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Pat re on. c om(slash)belleveela(delete spaces)

He got to know his wife, Padma, better during the first fireworks display. He "hypnotized" her into going on a date with him. By some twist of fate, she agreed to meet him at a Muggle bar after the concert, which was part of his plan for the fireworks show, and they immediately hit it off. In less than forty-eight hours, she became his new assistant. They got married in less than six months.

She was magnificent. Dark-haired. Green eyes. A true beauty for the ages and a natural spectacle. She could capture the attention of a crowd like no one they had seen before or would see later. She had experience in broomstick gymnastics, at one point training to join the Quidditch gymnastics team that was set to compete in the Quidditch Championships before her funds and interest ran out. She performed flips and somersaults on stage as if it were nothing, and the crowd loved her in her tight-fitting outfits.

However, she was tired of the work, constant touring, and being in the spotlight. She wanted to go back to school to earn a Master Potioneer title, and Harry certainly didn't want to hinder the woman of his dreams from pursuing her own dreams.

Finally, he entered the Leaky Cauldron, greeted old Tom, tossing him a bronze coin, and from his personal vial, he dropped a pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace.

After entering the apartment, he placed his bag on a small table next to the fireplace and brushed off his clothes, shaking his head. Padma sat on the couch with her long legs crossed. Her outfit was tight and black, as if she were ready for a funeral. Of course, she looked stunning.

"Hell of a day today."

"Harry, we need to talk."

He didn't hear her. "God, you wouldn't believe, Tracey. Daphne. Stones on those girls. You know what they ask?"

"We need to talk, Harry."

For the first time, he noticed how she was sitting. Upright, at attention. Her dress with a conservative skirt concealed her voluptuous, young figure.

They had been married for five years, and for about a year and a half, they had been madly in love with each other. But since then, it had been a long, slow decline. Harry tried to reignite their passion here and there—with gifts, vacations. But everything was spiraling downward. Before a single word fell from her juicy, effortlessly sweet and soft lips, every inch of her body was primed for fiercely passionate lovemaking and procreation—he already knew what was coming.

It was going to end, and it would end very quickly. The only thing keeping her with him, the woman he loved, was his stubborn optimism. "Of course," he said emphatically. "Let's talk. I really want to talk. Can we talk about how beautiful you are? Because, man, you look amazing today."

He saw her struggling not to roll her eyes. "We need to talk about us. Our future."

"So, children? I told you how desperately I want them. I think you'd be a great mom. Heck, I'd even be a good dad. But—"

That was a terrible point of contention between them. She didn't want to have children. She said she would never sacrifice her body in that way.

"No, Harry. Not that. I want to talk about your future. Your future and mine. And how different they are from each other."

"Well, everyone has their own path. That's true. But what gives me particular comfort is knowing that we will always have each other, comforting one another.

Now she furrowed her brow. She saw what he was doing. She saw that in some incomprehensible way, he knew what was on her mind. He knew that the very idea was an insult to her—that anyone could think of her in that way. Padma had long believed that she was above such trivial matters as how others perceived her. Discovering that she was subject to them, and so precisely, was truly remarkable.

Her beautiful head tilted. "It's over between us. Can I be any clearer? We're finished. Done."

He began to cough slowly, buying himself some time to respond, trying to come up with anything.

With effort, he glanced at the table between them. "I don't see any divorce papers."

"They're already there. Believe me."

"I believe you. I also believe that I would like to fix it if I could."

"It can't be fixed, Harry. I don't want to be with you anymore. I used to be angry about it. A lie, of course. I'm angry now too. But I'm not anymore. I just want to be done with you. You've exhausted me completely. I have no more patience for you. For your plans. For your performances. Your 'next show' mentality. It has to end. At least for me. I can't be a part of it anymore."

He didn't know what to say, what to do. His head was lowered. He couldn't even look her in the eyes. "Don't do this. Not now. Please."

"It has to be now, Harry. Everything is clear to me, what happened. You're a professional liar, and you've entangled me in your lies. Lies that you'll succeed, that everything will change. But you're a sham, Harry. Your entire career. And you've buried us in debt. I can no longer support you."

"We're so close, Padma! We're right there. If you just give me a little more time."

"Your time is up. And my patience with you is up."

He pondered for a moment. "Who is this guy?" "What?"

"You wouldn't be so confident if you didn't have someone else luring you away. Who is this guy?"

She straightened up and stood. "It's none of your business."

"You're my wife! How is it not my business?"

She already had her bags by the door. He only noticed them now. He had to become more observant. She pointed to them, her beautiful body a collection of lovely curves.

"Here are your things. I know you have more. But this should do for now. Don't worry, I don't want any of your stupid excuses. You'll receive the documents soon. I'll arrange a meeting with a lawyer for you. Then I won't be your wife anymore, and it really won't be your concern."

Harry DIDN'T DRINK OFTEN, but he felt like he needed it. A pleasant, strong drink that would push away his thoughts. However, he felt strange walking into a bar while it was still bright outside, so in his daze, he got into his barely used car and drove around the city with all his clothes in the trunk, ending up at a café.

It was a small place with a peculiar layout, as if it were a home for a much larger store. There were many rooms, but all were connected to a central service area, and the counter where he placed his order looked like one of many possible spots to catch the barista's attention.

There was only one barista on duty. She was petite, buxom, and red-haired. Her grimace seemed to be permanent.

"What are you doing here?"

He wished he could answer that question in any satisfying way.

"I'll have a coffee."

She sighed for a full five seconds. "Do you want whipped cream?" "I'm not sure. He wanted to say 'I'm not sure,' but the barista had already walked away. "Never mind. Here you go." The barista slammed the coffee onto the counter. Some of it spilled over. Harry furrowed his brow, reaching for his wallet. He thought it was possible that she had just as bad a day as he did, but her expression seemed too gloomy for it to be a passing phenomenon.

Suddenly, he felt a dark presence behind him. "Hey."

A hand forcefully struck his shoulder, pushing him away from the counter. Coffee spilled everywhere. Harry tried to regain his balance, flailing his limbs, but whoever was holding him shoved him towards the side exit doors and then threw him outside.

It was Gregory Goyle, involved in loan sharking among goblins.

Harry's coffee had spilled, soaking his pants.

"Fuck!"

"Hey, Harry. Where's my money?"

Gregory was a big man. Broad and tall. He wore a dragon-skin jacket, and his dark beard was well-groomed.

Harry smiled. "Well, Gregory, that's interesting," he said.

Gregory shoved him again, pressing him against the trash can in the alley.

"I asked around in town. And you know what I found out? You owe money to a lot of people. So, being a nice guy, I bought up all your debts.

"Is that so?" Harry smiled. "That's great, Gregory. So..."

Now he owed Gregory all that money. Gregory, who made a living by breaking legs. Gregory, whom Harry had gotten to know better by distracting an Auror while Gregory stashed an illegal spare wand in the gutter a few months ago.

"That's right. And it occurred to me that your performance is coming up. Isn't it?

"Yes. There's money there. So just..."

"To take? What's the profit?"

"A house. I get all the ticket sales from the house." The money Harry relied on to start fresh. That profit. Even if Gregory received payment, it wouldn't save Harry from the banks. He wasn't sure which was worse. "All of it?"

"All of it."

"Can't I just pay you? I have..."

He had nothing, though.

"Nothing?" Gregory guessed. He laughed. "I thought so. Yeah, you have nothing. So you'll give me everything.

Everything. And if that doesn't fill my pockets, guess what I'll take?"

"A nice stroll?"

Gregory smiled. "You're a funny guy. A funny guy. You know what, funny guy? I'll take your stupid little workshop. We'll burn it down and collect the insurance if we have to. Then I'll take your house. I'll burn that too. I'll take your wife and make her give up everything she has. And if I still don't have the money plus interest, I'll kill you. How about that?" Harry raised a trembling thumb. "Sure, boss." Gregory shoved him one last time, forcibly throwing him into the dumpster, leaving Harry bruised and battered on the ground.

BLIND OPTIMISM, once the only way Harry moved through each day, somehow developed the ability to see. In its clarity, it slowly transformed into pessimism.

His happiness seemed to have only two forms—bad and worse—and the only place he could turn to was in no way pleasant. Even in its brightest, most optimistic form, the only thing Harry could imagine was, "Maybe they won't shit on me as much when they hear about the day I had."

There weren't too many places Harry could turn to. He didn't have real friends; everyone from Hogwarts had turned their backs on him. There were, of course, acquaintances from work—the theater owners and suppliers he regularly met with—but being with them would require him to reveal the truth about his situation. And he couldn't bear the thought of his professional contacts knowing about it. Besides, he feared they would sense which way the wind was blowing and abandon ship like everyone else.

There was Rose left. It wasn't a good choice, but it was the last one he had.

Rose was his sister, adopted by their godmother and godfather after their parents' death. His loveless godmother and her loveless partner, Sirius, decided to enter into a loveless marriage according to an old marital arrangement and raise two loveless children.

His sister—always, as far as he could remember—hated him. She blamed him for the family issues of their godfather and, in a way, even sided with their godmother against Harry. Rose could say something like, "Who can blame her for being an empty shell of a woman when you took away everything good she once had?"

Or something along those lines. Rose ran a feminist column in the Daily Prophet. Her partner, Fleur, assisted her. The column survived only due to pressure from the Ministry. Every year, she had to figuratively grovel to every wealthy wizard in England in order to continue doing what she wanted.

Chapters 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 and 8 are already on Pa tr eon

If you would like to read the next chapters faster, see exclusive content, or support my work, please visit

Pat re on. c om(slash)belleveela(delete spaces)