An Interesting Little Legal Problem

Chapter Three: In Which the Order Looks After the Property, And the Property Begins to Look After Itself

Harry didn't have much time to contemplate his new surroundings during the next couple of weeks. He and Lupin spent most of their days at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, where the members of the Order, assisted by Harry, Hermione, and the younger Weasleys, were busy "looking after the property."

They were greeted on the first morning by Mundungus Fletcher. "Oi, 'Arry. 'Sup, Loopy." He held out a jewel-encrusted dagger. "'Ow much d'you reckon this is worth?"

Lupin gave the dagger a casual glance. "Plenty," he said. "You'd better look out that it doesn't get stolen."

"'S wot I do best, Loopy," said Mundungus with a wink. He tucked the dagger under his filthy overcoat and went outside.

Harry never saw the dagger in the house again, but he noticed over the next few days that the coffers of the Order of the Phoenix seemed to be growing mysteriously fuller.

He wandered into the kitchen, where Molly and Ginny Weasley were removing several trays of freshly baked ginger biscuits from the oven. "Help yourself, dear," said Mrs. Weasley. "Ginger attracts doxies, by the way. It says so in Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests. I do think it's only fair to the heir if we leave the place in the same condition we found it."

She winked at Ginny, who took one bite from the biscuit she was eating, dropped the rest of it on the floor, and stepped on it.

"Pity they crumble so easily," Mrs. Weasley remarked, but she made no attempt to clean up the biscuit crumbs.

Harry reached for a biscuit and ate it in the crumbliest manner possible. He was beginning to understand what Jack Evans' hint had meant.

Hermione came into the kitchen and grabbed him by the arm. "Harry! How are you? Come on upstairs, Professor McGonagall said she wanted to see you as soon as you got here." She led the way to one of the upstairs bedrooms, where Professor McGonagall and Mrs. Figg were sitting at a table covered with a large pile of parchment.

"These are the official records of the Order of the Phoenix," Harry's Head of House explained, "and other papers of too compromising a nature to be taken outside of the house. They will have to be burned, but not before at least two of us have committed each document to memory. That is where you and Miss Granger come in - because I know you're almost as good a student as she is when you put your mind to it."

Memorizing entire sheets of parchment was tedious work, but at least it required all his powers of concentration and kept him from thinking about Sirius or the prophesy. Harry wondered whether that had been Professor McGonagall's real purpose in assigning him this task, but over the next week or two, he discovered that he did indeed have an excellent memory. McGonagall, Lupin, and Kingsley Shacklebolt proved to be very good at learning the records by heart as well, but he and Hermione were younger and seemed to be able to take things in faster. Ron and Ginny helped out from time to time, but they weren't nearly as good at retaining information. Harry was surprised to learn that the most adept of them all was Mrs. Figg.

"It's because I'm a Squib," she explained. "I was in my third year at Hogwarts before anybody noticed that I wasn't really able to do magic. I compensated for my poor marks on the practical portion of my exams by developing an extremely accurate memory for facts and theories, and I had a lot of tricks that depended on being able to recall things about my teachers and classmates - knowing that the Charms master always called on students in a particular order, for instance, so I could find a way to excuse myself from class when it was my turn."

Professor Snape occasionally helped with the documents as well, but to Harry's relief, he seemed to prefer spending long hours alone in the library where the Blacks' massive collection of books about the Dark Arts was kept. "What's he doing up there?" Hermione asked.

"Making sure all the books are in alphabetical order," Lupin explained. "You're familiar with the alphabet, of course? I keep forgetting how it goes, myself, but I believe it's something like P, F, G, Z, O, N, C ... Steady there! Are you all right?" he said to Ginny, who had just walked directly into a very ugly sofa that stood in the corner of the room. She didn't appear to have noticed it was there.

"Yes," said Ginny, rubbing her shins and looking confused.

"Is that sofa made of what I think it's made of?" asked Tonks from the doorway.

"What sofa?" asked Ginny and Hermione simultaneously.

"Excellent," said Lupin, smirking a little as he examined the sofa, which was upholstered with a black, hairy material. "Thestral hair."

"Bit of a safety hazard having a sofa lots of people can't see," Tonks said brightly. "Why don't you give me a hand, Remus, and help me move it somewhere more convenient for the new heir..."

They each picked up an end of the sofa. Tonks reappeared twenty minutes later and announced that the sofa had somehow become wedged halfway up the stairs to the third floor and refused to budge in either direction. "Terribly clumsy of me," she said cheerfully. "I seem to be getting worse. I can't tell you how many things I've smashed this past week, and for some reason, they always do happen to be dreadfully valuable family heirlooms."

Harry decided to ask her some questions about the estate. She was one of the heirs too, and although she seemed to have grown older and quieter since Harry had last seen her, she still felt more approachable than the rest of the adults. "What's the point of the Primogenitrus charm? I mean, why did they put it on in the first place?"

"Because Dark wizards are bloody sexist," Tonks said bitterly, "and the Blacks didn't trust their daughters not to fall for Muggle-borns and start giving the property away. I suppose I've got to admire Auntie Bella in a twisted way, because she bucked the system. You won't see too many other women in You-Know - " she bit her lip and took a deep breath - "Voldemort's inner circle."

Harry didn't feel like discussing Bellatrix Lestrange. "Mr. Evans said most of Sirius' property was under the charm," he said. "What wasn't?"

"Besides his clothes and toothbrush, you mean?" asked Tonks. "Right now, it looks like the Order gets one framed issue of The Quibbler with an article suggesting that Sirius Black was really an innocent singing sensation, a dozen bottles of single malt Scotch, and one hippogriff complete with a week's supply of rats."

"What's going to happen to Buckbeak?" Harry asked.

"Fred and George took him - after they left a few of the rats in choice locations around the house. They're keeping him upstairs from the joke shop, but pet hippogriffs are a pain in the neck because you have to perform a Disillusionment charm every day to keep them invisible. They've been experimenting with a new invention called a Transparency Blanket. Same principle as your invisibility cloak, but cheaper materials and suitable for a mass market. It's really cool except for one little problem."

"What's the problem?"

Tonks chuckled. "Well, when you tell someone who has never seen an invisibility cloak that you have one, how do they usually react?"

Harry thought for a moment. "They always want to know why I don't keep losing it all the time. So I have to explain that an invisibility cloak isn't actually an invisible cloak."

"Right. Well, Transparency Blankets are invisible, and unfortunately they do go missing almost constantly. The twins donated one to the Order, but it vanished right away. Pity, because Remus said he could think of any number of ways to use it for looking after the property. He's been amazingly good at coming up with them, you know." A small smile played about her lips. "It's funny, because he always seems so quiet and buttoned down, and then you realize he has this absolutely wicked streak."

Harry wasn't quite sure how to take this. He was still trying to decide whether he liked his guardian's wicked streak. It seemed undignified, somehow, and out of keeping with his image of his former professor, except - He thought back to one or two incidents from his third-year Defence Against the Dark Arts class, and wondered why he hadn't noticed it before.

"By the way, would you tell him to take the Scotch when the two of you go home this evening? I just managed to rescue it from Dung, who wouldn't be able to tell the difference between a decent single malt and the swill he usually drinks, and I think it should go to someone who knows how to appreciate it."

"Um, sure." This was yet another thing he hadn't known about Lupin.

Tonks was looking at him sympathetically. "You've been so quiet since you came. Bet you think we're a bit callous, hanging around a dead man's house thinking up practical jokes."

"Not exactly," Harry said. "I mean, I don't think you're doing anything you shouldn't be doing. Malfoy deserves all the trouble he can get." But he had been thinking how much Sirius would have enjoyed sabotaging the house, and how it seemed wrong to enjoy it without him.

"You're allowed, you know. I felt the same way about my colleagues when I first qualified as an Auror, but - oh, it's hard to explain, but you tend to develop a really robust sense of humor in our business, because it's the only way to survive some of the stuff you've got to deal with." She paused for a moment, not taking her eyes off Harry's face, and added in a quieter tone. "We all miss him."

"People might show it a bit more," said Harry, thinking specifically of Lupin, "instead of trying to act like everything's normal."

"For some of us, this is normal," she said gently. "After a while, death becomes a way of life."

Harry supposed Tonks meant to be comforting, but somehow he didn't feel reassured. He thought back to the photograph of the original Order of the Phoenix that Mad-Eye Moody had shown him the previous summer, and shivered.

* * *

Fred and George Weasley stopped by one morning before their shop opened. "How's business?" Harry asked.

"Brilliant," said Fred. "We're here because we were looking for some way to test our new invention - "

"- Face-Freezing Spray - " said George.

"And we wanted to see if the Order could supply us with a volunteer."

"I don't want my face frozen," said Harry quickly.

"Professor Snape is upstairs in the library," Ginny offered, looking up from the floorboard where she was sprinkling more biscuit crumbs.

"Nah, we haven't worked out how to reverse it yet, so it's not ready to be tested on a human," said Fred. "We were thinking of Sirius' mum."

They pulled the curtains away from the portrait of Mrs. Black. "BLOOD TRAITORS! RABBLE! TRADESMEN! PROFANING THE HOUSE OF MY DEAR DEPARTED SON -" (Mrs. Black's opinion of Sirius had improved beyond recognition since his death.) "KEEPING IT FROM THE RIGHTFUL HEIR - " She fell silent as a jet of spray captured her in mid-yell with her mouth contorted and one eye screwed shut.

Fred looked at the portrait with a critical eye. "Improves her a lot, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," said George. "I'm thinking we might market it as a two-in-one - Face-Freezing Spray and beauty potion."

"And that's not our only beauty product," Fred added. "We've been trying to enlarge our customer base - "

"Capture the thirty-to-sixty-year-old female demographic, whose needs have been so tragically neglected by most joke shop owners - "

"So that's why we invented - "

"Lady Macbeth Soap," finished George with a grin. "Want a sample? It would make a great present for your girlfriend."

"He doesn't have a girlfriend any more," Ginny blurted out.

Harry blushed, and wondered whether strangling Ginny in front of her older brothers would be more trouble than it was worth. He decided that it would.

"That's all right," said Fred. "It makes an even better present for your ex, if you get my drift." He handed Harry a small cake of rose-colored soap with a pattern of pale violet thistles. The words Sweetened with all the perfumes of Arabia were carved on it in flowing calligraphy. It gave off a powerful, sickly sweet floral scent.

"What does it do?" Harry asked.

"You'll see," said George. "Just don't wash with it if you're wearing white. Now, if you'll excuse us, it's almost opening time." The twins Disapparated.

Silencing Mrs. Black was gratifying, but Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place still held several unpleasant surprises. A year earlier, Harry had had the feeling that the Order was waging war on the house; now he began to suspect that the house was winning.

Mr. Evans arrived one afternoon with his young son in tow. "No good news, I'm afraid," the solicitor announced. "I'd been hoping that we could prevent Draco from taking possession until he comes of age, but the ruling of 1637 on underage heirs makes a challenge on this point distinctly inadvisable."

"Is that the one that would make his parents the legal trustees of the estate?" asked Lupin, who seemed to spend all his spare time reading law books these days.

Evans nodded. "You're good. However," he added with an appraising glance at his client's troubled face, "don't forget that it's my job to worry about this stuff, not yours. I need your help with something more important. Didn't you say you had something interesting to tell me about the Whomping Willow?"

Lupin gave him a cautious smile. "Very interesting," he said. "If you'd just lend me your pen, I might be able to draw a diagram for you..."

Mark, meanwhile, was inspecting the row of shrunken house-elf heads by the stairway. "Brilliant," he breathed.

"Are you sure that kid is right in the head?" whispered Ron.

"Eh, he's a boy," growled Mad-Eye Moody. "Of course he's fascinated with severed heads. So was I when I was his age. Perfectly normal."

Ron and Harry exchanged glances. Neither of them could remember having been particularly interested in severed heads when they were eleven, nor would they have described the adult Moody as "perfectly normal."

There was a sudden chorus of elfish voices from the stairs.

"I is not speaking ill of Master Sirius, young master, but there is very base, low-born wizards coming to the house when he is alive ..."

"... And after he is dead, these wizards is coming back to spoil the family treasures ..."

"We will be naming names of bad wizards if new master wishes, yes we will ..."

Tonks burst out of the room where she had been burning the Order's papers and attempted to take command, an effort slightly marred by the fact that she tripped over the bottom step of the staircase. "This is NOT your young master," she said sharply. "We will tell you when he comes - IF he comes. Now shut up and don't repeat the names of any people you have seen here to Draco Malfoy or to anybody else!"

Most of the house-elf heads fell silent, but a few continued to chatter. "They can't seem to agree on whether I'm a proper Black or not," Tonks observed, "and even if they did obey me, who knows what else in this house could betray us? I didn't even know the heads were capable of speaking until right now."

Mark shrugged. "I always try talking to heads. Sometimes they talk back," he said matter-of-factly.

"Who is that kid, anyway?" asked Ron. "Loony Lovegood's little brother?"

"Er, no, he's my cousin actually," admitted Harry.

Ron stared at him. "Lost a fair bit of weight since the last time I saw him, hasn't he? Did you feed him a Shrinking Potion or something?"

"No, not Dudley - my other cousin. He's sort of adopted, or rather, his father is. I guess I would have been living with his folks all along if he were a real relation." He tried not to think about how different the first eleven years of his life would have been if he'd had foster parents like the Evanses - even if Mark was a little strange.

Hermione, taking a break from memorizing papers, joined them in the front hall. "What's it like living with Lupin?" she asked.

"It's all right," said Harry. He had not really had much time to consider the question. They were spending long hours in Grimmauld Place with the other members of the Order during the day. In the evenings, his guardian had offered what seemed an endless supply of tea and chocolate, lent him books, and said very little about the fact that Harry seemed to spend most of his free time in his own room. Harry had an uncomfortable feeling that Lupin didn't know exactly what to do with him. Felicity had been more determined in her advances; she could usually be found curled at the foot of Harry's bed. "He said you could come for a visit sometime."

"He did? Cool," said Ron. "But it's funny, last summer they wouldn't let us go anywhere without an escort, remember. This year Ginny's spending half her time at Dean Thomas' house and nobody says a word to her. Why doesn't anybody seem to care about watching us any more?"

"Isn't it obvious?" said Hermione. "V-Voldemort would have to be crazy to take a shot in the dark now when half his followers are still in Azkaban and the Malfoys are going to take over headquarters in a few weeks. He's biding his time, waiting for information..."

Harry felt sure she was right. His scar had been almost completely painless lately, and he realized, for the first time, that there was something eerie about this. He tried to change the subject. "So d'you want to come over, or not? Tomorrow, maybe?"

Before his friends could reply, there was a loud crash from the direction of the library, followed by an ominous silence.

"Professor Snape's in there," said Hermione. "Hadn't we better check on him?"

Several members of the Order had had the same thought, and everybody rushed to the doorway of the library at once. Professor Snape lay spreadeagled on the floor with his robes billowing all about him. His body was surrounded by the shards of a plaster gargoyle that had been perched on top of one of the bookshelves. A trickle of blood ran from his forehead, and he was very still.

Kingsley Shacklebolt had been the first to arrive on the scene. "It's started," he said in a hollow voice.