Harry Potter and the Remnants of the Soul

"Expecto Patronum!" A corporeal werewolf exploded out of Harry's wand. It paced the stage for several seconds before howling at the moon and dissipating into the wind.

Chapter Ten: Business

Terrorized screams resonated across the Burrow's paddock, fading into the night with Harry's Patronus. Fear gave way to shock. Shock birthed judgment. Judgment begot pandemonium. The funeral was clearly over.

"He's nothing but a show-off!"

"Of course he can cast the Patronus. He killed You-Know-Who!"

"He's clearly a Muggle lover, just like Dumbledore."

"Yes, Doris. Go with your friends, but be home by curfew."

Nimbly hopping down from the platform, Harry landed a meter from Scrimgeour, cutting in front of the crowd intent on speaking with the Minister. Willing his voice to sound as grave as possible, Harry declared, "Minister, we need to talk. Tonight."

Scrimgeour sighed, motioning to the growing queue of wizards. "Can't we put this off until tomorrow?"

"No," Harry replied angrily. "I'll wait 'til you're done, but not 'til tomorrow."

Scrimgeour nodded. "I'll find you later.... It might be awhile."

Harry's nascent smirk reversed abruptly as he realized that Scrimgeour was not the only one with a line of people awaiting him.

"Mr. Potter!" A mother of three reached him first. "I just wanted to thank you personally! You-Know-Who killed my brother nineteen years ago."

A hump-backed wizard clothed in fraying robes and leaning on a battered cane clasped Harry's hand, pressing a Galleon into it. "One sacrifice deserves another," the old man whispered mournfully, "no matter how inadequate mine is. I am truly sorry about your friends."

---888---

Nearly two hours later, Harry's queue of well-wishers drew to an end. After a brief search, he found Minister Scrimgeour sitting behind the stage with Seth Ashburton, Michael Glentworth, and an unfamiliar blond-haired wizard.

"Ah, Harry!" Ashburton stood, collecting his cane. "Rufus was just saying that you wanted to speak with him, tonight." He winked at Harry. "Be gentle, okay?"

"Er, no promises," Harry nervously replied, unsure whether Ashburton was joking. The other two men erupted in laughter.

"Uh oh, Rufus! You've got it coming!" The youthful blond-haired man snickered before introducing himself as Lord Sherman Quirke. "It really is excellent to meet you, Harry," he said. "In fact, if you wanted to spare poor Rufus, you could join Michael, Seth, and I for a nightcap at McDaniels."

Harry's polite refusal did nothing to dampen their spirits, and the three Wizengamot Lords continued bantering between themselves as they ambled away from Harry and Scrimgeour.

"Your Patronus was a touching tribute to Mr. Lupin," the Minister offered when they were alone.

Frowning at Scrimgeour's attempted flattery, Harry withdrew his wand, lightly flicking it in a circle, "Muffliato."

Scrimgeour raised a bushy eyebrow in semi-surprise. "That's an interesting spell. Where'd you learn it?"

"A book," Harry replied, curtly ending the line of questioning. In fact, the spell, which produced an irritating buzz in the ears of would-be eavesdroppers, was a trick Harry had learned from the Half-Blood Prince's potion text. But, he wasn't eager to talk about spells with the Minister. "Why were Hermione and Remus excluded?" he demanded.

Scrimgeour leaned heavily on his cane. "I answered Andromeda's question honestly," he said. "Things are still quite unsettled... politically. Including Mr. Lupin would have resulted in a boycott or demonstrations. I didn't want to stir up controversy." Scrimgeour hesitated, confession leaking into his words. "Mr. Lupin had no family. No one asked for him to be included. I was just hoping the issue could be glossed over. I was wrong. In hindsight, it was a horrible mistake. I'm sorry, Harry."

Finding no solace in Scrimgeour's excuses, Harry's cheeks heated as repressed anger bubbled to the surface. "Would it still have been a horrible mistake if no one said anything? Or are you just sorry about getting caught?"

"Look, I made a mistake. I'm being completely honest with you," Scrimgeour replied. "I didn't know you would be upset. I should have asked."

Harry glared at him. "I was in your office two days ago. You had the opportunity. We talked about Hermione... Were you afraid of a Muggle-born controversy, too?" Harry demanded sarcastically.

Scrimgeour, who had been apologetic until that point, frowned and stood without the support of his cane. "I had the D.M.L.E. contact her parents an hour after your owl came," he barked. "They declined! They want nothing to do with us. It was their choice."

"THEIR CHOICE!?" Harry screamed, spittle spraying in all directions. "Hermione's body was dumped on their kitchen table! No one even talked to them!"

"She was dumped on the table?" the Minister rasped in shock. "Nonsense," he pleaded, even as his complexion paled. "Where did you hear this?"

"Mr. Granger."

Scrimgeour deflated completely, leaning heavily on his cane once more. Swearing beneath his breath, he vowed, "I'll look into this, Harry. If she was really dumped, I'll have that person sent to Azkaban!"

"That's not enough!" Harry fumed. "I'm tired of you doing one thing and then telling me you'll fix it later! Get it right the first time!"

Scrimgeour threw his hands up in resignation. "What would you have me do? Do you honestly think I would have permitted that kind of treatment if I'd known? I can't control everyone in the Ministry. People do stupid things!"

"Then fire 'em! Clean house within your precious Ministry!" Harry vented. "Hell! Put everyone under Veritaserum and find out who's loyal. Just do something!"

"I can't," Scrimgeour said sadly shaking his head. "It doesn't work that way."

"WHY NOT?" Harry screamed.

"Because everyone at the Ministry has a backer on the Wizengamot," Scrimgeour growled. "The Lords look out for their cousins, their cousins' cousins, their cousins' cousins' ex-nanny. You name it!"

Sinking back into his chair, Scrimgeour confided, "I'm too weak politically to try cleaning house. I'm one lost vote away from losing the Ministry to Charles Carrow."

"Then lose the Ministry!" Harry shouted. "If you can't get anything done, then let someone else try."

Scrimgeour was horrified. "Carrow's a Death Eater, Harry! No! He's worse! He's ten times smarter and a hundred times more dangerous than the worst Death Eater!"

"He's no Death Eater!" Harry snarled. "I was in Riddle's mind. I saw things in there that you'll never believe... Voldemort hated Carrow! He tried to kill him!"

"Riddle was a fool," Scrimgeour huffed. "He used blood purity as an excuse to make war. Carrow's scarier... he's a true believer!" Motioning for Harry to sit next to him, Scrimgeour paused to regain his breath and allow Harry's anger to abate.

"Charles Carrow comes from a long line of blood purists. He was born a purist, raised a purist, and after his father was murdered by a Muggle-born, he became obsessed with it," Scrimgeour said. "For years, he tried passing legislation in the Wizengamot, but he rarely succeeded. Dumbledore convinced even the oldest families that Carrow was a fanatic, so Carrow decided to prove Dumbledore wrong. He needed a diversion, something that would make him look good in comparison."

"Carrow knew about Tom Riddle," Scrimgeour continued. "He was this talented kid who was causing trouble, but didn't have enough influence or money to be a real threat. Then, one day, someone called The Asp started giving Riddle huge sums of money. His only instructions were to 'finish Salazar Slytherin's work'."

Harry nodded in understanding. During his battle with Voldemort, he'd learned of the gifts that catapulted Voldemort into prominence. Despite his continual efforts, Voldemort had never learned The Asp's identity.

"Carrow is The Asp," Scrimgeour stated flatly. "He funded Riddle. He ran interference for him in the Wizengamot, and now that Riddle and Dumbledore are gone, Carrow is back to his plan. He's going to convince the rest of the Wizengamot that he's not dangerous... that he's not evil... that he's just trying to retain the old traditions."

"How do you know all this?" Harry demanded skeptically. "Voldemort never knew who The Asp was. He hated Carrow."

"Riddle was blinded by his own arrogance," Scrimgeour replied. "He hated Carrow because Carrow wouldn't take the Dark Mark. He wouldn't even consider that his arch-enemy was The Asp."

"How do you know that Carrow is The Asp?" Harry pressed.

"I can't prove it. It's all circumstantial," Scrimgeour answered. "For instance, the Carrow family manufactures Floo powder. When a Muggle-born witch developed a new way to make it, everyone started buying FlooTwo. At the same time, The Asp's gifts to Riddle stopped. When the witch mysteriously died a few months later, the gifts resumed. That's the most damning evidence I have."

---888---

An hour after casting the Muffliato spell, Harry canceled the privacy charm. As the echo of the Minister's Apparation crack faded, Harry was surprised to hear voices coming from the other side of the platform. Investigating, he found Susan, Anthony, and Padma waiting for him.

"Hey, Harry!" Anthony greeted him. "We were beginning to think you'd never get done."

"Er," Harry mumbled, "the Minister and I were just talking."

"More like having it out, I think," Anthony laughed. "Just 'cause we can't hear you doesn't mean we can't see you."

"But I found out why my ears kept ringing in Herbology last year," Susan chimed in. "Madame Pomfrey thinks I'm crazy, thanks to you."

"We weren't having it out," Harry answered weakly. "We were just... discussing some stuff."

"I don't care. I'm starving," Padma complained. "We're going to The Baying Mare in Hawkman Alley for a late supper. Want to come?"

"Sure, I haven't eaten since this morning," Harry answered. "But I've never been there before."

Padma smiled broadly. "That's great! I'll see you there." With a wink, she spun and Disapparated with a quiet pop. A moment later, Anthony offered a guilty shrug before following her.

"We've been ditched," Harry complained.

"More like set-up," Susan replied with a grin. She crossed over to him, reaching for his elbow. "Come on. I'll take you."

Harry playfully withdrew from her grasp. "Am I going to lose anything important?" he teased her.

Susan grimaced at the memory of her splinched leg from the year before. "You just might," she replied. "I'm pretty good at leaving smartasses behind."

Harry chuckled and grasped her elbow. "Take me away. I'll be good."

Susan smiled at him before closing her eyes in concentration. Soon, Harry felt the iron bands of Apparation squeeze. His body compressed so tightly that he could feel himself being sucked through the narrow rubber hose he had first passed through a year ago with Professor Dumbledore. A moment later, the hose disappeared. His lungs expanded, greedily sucking in oxygen.

"Wasn't sure if you'd make it," Padma quipped as Harry and Susan appeared in Hawkman Alley. The four friends were standing in the middle of a well-maintained cobblestone street across from a wooden sign with a mare rearing up on her hind legs.

Rows of brick and limestone buildings lined either side of the Alley. The ground floors housed restaurants and shops, while the upper floors were apartments. Small wrought iron-encased balconies jutted out over the Alley. Tenants could be seen through undrawn windows. Gas lamps lent a hint of golden light, making Hawkman Alley simultaneously romantic and antiquated.

"This is different," Harry mused. "It doesn't even look magical."

"It wasn't originally," Susan replied. "The area was firebombed by the Germans fifty years ago. A Muggle-born wizard named Samuel Hawkman bought the land and hired Muggles to reconstruct it. He wanted to build an Alley to rival Diagon, but it never caught on."

"I didn't know that," Anthony said as he held the pub door open for Padma.

"All the real estate on Diagon Alley belongs to the old families." Susan entered the Baying Mare behind Harry. "They all banded together and refused to shop here. Some families still won't come."

"Ooh, it's Lisa and Zacharias!" Padma interrupted. "Let's sit with them."

"Hey mates!" Zacharias greeted them, possessively placing his arm around Lisa Turpin's shoulders. "Didn't expect to see you tonight."

Harry followed after a clearly reluctant Anthony, sliding into the u-shaped booth beside Susan. He was sitting directly across the table from Zacharias and Lisa, who were already half-way through their meals.

"Hello, Harry." Lisa's hushed tone contrasted sharply with Zacharias' self-important boasting. "We went to the memorial service tonight. I'm sorry about Ron and Hermione."

"Thanks," Harry murmured, studying the menu.

"Your Patronus was quite impressive," Lisa continued. "When did you switch from the stag?"

"Er," Harry set down his menu, surrendering to the conversation. "I just decided to switch it tonight. I thought it would be a good way to honor Professor Lupin. He taught me the Patronus in the first place."

Lisa was astonished. "You haven't been practicing?" she accused. "It's supposed to be very difficult to produce a Patronus, much less change your form. I've been trying all summer, and I can't even get any mist." She waited for Harry to say something, but he had returned to his menu. "Zacharias said you taught a study group in Fifth year."

Harry, dutifully ignoring Lisa's pointed comments, drummed his fingers against the tabletop before fiddling with a bowl of peanuts.

"Harry," Zacharias interceded, "she wants to join the DA next year."

"I know," Harry finally replied.

"I'll vouch for her," Zacharias assured him. "She's no Marietta Edgecombe."

"It's not that. I'm not doing the DA again."

"What about NEWTs?" Anthony stammered. "Harry, we'll never pass our NEWTs if we don't have the DA."

"Please, Harry," Padma pleaded as Susan nodded in agreement.

"Look," Harry said, "I'm not going back to Hogwarts. I just can't. Okay?" He raised his hands to prevent protests from his friends. "Can we just change the subject? I don't want to talk about any of this."

Despite a general reticence to let Harry's decision go unchallenged, Susan asked Lisa if she had any plans for the remainder of the summer.

Soon, a waitress arrived with their orders and the halting conversation intertwined with butterbeer and roast chicken. After finishing their meals, Lisa and Zacharias excused themselves, leaving Susan, Padma, and Anthony alone with Harry.

"What are you guys doing next Saturday?" he asked. "Oliver Wood gave me tickets to the Puddlemere United match."

---888---

Harry blearily cracked open one eye. Harsh yellow sunlight streamed through the moth-eaten curtains shielding the eastern window of his bedroom.

"Harry Potter, sir should wake up," Dobby repeated, lightly shaking Harry's shoulder. "Misses Tabby is here."

Harry groaned, pulling on the pair of slacks that had landed haphazardly on the floor the night before. Wiping an enormous sleep booger from his eye and donning his glasses, Harry realized that Dobby had finished rearranging the furniture in his room. There was now a fully assembled bookcase, proudly displaying his school texts, and the books that Dumbledore had left him. His empty trunks were stacked in the corner behind the door to his walk-in closet.

"Dobby, this looks great," Harry mumbled.

Dobby hopped up and down in excitement. "Harry Potter, sir is the kindest wizard ever! Dobby wants to help him!" His voice lowered to a pleading whisper. "Harry Potter needs a house-elf. Dobby wants to be his house-elf."

Harry kneeled down next to him. "We discussed this, Dobby. You can't be my house-elf. I want you to be my friend instead."

Disappointment painted his face. "Misses Tabby is waiting in the parlor." Dobby pouted, hanging his head.

Harry placed a finger under his chin and raised the house-elf's eye level to match his own. "Dobby, being my friend is much better than being my servant... In fact, I wanted to invite you to come to a Quidditch match with me on Saturday."

Any perceived slight evaporated as Dobby flung his arms around Harry's torso, hugging him as tightly as the elf could muster. "Harry Potter is the bestest wizard ever!"

---888---

In the parlor, Harry greeted Professor McGonagall. She sat on the sofa, sipping a cup of tea. Two steaming breakfast plates rested on the low slung table.

"You brought breakfast again?" Harry asked.

"No," she replied with a questioning glance. "Dobby served it."

Harry smiled before taking a seat and lifting his fork. "I'll have to thank him. He's been a great the last two days."

McGonagall's tight lips attempted a smile. "You're sleeping better."

Harry grinned sheepishly. "I am," he admitted. "A little whisky helps."

McGonagall frowned before setting down her tea. "I heard from Selby Turpin that you're not returning to Hogwarts."

"Is that Lisa's mother?" he questioned.

McGonagall nodded curtly.

"Er," Harry hesitated. This was easier to say to his friends than his Head of House. "I'm not really planning on coming back this year."

"Why is that?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably. He would rather have listened to a lecture than explain himself. "Why should I?"

"It will help you to heal," she answered quietly. "What else will you do? Sit in this dreadful house for the rest of your life? Frequent a pub and drown your troubles with whisky? Write a book and trade on your fame?"

Harry smiled at her veiled criticism of Gilderoy Lockhart. "I was thinking of leaving."

Evidently, she had expected this response. "Leaving to where? The Muggle world?" she snapped. "You'll be chased down by the press within weeks. You'll never escape. The farther you run, the more dramatic the Daily Prophet's stories will be."

"I have nothing here," Harry whined, recognizing his own pathetic excuse even as he muttered it.

"You also have nothing elsewhere," McGonagall shot back. "You cannot start clean, Harry. That's a myth. You'll never be able to forget what happened. Your only option is to heal." She locked gazes with Harry. "It's much easier to run toward something rather than away from it."

Harry grunted, unwilling to concede her point.

McGonagall was undeterred. "You have friends and acquaintances at Hogwarts. I will be there, Filius Flitwick will be returning, and Pomona Sprout will be back." She waited again until he looked up at her. "The staff at Hogwarts has always been impressed by your resilience; they will support you. The students will support you. You have more friends than just Ron and Hermione."

"I can't stay in Gryffindor Tower," Harry protested. "We spent too much time there. The common room would kill me!"

"Those times were happy?"

Harry refused to answer, picking at a cold sausage instead.

"Grieving is about moving on. Facing our losses and overcoming them," she said quietly. "Frankly, spending a year in Gryffindor Tower would do you more good than a lifetime of running from the past."

McGonagall allowed a few moments to pass before continuing. "The school needs you, Harry," she urged. "The returning students will need leadership, and frankly I can't provide it... The faculty cannot provide it. It must come from the upper classes. The younger students will have read the papers. They will know what has happened this summer, and they will be looking to you and your classmates for advice. I need you to lead them."

"I don't know," Harry objected. "I need time."

McGonagall took a deep breath. "Promise me one thing, at least, Harry. Please stop telling your friends that you're not coming back."

He cocked an eyebrow in question.

"So far, we only have seventy students returning next year," she explained. "I need one hundred by September first... and I spent the entire morning at Selby Turpin's begging her to keep Lisa enrolled. I can't afford to lose committed students."

"I just don't know," Harry repeated quietly.

The browbeating sufficiently complete, McGonagall seemed content to move on to another subject. "I'm surprised you bonded with Dobby," she commented, re-heating her tea. "I assumed you agreed with Miss Granger."

Harry finished munching on a cold strip of bacon. "I didn't," he answered. "We've discussed it a few times, but I want him as a friend, not a servant."

She offered a troubled smile. "That's a very mature decision," she replied. "Did you hire him?"

"Er, isn't he still working at the school?"

She frowned. "No, he asked to leave last week. So, I let him go."

"Can you take him back? I don't want to hire him," Harry answered. "It'd be the same thing as bonding. I'd still be his boss, not his friend."

McGonagall studied her tea for a while. "I'd rather not. The other house-elves find his presence... disrupting."

Harry understood her position. He'd witnessed Dobby's outcast status on a few midnight kitchen raids with Ron. "Don't worry then. I'll find him a job somewhere. I think Fred and George could use some help."

Standing to leave, McGonagall attempted to hide a knowing smile. "I'd best move along. I have appointments with the Patils and Snodgrasses this afternoon," she said before stepping into the hearth and vanishing in a flash of emerald flames.

"Good luck," Harry muttered to the empty room, hoping for Padma's sake that McGonagall could convince the Patils to let their daughters return to Hogwarts.

After staring blankly into the hearth for a few minutes, he turned to his stack of unopened post. The Ministry mailroom had added to his list of correspondents and passed along several dozen additional envelopes made of heavy parchment and embossed with family seals. It turned out that most of the Wizengamot Lords had sent notes of congratulations and sympathy.

At the bottom of the stack, Harry opened a letter from his solicitors at Dunkirk, Langshire & Stratton. The note contained a sympathy card and a gentle reminder for Harry to reschedule the appointment he had missed three days previous. Retrieving parchment and ink from his room, Harry confirmed the suggested appointment for noon that Friday.

---888---

The following three days passed slowly and were, for the most part, unremarkable. Professor McGonagall visited each morning, urging Harry to return to Hogwarts. After perhaps twenty minutes of dodging her pointed suggestions, Harry would change the subject and they discussed Quidditch, politics, or changes at the school.

On Wednesday, Harry had wandered aimlessly through the Doghouse until he came to Buckbeak's old room. He found Kreacher sleeping in the corner, his skin sallow and stomach swollen. With a start Harry remembered angrily sending the elf up to Buckbeak's room days earlier, only to completely forget about him. The incident unnerved Harry, who did not want another death on his hands. He ordered Kreacher to eat and bathe daily, but the elf's continued existence constantly gnawed at Harry's consciousness.

Troubled by his "Kreacher problem," Harry visited Fred and George at their shop on Thursday. In the stockroom, Harry deliberately nudged a crate of trick wands with his foot, watching in mock horror as a dozen precariously positioned boxes tumbled to the floor around him.

"Dobby's looking for a job."

"He can start tomorrow," Fred replied.

---888---

Fifteen minutes early, Harry stepped from the lift into the lobby of Dunkirk, Langshire & Stratton. His dirty trainers squeaked as he crossed the brilliantly polished hardwood floor.

"Mr. Potter, I presume?" A smiling receptionist greeted him.

Harry self-consciously ran a hand through his hair. "Yes ma'am. That's me."

"Mr. Stratton will be right out. Can I get you something to drink?"

"Er, no thanks," Harry mumbled as he inspected a blurry painting of water lilies slowly drifting across a bluish green pond. He wiped his glasses on the tail of his t-shirt, but this did nothing to bring the lilies into focus.

The methodic clap of highly polished wingtips against the floor announced the arrival of an impeccably dressed grandfather. "Good afternoon, Harry. I'm Edward Stratton," he declared with a firm handshake and a clear-eyed smile. "Are you an art enthusiast?"

"No," Harry replied. "But, I think maybe I've seen this painting before."

Edward grinned at Harry. "You've undoubtedly seen prints of the original still-life. A French wizard named Rogeaux specializes in copying original impressionist pieces and animating them."

"Er, I really don't know much about art," Harry sheepishly admitted, "but I like the painting. It's nice."

"Yes, yes it is," Edward chuckled, flashing another warm smile. "Should we go meet the rest of the team?"

Edward led him back through the office, past dozens of paintings and sculptures, and what seemed like hundreds of offices. "We have over a hundred and fifty solicitors in the firm," Edward proudly declared. "About half our employees work upstairs in the Muggle office. The other half handles our magical clientele."

They paused in front of an imposing black door, which Edward opened to reveal a well- appointed conference room with a spectacular view of London. Two solicitors were waiting for them.

"Harry, meet Daniel Barnabee. He's an associate at the firm," Edward said. "He spends most of his time handling the day-to-day work on your estate."

A thirty-something, wiry man with a mustache greeted Harry, shaking his hand and passing him a business card, "I'm your details guy. Call me if you ever need anything."

"And this is Margaret Sedgwick," Edward said, indicating an athletic woman who was approaching fifty years old. "Margaret's a partner here; she handles your estate and has done so for what -- twenty-one years?"

"Twenty-four actually," Margaret replied, shaking Harry's hand. "Edward and I worked together on this estate before your grandparents passed away. I took over the file when your father turned seventeen."

"You knew my grandparents?" Harry asked, a longing twinge creeping into his voice. "I've only met a few people who knew them."

Margaret smiled warmly. "I'll tell you about them sometime. They were very kind."

Edward placed a reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder. "Stanton and I were dorm mates at Hogwarts. We'll do dinner sometime in the next few weeks, and I'll tell you as much as I can remember."

Harry nodded enthusiastically. "I'd really like that. I'm free just about any time."

Across the room, a secretary entered, pushing a cart laden with drinks and sandwiches.

"Thank you, Kimberly," Edward said. "Is the Gringotts representative here yet?"

"No, sir. I'll send him in when he arrives."

"He's late," Edward grunted as she slipped out of the room. Turning to Harry, he said, "This meeting's going to be a long one. I took the liberty of ordering lunch; help yourself."

Grateful for the food, Harry piled three sandwich wedges onto his plate and poured a glass of pumpkin juice. Soon, Margaret and Daniel joined him at the table.

"We'll just get started," Edward said, glancing at his watch before joining the other three. After shuffling his notes, he leaned back in his chair. "What do you know about the Wizengamot, Harry?"

---888---

Some time later, Harry set down his glass of pumpkin juice. "So the Wizengamot passes most of the laws, elects the Minister of Magic, and tries high-profile crimes?" Harry asked, summing up the lengthy civics lesson.

"They also try cases involving Wizengamot Lords or the presumptive heirs to the Wizengamot seats," Edward replied, glancing at his pocket watch again before stalking over to the door. "Excuse me just a moment."

He reentered the room a few minutes later, preceded by a well dressed goblin carrying a large brass box. "Harry, let me introduce..."

"Holcop," Harry sneered, interrupting Edward.

"You know each other?" Margaret abruptly blurted out.

Harry detected a note of panic in her question, but dismissed it with a muted chuckle. "We met the other day," he growled darkly. "Holcop personally escorted me to my vault... it took a bit longer than usual."

"Well, well," Holcop retorted, "I see Mr. Potter is in attendance. I assumed he would forget his appointment again." Ignoring Edward's scowl, Holcop hefted his box onto the conference room table and began removing metallic pieces from a compartment on top.

Clearing his throat to break the tension, Edward motioned to the brass box. "This contraption is a Complete Lineage Identification and Core History Evaluator," he said. "It will verify your lineage by checking both your blood and magical core. It's been used hundreds of times by Gringotts to ensure that the rightful heirs are seated on the Wizengamot."

Harry looked on skeptically as Holcop assembled the machine. Into a hole in the side of the large brass box, the goblin screwed in a thick copper wand. He then affixed a silver funnel into a slot halfway down the length of the wand.

"You'll just need to bleed a few drops into the funnel," Edward explained. "Your blood will act as a magical core for the wand, enabling you to cast an identification spell into the Evaluator."

Harry ran his finger across the razor sharp edge of the funnel. Immediately, blood gathered on the tip of his finger and dripped down into the wand core.

"That's enough," Holcop sneered. "Now, cast the spell agnitio."

Harry complied, gripping the copper wand handle and muttering the Latin incantation. Instinctively, he jerked away from the wand, gasping for breath. The sensation was unlike any he had ever felt before, almost as if he had instantaneously drained his magical core.

A moment later, his breath regained, Harry could still feel his magic crackling like static electricity on the tips of his fingers. "Blimey! What was that?" Harry stammered.

"I take it you've never used a metal wand before," Edward observed wryly. "The combination of the copper and blood are extremely efficient conductors of magical energy. They're a bit draining."

Harry agreed by sinking into his chair and reaching for the pumpkin juice. "Did it work?"

"Of course it worked," Holcop snarled. "Not everything is instantaneous."

As if to underscore this point, the brass box began vibrating and a few seconds later, a piece of parchment slowly scrolled out of the Evaluator.

---

Harry James Potter

b. July 31, 1980

First born child of James Stanton Potter

Soul of the Lion

Heir - Leoforte

---

Harry wanted to ask what 'Leoforte' meant, but the Evaluator vibrated again. As the parchment scrolled from the brass box, Holcop gasped as he read the words, dread shining in his beady black eyes.

---

First born son of James Stanton Potter

Heir - Bonaccord

---

Harry silently watched as Holcop nervously tugged on the vest of his three-piece suit, straightening out a nonexistent wrinkle.

"Bonaccord?" Harry prompted.

"It was your grandmother's family name," Edward replied, also eyeing Holcop curiously.

The scroll of parchment lengthened as the Evaluator began vibrating once more. Holcop was close enough to read the words. A jagged smile blossomed on his ugly mug.

---

Soul of the Serpent

Heir - Slytherin

---

Stunned silence conquered the conference room. Harry opened his mouth to protest, but the words he spoke wouldn't deny the truth he already knew. "You can't tell anyone!" he stammered. "You have to keep this a secret, right? You're my solicitors!"

Edward appeared shaken by Harry's sudden lack of trust. "Of course we'll keep your confidence," he vowed. "My firm has the best reputation in the country! We never disclose client information. Never."

Harry found reassurance in Edward's burning eyes, but cold calculation when he turned to Holcop.

"I'm a banker. We typically keep our client's confidence," the goblin replied.

Edward exploded before Harry could react. The older man slammed his fist into the table before grabbing the goblin by the lapel of his jacket and pinning him against the wall. "You won't leave this office alive, goblin! I'll rip your throat out!"

"Edward!" Margaret yelled. "Put him down before you kill him!"

Gritting his teeth in annoyance, Edward dropped Holcop at his feet. "I have a meeting with Ragnok tomorrow," he growled. "You'll be a blacksmith's assistant by Monday!"

Holcop climbed to his feet, proudly straightening his tie. "Your arrogance is astounding, Stratton. When Ragnok hears I've been manhandled like a petty house-elf, your clients will never set foot in their vaults again."

"Don't play us for fools," Margaret sneered. "I'm well aware of your rivalry with Ragnok. He'd be happy to get rid of you. Now, what do you want?"

Holcop flashed a toothy grin. "That's better," he sneered. "I just need some assurances from Lord Slytherin, here."

Harry stiffened at the title that had last belonged to Voldemort.

"What assurances would that be?" Margaret demanded.

"I have managed the Bonaccord estate for several years," Holcop replied. "I would just like a promise that the assets will remain under my stewardship."

Harry considered the request for a moment. "How much is in the estate?"

"A few million Galleons, a manor in France, and a family ring," Holcop answered with a wave of his hand, as if to suggest it was inconsequential.

"It isn't the money that concerns him," Margaret advised Harry. "He's worried about his reputation. It's shameful to be removed from an estate without cause."

Harry's eyes bore into Holcop, evaluating the goblin. "I don't trust you," he declared. "You're not keeping it... but if you'll swear an oath of secrecy, I won't say why. You can tell everyone else I'm just consolidating it with the Potter estate."

Holcop thought this over for a moment. "I swear it," he answered.

"I don't think so," Margaret objected with a wry chuckle. "You're doing this properly, or I'll let Edward at you again."

Holcop sneered at Margaret but made a show of kneeling down on one knee. "I, Holcop, do hereby swear on my life that I will uphold the Banker's Pledge. I will keep Harry Potter's confidence on all matters of business... and I will never disclose the results of his lineage evaluation or his status as the Slytherin heir."

"That's much better," Margaret declared. "Now, if you're done, Daniel will escort you out of our office... and you might want to come up with an excuse for why Braybar will be handling these appointments in the future."

Holcop smugly ignored everyone as he disassembled the Evaluator. When he finished, he started to follow Daniel out the door.

"Hem, Hem." Margaret held out an open hand. "The lineage evaluation, please."

With a toothy grin, Holcop produced the slip of parchment from his jacket pocket and handed it to Margaret. "Good day, Ms. Sedgwick."

---888---

Edward absently twisted his wedding band as Daniel returned from escorting Holcop out of the building. "I apologize for all the excitement," Edward huffed, "but sometimes you have to work with the pretentious gremlins."

Margaret winced at Edward's slur, but did not rebuke him. Instead, she passed two single sheets of parchment across the table to Harry. "These are your parents' wills," she explained. "They're short, sweet, and bulletproof. They left everything to each other first, and in the event of both of their deaths, everything to you."

"The second paragraph," she continued, "appoints the Potter Trust as trustee of your inheritance until you turn seventeen. The third paragraph names Albus Dumbledore as executor." She passed another sheet across the table. "And Albus appointed our firm to continue running the Trust until you were legally an adult."

Edward set a small black box on the table. "The lineage test proves that you're an adult," he said, handing the velvet box to Harry. "This is the Potter family ring. It signifies your status as head of the family and as a member of the Wizengamot."

Harry opened the velvet box and extracted the thick golden band. Seven square-cut rubies, seated so closely together that Harry had to hold the ring six centimeters from his nose to distinguish them, formed a large L. On either side of the rubies, two engraved lions guarded the stones. "The L is for Leoforte then?" Harry asked.

"Correct," Edward answered. "The Leoforte line passes to the oldest child, regardless of gender. So, the actual family name has changed a half dozen times in the last thousand years. Look closely at the lions, do you recognize them?"

Harry looked at the ring again. "Gryffindor!" he gasped. "These are the same lions from the house banner."

Edward beamed proudly. "Godric Gryffindor was very close to his mother, Edolie Leoforte. He wanted to take her name, but his father wouldn't have it, so he adopted the family crest instead."

"I'm related to Godric Gryffindor?" Harry stammered.

"You and most of magical Britain," Edward chuckled. "But you're the only one who can wear that ring. So, yes, you are his heir."

As Harry studied the ring, he couldn't help but consider the path it must have taken from the Hogwarts founder to him. This ring was his identity, an identity he had longed for countless times while locked in a cupboard beneath the stairs. "My father wore this?" he asked.

"Sure," Edward replied. "Your grandfather, too; he was very proud of his lineage."

"When did the family change from Gryffindor to Potter?

"I don't know." Edward shrugged. "The family name changed a few times between Gryffindor and Potter. It was Wright for almost two centuries and then Locke."

Reaching into his pocket, Edward handed an envelope to Harry. "When your parents died, we put what was left from their house in a storage facility. The library made out reasonably well, and I believe the family Grimoire survived. You should read that. Stanton found it absolutely fascinating."

Harry opened the envelope to find a key and a full inventory listing for storage unit #405 at the Self-Store garage in Hounslow. "Thanks," he whispered.

Glancing at his notes, Edward continued. "As the heir of Godric Gryffindor, you may appoint two members to the Hogwarts Board of Governors. The board has nine members. One is appointed by the Minister of Magic, and all of the founders' heirs control two seats apiece... so the Slytherin heir also..."

Harry's grin disappeared in a flash. "I just don't want to deal with it, okay! No one has to know, right?"

Margaret sighed in frustration. "You can keep it a secret, but you're giving up a lot of power," she urged. "The Slytherin seat would be enormously influential in the Wizengamot."

Holding up the Leoforte ring, Harry flatly refused. "I don't want it. I've already got enough power with this."

Apparently relieved by Harry's refusal, Edward pushed his notes to the side. "A word of advice... Normally the founders' heirs serve on the Board, but you should probably wait until you graduate before joining. It would put the Headmistress in a bad position to have a student on her board."

"Right," Harry said, calming down. "Who should I appoint then?"

Taking a deep breath, Edward replied, "You have several options, and none of them are easy. Your best bet might be to leave the Board as it is right now. But, doing that would be a tacit endorsement of Minister Scrimgeour."

"How's that?"

"The Minister fills any vacant seats," Edward explained. "So, the sitting Minister has effectively controlled the board since your father's death. If you leave the seats vacant, then you're allowing the Minister's appointees to control the school." He paused to pour himself a glass of water. "Cornelius Fudge, like most Ministers before him, demanded that his appointees consult with him before voting. But, the Board hasn't been terribly effective the last few years." Edward directed a grimace in Harry's direction. "And, the debacle with Undersecretary Umbridge angered a lot of the Wizengamot, including Seth Ashburton and Sherman Quirke."

"I've met them," Harry said.

"Ah, good!" Edward said. "Seth and Sherman are the other founders' heirs - Quirke for Ravenclaw and Ashburton for Hufflepuff. They tend to work together, but Fudge had them outnumbered on the Board, so they spearheaded the effort to oust him."

"So now they control the Board?"

"Not exactly. Scrimgeour learned from Fudge's mistake and appointed some independents." Edward smiled slyly. "Of course four weeks later, two of his appointees voted to overturn his decision to close the school. In the past, Fudge would have just replaced them. But, Rufus saved his skin by leaving them on the Board."

"The no-confidence vote?" Harry guessed.

"I think you're a natural, Harry." Edward beamed. "He impressed Sherman and Seth enough that they both threw their support to Rufus. He got all nine votes from the Board Members, and I think that swayed some of the fence sitters."

"So they're really independent then?" Harry asked. "Are they any good?"

Chuckling, Edward smiled at Harry. "I'm not an expert. You might want to talk to Seth or Sherman about that. They're both honorable men. I think you can trust them."

A knock on the door prompted Daniel to step outside for a moment before returning with two small black boxes and a thick leather folio embossed with the Gringotts logo. "Braybar brought over the Bonaccord estate," he said, handing the two boxes to Harry. Holding up the folio, he asked, "Mind if I take a look at this?"

"Go ahead," Harry replied, distracted by the ring he found in the first box. A massive blue stone dominated the simple golden band.

"The Bonaccord family also has a seat on the Wizengamot," Edward commented.

"I get two votes?" Harry asked as he opened the second box to find a vault key with an ornate 'B' engraved in the handle.

"Well," Edward hedged, "there's a handful of Lords with two rings, but none with more than two."

Grinding his teeth, Harry cursed. "I said I don't want to talk about Slytherin."

"I'm not," Edward replied. "The Black family also has a seat. I'm aware you inherited some things from your godfather, but I don't know if the Black family ring passed to you."

"Wouldn't the lineage evaluation have said so?" Harry asked.

"Not if the transfer was made in a will. The Evaluator only tests your blood and magical core."

"How do I find out?" Harry asked.

"You'll have to look at your godfather's will. By law, the trustee has one week to notify you after turning seventeen. You should have received a letter by now."

"Right," Harry muttered, fearing the letter was stuck in the Ministry mailroom. "My post's a little slow right now."

Daniel closed the folio he was studying and passed it to Harry. "Everything appears in order," he concluded. "Not surprisingly, Holcop has it all in bank securities."

Interpreting Harry's bewildered expression, Margaret explained. "The money is all invested in Gringotts' stocks and bonds. It's not a great investment strategy, but the goblins like to do that with the estates they manage. It gives them more control over the bank."

"It's actually a good fit with the Potter Trust," Daniel chimed in. "You already own a few shares of Gringotts, and this almost doubles the size of your investment in the bank. It will make you one of the larger shareholders."

Turning to Margaret, Harry objected. "I thought you said it wasn't a good strategy."

She smiled patiently at him. "Investing everything in one company is poor diversification," she answered. "But the Potter Trust is much larger than the Bonaccord account, so it fits well with what you already own."

Daniel retrieved an enormous hardbound book from the counter behind him and carried it to Harry. "These are the Potter Trust financial statements for the last sixteen years," he said. "It has a net worth of approximately 92 million Galleons, most of which is invested in real estate. The rest is in various commercial interests... mainly Snidget Industries, Cheetah Brooms, JSP Breweries, and of course Gringotts."

Harry curiously opened the book to a random page and began reading. "Consolidated depreciation schedule of Snidget Industries fixed assets... double declining method?" He looked up at Edward. "Am I supposed to know what any of this means?"

Edward sipped at a glass of water. "In time... perhaps. It's really up to you. If you want to be knowledgeable about your business holdings, then you'll need to learn at least the basics. Otherwise, you can always hire advisors whom you trust."

Harry looked down at the daunting book again. "That's why I have you guys then?"

Edward grinned at Harry. "Unless you'd like to hire Holcop," he quipped.

"So you guys will take care of everything?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Not everything," Edward replied. "You'll still need to handle a fair amount of paperwork, sign contracts, and manage your personal budget. Our firm could do a lot of that in house, but we're awfully expensive," he confessed. "Most of our clients have a house-elf that manages those kinds of things."

"I have a house-elf," Harry muttered. "I wouldn't trust him to take out my garbage."

Edward offered an easy smile. "Some elves are specially educated to run large households," he explained. "Several of them are looking for jobs right now."

"And you think I should hire one?" Harry said.

"Or buy one," Margaret suggested absently as she leafed through a stack of parchment. "It's less expensive that way."

"No."

Margaret looked up from her notes. "No, what?"

"No, I won't buy an elf," Harry snorted. "I don't approve of it."

"Hmm," Margaret returned to her notes, crossing several names off the list in front of her. "I pre-screened some of the applicants," she said, passing the sheet to Harry. "There's a glut of unemployed house-elves due to the war. Our firm routinely places them with families. This is the list of elves that we think are qualified for what you'll need."

Harry read the list she had passed him; all but four names had been struck. "Do I really need a house-elf?" he asked.

"Yes."

Harry glanced at the list again. "Er, am I just supposed to pick a name?"

"You might want to interview them first," Edward suggested wryly. "We've got Missy in the other room if you want to get started."

---888---

Harry sipped at his pumpkin juice as the third house-elf left the conference room. Maybe this was why elves and children bonded at such a young age. It would take years before he got used to the concept of an elf serving him personally.

"Are you sure that I need an elf?" Harry asked for what seemed like the hundredth time. "They're all so... excitable."

"Salty's a bit older than Moxy, and a little more reserved than Chippy," Edward encouraged. "You might like him."

Daniel escorted the fourth house-elf into the room, causing Harry to sit up abruptly in his chair. "You're wearing a robe," he rudely blurted out.

"And you're wearing trainers," the elf sneered.

Margaret shook her head in frustration and walked to the door, intending to dismiss Salty.

"Wait." Harry said, smiling curiously at the intriguing house-elf in front of him. This one was different; this one had a backbone. He stood, extending a hand to the elf. "Hi, I'm Harry."

The house-elf, clothed in a full-length black robe, shook his hand. "My name is Salty, but I also answer to Saul."

"Please, take a seat," Harry said before sitting down himself. "Which name do you prefer?"

Salty's discerning golden eyes studied Harry, evaluating the unusual request from a wizard. "I actually prefer Salty," the elf said as he chose one of the conference room chairs.

_____

Author's Note: Thanks everyone for your patience. I'm sorry about the long delay. Since September I took the final CPA review course and three of the four exams I need to pass. I know I passed one and will find out if I passed the others in a few weeks. The fourth exam is tentatively scheduled for mid-February.

Author's Recognition: This chapter is dedicated to Lord of Caer Azkaban by Rorschach's blot. The cliché of Harry going into a meeting and returning with a million titles is one of my very favorites and while I generally like to avoid clichés, this one I wholeheartedly embrace. And Caer Azkaban is one of the best of this genre of stories. Finally, I want to thank Ivan and Lisa for their beta work.

Initial Post: 11 December 2006

Last Updated: 28 December 2006