Chapter 3 : Taking Stock

I do not own Harry Potter

Author's Notes :

1) Very belated, but Happy New Year!

2) HP/DG it is.

3) Yes, in this story Harry has a hint of legillimency like Tom Riddle did.

Diagon Alley

Central London

August 29th, 1992

Molly was a little hesitant at first, but I was eventually allowed to travel to Diagon Alley by myself, but only after countless reassurances that I would not stray from the main streets.

After pronouncing 'Diagon Alley' with EXTRA precaution, I found myself stumbling out of the floo portal into the marketplace and landing rather unceremoniously, my baseball cap pitching off of my head as my hand barely managed to save myself from falling teeth-first.

Even before I bothered to dust myself off, I put my cap back on. There were a few things I needed to get done today, and I'd rather my entire trip pass discreetly. I was wearing a black windbreaker over a white t-shirt, with matching white sneakers and a pair of light-blue jeans, all of which I'd bought during my recent trip with the Weasleys. I'd wear the rags my relatives gave me in front of them, but occasionally, I'd invest in apparel; Dudley's hand-me-downs clung onto me like elephant skin.

I'd put on something more formal, but one, I didn't have any formal or semi-formal wizarding attire, and two, I was trying NOT to draw attention, and a five-footer in a shirt and tie wasn't what I'd consider tactful, given the circumstance.

Looking up, the Westminster Tower dominated the London skyline with sleek glass windows. Recently inaugurated as the centerpiece of the 'Wizarding London Business Park,' was my first stop; the 'order' of the Wizengamot Gringotts mailed me the other day was a 165-page legal document beyond my understanding, leaving me with no choice but to seek legal counsel.

As I walked, I couldn't help but notice that even on an ordinary day, Diagon Alley dazzled with magic and commerce. The cobbled streets were teeming with wizards and witches, weaving through the labyrinth of shops. The air carried the scent of freshly brewed potions, and the colorful glow of storefront displays captivated my attention. Perhaps it was the dullness of my past, but seeing the bustling marketplace still brought a smile to my face.

Adjusting my baseball cap again, I approached the building, getting greeted by a tastefully designed interior. The lobby, with polished marble floors reflecting warm lighting from the enchanted ceilings, housed a rich oak reception desk. I could roughly see the usual 'rustic '-ish designs of the Wizarding world combined with muggle minimalistic setups as I hurried across the lobby.

Mumbling a greeting, I walked past the receptionist and queued for one of the lifts, surrounded by strangers who either didn't notice or didn't care about an unsupervised child in the building.

As the lift doors opened on the ground floor of the imposing skyscraper, I pressed 24 and positioned myself in a corner, leaning against the wall. The lift stopped twice before my stop, on the latter of which I was joined by a man who initially gave me a double take, but quickly rearranged his expression. Smiling at me, he walked up next to me.

"Good day, young sir. Are you lost by any chance?" he asked in a kind voice.

"Not lost" I smiled back at him, not sensing any condescension, but still carefully obscuring my face from his view. "Just have some business on one of these floors."

"Of course, I meant no affront," he said reproachfully "Just-" he waved his hand in front of me.

"I get it, yeah. You saw an unattended child and asked if he was lost... you're the first one in this place, actually" I dipped my head in acknowledgment.

As the brief exchange concluded, I couldn't help but take a moment to analyze the man's appearance. He was dressed in fine dark robes, and an air of affluence surrounded him like a second cloak. I couldn't help but wonder to myself where I might know the man from. The features on his face seemed vaguely familiar as if I'd seen him in a photograph.

"Floor 24"

"That's me" I shot him a half smile on my way out, still wondering where I knew him from.

That muse was put on the back burner as I arrived at the offices of Bailey, Dalton & Thicknesse.

Mr. Weasley told me this was the firm my family had on retainer, and even if its name had changed a little since Potter House last employed its services, my grandfather trusted Alistair Bailey, who I'd found out had since become the Managing Partner.

I contacted Gringotts about the retainership, and found that they had received no official communication of its termination by the firm, so for all intents and purposes, they were still my lawyers.

But of course, I couldn't use the retainership account.

It was on Tom's advice that I wrote to Bailey directly. I thought it was a rather absurd idea; me, a second-year student hailing a professional who'd been practicing over three times longer than I'd even been alive.

I was surprised, then, to receive a reply the SAME day. It was then that I acknowledged that Gringotts had replied within the next day both times too.

That, Tom explained was the weight of my name... The Potter brand, a 2000-year-old legacy, of which I was now the sole survivor, bolstered by my fame, as reluctant as it was. I was on the top of Magical Britain's social hierarchy, and that came with its benefits, one of them being priority. Most of society had an insatiable thirst for social climbing, which, for me, translated into unconditional predisposition.

I didn't approve of such behavior, but if that meant less corporate red tape and bureaucracy, I wasn't going to complain about it either.

"Mr. Potter?" the receptionist asked as I approached her desk.

I'd be surprised how she recognized me, but then again, how many 12-year-olds was she expecting today?

"The Boy-Who-Lived!"

Shooting her a smile, I inwardly rolled my eyes.

Although, at least she had the sense to not scream it and bring out the entire office.

She produced a photograph from under her desk. It was me in my Gryffindor jersey holding up a golden snitch as the rest of my teammates clapped with the raucous Gryffindor stand in the background.

This was from my first Quidditch match!

"My sister attends Hogwarts!" she whispered excitedly upon my questioning look as if that was enough to explain how she got such a perfect shot.

'Were there cameras at the match?' I wondered as she handed me a marker.

A subtle wave of embarrassment washed over me as I heard her squeal when I signed the photo, but it was nothing compared to Dedalus Diggle nearly having a stroke when I told him I remembered him shaking my hand, and I was able to keep my smile.

"Sir Bailey is ready for you" she informed me "his office is right down the hall"

"Thank you" I curtseyed before walking in the direction I was pointed to.

As I walked down the hallway I could see Sir, as I'd just found out, Bailey's office through the glass door. The glass wall had been made opaque with an intricate pattern I couldn't decipher, giving the room a sense of privacy despite its transparent surface. I approached the door and gently pushed it open, immediately revealing the centerpiece of the office was a large, ornate desk crafted from polished wood. Behind it was Sir Bailey, sitting in a high-backed leather chair, wearing a quintessential black-and-white robe adorned by lawyers. As he caught sight of me, he rose from his chair, a genuine-looking smile lighting up his face.

"Ah, Mr. Potter, welcome," he greeted, crossing the room to extend a hand in a warm welcome. "It's an honor to have you here. Please, come in."

I shook his hand, feeling a sense of both formality and warmth in his greeting, though considering he was an attorney by profession, I supposed he affected all his clients. Gesturing toward the seat, he walked with me back to the plush chairs in front of his desk, me taking in the surroundings of his office as we made our way to his desk.

Sitting down, I had a better view of his workstation. It had one of those glass lecterns that people placed their reading material on, with several exotic quills and an inkpot, some stacks of documents and folders, including a black one titled 'Critical'.

"Not entirely coincidentally, that happens to have a copy of what you wanted to discuss today" the old barrister spoke.

"I'm sorry, that was rude... it's a poor habit of mine" I flushed. I've gotta stop doing that.

"No harm done, Mr. Potter" he gave a short laugh "But allow me to acknowledge, you are a striking image of your father, save yo-"

"-my mother's eyes" I blurted reflexively.

"I see I'm not the first to tell you" Bailey gave a short laugh as I had the decency to look sheepish, "I only ever met Mrs. Potter once...but her eyes were an unforgettable, most striking shade of green, matched only by your own, the Heir Apparent"

Being an heir came with various prefixes – apparent, presumptive, primary, secondary, and so forth. However, under the current rules of succession, an individual was not considered the "official" heir unless formally designated as such. Many privileges and responsibilities associated with heirship were only fully enjoyed by officially designated heirs.

An officially designated heir held significant powers, acting as the official representative of the house in various capacities. For instance, they could enter into honor duels or negotiations, and any consequences following a defeat were binding on the entire house. The heir functioned as an extension of the Lord or Lady, and crucially, they could temporarily assume headship in the event of the current head's absence.

Consequently, a house would refrain from designating an heir until the child demonstrated sufficient responsibility.

I was still a toddler by the time anyone able to make that decision passed away, hence, my status as just the Heir Apparent, one I would retain till I came of age.

"Also, feel free to call me Alistair, you are my client, after all," obliged the aged lawyer. The barrister shot me another one of his steady smiles before his face morphed into a grave expression.

"Please, call me Harry, Sir Bailey," I said distractedly, as he began "I was astonished when this first came through" Bailey signaled to the order.

"What does it all exactly mean?"

"You may have noticed I refer to you as 'Mr.' and your mother as 'Mrs.' Potter, rather than your titles" began the counsel "That's because your father refrained from executing his father's will, consequently forgoing the assumption of the lordship after your grandfather's passing. Lord Charlus' passing occurred during a tumultuous era of war, and James, finding himself on the front lines, opted to avoid potential coercion that could jeopardize the family's interests. He deliberately maintained a position of powerlessness, going so far as to relinquish his heirship."

"So even if he got captured" I surmised

"The House would be safe." completed Alistair "A lot of heirs did this back in the day, they simply chose not to ascend."

"But it got complicated once my parents died?"

"Right" nodded the counsel "Now, House Potter was down all and any adults, with no active stewards. All that was left was an infant heir, and that traitorous Regent" he practically spat.

My ears perked up at those last words.

Regent? Traitor?

"My family had appointed a Regent?"

Alistair seemed taken aback. "You are not aware".

It wasn't a question, but a statement.

He took a sip of water and then rubbed his chin, deep in thought, as if contemplating where to start. "Are you aware of what a Fidelius Charm is?" Bailey said eventually.

I shook my head. "Very well" the lawyer cleared his throat "It is an immensely complex spell involving the magical concealment of a secret, for instance, a location, inside a single, living soul. The information is hidden inside the chosen person, or Secret-Keeper, and is henceforth impossible to find — unless, of course, the Secret-Keeper chooses to divulge it."

"Our Regent was made secret keeper of my parents' hiding place, I'm guessing?" I said neutrally, keeping my bubbling anger in check.

Alistair nodded. "As long as the Secret-Keeper refused to speak, You-Know-Who could search the village where Lily and James were staying for years and never find them, not even if he had his nose pressed against their sitting room window."

He didn't need to say it. My parents were betrayed by someone they trusted very much.

"Who?" I asked quietly

"A man named Sirius Black, he was once your father's best friend."

Sirius Black.

I recognized the name. It was in the letter I got from Gringotts the day before yesterday.

"Where is he now?" The letter made it apparent he had not died, or else I would have inherited his estate.

"Azkaban Island. It is the most stringently guarded prison in Britain" he elaborated at my questioning look.

Then why did he make me his heir?

"He was caught the very next day" continued Bailey "Out to kill Peter Pettigrew, another one of your father's oldest and most trusted friends."

"Did he succeed?"

"Yes" he answered gravely "...he did. Blew up an entire street, in the muggle world, no less, killing 12 others. His spell was so vicious all that was left was poor Pettigrew was his finger."

I swallowed involuntarily. Even for Dark Wizards, that was exceptionally brutal.

"How did they catch him?"

Bailey folded his arms, as a frown appeared on his face. "It's... bizarre, to say the least. The Aurors - magical lawmen" he explained for my benefit "arrived at the street and found him hysterical with laughter on the crime scene, repeatedly mumbling how he'd "killed James & Lily". Some reckon he was showing remorse for his appalling actions, others theorize he was too distracted by his bloodthirst for Peter that he miscast his dark spell and was concussed as a result of the blast, while a few say there was no specific reason, he was simply insane... whatever the case, he was given the harshest punishment possible, and deserved no less."

"Good."

'At least he was punished' I consoled myself, my focus shifting to a distant point on the floor.

The turmoil within remained hidden behind a stoic facade, a silent pact I made with myself a long time ago, blinking back the threat of tears, choosing the solitude of my thoughts over the risk of exposing the raw emotions that lingered beneath the surface.

"Harry, I do not know why all of this was kept from you" Alistair broke the silence eventually, "All I can say offer to you my futile condolences, and express how sorry I am for the many tragedies that have befallen you and your family."

Bailey's words were kind, but they did not reach his eyes.

I was quickly getting the feeling that his entire act was for the sake of his prospects, and nothing more. His courtesy and supposed kindness were to win my favors so that I may continue paying him what a reasonable guess told me was a very large sum.

It was one of my gifts, I guess.

For as long as I can remember, I could just tell when someone was being untruthful or insincere. For the most part at least.

I don't know if it was at the behest of magic, or just a knack, but my instincts rarely ever failed me.

And right now, they were screaming that Bailey was far from what he was appearing to be.

...

'He's your lawyer, not your uncle' a voice suspiciously like Tom's echoed in my head.

"At least I know now" I replied, a little throatily still, but mostly composed. "...I know you have an extremely busy schedule, so please, continue"

"Very well" he nodded, and I could swear I saw him breathe a very faint sigh of relief at the prospect of not having to handle a crying child "So, with no one deemed competent to manage the affairs of the house, the Ministry seized control through this Executive Order, freezing you out of the picture till you came to be of age. The crux of this tedious document, however, is one singular line."

Pausing, Bailey opened his copy of the order and turned to a flag he'd placed somewhere in the latter part of the papers, before handing the folder over to me. Glancing at the page, I saw a highlighted line.

"Usufructs shall be appropriated as per the provisions of the Succession Act, 1675."

"THAT is the Ministry's incentive in all of this. As per the Succession Act, if the Ministry is administering a family's assets temporarily, it is entitled to the 'fruits' of such assets - such as rent, or dividend. As someone who has seen your books, I can tell you it is a substantial amount."

"So, the Ministry was after my money?"

"I'm afraid there's a broader agenda at play," came the succinct response. "A select few in the Ministry actively advocated for the passage of this order. Its implications go beyond a mere financial impact—it effectively stagnates your net worth. Over the next 15 years, while your coffers remain static, others will see their fortunes grow. As per my estimations, your family is no longer among the ten richest entities in Britain. With five years left until you reach your majority, the situation is projected to worsen. You will undoubtedly still possess a fortune, but relative to your peers at the top, you'll find yourself less affluent."

"Less money means less clout"

"Smart boy" nodded my lawyer.

Bailey continued chatting to me for a few more minutes, but by then I'd lost interest, having already staked out his motives. Politely making conversation, I left for my next stop.

I needed some time to digest everything my lawyer had dropped on me before diving into the complexities at Gringotts. So, instead of heading straight to the bank, I decided to make a trip to the South Side of Diagon Alley, at Twilfitt and Tattings.

The bell above the door chimed softly as I entered the familiar wizarding clothing store. The atmosphere felt oddly comforting amidst the recent upheavals in my life.

I'd put off this particular indulgence for far too long—a proper shopping spree.

When I was here with the Weasleys, I refrained from splurging on new clothes. Mindful that they were being stretched threadbare, literally, given the second-hand Hogwarts robes they'd bought, it didn't seem appropriate.

Now, however, I was on my own.

Not knowing too much too much about fashion, I walked straight over to the Personal Shopping section, and into the office of one 'Rachel Green', who transitioned from confused to delirious as I took my cap off.

"Harry Potter!" she beamed. "Oh, this is amazing! The Boy Who Lived, right here in my office!"

"That's me." I nodded with my usual (what I hoped was) friendly grin "And I need some new clothes."

"Well, you've come to the right place!" said the bubbly girl "Let's start with your preferences. Any specific style or color you lean towards?"

I shrugged, realizing I hadn't given it much thought. "I'm not really sure. I guess something comfortable for everyday wear, maybe a couple of formals for special occasions?"

"Oh, I know just the colors!" she exclaimed after giving me a once over, running into the back without a warning.

...Leaving me outside.

"Step right in, Mr. Potter!" she eventually exclaimed.

She began setting down piles of apparel and after one point, I gave up on counting how much I'd be spending.

In my defense, I had about 4800 Galleons to spend with only 3 days left before the Trust Vault reset, so...

Casual wear took center stage with a collection of slim-fit jeans in varying denim shades, offering both comfort and style.

I was young, and I wanted to dress young.

Rachel's keen eye led us to graphic tees with subtle designs, striking a perfect balance between laid-back and trendy. Cozy hoodies in neutral tones were added for those casual outings or cool evenings, ensuring warmth and comfort.

While there was no immediate need, we transitioned into the realm of formal attire, since I had a total of zero formal clothing that fit me.

Tom had made me conscious about my appearance.

It wasn't just about dressing for the sake of fashion; rather, it was a matter of upholding my family's dignified image they had cultivated over the years. My parents and grandparents had carried themselves in a certain way, one that reflected not only their characters but also the prestige of my House. And they didn't give up their lives to watch me dress like a pauper for no reason.

Some may paint that, as well as my choice of store, Twilfitt & Tattings rather than Madam Malkin's, as elitist, but to me it was another way of feeling just that little bit closer to my family, at least I could practice things they doubtless would have taught me.

After purchasing some sleepwear, I was surprised to find that the store housed a Quidditch selection. While only the school could issue me official match jerseys, I was at liberty to purchase training jackets and tracksuits, along with additional gear such as gloves, shin pads, and goggles.

We hurried through accessories and footwear because by then I was saturated with the wardrobe overhaul I'd just done, but I still walked away with a healthy selection of sneakers, boots, socks, and wristwatches.

Before walking out, I decided to buy something for the Weasleys. They'd been hosting me for several days now, and it'd be ungrateful of me if I didn't get something for them, especially if I was actively out shopping.

Once I'd picked out something for everyone, I finally proceeded to checkout, only just realizing it had been nearly 2 hours.

After a walk back to the North side of the Alley, and for the first time in nearly a year, I sat in front of my account manager.

Tom had advised me to keep the contents of the letter quiet, to make sure I got the full picture 'without any prejudices'. I agreed.

Draco Malfoy, Slytherin's resident git, had enlightened me about the Black family is an old family set to pass on to him through his mother. Admittedly, that was more or less all I knew; that they were an 'Ancient and Noble' House like mine, with many of its members having sided with Voldemort during the last war, and Ron had spared no words in describing the family as 'evil' and 'dark.' Interestingly, following Tom's insistence on tracing my family tree, I found out I was also related to them; my grandmother was born Black.

Tom maintained that revealing the details of the inheritance from the Blacks was unwarranted, particularly given my limited knowledge about it. His philosophy, rooted in a transactional and hyper-pragmatic mindset, emphasized avoiding the sharing of information without a clear purpose.

While I found his thinking somewhat cold and his paranoia excessive, I reluctantly agreed, at least for now. If only to sidestep another one of Ron's passionate rants against the nobility.

There wasn't much for me to discuss with Barchoke, and we sat mostly in silence before another goblin emerged from his floo portal. It was hard to tell how old goblins were, this one seemed notably older. Mumbling a gruff greeting in gobbledygook to his colleague, he paused his eyes at me analytically.

"Mr. Potter," he said eventually, extending a... paw in greeting, which I shook formally. "Your race would address me as Ripfang, and I am the Account Manager for the Black Family Assets"

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Ripfang, feel free to call me Harry."

Giving me a grunt, the meaning of which remained unclear, in reply, he sat down to the side of both me and Barchoke. Clearing a section on my manager's desk, he set down an ordinary muggle briefcase and procured a peculiar-looking sheet and what looked like a compass.

"Press your finger here. It'll take a drop of blood. Need to make sure you really are Harry Potter"

I did as asked, feeling a pinprick against my index finger.

"These days they call it a character sheet" offered Barchoke "Puts out whatever record Gringotts has on you."

Satisfied, Ripfang procured a letter and handed it to me. "I had instructions to hand it over to you, in person when you came to Gringotts."

"Why didn't you give it to him last year?"

"Because I wasn't notified he was here" the goblin rumbled in his familiar irritated, no-nonsense voice "Went down to Reception and found out he was simply 'Rubeus Hagrid +1 for Vault 648' on his pass, which he then used to come see you."

"What's it about," I asked curiously

"No idea" shrugged Ripfang "Left to you back in 1979."

1979.

I wasn't even born until July of next year. At best, my mother was a few weeks pregnant.

There were only two people whom I could reasonably guess wrote to me as members of House Black - Sirius and Regulus.

As I tore the envelope open, I discovered it was the latter.

To the Potter heir,

I hope this letter finds you well. You might be surprised, and rightfully so, to hear this from a publicly known Death Eater, and that too before you were born, so perhaps an explanation is in order.

I'll start with the obvious question.

Why am I writing to someone who isn't even alive?

Because you are now my best hope. My best hope at making sure my family's fortune and knowledge don't fall into the wrong hands.

The truth is, I made a grave mistake by joining the Death Eaters. I have seen it for some time now. I took the mark at the age of just 16 when I was an impressionable schoolboy misled into joining a movement I did not fully understand. I believed I was fighting for my identity. However, It became apparent that his purported belief in mindless blood purity was a mere façade. The Dark Lord didn't subscribe to such an ideology. Instead, he strategically projected it to manipulate those who held influence and could finance his war effort. Yet, a chilling reality looms – once their usefulness wanes, he is prepared to cast them aside, extinguishing their lives without a second thought.

The DEs themselves are nothing more than brutes. Once believed to be a force for a cause, revealed their true nature as savages. Witnessing the ruthless killings, particularly the senseless murder of an innocent Muggle-born family by my cousin Bellatrix, shattered any illusions I had about the so-called movement.

Within the Progressive faction, there exists a movement advocating for ancient families to relinquish their permanent seats and open up our family libraries and artifacts to the broader world. I find myself vehemently opposed to this proposition. Throughout history, it has been the ancient families who have consistently emerged as stalwarts for the betterment of the State and its protection. We carry the weight of this privilege because we bear the responsibility of safeguarding the State and its interests. The ancient families willingly contribute a substantial premium annually, considering it a 'privilege' to not only uphold social balance but also to preserve the delicate natural equilibrium. Our collective efforts are dedicated to the conservation of magic itself, a sacred duty referred to as 'Magicis Statera.' Attempting to articulate the intricacies of our role in maintaining the magical flow is a daunting task, yet it is crucial to emphasize that without the vigilant guardianship of the ancient families, the earth would have succumbed to an unending desert long ago.

Moreover, considerations of Trade Secrets and the broader concept of secrecy are not confined solely to the wizarding world; they exist in the Muggle realm as well. The acknowledgment of this reality is imperative, as it underscores the necessity of maintaining confidentiality within our magical society. While it is regrettable that individuals outside our esteemed families are unable to access certain tomes, this restriction is, in my eyes, neither very harsh nor so restrictive to stop anyone outside the family capable of becoming a great wizard. Moreover, the term 'family libraries' may misleadingly conjure images of vast bookshelves filled with extremely rare tomes. In reality, their number is limited, and the majority of our books can be found in the wider world, albeit with varying degrees of accessibility. The preservation of certain magical knowledge is not about hiding away entire fields of magic but rather about safeguarding specific subjects that demand a heightened level of responsibility.

It is this that I sought to protect. But what began as a quest to preserve the identity of the Wizarding World and my family's legacy devolved into a militaristic allegiance devoid of any political nuance. I am not a monster, merely a fool. I am not a Pureblood Supremacist, but a Magical Republican. And I wish I had not driven away my brother Sirius, who was only trying to protect me.

My brother brings me to the original question. What does this Saint Paul-like conversion have to do with you?

You will need to know some of my family's history. Sirius' beliefs are completely different from the rest of the family. When one takes into account the fact that most of us were bigoted propagandists, you can imagine how life must have been for him. While my grandfather ensured peace, upon his passing the family began to fall apart. My mother lambasted and harangued him to the point that he fled the house the summer before his sixth year. My father watched on... and so did I as my mother then successfully swayed my father to disown my brother. I was made the Heir, but with no Sirius, I fell fully into the extremism of my mother's ideology and cut myself off from my brother even when we were at Hogwarts. Her venomous thoughts continued to poison me long after her death sometime after I took the Dark Mark.

It was only upon my father's passing that I began to question the choices I had made and the legacy I was now burdened with. As the Lord Black, thrust into a position of unforeseen authority, I sought to reconcile with Sirius, only to be met with rejection. It was then that I discovered the profound significance of your connection to this family. During our confrontation, he claimed the Potters were his true family, and that he had agreed to become Godfather to James Potter's son.

That is the key to our connection. In our family's parlance, becoming a child's godfather means doing the godparent ritual. It means the wizard or witch doing the ritual is considered as if you were their own child. I need you to understand the significance of this - Sirius has essentially made you his first-born.

While I cannot expel someone from the family without reason, nothing precludes me from unilaterally, and without notice recognizing someone related in blood and/or law, whatever the status of their predecessors may be. The sins of the father cannot be heaped upon the son, and Sirius' expulsion or renunciation has no effect on your status as a Black if the Head of Family so pleases.

And so I, Regulus Arcturus Black, as is in my authority as the Lord Black, am choosing to recognize you as the scion of not just Sirius Orion Black III, but also of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black.

And so I, Regulus Arcturus Black, the Lord Black, do recognize and proclaim you, Harry James Potter-Black, as Heir to the House Black.

If you wish, the legacy of my family is now yours to shape, howsoever you wish to, its prestige and dignity yours to protect, and its knowledge yours to peruse.

The family charter is quite an interesting document, and I think you will find the rules regarding an 'In Absentia Domini' most interesting.

I will also burden you with a grave secret - You-Know-Who has created a Horcrux. I cannot explain it perfectly, but it is basically a 'soul container', a vile object housing a fragment of his soul, ensuring his immortality. I have uncovered the location of one such Horcrux, concealed within a remote seaside cave in Manningtree, Essex. There may be more, but this remains speculative.

If you find this letter, I may have succeeded in stealing and destroying the Horcrux. A follow-up letter will guide you further. If not, go to 12 Grimmauld Place, the seat of the Black family, and seek out Kreacher, my loyal house-elf. He will have crucial information. If he is gone, regrettably, return to the cave.

Let my tragedy stand as a poignant reminder that your actions carry consequences and may this letter serve as a beacon of guidance in your arduous task ahead. I wish you the strength and wisdom to face the challenges in the fight against He Who Must Not Be Named.

Regulus Arcturus Black,

Lord Black

"I- I'm... not sure where to start" I murmured as Ripfang and I sat down in his office, with Barchoke being allowed to sit in on the meeting on my authorization.

My status wasn't known to the Ministry yet, but the goblins never had much love for wizarding government and proceeded to give me full access.

Official communication left by Regulus, made accessible to Ripfang only after he delivered the letter to me confirmed he wished to assign me as his heir. However, this also meant that the Goblins didn't know about the Horcruxes, since only I had read the letter.

Horcruxes. Even thinking of the word made the bile rise in my throat. I hadn't even heard of the word until today, but if Regulus was correct, it was far from light magic.

'Well, at least we can explain how he's still alive.'

"Heir Black!" a voice brought me back into the real world. I looked up to see Ripfang staring over his spectacles, a puzzled expression on his wrinkled face.

"You okay, Harry?" inquired Barchoke.

"Yeah, sorry" I mumbled "Just... a lot to take in... please, you were saying?"

'One thing at a time. I'll deal with the bloodthirsty dark wizard's guarantees of immortality later'

"As the Heir Black, you are entitled to a status report on the family" offered Ripfang

It was simply mind-boggling. Regulus had declared me as the heir even before I was born.

It gave me power for which frankly, I was not ready.

"Let's start with all Blacks still alive," I said rubbing the bridge of my nose.

"Of the Blacks still alive" started Ripfang as he turned to a page on a ledger and handed it to me.

'The logbook' I realized.

Sirius Orion Black III, Age - 21, Status - Alive, Spouse - None, Children - Harry Potter, EXPELLED (1975), RENOUNCED (1975).

Bellatrix Lestrange, Age - 28, Status - Alive, Spouse - Rudolphus Lestrange, Children - None.

Andromeda Tonks, Age - 26, Status - UNKNOWN, Spouse - Theodore Tonks, Children - UNKNOWN, EXPELLED (1972).

Narcissa Malfoy, Age - 24, Status - Alive, Spouse - Lucius Malfoy, Children - Draco Malfoy, Last known location - Malfoy Manor, Weybridge.

Sirius Black was in jail, as was Bellatrix Lestrange. Narcissa Malfoy was still married to Lucius Malfoy, and all three of them were untrustworthy as far as I knew.

But who was Andromeda Tonks?

As I consulted the goblins for information, it unraveled that Andromeda was the second of the 'Black Sisters', comprised of Bellatrix, herself, and Narcissa. Sorted into Slytherin akin to the rest of the Blacks, her story took a dramatic turn when she defied the family's rigid beliefs by marrying a Muggle-born, Ted Tonks, leading to her expulsion from the Black family, subsequent to which she went into hiding.

Throughout the tumultuous period of the war, Andromeda's fate remained shrouded in mystery. Conflicting rumors and hushed speculations filled the air, one day announcing her tragic demise alongside her husband, and the next suggesting her active involvement in missions with the Order of the Phoenix.

It was only after the war that conclusive evidence emerged affirming not only her survival and well-being but also the birth of her daughter, Nymphadora. Remarkably, Nymphadora resurrected the dormant Metamorphmagus ability within the Black lineage after generations of dormancy.

"If I were you, I'd start by getting her on your side" suggested Ripfang

"Huh?" I replied eloquently

"A lot is coming your way, Harry" explained Barchoke "Mountains of paperwork, for starters. The Blacks have always had a lot going, and if you claim your heirship, you are going to start turning a lot of gears... deals, negotiations, politics... and this is before you even consider the target it will paint on your back"

Mountains of paperwork. Deals. Negotiations. Politics. The gears of a colossal machine, suddenly thrust into my control. My head spun, the enormity of the change finally crashing down.

"Respectfully, kid" Ripfang's voice, gravelly and direct, pierced my daze. "You don't know shit." No argument arose from my parched throat. His was a brutal truth, one I readily swallowed. This inheritance, this legacy, it was a tsunami that had swept me up and dumped me on a foreign shore. Fear, mingled with a strange excitement, gnawed at my insides.

What do I even do now?

"Start building your team, start involving people whom you can trust while you're still young and who are capable of handling all this."

"The Tonks can tick both those boxes" advised Ripfang "Just find a way to make sure they're loyal to you."

A straightforward option presented itself—extend an offer of membership to her. However, there was the obvious doubt: would she even desire to reclaim it after two decades? Moreover, why hadn't Regulus done so during the war?

Perhaps his limited acquaintance with Andromeda before the war or her concealed existence during that tumultuous time played a role in this omission. Alternatively, one wondered if Tonks, like Sirius before her, had declined the offer. If such a refusal occurred, the mystery deepened as to why she had not officially renounced the family, akin to Sirius's bold choice.

Questions swarmed, a frantic colony buzzing in the hive of my mind. A meeting, that was the only way to know. But how? Secrecy, whispers danced in the shadows. Did magic have its NDAs? And then, the most urgent question – what would I even say? This decision, couldn't be made alone. Tom, he needed to know.

Ripfang tossed a leather-bound tome onto the table. "Black Charter," he muttered, his eyes glinting with something akin to respect.

I flipped the pages straight to the In Absentia rules.

"In the absence or inactivity of the Head of Family for a continuous period of 5 years, the Heir Primary may assume Acting Headship of the family, and be governed by the Rules prescribed herewith."

There it was, in the black and white letter. I was the Acting Head of House Black, I realized with a dizzying lightness.

Ripfang, ever the pragmatist, cut through my reverie with a gruff, "Right then, kid, let's talk about the coffers."

Numbers, figures, I could wrap my head around those.

Ripfang launched into a torrent of figures, jargon I barely understood. Government bonds, liquidity, dividends. Each word bounced off my skull... "gazumping" and "yield curves." My eyes glazed over.

"Economics," I muttered, more to himself than Ripfang. Another item on the ever-growing list of skills I desperately needed to acquire. "Is there, perhaps, a magical equivalent to a financial advisor?"

A chuckle rumbled from Ripfang's chest. "Maybe not an owl in robes, but there are folks whose trade is this specific business. A Steward may be a good option for you."

Finding a steward. Another item on the list.

After a 'briefing' that lasted nearly an hour, I was completely saturated.

"That's enough for one day, son," Ripfang remarked in a surprisingly soft voice "Go home"

Couldn't agree more.

Slipping on my Heir's ring, I dazedly walked through the expansive marble corridor that led to the general area of the bank, my mind still swirling with the weight of newfound revelations.

'Horcrux... Whatever it is, I don't think I'd be able to - '

OOOMPH!

As I approached the exit, a sudden collision jolted me from my thoughts.

Turning, I found myself facing a little girl who seemed to have materialized from the shadows, her tear-streaked face a poignant contrast to the polished surroundings

Reacting on instinct, I reached out to steady her by the shoulders. "Are you lost?" I asked softly, receiving shrill yells demanding me to release her in response. Ignoring her protest, "Are you safe?" I asked firmly.

Before she could answer, a man rushed onto the scene. Relief washed over his face as he exclaimed, "Thank Merlin!" He swiftly reached for the girl, wrapping her in a protective embrace, whispering what I assumed were comforting words as the little girl's cries began to subside as she clung to who could only be her father.

Momentarily caught off guard, I found himself face to face with the man from the lift earlier in the day.

Recognition flashed across his face as his thoughts echoed mine.

"Ah, I believe this is not the first time our paths have crossed, yes?"

"I was about to say the same" I chuckled as a woman and another girl hurried over, concern etched on their faces. The older, with an air of authority, approached me. "Thank you for helping," she said, her eyes searching my face.

"No problem" I responded, keeping my cap low "Is everything okay?"

"It will be, but thank you for your concern." The man from the lift sighed, before extending his hand "Benedict Greengrass."

'So that's why he seemed familiar!' I exclaimed inwardly. Benedict Greengrass was a well-known businessman who'd recently been appointed as an Advisor to the Ministry Planning Commission alongside other prominent businessmen and academics.

As I shook his hand, Benedict turned to the two women beside him. "This is my wife, Elizabeth, and my elder daughter, Daphne. And, of course, the little escape artist you just rescued, Astoria." He chuckled, ruffling Astoria's hair, who had now calmed down.

"No trouble at all. Nice to meet you, Mr. Greengrass." I nodded and began to walk away.

"Wait!" Benedict's eyes held a mix of gratitude and relief as he spoke "You might have just saved my daughter from running out into the streets and getting lost," he began, his voice carrying a weight of appreciation. "You know, in today's world, it's not easy to find folks who'd take a moment to lend a hand. People can be pretty caught up in their worlds. So, what you did for my daughter back there, stopping her from heading out and who knows what else, well... that was something. It's not every day you see someone stepping up like that, especially for a kid. It got me thinking about how things have changed, you know? How helping each other out seems to be slipping away. So, thanks, really. You showed a kindness that's getting rarer these days."

"No prob-"

"Please, allow me to thank you by joining us for dinner, it's the least I can do."

I hesitated for a moment, I still had a bookstore to visit, but exhaustion weighed me down.

In any case, there was enough material at the Burrow that I could wait a couple of days, and I could always make a quick stop when I met eventually the Tonks.

That... and the prospect of dinner after a long day seemed inviting, and making acquaintance with a person like him prudent given the predicament I'd found myself in "Sure!"

"Excellent!" Benedict exclaimed before chuckling, "You know, it would be a pretty boring conversation if we don't even know who we're talking to. Besides, I'd like the chance to thank you properly. Show me your face, if you're comfortable."

"Oh, of course-" I began but was beaten to it by the only person in the hall who would not have to look downwards to speak with me.

"He's Harry Potter, of course!" piped up Astoria, as everyone did a simultaneous startled glance.

Their expressions shifted from casual amusement to intrigue, however, when no objection came from me.

"Well my cap wouldn't shield my face from someone shorter than me, would it?" I laughed

"Try a mask next time" quipped Benedict as we shook hands again. He was amused but I could tell he was also intrigued. I moved to formally introduce myself to Elizabeth, who smiled cordially as if to say 'I understand'. Astoria was bubbly and told me how she'd heard stories of my 'courage' from her friends over the summer.

Last, I came face to face with Daphne. She was much more reserved than her sister, but her eyes conveyed no lesser intrigue. She extended her hand straight, which I twisted into a handshake; realizing a second too late I was meant to kiss her knuckle, as was etiquette, rather than shake it.

A small snicker escaped her lips at my realization of my faux pas, "Nice to meet you, Mr. Potter"

"You too, Gr- Ms. Greengrass" I corrected myself.

As we began to walk, Astoria enthusiastically recounted stories from my "mental" first year at Hogwarts, however, I couldn't help but notice Daphne's thoughtful gaze. There was a distinct curiosity in Daphne's eyes, an unspoken language of a million questions begging to be asked. Recalling that she was also in the same year as me, I wondered how I had seemed to her from that side of the spectrum - Slytherin House.

Truth be told, I knew little about her. She maintained a quiet presence in class, only occasionally speaking to ask or answer a question, and I had never spotted her at a Quidditch game. Ron had never mentioned her involvement in the Chess Club, her name had never surfaced in the Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry. A diligent learner, her commitment appeared more out of duty than passion, as if she navigated the hallowed halls of the school with a sense of obligatory detachment. It was as if nothing at Hogwarts had managed to capture her attention.

Until now.

I knew I'd caught Daphne Greengrass' attention, and I'd be lying if I didn't say she hadn't just caught mine.

Extremely delayed because of an unexpectedly tight schedule, but the next chapter is here.

First interactions between the main ship, hope you liked the start. We'll pick up where we left off in the next chapter!

That's all for now, see you all next time!