Chapter Seventeen: The Will and Request of Alphard Black

As the last few days of February came and went, James was forced to conclude that Sirius Black was the most forgetful person he'd ever met. Right when class let out on March the first, he pulled Sirius aside and led him to an empty alcove near the kitchens. Sirius, who'd followed along like a trained dog, perched on the bit of wall sticking out and said, "Now what's all this about?"

James stared at him. "You seriously haven't remembered?"

"I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about, yeah."

James rapped him across the forehead with his knuckles, which made Sirius swear. "Does the phrase "Vault 711" ring a bell?"

"That's my vault, innit?" huffed Sirius, rubbing his brow. "Merlin, lay off the physical abuse for a while."

"Yeah, it's your family's vault," said James, ignoring that last part. "And it's also going to be thirty-thousand Galleons richer if you don't do anything about it."

For a moment, Sirius continued to look baffled, then he experienced the four stages of grief: shock, guilt, and anger, before it set to a solemn expression of acceptance.

"Today," he croaked out, grabbing tufts of his hair anxiously. "It's today – why didn't you remind me earlier?"

James raised an eyebrow. "You're blaming me? What the hell were you doing these past few months?"

"I haven't got thirty-thousand Galleons, Prongs," moaned Sirius. "Damn it all, I spent a good bit of it on that motorbike."

Then he rounded on James and seized the front of his robes, looking quite deranged; biting his tongue from laughing, he looked Sirius straight in the eye and managed to detach his hands off his shoulders.

"You've got to help me," pleaded Sirius. "There's no way I can collect that much money by midnight."

"You could prostitute yourself, there're a bunch of birds in Ravenclaw who'd be willing," James suggested. When he saw there was no trace of a smile on Sirius's face, he sighed and said, "I thought you weren't going to give them the money? It is yours, after all."

"They're going to court over this," said Sirius indignantly. "I can't become a criminal!"

"Look," tried James, seeing that Sirius truly did look desperate, "Get a hold of yourself. You're going to be OK, even if it means you're going to have to pawn off your motorbike."

"Not helping."

"Right," he said; it was one thing to add fuel to a fire, and another to have an angry dragon blow all over it. "OK, OK – I'll help you. I'm not going to pay off your debts, though."

"I wasn't planning for you to," said Sirius. He folded his arms and stared around, the way he always did when he was in thought. "But what can we do?"

"We could go to Dumbledore," said James. "I bet he'll know what to do."

That was a reasonable idea, he thought. They'd seen him at breakfast that morning, as well as lunch just a few hours ago; there was a good chance that he was still in school.

But Sirius shook his head. "I'm not going to bother him with this stuff. Too personal."

"Well, think of something," said James, a little miffed. "Your problems aren't going to magically disappear."

But try as they might, they could not figure out what to do. Even Lily and Remus, who had the uncanny knack of causing problems to magically disappear, were stumped. Sirius left for bed looking as though he'd seen a Grim.

By breakfast the next morning, Sirius was still in a sorrowful mood. It was March the second now, meaning the deadline had passed and Sirius's family would come knocking any day now. James suggested they go to Hogsmeade for a drink at the Three Broomsticks, but when he saw Sirius's face he quickly shut up.

The owls rushed in through the upper windows, bringing with them letters and parcels. James saw, with slight anxiety, the black screech owl that had come all those months ago bearing the Black family crest. It did not stop to eat this time, but merely dropped off the letter and swooped out just as quickly as it had come.

Sirius stared at the letter with an angry, slightly disgusted look on his face. Then he muttered a quick prayer to Merlin (James didn't hear the exact words, but he caught something about 'Mother falling down the stairs') before finally, after wasting time and energy clutching at his hair and face, he ripped open the envelope and took out the letter.

James leaned over. The print was tiny and elegant, but he thought that made it a lot harder to read.

Dear Sirius Black,

The Black family is disappointed that our demand for the contents of Alphard Black's will was not acknowledged. Therefore, as per the last letter, the Black family shall introduce this case over to the small claims court, where we shall discuss the matter seriously, and hopefully come to an agreement. You may retain possession of the contents of the will until the trial on the third of March.

The contents of Alphard Black's will are as follows:

Below that was a long list of Sirius's inherited fortune. James noted, with a bit of alarm, that it was quite a large amount; far too much for an eighteen-year-old to handle responsibly. He skimmed over it and finally reached the last part, where perhaps the most insulting piece was situated, written in fine, black ink.

The Black family wishes to remind the recipient that he is no longer part of the Black family, and is therefore not eligible to inherit anything belonging to the Black family. We kindly ask that you comply with our terms, and hope that by the end of the trial we shall come to a mutual agreement. Again, the recipient is no longer part of the Black family, and is therefore not eligible to inherit Alphard Black's will, who is a Black.

Wishing you a good day,

Walburga Black, heiress of House Black.

Toujours Pur

"Well there you go, Padfoot," said James in an awed voice. "Your trial's tomorrow. They get around quickly, don't they?"

Sirius shot him a look of deepest loathing and ran a hand through his hair, dropping the letter.

"What the bloody hell am I supposed to do?" he asked. "I can't win. I haven't got the lawyers my mother has, and she's probably already got the Ministry officials tucked safely in her pockets."

"Yeah, she probably does," admitted James. "But the law's on your side, Sirius. They're bound to abide by their own rules if they want to keep their whole 'incorruptible' image going on."

Sirius snorted. "If there's one thing I learned in that madhouse, it's that Mother always gets her way."

"Considering you turned out the way you did, Padfoot, I'd say there's an exception to that."

Lily had entered the Great Hall with Remus. She sat across from them and started pulling all the food towards her.

Remus nodded at the letter laying between them. "What's that?"

Sirius didn't answer. He instead glowered at his breakfast, glowered at everything around him; once the bell rang, signalling the start of that day's lessons, Sirius got up and headed in the opposite direction from class.

"What's up with him?" asked Lily, eyebrows raised. "Don't tell me it's about yesterday."

"Afraid so," sighed James. "I should probably follow him, make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

Lily frowned disapprovingly at him. "Don't tell me you're going to skive."

"Sirius needs help," said James, shrugging. "Make up something for McGonagall, will you?" And then, realising his troupe of Marauders was one short today (discounting Sirius), he looked around and asked, "Where's Wormtail?"

"Hiding up in the dorms," said Remus immediately. "Some Slytherins got wind of his plan to raid their common room. He's too scared to come down now."

"He was actually going to do that?" asked James in surprise. "Well, just make sure he goes to class. I dunno about you, but if McGonagall finds out that three of us are skiving, she's sure to suspect something."

"You aren't doing something, I suppose?" said Lily. "This isn't just a diversion so that you can pull off something idiotic, right?"

James laughed. "You have my word. I'll try to get Sirius to talk." He stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder, and waved at them. "See you later."

He found Sirius hanging around the corridor with the gargoyles; why he thought it was a good idea to alert Dumbledore to his presence he had no clue, but he planted himself firmly in between Sirius and the stone gargoyle.

"Oho!" said the stone gargoyle, its mean little eyes staring up at them. "Two students out of classrooms, eh? The Headmaster would like to see you."

Sirius ignored it, and instead addressed James. "Took you long enough. Help me get past this stupid statue."

"What're you doing?" said James, trying his best to block out the indignant grunts of the gargoyle. "You can't just walk out on your problems like that. We need to discuss this."

Sirius jerked his head at the gargoyle, who was scowling right back at him. "I thought about what you said last night, about Dumbledore. That's why we're going up there to see him. Now, what's the password?"

Before James could answer, saying that that was a stupid idea, the gargoyle said, "Didn't you hear me? The Headmaster would like to see you."

James stared at it. He wasn't sure if the statue was actually angry or if its face was permanently set into a scowl. "Dumbledore wants to see us?"

"I'm an inanimate object, so I can't strangle you for making me repeat myself," snarled the gargoyle. "But yes, you fumbling fussbudget, the Headmaster wishes to see you."

James wasn't sure what a fussbudget was, but Sirius appeared to not care. "Brilliant! If you could step aside, then –"

The gargoyle did just that and leapt out of the way. Sirius pulled James along with him and climbed the stone steps, and once they finally reached the wooden door, he knocked three times.

A deep voice from inside said, "Enter."

They pushed open the door. The sight of the office was both comforting and nerve-wracking to James; he'd spent many detentions there. Beyond the windows the sun was just visible, rising over the tall trees that brushed against the castle.

"Ah," said Dumbledore, frowning. "Good morning, James, Sirius. Please sit down."

He drew his wand and waved it; two stuffed chairs appeared out of thin air, revolving slowly, then they dropped down with a loud THUNK. James manoeuvred through the spindle-legged tables, keeping careful not to knock over any of the silver instruments that were displayed on them; Dumbledore's phoenix, Fawkes, stood on his perch behind the door, watching them with bright interest. Off to the corner, near the cabinet where James knew the Pensieve was hidden, a large, circular shelf with rows upon rows of different colour potions stood open, as though it had just been used.

"So, Sirius," said Dumbledore, when they had made themselves comfortable. "I have just received a letter addressed to the Headmaster – you have been called upon by the Ministry to attend a trial."

"Yes, sir," said Sirius stiffly.

"Then there is the matter of the trial itself." Dumbledore took out a roll of parchment from under his desk, smoothed it over and began to read. "Sirius Orion Black is to arrive at the Ministry of Magic no later than by eight o'clock. There an official Ministry judge shall determine the rightful owner of the will and testament of Alphard Black." Then he paused, before continuing in a much graver voice, "If Sirius Orion Black fails to show up, or decides not to in any way form or manner, then the contents of Alphard Black's will shall automatically be surrendered to Walburga Black, heiress of the Black family."

"They sure like reminding us who they are," muttered James. "Professor, isn't there any way to avoid a trial? Sirius's uncle stated that he was the one receiving the will. You can't contest a direct request, can you?"

"Under normal circumstances, no, you can't," said Dumbledore quietly. "However, since I have been sent this letter –" he tapped at the scroll from which he had just read "– I'm afraid you have no choice but to attend the trial, unless you wish to be convicted by the Ministry."

"Well that's just fantastic," said Sirius, scowling. "I'm not even out of school yet and my mother wants to label me a criminal. Fan-bloody-tastic."

"Sir," pressed James before Dumbledore had a chance to comment on Sirius's choice of words. "Even the Ministry has to draw a line somewhere, don't they? If they prosecute Sirius because they're too scared to go against his mother, wouldn't that give off the image that… well…"

He wanted to say that they were a bunch of cowards, but he felt that was being a bit too generous.

"Yes, I understand what you mean," said Dumbledore, nodding. "I have tried appealing to them, but they're adamant that Sirius attend the trial. At the very least, it would save them a lot of effort than, say, having to explain to the wizarding public why they've decided to brand an eighteen-year-old who's not even out of Hogwarts yet a criminal."

Sirius had that solemn look on his face again; he looked exhausted. James hadn't noticed it before, but there were dark bags under his eyes and he had a slightly dishevelled aura about him.

"I always knew Alphard was a bit odd," said a snide voice from their left. "Do you know, Dumbledore, that he tried to draw a handlebar moustache on my painting, back when he was a child? Preposterous."

It was a portrait who had spoken, of a thin, bearded man with clever eyes and a pointed nose. Sirius looked around, his mouth open in confusion. "Phineas? What're you doing here?"

"I live here, you dolt," said the portrait coolly. "The Black family is now demanding you return the contents of Alphard's will? Ha! I'm afraid to say that you, my little moronic magpie, don't stand a chance against –"

"Thank you, Phineas," said Dumbledore, not even looking at the painting.

Phineas snorted. "I'm not finished yet, Dumbledore. This is a matter concerning my family – I have the right to give my opinion."

Dumbledore sighed but said nothing. Taking that as confirmation to go on, Phineas looked directly at Sirius, and said, "You, boy – your mother is Walburga, yes? She and Alphard hated each other from the moment he could speak. I cannot say much, as I only observed through my portrait, but when they fought, they shook the whole house it felt like my beard would fall off."

"What are you trying to say, Phineas?" asked Dumbledore.

"Alphard is the type of person to hold grudges," said Phineas as though this was the most obvious thing in the world. "What better way to get revenge than to target the person he hated above all others – his sister – through her worthless outcast son?"

"Wait," said Sirius slowly, his brow furrowing. "You're saying – Uncle Alphard left me his will so that he could get back at his sister – I mean, my mother?"

"It is very likely Alphard was thinking how best to annoy her, yes," said Phineas, examining his hands. "But as I said, it is all speculation, and I know nothing more about Alphard other than he liked to draw handlebar moustaches."

"I see," said Dumbledore, frowning deeply. "If what you say is true, Phineas, then this changes things."

"How so?" asked Sirius.

Dumbledore appeared to be in thought, but he placed his fingertips together and said, "A request made posthumously is not to be taken lightly. You, Sirius, are honour-bound…" he sighed. "In any case, you have my full permission to go to the Ministry tomorrow."

"Me too, I hope?" said James.

Both Dumbledore and Sirius turned to look at him.

"I thought you wouldn't want to go," said Sirius.

"I already agreed to help you, didn't I?" said James, crossing his arms. "Besides, if we're going to the Ministry, we might figure out what –"

He stopped himself before blurting out anything about Rookwood. Sirius was glaring at him, alarmed; Dumbledore had raised an eyebrow and was regarding him over his half-moon spectacles.

"I see," said Dumbledore shrewdly, looking as though he knew exactly what James had stopped himself from saying. Then he clapped his hands together, and said, "Very well. Both of you may go to the Ministry of Magic tomorrow. You shall come to my office first; you will take the Floo network. Hagrid will come with you."

That, at least, was some good news. Sirius, however, seemed indifferent; there was a troubled look in his eyes.

"I wish you both the best of luck," said Dumbledore quietly. "And I beg you, Sirius: do not despair. Fortune has not yet turned its back on you. You may find that it has, in fact, been in your favour this whole time."

James awoke at half-past five the next morning in the Gryffindor common rooms to the sound of running water. For a few moments he lay still, unable to comprehend why someone was taking a shower at this ungodly hour. He looked around for Sirius, wanting to share the usual exasperated look that was reserved for Wormtail's antics, but he found Sirius's bed empty and done.

He stared at it. Sirius never did his bed. Even at Potter Manor, his mother had berated him endlessly about cleaning up his room. What on earth could have happened to cause Sirius to change his lifestyle so drastically?

Ah. It was March the third, meaning it was the day of the trial. Right as James got out of bed and put on his glasses, the bathroom door opened and Sirius stepped out. Unable to bear the sight of his depressed, sunken face, James muttered a quick greeting and crossed the room, and closed the bathroom door softly behind him.

He did not shower; he hated showering in the morning. He washed his face clean with the water and brushed his teeth, but he made no attempt to comb his hair, and when he exited five minutes later, he saw Sirius sitting on his own bed, his wet locks plastered over his eyes.

James quickly scrambled into the robes he had lain out the day before. The two of them remained quiet as they heard the others snore; Remus was sprawled on his back with his mouth wide open, still fast asleep. Wormtail had his butt in the air and was drooling all over his pillow. Once the clock struck six they tiptoed down to the empty common room, and then down the stairs to the Great Hall.

They were very much the only people at breakfast; not even the teachers had come down yet. He coerced Sirius into eating but quickly regretted it, as every bite he took seemed like he was chewing on cardboard. Then, at last, at half-past six the students started to trickle in, but there was no sign of his fellow Gryffindors.

Sirius pushed his half-eaten toast away. "Merlin, I can't stand the sound… can we go?"

"You want to go to the Ministry now?" said James, surprised.

"No," said Sirius. "I just – the noise…"

He trailed off, but James understood. Even he, who had only an inkling as to what Sirius was feeling like at the moment, was starting to get agitated by the other students. All their talk about Quidditch and the winner of Witch Weekly's most charming smile award did nothing to ease his nerves.

"Let's go to the Head's Tower," said James quietly. "It'll only be Lily there, and she doesn't go down to breakfast until eight."

He shouldn't have mentioned the word 'eight'; Sirius twitched and ran a hand through his neat hair, digging ridges into it.

But he stood up and followed James through the corridors. They ascended the stairs and found themselves once again on the seventh floor. They walked quietly past Gryffindor Tower, their footsteps echoing throughout the hall, and stopped outside of the portrait of the two wizards.

"Neverland," said James.

The wizards bowed and opened the portrait, and they clambered through the hole. The common room was just beyond the stretch of wall that blocked the entrance; it was tidy and neat, and yet a little distant, as though it hadn't been used in a while. Sirius sat on the armchair furthest from the fire, and James, who thought it best to give him some space, sat on his usual sofa.

It was much more comfortable here, he thought. Now that he was facing a deadline, he could just about make everything out in the common room. His senses felt like they were in overdrive: he could hear the soft ticking of the grandfather clock located just behind Sirius, the quiet crackling of the fire that never seemed to go out. He was even aware of his actions; his own breathing, his blinking…

They must've made some noise when they entered, for Lily's door opened above them, and she stepped out, staring around. She hesitated when she saw them both sitting, looking like they'd just attended a funeral, but she walked down the stairs still in her tartan pyjamas, her hair even messier than James's.

"M-morning," she yawned, sitting next to him. "How're you feeling?" And then, without waiting for an answer, she blurted out, "You really shouldn't worry, you've done nothing wrong, the money's rightfully yours –"

"Please," said Sirius, rubbing his face in his hands, "No more talk about the trial."

"Sorry, Padfoot." Lily slid her slippers off her feet and curled into a ball, leaning on James. "Hey, did you know, Paul McCartney's set to release London Town in just a few days?"

James wanted to elbow her; hadn't she just heard how distraught Sirius was? To his utter surprise, Sirius lifted his head up slowly from his fingers, and frowned slightly.

"Didn't the Beatles break up years ago?"

"Yeah, they did," said Lily patiently, oblivious to James's incredulity. "Paul formed a new band after they broke up, it's called Wings. I thought you knew."

"I didn't," said Sirius, his face lighting up as he talked. "Are they any good?"

"Well, that all depends, but I've always thought their music was a bit bland…"

James stayed quiet as his two favourite people in the world talked. He barely took in half of what they were saying; part of his mind was still in a haze because of the ticking time, the other part was marvelling at how easy it had been for Lily to pull Sirius out of the little hole he'd been hiding in for the past few days. Lily summoned a few of her band posters from her room and showed them to Sirius, which surprised him even more; not even he was allowed to touch them, and he'd been inside her room countless times.

"So let me get this straight," said Sirius slowly some twenty minutes later. "The Beatles broke up, then Paul decides it's a good idea to form a band a year later, and even after John dies he's still releasing music?"

"You're missing the point," said Lily, laughing. "I mean, he's got to work somehow, right?"

"I guess," said Sirius. "It's just a bit hard to wrap my head around – fuck."

The clock had struck seven at last; Sirius fidgeted with his wand nervously and was eyeing James with a look that spelt, Kill me. James didn't feel much better himself, but at the very least, he could sleep later with the knowledge that his best mate wasn't going to be labelled a criminal by his own mother.

Lily stood up, rolled her posters into a tight scroll and tossed them on the table.

"I assume you're going to be leaving soon?" she said, crossing her arms.

James and Sirius nodded. Lily sighed, then pulled him to his feet.

"Off you go then, and don't do or say anything stupid," said Lily. She stood on tiptoe and kissed James on the lips. "Love you to bits."

James wanted to say Love ya too, but his mouth was struggling to put out words. There was only one thing on his mind, and that thing looked very much like the disturbing head of Walburga Black.

Lily walked up to Sirius and wrapped him in a bear hug, burying her face in his chest. Then she pulled him down by the shoulder, and, smiling slightly, kissed him on the cheek.

"Good luck," she murmured to them both. "I'll see you later. One way or another."

His feet felt heavy as they carried him all the way towards Dumbledore's office; the gargoyle stepped aside immediately upon seeing them, and they climbed the steps, knocked on the door – Dumbledore's voice called out, "Enter," and they pushed it open; Hagrid was slouching down low next to the marble table, examining a small, colourless potion that was set near the corner. The potion shelf near the Pensieve was closed this time.

It was all very nauseating to James. Dumbledore gave them a quick rundown of what they were supposed to do, including their etiquette and what to say to certain people, but he wasn't listening. He doubted Sirius was, either.

Dumbledore checked his watch then looked up at them both.

"I think it's time," he said. "The civil trial will be held on level two in the Ministry of Magic; look for Regis Pickel's office. Hagrid…?"

Hagrid puffed up his chest, which was hard to do since he was leaning down.

"Ready, then, are yeh?" he asked, eyeing James and Sirius.

"We're ready," said James faintly. "But, Hagrid – how're you going to fit in the fireplace?"

"Ah, yeh know me, James," said Hagrid, winking. "I can fit inter anythin' if I jus' squeeze enough."

Not at all feeling reassured, James grabbed a handful of Floo Powder from the bag Dumbledore was holding and stepped into the fireplace. Trying not to breathe in the ash, he threw the Floo Powder down at his feet, and said loudly, "Department of Magical Law Enforcement!"

And then he was spinning; Dumbledore's office whirled into nothingness, and he desperately tried to keep his mouth and eyes shut; a moment later, he was inhaling a mouthful of ash, but the spinning had stopped. He staggered out of the fireplace right as Sirius appeared.

He blinked; they were standing in a large circular room with various doors on either side of him. Directly in front, hidden by the long line of wizards and witches queueing up, was a reception desk. Hagrid appeared right then, materialising out of thin air. James hastily took a step back to avoid getting trampled by him.

"I thought you were taking the fireplace," said Sirius.

Hagrid snorted. "You can' expect me ter fit inter that wee thing, can yeh? Dumbledore made a portkey, loads better fer big-boned blokes like me."

They took their places in the line and shuffled on slowly. People gave them a wide berth, but maybe that was just due to Hagrid. Sirius was subdued the entire time, and once or twice he looked around alarmingly as though he'd heard his name called.

At last, the wizard in front of them wandered off and Hagrid loomed over the desk wizard.

"We've got an appointmen' with Regis Pickel," said Hagrid. "Summat abou' a trial? I'm escortin' Sirius Orion Black with me."

"Black? Black?" The desk wizard scanned down a long list of names from a parchment. "Yes, yes, Regis Pickel's office, Office of Wizarding Civil Justice – take the second door to my right, and then down the hall. You can't miss it. Though, I fear Regis is nowhere to be seen."

"Thanks," said Hagrid gruffly, disregarding that last bit. "Let's go, don' wanna keep 'em waitin'..."

Then Hagrid gave them a light push in the direction of the door, and they entered, where they were greeted with a sight similar to the Hogwarts corridors, with many moving paintings and torches stuck in brackets.

Hagrid stopped just outside a large wooden door with the shiny golden label: Office of Wizarding Civil Justice.

"Well, off yeh go then, Sirius," he said, giving the door a soft knock. "We're righ' behind yeh."

Sirius turned the knob, and, carefully checking that James and Hagrid had not bolted off, entered the office.