TITLE: Blood Calls

AUTHOR: Eledhwen

PAIRING: SS/HP, SS/Lily, mild RW/HG and SB/RL

RATING: PG (for now)

FEEDBACK: Please! angel_eledhwen@hotmail.com

DISCLAIMER: JKR's, not mine.

SUMMARY: Harry finds out

NOTES: Sequel to What Magic Binds. (http://www.sockiipress.org/~luthien/snapeff/archive/what.html) Thanks to my betas, Goddess Harlot and Medea for making sure that I don't look a complete fool…

ARCHIVE: Anyone who wants it, just ask.

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Chapter 1: Legacy

Two months before Harry's birthday, a month before he was due to leave school at the end of his fifth year, he was greeted in the morning by a house-elf. He was informed that Dumbledore wished to see him immediately after breakfast. Harry acknowledged the message and frowned thoughtfully to himself. He couldn't think of anything he'd done recently, and he'd spoken to the Headmaster only a few days earlier.

The only major result of Voldemort's plan to kill Harry this year, at least to Harry's mind, was the proving of Sirius' innocence. Although Wormtail had escaped yet again, Harry was now free to live with his godfather. He was rather enjoying the novel experience of looking forward to the summer.

He ate quickly, feeling Snape's eyes on him as usual, but didn't bother looking up as he sometimes did. He knew that by the time his head came up, the man's eyes would be anywhere except on him. Honestly, if it weren't Snape, he would have thought that the man was, you know, interested in him. But that thought was just too ridiculous for words.

After he'd eaten, Harry made his way to Dumbledore's office. Another change over the past year, that. Harry was now provided with the appropriate passwords, as he invariably ended up kicking the gargoyle at least thrice a year otherwise. He knocked, and entered at the Headmaster's welcome.

Dumbledore wasn't alone in his office - a goblin sat in one of the visitors' chairs, holding a large black bag. Harry blinked at the unexpected presence, but addressed himself to the Headmaster.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes. Have a seat, Harry. Mr. Holdfast would like to speak to you."

Harry sat, and waited expectantly.

"Mr Harry Potter, son of Mrs Lily Potter, neé Evans?" questioned the goblin, his tone indicating that he clearly knew the answer, but was required to ask it. Harry merely nodded in reply.

"Your mother left some items with us, to be given to you shortly before your sixteenth birthday, should she be no longer living at the time." Here, the goblin paused and indicated the bag. "If you will accept it, our responsibility for it is ended."

"Er, yes," replied Harry. His mind wasn't exactly on the goblin any longer; he was far more interested in the bag and its contents.

Realising this, the goblin turned to Dumbledore. "I have nothing else to do here. If I may request some Floo powder, I will be getting back."

"Certainly." Once the goblin had left, depositing the bag beside Harry's chair, Dumbledore turned to Harry and attempted to gain his attention.

"Oh, sorry sir," came the eventual response. "I was, uh, thinking. Did you know about this?"

"I have to say I didn't. However, you have a lesson soon. I'll have it taken to your dorm."

"Yes sir." Harry repressed a sigh. But it, whatever it turned out to be, had waited almost sixteen years, he supposed it could wait a little longer. After all, he certainly couldn't afford to miss a lesson, what with O.W.L.s starting very soon – after the weekend to be exact.

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Lessons over, he hurried to Gryffindor Tower. Hermione had naturally organised an intense review schedule for the three friends for the last three days before exams began. Luckily it wasn't due to start for another hour. Hermione, and consequently Ron, had decided to go to the library early, and Harry promised to join them soon.

Once in his room, he spotted the black bag on his bed. He was momentarily mystified by the fact that it had no visible opening. However, when he tentatively touched it, a zip appeared at the top. He opened it eagerly, and saw that it appeared to be filled with an assortment of slim notebooks, some leatherbound. He lifted out the one on top, and opened it to the first page. 'Lily Evans, July 1970-September 1971' it announced. A diary. His mother's diary.

Showing, he thought, remarkable restraint, he set the book aside to investigate what else might be contained within the bag. A glint of something metallic between two piles of books caught his eye. Reaching into the bag, he extracted the object, which turned out to be a scroll, wrapped round with a gold ribbon, sealed, and inscribed with his name.

There was no time to read it now. He resisted the almost overwhelming urge to open it despite that and instead hurried to meet his friends. The sooner he got to the library, the sooner they could finish this study session and he could get back to the letter. Never mind revision and O.W.Ls, this was far more important.