Harry Potter and the Years of Rebellion

Chapter Three

BEWARE GOBLINS AND SOLICITORS BEARING GIFTS

It was drizzling in Diagon Alley just like the rest of London, but Harry thought that the weather didn't fully account for the sense of gloom. The alley was quieter than he recalled it - a cluster of wizards here, a gaggle of ancient witches there, a knot of children and parents looking in the windows of Quality Quidditch Supplies, pairs and groups of witches and wizards coming in and out of Gringotts. A crowd of children were mobbing Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, parents and others looking on.

Harry struggled to identify what was off about the scene before him. Walking toward the bronze doors of Gringotts, it struck him at last. His eyes swept the length of the alley, just to be sure - he saw no group smaller than six, except for an elderly woman and a stout young man leaving Fortescue's. As Harry continued to look about, a man exited Gringotts alone.

The man leaving Gringotts hesitated, closely scrutinized Harry, and then strode rapidly toward him. “What on earth are you doing here alone, and dressed like that?” Bill Weasley muttered as he drew close. He had the same long hair and fang earring that Harry remembered, but was robed in a very traditional style.

It suddenly struck Harry - he's part of the Order. He grabbed Bill by the sides of the arms. “Hermione! Oh my God! I -”

Bill gently pushed him away, as concern mounted on his face. Harry realised that Bill wanted him to keep his voice down. “She's been with her parents all summer, closely watched,” Bill said quietly. “I take it you know that she had a bit of a fright this morning?”

Harry staggered forward, and counted out ragged breaths. She must be all right, he thought, thank Merlin, she's all right.

Bill held his arms to steady him. “Harry? Harry? You're all right, then?”

Harry forcefully exhaled. He tried to blow all the tension out, and failed. He searched for words, and stammered, “It's - just - telephone - we were - arguing - and - pop - and - she had to go and - I didn't know - and - ”

“You're a little flushed, Harry,” Bill said, as a smirk bloomed on his face. “Calm yourself - quickly. The whole thing was passing strange, but she's fine. Ron was on edge about it, as well. You three certainly are tight.” He let Harry settle himself for a few moments, and then pressed. “Now - why are you here?”

Harry said, “I'm down to Gringotts about Sirius Black's will.”

Bill's face froze. “I see. Well, I wasn't headed for anything important. I'll come with you.”

Harry continued toward Gringotts, with Bill following at his side. Bill said, “We've heard from Gringotts as well. Look, I know that he was your godfather, and that he was important to you. I'm really very sorry about, well… everything… but please, tell me you're not going to get mixed up in Black family affairs.”

“He's left me something,” Harry shrugged, fishing out the letter. Bill took the letter and scanned it.

“You shouldn't go in there without representation, Harry,” said Bill, adding firmly, “I'm not joking,” when Harry sniggered a bit.

Bill shook his head. “I'm surprised that they sent this letter to you at all, as opposed to your legal guardian.”

Harry laughed. “The Dursleys? They could have received a hundred owls, and they would have just burned every letter!”

“Not the Dursleys,” Bill said, “but your wizarding guardian. I assume that you have one. There are a number of issues under wizarding law where the Dursleys would be inappropriate… when you were called before the Wizengamot last year for that Dementor business, who represented you there?”

“Dumbledore came at the last minute,” said Harry.

Bill pondered that for a moment. “He must be your wizarding guardian, then. That seems a little odd to me, but most of the decisions where the Dursleys couldn't or wouldn't weigh in have probably related to Hogwarts. You really should speak with him before you go in there.”

Harry's mouth tightened into a thin line. He snatched back the letter. “Thank you for the advice. I think I'll take a pass.”

Bill's eyebrows rose a bit, but he didn't say anything. Harry didn't like being handled, but he let Bill walk him past the uniformed goblin, through the bronze doors, and into Gringotts.

“Harry, are you certain about this?” he asked Harry, sounding more than a little nervous. “I can owl Dumbledore straight away.”

Harry set his jaw. “I don't have a lot of time. I need to get this over with,” he said firmly.

Bill walked straight at Harry, forcing him off to one side of the great hall and away from passers-by. “I was six years behind Sirius at Hogwarts, but I knew him by reputation even then,” Bill said forcefully. “It was… well, it would have been difficult not to. He was terribly popular, and a notorious prankster of course. But, Harry - and this is the important part - everything he did seemed inches from dangerous. He really ruffled my father in the old days, and that would take quite a lot. Now, add in a dozen years with Dementors having at you -” Bill put his hand on Harry's shoulder to keep him from jumping in, before continuing, “- and who knows what you'll get as a result? Everyone can tell you that Sirius was impossible this spring. You should also remember the history behind his family. It's not going to be as simple as signing for his trunk, Harry.”

Harry's eyes narrowed and he said through clenched teeth, “Thank you for walking me here. I'm going to take care of my business now.”

Bill took his hand off Harry, frowning. “A pleasure, Harry,” he said stiffly. “I'll be taking care of mine, as well.” Harry edged around him, and headed directly for the tellers.

A free goblin at the long counter motioned to Harry.

“Good afternoon,” said Harry, “I'm here to visit the Trust Department.”

The goblin, clearly bored, asked, “Do you have an appointment?”

Harry held out the letter. “Not really, no. It's to do with an inheritance.” He suddenly felt very conspicuous.

The goblin examined the letter closely. “This is in order. I will have someone from the Trust Department collect you shortly. Do you have other business to conduct?”

“Not yet,” Harry said.

The goblin waggled its long fingers toward a line of benches near some of the many doors leading off the main hall. Harry left the counter to find a seat. He spotted the same elderly woman and young man who had been walking outside, waiting in a queue before the next counter.

Harry blinked twice, to be sure he was right, before hollering, “Oy, Neville!”

Several groups of people stopped what they were doing, looking to see who was shouting. Harry noticed how quiet it was in the Gringotts great hall, and winced. The young man drew his wand and instinctively moved in front of the old woman, boldly retorting, “Who's asking?”

Harry smiled. Neville lowered his wand slightly, and Harry said, “Neville, don't lower your wand so easily. I should think we covered that bit in DA, right?”

Neville cocked his head, looked Harry up and down, and then broke out in a big grin. “I don't believe it - I mean, what are you doing here? I scarcely recognized you.” He reached out and gave Harry a firm handshake.

Harry found Neville's grin infectious. He said, “Likewise, Neville. Confidence looks good on you,” and drew Neville into an awkward embrace, adding, “don't you agree, Mrs. Longbottom?”

Neville's grandmother sized Harry up with her eyes. She still seemed very formidable, although standing there in her rain-matted fox fur she looked much older than the previous Christmas. “You look familiar to me.” She peered intently through Harry's wet bangs. “Ah, of course. I want to thank you for saving Neville's life. I would like to see you thrashed for risking it, as well, but that is not my place.”

Neville frowned. “Harry doesn't deserve that. I decided to help him, he didn't ask.”

Mrs. Longbottom shot Neville a stern look. “Yes, and I would expect better judgment on your part - ah, if you would just show your parents' good sense now and again.” Neville glowered at her.

Harry was a little taken aback, waiting for Neville to break eye contact with his grandmother, or stammer, or at least flush.

Harry decided to reward Neville's new resolve. “I think that Neville may have left out some of the details from the Ministry. You should know, ma'am, that Neville saved me from a Death Eater -”

Mrs. Longbottom instantly clutched a shrivelled hand to her chest. She insisted in an exaggerated whisper, “Keep your voice down, boy! Neville, is this true?”

Neville at last looked at the floor, and shook his head affirmatively. His grandmother composed herself, and lowered her hand to clasp Harry's. “I had no idea that Neville could be so reckless,” she said quietly to Harry. “You've been good to him in the past, I understand. I hope that you will help him learn to protect himself.”

Harry squeezed her hand gently. “Mrs. Longbottom, Neville is loyal, honest and brave. He's brilliant in Herbology - knows almost as much as Professor Sprout, I reckon - and his defensive skills are really quite good. I would trust him with my life.” He deliberately looked into her eyes. “I think his parents would have been proud of him that night, ma'am.”

Neville gaped at Harry, and watched his grandmother for a reaction. Her eyes narrowed for a moment. “I suspect that you give him too much credit at your own expense, but I suppose I must take you at your word. Now, what are you doing here by yourself? It's simply not safe these days.”

Neville chimed in, “And where've you been all summer? I mean, I've wanted to owl you - there's something I want to tell… er, but Dumbledore said you were to be left alone, and…”

Mrs. Longbottom cleared her throat. “Neville, stop pestering for a moment, would you, dear? Harry, why are you here?”

Harry said, “I'm waiting to see the Trust Department.”

“I see. Well, Neville, why don't you wait with your friend? I won't have to fret about losing you in the vaults. There's simply no time for that today. Some of the Daughters are meeting about the cotillion at three o'clock. Harry?”

“Yes, ma'am?”

“See that he doesn't wander, would you? I shan't be long.” Mrs. Longbottom turned her attention back to the queue as though Neville had disappeared.

Harry and Neville found a free bench, where the goblin at the counter had pointed. Harry sat quietly for a while, before Neville said, “Trust Department, eh?”

“Uh-huh,” Harry replied, not wanting to discuss it. He noticed that Neville was rocking back and forth expectantly.

“Er, Neville,” Harry began, “didn't you say that you had something to tell me?”

Neville flushed a bit. “Well, er, not so much to tell, really, as - uh, what I meant to say, that is - look, you know about my parents.”

“Of course. I mean, I've seen them obviously, and Dumbledore gave me an idea of what happened to them. Neville, I'm really sorry,” Harry ventured.

Neville pressed on, getting redder as he talked. “The thing is that - Harry, you know as much as anyone at Hogwarts about the sort of thing that happened to m-m-my mum and dad. I mean, you've actually been hit with that, er, particular - so, I thought you might know, or at least have an opinion -”

Harry put a hand on Neville's shoulder, which was starting to shake. “Neville, what do you want to know about the Cruciatus Curse?” he asked quietly.

Neville slumped at the name of the curse. “Is-it-possible-my-mum-could-be-trying-to-tell-me-something?” he blurted out.

Harry's eyes widened. “Your mum's talking? Neville, that's wonderful news!”

Neville shook his head. “Not like that.” He fished inside his cloak anxiously.

“Not like that?” Harry asked. “Is she using signals, then? Blinking or tapping, or something?”

“No,” said Neville. “Here it is, then. Take a look at this.”

Neville pulled out a small leather-bound book that looked like some kind of journal with subject tabs. He opened it. Stuck to the ruled page was an empty gum wrapper, with a date written next to it.

Harry hesitated. “Neville, isn't that's Droobles Blowing Gum?”

Neville shook his head. “No, it's a Droobles Blowing Gum wrapper,” he told Harry gravely.

“I see,” said Harry. “Okay, I don't see.”

“My mum started dropping these when I would visit, when I was - oh, I don't know - five or six. I didn't really pay attention; I mean, I was just a kid, right? Well, the summer before our first year at Hogwarts, Gran threatened to stop buying Droobles for Mum. She had this gigantic reaction, the biggest I've ever seen. After that, Mum made a point of dropping the wrappers in my hand, at least one every visit but sometimes more. Gran thinks I've gone spare, keeping these.”

“Uh-huh,” said Harry. He struggled to think of something to say, and then started gingerly, “I understand wanting to talk to your mum, believe me I do. I mean, I used to think about talking to my parents every single day. But, Neville… they're gum wrappers.”

Neville frowned. “Harry, look at the wrapper.”

Harry made a show of looking at the gum wrapper stuck to the page before him. There was the picture of Droobles the Drooling Muggle, some text about the ingredients and such, and a capital “A”.

“Uh-huh,” said Harry. “Anything in particular I'm looking for?”

Exasperated, Neville asked, “Harry, do you chew Droobles?”

“I've seen it, sure. I've probably had some off the cart on the Hogwarts Express. Why?”

“Droobles has run a contest every year, for something like thirty years. You use a code from the wrappers to solve a riddle that they publish in the Daily Prophet. One character on each wrapper, Harry.”

Harry looked more closely at the capital “A”. “Neville,” Harry said, “you're telling me that your mum is sending you a message one letter at a time, using coded gum wrappers?”

Neville closed the little book, staring at the front cover. “I spoke to some friends of my parents - there aren't many left to ask, of course. Mum used to enter the Droobles contest every year.”

Harry didn't know what to think or say. Finally, he told Neville, “You were asking me if I think it's possible for your parents to communicate. My answer is, I don't know - I really don't. As far as the Droobles thing, I'm not the right person to ask about codes or coded messages. You know what I'd do, if I were in your shoes? I'd ask Hermione about it. If I had to pick someone smart enough to break a code, I'd bet on her.”

Neville gave Harry a game smile. “That's a good idea, Harry. I knew I could count on you.”

Harry asked him, “So, who are the Daughters?”

Neville looked distracted. “Huh? What, the Daughters of the Goblin Wars?”

Harry scowled, “Let me guess, it's in Hogwarts: a History.”

Neville shrugged, “Well, I suppose it is. You've never heard of the Daughters? It's no big deal; it's just a lineage society.”

“Pretend that - oh, I don't know - that I've lived over half my life as a Muggle,” said Harry.

“Oh, right then,” explained Neville. “Well, to join the Daughters of the Goblin Wars, you have to be a witch who can trace her lineage directly to someone on the registered list of combatants from the Goblin Wars. That's why it's a lineage society. They have parties and dances; raise money for charities, that sort of thing. That big, ugly pin on Gran's robe - that's her Daughters pin. I can't believe she wore it here. The goblins still have hard feelings, you know.”

Harry asked, “Why take the chance of making the goblins angry, then?”

Neville flushed, looking anywhere but at Harry. “Well, er, mind you, I don't think that it's right. I mean, it's kind of cowardly, although I'd never say that to Gran -“

“Neville, out with it,” Harry pressed.

“Marks her as a pureblood,” Neville spat. “I mean, you need four centuries of wizarding lineage to belong. Might as well paint `I'm a pureblood' on her robe.”

“Why would she care about that?” Harry wondered aloud.

Neville's eyes widened. “You don't know what's been happening, then?”

Harry lied, “I've been at the Dursleys all summer, and they don't tolerate owls and wizarding and all that, so I've been a bit isolated. I've been watching the BBC… you know, the Muggle news, looking for signs.”

Neville asked, “Then why'd you tell Dumbledore that you wanted to be left alone, no letters, no visitors?” in an accusing tone.

Harry thought, Dumbledore's thorough - I'll give him that. He began, “Now, look here, Neville, I -”

“I hope you had a grand time,” spluttered Neville nervously, “a smashing good summer. From the look of it, you were off pretending to be someone else… Harry, I'm sure you miss - er, it must be really hard on you, but you didn't need to go and look like -”

“It's - just - hair,” Harry said dangerously.

Neville gulped, “I'm sorry, Harry. Anyway, V- V- Volde - well, you know who I mean, he -”

“Say the name, Neville,” Harry seethed.

“He and his supporters have been killing all summer. You wouldn't have seen anything in the Muggle news. The Ministry's been working overtime to keep it quiet.” Neville was shaking a little.

“Well, who's being killed? Is it random? Are there targets? Who, then?” Harry demanded.

“Muggle-born wizards and witches, their Muggle families, and, and… and squibs,” Neville sniffed. “If you hadn't started the DA, and if I hadn't helped at the Ministry… Harry, people were still wondering about me.”

“So that's why Hermione's being watched,” Harry realised.

Neville nodded. “They figure she's a target, you know, after the Ministry and being friends with you - er, sorry, shouldn't have said that.”

“I could have pieced that much together,” Harry said glumly.

A little blond girl, her oversized cloak dragging on the floor, tugged on Harry's pant leg. “You wear funny clothes,” she announced in a high-pitched voice. Harry looked down and saw that his cloak was wide open, revealing his Muggle outfit.

“Alicia!” a woman at the next bench shouted.

“It's all right,” Harry said, keeping his attention on the little girl. “I live among Muggles, and this is how they dress.”

She looked at him intently. “You have a funny scar there,” she said matter-of-factly and pointed, “on your head.”

Harry nodded. “I know I do,” he said, “I've had it since -”

The girl kept talking, not acknowledging that Harry said anything. “My mum told me about a boy named Harry Potter with a scar on his head,” she said, “and he got it from a very bad man. What's your name, mister?”

“My name's Harry, and your name's Alicia,” Harry said.

The little girl's eyes widened, and then she grinned. “How'd you know that?” she asked. “Is that a trick?”

The girl's mother had moved to stand behind her, without Harry noticing. She had a strange look on her face, nervous but faintly reverent. “I apologize for my daughter, Mr. Potter,” the woman said. “Come along, Alicia; don't be a bother.” Harry noticed two older people, probably the girl's grandparents, watching the scene nervously.

Harry insisted, “She's no bother, really.”

The woman asked, “Are you sure? I should think it would get old, always being bothered.”

Harry laughed. “I don't get out much,” he said. “Muggles and school mates aren't impressed by me, I guess.” He winked at Neville.

The girl looked at her mother with disbelief. “Mum, this can't be Harry Potter. He's old.” Her mother looked back in horror.

“I'm Harry Potter, Alicia. I just grew up, that's all,” Harry said gently.

“Does it hurt?” the girl asked, pointing at his scar.

“Not very often,” Harry answered, and she cringed.

The girl's mother said, “We never believed the Daily Prophet, you know, all the rubbish that they wrote about you. Can - would you - we have a camera, and…”

Harry hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. “Sure.” He said to the girl, “Why don't you sit between my friend and me? Alicia, this is Neville. He's one of my friends that help me, uh, fight the bad people.” She sat down, and shyly greeted Neville.

Neville squirmed in his seat. “Harry, are you sure…?”

Harry grinned. “Absolutely, unless you're worried about being seen with me,” he said.

Neville spluttered, “Of course I'm not!”

The woman took two pictures, and then the grandparents took one of Harry with the little girl, and another of Harry with the girl and her mother. Harry squinted from the flash, and noticed that they were drawing a crowd. Very quickly, he found himself standing in a crush of people and shaking hands. He noticed that without asking, Neville had moved in behind him and was warily watching everyone who drew close. He shook a hand here, signed something there, and found himself receiving an unexpected kiss on the cheek from a young woman who looked vaguely familiar. He was pulled one way and then the other for impromptu photographs. After what seemed like an eternity, he was saved by two goblins that waded into the crowd to direct him toward the Trust Department. He waved at Neville, and mouthed “Thank you” in appreciation for how Neville had quite literally watched his back.

The goblins led Harry to one of the endless doors branching off the great hall. Beyond the door was a small room, clearly an antechamber for another office. A middle-aged witch stood behind a desk crowded with papers and files. A broad and forbidding witch sat on an adjacent chair, talking animatedly to a familiar-looking wizard with a violet top hat. The standing witch sighed, “Mr. Potter, we've been expecting you for several minutes.”

The seated witch rose smoothly and regally, gazing firmly at Harry through a monocle. She smiled, though it seemed like her eyes failed to join in. She rose, and extended a hand. “Harry, my name is …”

Harry took her hand firmly. “I remember you, Madam Bones. Please be sure to say hello to Susan for me.”

Madam Bones looked at him, puzzled, and then said, “Oh… no, Harry, I'm not on my way out. I'm on my way in.”

Dedalus Diggle cut in excitedly, pumping Harry's hand. “Delighted to see you again, Mr. Potter - you can't imagine.”

“Yes, of course,” said Harry. He avoided acknowledging Diggle further, to avoid any questioning that might bring up the Order of the Phoenix. The standing witch motioned to a door that had abruptly appeared, and it slowly creaked open.

The room beyond was more dungeon than office. The stone walls were rough-hewn; stalactites descended here and there, and magical torches in wall sconces lighted the space. There was no desk, just a stone slab balanced on rocks. Three crowded bookcases were squeezed along one of the irregular walls, and three chairs had been set before the stone slab. A fourth chair was to the side of the slab, and a large rock was placed behind it. On another wall were three curio cases that contained things Harry preferred not to see clearly. He sensed something behind him, and turned to see a purple head with two horns that loomed over the door.

“That has to be a graphorn,” Harry observed.

“It is good that Hogwarts still teaches of magical creatures, though the teaching is most likely inaccurate,” hissed a corpulent goblin from behind the stone slab, with an ear-to-ear grin that easily contested with Mad-Eye Moody's smile. “You are correct, in this case.” The goblin closed his eyes, and took in a deep longing breath. “I enjoy the hunt,” he growled.

Madam Bones and Dedalus Diggle took seats, apparently seeing no need to wait for the goblin to direct them. The goblin kept his full attention on Harry. “Welcome to my office, Mister Potter. I am Fliptrask. The Trust Department of Gringotts is mine. I would not ordinarily be bothered with such a matter as this. However, the circumstances are unique. In addition, you are the sole remaining beneficiary of one of the largest trusts that we administer. I feel compelled to devote a few minutes of my highly valuable time to your needs.” The goblin sat abruptly on the rock behind the stone slab. “To business,” Fliptrask said.

The bored witch entered from the antechamber as Harry took his seat. She took out a quill and parchment, and sat in the fourth seat. Fliptrask reached down and lifted a large box onto the slab.

“Trust meeting, July the 29^th,” said Fliptrask in an imperious voice, as the bored witch began taking notes, “concerning the execution of the Last Will and Testament of Mister Sirius Black, as it relates to Mister Harry James Potter - fill in the details, Wolfingham. In attendance, in addition to myself and Mister Potter, are Madam Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Ministry for Magic; Mr. Dedalus Diggle, admitted to practice as a solicitor before the Wizengamot, who has been retained by Gringotts for transactions relating to the Black and Potter Trusts; and my personal scribe, Frida Wolfingham.”

Fliptrask continued, “The Last Will and Testament of Sirius Black was accepted as valid and enforceable by the Civil Law section of the Wizengamot on July the 19^th, on a vote of - Mr. Diggle?”

Diggle awkwardly thumbed through a lap full of papers before muttering A-ha, and said, “6 to 3.”

Madam Bones added, “With a rather stern minority opinion.”

Fliptrask smiled his awful smile. “Duly noted. In any case, the execution of this will sets into motion some… what sort of changes?” The goblin hesitated.

“Confusing?” offered Diggle.

“Unfortunate,” spat Madam Bones.

“Complicated,” muttered the scribe.

Fliptrask nodded. “Yes, complicated… some complicated changes in Mr. Potter's custodial status.” He turned his attention back on Harry. “Previous to July the 19^th, under the common laws of the United Kingdom, you were in the custody of, er… Durkley, is it?”

Diggle fumbled through more papers. “Vernon and Petunia Dursley.”

Fliptrask nodded. “Yes, Dursley. Simultaneously, under the laws and decrees of the Ministry for Magic of the United Kingdom, you were a ward under the protection of the Right Honourable Mr. Albus Dumbledore.” Harry scowled, but no one took any notice. Fliptrask continued briskly, “It was decided that your blood relatives would be allowed to maintain primary custody. Does that description seem accurate?”

Diggle nodded. “It is within the facts, yes.”

Fliptrask went on with his explanation. “The reason for this arrangement was that Mr. Black's incarceration in Azkaban nullified the original arrangements stipulated in the Last Will and Testaments of James Potter and Lily Evans Potter. The original arrangement provided that Mr. Black would maintain sole legal custody of the younger Mr. Potter in all jurisdictions. However, the restoration of legal rights granted to Mr. Black by the Wizengamot eliminated this nullification, thereby restoring custodial rights to Mr. Black, now deceased.”

Harry blinked hard and then squinted.

Fliptrask asked, “Are you attempting to gain my attention, Mister Potter?”

Harry said, “Sorry, sir. I'm just trying to follow all of this. I thought I heard you say that Sirius has custody of me. But with Sirius -” He couldn't bring himself to say dead, without the emptiness coming over him. “What I mean to ask is, who has custody of me now?”

Madam Bones frowned. “That's the problem, Harry.”

Dedalus Diggle jumped in. “What Madam Bones means to say, Mr. Potter, is that Mr. Black opted for a highly unusual arrangement.”

“Highly unusual?” snapped Madam Bones. “Dedalus, your flair for understatement is astounding. This hasn't been invoked in more than fifty years!”.

Diggle frowned. “The underlying principle is generally accepted under American law, and is also surprisingly common in countries where the legal system is based on Roman civil -”

“Mister Diggle!” All eyes turned to the goblin, who was definitely not smiling. “Must I impress upon you the value of my time and the cost of yours? To business!”

Diggle bowed his head. “Of course, sir. Now then, Harry, I have here a series of documents, signed by Mr. Black as an addendum to his will. In essence, he has chosen to adopt you and then to free you. Writs of parens patriae are actually legal under wizarding code, though - as Madam Bones pointed out - they are rather rare. Technically, this is not applicable under the Muggle common law here in England. From the perspective of contracts and property ownership, the Scots approach matters somewhat differently. Therefore, Mr. Black re-established his Muggle propers in Scotland, and his will is being legally executed through the Scottish courts.”

“Mister Diggle!” Fliptrask was tapping his long fingers on the stone slab.

“Sir?”

“I believe that Mr. Potter's eyes are crossing. Do you care to explain this to him in practical terms?”

“May I?” asked Madam Bones. Fliptrask nodded.

Madam Bones took Harry's hands, which startled him. She said, “Harry, Sirius Black did something very rash in his will, something to which you do not have to agree. He has emancipated you. If you sign these documents, you will become a legal adult in the wizarding world and will be subject to all the responsibilities that come with adulthood. You will also become a legal adult in Muggle Scotland in certain respects but not in others. Technically, you will not be a legal adult in Muggle England for another two years in some respects, and another five years in others. The will appoints a conservator for your Muggle-related affairs in England, but most of the Muggle assets are in Scotland… Harry, this has so many implications, I don't even know where to begin. I had to consult my research unit to find the last time that someone was foolish enough to do this. The last time… did not turn out particularly well.”

Diggle scowled, and cut in, “It's not so rare as all that, Amelia. Emancipation occurs every time minors are allowed to marry, for one. Have you not read the reports regarding Mr. Potter's treatment by his Muggle relations? Outrageous! It is simply unthinkable that anyone should treat the Boy-Who-Lived like a slave or a common criminal, let alone Muggles!”

Fliptrask cleared his throat; the sound reminded Harry of a stuck garbage disposer. “Mister Potter, I shall cut to the quick. If you sign this addendum to Mr. Black's Last Will and Testament, then his wishes regarding your custody will be binding. The remainder of the arrangements relate to the disposition of property, and are relatively straightforward. I shall leave that to you and Mr. Diggle and whomever else you choose. If you do not sign the addendum, then no changes shall occur in your custody. The personal and real property assigned to you in the will would be held in trust until you reach the normal age of majority.” The goblin glanced at a mantle clock atop one of the curios. “I have four minutes remaining for this matter. If you have questions of me, ask them now.”

Harry's mind raced. “What would a conservator do? You said I would have a conservator for my affairs in England.”

Diggle said, “Under the Muggle common law, you can enter into several types of contracts as a minor. However, there are some things that require the approval of a conservator, mostly to do with real property and marriage.”

“You said one was named for me in the will. Who is it?” asked Harry.

Madam Bones looked as if she had happened upon a particularly unpleasant Bertie Bott's flavour. She began, “Leave it to Sirius Black to appoint -”

Diggle cut in, and answered, “The will names Mr. Remus J. Lupin as your conservator, Mr. Potter.”

Fliptrask tapped his fingers impatiently. “Additional questions? No? Mister Potter, you technically have until August the 16^th to sign or to not sign this addendum. You should also know that some of the property terms of the will do not take effect until your sixteenth birthday, which I understand is coming very shortly. If you wish to sign now, you may do so before Wolfingham and Mr. Diggle. If you wish to return later, you may make arrangements accordingly. In any event, my time related to this matter has expired -”

“I'd like a quill,” Harry said quietly.

Madam Bones pleaded with him, “Harry, take sufficient time to consider what you're doing. This will radically change your life.”

Harry closed his eyes in thought, and then smiled. “Is this why I didn't get a letter today? I used a repair spell, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” Madam Bones frowned. “You did it twice. You also performed two spells in the Leaky Cauldron, and a light spell. I have five letters in my cloak that are intended for you. I have been personally attending to your affairs at the Ministry since Black's will was upheld. Getting out of a trifling jam is no reason whatever for you to sign this, Harry. I hope that's not what you're thinking.”

Harry felt like he couldn't draw in enough air, and his head was spinning a little. He didn't know how to get his arms around what was happening, but he knew what he was going to do.

He drew himself up, and asked, “Madam Bones, how much do you know about the… well, about what happened at the Department of Mysteries last month?”

She said curtly, “The things I know should not be discussed here.”

Harry nodded. That was enough of an answer for him. “Then you know that I am already an adult.”

Madam Bones regarded him coldly through her monocle. “I know that you have seen things most of us will never see, and dealt with things that most adults will never face. That does not mean that you are prepared for this kind of freedom.”

“Mister Potter, do you intend to complete this transaction today, defer it until later, or walk away? This really must end,” Fliptrask said.

“We can finish up outside, sir,” Harry said, adding, “Thank you for your time.”

Fliptrask nodded curtly. “Mind your box,” he said, motioning to the box still sitting on the stone slab. “The Trust Department of Gringotts is at your service.”

Once back in the antechamber, Harry set the box on the desk, and motioned to the scribe for a quill.

Diggle placed the addendum on the desk beside the box, and said excitedly, “Now, there are a number of technical items to be addressed, but we should start with the will itself.”

Harry rolled the quill in his fingers. “What about it?”

Diggle's top hat shook as he bobbed his head in excitement. “The will consists of a general document, personal letters to each major beneficiary, and a series of addenda and appendices - most concerning you, of course.”

Harry shook his head. “I didn't even ask what he left me.”

Diggle said, “Oh, I think you'll be pleased. He's been arranging things for quite some time,” as Harry glanced at the box.

“Here, here, and here,” the scribe said absently.

Madam Bones placed her hand atop Harry's writing hand. “Harry, please reconsider this. This has implications that extend beyond you. It could quickly place you and others in peril. I can't prevent you from accepting Black's terms. I can't compel you to speak to Professor Dumbledore. Technically you're not his ward at the moment, but he does have your best interests at heart.”

Harry gritted his teeth. “Madam Bones, I'm going to say this as nicely as possible. I want this,” he said, nodding at the box, “and I don't much care what Dumbledore thinks. I've had my fill of his games, and his lies. If he wants me to save the world, then I do it on my terms. Mine.” Madam Bones' hand recoiled to cover her mouth, and even Diggle took a surprised step back. Harry lowered the quill to the parchment.

As Harry finished affixing the third signature, there was pounding on the outer door, becoming more and more insistent, then a commotion and muffled cries. Abruptly, the door flew off its hinges and into the room. Harry and the scribe dove behind the desk.

He heard people running into the room, and as he peered around the desk he heard an uncomfortably familiar voice.

Dumbledore entered the office along with Bill Weasley and a very agitated goblin, his eyes peering around the room. “Good afternoon! Terribly sorry to startle everyone,” he said genially. “Dedalus Diggle, how did you become ensnared in this? I must agree with Minerva - no sense whatever. Amelia, are you all right? Thank you so much for rushing down here. I am so pleased that you were here to talk sense at - where is Harry? Amelia, tell me that you were able to make him understand. He does recognize the danger, does he not? Harry? Where are you, Harry?”

Harry stood up, and a mixture of anger and embarrassment coursed through him. “Dumbledore,” he spat, the signed copy of the will gripped tightly in his hand. The box on the desk shook slightly, and a wax seal between the lid and the body of the box evaporated into wisps of red smoke.

Dumbledore's face sank, and he whispered, “Sirius, what have you done to us?”