Chapter 63 The Last Will of the House of Black

Harry was no longer accustomed to sleep, for a number of reasons. Amongst those numerous and varied reasons was the fact that he was afraid to sleep. Perhaps afraid is not the right word, apprehensive would be more appropriate. But then, he had gotten used to lying on the bed, with his eyes closed, in many ways mimicking sleep. Truth was, he was not sure if he did sleep at all anymore as his mind trod over the same information, trying to find some new...something. But ultimately his mind kept coming back to the same fact: Three destroyed and four remain.

It had been five days since their successful incursion into Gringotts. And the more Harry thought about it, the more he was convinced that it all had been too easy. Of course, there had been no report of the break-in, but that was largely due to the fact that nothing had been stolen, and that the Goblins would sooner eat a battle-ax than admit that somebody had gotten in and torched the contents of a vault.

A wave of his hand cast a Tempus spell, revealing that it was now Saturday, just after six in the morning. He couldn't be sure if he had slept, or daydreamed through the night. Whatever it was, he felt as rested as he ever got these days. He rose to his feet and went through his morning routine, and somehow he was unsurprised that when he opened his door and made his way downstairs for his first cup of coffee of the day that his kitchen was populated by the rest of his friends.

They were practically living there, he realized. They all had their own rooms – though he knew for a fact Colin had yet to sleep in his room, just as Ginny had not slept in hers. By tacit, unspoken agreement, nobody had ever mentioned the sleeping arrangements within Potter Manor – even if Harry knew everything through his mind link to Alnwick.

Alnwick, the central intelligence that controlled both the active and passive wards and security of the estate also helped with numerous other things, essentially filling in gaps as required. It knew the contents, down to the how many milliliters of Syrup of Hellebore, and grams of powdered dragon claw was in the potions store, as well as more useless information such as the number of training dummies destroyed by Harry – 5,666 – and how many the Legion Core had destroyed – 15,834 – to complete records on the strengths, weaknesses, and abilities of all 237 members of The Legion. This morning, however, it had perhaps the most mundane of tasks: it turned on the magical coffee pot, which immediately started to brew the coffee to Harry's exacting standard of, "Brewed hot as hell, black as midnight before being chilled colder than the flames of hell frozen over."

He drained the coffee in one long pull and carelessly dropped the cup into the sink before heading out. Wordlessly, the rest fell in line behind him and broke in a jog across the grounds of the Manor. Considering that the grounds were extensive, Harry normally ran only two or three laps, averaging about ten kilometers in just under an hour, before spending another hour in the training room where they dueled, continuing to work their way through the Armageddon Scenarios that saw them battle their way through Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, through the halls of the Ministry and even through Hogwarts, as well as a series of different urban, suburban and subterranean scenarios. More often than not, they found themselves in need of some medical treatment during and after their training jaunts. Fortunately, Winky was proving to be quite the healer, and the teens were giving her plenty of practice.

On more than one occasion, Harry himself had needed to spend some time recovering from injuries that bordered on the severe. They all had, and several amongst their number bore the telltale scars from their sometimes inexpertly applied healing magic, something none of them seemed to have a very good grasp of, despite their extensive knowledge of charms, transfiguration, and defense. This morning they had done better than before: The usual collection of cuts, bruises, scratches, but only a few broken limbs and cracked ribs as nobody was knocked unconscious.

Showered and clean, they chatted amicably over breakfast, about nothing of consequence. Harry blinked as Alnwick brought his attention to a not unexpected visitor: The Goblin Firesprite flashed out of the only Floo networked fireplace in the manor's Travel Room, deposited a message next to Harry and then departed the same way. It was one of the sticking points of the Manor wards that had not escaped notice: No one and nothing could pass through the wards, and if something unwanted did somehow make its way through the open connection, they would have to deal with the defenses wielded by Alnwick which ranged from the mild to the outright deadly.

He stared at the letter and finally opened it, and was not surprised to find that it bore the bank crest as its letterhead. He read through it twice, and then passed it to the person sitting immediately to his left. Ginny read it and passed it on without comment until the letter made it's way back to Harry who balled it up and tossed it into the dining room fireplace.

"You going?" asked Ginny.

Harry shrugged, "I'm not sure that I want to."

"Then don't go," said Colin with a shrug as he cut into his fourth sausage.

While the wards kept Firesprites and House-elves and certainly wizards from apparating in or out, there was, however, at its simplest level, no defense against a Phoenix apparating through the wards, bearing a message address to Harry Potter. At least, Fawkes had the good grace to apparate in the travel room, instead of directly on the breakfast table, "Phoenix incoming," said Harry. He watched his friends as they immediately vanished in their seats, "Jeez guys, paranoid much?"

"Constant Vigilance!" said Neville from the far end of the table.

"Then put your tea down," replied Harry, "Floating cup would be a touch, suspicious." There was a chuckle of laughter and then all was silent as Fawkes flew into the dining room and landed lightly on the mantle above the fireplace. "Hello Fawkes," said Harry.

There was a thrill of phoenix song in reply, as he held out a clawed foot, clutching a roll of parchment, "Are you supposed to wait for a reply?" Though no human actually spoke the language of the phoenixes, the thrill made clear that he was supposed to wait for a written response. Harry wasn't sure how he knew that, he just did. Magic was, magic like that. He unfurled the parchment and began to read:

"Mr. Potter,

Though we have had our differences, I realize that your Godfather, Sirius Black has passed on, and I hope that I am not remiss in offering my condolences for his passing. I hope that you will find comfort and solace in the company of your friends."

Harry rolled his eyes, "If you had done things right you bastard, my godfather would have raised me, and not spent twelve years of his life in fucking Azkaban." He let his eyes scan across the parchment, ignoring great chunks of it about "working together," "cooperating for the greater good," and such until he came to the semi-final paragraph:

"While I realize that you have no need of whatever money Sirius may have left you, I must urge you to attend the reading of Sirius's will and accept whatever he has bequeath you. Should you refuse to do so, all of Sirius's possessions and funds will go to his closest living relative: Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black. I do not believe that I have to explain where the funds will ultimately wind up, and how they will be used to finance the Death Eaters.

"Furthermore, Grimmauld Place, Sirius's ancestral home and headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, has locked itself down, refusing entry to all but its new owner, who I believe to be you. It is my hope that after the reading of the will, you will allow the Order to continue using it, but if you so desire, we can continue using our current, alternative location.

I hope to see you at Gringotts this afternoon at 2 p.m.

Cordially yours,

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore…"

As much as he hated to admit it, Dumbledore had raised a number of valid points. 'The enemy of my enemy is a problem for later,' mused Harry, grabbing a length of parchment and a quill, Harry wrote a brief, terse reply and handed it to Fawkes. With a trill and a flash of flame, the firebird vanished, 'In the meantime, they can get in each other's way."

They canceled their invisibility charms and waited for Harry to say, well, something. They didn't expect what he said, however, "Table full of half-eaten breakfast, and you think that Fawkes won't know that there were other people having breakfast here?" there were a number of sheepish grins around the table, "But I'm going to Gringotts," he threw Dumbledore's note to Colin, "Better I get it, then those bastards," he said darkly.

There was no arguing with the logic of that particular statement, as Colin handed the parchment to Fred – or George – he wasn't sure which was which but then nobody really was until they started speaking. The only reason they could tell then was because normally George spoke first and Fred finished his brother's sentences.

Again, the letter made its way around the table in silence. There was nothing to be said as they passed the morning, each to their own distractions and idle amusements. Harry, however, spent most of it in the training rooms, continuing his obliteration of the training dummies. He found himself with far too much anger and rage within, and if he didn't vent it in some fashion, he knew he ran the risk of self-destructing in what would no doubt be a rather spectacular fashion.

It was just before two in the afternoon when Harry stepped out of the fireplace and into Griphook's office. They dispensed with the formalities and began to walk, "Dumbledore is already here," said Griphook without preamble, "But we've kept him waiting, and we can keep him waiting if you like." Given all that had transpired in the past few days, it was all Griphook could do to keep himself from demanding what it was in the vault - or rather the large hole in the ground that used to be the Lestrange vault - that had necessitated its destruction with Fyndfire, "Till Christmas perhaps?"

"I don't think whoever is waiting with Dumbledore should have to suffer for that long," replied Harry.

"Indeed."

Harry looked around, noticing the increased security, and couldn't help but ask, "Griphook, is everything alright?"

"The return of Lord Voldemort," he replied evenly, "We can't be too careful in these dangerous times." Harry stayed silent as they passed through a series of stringent security inspections. Though Harry was forced to register his wand, he was surprised when he was allowed to keep it. He raised an eyebrow in Griphook's direction. The Goblin mirrored the expression, "The friends and allies of Gringotts would never be so insulted as to be asked to surrender their weapons."

Harry stopped in mid-step, recalling all he had read, then turned to face Griphook, giving him a formal bow, "You grant me a rarely given honor Griphook. It is my hope that I prove worthy of such... titles."

The Goblin bowed in kind, as deep as Harry had done, a showing of respect for an ally and a friend, "You are a friend. Your Legion, an ally in the coming storm. The titles do not honor you per se, for it is you who must honor the titles."

The security checks were stringent, and they found not only Harry's wand but also a few other items that raised an eyebrow, as well as the fact he was wearing full war gear beneath his clothes. Though it raised an eyebrow, that was all it did - the Goblins prided themselves on discretion after all - and Harry found himself standing in a room that he remembered from the middle of last year. It was the same room where he had been awarded guardianship of both Colin and Luna by Xenophilius Lovegood, a man he barely ever knew.

"Wotcher, Harry." It came as no surprise that Nymphandrora Tonks was here as well: She was part of the little family that Sirius had left. he crushed the flash of guilt that threatened to rise. To his surprise, she pulled him into a hug, "Know I've not seen you since that night, but I need you to know: I don't blame you."

He nodded, and in an attempt to lighten the mood, he stared at Tonk's appearance, settling on her hair. He had never seen her before with black hair, and he found that it suited her, giving her a somewhat, exotic look that he'd never noticed before. "Your normal hair color?"

She grinned, "House of Black remember? I figured, on this occasion, black hair is appropriate."

Harry conjured a mirror, "It looks...great actually." Tonks took a moment to study her reflection, flicked a lock of hair behind her ear, and flashed him a winning smile when Dumbledore's voice interrupted them.

"Perhaps we should proceed with the reading of the will?" The mere sound of Dumbledore's voice was the audio equivalent of nails on a chalkboard and it took Harry a long moment to reign in his emotions as the reality of Sirius's death crept down upon him, before he finally took a seat in the back row. He noted that Mad-eye Moody was present, along with Tonks, Remus, Dumbledore, and of course both Narcissa and Draco Malfoy. Harry couldn't help the smirk that crossed his features as he remembered that Lucius Malfoy was still rotting in Azkaban. Hopefully, just hopefully, the Dementors would do away with the need for a trial. If he could slip into Azkaban.... he gave himself a mental slap on the wrist. It was tempting, and he had the financial means to make it happen, but he had better things to do as a voice broke the solemn silence of the moment.

"Hem-Hem." She bore the smuggest smile Harry had ever seen, as Delores Umbridge entered the room, dressed in her pinkest glory, and stalked to the front of the room before taking a seat. Harry raised an eyebrow towards Griphook, who shook his head ever so slightly in surprise at Umbridge's presence. He found himself clenching his hands as he contemplated hexing the bitch to oblivion.

While Griphook had a professional reputation to uphold, Harry had no such concerns: He marched up to the pink cardigan clad witch, "I don't recall you receiving an invitation to the reading of this will, and I am asking you to vacate the room before I have you removed."

She smiled and thrust a piece of parchment in his face, "I am here in my capacity as Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, and the Ministry to confirm the death and passing of Sirius Black and the end of the House of Black."

He snatched the parchment scroll and unsealed it, scanned it for a moment, and raised an eyebrow in Griphook's direction. Marinashka emerged from a side room and took the parchment from Harry's hand. she waded through the legal mumbo-jumbo in seconds, "She has the right to be here for the reading of the will."

Harry nodded stiffly, hands clenched at his side, nails cutting in the palms of his hands - not that he noticed this as he stalked back to his seat, sat down, and glared at the back of her head. Griphook deposited a memory into a Pensieve and Sirius Black rose from the Pensieve. It was just a memory, but it looked and moved like it was still alive. The memory took a moment to compose itself and then began to speak, "Seriously now, I am Sirius Orion Black, the last male of the family line, and head of House Black. I, being of sound mind and body declare this to be my last will and testament, nullifying all preceding documentation."

"If you are watching this, then I probably went out, wand blazing, or in the process of trying to pull off the greatest prank of my career. Hopefully, either case is true, because death by old age, or falling down a flight of stairs is not how I ever intended to die." The memory gave a particularly girlish, high-pitched squeal that started several of those gathered, "I'd probably have sounded like that if I fell down those stairs..."

There were a number of snickers in the audience, and Sirius paused as if he had anticipated them, "Now to business: I never recovered my possessions after my twelve years... away. But I know that my vault remains in good standing with Gringotts and that Senior Accounts Manager Griphook certified in writing that my last wishes would be respected by the bank." Though listening, Harry noted that Umbitch was taking notes of her own. He frowned but said nothing for the moment, " To my cousin, Nymphadora Tonks - I can finally say that without being hexed!" He seemed particularly gleeful at that prospect, much to the irritation of the metamorphous whose hair flared red and pink for a moment, "I could say it for hours! Nymphadora! Nymphadora! Nymphadora.... I'll stop before she hexes the Pensieve,"

There was another round of chuckles as Sirius continued, "I leave the amount of 250,000 Galleons to you. Use it as you see fit, and perhaps, you could snare yourself a boyfriend or two and then a husband, have a couple of kids, and seriously, name one after me if you like. I know a certain older gentleman is not quite correct given his roguish youth who you could persuade..." Tonks clearly wasn't sure what hit her harder: Sirius using her given name like a mantra, the money, or the fact that he knew about the secret crush she had harbored for, well years. "Just set aside some of the money, in case you have to flee. I want you to have the option, even if you never take it."

"To my best, and closest friend, the first and now last marauder and prankster, Remus John Lupin. You were my brother in everything but blood and I owe you an apology for not trusting you more when James and Lily passed. Forgive me for failing you, for I let you, and us down badly. To you my brother, I leave you a further 250,000 Galleons. Use it in good health, and perhaps you could find someone who loves you to start living life to its fullest - I know a certain klutzy witch with color-changing hair who'd be more than happy to jump you...er...jump-start things..."

The aforementioned individuals looked to each for the briefest possible fractions of a second and then promptly looked at opposite corners of the room, much to Harry's amusement. He couldn't help himself, "Jeez guys, could you make it any more obvious?" There was a moment of silence before those gathered laughed. They could not help themselves as the memory added.

"To my Godson Harry James Potter: The Black Family vault used to hold a great deal more than the 250,000 Galleons that I leave to you. I wish things could have been different, that we could have truly been together as family. In addition to the money, I name you the owner of the Black Family Home, and as acting head of the House of Black, name you the sole heir to the bloodline, and name of Black. May you help it find a place in the Light. I hope that you live life to the fullest, are happy, and enjoy the peace in life that I never had. In every way that matters, you are the son I should have but never had. Love you kiddo."

"To Fleur Delacour," Harry's head snapped up in surprise, "I don't know if it will work out between you and my godson. But I pray that it does. If it all works out, which I'm hoping it will... something will become available to you when the time is right. Let's just say that the Goblins have all the arrangements in hand. He can say what he likes but he's got my moodiness in him, and Remus's contemplative silence. What's most important is what he doesn't say, or won't say." The memory grinned, "He's also a bit shy and thick like James was." Harry glared at his godfather at that particular remark, "It's true kiddo: Took him four years to figure out what it was between him and Lily, took him another year to get the courage to do something about it, and then another year to actually do something about doing something about it!"

Griphook paused the recording for a moment so that Harry could wipe away the single tear that made its way down his cheek. When it resumed, there was nothing of the practical joker, happy-go-lucky Sirius Black, "I know some of you are watching this hoping to get something for the Dark Lord. Tell the bastard that Sirius Black and every witch, wizard, and muggle he harmed will be waiting for him to enact our brand of justice upon him when my Godson tears him a new asshole."

"I mean you, Narcissa Malfoy nee Black, Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black, and Draco Aeries Malfoy: I leave you nothing but my utter scorn, contempt, and disgust as your beliefs will destroy our world, perhaps the whole world, and when you are defeated, the names Malfoy and Lestrange will be used as insults and curses. We had such dreams and hopes when we were growing up, but you failed to live up to any of those dreams. There is no amount of money that can help erase your past, present, and future misdeeds, just as no amount of money that will ease the passage of your souls in the next life."

"Finally, Albus Dumbledore: You could have gotten me out of Azkaban if you had shared your memories. You knew I was not the Potter's secret keeper. But you did nothing. So I leave you nothing but the same things I leave to Narcissa and Bellatrix, with one caveat: Fuck you." The room fell silent at that accusation, and Dumbledore could feel the eyes of everyone upon him, judging him. Though he maintained a cool exterior, he was raging on the inside. Everything had been falling apart over the past few years, and there was little that he could do about it!

He had lost all influence and control over Harry at the end of his fourth year when what he had done to Hermione Granger had emerged - compliments of Tom Riddle which was particularly galling. He had made a tentative overture to Harry, who had accepted the gestures but done nothing to reciprocate, and truthfully, Dumbledore doubted that Harry would ever return the favor in kind. Needless to say, Dumbledore had completely overlooked the obvious: Harry had never said a word about what had transpired and shattered their "friendship".

The memory glanced at a nonexistent watch, "I'm out of time here. I will see you all again - not anytime soon, but after you've all lived long, full, happy lives surrounded by friends, family grandkids, and maybe even great-grandkids. Just remember one thing: Loyalty, and honor before profit. Goodbye."

There was a moment of respectful silence, as they watched the image of Sirius fade away, only to have it cut short by a certain high-pitched voice. "Ahem-hem," she began, "This will has not been scrutinized by the Ministry of Magic, and as such may not be legally binding nor applicable to the named individuals. Acting as the Undersecretary to the Minister himself, I hereby order the seizure and freezing of the assets of the House of Black, pending a proper investigation to ascertain the status of Mr. Black and the legality of his will."

Griphook shook his head, "The Ministry," he said quietly but firmly, "does not have the authority to intervene in what is strictly a matter that concerns Gringotts and a client, especially since no law has been broken by said client!"

Dumbledore, ever the opportunistic manipulator chose this moment to intervene, "The wills are validated by Gringotts," he said, "And Griphook clearly speaks for Gringotts on this matter. To go against their wishes in this matter will severely hamper any attempts by the Ministry to forge a meaningful partnership against Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

"The Ministry has no need of such allies!" snarled Umbridge, dropping all pretenses of civility, "And it will be a cold day in hell before wizard kind will ever sign such an accord, with... with...."

Nobody had seen Harry rise to his feet, or move quite as fast as Umbridge suddenly found herself staring down the length of a vine wood wand, "I would consider your next words very carefully," the young wizards' green eyes flared with power, and a barely constrained anger, "You are an unwelcome house guest at best, and I will not have you besmirching the honor and integrity of my friends in such a fashion, unless you would care for an honor duel, right here, right now!"

Dolores Umbridge paled under the threat, but quickly her anger overrode her common sense, "I am an elected official of the Ministry and you would dare raise your wand against me!"

"This is not the Ministry," interjected Marinashka. "This is Goblin land, and our laws are the law of the land. And Harry Potter is well within his rights, under not only Wizarding Law to challenge you to such a duel, but also holds the right under Goblin Law." Perhaps the implications of those words were lost upon Harry and the Malfoys, but nobody was watching when Dumbledore's eyebrows nearly exploded off his forehead in complete and utter surprise.

The twins noted the Malfoy's watching the entire confrontation with great interest, but the look of sadness on Narcissa's face actually brought the barest hint of a smirk to Harry's face. And with good reason: No inheritance, all of their assets frozen, her husband in jail, and Draco was probably going to be his father's replacement. He realized that in all things they were shades of grey. Whatever Draco's faults were, and they were legion, making him an irreprehensible human being at best, he did not deserve to have his family torn asunder.

Of course, it was then that the Minister of Magic chose to make his entrance. Cornelius Oswald Fudge did little to inspire attention, confidence, or respect for that matter. He was such a triviality that Harry didn't bother taking his eyes or moving his wand from where it rested, pressed against the underside of toad-face's chin. "That is enough!" snapped Fudge as he strode across the room towards the confrontation, "Undersecretary Umbridge, the will of Sirius Black is in perfect order and the last requests of Mr. Black will be honored. Is that clear?!" Umbridge blinked in complete surprise, the color of her face completely at odds with the pink of her attire. "Perhaps Har... Mr. Potter, you could lower your wand? I would rather not have to deal with such an ugly incident."

To everyone's surprise, he gave the minister a sidelong glance and nodded ever so slightly, "You need to shorten her leash Minister because I have this tendency of putting down rabid Death Eater wannabes like dogs."

The Minister faltered at what could be construed as a death threat against a high-ranking member of the Ministry but wisely held his tongue. Truthfully, he had set Umbridge up in an attempt to curry favor with Harry, which seemed to be working for the moment. Say what you will, but the Minister was a politician who could read the mood of the public as well as anyone else. For the moment, Harry was the "Boy-who-gets-whatever-he-wants," especially if it was a reasonable demand. "I apologize for her behavior Mr. Potter and will be having a word with her in a more private setting. If that is all," he turned to those gathered, "Undersecretary Umbridge, I believe we should return to the Ministry."

"Indeed," agreed Dumbledore, "There is much that requires my attention at Hogwarts," as he was attempting to leave, however, Harry managed to snare the man's gaze accompanied by the slightest twitch of his head: They would need to have a chat. Dumbledore nodded his understanding, and sat back in his chair, to wait.

"Harry, perhaps we can meet to finalize the arrangements of the will?" suggested Griphook.

"Immediately."

What surprised those was when the Goblin returned the bow in kind, "Please follow me."

Dumbledore could do little more than following Harry out of the room as Griphook led them to a separate, private meeting room. Harry raised an eyebrow, and Griphook nodded, excusing himself on the pretext of retrieving certain documents pertinent to finalizing the will. The two men sat on opposite sides of the table with Harry putting his back to the wall. He drew his wand and placed it on the table, sat back, and waited. The headmaster of Hogwarts hesitated for a moment before following suit.

The stare down began.