hands on the seat in front of him, he had no idea. His chin had joined his hand and his eyes were glued to Natalia, watching, transfixed by what was before him. He knew of ballet, he knew it was an art, but… this…
His heart was racing and his lips were smiling. It was a sole piece of advice but he couldn't stay here, not anymore. He had to get going, he had to think this over. His advisors wouldn't like it, they wouldn't want him to go for it.
It wasn't something he could pull off alone, he couldn't bypass them and just make an executive decision, resulting in decisive, perhaps impulsive, action like he had with Malfoy.
While Malfoy's death might later be claimed as the spark that set off the flames of a second blood war, if he went through with this…
It would either be a brilliant tactical plan that was executed well, a strategic plan that would guide, at the very least, the beginning stages of the conflict, or, it would be a blunder of epic proportions, one that would cost him his life and any others involved with it.
Harry couldn't sit here any longer. He stood and offered his hand to Ivan, "I need to head out. Thanks for the chat," he kept to a more neutral tone but he couldn't help some of his happiness from leaking out.
Ivan stood up and shook his hand, grunting as he did so. He looked annoyed and caught off guard at Harry's sudden departure. Before he let go of his grasp on Harry's hand he had one final thing to say. "The courting contract is still eligible for you to sign. Feel free to make use of it while negotiations are ongoing."
Harry's hand almost went limp. He still had that damned contract in the Chamber. Why would Ivan want him to sign it though?
He stepped past the man and exited the row. He walked sideways, almost backwards, as he left, wanting to see more of the rehearsal even though he knew he had to go and stop pushing his luck. A single mistake could be costly and things had gone well.
The only thing left to figure out was why did he bring up the courting contract again? That puzzled, worried, and set him on edge. His earlier high, on finally coming up with an idea, dissipating and his worries about the Pavlov family not abating, not one iota.
He stole one final look at the stage. The dancers were whirling and twirling, moving in and out, lines intersecting and, somehow, none of the dancers colliding. It looks beautiful, lively and so very precise.
Harry backed out of the theater with a final thought, my, oh my, how things were becoming complicated.
Harry had arrived back at Hogwarts, the gates were open and so he had just decided to walk in. He needed time to let his thoughts run wild.
The most prevalent one was wondering where the line between brilliance and madness was? Was there overlap? Was it a venn diagram and not a border between them?
Did you have to be a bit mad to be brilliant?
The line must be blurred, Harry thought. His mind raced and he couldn't get this mad idea out of his head. It felt like this was definitely the right idea. Before he knew it, he'd arrived at the castle and the cacophony of noise emanating out of the Great Hall confirmed it was still time for lunch.
He turned to head towards the hall and just as he took his first purposeful step he heard a voice calling out his name. It was as if his whole body sighed at once, just a feeling of 'Now? it had to be him, now ?'
"Hello, sir," he said respectfully to Dumbledore.
The man had that infuriatingly patient smile on his face, "How fortunate for me to run into you, on your way to lunch as well?" he asked as if he didn't know and that this was some actual happenstance.
While it was possible, Harry felt, it was more likely the Headmaster was aware of him arriving and made to intercept it. Again, it could be a coincidence, but he didn't think there was such a thing as coincidences when it came to Dumbledore.
"Yes," Harry gave a simple neutral reply.
"Ah, I am as well," his chin lowered and he lowered a grandfatherly gaze to Harry. "Care to join me? I'm not sure I've had a person of age to attend here up at the staff table before," his eyes twinkled merrily as he stroked his beard in thought.
Harry's eyes widened slightly, he had thought Dumbledore would get him to go for a private meal, not to join him in public, at the faculty table no less. "Sure, why not, it could be fun."
Harry followed the headmaster into the hall and felt the eyes of the hall settle on him. The young parseltongue looked around the hall, he saw his quidditch teammates at the Gryffindor table, Fleur amongst them, and, at the Hufflepuff table, he saw Cedric and Cho, they were seated beside Susan, Hannah and Daphne. The Greengrass Heiress caught his eye and shot him a questioning look. He shrugged back and turned his head back towards the venerable man before him.
Dumbledore arrived at his spot, drew his wand and gave it a flick, his normal chair moved backwards, out of the way. WIth an elaborate flourish he conjured an exact replica of the chair he had just removed, only it was smaller, leaving room for Harry and perfectly situated in front of the plate designated for him. Dumbledore sat down and turned to Harry, raising both eyebrows in expectation.
Harry brought his wand out of its holster and mimicked him to the best of his ability. He gave a flourish of his wand, with an exaggerated motion and silently conjured a chair that looked the exact same as Dumbledore's only it had the Potter and Black House crests on the backing of the chair. He sat down and the headmaster gave him a congenial smile.
"While I'd never doubt Minerva's word, it is always good to see her boasting of your transfiguration skill backed up. I dare say, that's a fine piece of conjuration for someone of your age."
Harry returned his look, his lips curving into a smile. "I'm glad you think so. Professor McGonagall has been an excellent tutor and I've worked hard under her direction."
"So I've heard. Filius has had excellent remarks about your progress. I'm led to believe your progress under both of them is nothing less than astounding." Dumbledore praised, casually using wandless magic to levitate food onto his plate.
Harry watched and saw Dumbledore's gaze flick down to his spoon. Harry rolled his eyes, was this going to be like a weird magical test? Simple wandless spells were something he had spent time on, mostly retrieving his wand, levitating and banishing. He concentrated and began to do the same, though he had to direct with his hands and not just levitate food without wand motions.
When Harry was done Dumbledore began to use his wandless magic to feed himself. He looked pointedly at Harry and watched Harry. With another challenge thrown down, he kept at it. This was more difficult, it required more concentration and careful control, he didn't want to drop something down his chest, being sat in front of the whole school.
"You'll find, if you keep doing most every task wandlessly, your control will increase rapidly and the difficulties you have with it will fade in no time at all. It is a tad onerous but well worth it in the long run," the headmaster lectured kindly, imparting some practical advice.
Harry thanked him for the tip and turned his eyes to take in what was happening in the Great Hall. His green eyes found the Gryffindor table and they met Fleur's beautiful blue ones. Her lips were pursed and she looked at him with detachment and what he thought was a brief look of longing, before it flashed away. Harry held her gaze until her face blanked, her eyelids closed rapidly in succession and then she looked down at her food, her fork pushing it around uselessly.
Harry let out a sigh and surveyed the rest of the hall. Eventually he made it over to the Slytherin table and saw Draco doing something remarkably similar to what Fleur had been doing. His fork was making the food mill around his plate, none ever coming up to his mouth. His skin paler than normal and he had deep bags under his eyes. Guilt welled up inside him until he crushed it ruthlessly, not allowing it to bother him. Lucius was a man that willingly unleashed part of Riddle's soul on a first year girl. He was the reason a basilisk almost killed multiple students.
No, he wouldn't be feeling any guilt about that, his lips pressed together and his nostrils flared as he thought that.
"Ah, I see you've noticed the troubled Mr Malfoy. He's been remarkably quiet, I'm told. Severus is keeping a close eye on him but the loss of his father is hitting him hard… losing one's father, a tragedy."
Harry stopped levitating his next bite when he heard that last word, it fell back down to his plate.
"Wouldn't you say so, Harry?" Dumbledore questioned him, his blue eyes looking through his glasses at the young Malfoy.
"I'm not sure I'd call it a tragedy in this case," Harry said neutrally. He began to continue to use wandless magic to eat again.
"You don't think so? He'd been a key Wizengamot member, even if you disagreed with his political stances, and, even under the close scrutiny of the DMLE, he had kept himself clean, ever since Voldemort fell," Dumbledore countered, his tone more curious than anything.
"His past sins have no bearing? His role with Riddle's diary means nothing?" Harry retorted sharply.
"Ah, there were consequences for those actions. His vaults paid dearly for the former and he lost any sway he held with the Hogwarts governors. Both actions had a consequence rendered."
Harry stopped eating and stared at the man incredulously. "A slap on the wrist, at best!" Harry whispered furiously.
"You believe he deserved his fate? Being murdered in cold blood, in his own home? Drowning isn't a quick or painless way to go and his murderer off in the wind, nobody the wiser. You believe this is just? That his wife has lost her husband and his son his father?" His voice didn't betray whether he actually believed the word he was saying or not.
Harry slipped his wand out from under the table and put up some privacy spells, he thought he would not have a need to but he didn't want to be overheard, and who knew where the conversation would turn to next.
Dumbledore noticed the magic and acknowledged he had no issues with it with a subtle movement of his head.
"The man was a Death Eater. He released a bloody basilisk on the school! What would have happened if it had opened its gaze in this hall? That a miracle occurred, and Fawkes kept me from dying, does not excuse his actions. And that the man was shrewd enough to not get caught since? It was Fudge's protection of him, it was his gold, and the fear people had of his reprisals that kept him from being in Azkaban where he belonged. You cannot tell me you really believe he was innocent and has kept so ever since."
Harry was seething internally, he hated playing this game with Dumbledore. He hated the way the man always pushed an unreasonable side to him. He could feel the hum of his magic, he could sense it's agitation and desire to do something to be rid of this annoyance. He squashed it, battling against the man sitting beside him was madness.
"The world is not filled with saints and wonderful people. There are always those who work for their own selfish ambitions, Harry. Lucius was always hamstrung by his ties to Fudge. He could not run and control things when he propped up an incompotent minister. Besides, the real power lay with the department heads. With Amelia overseeing the DMLE, Malfoy's little plans would always be limited in scope."
"Lucius' plots were never more than two dimensional. When I heard he was in a scuffle with the Weasleys, a muggle brawl of all things, it was beyond evident there was a plan afoot. Already I had been hearing that he was trying to plant the seeds that would sprout to my removal from Hogwarts should something befall it," Dumbledore was almost chiding in his tone, he was essentially mocking Malfoy for being an easily controlled enemy, one whose moves could be accounted for easily.
It brought forth a picture of Dumbledore catching Malfoy reaching into the cookie jar again. Them both knowing he was just going to get a stern scolding before he would eventually try it again, only for the ever watchful Dumbledore to catch him again, the cycle repeating ad nauseam.
"The Chamber of Secrets has ancient protections that have never allowed any headmaster to find or seal it off. That doesn't mean, through Hogwarts history, that they just allowed for anything like it to happen… Did you, perchance, know that there was a ward developed, centuries ago, for rendering a basilisk's gaze to petrify and not kill?"
Harry shook his head slowly. What Dumbledore had basically told him was that Malfoy was the evil patsy that you left in power just so you could keep a check on him. You knew he wouldn't outsmart you or do anything too bad. You'd just stay a step or two ahead of him and not have to worry about any actual nefarious plots happening.
"While it may benefit our society to not have any such men in power, there always will be, there always have been, throughout both muggle and magical history."
Dumbledore's words were piercing. He, at the very least, suspected it had something to do with Harry. This was coming off as too much of a lecture about unintended consequences and chastisement for rash actions.
Their meal continued as Harry thought over the words of the elder man. He wondered if there was something of a blunder in his action. Had he taken out a dangerous player or had he killed a patsy that appeared to play the part of a competent villian but was, in actuality, not capable at all.
This would be something he'd have to talk through with Horace and Cyrus. They would know far better than he, if Dumbledore's assertion was correct or not. He figured there would be truth to the notion but that seemed to be how political speech worked. Everything could be correct, from the right point of view.
"Do you mind if I ask a personal question, sir?" Harry spoke up after spending time thinking and levitating food in his mouth.
"Would you reciprocate, if I asked one after? Nothing too intrusive, of course," he gave that congenial smile again, and Harry agreed to it. "All right then, ask away, Harry."
Harry nodded and went for it, he'd been wanting to ask about the rumored relinquent relationship between Grindelwald and him. "Well, sir, I've been dealing with political offers for matches… and, I, uhm, wonder how you managed to stay single all this time. Surely you would have been bombarded by offers…" Harry was a bit hesitant and he didn't want to straight out ask about whether the man's love life was set by rituals or not, like Apolline had theorized.
Dumbledore chuckled slightly and brought his hand to his mouth, pressing a napkin to his lips. "While I didn't hear a question there, I'll wager you'd like to know why I didn't have any romantic entanglements throughout my life?"
"Yes," Harry answered simply, slightly embarrassed he'd not actually managed to ask a question.
"Well, that is not too difficult to answer. When I was young and an eligible young man, not unlike yourself, I was too engaged with academic pursuits to consider it, I spurned offer after offer, not always bothering to even reply as I was far too engrossed in my own pursuits," he took a sip of pumpkin juice, not bothering to lift the cup, instead, levitating the precise amount of liquid he wanted directly into his mouth, in a steady stream, as if he was drinking it from a goblet.
Harry smiled and decided that was something he would be trying, just not in front of everyone. Dumbledore would already have bested him, if this was a competition, but he was well on his way on catching up with his tricks, or so he thought.
"As a young man still, I had the closest thing to love with another, non-family member, that I've ever felt," he stroked his beard thoughtfully and then continued. "There was affection between us. Our shared love of magic, our drive to push the boundaries of what was possible, to discover new things and explore the depths of knowledge from those who came before us…" He paused and took another drink, this time physically moving the goblet up to his lips.
Harry listened carefully. Was the unsubstantiated rumor Apolline had told him true? Were he and Gellert Grindelwald that way together, had they been lovers?
"The truth is, Harry, although I have felt affection for others, none of it has been romantic in nature. I have many that I hold great affection for, love even, alas, none have been romantically. Minerva and I, I would say, have great affection for one another but it is a closeness of long term colleagues, of a friendship that has endured many trials."
Harry digested that. In some ways it fit easily into what Apolline had suggested, Dumbledore had no lover and was never able to love anyone as a result. In other ways, it could be interpreted as just a man more wrapped up in his pursuit of academics than anything else. He could easily imagine someone like Viktor or Natalia being married to their career and not bothering with a love life.
Harry looked over to see Dumbledore was looking at him, his eyes dancing with amusement. "As you didn't ask a question, I didn't answer my own," he pointed out. "Back to the matter at hand, I found myself too interested in academics when I was young and by the time I would have considered it, I no longer had anything to gain from a political match that I could not provide on my own."
Harry went back to eating, mentally chewing on what he'd just heard. He noted it was kind of fun to eat using wandless magic. Trying to pull meat apart with magic, or cutting it, was an interesting exercise; it required fine control and trying to do it so it looked like he was just levitating it apart, like the headmaster was doing, was another challenge altogether.
"I hope you won't mind my prying, I had not seen such a well matched pair for many a year as you and Miss Delacour. If you don't mind my saying so, you are both strong, willful, intelligent and calling you both magically capable would be a great understatement. With all of that and you both being good-natured, I had thought you'd have married," his voice was gentle and if he wasn't the one prying, which Harry had specifically allowed, he might have sounded sorry he had been doing so.
Harry gave a half-hearted smirk, "Was there a question there headmaster?" The irony of the situation was not lost on either of them, neither truly felt humorous at the notion however.
Finishing the last of his soft chuckles, "I've seen you two have been distant but neither of you appear to have a lasting issue with the other. You've looked at her with longing and she has given you similar looks, covertly, since we have been eating together," he observed, again, without asking a question.
Harry had stopped eating again at this point, his chin was brought in, towards his body and his eyes were firmly fixed on his plate, this time his levitating was just moving food around his plate.
"Did something happen between you, personally, or was there a political decision made to not pursue her?"
Harry swallowed and didn't want to answer. The man beside him had been forthcoming in his answer and he felt obligated that he should reciprocate, as he'd pledged to do. With a sigh escaping from his lips first he answered. "She wasn't pleased when I informed her that I would be negotiating with another party as well. Patrice knew first and I told Fleur as soon as I'd decided upon that course of action…" Harry stopped and looked over to the beautiful silver-blonde that was now laughing with the chaser trio.
Fleur must have felt his eyes on her and her blue eyes met his green ones. She looked at him, the previous anger missing. Her eyes softened and she looked tender, a mixture between upset and despondent. Harry watched as she turned and spoke something to Katie, who was seated directly beside her before she excused herself and got up from the table, making her way out of the hall.
Harry watched her go and didn't continue to answer, he knew Dumbledore's keen eyes would not have missed this silent exchange.
He sighed once more, something he was doing with too much regularity while thinking or being around Fleur, "It wasn't so much of a break up, I'd like to be with her and, I think, Fleur still likes me but…" Harry swallowed down the emotions welling up inside him. "But I've made a choice and I understand she wouldn't be willing to accept there being a political match as well."
Harry kept staring out the doors of the Great Hall, toward the place he was able to last glimpse Fleur. As much as he'd driven her from his mind, as much as he'd avoided seeing her… when he did though…
Fuck. It wasn't supposed to hurt like this.
It was so easy to talk the talk but not walk the walk. Mentally he'd come up with what he had thought were realistic rational reasons why it wouldn't be difficult to walk away from her love. In some ways it wasn't, when he was with Natalia, earlier today, and later again tonight, she'd driven any missing of Fleur well away from his mind.
But when he was reminded of her, or, when in her presence… especially in her presence, he missed her terribly. He wanted to go back to how things were so badly. He could have snuck up behind her, wrapped his arms around her, and planted a kiss on her, maybe, if he was lucky, she'd turn her head and their lips would meet.
Damn, that hurt, it made his stomach clench into knots just to think about it. He didn't dare close his eyes and risk a picture of that scene popping up the second he closed them. He sighed again, yes, this was becoming a horrid habit, sighing all the bloody time.
"It may come across poorly, coming from me, but, from a man that has never felt romantic love for another, I'd think carefully on passing on such an opportunity. Love may only come once and, true love… it's a magic of its own." Dumbledore kept silent and Harry turned to look at the man. Love advice from a man that has never experienced it, he almost snorted.
"It was not politics that saved you from Tom, it was not gold or magical ability. It was love, Harry. Love defeated a monster; love protects you from him, to this very day. Do not discount it, do not scoff at it and deride its miraculous powers." There was an earnestness to his voice now, an underlying sense of urgency.
This was not Dumbledore testing his abilities with wandless magic, this wasn't a playful man or one trying to keep something from him. This was a lesson he thought Harry needed to hear, one he should heed.
And that gave him cause to pause.
What was his goal here? Was he trying to push Harry and Fleur together? Was he giving heartfelt advice, wanting Harry to experience something he had missed out on life? The headmaster appeared earnest, wholehearted even. Harry frowned, it was so difficult to tell, for all he knew he was trying to push him towards a pairing he would prefer.
He took a deep breath and centered himself. Thinking about Fleur and worrying about Dumbledore's motives made it difficult to keep his head clear and focused, which he needed right now, and any time really, whenever he spoke with the headmaster.
"I believe, unwaveringly, that if Tom had experienced love, pure unadulterated love, from his mother, his father, or from a romantic partner, he would never have become the monster he became," Dumbledore said softly with a tiredness and a voice steeped in regret.
"I want differently for you, Harry, my boy," Dumbledore's eyes bore into his own, this wasn't a polite and friendly chat any longer. This was what Dumbledore had wanted, this is why they had a coincidental meeting in the castle entry.
"I can feel it, Harry. I can sense you are nearing the end of your rituals," his gaze turned serious and something between them hardened. "I've felt this progression before, I know you've found something, something that a young Tom Riddle once did, as well." The air between them changed, magic saturated it and the presence of him became overpowering, overwhelming.
"I know, Harry, I've felt it before." There was a definite shift between them now, Harry could feel the power of the man sitting beside him, he was an ocean, a veritable magical generator, one so controlled that even though he was flexing, Harry didn't feel threatened at all. This, this was Albus fucking Dumbledore, this was the sole wizard who could singlehandedly neutralize Voldemort's presence on the battlefield, the Albus Dumbledore that ended a war with a single duel.
"You've done rituals too, I know that," Harry challenged, not backing down, neither man threatening each other, neither of their magics being harnessed as to be ready to strike, Harry's own magic answering his call, not allowing himself to be encroached upon.
"I have," Dumbledore said in a deep commanding voice, no reticence in his voice, "Seven with Gellert as a young man, though older than yourself, and fourteen more before I faced him, before I defeated him." Harry felt his eyebrows try and reach his hairline, that, that was an unexpected admission.
"But mine were a combined effort of two of the most prodigious minds of this century and the backing of the Flamel's, the only two who had been alive since before rituals were almost forgotten. And, and, I only did three sets of seven, not seven sets of seven."
Fuck. He totally knew exactly what Harry was doing. He knew of the link with Voldemort and he knew the exact amount of rituals he was doing.
The powerful man beside him wasn't going to be backing down from this. This was a confrontation, one he wanted, sought, and was now getting, getting in the middle of the faculty table at the front of Hogwarts' Great Hall of all places. Harry was locked into this and not a single student had any idea.
"Your magic is erratic. It is unsettled. As it gets to the final one it will become worse. There is nothing to do but complete your set, any failure to do so will be catastrophic. I cannot stress this enough. Do forty-eight and your magic will unravel itself, it will corrode and corrupt you until you are a shell of your former self."
Harry held the man's gaze unflinchingly, he already knew that. If he didn't complete the set he was fucked. There was no other possibility. It was like making a potion, as long as you are still adding to the mixture, still applying heat and being careful and precise, the mixture will not blow up in your face. However, if you keep it on the heat in perpetuity, or if you begin adding random ingredients, eventually it will destabilize and have horrific results.
"Do fifty and you will spend the rest of your life trying to complete three sets of seven sets of seven rituals, an unfathomable number. Oh, you can keep up doing rituals at a regular pace, you can even slow it down to once a week… But for how long? How long could you keep it stable?"
Harry kept his mouth shut, Dumbledore hadn't yet concluded his point, he hadn't hit the crux of the issue yet, but, he soon would.
"I pray Harry, I pray that I have not witnessed you throwing your life away by delving into magic you cannot hope to comprehend at your age. Perhaps it is I who has failed, yet again, failed to educate you to know better than this," he looked tired and stricken for a moment, one that passed quickly before his rarefied resolve rallied and continued, "I couldn't prevent Tom from crossing the threshold, I couldn't keep him to forty-nine rituals once he started. I wasn't able to prevent him from starting them and neither have I for you."
Albus Dumbledore stood up now, pushing his chair back, the wooden legs scraping along the stone flooring. "Know this, Harry Potter. I've defeated one Dark Lord. I've held off a second and I will not. I will not see the rise of a third."
Dumbledore grew dark and heavy, grim and determined, hard and unshakeable, his face carved out of stone, his blue eyes frozen and unrelenting.
"Know this, Harry Potter, hit fifty and I. Will. End. You."
Dubmledore stabbed with his wand, Harry's privacy spells shattering, melting away as if he'd just shoved a hot knife through butter. Dumbledore lifted his non wand arm above his head, in perfect timing with Fawkes swooping down, from only Merlin knew where, and the second they touched, the two disappeared in a ball of flames.
All eyes in the hall turned to Harry, to a Harry Potter who was looking at where the revered man had just left from, gobsmacked and reeling from the threat that was just delivered, a threat he believed, with every ounce of his being, would be carried out.
His breathing was erratic, his mouth open and he felt fear, understanding, for the first time, the oft repeated statement, ' Dumbledore is the only wizard You-know-Who ever feared'.