Chapter 4: The Lines in the Sand

Their drive up to London was largely spent in silence. Hermione had turned the radio on, but with both occupants engrossed in their own thoughts neither could've been relied on to say whether they had been listening to AC/DC or U2.

For Harry, the imminent meeting heralded the end of something. It left a never-ending, empty pit in his stomach he couldn't seem to crawl out of. It wasn't that the will reading would make Sirius' death all the more real. It was damn real enough for him as it was, thank you very much. He'd not only lost his godfather, the only father figure he'd ever really had in his life, but the hope he had been holding onto for the last two years. It was the death of a dream. The dream of a happy life outside of Hogwarts. Ever since Sirius made the offer to come live with him in Harry's 3rd year he had always considered, perhaps naively, that it would only a matter of time before it came into fruition. He'd have a family, however small, that cared about and loved him and actually wanted him around, a family to come home to on holidays. It never seriously occurred to him that Sirius might not be around to make it come true.

What now? He'd never felt more alone in his life. He still had Moony he supposed, and he knew he could always count on Hermione and Ron to be there for him, but that was different. They had their own lives to live, with their own families. Well, it seemed that last part may no longer be the case for Hermione, he considered.

He looked over at the girl in question and saw she was worrying her bottom lip the way she always did whenever she was preoccupied. It occurred to him that that what he was feeling must be nothing compared to what Hermione was going through. She had had a happy family life up until recently, and now nothing would ever be the same for her. People she thought she could trust had betrayed her in the most fundamental way possible, she had admitted herself that she hadn't quite forgiven them for what they'd said.

Hermione, on the other hand, was uselessly listing the pros and cons of what she was about to do. She had to do this, it was just a matter of being prepared for it. This was the first solid lead she had found in regards to her birth parents but she was trying not to get her hopes up.

Still, after they'd read Sirius' will she would explain her circumstances to this Mr. Campbell and ask about any sealed wills from 14 years ago. If nothing came of it, she reasoned, she would be no worse off than she was now. However, if Callahan, Campbell & Kingdom had indeed handled her parents' will, then she could be on the brink of discovering the answers to the questions she's had for the last six years. It was all so potentially life changing. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably at the unbidden thought.

Oh, crap, she thought, her hands tightening in the steering wheel to stop them shaking. It only served to set Harry's teeth on edge as the car wobbled slightly.

By the time they entered London Proper both their nerves were torn to shreds, though each refused to let it show for the other's sake. Luck, it seemed, was on their side and they managed to secure a parking space a little ways down the road just as its previous occupant, a young, harried looking man, pulled out of it. It wasn't a long walk down to office building, but it might as well been eternity for the nervous pair.

They stopped a moment outside the stone building to collect themselves. Hermione took a quiet breath, needlessly smoothing out her white top before turning to Harry and saying quietly, "Ready?"

He shook his head, staring up at the building's shining beige facade and decorative black bars with a look of dread. Hermione did the same, standing patiently beside him, hands folded in front of her.

A few seconds passed.

"You ready?" she asked again.

This time he nodded, taking a deep breath and walking up the steps. Hermione followed, her hands unconsciously clenched around her bag's long strap.

The interior of the building served for making them forget their nerves momentarily. It was like walking into a time warp. In place of the cold, stuffy atmosphere they expected of a law firm, they found a lobby that looked as though it belonged in the 1920s. Geometric light fixtures hung from the ceiling all along the hallways and lobby, bathing the room in a soft light and reflecting off the polished marble floors. A large chevron pattern was stamped on the gold lift doors and sconces, and sitting atop the elevator shaft, a brushed chrome sunburst framed the floor numbers. It looked to Hermione as though it could be the setting for one of Fitzgerald's stories, just what she'd always imagined a 20s New York hotel to look like.

The woman sitting behind the lobby desk looked up at their arrival. She was young, probably in her late-20s, Hermione guessed. She sat very erect in her seat, a rather stark contrast to her hair, which was pulled into a casually loose bun, pieces of honey blonde hair framing her face. Her sharp gray eyes considered them curiously, though not unkindly.

"Morning. Can I help?" she asked curiously.

"Hello. We're looking for Mr. Ian Campbell. Could you direct us to his office, please? He's expecting us shortly," Hermione replied politely.

"Oh, you must be his eleven 'o'clock," she said with a surprised smile, "His office is on the top floor, end of the hall. Just turn left getting out of the lift and you'll be alright."

"Thanks," Harry said with a small smile, making their way to the gold lift.

"Good luck!" they heard the receptionist call after them as the lift doors slid closed.

"It'll be fine," Hermione intoned suddenly, and Harry nodded, though he had a feeling she was talking to herself more than anything.

The lift jerked to a stop and the doors opened. They did as they were directed, but as they passed an intersecting corridor Hermione stopped short, leaving Harry to do the same beside her.

"'Mione, what is it?" He looked down the corridor in question curiously.

Hermione turned to him with troubled eyes and gestured vaguely toward the corridor.

"I - D-Did you see - I could've sworn -" but she seemed to shake herself suddenly, "No, nothing. Nothing, never mind. It's impossible."

She turned on her heel and began walking more briskly than before and Harry followed, wondering what the hell had just happened. They soon found themselves face to face with a large set of double doors and an onyx name plaque:

Ian Campbell, Esquire

Sr. Partner

After a moment's hesitation Hermione knocked on the black double doors firmly, shaking her hand out beside her as pain rippled through her knuckles.

"Enter," a deep voice called from within.

They shared a fleeting glance before Harry grasped the ornate gold doorknob and twisted. As they walked in their eyes were automatically drawn to the large desk that stood in front of a set of panoramic windows overlooking the quiet street below. The man behind the desk was aged. He had a slim frame and a lined face that spoke of a tumultuous life, a pair of glasses were perched low on his angular nose as he observed them over their rims. All these characteristics together lent him a look of frailty that Hermione felt sure did not exist. For, framed by a rather bushy set of eyebrows, his pale blue eyes belied his years and looked more lively and sharp than those of most people she knew. And these bright eyes were focused on her, regarding her, and then Harry, in an almost alarmed fashion.

"Er, hello, Mr. Campbell. I'm Hermione Granger and this is-"

"Mr. Harry Potter," Mr. Campbell interrupted, seeming quite normal once more. "Yes, I've been expecting you, though I wasn't entirely sure you would be here given all the excitement yesterday. Come in and take a seat."

He gestured toward the two plush, leather chairs opposite his desk and Harry and Hermione sat down, backs straight, feeling far too tense to sit back.

Mr. Campbell smiled slightly at their unease, "Relax. It's not as though its your wills we're reading," he chuckled shortly, but neither of his guests joined in, "Sorry, a bit of gallows humor. Find it helps sometimes..."

"No, it's alright, Mr. Campbell. You have to understand that all of this has come as a bit of a shock to us is all," Hermione said, gesturing between her and Harry, "We didn't even know Sirius had a will, let alone we were in it."

"Ah, I see. And this is a fairly recent loss, yes, I see. Well, we shall endeavor to get through this quickly then, eh? Rip the plaster off and all that?" he said kindly, and Harry and Hermione nodded and added as an afterthought, "Oh, and do call me Ian, my dear. No need to be so formal."

"Only if you call us Harry and Hermione," Hermione said with a smile, already comfortable with the grandfatherly gentleman.

Ian laughed, "Very well, Hermione." He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a thick file, laying it open on his desk. "Now, before we begin, do you have the medallions?"

They both nodded, retrieving them from their pockets and placing them on the desk. Ian opened yet another drawer and this time retrieved what looked to be an unusually long fountain pen. His wand. How clever! Hermione thought. He tapped each medallion, waiting for the answering green sparks to emerge from the little pendants before nodding, satisfied.

"Right, all in order there. Can't be too careful these days," Ian remarked grimly. He lifted the first page in the file slightly and cleared his throat. Beside her, Hermione could practically feel the tension that had built up in Harry and placed a hand on his arm.

"I, Sirius Orion Black, being of sound mind, do hereby declare this to be my last will and testament.

Upon my death, I hereby appoint Harry James Potter and Hermione Jean Granger and no others as the executors of my estate and business.

Control of my estate and the Black family title shall pass on to Harry James Potter effective immediately, granting him the full powers and privileges they entail, including his immediate emancipation. It's the least I could do for you now, Harry.

Harry inhaled sharply and Hermione gripped his arm, smiling sadly over at him, happy, but not surprised. She'd had feeling Sirius'd have something like this up his sleeve.

Well, now that the formalities are out of the way, I feel I should start off by saying I'm sorry. If you're reading this, then I've gone and gotten myself killed before you came of age, Harry, just as Molly always warned me I would. On the upside, at least I've been spared her tongue-lashing and the endless days of 'Now, what did I tell you!' Maybe there is a god!

Both Harry and Hermione gave a watery laugh at that, knowing full well it would've been the reality.

I know this has come as a surprise to you two, especially you, Hermione. And I know it isn't fair of me to put this on you, either of you, but there are very few people left in this world that I well and truly trust and, for reasons that will become clear, you're all I have left. Apart from Moony, of course.

Now comes the really important bit. Along with the deeds and bank information, I've enclosed two letters for the pair of you. Read them, and burn them.

As for the rest, I've left a detailed list of who gets what and all that so don't worry yourselves over that. Harry, the rest is for you to do with what you will, though I have included a few suggestions, and, if I know Hermione, she'll have more than a few ideas of her own. Listen to her.

Everyone always says life is short, but they're wrong, at least in my case. And you of all people know these last years have been less than happy for me, so don't mourn me for too long, eh? Just know that I love you, Harry. You can't imagine how much I regret not being able to be there for you again, not being there to help you through the dark times ahead. And I shudder to think of the dating advice you'll get from Moony!

Harry, Hermione, not everything is as it seems. Be safe, and stick together you two. And Hermione, look after him for me. I know he can be as pig-headed as Ron sometimes, but if anyone can talk some sense into him, its you.

Hermione put an arm around Harry's back, rubbing small circles as he tried to hide his silent tears, while she whisked away her own tears, sniffling quietly.

"But why us? Hermione and I are still underage. Why didn't he name Remus as his executor?" Harry managed to choke out at length.

"That, I am afraid, is the work of the Ministry. Werewolves, and other beings considered 'half-breeds' can accept an inheritance, but they cannot hold the position of executor under any circumstances." Ian replied quietly.

"But why? Being a werewolf hasn't got anything to do with anything. It's not as if executors only go about their business during the full moon or something, do they!" Harry exclaimed, outraged on Remus' behalf.

"No, no they don't," Ian chuckled. "The issue is more politically driven than anything, Harry."

"You mean the Ministry's afraid that if they gain that amount of power over 'pure wizards'' legal affairs, they could eventually amass enough social and political power to rise up against them," Hermione ventured, wiping away an errant tear.

Ian nodded. "Precisely. The Ministry has enacted any number of laws to prevent 'half-breeds' from ever gaining even a modicum of the rights and wealth afforded to full wizards. Power and money, my dear, is within the grasp of very few, and the Ministry would much rather it stayed that way," he was silent for a beat. "And as for age, you must keep in mind that the Wizarding World is very different from the Muggle, particularly where family legacies are concerned. They must carry on no matter the circumstances. But enough of that," he pulled out a long piece of parchment from seemingly nowhere and sliding it across to them, "By signing this you accept your roles as executors of the Mr. Black's estate, and affirm that you will carry out his last wishes to the best of your abilities."

Harry picked up the elegant pen without a second thought, while Hermione scanned the long document briefly before doing the same. Before the ink even had a chance to dry properly, the parchment glowed white, at which Ian hummed in satisfaction and rolled it up once more.

"And now," Ian said, pulling out another, shorter parchment, "Harry, if you would sign this, it will complete the will transfer control of the Black estate and title to yourself, thereby releasing you from the care of your guardians and allowing you to perform magic without restriction."

Harry fairly lunged at the document, pen poised, and neither Harry nor Hermione could find it in themselves to suppress their joy when the document glowed. He was actually shot of the Dursleys!

"Letters, bank statements, deeds and everything else that comprises the Black estate is in this folder," he slid the inch and a half thick folder toward them. He took one look at their shocked faces and quipped, "Yes, one would think being wealthy would entail less paperwork, but alas..."

They shook themselves from their stupor with weak smiles and Hermione tucked the enormity of their task into her grey satchel.

"Actually, I have a few rather pressing questions of my own, if you don't mind?" The elderly man bowed his head slightly for her to continue, a smile pulling at his mouth at her formal address, "You see, I've recently found some evidence that suggests my birth parents may have been one of your clients. I don't know whether they were Wizards or Muggles, but I was wondering if there was any way of finding out who they were?"

Ian's eyes widened marginally at the request and once again he was scrutinizing Hermione carefully, searching for something. What, she had no idea, but it appeared he had found whatever it was a few seconds later.

"Tell me, what do you know of the Le Feys, my dear?" Ian inquired.

She stole a peek at Harry from the corner of her eye, obviously confused by the turn in the conversation but replied nonetheless, "They were an old, predominantly dark family dating back to the times of Merlin. There're a lot conflicting views of Morgana Le Fey, the most recognizable member of the family. She was said to have been King Arthur's half-sister, but her true alliances are still a mystery factually speaking. Most of her life has been obscured by legends and speculation. Some accounts herald her as a healer, others as Merlin and King Arthur's enemy. Whatever the truth may be, the line of Le Fey ended nearly a century ago and - Oh! Oh, you're not serious!" Her face was the picture of shock. "B-but that line died out!"

Ian raised one bushy white eyebrow in subdued amusement at the young lady, "Now, now Miss Granger, you obviously have a very sharp mind. You must realize that very few bloodlines ever truly end. Most marshal on, perhaps not as directly as they once did, but some trace of the original family blood still persists, however diluted."

"Hang on. You're saying Hermione is the Le Fey heir - er - heiress?" Harry jumped in, unable to hold back any longer.

Ian nodded.

"But you can't be certain, surely!" Hermione replied shrilly, a hint of panic beginning to creep into her voice. A descendent of one of the oldest dark Wizarding families? No! Not happening, not bloody well possible, NO! I am not one of those inbred bigots like Malfoy! He's wrong. Simple as that. Oh god, what if he's not?

Ignorant of the turmoil currently rolling through her mind, Ian smiled warmly at Hermione, "I am sure you noticed my rather odd reaction upon meeting you both today. While Mr. Potter here is likely quite used to being the center of attention when he walks into a room - however unwillingly - it was Miss Granger who felt the brunt of that particular burden on this occasion." His smile turned sad, wistfully even. "Now it comes out, after all these years. You see I once knew a young woman. Yes, I know that may come as a surprise to you, I suppose your generation views anyone over 35 as quite decrepit, as mine once did." He chuckled merrily as he watched Harry squirm slightly at being caught out. "Now, this young woman was exceedingly stubborn and outspoken. A fault, some would call it, but those closest to her viewed it as an asset, she was steadfastly loyal to those who proved themselves worthy and stood by and defended her principles unflinchingly." His smile dimmed, "Perhaps a little too fearlessly. She was a witch, you see, the daughter of one my father's clients, and a very close friend of mine from childhood.

"And now comes the answer you have been awaiting so patiently, Hermione. As you may well have guessed by now, this is the reason for my peculiar reaction when you entered my office earlier. You are the spitting image of your grandmother my dear, it is almost as though it were she who stares back at me now.

"Cora had a daughter, she and her husband were killed during the first war. They had a child. A girl, barely two, and she went missing the night her parents died. Nobody ever found out what happened to her. One of the biggest mysteries of our generation."

Hermione shook her head numbly. "Y-You still can't be sure..."

Ian smiled mysteriously at her denial and shook his head genially, "No, I cannot be absolutely sure."

He walked over to the ornate cabinet that stood adjacent to his desk, quickly unlocking it and retrieving whatever he was searching for. The basin he placed before them was small, but intimidating, curved, black spikes protruding from all sides and acting as pseudo-handles. Hermione and Harry eyed it curiously.

"A bit foreboding, I know. It's something of a novelty to us actually, an innovation from one of our younger associates, Alastair Dunstan. Very promising lad. It uses blood magic - nothing sinister," he promised, seeing the look of trepidation that crossed their faces. "These runes here connect it to our filing system containing all our magical clients' wills. This simply uses your blood to find a match based on genealogy. It's come in great handy where sealed wills are concerned." He looked at Harry curiously for a moment, "Actually, we recommend all our clients to try it, helps us clean house so to speak."

"So, do I just-" Hermione gestured at the device nervously.

Ian's eyes snapped back to her, "Ah, yes, yes! Simply touch your finger to the tip of the prong inside. It's made of purified obsidian, very sharp, it'll do the trick."

Hermione extended her finger and breathed deeply. You can do this. You HAVE to do this! Oh, just DO it!

She felt the skin break before she had even properly pressed her finger to the spike, drawing blood in an instant. The next second, three files materialized in mid-air and fell to the desk with a thunk that made everyone but Ian flinch in surprise.

Hermione stared between the files and the basin curiously. She studied the basin more closely, peering at the runes as though they might come to life and explain themselves, and Harry had to bite back a laugh. Only Hermione would ever let her thirst for knowledge get the better of her at a time like this.

"This is amazing," she marveled quietly, "Incredibly advanced. I'd like to meet whoever designed this, it's brilliant!"

Ian caught Harry's eye, sharing an amused smile before clearing his throat quietly.

Her head shot up and suddenly the enormity of what was about to happen settled back into her stomach.

"Right, sorry. Shall we?" She fidgeted with her bag, twisting the thick leather strap one direction and then another as Ian flipped through the three folders. Suddenly, Harry's larger hand landed gently on her own fidgeting ones and she looked over at him. He smiled reassuringly, giving her hands a small squeeze and Hermione felt herself relax fractionally. She smiled minutely, inclining her head in silent thanks.

"Ah! Yes, this is the one."

And she was in knots again. Ian noticed and hesitated. Cora's voice suddenly floated through his mind, mingling with the memories of that dreadful day, 'Just give me the facts, Ian, only the facts.'

"Would you prefer we only focused on the practicalities today, my dear? Just a general overview and some paperwork, just the facts. Then you can look through the rest later, in private."

Hermione nodded, most of the tension leaving her shoulders, and she smiled shakily at Ian in gratitude. Ian smiled gently, Every bit like her grandmother.

"Your mother's name was Alexandra Astley née Walsh, only child, she worked for the Ministry in the Department of Experimental Magic. Your father was Mason Astley, one brother, deceased, worked for the Ministry as an Auror. Your parents registered you as Addison Irene Astley," he paused and glanced up to see how Hermione was taking all this and found Harry doing the same. She seemed a bit shell-shocked, but nodded for him to continue. "Your parents left instructions that both the Walsh and Astley vaults and estates, as well as the Le Fey estate, be passed directly to you as early as your eleventh birthday in the event of their deaths."

He retrieved a tiny envelope from the back of the packet and slid its contents into his hand before presenting them to Hermione. Hermione took the delicate ring and examined it silently. It was beautiful, the delicate dark grey band was engraved with the words numquam obliviscar which elegantly twisted around the band whose sharp edges curved almost seductively onto the flat, square onyx stone perched atop the ring. Her attention returned to the engraving.

"'Never forget'," she said quietly and looked up in question. "Whose was this?"

"It was last worn by your grandmother and by her mother before her. It's the Le Fey family ring. Traditionally, these rings are worn by the head of the family and imbue them, quite literally, with the authority and prestige that comes with the title. By placing this ring on your finger, you accept your birthright and inheritance."

Hermione felt her hand shake slightly at the pronouncement but doggedly steeled herself and slid the heirloom onto her right ring finger. She jumped, startled by the warm tingle that seemed to spread from the ring itself as it tightened comfortably around her finger, apparently accepting its new owner in return.

"What happened to me that night? Why wasn't I killed along with my parents?" She asked quietly.

"I don't know. Cora search for years, she never found so much as a trace. All we know is that you had to have been taken away from your parents house at some point during the attack. Cora had been at the house only an hour or so earlier, and then, suddenly, you were gone and your parents dead."

"Who killed them?" There was a hint of repressed anger in her tone as she asked the question.

"Death Eaters. Sent by their master to eliminate the last of the Le Fey line. The Le Feys have a rather storied past you see, you were right in saying that it was a predominantly dark family, the more direct descendants that remained certainly were. That is, until some 80 years ago, when Lisbeth Mallory, the last of the line's direct descendants died and the estate and title was passed on to your great-grandmother, Eleanor. It was the dawn of a new age for the Le Feys, it marked the end of their dark ambitions and practices."

"So they were killed for ruining the family name and letting all that power go to waste," Hermione exclaimed, angry tears pooling in her eyes.

"In a manner of speaking," Ian replied somberly, "As I said, your grandmother was always very outspoken. It was widely known that she vehemently opposed Voldemort and his followers, their vision for the future. Voldemort had knowledge of the Le Fey family, of their former legacy, and he saw the change not only as a betrayal, but a weakness. A sign of how far the family had fallen by, as you put it, my dear, letting all that power go to waste. Cora never forgave herself for what happened," a lifetime of sadness seemed to come down on him now.

"He killed them over a matter of pureblood pride," Hermione said in disbelief, all the anger drained from her.

"It would appear so, yes. However, another theory might be that, in ending the Le Fey line, Voldemort had hopes of gaining their legacy somehow. They are an ancient family after all, who knows what secrets and powers they had managed to amass through the centuries. Well, he was certainly disappointed on that count wasn't he?" Ian smiled sadly, sliding over the three folders, which Hermione mindlessly tucked away as a million questions began rolling around in her mind. Ian turned to Harry abruptly. "Your turn now, Harry!"

"Me? But-But why? I mean, I already know who my parents are!" Harry sputtered in surprise, pushing away from the desk as though it might eat him.

Hermione looked over at him in alarm, startled out of her thoughts while Ian appeared to be keeping his laughter in check at Harry's reaction.

"Yes, Harry, and they were one of our clients as well. But I'd be willing to wager that you've never seen your parents' will, have you?" Harry shook his head thoughtfully and Ian frowned, "No, I thought not. Well, go on then, Harry, won't hurt a bit."

Hermione observed Ian's reaction with unease, and was left with a whole new set of questions.

No sooner had they popped into her head than a new stack of folders materialized and dropped to the desk with a thump! As Ian shuffled through them, Hermione and Harry shared a look of bewilderment. This was getting odd, first Sirius' vague warnings, then Hermione's mysterious disappearance as a child and now this. What was going on?

Ten minutes later Hermione was maneuvering three more folders into her bag and Harry was wearing the Potter ring, an intricate gold band with a blood red stone, on his right hand.

"So, this firm works around the Ministry, right?" Hermione remarked, wrestling with a stubborn corner of a file.

"Yes, we're what you'd call a private sector security firm for Muggles and Wizards alike. Our clients are mostly high profile or wealthy individuals desirous of safeguarding their private dealings from the Ministry. That's not to say of course that we are entirely out of their purview. They still have the ability to seize any property that is not claimed in the case of unsealed wills. However, as a private firm, we do not often find ourselves obliged to reveal any of our clients' other private matters to the Ministry."

"But, doesn't that mean that using Gringotts would be out of the question? The Ministry can monitor their transactions. Wouldn't that defeat the purpose?"

"It would if we used Gringotts," Ian said slyly. "But, of course, we don't. We use Barclays."

Harry and Hermione did a double take.

"Sorry, you did say…" Harry started, baffled.

"Barclays, yes," Ian confirmed calmly. "We've been doing business with them since my great-grandfather started this firm. They have a Wizarding department that handles all our needs tucked away in their international division, all very hush-hush. Only ask to speak to the Director of the Foreign Financial Advisory Board, they'll be expecting you. Our system is tied into theirs."

"Another innovation from, Mr. Dunstan?" Hermione ventured, to which Ian simply smiled. Hermione shook her head ruefully. "I really must meet him sometime."

"I'm sure we could arrange that," Ian replied with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. He stood from his plush chair and Harry and Hermione followed suit.

"Now, you two let me know if you have any questions about any of this," he said warmly and turned to Hermione, "And as for you, my dear. When you're ready, come see me. I have more than a few tales of your parents that will make you roar with laughter."

Hermione smiled gratefully and she hugged the kindly old man.

"Thank you," she whispered sincerely.