It wasn't a grand epiphany, just something clicked as he watched people walk by within the square. The know-it-all swot, Hermione Jean Granger was the one. Settling down on the iron bench, elbows resting on his thighs, hands clasped. His expression of resigned aggravation. He was screwed. Whatever, gods he offended was laughing now.

There is no black-and-white in life. There are many grays and justifications, which all comes down to the person's viewpoint. There will be calculated risk and personal sacrifices, which leads to consequences and rewards.

Don't make offerings or promises that you can't follow through on, and don't enter into any bargains unless you know exactly what you're getting–and what is expected of you in return.

Princess wasn't a word he would use for her. It would mean soft, pampered, cuddled. She is a duchess, a woman with hidden talents that sway the masses leading to war.

Under the guidence of a loved one is he only able to see past warp glass.

The traits of a pureblood witch should not be within this...this wretched witch. She makes me question all that I believe.