A/N: There are a few things that I should say about this story: firstly it is supposed to be silly. Secondly the idea behind it is that the wealth Harry has, and the titles in fanfiction, must come from somewhere. What if there was a reason other than simple luck behind the fact that James and then Harry were the last heirs of an old and rich family? There is a lot of OOC behaviour in this. You will notice as the story goes on that I have played about with the chronology here and there, I am afraid that you will simply have to live with it, imagine this if you will as a parallel world to the official Harry Potter Universe.
There is a strong possibility that Sirius would have been a more convincing choice for this, but you know what? I don't really care.
If anyone wants to write a better version of this please do, just let me know so I can read it!
Kind Harts and Potters – An Homage to Kind Hearts and Coronets
A full account of his actions by James Potter
Style, taste and sophistication are the marks of a wizard of breeding. Morality is not. Morality, my late great uncle once tried to explain to me when I was unfortunately little more than three, is the affectation of those too ill-bred or poor to have better things to do with their time. I believe that he considered himself something of a mentor to me as he also tried to explain that to seek social approbation was at best the mark of a a weak man who wanted to be dictated to by sheep. I believe that these statements, which at the time I did not fully comprehend, were partially the cause of the rift which left my parents and I adrift and without familial ties, and unfortunately with only a modicum of wealth. I cannot exclude my own mother from any blame however, as I think her desire that I should follow my father into Gryffindor, despite the wishes of my more distant relatives soured relations between them.
It was not that that we were poorly off, but I still remember my father's gloom at the estrangement and my own at the lack of adventures through the spacious halls of my more distant relatives, rather than the three bedroomed cottage of my parents. Nevertheless, my early childhood was perfectly enjoyable. I spent my days entertaining myself in the same way as any other young boy, when freed from the tedium of my mothers lessons in mathematics, English, music, etiquette and family history, as well as some minor aspects of magic. Whistling, playing and flying with those friends Godric's Hollow provided me were my main pursuits. We may pass over the remainder of my youth in a few brief sentences. I went to Hogwarts. I fell in love. I left Hogwarts. I joined the war effort. My parents died. That, in a sense, should have been the end of it, and yet …
I am getting ahead of myself should however, have begun by introducing myself, I am James Potter, husband to Lily Potter, currently last scion bar one of the Potter family. I am the man about whom this tale centres, and this tale is the account of how I murdered my family and became one of the wealthiest most powerful purebloods of modern times.
What I did I did not do for pleasure, or out of some sense of justice. The first would have been tawdry, the second disturbed. Instead I may frankly admit that I murdered simply because it was my only means of striking at those who represented the people who had thrown out my friends, ostracised my lover and ultimately looked down upon me. I will offer no excuses as to how my actions supported Dumbledore, or how I did it for the greater good, they would be lies. I did what I did for revenge and money, however gauche that may seem.
The idea first truly crystallized when I was standing by my parents grave. It had been a quiet funeral, Sirius, Remus, Peter, and of course Lily, my wonderful Lily, had all been there. They had left me alone to say my farewells. For a few moments I gazed down at the coffins. They seemed so small and so very far away, banished to this charming if insignificant graveyard by our estrangement from wealthier relatives. I had been brought up in the same manner any other pureblood child, properly educated in my family and past, and the thought brought to mind the family tree. There were, all told, six Potters left in this world who stood before me as head of the family, and recipients of the fortune which I might justly consider mine. The thought so inappropriate for the time and place shocked me, but in doing so it made a lasting impression. Any thoughts of what I might do to the relatives who had practically broken my father's heart were pushed aside as Sirius came to stand beside me, his face solemn, it was the only time I have ever seen him cry.
Thus, it was not until sometime later, that opportunity put me in a position to realise those ideas which had been but mere fantasy ...