Year 5-16: A House Divided

"It seems pretty clear what they sent Lockhart to do."

"But we don't know for certain. He could have been seeking anything of value for You-Know-Who."

"But the prophecy has been his obsession. Severus said so, didn't he?"

"Severus doesn't know everything. He only knows what his master wants us to know."

"But why would he go after such a high-profile target, if not to further his primary goal?"

"He could be working towards multiple goals at once. Nobody knows his full plans – case in point, Pettigrew."

"But we have no reason to suspect otherwise. We should assume that was his intention."

"Not when my son's safety is involved. If he wanted information on Harry, that seems like something we should know about."

"But he wouldn't be able to access any memories pertaining to their meetings. They always met in the Department of Mysteries, where the Unspeakable Oaths would come into effect. Right, Harry? Harry!"

Harry was shaken out of his daze by the realization that everyone was looking at him. He'd tuned out of the emergency Order of the Stag meeting, mind still numb from the shock of losing Saul just hours prior. Despite the late hour, the group had resolved to meet at once, gathered around Remus' dining table, looking frazzled.

"We mostly met in his office," Harry answered. "But we met a couple times outside of it, too."

"Did you discuss anything important?" James pressed.

"Possibly," Harry said vaguely. "D'you think Lockhart would have seen what we talked about, if we did?"

"That depends," said Remus thoughtfully. "Lockhart probably went in with a clear goal in mind: to extract specific memories out of Croaker. He would have to do so quickly, since they only had a few minutes to get in and out after the wards alerted the Aurors. That time was cut even shorter by the fight before Croaker was subdued, so he wouldn't have had time to pilfer through every memory he saw. My guess is he only went after the memories he was ordered to."

"Which is why we need to learn what those memories were!" Lily said adamantly. "If he was ordered to dig up information about Harry—"

"There are far safer ways of doing that than breaking into the home of a high-ranking official, one who barely knew Harry," James pointed out. "I really doubt Harry was the target. Voldemort would have to know that he and Saul were close, and also have reason to suspect that their discussions were relevant to the war somehow."

"But why would they be?" Sirius frowned. "Why would You-Know-Who care about what Harry has to say to Croaker?"

If only you knew, Harry thought glumly. If Voldemort did find out what he and Saul were up to in secret, the entire war would be lost. And only four people on the planet (scratch that – just three now) would know that.

"Does he know about Harry's...condition?" Remus asked delicately. Not everyone in the Order knew about Harry's claims of being a Seer, after all.

"I don't think so," said James. "Unless Severus told Voldemort?"

"He probably did," Sirius muttered darkly. "We still don't know for sure which side Snivellus is on—"

"Severus would never!" Lily protested. "He's on our side!"

"I know you consider him a friend, Lil, but Padfoot has a point," James sighed. "If Voldemort was looking for information about Harry, Severus would be one of the first people he'd turn to."

"But Sev wouldn't give up such valuable information!" said Lily. "He just wouldn't!"

"How can you be so sure?" James demanded.

"Because I...I asked him to protect Harry and Dahlia, last summer," said Lily quietly. "I practically begged him."

"And you think that would sway him?" Sirius snorted. "That slippery git would sell his own mother out if it meant currying favor with the Dark Lord."

But Harry privately wasn't so sure. He'd spent a lot of time pondering why Snape was less cruel towards him in this timeline, and he suspected that Lily had something to do with it. The man obviously still harbored feelings of some kind towards his mother, and if she asked him for something, Harry believed he would listen. Perhaps he knew that he would lose favor with Lily completely if he was responsible for one of her children getting hurt.

James seemed to be of a similar mind, because he looked at Lily with an odd expression. "Can you contact him?" he asked her. "Maybe ask him if Harry should be concerned about this?"

"I will," Lily nodded.

"I assume Dumbledore will call a meeting of his own Order soon," said James, turning to Remus. "Will you be attending, Moony?"

"If you think it wise," Remus nodded. "But you know Dumbledore is just going to ask me the same thing he does at every meeting—"

"And you can give him the same answer," James said flatly. "The Potters are not re-joining."

"But darling, wouldn't it be nice to share notes with Dumbledore?" Lily said gently. "We don't have to volunteer our services again—"

"If he has important information to share, he can pass it along through Remus," James said stubbornly. Lily looked like she wanted to say more on the matter, but she remained silent. A few others also looked mildly distressed by James' refusal to cooperate with Dumbledore, but Harry fully understood. It had barely been half a year since the snake attack, and James had yet to forget just how close he'd come to dying on behalf of the old man's sacrificial tactics.

"What about the ICW summit, James?" asked Dale Greengrass, who had been silently mulling things over in the corner. "It's in less than two weeks. Is the plan the same?"

"It has to be," James muttered. "We need the support of the international community to fight this war. The sooner we can get them on our side, the better."

"But how are we supposed to convince them?" Dale groaned. "You've been sacked, and our own Ministry continues to deny that there's any threat."

"Let me worry about that part, Dale," said James. "All you need to do is call a motion and nominate me to speak, and I'll do the rest."

Dale didn't look all that reassured, but he nodded meekly in response. Harry could tell how dejected everyone felt – they were undoubtedly losing the war of attrition. James and Amelia were now outsiders at the Ministry, Lily and Remus were failing to sway the werewolf community, and Dale's Wizengamot career was likely threatened if the summit did not go well. Now Harry's last remaining lifeline within the Ministry was dead. Things could not be going worse.

It only strengthened Harry's resolve to fight harder. He had a clear path now: he would attend the summit with James to help in any way he could, then resume the horcrux hunt with Bill and Fleur in earnest. Forget taking O.W.L.'s – they seemed like such a waste of time now. He didn't relish the idea of running away from home, but he knew James and Lily would only slow him down. He would find a place to crash for a while, until he could save up money for a place of his own to set up a base of operations, and focus solely on the war until it was done.

Harry felt numb in the wake of Saul's death. Their relationship had been uniquely strange – he was not quite a parental figure, not quite a peer and not quite a friend, but some strange combination of all three. He wasn't sure how to mourn Saul, or even how he felt about the man overall, as he didn't actually know much about who he was as a person. They'd had a contentious relationship at times, but Saul had undoubtedly aided Harry in making wiser choices and illuminating his path to defeating Voldemort.

More than anything, Harry just felt angry with Dumbledore all over again. This was yet another death that could have been avoided, if he hadn't insisted on keeping the prophecy from Voldemort. What had that decision cost them? Saul's life, James and Amelia's jobs (and almost the life of the former), Harry's academic career, and a year of spinning in circles with no progress. But oh, at least they had bought themselves time! Time for what? To sit passively and wait to react to Voldemort's next move? Harry's esteem of the elderly man was lowering more and more with each day, with each blunder, with each avoidable setback.

Two days later, Harry received a letter from Bill, expressing his condolences for Saul's death. Harry skimmed it quickly over breakfast, finding nothing of substance and knowing there was more Bill wanted to say. He waited until he was back in his room to decode the letter, tapping his wand to the parchment and muttering the prearranged password: "Sword of Gryffindor."

The nondescript paragraphs disappeared in favor of a short scribbled note: 'Meet me at the address below tonight. We need to talk.'

Harry waited until the sounds of James' snores wafted down the hall that night, before sneaking out through the back door and deactivating the alarm wards. He Apparated to a nondescript Muggle neighborhood, not too unlike the one Saul Croaker had lived in. He located the correct address: a small apartment complex, concealed within a heavy gate. Harry unlocked it with his wand and found his way to #217, where he knocked softly on the door and waited.

He heard shuffling around inside the darkened apartment, then heard Bill's voice in a whisper: "What color was the jewel set inside the ring we retrieved over Spring Break?"

"Er...black," said Harry. "And it was a stone, not a jewel."

The door clicked open, and Bill hurriedly ushered him inside before closing the door shut behind them. The lights in the apartment were all off, but Harry could sense Bill's panic even without being able to fully see his face.

"Haven't been able to sleep," Bill muttered, pacing around the living room nervously. "I keep thinking that You-Know-Who will come kicking down the door any second now."

"I don't think that's going to happen," said Harry. "He would have come as soon as he found out what we were up to. And if he did, we'd have far bigger problems."

"Bigger than getting murdered in our homes?" Bill laughed humorlessly.

"Yes," Harry said flatly. "Like losing the entire war. If he found out what we were after, he'd move the remaining you-know-what's and we would never be able to find them."

"But Lockhart went through his mind!" Bill protested. "Kingsley described it to the Order yesterday morning. Surely he saw the memory of what we did in Little Hangleton?"

"Not necessarily," Harry reasoned. "Voldemort wants to know how to get the prophecy out of the Department of Mysteries. That's why he went after Saul, not what we were doing. Lockhart may not have even bothered viewing memories that didn't pertain to the prophecy. Even if he saw glimpses of you, he might not have deemed it important enough to tell his master what he saw."

"And what about you?" Bill demanded. "All those conversations you had with him inside the Department, telling him your secret?"

"He's magically bound to not reveal that information. It's part of the Unspeakable Oaths. If Lockhart tried to access those memories, it would trigger the protections and kill him before he saw anything."

"You're sure that's how it works?"

"Positive," said Harry. He'd looked up the particulars of the Unspeakable Oaths shortly after meeting Saul for the first time, and it indeed functioned the same as an Unbreakable Vow. Saul was far from the first Unspeakable murdered for his secrets, and the memory thieves had never been successful.

"I don't like this," Bill muttered, sinking onto the sofa and dropping his head into his hands. "I don't like this one bit."

"I told you there would be risks involved," Harry shrugged. "But it doesn't change anything. We have to keep going, keep looking for them."

"We can't do this on our own!" Bill protested. "I'm barely twenty-five, and you and Fleur are even younger – I can't be in charge of something this important."

"No one is 'in charge' of anything," Harry retorted. "We're in this together. If one person falls, the others go on without them. That's what war is about."

"We should go to Dumbledore," Bill pleaded. "He can protect us. He can help us find them—"

"No," Harry said firmly. "He can't protect us – he'd sooner sacrifice us to protect the secret. And he can't know about the horcruxes, or else Neville Longbottom's life will be in danger."

"To hell with Longbottom!" Bill scoffed. "This is my life we're talking about! And what if they go after my family because of what we're doing? I could never forgive myself."

"You don't have to help," Harry shrugged. "You've been helpful, but I won't force you if you can't handle the risk. I'll carry on myself."

"I'm just saying, we should get some more help!" said Bill. "A few more people to help with the search! Like one of our fathers – they both deal with dark artifacts in their day jobs!"

"The fewer people that know, the better," said Harry. "With Lockhart still out there stealing people's memories, we can't risk the information leaking back to Voldemort's camp. The more people we tell, the more likely it is one of us gets caught and has their memories stolen."

Bill exhaled heavily, looking despondent. He stood from the sofa and walked into the kitchen to pour himself a drink.

"I guess this didn't feel real until now," he muttered. "You said we were at war, but I didn't really believe it until Saul—well, you know."

"I saw Voldemort come back to life before my very eyes," said Harry somberly. "Twice, in fact. Believe me, he's real, and he's coming."

Bill chuckled hollowly at this. He grabbed a second cup and filled it with Firewhiskey, handing it to Harry; he accepted it, taking a deep swill of the burning liquid. The buzzing sensation that followed helped to dull some of the paranoia swirling around in his brain.

"Have you talked to Fleur?" asked Harry.

"She was here last night," said Bill. "I suggested she go home to France to lay low for a while. She'll be safer there, I think, if they do come for us."

"I'll talk to her, then," said Harry. "I'll be in France next weekend, for the ICW summit."

"What the hell are you going there for?"

"To petition for international aid," said Harry. "My dad is going to call for troops from the continent to help fight Voldemort."

"They would never go for that," Bill muttered. "The continent is still in denial that You-Know-Who is even a threat."

"Well, then we'll just have to convince them," Harry shrugged.

"What am I supposed to do in the meantime?" Bill demanded.

"Go to work," Harry suggested. "Live your life. No use in hiding – if Voldemort wanted you dead, there would be nothing you could do about it anyway."

"Great, just great," Bill grumbled, skipping the cup and drinking Firewhiskey straight from the handle. "Best of luck to you on your impossible mission."

"Much appreciated," Harry huffed, rolling his eyes. Bill's pessimism was starting to grate on him – he could cower in fear all he wanted, but Harry would keep fighting, keep trying his best no matter how stacked the odds were against them. He bade Bill good-night and returned home to Godric's Hollow.

He couldn't afford to assume the worst, not in this scenario. If Voldemort knew what they were doing, it was all over anyway – death would just be a welcome reprieve from what was to come after. Losing Saul was a heavy blow, but he had to carry on without him now. There was simply too much at stake, too many other lives at risk to give up and go into hiding.

The next step was convincing his parents to let him go to France, which would be no easy task. Saul's death would only reinforce their desire to keep him sheltered at home, instead of out in the world making a difference. He waited a few days to bring it up, a week before the summit was scheduled to begin.

"When do you leave for France, Dad?" asked Harry over dinner.

"Thursday," said James. "Sebastian Delacour has offered to let me stay at his home for a few nights before the summit on Saturday."

"Have you thought about whether I can come or not?" he asked hopefully.

James and Lily shared another conflicted look. "Darling, the timing isn't the best right now," Lily sighed. "You have exams to prepare for, and it isn't the safest time to travel—"

"I'll be with Dad the whole time," Harry pointed out. "And why would anyone try to attack me in France, anyway?"

"It's not just about that," James groaned. "I won't have time to babysit you the whole time I'm there. I'll be in and out of meetings—"

"I can spend time with the Delacours if you're busy," Harry pointed out. "Besides, you'll need all the help you can get at the summit."

"How do you reckon?"

"I can help you and Mr. Greengrass talk to the other ambassadors," Harry pointed out. "I can meet with Krum and help him amass votes. If we want to convince a majority to help us, we'll need to cover a lot of ground in a short amount of time."

"That's true..." James muttered thoughtfully to himself.

"James!" Lily huffed. "Harry cannot go gallivanting off to France at a time like this! His mentor was just murdered, and he hasn't had time to process it yet—"

"Oi, I'm right here!" Harry protested. "Besides, Saul wouldn't have wanted me moping around at home. He would want me taking action and doing the right thing. Isn't that what you always taught me to do?"

Lily didn't look happy with this, but she could tell she wouldn't win this argument. "Oh, very well," she sighed. "But I expect you to study extra hard once you get back!"

So the following Thursday, Harry accompanied James to the Ministry of Magic, carrying a shrunken luggage bag in his robes. "Name and business?" asked the bored young guard manning the security checkpoint in the Atrium.

"James and Harry Potter, traveling abroad for vacation," James announced. The guard looked up at once, and his eyes widened.

"Auror Potter!" he said with a smile. "Er...I mean, not Auror, but...an honor to see you, sir—"

"Good to see you too, Miles," James said with an easy smile. "How's your father doing? Still working hard in the Department of Magical Education?"

"Yes, sir!" the guard named Miles nodded eagerly. "He's always going on about how rubbish the Prophet is for slandering you all the time."

"He's too kind," James nodded. "Tell him I said hello."

"I will, sir!"

Miles was not the only person to recognize James and say hello. No fewer than five witches and wizards stopped them in the Atrium to shake James' hand and express their disgust at Fudge's treatment of him. He has a lot more public support than I thought, Harry remarked internally as James continued to greet well-wishers. Why the hell can't they get off their arses and do something about Fudge?!

Eventually they made their way through the crowds and to the Department of Magical Transportation. "Potter, party of two, here for our 9:47 portkey to Paris," James announced when they reached the front of the line at reception.

The receptionist ushered them into a small back room, where a number of odd objects were situated on tables throughout the room. "Your portkey leaves in four minutes," she said, leading them towards the back of the room. "You'll be at station nine with this gentleman here."

"Thank y—" James began, but froze at the sight of the man waiting for them at station nine.

"Well, well," Lucius Malfoy sneered. "If it isn't the fallen hero and his disgraced son."

"Lucius," James bristled. "Draco doing alright, I gather?"

"Fortunately for you, yes," Lucius sniffed. "You are visiting France as well? What brings you there, Mr. Potter?"

"Just a spot of vacation with my boy here," James lied.

"Without the missus? Naughty, naughty," Lucius smirked. "And so close to the ICW summit, as well? What an odd coincidence."

"Was it this weekend? Must have slipped my mind," James shrugged. "And what brings you to Paris?"

"Just checking in on some of my business properties abroad," said Lucius. "We've faced some...troublesome legal challenges in recent months, I'm afraid."

"Sorry to hear it," James deadpanned. Harry wondered if Sirius had anything to do with Malfoy's business woes behind the scenes. He also wondered if that was indeed the reason for the man's visit – as he himself pointed out, it was oddly coincidental that he would be traveling to France so close to the summit, despite not being Britain's representative.

"Thirty second warning for Paris!" a clerk announced nearby. James, Harry and Lucius each placed a finger to the wooden spoon sitting atop their table. Moments later, Harry felt the familiar jerk behind the navel as they were whisked away and out of Britain.

After what felt like a longer journey than usual, they landed in a near-identical room. "Right zis way, gentleman," a wizard with a thick French accent said, ushering them out. The three followed him out to the main lobby of what Harry presumed to be the French Ministry of Magic. It was far less ostentatious and more pragmatic than the British Atrium – it had a central fountain surrounded by well-lit walkways and signage pointing to the various departments.

"Try not to get into too much trouble, Mr. Potter," Lucius sneered as he hurried off for the exit. James watched him go, looking troubled.

"It's not a good sign that he's here," James muttered.

"Why not?" asked Harry.

"He's not here with the British contingent, that's for certain," said James. "If Voldemort's camp caught wind of our plans, he might've been sent here to sway votes against us."

"Won't that be obvious, if he's running around bribing delegates from different nations?" Harry frowned.

"Happens quite regularly, I'm afraid," James sighed. "Wealthy private citizens attend these summits all the time to kill problematic measures that threaten their nest eggs. Ah, there's Sebastian now."

Sebastian Delacour was waiting for them beside the central fountain. "Ah, Monsieur Potter!" he greeted James with a warm handshake. "A pleasure to finally meet you in person. And 'Arry, so good to see you again!"

"Thank you for having us, Mr. Delacour," Harry said, shaking the man's hand eagerly.

"Please, call me Sebastian," the man winked. "My Fleur arrived home just last Friday...she is quite eager to see you!"

"Is that so?" James asked, raising a mirthful eyebrow at Harry. Harry chuckled good-naturedly, but he knew that the true reason for her eagerness wasn't quite so salacious. She was likely as nervous as Bill about Saul's death and wished to speak with him about what implications it could have for them.

Sebastian guided them out of the Ministry through a side door, which deposited them in downtown Paris. Harry only got a few moments to take in the sights and smells before they were ushered into a cramped alleyway, where Sebastian linked arms with them and Apparated them away.

They arrived on the front lawn of a spacious home, a luxurious two-story chateau surrounded by ornate gardens. Harry knew that Mr. Delacour was an influential man in France, but hadn't imagined he'd be this wealthy. James also seemed quite impressed with the place.

"Beautiful home," he remarked. "Where are we, exactly?"

"I'm afraid I cannot tell you that," said Sebastian. "Ze home is Unplottable, you see. An unfortunate necessity for a man with as many enemies as I do."

"Not too many, I hope," James chuckled nervously. "We'll need more allies than enemies at the summit."

"Non, my enemies are not ze type of people who attend such public gatherings," Sebastian winked. "Come, let me show you ze house."

What the hell does he do for work?! Harry wondered in amazement. Fleur had never made mention of her father's job before, and Harry just internally pictured him as the French version of Lucius Malfoy – a wealthy heir with friends in high places. He would have to ask her for more details sometime.

Fleur herself was waiting for them when they entered the home. She stood anxiously from the dining table, wringing her hands and trying not to look as though she'd been specifically waiting for them. Her face lit up when she saw Harry enter behind James. "'Arry!" she greeted him, rushing up to give him a hug.

"Hello again, Fleur," Harry smiled. "How have you been?"

"Fine, just fine!" Fleur said through a forced smile. Harry could see the worry on her face and knew she was itching to talk privately once they had the chance.

"Good to see you again, Miss Delacour," James greeted her. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Beg your pardon?" said Fleur nervously, glancing at Harry. How did he know that she and Saul were acquainted…? Harry wondered, somewhat panicked.

"In the Euro League semifinal," James elaborated. "Those Belgian Chasers are something, aren't they? Shame the French Seeker couldn't get to the final Snitch earlier."

"Oh, right, that," Fleur laughed awkwardly. "I do not follow much Quidditch, I am afraid."

"Well, there's no accounting for taste," James winked. Fleur remained somewhat on-edge after this exchange, giving Harry frequent nervous glances, until they finally had an opportunity to excuse themselves and talk in private in the back gardens.

"Are we in danger?" Fleur hissed worriedly at Harry. "You do not theenk Mr. Croaker gave away what we are up to?"

"It's possible," Harry admitted. "But I don't think so." And he shared with her the conversations he'd had earlier on the subject, with the Order and with Bill. Fleur listened attentively, and by the end of it she seemed marginally more relaxed.

"Zat is good to hear," she sighed. "Father was most suspicious when I asked 'im about ze wards on our property, but 'e assured me we are safe from anyone 'ere. Still, it is good to know we are not being hunted."

"That would be the least of our concerns," Harry chuckled. "No use worrying if we're wrong when the war would be lost before it even began. Now, are you going to show me around this beautiful home of yours?"

They spent the rest of the morning walking through the grounds, as Fleur pointed out every nook and cranny she played in as a girl growing up here. There were endless gardens stretching to the property line, various sculptures and fountains adorning the space, and even a small pasture with a replica Quidditch hoop.

"Papa was a Chaser in his Beauxbatons days," Fleur explained as Harry raised an eyebrow at the structure. "I believe he always 'oped one of his daughters would take to the sport, but alas, neither Gabby nor I are the sporting type."

"Is Gabrielle here?" asked Harry.

"Oui, she is most eager to see you again," Fleur smiled. "She is excited to be starting at Beauxbatons this fall."

They met the energetic pre-teen soon after, as they congregated in the kitchen for lunch. Gabrielle squealed with excitement and leaped at Harry with a hug. He chuckled and patted her politely on the head until she extricated herself.

"'Ow you are doing, 'Arry?" she asked in a heavy accent. "I am practice my Eenglish with Dahlia. I am doing good, yes?"

"Very good, Gabrielle," Harry appraised her. "Dahlia says she's sorry she couldn't see you, but she's got exams this week."

"You will simply 'ave to come back next summer, then!" Fleur winked. Gabrielle nodded vigorously in agreement with this.

The group gathered for lunch soon after, which was served by a beaming Apolline Delacour. They chatted amicably for a while about nothing in particular, though Harry got the sense that James wanted to get down to business. Sebastian must have sensed the same, as he dismissed Gabrielle to her room so that the adults (plus Harry) could talk more freely.

"We are meeting with Dale Greengrass at the hotel tomorrow," James informed Sebastian. "I presume the French ambassador will join us?"

"Oui, I have seen to that myself," Sebastian nodded. "I have a list of nations we can approach at ze luncheon to discuss the vote."

"What luncheon?" asked Harry.

"It's tradition for all of the ambassadors to meet at the sponsored hotel the day before the summit," James explained. "It's officially just a meet-and-greet, but unofficially it's where all the backroom deals and agreements happen. It's our best chance to talk to voters ahead of time and secure their support for our measure."

"I am certain we can get ze Americans and Australians on our side," said Sebastian, consulting a list of notes. "We should 'ave a good chance with the other western European nations as well. If Monsieur Krum can secure us ze Balkan vote, zat is a formidable voting bloc."

"I'll speak with Viktor at the luncheon, then," Harry offered.

"What about the other ambassadors?" James asked. "Asia, South America, and the African nations?"

"China commands a sizable voting bloc, and zey are unlikely to support us," Sebastian sighed. "They will not want to get involved in our disputes after the Grindelwald campaign. We may get some help from Northern Africa, since zey also suffered under Grindelwald, and I am unsure about Brazil and ze other South American nations. They may opt to remain neutral in the coming conflict."

"Sounds like it'll be a close vote, then," James sighed, tallying up the numbers in his head. "We'll need to split up and talk to as many voters as possible."

"Can I come, Papa?" asked Fleur. "I can help 'Arry and Viktor to rally support for our cause."

Sebastian considered this. "Oui, I think zat is wise," he nodded. "There are also a number of suitors I may wish to introduce you to."

"Suitors?" Fleur grimaced.

"You are of marrying age now, and I 'ave received many offers for your hand," said Sebastian. "Many powerful alliances could be forged—"

"I am not a piece of meat to be sold!" Fleur said indignantly. "And I 'ave told you zat I am seeing someone in Britain!"

"Yes, yes, ze curse breaker," Sebastian sighed. "These are merely introductions, nothing more. I will not force you into a marriage you do not agree to, mon fille."

But you will pressure her about it, Harry thought irritably. Fleur similarly looked annoyed, but she rolled her eyes and nodded her consent. Never had Harry been more glad to be born to a father who wouldn't pressure him into marrying someone for political reasons.

They spent the next few hours going over which nations' ambassadors to target and who would speak to who. Harry and Fleur were tasked with speaking to Krum and securing the Balkan vote, plus potentially Turkey and a few Middle Eastern nations that might be sympathetic to the cause. Beyond that were a few questionable nations that Sebastian could not discern the motives of, which they might try speaking to as a last-ditch effort to secure enough votes.

The rest of the evening was spent relaxing with the Delacours around the house. Gabrielle insisted on showing Harry the new Muggle television that they had somehow managed to get to work in the household. She made him watch her favorite film, La Petite Sirene, which he was mostly able to follow despite being in French. It featured a young mermaid named Ariel who ran off to the human world after a boy in defiance of her father's wishes. Based on the conversation he'd witnessed between Sebastian and Fleur earlier, he could see how that might resonate with the Delacour girls.

Sebastian also insisted on flying with Harry and James once he learned that they were both Quidditch players. It was nice to get on a broom again, especially after being denied the chance to play in the Quidditch final against Cedric at Hogwarts. Harry wound up mostly doing aerial tricks and weaving through the gardens to the girls' delight while James and Sebastian duked it out one-on-one with the Quaffle.

After a delicious dinner, Harry was shown to his room in the residential wing to rest up before the big day. He tossed and turned that night, wondering how he might help to persuade ICW members of the impending danger in Britain. Would they be receptive to it? Or would they, like Fudge, bury their heads in the sand and refuse to see reason?

The next morning, he donned his nicest set of dress robes and joined James, Sebastian, and Fleur in the entrance hall. They were similarly well-dressed for the occasion; James and Sebastian each wore regal black robes with their country pin upon their lapels, while Fleur wore a simple gown of powder blue, not too dissimilar to her Beauxbatons uniform Harry had first seen her in. James handed Harry a British pin to affix to his robes before they departed.

Sebastian Apparated the group to a busy Paris street, just outside an ornate Muggle hotel. "Not many wizarding establishments large enough to accommodate us all," Sebastian explained as he led the way into the lobby. "Ze ambassadors all stay here and rent out the ballroom for the luncheon." Sure enough, among the many Muggles entering and exiting the hotel, Harry spied a few conspicuous witches and wizards, wearing ornate robes that everyone else must have viewed as ostentatious.

They arrived at the ballroom, where a sign advertised some nondescript sales conference happening today. But as they got closer, Harry felt a shiver of magic as they passed through the anti-Muggle wards, and the sign now read: "International Confederation of Warlocks – 573rd Annual Summit – Ambassadors' Luncheon".

Harry marveled at the size of the ballroom as they walked in. Hundreds of witches and wizards milled about the space, of all nationalities, conversing in hushed tones as house-elves hustled around with trays of food and drink. It was easy enough to spot the ICW members, who wore robes of deepest purple with their nation's flag adorned to their chest. But they were vastly outnumbered by the many private citizens in the mix, no doubt seeking to curry favor and lobby for their desired cause. Harry saw James' point now – Lucius Malfoy would fit right in to a setting like this one.

"Come, Fleur, a few introductions before we begin," said Sebastian, grabbing his daughter by the arm to guide her away. Fleur gave Harry an exasperated look, who could only shrug as she was whisked off to meet potential suitors.

"Alright, let's find Dale Greengrass and get to work," James muttered. They began to make their way across the ballroom in search of Dale, before an unexpected voice called after them.

"Ah, Mr. Potter, what a pleasant surprise!"

Harry and James turned, and were shocked to see Albus Dumbledore approaching them. He was dressed in magnificent robes of royal purple, matching those of the other ICW representatives, but with regal gold trim that signified a higher status than the others.

"Albus," said James brusquely, offering his hand in greeting. "What brings you to Paris today?"

"Oh, as former Supreme Mugwump of this distinguished body, I thought I would sit in on today's proceedings," said Dumbledore with a friendly wink. "I thought it might prove...illuminating, given the state of affairs in Europe at the moment."

Dumbledore cast a significant look to his left before strolling casually away. Harry turned; he spied Lucius Malfoy across the foyer, standing next to a man in purple that Harry presumed to be another nation's ambassador. Lucius was eyeing the three of them warily, and when Harry met his eye, he sneered and turned to walk in the opposite direction.

James and Harry followed Dumbledore to a more secluded area. The elderly wizard cast a Muffling Charm around them before turning to face them again.

"Severus informed me late last night that Lucius would be in attendance today," Dumbledore informed them. "I thought it best to come, just in case some plot against the ICW was afoot."

"Seems wise," James agreed.

"Personally, I doubt he would try anything so drastic during such a highly-publicized summit," said Dumbledore. "I find it far more likely that he caught wind of your impending proposal and seeks to manipulate affairs to fight it."

James stilled at this. "My...proposal…?" he asked, trying to maintain an air of innocence.

"To summon troops to Britain," said Dumbledore with a knowing smile. "Come now, Mr. Potter – you are not the only one with eyes and ears in another man's affairs."

Harry's eyebrows rose at this insinuation. Dumbledore has a spy inside the Order of the Stag? he thought. But who? Surely not Remus or Sirius...Crouch, perhaps? Bones? Andromeda Tonks? Still, he shouldn't have been surprised – as usual, Dumbledore proved to be two steps ahead at every turn.

"Well," James huffed, "it seems we have our work cut out for us today, then."

"Indeed," said Dumbledore. "I must once again remind you that we are on the same side, James. I am fully in support of the measure and will do what I can to sway the undecided. It remains to be seen how many people Lucius manages to get to before the meeting commences."

"I'd best go and find Dale Greengrass," said James. "He ought to be aware of this."

"By all means," Dumbledore nodded. "Harry, if I might have a quick word?"

Harry nodded, and stayed behind as James hurried off across the ballroom floor. "What can I do for you, sir?" he asked.

"I must express my condolences for the loss of Saul Croaker," said Dumbledore. "I know you two were close, and that you considered him something of a mentor."

"Thanks," Harry nodded. He did not elaborate further on the true nature of their relationship – no reason to divulge more information than necessary.

"I know it is not my place to intrude upon your meetings with the man," said Dumbledore cautiously. "But if you find yourself in need of a confidant in the future, I hope you would consider trusting me. I may not be your Headmaster any longer, but I still care for your well-being, especially as it pertains to your perception of the future."

This tired old argument again, Harry thought irritably. Dumbledore had made it no secret that he wanted to know more about Harry's 'visions'. He was the kind of man who sought to arm himself with information before taking action. Which was entirely the problem.

"I see," Harry muttered. "Perhaps you're hoping my visions can help you decide which of my loved ones to put in danger next?"

Dumbledore sighed tiredly at this jab. "I hope you do not blame me for Mr. Croaker's death," he said. "I had not anticipated Voldemort to make such a bold move as to target him."

"Indeed not," Harry nodded. "Your plans often do rely on Voldemort doing nothing at all to bring harm to anyone."

"I wish you would not view me as your enemy, Harry," said Dumbledore with a pained expression. "I am only trying to help—"

"Your help is neither needed nor wanted," said Harry coldly. "We are not enemies, sir, but that does not make us friends, either. Your decision-making nearly lost me my sister, my uncle, and my father, and now it has lost me a mentor. I shudder to think what else I might lose putting my faith in you."

Dumbledore flinched at Harry's rebuke. "I have made many mistakes in my life, Harry," he said. "I fear that you will stumble into the same ones yourself by only relying on yourself. Please, let me help shoulder the burden of whatever it is you're carrying, so we can defeat this monster together."

"That's the difference between you and me, Headmaster," said Harry. "I do have people I rely on. And I would never ask any of them to make sacrifices that I would not make myself first."

Dumbledore nodded somberly at this. "Then I wish you the best of luck," he said. "I suspect the Potter name will one day soon be renowned in Britain, perhaps even more than my own. When that day comes, I sincerely hope you will have surrounded yourself with the right people to make our world a better place."

Dumbledore offered his hand. Harry considered ignoring it, walking away completely, his anger with the Headmaster still surging through him. But it would be foolish to give a man like Albus Dumbledore the cold shoulder completely, not when he still commanded so much respect in the wizarding world, and not with allies in such short supply. So Harry swallowed his pride and shook it.

"Good day, Headmaster," he said, then walked away before he could say anything rash. He would have to tread carefully around Dumbledore in the future – he certainly did not want to share his secrets with the man, but nor was it wise to leave him completely in the dark. The man could do just as much damage that way.

There was a commotion across the room, and Harry turned to see that Viktor Krum had strolled into the ballroom, attracting ample attention from the ambassadors and guests alike. He was dressed in the regal red, white and green of his country, and walked beside another man in purple with a matching pin.

"Viktor!" Harry greeted the young man as he approached.

"Ah, 'Arry," Krum smiled, embracing Harry in a warm hug. "Glad you could make it. This is Nikolai Groshev, the Bulgarian representative."

"A pleasure," said Harry, shaking the man's hand earnestly. "Have you had the chance to speak with any other ambassadors?"

"I have spoken vith the delegates from Romania, Serbia and Macedonia," said Groshev. "I have not seen the Albanian delegate yet, but I am certain he vill join us."

He'd better, thought Harry grimly. He could only imagine what Lucius Malfoy had had to say to the man earlier…

"Fleur and I have a list of nations to speak with today," Harry informed Krum. "We'll need as many supporters as possible to pass the measure."

"Fleur Delacour?" asked Krum, raising his eyebrows. "She is here?"

"Indeed she is," a singsong voice laughed nearby, as Fleur approached and ran a playful hand along Krum's shoulders. "So nice to see you again, Viktor."

"Likewise, Fleur," Krum said, kissing her on the knuckles in greeting. "This is Ambassador Groshev, from my home country of Bulgaria."

"Enchanté," Fleur greeted the man with a kiss on the cheek. Groshev looked stunned by her and could only nod vigorously in greeting, staring at her wide-eyed. Krum seemed highly amused by this.

"As you can see, our job vill be much easier with a part-Veela on our side," he grinned.

"And an international Quidditch star," Harry pointed out. "Shall we split up and cover more ground?"

So Harry and Fleur went off in one direction while Krum and Groshev went another. Harry spent what felt like ages talking with purple-robed ambassadors of various countries, explaining the plight Britain faced under Voldemort. Most seemed moderately engaged, though that could have been due to Fleur's passive allure more than anything. Still, Harry managed to secure a handshake agreement with the delegates from Turkey, Greece, Egypt, and Lebanon to support James' measure the following day.

"Do not mistake a handshake for a sealed vote," Krum said warningly as he approached some time later. "Much time for things to go wrong."

They switched pairings, with Harry partnering with Krum and Fleur joining the Bulgarian delegate to continue the rounds. It was much the same as before, with only vague platitudes and mumbled agreements before they were ushered along to the next person. Harry found this supremely frustrating...couldn't these people see the very real threat on their doorstep? Must they continue sounding the alarm in people's faces for them to stop denying the obvious truth?

More troubling was that Harry continued to see Lucius Malfoy around the room throughout the day. He was always right on the edge of their orbit, as though keeping an eye on them from afar. Worse yet, on multiple occasions Harry spied him talking to the delegate they had just finished convincing to join their side for tomorrow's vote. What kind of poison was he whispering into their ears to sway them otherwise?

When they reconvened with James sometime later, he didn't look much more optimistic. When Harry approached, his father was seated at a table alone, massaging his temple in apparent frustration.

"How'd it go?" Harry asked.

"Oh, just bloody wonderful," James groaned. "Plenty of handshakes, plenty of smiles, plenty of 'we'll see what happens'. No actual promises to vote our way."

"Such is the way of things at these summits," Krum said knowingly. "You vill have to convince them tomorrow, Mr. Potter. So often the ambassadors are swayed most by whichever argument they hear last."

That made sense to Harry. It also explained Lucius' strategy at today's event: making sure he came in after Harry & company to dissuade them from their cause. But James was a strong orator, and Harry believed he could sway some people at the actual summit tomorrow.

The Potter and Delacours met for dinner with their respective delegates at a Parisian rooftop restaurant that evening. Nobody looked particularly hopeful, and they spent much of the meal in silence. Dale in particular seemed anxious about something, and Harry sensed tension between him and James that he couldn't quite pinpoint. Fortunately, James was not the kind of person to let such tensions lie beneath the surface.

"You didn't seem surprised to see Dumbledore today, Dale," said James during a lull in the conversation.

"Hmm? Well, he is the former Supreme Mugwump after all," Dale chuckled nervously. "Seemed only right that he'd come."

"You also weren't surprised that he knew of our plans," James pointed out. "Did you have something to do with that?"

Dale looked mightily guilty for a moment. "I might have, well, brought it up with him a few weeks ago," he admitted. "And he might have figured out that we were meeting in secret without him."

"God dammit, Dale," James groaned, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "Don't you realize the damage you might have done? Dumbledore is not the kind of man to go along with a plan that isn't his!"

"Isn't he someone we should be working with on this matter?" Dale protested. "I mean, he knows people, and the ICW respects him—"

"They respected him for what he did fifty years ago," James corrected. "He's well past his prime now. The world cannot keep looking to him to fix all of its problems—"

"Well, we're not doing much good on our own, either!" Dale snapped. "Wake up and smell the roses, James...we don't have the votes! If we had worked with Dumbledore from the beginning—"

"Then I'd likely be dead!" James roared, pounding the table so loudly that several nearby Muggles glanced in their direction despite the Notice-Me-Not wards in place. "Or perhaps my son or daughter would be, in that death trap of a castle he runs! We're losing this war because Britain continues to assume Dumbledore is the great savior who will fix all our problems for us! It's our job to convince people to take our problems into our own hands, or all will be lost!"

There was an awkward silence after this outburst. Then, Sebastian chuckled.

"That is what you should say tomorrow," he said with a clap of his hands. "People will respond well to that message. We are not so far removed from Grindelwald and that Austrian Muggle that they 'ave forgotten."

"I hope you're right," James muttered, taking a deep gulp of his drink.

Harry was beside himself with worry that night in bed. Was his father cracking under the pressure? Would his position within Britain be further degraded after tomorrow's imminent failure? Or would he rise to the occasion and succeed in his endeavor? How might Fudge react to the news that the ICW was sending troops to the Isles without his consent? That amusing thought was enough to help Harry fall asleep – the (perhaps naive) hope that justice would soon come to those who deserved it.

A/N: This chapter got away from me in length, so I'm splitting it into two. Shame, because it ruined my plans of a spicy cliffhanger to kick off the finale of Year Five...guess we'll have to save it for next chapter!