The Brethren of Tyr

Chapter One: Where There's a Will...

The sun had begun to rise over the suburb of Little Whinging. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, it had crept up from behind the horizon, driving the darkness from view and replacing it with a pale, clear blue sky. Various species of birds, distinguishable only by their chirruping song, reacted accordingly to the arrival of dawn. Few of the denizens witnessed this, however, for it was July, and at the ungodly hour of four o'clock in the morning, most people were still fast asleep in their beds.

The loud, guttural snoring noises that were emanating from Dudley Dursley's bedroom reminded Harry of this fact, and none too pleasantly. Not that this was the reason he was awake, however. Hedwig rattled her cage a little, distressed by the image of her small, skinny owner sitting stiffly on the edge of his bed, numbly watching night become day; signalling the arrival of his birthday.

He shifted his position, and looked at the pile of presents in the corner of his room. A bag messily wrapped up in brown paper caught his eye- that was from Ron. Probably some delectable sweets from Honeydukes, for Ron was definitely a connoisseur of confectionary... though it could be some practical jokes from 'Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes'- which could certainly come in handy if he felt like annoying the Dursleys more than his presence in their house already did. Harry allowed himself a smile when he glanced at the rectangular parcel lying next to it- Hermione's gift, which Harry was willing to bet his Firebolt was a book of some description. Maybe Hogwarts: A History, so that he could finally learn that 'you can't apparate or disapparate inside Hogwarts!'

Other presents surrounded these; Harry made out Lupin's writing on one tag, Tonks' on another; a pile of home-made goodies from the Weasley's, something very oddly shaped courtesy of Ginny, even a small, squashy parcel from Dobby, the contents of which Harry hadn't even needed to guess, for every Christmas for the past two years he had given him brightly coloured socks- but it wasn't the presents he had received that bothered him.

It was the presents he had not.

Sirius had died scarcely a month ago, and the fact that Harry's godfather was consequently unable to send any birthday wishes was just another in a long list of pointed reminders. His death was like a sickness- the causal agent no longer visible to the naked eye, but its effects lay dormant everywhere. Sirius' presence, or lack of it, had spread though Harry's bedroom ('Sirius never got to see it...'), the kitchen fridge ('Sirius would have liked this casserole...'), Privet Drive ('I wonder if Sirius ever saw this place?...'), Magnolia Crescent ('I first met Sirius here, only I didn't realise it at the time...'). Even when Petunia had turned the muggle telly on (Harry had laughed the first time he realised he referred to it as being 'muggle') to watch some Australian teatime soap-opera, and the preceding children's show had introduced their new pet- a black dog cruelly named Snuffles- Harry had felt the loss of Sirius more than he had probably ever felt the gain.

Hermione had owled Harry a few days ago to announce that she and Ron had set today aside, should Harry 'feel like celebrating' his birthday. 'But we understand if you don't' she had hastily scribbled. Harry had replied a neutral 'Maybe', which he felt impressed by, as feeling neutral seemed as attainable as achieving the seventh stage of Nirvana around now. He thumbed through the photo album resting on his bed for the fourth time this morning, his fingers tracing the picture of his parents' wedding, the smiling face of the handsome best man...

"I miss you," he sighed. The picture continued to smile.

Footsteps creaking the floorboards near his room distracted him from his reverie. As the noise did not resemble a languid elephant stumbling across the landing, he correctly assumed Aunt Petunia was up. A rat-a-tat of knuckles against wood soon followed.

"Potter, help me make your Uncle's breakfast, he has an important day at work," Aunt Petunia announced, briskly.

It was more of an order than a request, but still, Harry noticed it was delivered with a sliver more respect than he was used to. That's what having an armed guard led by 'Mad-Eye' Moody did for you, he supposed. Or having a school headmaster like Dumbledore. Not really in the mood for an argument, which was rare for Harry nowadays, he decided to comply with her wishes.

Descending the stairs in his jumper and jeans, having left his presents unopened, Harry entered the kitchen and immediately went to the fridge to get bacon.

'Sirius would've liked some bacon, I reckon,' Harry thought before he could stop himself. It was no good. He didn't think he would cry, but something in his guts suddenly felt squishier than it ought to. Aunt Petunia glared at him, and he glared back, causing her to drop the toast she had been buttering onto the pristine floor. Hearing her throw said toast into the dustbin, Harry shook himself out of that mild spasm of grief and concentrated on watching Aunt Petunia pull a mop and bucket out of the broom cupboard and drag it into the kitchen, whilst he pointedly didn't offer to help.

Suddenly, an owl swooped into the kitchen, causing Petunia to stifle a scream and attempt to shoo it away with a tea towel. Ignoring the distraction in an almost derisive manner, the darkly coloured owl dropped a sealed letter into Harry's hand before swooping away again, without so much as stopping for a drink of water.

"It's nothing dangerous, you can relax," Harry spat, and found himself sneering at his Aunt Petunia before he had even opened the letter. Aunt Petunia twitched nervously,

"Your G.C.S.E. results, then? Or whatever the... th- your equivalent is," she asked curtly, in an uncharacteristic display of interest in Harry's schooling, though he knew it was because she knew Dudley would be expecting his G.C.S.E.s sometime soon and Aunt Petunia was no doubt hoping to show off to the neighbours. Harry shook his head. He hoped not- if they were his O.W.L. results, the fact that they had arrived in a black envelope did not bode well. Then he remembered a conversation between Ron and Hermione.

"Ten thirty sharp on the fourteenth of August, the letter says... Oh, I don't think I can wait that long without knowing!"

"Knowing what? How fantastically well you've done? What about the rest of us, Hermione? The ones that aren't blessed with such humongous brains?"

"I was just saying..."

"Yeah, me too... Here, surely you can lend me some of your dazzling brain power for when I do my N.E.W.T.s... or re-sits!"

Curiosity getting the better of him, Harry quickly opened the envelope and pulled out a letter in the same black paper, with what appeared to be a silver watermark printed across it bearing the legend 'W.F.A.' Opening it out, he began to read the silver script that covered the black paper.

Dear Mr. Harry Potter,

It is with great sadness we send you this letter, as it officially signifies the demise of the late Mr. S. Black, his life tragically cut short at the age of thirty-six in mysterious and violent circumstances...

"What on Earth is this?" Harry whispered angrily, as though expecting an answer. None came, so he gritted his teeth and continued to read, skipping over any adjectives such as 'gory', proper nouns such as 'Azkaban', verbs such as 'depressed' and any phrase that began with 'tragic waste of a human life'.

...which is why, as the last of the Blacks and with many friends to honour, and debts to pay, we at 'Wizard Final Affairs ltd.' cordially invite you to attend the reading of Mr. S. Black's last wishes in order to distribute his wealth accordingly on the 31^st July 1996 at 2pm. Please be prompt.

Yours Sincerely,

Graham Iscariot, M.D. of the W.F.A.

'We help you Rest In Peace of mind.'

Harry felt himself blanch in shock. Sirius had left a will? How was that possible, he had been a convict on the run!

He was distracted by a knock at the door. Petunia went to answer it before he could, though, but he heard remnants of the conversation.

"Why would you need to see him? Who are you?... N- no, don't come in, I'll get him... HARRY!"

Harry followed the screech of his favourite aunt (he only had the choice of her and Aunt Marge) and found himself face to face with his former professor, Remus Lupin. He stood awkwardly in the doorway, dressed in muggle clothing that served to make him look stranger to Harry than if he'd turned up to Little Whinging in full wizard regalia and a pom-pom hat, and carrying black robes that appeared slightly less shabby than his usual attire.

"Hello, Harry," he said. Aunt Petunia brushed past them both, shooting a nervous, but disgusted glance at Lupin before she hurried away from the front door and along the hallway.

"I rather think your aunt wishes I was not here," he added, glancing neutrally at the woman in question as she bustled into the kitchen. He looked more tired and pale than Harry had ever known, and also more hairy, as though personal grooming had proven difficult these past few weeks. Harry could understand why; he hadn't felt much like taking care of himself for the first week since Sirius had passed on, and Lupin had known him since Hogwarts.

"Doesn't matter," Harry replied, gruffly, "come in."

Lupin wiped his feet carefully on the welcome mat and Harry directed him to the living room.

"Sit down," he said, gesturing to a chintz sofa which Lupin perched gingerly on, before leaning back into it in a more comfortable manner.

It was at this point that Harry noticed a piece of black paper with silver script writing in Lupin's top pocket.

"You got one too?" Harry asked. "I though it was some kind of cruel joke."

Lupin laughed softly,

"It's hardly the most... sensitive of methods," he replied, "but it is no joke."

"So, Sirius left a will? He hardly seems the type of person to..." Harry didn't finish his sentence out loud. He thought Sirius wasn't the type of person to accept death so readily as to be prepared for it. In a way, Harry felt slightly betrayed.

"These things work differently for wizards than muggles," Lupin said. After a mildly awkward pause, he added, "I came over here to see if you wanted to come to the reading with me. I imagine you've never been to one before and I can't say I'm all that personally familiar with the process myself."

Harry smiled properly for the first time in three weeks.

"Yeah, that'd be nice. What do I need?"

"Just some black robes- your school ones should be fine."

"Okay, I'll just go and..."

A tiny fluttering owl suddenly entered Harry's peripheral vision. Quickly, it flitted straight across the doorway of the living room and dropped a letter onto Harry's head instead of his outstretched hand. It fell to the floor before Harry could catch it, so he stooped down and picked it up from the floor.

"It's from Ron," he said to Lupin, having recognised Pigwidgeon straight away. He opened it up and read the hastily scribbled note, as Lupin fed the little messenger bird some water from a goblet he had conjured furtively from his wand, as though he was anxious of Aunt Petunia's reaction if she saw him.

Hey Harry,

Did you get one of those black letters today? I'd imagine so- Mum and Dad got one, so they're going to Sirius' reading. Mum wanted to know if she should pick you up. Me and Hermione could come too, if you, y'know, want us there. It's cool if you don't- we understand. It's entirely up to you.

Let me know A.S.A.P.,

Ron.

P.S. If me and Hermione do come to meet you, for heaven's sake don't mention the O.W.L.s to her- she's doing my head in about them, and she's only been here half an hour!

Harry laughed, and found it didn't create the feeling of guilt it had last Thursday. Feeling grateful for having friends he couldn't even bring himself to speak to just half an hour ago, he quickly scribbled a reply in the affirmative to Ron and Hermione's company, but informing Mr. and Mrs. Weasley that he and Lupin would be making their own way there, and sent it back with the excessively excitable Pigwidgeon. Vaguely wondering if Lupin had put anything in the water to make the owl act even more animatedly than usual, Harry quickly grabbed his robes from upstairs. On his way back down, he heard voices that indicated Aunt Petunia had found Harry's greying ex-professor sat in her living room.

"Remus Lupin, that's right."

"You... you were at the, erm, railway station, yes?"

"Yes, I was. As were you."

"Yes."

The awkward silence was lifted slightly by Harry's returning presence, at which Aunt Petunia exhaled slightly.

"Well, your uncle will be up soon, Harry," she said, with a pointed expression. Harry understood the meaning behind it.

"We'd better go," he said to Lupin. "We can catch the Knight Bus to..." He pulled out that black letter again, but it didn't help.

"To wherever it is we have to go," he finished.

Lupin stood up, his back straightened, and replied, "London. Practically everything you find in the Wizarding world is accessed from London. We need to go to Acacia Avenue, specifically. That's where the W.F.A. is based."

Aunt Petunia followed them through to the hallway, as though she thought they might change their mind about leaving and hide in the cupboard under the stairs- otherwise known as Harry's old bedroom.

Lupin stuck out his hand in the direction of Harry's Aunt Petunia.

"Well," he said, "it was nice to meet you, Mrs. Dursley..."

Aunt Petunia made no response; she merely flashed a nervous pseudo-smile that caused Harry to roll his eyes, however hard he fought the impulse. Lupin pulled his hand back slowly and placed it on the handle of the front door.

"Shall we?" he asked Harry, who nodded, and without so much as a backwards glance at his aunt, followed Lupin to a secluded area of Privet Drive to summon the Knight Bus.

Chapter Two: The Last Reading of Sirius Black

The Knight Bus stopped outside Acacia Avenue in such an abrupt manner that Harry had to pull a particularly small wizard out of his lap, who had ended up there purely by the power of physics.

"Sorry," the wizard managed to gasp as he scrambled to his feet and arranged his robes in a more dignified manner.

"S'okay," Harry replied, as he yanked his left leg away from Lupin's collarbone and pulled himself up into a sitting position. Lupin stood up and brushed himself down with his hands.

"Well, here we are," he announced to Harry, who then stood up himself and made his way to the doors.

"Thanks, Stan," he said to the bus conductor, who grinned.

"Cheers 'Arry," he replied. As Harry stepped off the bus he heard Stan nudge his colleague and whisper, "See- he knows me, Ernie! I can make small talk with Harry Potter!"

Lupin stepped off the Knight bus, which subsequently vanished with a loud 'pop', and Harry noticed they were stood in a grimy back street, containing a few terraced houses and a handful of shops with blacked out windows and luminous red neon signs offering... well, offering the sort of thing Harry didn't want to mention in front of Lupin.

It was then that Harry noticed the slightly out of place building halfway along the small street. It was a library. Not the picturesque, Gothic-style buildings reserved for libraries of university institutions, but the concrete and steel utilitarian-style buildings circa 1960 reserved for urban branch libraries, doctors' surgeries and Birmingham Bull Ring.

"This is the place," Lupin announced, unnecessarily, for Harry had noticed the gaggle of redheads congregating near the entrance. The Weasleys' had arrived, and a certain bushy haired school friend of Harry's accompanied them.

"Harry! Over here!" Hermione called, waving madly in his direction. He and Lupin made their way over to the crowd.

"Hey, Hermione, hey, Ron," Harry said, greeting them as soon as he got close enough to do so without having to shout. They smiled and asked him how he was doing, and if he had liked his birthday presents.

"Erm..." Harry felt himself blush. "I haven't actually opened them yet."

"Not to worry, mate," Ron said, "it's not like they won't keep. Well, I'm not sure about Fred and George's. I think whatever they gave you may still be in the experimental stage..."

They both laughed.

"Honestly, Bill- can't you take that thing out? We're at a reading, for heaven's sake!"

"Relax mum, look- the fang is black, it's perfectly in keeping with a mourning service..."

Harry glanced over at Bill and Molly Weasley, who were having the usual parent-child arguments over sartorial differences in opinion. Though he had to admit, even when dressing for a funeral, Bill somehow still managed to look cool, all hardwearing black cotton and leather plus a pair of wraparound sunglasses that peeked out of his top pocket, sunglasses that he had the good sense not to wear in light of the overcast sky. He gave Harry a sympathetic smile and nod, which suggested he would have come over to offer his sympathies were his attire not being so rigorously inspected by his mother.

Arthur Weasley, on the other hand, greeted him with a manly handshake and his sympathies over Sirius, which Harry accepted graciously, though eager to change the subject, having become fully aware of the mountainous grief he would be forced to experience once they entered this building. Fortunately, Mr. Weasley saved him the trouble of steering the conversation to something less mournful.

"Fascinating, isn't it, this muggle architecture- such innovative style," he remarked, clearly impressed by the library building. One glance at Hermione's scrunched up face however suggested that muggle-borns, at least, found such Twentieth Century design work slightly less appealing.

"Shall we go in then, Harry, love?" Mrs. Weasley asked, after giving Harry a hug tight enough to squeeze seventy percent of his oxygen supply clean out of his lungs. Harry looked at his piece of black paper and his heart seemed to slowly fill with lead. He nodded, and felt a hand squeeze his.

"It'll be alright," Mrs. Weasley whispered, and Harry felt it was directed at both him and Lupin, judging by the look on Lupin's tired, lined face as he stepped up to the windows of the library.

He traced the pane of the lower left window in a clockwise direction with his wand, followed by tapping each corner in an anti-clockwise pattern. Suddenly, the ground adjacent to the stairs on which they were all standing warped and disappeared, leaving a wrought iron staircase spiralling down into the darkness.

"It's just down here," Lupin announced, and led the way down, followed by Harry, Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, Ron, Bill and Mr. Weasley.

The banister and steps shone slightly in the darkness, which was just as well, Harry thought, as there was scant else about to aid in navigation. The entire space was pitch black, and it seemed as though the staircase would go on forever.

"I hope this ends soon, I can't see who's in front of me!"

"Ouch! Yes, that would be me, Ron."

"Sorry Hermione, but your black robes really don't show up very well against this black background, if you get my drift..."

"Oh, shut up."

Harry fought the urge to grin. It had started; he knew it would. In fact, he was surprised it had taken Ron and Hermione this long to start bickering over something or other. Whenever they were together, the need to quarrel with each other seemed second only to oxygen in their daily requirements, and Harry had now learned to see the funny side of it, instead of the irritating one. At this point, Harry remembered that he was descending a staircase in pitch darkness, and so had no need to conceal his silent mirth.

Almost as soon as he had finished his fit of silent giggles, the dark warped and shifted, and he clung onto the banister in shock. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, an ornate silver door appeared directly in front of him. On closer inspection, the door appeared to be carved with a huge depiction of Death, one hand holding a large scythe, the other an hourglass on a chain- though it was much bigger than the one Hermione had been using in her third year. Managing to find himself both impressed and vaguely horrified by the morbid engraving, he stepped forward to voice his concerns to Lupin, and instead found himself face to face with a man just a few inches taller than himself, with long dark-blonde hair that was tied back off his face. He was clean-shaven, which showed off a small scar on the side of his chin and the heavy lines on his face. His hazel eyes travelled languidly across Harry's untidy hair and down his forehead, stopping briefly at the lightning-bolt scar, then resting their gaze upon Harry's glasses.

"Ah, hello there, young Harry!" he said, and beamed sympathetically with the practised air of one in the business of customer relations. He then lowered his voice and whispered, "so sorry to hear of your loss."

The man then grabbed Harry's right hand and shook it vigorously.

"My name is Graham," he announced, at which point he gestured towards his name badge, which read 'Graham Iscariot- Reading Specialist'. "I will be conducting the reading today... I notice you were admiring our entrance way?"

Graham seemed so pleased at this; Harry didn't want to offend him by stating otherwise.

"It's... thematic," he replied, hesitantly. Graham smiled.

"Isn't it just?" he enthused. "Though we are thinking of updating it- scythes and hourglasses are a little 'B.C.'." He laughed at his own joke. Harry nodded and smiled in a way he hoped didn't look too fake.

"We were thinking of getting a new engraver in to replace them with a lawnmower and a carriage clock," Graham added, by way of an explanation. Harry hoped this was a joke as well, but had little time to consider it, as before he knew it, they had all been ushered into a small white room containing a number of stiff-looking black chairs lined up along the back in two groups of ten. A red aisle ran along the middle, bisecting the seats and leading to a long black table that stood proudly at the front of the room. Harry noticed a large cauldron surrounded with rune stones had been place in the centre of the table.

"I wonder what that's for?" Hermione whispered, and Harry realised he wasn't the only one who had noticed it.

"Dunno," he replied. They both looked at Ron, who shrugged.

"Beats me," he answered. "I've never been to a reading before."

Graham was talking sombrely with Lupin near the table, as a few more wizards and witches filed in, most of whom Harry recognised as being members of the Order. Charlie was there too, talking to Tonks. On having seen Harry sit down, they both got up and walked over to him.

"Alright, Harry?" Tonks asked, in a more subdued manner than usual. It took just a moment to register with Harry why she seemed more affected than the rest of the Order, until he remembered that she was related to Sirius more than Harry was. He supposed having only known him for such a short time couldn't have been much fun for her, either.

"Yeah, I'm alright," he replied, looking softly at her. "You?"

"Yeah, I'm good." She sniffed. "Considering everything that's happened..."

In that moment, a special understanding seemed to pass between them, as Tonks placed her hand over his and gently kissed the top of his head before going back to her seat. Charlie looked a little uncomfortable.

"Sorry, Harry, I just don't really know what to do in these situations... I'd say how sorry I was, but I bet you've heard it so many times it wouldn't mean anything anymore. Or I could say he's gone to a better place, but how do we really know where he's gone now?" he rambled in a low voice, shuffling a little from one foot to the other. Harry smiled sadly at him.

"It's okay Charlie," he replied, "I don't really know what I should do or say either."

"True, true," Charlie said with a nervous laugh. "I reckon none of us really know what to do, except maybe Mum and Dad, and Dumbledore. Think about how many readings they attended the first time around?"

They both fell silent as the implications of Charlie's words hit Harry with the force of a sledgehammer thrown from the top of the Eiffel Tower. His parents- they must have had one of these. Had Dumbledore attended that too?

A few seats away from him, he caught a glimpse of Dumbledore, who, on feeling Harry's gaze, turned to face him. Harry felt himself colour up under his gaze. He had yet to apologise for trying to destroy his headmaster's office in a grief-stricken rage only last month, and despite the gravitas of his assured place in the Second War, he had felt rather ashamed of his behaviour ever since the hindsight had kicked in.

Not that he got the chance to act upon his feelings, as Lupin sat down beside him and Graham Iscariot began his 'reading'.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we are gathered here today to witness the reading of Mr. Sirius Black, respected colleague, esteemed friend and convicted murderer..."

Graham stared at the piece of parchment from which he was reading in horror. The assembled crowd shot angry glances across the room, at which Graham shifted uncomfortably and mouthed his apologies.

"Ahem- yes, anyway... With the passing of time must come the passing from one world to the next, at which one must arrive prepared, with his affairs well in order. We assist Sirius' safe passage into the new life, by complying with the wishes he made whilst in the old."

At this point, Graham lifted up a pocket-watch, which Harry recognised instantly as Sirius', and placed it carefully into the cauldron. The cauldron hissed and bubbled, spitting bright blue sparks out across the room at such a distance that Harry, Ron and Hermione ducked to avoid contact with them.

Once the volatile concoction had subsided, Graham carefully picked up a quill and drew up some of the liquid into its tip. He then laid it against a piece of parchment, at which the quill began to write by itself. He repeated this for a subsequent nine quills, all of which began writing by themselves onto separate scrolls, which then automatically rolled up and sealed themselves when the quills stopped writing.

One of the pieces of parchment was much larger than the others; Graham pinned this piece to the wall behind the table. It stretched and expanded until it was the size of the wall itself, and the writing was clearly legible, in Sirius' own hand, from the back of the room. Graham began to read aloud the words.

"To Albus Dumbledore, I bequeath the secrets and confidences that are no longer mine to protect; they remain herein with you and not me, for the good of our cause."

Hermione looked intrigued.

"How do you bequeath secrets?" she asked Ron in a whisper. He paused for a moment in contemplation.

"Mum, how do you bequeath secrets?"

"Shush Ron! You just can and do- you never know what could happen to such delicate information in the beyond."

"To Arthur and Molly Weasley, I bequeath the sum of 10,000 Galleons- a poor price for your care, but the best I can offer in appreciation and love."

"To..."

Harry had zoned out at this point. It just didn't matter to him. The reading seemed at once a tacky affair- who cares what he's left? The only thing Harry was conscious of Sirius having left was a gaping hole where he should be still living, existing...

Which, Harry suddenly remembered, was all his poor godfather had been able to do. Exist. If only he'd survived a few more months, would the Ministry have finally cleared his name...?

"To Remus Lupin, I bequeath my most personal possessions referred to in the Last Parchment, and the sum of 10,000 galleons."

"Last Parchment?" Harry wondered aloud.

Lupin bent his head towards Harry's ear and whispered, "Those self-sealing pieces of parchment. The idea is that Sirius' last wishes and thoughts before he..." He coughed a little before continuing. "They are collated and sorted, so that each person receives one of those scrolls containing information of a more... personal manner than that which is being read out now."

Harry nodded in response.

"And finally, to my godson Harry Potter, I bequeath my old family house, to be held by Remus Lupin until you turn eighteen. I hope you find more happiness there than I did. I also leave the sum of 50,000 galleons, also to be held by Remus Lupin until you turn eighteen."

Harry was stunned. The house? Suddenly, his dreams of leaving the Dursleys' had taken a huge step forward into tangible reality. Of course, he would have to wait until he was eighteen, but then, he would have to wait until he no longer needed the protection of Number 4 Privet Drive as well- until his fate had been decided at Voldemort's hands.

Why couldn't he just have a nice normal life, like most other kids his age? He looked across at Ron and Hermione. He still hadn't told them what the prophecy had said. He still hadn't decided if he should, or could, or even would.

People were getting up. It appeared the reading was over, except that all these people were making their way towards the table.

"It's for the scrolls," Lupin whispered, seeing the look of puzzlement on Harry's face.

"Oh," he replied. "Should we go too?"

Lupin shook his head.

"They call your name when it's time- didn't you hear them call Dumbledore?"

Harry shook his head, embarrassed at his wandering thoughts. Lupin merely smiled at him.

"Well, when they send you the black letter, they've already done a preliminary reading to see who's likely to get a Last Parchment. If you don't come to the reading, they send the parchment off to you with an owl."

Hermione was craning her neck to see the people at the table.

"It's incredible," she remarked, enthusiastically. "Mr. Weasley was explaining to me how the system works- even if the person who has passed away wanted to leave something to someone who's name they didn't know, the person doing the reading can actually identify their real name and an address!"

"Yeah," Harry replied numbly, "fascinating."

Hermione clasped her hands over her mouth.

"Oh Harry, I'm so sorry," she exclaimed. "I didn't mean to keep going on about...."

To his great surprise, Harry found himself laughing at Hermione's excruciating embarrassment.

"It's okay Hermione," he said, smiling. "It's okay."

"Hermione Granger, Remus Lupin, Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley" Graham called out. Lupin stood up.

"That's us," he said.

Hermione looked at Lupin as though he had just asked her to dance the Tarantella along Regent Street.

"Me? What kind of message would Sirius have wanted to leave me?"

"Well, if you went up there, you'd find out!" Ron said, prodding her in the back as he did so.

At the table, Harry was handed a pretty ordinary looking scroll, save for the iridescent seal that appeared to be made out of some kind of precious metal. He was wondering how exactly he should open it when he overheard one of Graham's colleagues in a heated discussion.

"Look Graham, couldn't it just be wrong?"

"No, damnit! These readings are never wrong. That is who is supposed to receive this Last Parchment!"

"But we sent an owl with the invitation, but he never found the bloody woman. Poor Gabriel returned with his feathers all in a mess- he'd been half-way around the world and didn't encounter her!"

"Then send another owl with this Last Parchment. She's got to be somewhere!"

"What if she's..." The voice trailed off.

"Dead? If she was dead, the owl would have returned with confirmation of the fact, wouldn't he?"

"Yes, you're right. I'll send out Mercury- she's our most experienced owl..."

"Good man..."

As he was listening, Harry's fingers slid over the parchment seal, and suddenly, the entire metallic seal melted over his fingers and spilled onto the floor, disappearing into the thick red carpet. The scroll uncoiled open, exposing an entire side of writing.

Dear Harry, my favourite godson,

Well, okay, you're my only godson, but that doesn't make you any less special to me. I'm guessing Dumbledore has told you about the prophecy. I wanted to tell you earlier, truly I did, but he felt it best to keep it quiet. I'm sure he had his reasons. What I'm trying to say I guess is not to worry about it. Yeah, I know that is a stupid thing to say, but I don't want you to spend the days you have at Hogwarts in fear or paranoia. Enjoy yourself, because who knows what may happen? I'll be honest with you here, you may survive; you may not. But at least you know that if you make it, you'll be making it in a better world that I did. Look after yourself. Have fun with Ron and Hermione, get yourself a girlfriend, do really well in your N.E.W.T.s and make your parents proud, etc., etc. We'll meet again one day in the next world, I'm sure. I just hope it's much later rather than sooner.

As for the house- do what you like with it! Redecorate it, find a way to get rid of that blasted painting of my mother, sell the place or even burn it if you like. As long as it makes you happy, it'll make me happy. Same goes for the money- do what you want with it. I wanted Remus to look after your financial affairs concerning me because I trust him implicitly to do the right thing for you, and to let you have a say. So, if you happen to be hankering after a new broom... well, you might just be able to persuade him. Take care of yourself Harry, and don't ever forget how much I love you.

Sirius

X x x

"What did yours say?" Ron asked. Harry looked over to where Lupin was quietly reading his scroll, appearing absorbed in the last words of his closest friend.

"Nothing much," Harry found himself saying. "Just to take care of myself, and not to worry too much about school. Yours?"

"Nothing much," Ron replied. "Just asking me and Hermione to take care of you, make sure you get into trouble at school."

They both laughed. It was typical of Sirius to pride rule bending above anything else you might care to learn in a school education.

"Wonder what Hermione's said?" Ron asked. Hermione had looked surprised enough when she had received one of these parchments, but Harry noticed her look positively stunned when she read the contents.

"What does it say?" Ron asked, straining to see. Hermione clutched the parchment to her chest, scuppering Ron's chances of reading it over her shoulder.

"I... I don't understand it at all. It just doesn't make any sense!"

Harry placed a comforting hand on Hermione's shoulder.

"Look," he said, "I'm sure he didn't want to offend you or anything..."

"No," Hermione replied in a slightly vexed manner, "I mean I don't understand what on Earth it means!"

She pushed the parchment into Harry's hand, and he and Ron began to read it.

I don't know what you saw in him!

"Eh?"

"That's just what I thought," Hermione explained. "That is so frustrating! It isn't exactly like..." She stopped suddenly, and looked at Harry shamefaced.

"Oh Harry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean..."

"It isn't like you can ask Sirius what he meant," Harry replied, finishing the sentence Hermione had left hanging, much to her horror.

"It's okay Hermione. I know," Harry said, though he fought to hide his suddenly flaring temper. The same gaffe twice in as many hours was a pretty bad track record for Hermione.

Ron was turning the parchment over in his hands, as though a lucid message may appear as the result of such action. Eventually, he gave up.

"Hmm, 'don't know what you saw in him'? Hey!" Ron shouted as the congregation began to shuffle out of the room. "Maybe he meant Vicky?"

Hermione scowled.

"Viktor, Ron. His name is Viktor."

Ron stared after her.

"Well, he wouldn't be the first person to think it," he replied, sulkily, but in a volume so low that only Harry could hear it. Harry smiled, but not in agreement with Ron.

"I wonder," Ron said aloud, "who the tenth scroll was for?"

"Huh?" Harry's curiosity was piqued at this. Ron looked at him.

"Yeah. Well, they called up Mum, Dad, Dumbledore, Tonks, Lupin, Hermione, you and me. That's eight. The other big scroll was pinned to the wall for the main reading- that's nine. What about the tenth one?"

"Yeah, I wonder," Harry replied, remembering the argument Graham had been having. Sirius had never mentioned any women to him, much less any that were making themselves difficult to find.

Who was she?