The Mark

"Mr. Potter," "Mr. Potter," "Mr. Potter," came from the horde of reporters waiting at the entryway into he atrium. Harry, Hermione, and Ron were jostled despite the efforts of the Aurors guiding them out to the floos. After all these weeks, they no longer needed a daily escort, but today was the verdict in Narcissa Malfoy's trial, and the press was back in droves.

One reporter outshouted the rest. "What do you think of Mrs. Malfoy being found innocent?"

Harry tried to be as neutral as he could. He was uncomfortable with everyone asking his opinion on everything, from business deals to governmental policy to naming their children. Narcissa Malfoy, not having a mark, and with testimony from Harry Potter that she lied to Tom Riddle, was eventually found innocent in a close vote.

"It's my duty to tell the truth, not decide her innocence or guilt. If the Wizengamot feels that, according to our laws, Ms. Malfoy helping fake my death in order to gain access to Hogwarts to see her son outweighs all the evil that she had done up until that point, including my own capture and kidnapping, and the torture of Ms. Granger, then I must be satisfied."

The press was not happy with his answer, and clamoured for more, but Harry just started towards the floos, the Aurors trying to open a path through. The reporters shifted to Hermione.

Hermione's answer was as polite as she could make it. "Being raised in the non-magical world, it's taking me some time to adjust to the … um, unique and rather quaint judicial system we have." The fact that half those gathered around looked confused or insulted and the other half was nodding their heads was not lost on her.

A few more Aurors were able to join them and with some not so gentle prodding got them to the floo where they gratefully left in a green 'whoosh.'

They stepped out of the floo at Grimmauld Place and dusted off the soot.

"Oi," said Ron. "I thought we were done with all that."

"Well, it is the Malfoys," said Hermione. "I assume it'll be he same with Lucius and maybe with Draco too."

"Git," said Ron. "It'll be nice when they're all in prison and we can get on with our lives."

"Humph," said Harry, hanging up his dress robes. "I'll believe it when I see it."

"I'm sure things will settle down eventually, Harry," said Hermione.

"She's right, you'll see," said Ron. He sniffed the air. "Something smells good, let's see what Kreacher made for dinner. That'll take your mind off."

"Humph."

"C'mon, sourpuss."

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The trial of the Malfoys was noted to be the largest non-sporting broadcast event in Magical Britain. WWN carried the entire trial live, allowed and even encouraged by the new government's transparency policy. Thousands of people packed Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley to hear the broadcast instead of listening at home just to be able to say that 'they were there.'

The other Death Eaters were tried first, and not surprisingly all found guilty. Preliminary sentences were handed out, but given the unprecedented nature of the scope and severity of the crimes, final sentencing was held until all the trials were over. New atrocities kept popping up at each trial, and the list of questions to ask those already tried and convicted was on its third scroll.

The other associated hangers-on; snatchers, thugs, mercenaries, and the like were processed quickly and less formally through hearings in front of panels of three Wizengamot members. Hefty fines and limited stays in Azkaban, to be followed by deportation for those not Britain-born, were commonly handed out. The exception were any werewolves that fought on Voldemort's side, they were pushed through the Veil within the first week.

Harry and his friends, soon labeled the 'Hogwarts' contingent' by the press, occupied the middle of the public gallery, Harry, Hermione, Ginny, Ron, Neville, and Luna front row and centre, surrounded by the surviving DA and many other students. They sat silently through the entire set of proceedings, neither cheering nor booing, nor responding to comments obviously cast in their direction by both the prosecution and the defence. Not everyone could attend every day, but they all made the effort. Their presence added a quiet and substantial weight to the events.

Lucius Malfoy's guilt, being the highest ranking Death Eater still alive, was simply assumed from the outset. His advocate, one Reuben Parker, obviously knew the likely outcome and was just trying to limit the damage and the scope of questioning.

Lucius was given veritaserum and the prosecutor Isaac Mitchell began the questioning from when he first met 'The Dark Lord'. As there never was a trial for his actions of the 'first war', merely a hearing at which he was quickly exonerated, no double jeopardy existed, and the inquiry had been going on for nearly a week. It generated several more warrants, and huge additions to the scroll of questions to ask those already tried. When Lucius told of what he was required to do, and very willingly did, by Voldemort to get the dark mark, his fate was sealed. They could have stopped the trial right then, but a clear accounting of all events was one of the goals of the new Ministry. It would go on.

It was on the second Friday of questioning, now regarding his bribes to Ministry and Wizengamot members, when Hermione suddenly sat straighter with a small frown on her face. She leaned over to Neville and Luna. Neville's grandmother being a Wizengamot member and Luna's experience with the Quibbler made them her primary sources of information.

"Who's McPherson?" she asked, naming the person Lucius just cited as a receiver of bribes. She scanned the Wizengamot, but no one was attempting to flee, nor were the Aurors heading up into the rows of seats to arrest anyone.

"Death Eater, already convicted," answered Neville.

"And Peters?"

"Pureblood sympathiser, also already convicted," said Luna.

"Pinkerton?"

"Killed at Hogwarts."

And so it went. Every time the prosecution asked about another name, they were either dead or already in jail. Hermione started searching the pockets and sleeves of her robes. "I need some parchment and a quill," she muttered.

Luna put a hand on her arm. "Shhhh. It's all right, Hermione. I'm sure you can ask for a copy of the court transcripts."

With that Hermione settled down, occasionally asking Luna and Neville about the names given. After the session, Hermione approached the court recorder and asked for a copy of the day's transcripts. The recorder was about to refuse, then paused. Normally they weren't released until the conclusion of the trial, but when an Order of Merlin, First Class holder and Heroine of the Magical World asked for something that was public knowledge anyway…. With a wave and tap of his wand he gave her a copy of the transcripts from the whole trial to date. It was quite a thick scroll.

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That night, Hermione sequestered herself in the library at Grimmauld place with the scroll and was studying it intently. At midnight Harry brought her some tea and a sandwich. Hermione was curled up in a large chair, many of the older and darker books from the library around her.

"Hermione?" He tapped her shoulder. "Hermione?"

"Huh?" She looked up, her eyes taking a second to focus.

"I thought you might be hungry."

She finally noticed the sandwich and tea. "Oh, thanks, Harry. Just put it on the side table there," she said, turning back to the scroll.

Harry just shook his head. "Don't stay up too late," he said, knowing that she had already tuned him out and would be up until she was finished with whatever it was she was researching. She didn't notice him leave.

Over the weekend, Hermione remained in the library. Having finished the scroll of the trial transcripts, she had moved on to The Pureblood Directory, and from there to some of the darker volumes the Blacks had collected. When questioned, she said she 'just had an idea,' and was researching it. She wouldn't be more specific.

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Monday morning Harry woke early, showered, and dressed as usual, preparing for another long day of sitting through Lucius' ongoing trial. He tromped down the stairs to the kitchen. The smell of fresh bread hit him as he opened the door. Kreacher lit the cooker under the tea kettle as Harry entered.

"Good morning, Kreacher," he said, sitting down at the table. Kreacher was the only other person in the kitchen.

"Good morning, Master Harry. What would you like today?"

"Eggs on toast and some tea, please. Ron and Hermione still asleep?" They shared the second floor, supposedly in separate rooms, Harry had taken Sirius' room on the third. His mind quickly veered away from any more thoughts along those lines.

"Mr. Weasley is not up as yet, I shall be assisting him momentarily. Mistress Hermione has already eaten and is back upstairs."

Harry sighed. "The library again?"

Kreacher looked up at the ceiling for a moment. "No, Master Harry, she is studying the Black Family tapestry."

Harry raised his eyebrows at that.

"I do not know why, Master Harry. She had many questions about the history of the Black Family this morning." He brought over a plate. "Eggs mostly cooked, toast quite well done, as you like them."

"Thanks, Kreacher." Hearing the clinking of the water pitcher in Kreacher's hands, he asked, "Again?"

"He has been informed of the rules." Kreacher popped out.

Moments later there was a yell, a thump, and a "Bloody deranged lunatic house elf!"

Kreacher popped back into the kitchen with the now empty pitcher.

"You enjoy that way too much, Kreacher," said Harry.

A rather evil grin flashed across Kreacher's face. "As you say, Master Harry," he said, before turning to the cooker.

Moments later an angry and soaking wet Ron stomped into the kitchen. "Harry! You have to do something about Kreacher! He's a menace!"

"Good morning to you too, Ron. Forget that you're a wizard again?" asked Harry, absently waving his wand and drying Ron off.

"Good morning, Mr. Weasley," said Kreacher, sliding a large plate of toast, eggs, bacon, and sausage, a large mug of tea, and a glass of pumpkin juice into Ron's place, and tea for Harry.

Ron plunked himself down and began eating. "So?"

"So, what?"

"You gonna to do something about Kreacher?"

"Oh, right. Thanks for breakfast, Kreacher, it was delicious. You made the bread for the toast, I presume?"

"Yes, Master Harry. Whole wheat with milk and honey."

"Well, it's perfect."

"Thank you, Master Harry," said Kreacher, gathering up Harry's dirty dishes.

"That's it?" asked Ron.

"It's good bread, and you seem to agree as your toast is already all gone."

"I mean about the ice water bath this morning! Again!"

"Well, you know the rules, and I already dried you off. Just get up earlier and it won't be a problem."

"Har-ry!"

"Oh, nut up Ron. It's just water." He got up to go with the remainder of his tea.

"So how do you get up on time every day?"

"I hear that blasted alarm clock every morning before you shut it off again and go back to sleep." He didn't mention that he was usually wide awake by then. His nightmares were much better, but the very active dreams of early morning continued to wake him daily. Hermione had gotten Ron a wind up alarm clock with a rather obnoxious set of bells. They had cancelled the silencing charms on their rooms several weeks back, and Harry did indeed hear it every morning, even from his room a floor up. He mentally stomped down the spike of jealousy that rose up once again. They were happy, so he had to be happy for them.

"Now hurry up, we have to leave soon," Harry said, backing out through the kitchen door.

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Harry found Hermione still staring at the Black Family tree.

"Hey."

"Hey, Harry."

"Still researching?"

"Yeah."

"What'd you learn?"

"I'm not sure."

"Humph."

"I need more information, Harry. I might just be paranoid, but…."

"For some of us, they really are all out to get us."

Hermione snorted. "Something like that." She turned to face him. "Are you officially the Head of the House of Black? With the Ministry and Gringott's and all?"

"Um, the will was processed, and I got the house, the vaults, the gold and everything.…"

"But are you Head of House?"

"I dunno. Never came up specifically."

"You need to check, and soon. I won't be at the trial today, I need to stop at the Hall of Records, and see if I can get an Unspeakable to talk with me."

"That shouldn't be hard. Likely they'll try to recruit you."

Hermione snorted again.

"Why the urgency?"

"Like I said, I might just be paranoid, but there seem to be rules, and being muggle born, or muggle raised," she waved a hand at him, "we don't know what they are. But Friday at the trial I started thinking—"

Harry raised his hands. "Say no more. Just tell me what to do."

Hermione tried scowling at him, but couldn't pull it off. "Git. Just go to the trial this morning, but meet me outside the courtroom at the noon break. And when they first bring Lucius into the courtroom, observe him carefully. See what he's like before they give him the veritaserum."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "O—kay. What am I looking for, exactly?"

"You're not looking for anything, you're observing. Just see what he's like, then I'll ask you later about it."

"Right. Watch, er observe Lucius, meet at noon."

They flooed to the main entry hall of the Ministry, Ron still adjusting his robes and hair. Hermione dashed off without even saying goodbye, leaving them to follow the growing stream of people to Courtroom Ten.

Ron raised his eyebrows in question.

"She noticed something about the trial and needs to research it."

"That brain of hers never slows down, does it?"

"Thank Merlin for that."

"Heh. True."

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Ron and Harry took their seats in the front row of 'their' section, quietly greeting the others already there or still filtering in. Soon the whole contingent was there, assuming their 'court face.' They were there not for themselves, but for all those that couldn't be. Many had spent nearly a year at Hogwarts under the rule of Snape and the Carrows, some had fought Death Eaters personally, a few had spent months in Azkaban or 'camps' as 'thieves of magic;' each personally had lost a friend or loved one. Sitting through weeks of rather boring court was nothing in comparison.

Harry focused on the court floor. Soon it opened and Lucius rose, already chained to the accused's chair. Harry observed him carefully. It was rather disappointing actually. Harry thought back to the many others he had seen come up through the floor. Cursing, threatening, screaming, crying, bargaining, or just collapsing as far as the chains would allow were all common, but Lucius did none of that. He sat calmly, even a touch proudly, looking straight ahead, waiting for the session to begin. As far as he could remember Lucius was like this every day.

The Chief Warlock, Minister Shacklebolt, Chief Prosecutor Mitchell, and Advocate Parker entered and the session began. Lucius was given the three drops of veritaserum and the questioning began again. It was hard to tell any difference in his behaviour. He answered the questions easily and completely, damning himself further with every reply. Harry soon tuned it out. They were still dealing with issues years before the final battle, it might take weeks to finish the questioning. He wondered why Hermione wanted a report on Lucius basically doing nothing.

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At the noon break Harry flowed with the crowd out the gallery doors towards the cafeteria. He wondered how he was going to meet Hermione among all the people milling around. She solved that problem by grabbing his sleeve and pulling him up against the wall where she had been waiting.

"So?" she asked without preamble.

"He didn't do anything. No talking, no cursing, no pleading. Not even a glare or a sneer. He looked calm."

Hermione looked Harry in the eyes. "Thought so. Why might he be calm, Harry?"

"Um…. He's on a calming draught?"

"Huh, didn't think of that one. I don't think he's allowed, but I'll have to check. But no, Harry, that's not what I'm worried about."

"I dunno, then."

"I need you to think on it, Harry."

"Hermione, what's going on?"

"I'm still not sure anything is going on, like I said I might just be paranoid. C'mon, I need to find Neville."

"Neville? What's he got to do with whatever is or isn't happening?"

"Just c'mon, Harry."

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They found Neville in the crowded cafeteria, sitting with Luna, Hannah and several other DA members.

"Neville, can I ask a favour?"

"Sure, Hermione, anything."

"I need to talk with your Grandmother at length about the Wizengamot and the Ministry. I don't know how such things are arranged in the old families…."

Neville held up his hand. "No worries, Hermione. The Longbottoms aren't all stuffy like that. And for you she'd do just about anything. As far as arranging, let's go ask. Ladies, if you'll excuse me?"

"Sure, Neville."

"See you, Neville."

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Neville led Harry and Hermione out of the cafeteria and around the corner. An ornate set of double doors was at the end of the short hallway. Neville ushered them through the doors into a marbled foyer lined with racks and racks of outer robes and hats, and through that into a rather posh room of low tables and comfortable chairs. Harry thought it looked like a private club. He recognised the robes and some of the faces as Wizengamot members.

Neville stopped in the entryway and was looking around for his Gran. Hermione tugged at his sleeve. "Neville, are we allowed in here?"

Neville kept scanning the room. "Hermione, I'm the Longbottom Heir, Harry's the last Potter and now the last Black, and all three of us are Order of Merlin First Class holders. Technically we 'outrank' half the people in here. There she is."

Hermione looked at Harry, who just shrugged his shoulders. "Rules?"

"Rules."

Neville led them to a back corner, where his Grandmother was seated with a cup of tea, quietly talking with another Wizengamot member. They stood a polite distance away until there was a break in the conversation and Augusta waved them forward. She stood to great them.

"Neville, Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger, a pleasure to see you. This is Harold Tweddle, a fellow member of the Wizengamot. Harold, my grandson Neville, Harry Potter, and Hermione Granger."

Mr. Tweddle shook their hands enthusiastically. "It's a pleasure to meet all three of you. We can't thank you enough for all that you've done."

"Yes, sir. Thank you sir." Harry had long since found a short, polite, and bland reply cut down on the praise everyone thought needed to be heaped upon him. The more he protested the more they kept going. Hermione and Neville followed his lead. Neville stepped in before Mr. Tweddle start up again.

"Gran, Hermione has a favour to ask, if that's all right?"

"Of course, Neville. Why don't you all sit down."

Mr. Tweddle excused himself with another effusive thanks and handshake. They sat around the low table, and a new teapot and three teacups appeared. Hermione's eyes narrowed at that, but she said nothing.

"Now then Ms. Granger, what can I do for you?" asked Mrs. Longbottom.

"Well, I'm sure you've noticed we've been attending all the trials." Augusta nodded. "Now that the novelty of attending has worn off, and as Lucius' trial has drug on, I started wondering about the Wizengamot itself. I mean, I really haven't thought much about them before but they seem really important in magical society. We haven't learned anything about them in school, and I wondered if you could sit with me in session later this week and explain how things worked, and I was hoping I could come over Saturday and ask some more questions about the Wizengamot and the Ministry? Neville says you would know a lot about them."

Harry was used to Hermione's occasional bursts of enthusiasm, but the gushing quality to her voice was a new thing. He raised his eyebrows at her. She just smiled minutely and put her hand on his arm. He kept quiet.

Augusta smiled. "Of course dear, I'd be delighted to. It's refreshing to see someone of your age take an interest in our government. And to be frank, we've lost nearly an entire generation over the past twenty years or so, and it's going to fall to you and your friends to eventually take the reins of leadership. Anything I can help you with I will."

"Thank you, Ms. Longbottom. I really appreciate it."

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At the door to the cafeteria they left Neville, Hermione giving him a hug. "Thanks, Neville, that was a big help."

"Of course, Hermione. I take it you're not coming in?"

"No, I have a couple more things to check out."

"All right. See you this afternoon?"

"I might be a bit late, but I'll try to be there."

"Right. We'll save your seat."

"Thanks, Neville."

"See you in a sec," said Harry.

"Sure thing," said Neville, and he went back to join Luna and Hannah.

"So where're you off to now?" he asked Hermione.

"Hall of Records. I need to find out a few things."

"Right. And the over-eager school girl routine with Neville's gran?"

"Oh, that." Hermione actually blushed. "I just need her to think I'm interested in the whole Wizengamot and Ministry… well I am actually, so that's okay. I'll just be the over-achieving muggleborn who doesn't know any better."

Harry frowned. That bothered him somehow. He hoped Neville's gran wouldn't think about Hermione like that, but deep down he was pretty sure she would. It just came with being raised in a pureblood family, even if she was firmly against Riddle and his ilk. Even now, pureblood custom was the norm that everything was compared against. Harry suddenly felt a small pang of panic over what he had to learn about being the last Black and the last Potter.

Seeing Harry's frown, Hermione said, "Don't worry, Harry, I'm used to it. Besides, in this case it's true."

Harry mentally shifted back to the conversation. "I still don't have to like it."

She gave him a quick hug. "Thanks Harry. Save my seat." And with that she was gone.

Hermione didn't make it back to the trial that afternoon. Harry swung between boredom and concern. He tried to reassure himself with the thought that there wasn't much danger she could be in inside the Ministry, but given that half his life-threatening events had occurred inside a school, a bank, and the Ministry he wasn't very successful. Then he remembered she was at the Hall of Records. They'd be lucky if she didn't try to move in.

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Hermione again saved him the trouble of tracking her down, this time falling in beside him and Ron as they left the courtroom and headed for the bank of floos.

"Hey, Hermione. Find out what you needed?"

"Argh. No. What I did find out is that it's easier to talk with an Unspeakable than to get anything from the Hall of Records. You have to know precisely what you're asking for before they'll find it for you. You can't just ask a general question. And half of what I want to know they won't tell me because I'm not a member of the House in question. You're going to have to come with me tomorrow Harry, because some of the questions are about House Potter and House Black."

"Sure. What about the Unspeakable?"

"She was nice. Didn't tell me much either, but I'm pretty sure I believe her when she says that no one knows the answer. She did say my hunch was as good as any other."

"About what?"

"Not yet, Harry. I need to talk with Ms. Longbottom first, and find out the info from the Hall of Records."

"Humph. The Unspeakable try to recruit you?"

"Probably."

"Probably?"

"She asked me to come back and talk with her again once I either proved or disproved my theory."

"Figured you'd end up working for them," said Ron.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Really?"

"Sure. You're the only person I know who learns stuff just for the sake of learning it. Where else would you go?"

"I… Thanks Ron."

"Sure."

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The next day at lunch, Hermione drug Harry off to the Hall of Records. He nearly bumped into her as she stopped suddenly in front of a set of double doors.

"Oh, sorry, Harry. So, I need you to find out a few things. First, are you Head of House Potter? And while you're at it see if they can track down your parents' will. It's suspicious that you haven't seen one yet. Second, are you Head of House Black? Third, are you Head of House Gaunt?"

Harry blanked for a moment, trying to place the seemingly random name. Once the connection was made, a surprised and loud "WHAT?" popped out of his mouth before Hermione could clamp a hand over it.

"Sorry, Harry, I should have warned you. As Sirius said, all the the old families are interrelated in one way or another. Technically, Draco is some sort of cousin of yours. So's Neville. You're very distantly related to the Gaunts through the Peverells. You have your cloak, which supposedly came from Ignotus, oldest son to oldest son. If you have the cloak, you're likely the most direct descendant."

"Fine, I'll grant you all that, but why do we care if I'm somehow Head of House Gaunt? Why would anyone care and how could I be, haven't they all died out?"

"Even if they died out, there may be old agreements or alliances or such in place to keep track of. A House isn't truly dead until it's declared dead by the Ministry, and one of the few things they would tell me yesterday is that House Gaunt isn't dead, at least yet. If there's no heir going forward, inheritance can revert to the next nearest living relative. It can pass back generations."

Harry was soon too busy wondering when and how Hermione learned all this. "Oh. Do they keep track of stuff like that?"

Hermione pointed up at the letters over the door. "It's pretty much what this office is for. It's how they determine inheritances, and more importantly to the Ministry, taxes. Well, what little taxes purebloods pay. C'mon."

She pulled him through the doors and into the lobby. A counter stretched across the room, with windows like at a bank. Behind it Harry could see a vast room with shelves upon shelves holding scrolls, books, and stacks of parchment. They stretched higher than Harry could see through the counter windows, and nearly faded out into the distance. Dozens of workers were wandering the stacks, busily levitating records off or back on the shelves. Hermione tugged Harry over to an assistant on the right. The nameplate on the counter said 'Silas Collingwood'. He looked up as they approached.

"Ah, Miss Granger. Good to see you again. And you brought Mr. Potter. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter. I should add my thanks to everyone else's for taking care of Lord Voldemort."

Harry gave a quiet "You're welcome."

"Well, then. In anticipation of Ms. Granger bringing you in, Mr. Potter, Mr. Heatherington has been researching your questions. I'm hopeful he'll be able to provide you with some answers."

Mr. Collingwood scribbled a brief note on a scrap of parchment and tapped it with his wand. It folded itself into an aeroplane and flew off into the depths of the stacks. "He'll be here in a minute or so. If you would just step though the door," he pointed to the side of the room, "he'll meet you there."

They went through the indicated door into a small room containing only a table and chairs. Another door presumably connected to the stacks of records. Moments after they settled themselves into chairs on their side of the table the other door opened and Mr. Heatherington came in.

He was tall and thin, with a head of white hair that went off in all directions. He had a quill tucked behind each ear, and another in his hand. His arms were full of scrolls and parchment, which he dumped unceremoniously on the table. Much of it slid towards the edges and was headed to the floor before he pulled his wand with his free hand and tapped the table. Instantly the parchment stacked itself neatly and the scrolls lined up in tidy rows.

"Ms. Granger?" He asked, extending his hand. She nodded. "Mr. Potter?" and shook his hand as well.

"Well, it is of course an honour to meet you both. I believe you had questions about the House of Black, Mr. Potter?"

Harry looked at Hermione, who just sat quietly. "Ah, yes sir. In Sirius' will, I was given the money, the vaults, the house and I believe 'the entire estate,' but it didn't specifically mention Head of House. I was wondering if you could tell me who Head of House actually is."

"Yes, a most vexing question. In anticipation of your arrival today, I did the research yesterday and this morning, prompted by Ms. Granger's questions and because the issue needs to be sorted anyway. A huge number of families in flux these days." His hands fluttered up in apparent dismay.

"The short answer to your question is, I don't know."

"How can you not know?" Harry asked. He looked to Hermione again, who still sat quietly. It seemed it was up to Harry to deal with this. "Is there someone else we, I need to ask?"

"Ah. To answer your second question first, no, there isn't. As of yesterday, the determination of the Black Family status has been assigned to me. There's been so much to do in the last several weeks we just haven't got to the Blacks yet. You asking moved that particular family to the top of my list. As to why I don't know, it's complicated."

He held up a hand as Harry was about to speak.

"Allow me to explain. First is the will." He pulled a parchment out from the middle of the stack. It was a copy of the will. "Mr. Sirius Black was indeed the last of the Black males in direct line. He was reportedly cast out of the family by his parents, but it was not registered with the Ministry. Apparently they felt they were above the need for such things. Therefore, his will does take precedence. Unfortunately, it does not mention Head of House. If you were a Black by blood in direct line, it wouldn't matter, but as you are not, it would have to specifically designate you as such to be incontestable. It's possible he just forgot, or didn't know that he needed to do it. Knowing his reputation, it's also entirely possible he left it out on purpose just to annoy the other branches of his family. Someone would be declared Head of House, but wouldn't even have a house to be head of, and you would have all their wealth and belongings, especially the heirlooms. Regardless of the circumstances, we cannot assign Head of House based solely on the will, since there are two with equally valid and if I may say confusing claims."

He pulled out a rather thick scroll and unrolled it. It was a family tree of the Black Family, similar to the tapestry at Grimmauld Place. Just minus the scorch marks. "Head of House would therefore pass through the other family members. Two generations back is another Sirius, and his brother Cygnus II. His grandchildren through his eldest son Pollux were Walburga, who is your Sirius' mother, and Cygnus III, from which now comes the main line of Blacks. Cygnus I's youngest sister Dorea is your grandmother by the way, so the will is not the only way you are part of the Black tree."

"Where were we? Ah yes, Cygnus III's children. The eldest, Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black could not be Head of House due to Black family rules barring females from being Head, but any male child of hers could. As she did not have children and is deceased, the point is moot. The next child is Andromeda Tonks nee Black. She was also cast out from the family, but this also was not recorded with the Ministry. She cannot be head, nor could have her daughter Nymphadora Lupin nee Tonks, but under most circumstances any male children either had could be Head of House."

"Teddy's Head of House?"

"Ah, no. He is also the son of Remus Lupin, a known werewolf, therefore the legality for him to be Head of House is in question."

"WHAT?"

"Please, Mr. Potter. No need to yell. Personally, I completely understand your anger. But according to the current laws, as well as Black Family tradition, Edward Lupin is the son of a 'dark creature' despite all evidence to the contrary. I mean Remus Lupin has been nominated for an Order of Merlin First Class by the Minister himself. This does not mean he cannot become Head of House, it just means he is not automatically Head. The situation where lycanthropy intersects with Head of House status has not arisen before, so there is no precedence."

"Oh."

"Yes, well, it gets more complicated."

"How's that possible?"

"Draco," said Hermione, speaking for the first time.

"WHAT?" Harry was having a hard time keeping up.

Hermione put her hand on Harry's arm. "Patience, Harry." Harry visibly calmed himself.

"Thank you," said Mr. Heatherington to Hermione. "Right then. Ms. Granger is correct. Narcissa Malfoy nee Black is indeed next in line, and she indeed has a male child, Draco. He is son, not grandson, but she is the younger sister to Andromeda. We'd have to search further into Black Family history to see how that would be resolved, but that's a minor detail. He potentially could make claim to Head status, or make claim to Regent status over Edward if it were found that Edward was indeed eligible and took precedence. Though your status as his godfather and Andromeda's wishes would have some bearing on his ability to claim Regent. Regardless, he has strong claims to either, or would if it were not for his Mark and upcoming trial."

Harry visibly relaxed further. "That takes him out of contention?"

"I'm sorry to say, not necessarily."

"Now what?" asked Harry, managing to keep his calm.

"Many Heads of House were found to be Marked previously, but claimed to be under the Imperious curse, and were able to continue to be Head, so there is precedence that the Mark in of itself does not disqualify you. Of course, now we know that they really weren't under the imperious then nor since. If he was still a minor at the time of being Marked, he can claim less culpability. But currently it's not been addressed legally whether the Mark effects anything, really. The Wizengamot hasn't yet had time to readdress it, what with the trials still going on. For now it's just a sign that someone needs to be questioned in further detail, likely with veritaserum."

"And Draco's trial?"

"A different matter entirely. If convicted to life in prison, or death obviously, he won't be able function as Head of House. If he is convicted of crimes against the House of Black, then his claim certainly loses credibility. If there were a current Head, he could just be formally and legally expelled from the family, but the lack of Head is the problem we began with. So we have to wait until the verdict of his trial before we know how strong his claim would be. Then someone would have to try to claim Head of House, and then the matter would have to be adjudicated by all parties willingly participating before the whole Wizengamot before a decision could be made."

"So the only way to know is to have the Wizengamot decide both Draco's sentence and then who's Head?"

"Well, as this an apparently true three way coparcenary, where all three have unique claims and disqualifiers, yes. I research this kind of thing for a living and I haven't the faintest idea how it would come out. It is of course allowed for a claimant to vacate their claim, but even with the Head gaining nothing of monetary value, I don't see anyone giving it up. Head of House Black still would have significant political and social value."

Harry turned to Hermione. "I don't see Draco giving anything up voluntarily, do you?"

"Not under normal circumstances, no."

"Well, fine, we'll just have to wait, then." Harry turned back to Mr. Heatherington. "I also need to ask about Head of House Potter." Hermione nudged him gently. "And my parents' will. I assume they made one, but I've never seen it."

"Yes, I anticipated that. I'm sorry to say, nothing is easy for you, is it?"

Harry tensed. "Now what?"

"Oh, nothing major, I assure you. You are indeed the last of the Potters, and Heir Apparent. You have access to the monies, vaults—"

Harry snorted. "I think the goblins might have a different idea about that." Gringotts was being quite slow in any dealings with Ron, Hermione, or Harry. The Ministry was still rebuilding and the Wizengamot was tied up with the trials, so official assistance was limited. Given their 'hero' status, the goblins assured everyone that all would be worked out, but actual progress was painfully slow.

"Yes, quite. You have access to the monies, vaults, and properties, but aren't eligible for Head of House until you're twenty-one. Just a Potter Family rule. Really all it means is you can't sell any property or make any betrothal agreements for anyone other than yourself."

"I have properties?"

"Just two. The cottage in Godric's Hollow, which is in some disrepair, and Potter Manor, ancestral home of the Potter family."

"I have a manor?"

Mr. Heatherington looked up at the anger in Harry's voice. Most people were happy to find out they inherited something.

"Yes, indeed. You were unaware of this?"

Harry was looking down, his hands tense on the arms of his chair. "Obviously. Where is it?"

"Well, this most unfortunate. We don't know." He raised both hands at Harry's angry glare. "Let me explain. As typical for most ancestral family homes, it has been unplottable for years, if not centuries. Standard practice, really. We have record of the floo being deactivated in 1980, so it's not accessible that way. We also have record of your being born there. But sometime since then its location was placed under a Fidelius. We know its name, and that it exists, but its location is unknowable, unless we find the secret keeper."

"You're kidding, right? You guys lose large estates often? Any national monuments go missing?"

Mr. Heatherington sighed, and Hermione squeezed Harry's arm again. "No, Mr. Potter. Such a thing hasn't happened before, as far as we know. But then, we might not know, then would we?" He chuckled. Harry was not amused. "Right, sorry. The fidelius is a very esoteric spell and rarely cast, and the losses to the magical population in the last twenty years or so are truly unprecedented. Such a problem has not described before."

Hermione put her hand back on Harry's arm. "It's all right, Harry. We'll sort it out later."

Harry calmed down. Slightly. "And just how are we going to find a lost-under-a-fidelius manor?"

"Later, Harry. It's not Mr. Heatherington's fault."

"All right, fine." He turned to Mr. Heatherington. "Sorry."

"No apology needed. As I said, nothing seems to be easy for you."

"So. The will?"

Mr. Heatherington sighed. "There is no record of a will being filed." He held up his hands yet again. "That doesn't mean there isn't one. It just means it wasn't filed with the Ministry. Given that your parents did file Mr. Black's godfather status, it would be likely that they did in fact make a will. Your best hope is that it's in the Potter family vaults. You hinted that you have not been into them as yet?"

Harry sat back, frustrated. "Nope. And not likely to any time soon either, given how annoyed the goblins are at me."

"Well, I would suggest you ask Minister Shacklebolt to help you with that. The magical world owes you more than we can repay, the least we can do is smooth things over with the goblins."

"Humph."

Hermione nudged Harry again.

"What?"

She nodded at Mr. Heatherington.

"Oh, yeah. Is there any way to find out if I am Head of House Gaunt?"

"Gaunt? I'm not familiar with that house."

"You will be soon," muttered Harry under his breath. His testimony about Riddle would become public knowledge after Draco's trial.

Hermione nudged Harry yet again, not so gently this time, and said, "Yes. Marvolo and Thorfin were the last of the Gaunts, they passed away within the last fifty years or so. They're descended from Cadmus Peverelle, while the Potters are descended from Ignotus Peverelle. Given all the recent deaths, it's possible Harry might be the most direct relative."

Before Mr. Heatherington could answer, Harry added, "While you're at it, is there any way you can find out if there's anything else I'm heir to or head of? I mean, you're looking already, why not just sort it all out?"

Mr. Heatherington frowned. "That's what all of us are already very busy doing. It's not only all the deaths, but the people already convicted, and then all the Death Eaters still waiting for final sentencing. This is likely the busiest this department has been since it was started. Whole lines are ending and in need of reassignment, it will be the largest shift of power and wealth ever."

He continued. "I could address your questions regarding House Black and House Potter as that's a service we supply to all the official Houses. A general search such as you're asking for would require an application form and fee, and a researcher being assigned to you. Given how busy we are, there's no telling when we can get around to the private requests again."

"Oh."

"Are you such a researcher, Mr. Heatherington?" asked Hermione.

"I am indeed."

"And the whole department is basically rebuilding all the family trees anyway?"

"Indeed," he said again.

"So what if your tasks and Harry's request just happened to overlap? I mean, you've already pulled the Black and Potter files, which I would imagine are huge. I know that many of the Death Eaters currently awaiting sentencing are related to the Blacks somehow, so you have to be monitoring them anyway. If you just focused your search while you're waiting for the verdicts and sentencing…?"

Mr. Heatherington paused. Everything she said was true. He had already dug through the Potter and Black files, which were now high priority, and several families would likely revert back to the Blacks given how 'dark' the family's associations and marriages had been in the past. It was probable much would be coming Mr. Potter's way in the next several months. And to be the researcher that Mr. Potter specifically requested…. The decision was not hard to make, and he was sure his supervisor wasn't going to argue. It would be political suicide to get on Mr. Potter's bad side. His pause was brief. He tapped the parchment pile with his wand and a sheet slid out from near the bottom. He slid it and one of his quills over to Harry.

"Print your name here. Put 'Black' and 'Potter' here. Put 'all' in this blank. Sign here to authorise the request, and here to allow the department to bill your vaults directly."

"How much is something like this going to cost?"

"Normally a full search is five hundred galleons. Since I'm supposed to be doing much of this anyway, I'm sure we can reduce that substantially. As Ms. Granger said," he smiled at her, "it's just a change in focus."

"What if the Gringotts won't pay the bill?"

Mr. Heatherington smiled again. "Then the Ministry would get involved and sort out your issues with them directly."

"Almost reason to do it right there," said Harry, signing in the places indicated. He turned to Hermione, who shook her head.

"Just so he does the Gaunt research first."

Harry looked to Mr. Heatherington, who murmured "Certainly."

"Well, I guess that's it, then. Thank you for your help, Mr. Heatherington. Please send any correspondence through the Minister's office; they filter my post for me."

"Of course, Mr. Potter. It's been a pleasure."

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"Was that as helpful as you hoped?" Harry asked quietly as they headed back through the Ministry to Courtroom Ten.

"It answered some questions, not others, raised some more."

"You ever going to tell me what's going on?"

Hermione stopped outside of the doors to the gallery, far enough away that the Aurors couldn't hear their conversation. Harry was suddenly struck how tired and anxious she looked. She had dark circles under her eyes, and was actually wringing her hands. He reached out and took them. "You okay?"

"I'm okay Harry. And I'm still not sure anything is going on. I need to sit with Augusta and visit with her Saturday. Can you wait until Sunday? I promise I'll talk with you then."

Harry searched her eyes again. "Sure, Hermione."

"Thanks, Harry."

They approached the doors, and one of the Aurors poked her head into the gallery. She opened the door all the way for them. "It's okay, they're still getting set."

They hurried in and quietly took their seats by Neville, preparing for yet another afternoon of hearing the continuing and ever growing list of atrocities of Lucius Malfoy.

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On Thursday and Friday, Hermione excused herself from the group, and sat with Augusta just far enough from the rest of the Wizengamot so as not to disturb them with her whispered questions, but close enough that Augusta was technically still in session. She focused on learning the history and procedures of the Wizengamot, but did ask the names of the other Wizengamot members, and their roles in the fight against Voldemort. She filled several feet of a scroll with her notes.

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Augusta Longbottom sat quietly with another cup of tea, contemplating her day with Ms. Granger. Her questions had been both broad reaching and thorough, and Augusta was left with several impressions. Several decades of politics and working off of impressions taught her to recognise their importance.

The first was that Ms. Granger was as brilliant as her Neville had said. Up until now she had just written it off as Neville's being impressed with her schoolwork and grades, but her questions had revealed a sharp and quick mind, with excellent recall.

The second was her appalling ignorance of the magical world, not so much the spells and wandwork, but the culture, history, and government. An ignorance Ms. Granger was quite prepared to point out. Augusta was forced to concede that, as there was no class at Hogwarts on magical culture, no information sent from the Ministry to muggle, er firstborn (Ms. Granger's preferred term) children and their families, or even a way for those families to find the Ministry, perhaps her ignorance was not unexpected.

Even for Ms. Granger, who could access the Ministry, there was no listing of Wizengamot members, no concise record of their voting history or a primer on how the Wizengamot or Ministry worked. Augusta had never thought about such things before. They were all just things that everyone knew. Ms. Granger had commented that her only lessons on magical culture were that one wore robes, drank pumpkin juice, and the Slytherins called her mudblood all through her school years. Other than that, there seemed to be no mechanism or even interest in for teaching her and those like her about the magical world. Augusta was embarrassed that she was the first person to explain many of these things to her.

The last was a vague sense of unease. Ms. Granger's questions had been nearly encyclopaedic in scope, covering every aspect of Wizengamot and Ministry history and functioning. There had not seemed to be a particular focus. But scattered throughout her basic questions were some rather pointed ones. She had asked several times how a particular Wizengamot member had voted during the last few decades, or what they had done in the war against Voldemort. Reasonable questions, given the current trials.

Looking back at it in summary however, she was not pleased with the answers she had had to give. Some had fled the country, returning when it seemed safe. Some had died fighting Voldemort, some fighting in his service. Unfortunately more had been arrested and tried for supporting him. The majority that were left had voted the first time around, if it was even brought up, to exonerate the Death Eaters from any of their behaviour while 'under the Imperious curse.'

There were no mug- firstborn Wizengamot members, nor a reliable way for a firstborn to become one. None that she knew of had a firstborn spouse. There were also no firstborn department heads in the Ministry. She was embarrassed to admit that she didn't know what percentage of the magical population was first or second born. Augusta had just thought that Ms. Granger was a bright and curious witch, interested in working in the Ministry in some fashion and was finding out what was available to her, and still had no evidence to the contrary. But in the back of her mind was the concern that Ms. Granger was looking for something specific from her, and if Ms. Granger was looking for something, there was no way that she wouldn't have found it. Augusta just had no idea what it might be.

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Saturday, Harry was up early enough to see Hermione off to visit Mrs. Longbottom. Ron was having a lie-in. Several owls arrived for Hermione, and he put her letters and packages in her room. One letter arrived for him with a brief note from Mr. Heatherington. "Records going back to the Peverell brothers incomplete. No way to prove or disprove Head of House Gaunt." Apparently he was working overtime. Harry left the note in Hermione's room as well.

He hung out with Ron through the afternoon, and persuaded Kreacher to allow him to make dinner. He made individual pot pies as they would keep well and he had no idea when Hermione would be home. He even managed to keep Ron from eating them all. Finally in late evening, while he and Ron were lounging around, not really doing anything but still thinking it was too early for bed, they heard Hermione come in the front door.

"How'd it go?" asked Harry just as Ron said, "You look beat."

Hermione plunked down in a chair. "Fine, and I am." She closed her eyes and rested her head on the chair back. "Mrs. Longbottom was a treasure trove of information. I feel like my brain is full, but I could have asked questions for several more days."

"Anything helpful?" asked Harry.

"I think so. I need to sort it all out in my mind."

"You got several packages and letters today. I put them in your room."

"Thanks, Harry."

"Harry made pot pies for dinner. They were delicious. We even saved you a couple."

"Thanks, but I ate at the Longbottom's. And no, that doesn't mean you can eat mine Ron. I'll have them tomorrow."

Harry mock glared at Ron. "Hey, at least I asked," Ron said in his defence.

She rested for a few more minutes. "I'm knackered. I'm going to bed, I'll see you in the morning."

"Not if it's early," said Ron. "It's Sunday, and I'm sleeping late. No ice water showers from demented house elves on weekends."

Hermione shook her head, heaved herself up out of the chair and headed up the stairs to her room.

"C'mon Ron, time for us too."

"But it's not late yet."

"C'mon, you can get a head start on your lie-in. Besides, if you stay up too late tonight, you won't sleep well tomorrow night and then you won't wake up Monday morning, and then you will get an ice water shower."

Ron shuddered. "All right, all right, I'm coming. You're almost as bad as my mum."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

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Harry woke at his usual time Sunday morning, and found Hermione already up and dressed and back staring at the tapestry. She was holding the note from Heatherington. Harry indicated the note. "That important?"

"Not terribly. It would have helped if the genealogy proved it. But there's a way to test it."

"Humph. I would have rather he sent a note saying they had found my manor."

"Oh, that."

Harry looked up sharply. "What do you mean, 'Oh that'?"

Hermione smiled tiredly and just said, "Kreacher?"

He appeared with a soft 'crack'.

"Yes, Mistress Hermione?"

"Are there any Potter elves?"

Kreacher's eyes unfocused for a moment, before he replied "No Mistress Hermione. No elves are attached to the Potters currently."

"Potter Manor may be under a Fidelius, would that keep you from finding them?"

Kreacher pulled himself up proudly. "I am an elf, of course not."

"Can you take Harry to Potter Manor?"

"Alas, Mistress Hermione, Master Harry, that the Fidelius can prevent. Only a Potter elf could do that."

Harry groaned in frustration. Hermione's idea had seemed so brilliant yet simple, his hopes had immediately soared, only to crash again.

Hermione put a hand on his shoulder. "Hang on Harry, we're not done yet."

She knelt in front of Kreacher. "Could you become Harry's Potter elf as well as his Black elf?"

Harry held his breath.

Kreacher deflated a bit. "If Master Harry wished it, I would."

"Would that let you find Potter Manor?"

"Yes, Mistress Hermione. The bindings of elf to House would require it."

Harry gave a whoop of excitement and gave Hermione a tight hug. "You're brilliant!"

"Hang on, Harry," Hermione said again.

"What? You found my home. Let's go."

"I think Kreacher is proud of being a Black elf. I don't think we should make him be a Potter elf if he doesn't want to."

Harry's excitement faded. "Oh. I'm sorry Kreacher. I just got excited."

"Of course, Master Harry."

"Well, if needed we can always try to find another elf. But I want to try something else."

"You have another way to find it? And the ministry says it can't be found at all?"

"Maybe. It depends."

"On what?"

"Well, I got to wondering why your family was in that little cottage to begin with. I mean, that might be fine for your mum, being non magical, and your dad may have been fine living there temporarily, but he's supposedly from a wealthy and longstanding family. I assumed it was their cottage, but not their only property, and Mr. Heatherington confirmed that. But I couldn't figure out why they would move from one Fidelius protected property to another, unless they didn't want anyone else in on the secret of the first Fidelius. Assuming Dumbledore cast the second Fidelius, and Remus, Sirius, and Peter were possible secret keepers, that implies that none of them were the secret keeper for the first Fidelius."

"Seeing as how they're all dead, it doesn't matter either way, does it?"

"Yes, well, that leaves only a few people I can think of. If it were anyone else, a friend of your parents, they should have stepped forward by now. I asked Ms. Longbottom, she couldn't think of anyone, dead or alive, that were as close to your parents as Sirius, Remus, or Peter. And knowing that you were born there and likely lived there a while, that just leaves your mum, your dad—"

"Who are also dead."

"— and you."

"What? They made me the secret keeper? How stupid is that? I was a year old. How am I supposed to remember something like that? Or tell anyone else the secret when needed?"

"Harry, calm down. Not the secret keeper. A secret keeper, there can be more than one, they just have to be assigned when the spell is cast. I assume your mum and dad were too."

"Who are still dead. I still don't see how this helps us. How can I know a secret I have no memory of? This is ridiculous."

"Humour me, Harry. Remember, we can still see if there's an elf that would like to join the Potter family. There are lots soon to become unemployed, or revert back to the Black family. You have to trust the magic of the charm itself. If you were the secret keeper, and you wanted to tell Kreacher and I, how would you do it?"

"Well, for this place, it was a piece of paper naming the place and where it was."

"True, but that was different because there was a lot under the spell; the Order of the Phoenix, the name and address of this place, even its very existence. And Moody wasn't a primary secret keeper, he couldn't tell you, he had to show you a message from the primary secret keeper. If you're a primary secret keeper, you're free to tell us."

"How can I tell you the address when I don't know where it is?"

"Start more basic."

"What, 'Harry Potter is the secret keeper for Potter Manor'?" Nothing happened.

"Pretend you lived there and wanted Kreacher and I to be able to visit."

"Hermione, this is stupid."

"Please, Harry."

"Argh, fine. How about 'Harry Potter lives at Potter Manor'?"

Harry could almost feel the small 'pop' of the knowledge springing into existence in his head. He suddenly knew where Potter Manor was. It came with a sense of being home, being connected. Vague memories of the smooth rails of a crib in his hands, sunlight and blue sky through large windows, splashing water into his own face during a bath, crawling on a plush carpet, the fibres squishing between his fingers, the absolute love and security of being hugged and rocked, came with it. He tried to sit down before his legs gave way, and missed the chair, landing on his bum on the floor. The emotions threatened to overwhelm him, and tears streamed down his face.

"Oh, Harry," said Hermione, kneeling down to hug him.

At the same time Kreacher held out his hand and said, "Would Master Harry like Kreacher to take him to his manor?"

"You can do that now?" Harry choked out.

"Of course. Master Harry told Kreacher the secret."

Harry took a deep breath to calm himself. "A secret I didn't know I knew. Damn effin screwy magic."

"Language, Harry," Hermione said softly.

"Sorry, Hermione. It's just so, so…."

"I know Harry. Would you like to go?"

"I'm all mixed up, Hermione. I want to. I'm scared to. I'm thrilled, excited, angry, nervous and a hundred other things all at once. It's what my life should have been, but wasn't. If my parents had just stayed there instead…. And what if it's all in ruins like the cottage, or not what I expected? Then I'll just be disappointed all over again."

"You can't 'what if' yourself, Harry. If your parents had stayed there, maybe Neville would have been the boy who lived, and eventually your parents would have ended up in St. Mungos. Or died later fighting for the Order. Or you died later, not being protected. Or a thousand other things. We can only go on from where we are with what we have."

Harry gave Hermione a tight hug. "Thanks, Hermione."

"Of course, Harry."

"And if I ever doubt you again, feel free to hex me until I come to my senses."

"Of course, Harry," she said again, this time with a small laugh. She stood and held out her hand, helping Harry up.

Harry held out his hand to Kreacher. He noticed Hermione was just standing with her hands wringing a little again. "Aren't you coming?"

"This is kind of special and private. I didn't know if you wanted me to come."

"Of course I do. I don't think I could do it without you."

She smiled a small smile. "Thanks, Harry." She held out her hand, and Kreacher took them away with a small 'crack'.

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They appeared on an old gravel road, weeds and grass growing tall down the middle, just outside a set of iron gates in a tall and thick brick wall. Ivy and other vines had taken over the walls. It looked wild and unkempt. The road continued through the gates, and a large house could be seen over and through scraggly tall shrubs and small trees. The lawns had turned into fields of tall grass, just now turning yellow and heavy with seed. Birds chirped and flitted from tree to shrub to grass and back.

"This is as far as Kreacher can take you, until Master Harry opens the wards."

"How the hell to I do that?" He looked at the gate. There wasn't a keyhole or anything. What was presumably the Potter crest was centred in the gate, split down the middle.

"Language, Harry."

"If I may, Master Harry?" Kreacher asked.

"What?"

"Place your hand on the crest and will the gates to open."

"Really, that's it?" he asked, putting his hand on the centre of the crest. He felt a sharp tingle in his hand and arm, and a pull in his gut, like a portkey starting to take effect, then the gate 'clanked' and cracked open. He pushed them open with a loud shriek of the hinges and they stepped through.

Kreacher took their hands and suddenly they were at the bottom of the front steps, before the main doors. They were thick and solid-looking wood, and did have a keyhole. Potter Manor stretched two stories up above them, left and right to matching wings that extended back towards the gate, forming a large courtyard. The entryway was thick with leaves and dirt, piled up against the wall and doors. Kreacher waved his hands and a small whirlwind scoured them away and dropped it all in the courtyard. Ivy had grown everywhere, obscuring the windows and walls. They could see grey stone on the first floor and brick on the second through gaps in the leaves. There were nearly a dozen chimneys, and windowed dormers under the stone tile roof. It was silent and lonely feeling.

Harry went to the door handles and tried to turn them. It was locked as expected. He pushed and pulled on the handles. The doors were as solid as they appeared. There was no tug of magic.

"We'll have to see if the key's in your vault, Harry."

"No! The goblins won't even let us in the bank yet, much less my vaults." Harry yanked on the handles harder. "I'm not leaving until I get into my house."

"Harry—"

"No!" he yelled, his voice cracking. He started kicking on the doors as he pulled and pushed on the handles. "I'm not leaving. I am Harry effin Potter, the last of the Potters, and this is my effin house, and I … WANT… IN," each word punctuated by another kick.

"Harry—"

Harry felt another sharp tingle in his hands and pull in his gut, and the handles suddenly turned. He pulled the doors open.

"Well, that must have been close enough," Hermione said quietly.

Harry stood with his head down, fists clenched at this sides. He sniffed, then ran a sleeve over his eyes. "I'm sorry, Hermione," he said, equally quietly.

She reached out slowly and pulled him into a hug. "It's okay, Harry. I can't even imagine what this is like for you." She held him for a minute. "Do you still want to go in?"

"Yes. No. I don't know."

"We don't have to. You know where it is now, and how to get in."

"No, it's all right. I need to." He paused. "Thanks for being here with me."

"Of course, Harry."

The house dark and silent, and smelled stale. A thick layer of dust coated everything. White sheets encased all the furniture and whatever was hung on the walls. The entry way was large and open, stairs leading to a surrounding balcony of the second floor. Kreacher waved his hands at the lamps on the walls, and they barely flickered, only a tiny flame appearing. "The house has been without a source of magic for a long time, Master Harry. It is nearly depleted. Fortunately there was still enough for the wards to recognise you as a Potter."

"Houses have magic?" Harry asked, before remembering what Grimmauld Place was like when they first went there. It did seem to actively attack them, but it also was weak at first. The lamps were dim, and only the one painting of Walburga was active. And Kreacher had been a pale and warped shadow of his current self.

"Yes, Master Harry. The house takes in magic from the witches and wizards that live in it. It runs the functioning of the house, the wards, runes, and charms. It also provides magic for the elves, and binds them to the house and family."

Harry looked at Hermione, who just shrugged and said, "Later." She was surprising him with her rather relaxed attitude towards elves. Harry tried to decide which way to go next. Halls led to the left, right and ahead, and up the stairs were similar choices. "Is there a library, Kreacher?"

Kreacher thought for a moment and then pointed to the right. "There, Master Harry." They stirred up little clouds of dust and left footprints as they walked down the hall to the right past several closed doors, then to the right again as per Kreacher's directions. At end of the short hall a set of double sliding doors let them into the library, which seemed to occupy the whole end of the wing, both floors. The smells of paper, parchment, ink, and leather were added to the dust. A fireplace was set in the end wall, stairs leading to the upper floor just to the right of it. Ivy-covered windows let in little streaks of light from the left and right walls as well as to each side of the chimney on the upper floor. Sheets covered all the shelves, several sofas, chairs, and small tables, as well as something large over the mantle.

"Kreacher, can you…?" Harry asked, waving his hand in tight circles.

"Of course, Master Harry." He waved his hands, and the sheets popped up, shedding thick loads of dust before folding themselves and settling in stacks on a chair. The curtains shed similar piles of dust. Another whirlwind started on the upper balcony, scooping up the dust around the balcony, down the stairs, all around the main level before scouring the hearth and disappearing up the chimney.

"Nicely done, Kreacher, thank…."

Hermione turned from her survey of all the books to see what had distracted Harry. He was staring at the large painting now visible over the mantle. She gave a small gasp and put her hands over her mouth. James and Lilly Potter, life sized, with obviously a baby Harry, stared back at her. Lilly was sitting in a chair in this very room, Harry in her lap. James stood just to the side, hand on Lilly's shoulder. The colours were slightly muted with age, but Lilly's hair was still a deep flaming red, and both her and Harry's eyes the startling green she knew so well. James' hair was just like Harry's, and the similarity of the James of then and Harry of now was truly striking.

Harry walked slowly up to the mantle and gripped it with one hand, staring at the painting. "Can they talk, Kreacher?" Hermione could hardly hear him.

"There are only traces of magic in the painting, Master Harry. Perhaps it can still be refilled."

"How does that work?"

"Just you being magical, and whatever magic you cast, will slowly provide magic for the house. The wards are already strengthening from your presence, as they take precedence."

Harry pulled his wand. "Expecto patronum!" he yelled, but Prongs failed to appear, just a white mist. "Expecto patronum!" he yelled again, his voice cracking, but Prongs failed to appear again. Hermione could see tears streaming down his face. "Expecto… expect…" Finally sobs overtook him and he couldn't say the incantation any more. He sagged to the floor, crying.

Hermione knelt beside him, and wrapped him in her arms. "Oh, Harry."

"Why, Hermione, why? Why does everything have to be so hard? Every time I get close to something good it gets taken away. I know you said I shouldn't 'what if', but it's hard. I thought finding this place would be a good thing, but I just feel worse. I could have grown up here with my parents. Why did they leave? Why did they have to die? I'm just so angry, I don't know what to do. I can't even find a happy memory to do the patronus charm."

"Oh, Harry. I'm so sorry. I don't know what to tell you. I can't make it easier for you. But I can, and will, help you through it. I promise." She held him until he stopped crying and his muscles relaxed.

"Thanks, Hermione."

"Of course." She helped him up and they sat heavily on the nearest couch, shoulders touching, Harry still staring up at the portrait of his parents. She sighed heavily. "But now I have a problem, Harry."

"Why, what's the matter?"

"Well, it's what I've been working on the past week."

Harry suddenly remembered Hermione's time researching. And that finding this place, as momentous as that was for him, was merely a small side issue for her. He felt a sudden sinking sensation in his gut, and wondered how bad this was going to be. "What?"

"I need you to promise to hear me out, Harry, and not get angry, or go storming off, or anything. Just follow me through, and then talk with me, please?" Her anxious look was back, and her hands were wringing again. It appeared to have become an unconscious habit over the past week.

Harry knew it was going to be really bad, now. But also pretty important, if it had her this worked up. The least he could do was listen. "Of course."

She sighed, relieved. "Well, its started during Lucius' trial. The prosecutor, Mr. Mitchell, started listing names of people that Lucius had bribed."

"Um, that's kind of his job."

"I know Harry. But in earlier trials, and earlier in Lucius' trial, it was always 'name the people that-' or 'who else did you-'. But now he was asking about and naming specific people. He never asked for more names. And all the people he asked about were already dead or captured, which is a huge coincidence. Huge. And given that Lucius was basically the Death Eaters' treasurer and main channel to the Ministry, he should have been a gold mine of information, but he prosecutor didn't get anything new out of him. Sure, he had Lucius confirm a ton of stuff, and everywhere else in the trial he had him his spill his guts, but for that one topic he changed his method, and I got suspicious."

"All this started because of questions he didn't ask?"

"I know it seems crazy, Harry, but stick with me. I talked with Neville's gran about the Wizengamot and the remaining members. They're down about twenty-five members now. Most of the ones who were firmly against Riddle are dead, and his supporters are either also dead or captured. So what's left are people in the middle, most of whom couldn't be bothered to take a side. And most of whom also voted to not prosecute or to acquit the Death Eaters that were brought before them the first time around. So I'm pretty sure they're bribable, and I'm pretty sure that Lucius is still protecting them, if not bribing them heavily again."

"You think he's going to get off again?" Harry asked, his voice getting louder the whole time and legs tensing to stand.

Hermione clamped a hand on his knee. "No, Harry, I don't. There's been so much other stuff brought up that there's no way he can be anything but guilty, and given the number of people he's admitted to killing, I'm sure he's going to be sent through the Veil. Any other verdict or sentence would cause riots in the streets."

"Hermione, I'm confused as hell. You're telling me Lucius is bribing Wizengamot members to find him guilty and sentence him to death? And that the prosecutor is helping him? That was going to happen anyway, why is he spending money to make sure?"

"You have to think like a pureblood, Harry."

"What?"

"What's more important than anything to someone like Lucius, Harry?

"Killing anyone who's not 'pure'?"

"More important than that."

"Ruling the world?"

"Close—"

"I was kidding Hermione."

"But you're close. Why does he want to rule the world and kill off everyone he thinks is unworthy? What was he going to do once he'd accomplished that?"

"I dunno, sit back on his piles of gold and torture muggles to amuse the grandkids that Draco and Pansy popped out?"

"Exactly."

"What? Hermione, I was really kidding with that one."

"Harry, to a pureblood nothing is more important than the family line. Who your ancestors were, and who your descendants are going to be. Not pure enough, you're blasted off the family tapestry and kicked out of the family. The goal was to take over the world so he could hand it over to Draco and his grandchildren, a nice pure 'mudblood free' world to run as they saw fit in perpetuity."

"I… that's…. holy shit. I never thought that far ahead. They were just the bad guys and needed to be stopped. But now that you put it like that, it makes total sense. But what's that got to do with bribing the Wizengamot?"

"Whose trial is left, Harry, the last one left?"

"Draco."

"Precisely. All this is to get Draco off, to continue the family line. Narcissa already was found innocent, setting precedence. She wasn't marked, didn't actually kill anyone, and inadvertently helped you destroy Riddle at the end. It was close, but she's free. I don't know if that had to be helped by bribery or not. Draco does have the Mark, but he didn't actually kill anyone that we know of to get it. He let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, but the only person that killed anyone was Snape, and we, and everyone else, know why that happened. Dumbledore thinking he could be redeemed is going to help him a lot. And all through the battle, he didn't kill anyone.

"His defence is going to be 'yeah I'm a marked Death Eater but since I was so piss-poor at it I should go free'?" Harry asked, incredulous.

"Basically, yes. I'm sure the vote will be close, but I think he's going to be found not guilty. At worst he'll be fined. Things will settle down, and he and the rest of the pureblood bastards are going to get away with it. Twenty, thirty years from now we're going to be right back here again. Who knows what the Malfoy's have squirrelled away? If it's not Draco and his friends it'll be their kids. We need a way to take them all down, every single one of them, and in such a way that it can't be refuted."

"And Mitchell's in on all of this?"

"He has to be. He's done a brilliant job in all the other trials, and is otherwise shredding Lucius to pieces. He's building immense credibility, and there's even murmurs of him becoming the next head of the DMLE or even Minister of Magic after Kingsley. No one would suspect him of throwing a case or taking bribes, he's 'singlehandedly' put all the surviving Death Eaters away."

Harry leaned back and thought. "Hermione, this has to be the craziest thing you've ever come up with. I can see why you think this, but it's all based on a question the prosecutor didn't ask. This is worse than my suspecting Draco because he wasn't bothering us. There's no evidence at all, is there? How are we going to get anyone to believe us"

"No, there isn't, unfortunately. But you were right about Draco then, weren't you? The only other thing I've got is what Lucius looks like before he takes the veritaserum."

"What?" Harry found himself saying again. Hermione seemed to be determined to derail his mind.

"How's he look, Harry?"

"Calm. Like he took a calming draught."

"I checked. No other potions allowed, so that there can be no doubt about the veritaserum."

"So maybe he's just resigned to his fate."

"Lucius would never 'be resigned' to anything. He's a pureblood elite, better than all the rest of us. He'd be smug, or sneering, or angry, or disgusted by the lesser beings around him and the blood traitors thinking they could judge him. But not calm. The only reason for him to be calm is that he has a plan…," she paused.

"…and that it's going well."

Harry found had to agree.