Although the shopping trip went on far too long for Harry's liking – Sirius forced him to be measured up for hats, and shoes and boots in very expensive leathers as well – eventually three o'clock rolled around and they got to leave Unmöglichentzückenstrasse.
"It's a damn shame, is what it is," Harry heard Sirius mutter as they walked away from the chaotic crowds and back towards the embassy. "I could have easily gone on for longer." His attention suddenly caught by something in a passing shop window, Sirius abruptly stopped and stared into the glass. Harry took three more steps before he noticed. "A wizard of my standing should have a snuff box, wouldn't you say, Pup?"
Harry hrmmed in a non-committal fashion.
Sirius took another long look a the pearlescent, and silver, and gold boxes arranged lavishly on black velvet, and then trotted to catch up with Harry. "Besides, I still haven't decided on a watch chain, and three pairs of cuff links is embarrassingly minimal for, well, I guess I'm Head of the Black family now. Ergh. On second thoughts, that puts me off shopping, let me tell you."
In the bright afternoon sunshine, Harry nodded his head agreeably without actually listening to what Sirius was blathering on about. He continued leading the way towards their four o'clock appointment. He was looking forward to this more than he had looked forward to anything else today, but rushing wouldn't pass the time faster.
"Although," Sirius continued musing, "you did tell me that – whatshisface, Malfoy senior…uh, Lucius! That's right – you did mention that Lucius Malfoy is an embarrassing snob and unfortunately up-himself, did you not?"
"Possibly not quite in those words?" Harry offered.
"Yeah, whatever. But unpleasantly smug, anyway. He always did think he was something special, from what I can remember of our school days. He was a self-righteous prefect the year I went to Hogwarts, Pup," he added as an aside, "and I imagine he's been prancing around society ever since, making the Malfoy family out to be all that."
Still striding on, Harry nodded absently.
"Well, as the official representative of the House of Black, now," Sirius continued, a small smile beginning to make its way across his face, "I can grind that pride of his right into the dust. Noble House of Malfoy, eh? Well, my Black family is Ancient and Noble. We trace our origins back to well before the Norman Invasion. He goes around donating to charities and whatnot? My vaults go much deeper than his do. I'll donate to all the hospitals and orphanages and fund some decent politicians, if I can find any. He thinks he's so stylish and noble and respectable? I'll beat him at his own game."
"Hrmm?"
"Quick, Pup," Sirius turned to Harry with intensity. "You go to school with his kid, don't you? What does Lucius wear that I could do better in? What's his signature style?"
The thought stopped Harry in his tracks, barely fifty feet away from the Embassy doors. "Uh…" he began, his marvellous memory spitting up ideas. It was the easiest thing possible to draw up the image of Lucius accidentally freeing Dobby – in the first timeline, his face furious and twisted as he raised his wand to curse Harry, and then Dobby got him, and he went flying arse over tea kettle, hair mussed, wand dropped, walking stick skittering across the floor. "Hair about as long as yours," Harry replied after a blissful moment of indulgence. "Formal robes, starched collars, usually wears fancy robes in black velvet, I think, but he has a lot of silver accents on his clothes: robe clasp, snake-head walking stick, wand trim, a brooch at the neckline…is it called a muffler pin? Lots of tastefully understated jewellery, you get the drift. Snake motifs everywhere. Malfoy – Draco Malfoy, his son who isn't so bad – claims it's understated elegance but there isn't much understated about it, if you know what I mean."
Sirius scoffed. "Yeah, sounds like him. He always was a ponce. Right, I guess I'll do that then. I'll have to borrow Crow off you when we get back to the room then, post some notes to the tailor. Ooh, the jeweller too. D'you think Crow would mind?"
"Prob'ly not."
Crow cawed agreeably.
Harry spent a moment wondering how many places Sirius could stuff gold lion iconography before he began walking again, leading Sirius by the elbow.
"Why do you hate him so much anyway?"
"Condescending prick," Sirius spat eloquently, "on top of being a Death Eater and marrying my second favourite cousin. He doesn't deserve her. He's sent me a couple of very patronising letters through your lawyer, did you know? 'So horrified' by what has happened to a scion of a Noble House; would be 'delighted to be of service to the family'; he could be 'persuaded to represent my interests to the Wizengamot or Minister' due to our 'deep, familial connection' and, apparently, our 'shared loyalty to Narcissa Malfoy, née Black.'"
"Ergh," Harry agreed. "He tried to kill a girl in my second year, did you know? Or possibly just set things in motion without caring who might die. I'm still holding a grudge about that. If I hadn't sorted out that mess, Hogwarts might have closed down."
Attention arrested, Sirius stopped his stalk forward with an, "Eh?!" but at that moment Harry stepped into the shade. Crow took off from his perch on Harry's shoulder with a thunderous flap and Harry sped up to skip up two steps and into the Embassy foyer without a look back.
He didn't do it on purpose, of course, but he'd forgotten that he hadn't told Sirius about his secrets or any of his near-death experiences. And besides, the worse version of second-year – with the petrifications and possession and 'Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber' – was…er, eight years ago? Yeah. Eight years ago for Harry now. It was old news.
Being popular with the embassy staff because they were the vehicle of British embarrassment meant that Harry and Sirius got stuck chatting and making small talk with a variety of witches and wizards, and it was ten minutes later that they made it up to Sirius' little suite where Dobby and Remus awaited.
"Moony!" Sirius exclaimed with a big grin, pushing past Harry to pounce on his old friend and give him a shoulder-bashing hug. "I haven't seen you for a good five hours! Good to see you, old mate!"
Remus smiled back. "Padfoot!" His hug back was strong, although significantly less exuberant than Sirius', and he only smiled weakly at Harry over the other man's shoulders. "Mr Potter. Did you have a good shopping trip?"
"Mmm."
It was almost natural, the way that Remus avoided Harry's eyes and turned to speak to Sirius. Obviously the man was making up for lost time, lost trust, lost friendship as he turned away from Harry. Sirius didn't seem to notice any awkwardness as he threw himself into an armchair by the window and expounded enthusiastically on the tailor and the jeweler and cobbler and all the other people he had made orders through.
Harry, meanwhile, stepped through from the tiny sitting room into his bedroom. It was the tiniest of the three adjacent bedrooms, and was on the shadowed side of the building, but it was where his magnificent trunk with all its convenient compartments was located and he slipped into its depths with a sigh.
"Harry Potter!" a squeaky voice proclaimed, and Dobby rocketed out of a shadowed corner to tackle Harry around the knees. "Dobby is learning to cook käsesahnetorte and fruchtschnitte and donauwellen for the Great Harry Potter sir! Harry Potter sir is needing to eat Dobby's food, sir!"
His pronunciation was better than Harry expected for some reason, until he remembered that house elves tended to struggle with grammar, not vocab.
He staggered back a little and pried the small being off his shins carefully. "Er…we'll have guests in a bit, Dobby. Perhaps…well, just one of each for now? Just a tiny, tiny bite, so I can tell you what I think, and then we'll serve them up on a plate for Mr Lloyd-Elliot, should we?"
Dobby's chest expanded with delight. "Food for the guests, Harry Potter sir? Dobby's food? The Great Harry Potter is gracious indeed!"
Unsurprisingly, the 'tiny, tiny' portions that Harry requested were significantly more generous that he wanted, but his mouth was soon full of cream-cheese and tangerines, of apricot and apple, and finally a light buttercream and vanilla delight. All had that delicate house-elf touch and a surprising richness that made Harry smack his lips to get the last crumbs.
"Delicious," he complimented, and Dobby practically shivered in joy. "Which one do you think would go best with the coffee? Mr Lloyd-Elliot does like his coffee, you know."
Then while Dobby disappeared to get ready for the guest, Harry passed the time by pottering about: mirror-calling Kreacher, popping away his purchases, flipping through a new book or two.
It was all very relaxing, really.
It was time for the lawyer in no time at all.
Sirius popped his head down into Harry's compartment to call Harry over, then disappeared with Remus, to 'quality check the local pub' or something.
Harry ended up perched on a high-backed armchair back in a nearby Ministry meeting room, Mr Lloyd-Elliot opposite to him in a equally formal chair.
The room was a designated meeting place for all sorts of high-level politics and diplomacy and Harry didn't know what else. But the deep red rug beneath his feet was as thick and soft as it was colourful, the curtains were a charmingly gauzy lace-thing, and the view out over the garden he'd seen earlier was delightful.
Indistinct floral scents floated in through the barely open window.
Outside in said garden, and easily seen from within the meeting room, a tiny little fountain with enchanted black eagle statues, tinkled and trickled just within ear shot. Inside the room, a wide, firm table of hardwood stood between the two wizards. It contained, to Harry's curiosity, three piles of parchment, two coffees and Dobby's carefully sliced käsesahnetorte in a tiered cake stand, which was placed precisely in the middle of the desk.
The rich, dark scent of the coffee was cut through by a light teasing note of citrus, and it made Harry's stomach rumble.
"My house-elf's work," Harry apologised with a smile. "He worked so hard on this to 'uphold my dignity'. I hope it's to your taste."
"As your guest, I would be delighted to indulge." Mr Lloyd-Elliot picked up a small slice of the soft citrus cake with his aristocratic fingers and bit down, then smiled thinly. "A charming addition to coffee. My compliments to the chef."
Harry nodded agreeably and noticed that small talk came easier to him now that it had a few years ago.
"Had a good portkey?"
"Neither good nor ill, nothing of note occured."
They got down to business.
"I wrote to you some months ago," Mr Lloyd-Elliot placed his elbows firmly on his conveniently high armrests and steepled his fingers thoughtfully. "I believe you remember when I indicated that we have some inheritances and bequests that need to be addressed. Do you recall?"
Harry had written to the lawyer extensively over the last few months, and had really been focussing on Sirius and the Dementor issue. In that order.
Yet he took a moment to think, head cocked and thought something might ring a bell.
"Er, yes?" he attempted. "Didn't you say that my accountant needed to be here?"
"Ah, well." The lawyer smiled a shark-toothed grin. "Most of the petty concerns were with regards to back-taxes owed and accrued interest and so forth. He's sorted that out without you, Mr Potter. There is no rush for the rest. But this…this, I think you will find, is far more exciting."
Harry sat up straight in his chair and looked at the parchment before him with interest. What kind of inheritance might make an elderly and established lawyer like this…almost grin?
"Take a look at this, if you will, Mr Potter."
Mr Lloyd-Elliot raised his delightful, sweeping eyebrows expressively and leant over to push the smallest pile of parchment across the table to Harry.
It had previously been rolled up, but the look of the parchment curl and the large wax seal – now cracked – on the back of the back page. Harry rustled his in his hands while the lawyer kept talking in his precise, upper-class lilt.
"First, petty administration: here is the list of items and property that have now become yours in freehold. The witches and wizards, muggle spouses and squibs, who died without issue or who outlived their families in the last decade, have made you a popular post-mortem beneficiary, Mr Potter."
Harry picked up the top piece of parchment and saw a long list, two columns across on each of the three pages, that listed items of furniture, hundreds of galleons, a couple of buildings that included one furnished house, jewellery, memorabilia, and – amongst all the other paraphernalia – three horses and a goat. Each was organised beneath unfamiliar names that Harry eventually realised represented the, uh, dead.
Dead fans of his, to be specific. Who'd left him stuff.
"Right." He took a moment to wipe his sweating hands on his own, well-padded armrests, and then took a minute to peruse the list carefully. "Uh…rent out or sell the animals please," Harry eventually spoke, eyebrows raised hopefully. "I simply can't look after them right now."
From within some kind of subtle inner robe pocket, Mr Lloyd-Elliot pulled a fancy looking notebook and, promptly sourcing himself an equally impressive feather quill, made himself a simple note.
"A wise decision, if you do not mind my saying so, Mr Potter. A student such as yourself, especially one in the public eye as often as you seem to find yourself, should focus on his immediate duties without distraction."
"Hrm," Harry agreed hopefully. Vanquishing Voldemort before a new war started was definitely his greatest priority; everything else was just part of the plan. "Erm…and the property near Aberdeen? Is it fit to be inhabited, do you know? Furniture in good nick? What about pest control and whatnot? I have a story about a doxy infestation I could tell you...Could we get that checked out? Maybe connect the house to the Floo Network at some point? I'll probably have to sell it to Sirius, sooner or later. He'll want to get rid of Grimma—of where he's been living, so I imagine we'll do some kind of swap so we each get the house-elf best suited. To the, er, buildings in question."
Kreacher would never want to leave the Black House, after all, and Dobby might enjoy a less-traditional household.
The lawyer looked politely disinterested and failed to ask why Harry hadn't finished his sentence. Nor did he ask about the two house-elves, which was apparently rather rare. Instead, he inclined his head and repositioned the notebook to take advantage of the afternoon sun creeping in the window. Then he made a second, longer note in his precise and neat script.
There were a few minutes of discussion – did Harry want any of the older furniture repaired, should the gold be dropped into his own bank vault immediately, that kind of thing – but then the miscellanea were pushed aside and the lawyer drew over the second, more exciting pile of parchment, and placed it squarely before himself.
"Now," he breathed, an oddly delighted light glimmered in Mr Lloyd-Elliot's eyes. "This, Mr Potter, may very well become the highlight of my legal career."
Harry, who had slouched a little due to the dry nature of the task, sat up straight again. He licked his lips. "Uh huh? Go on?"
Enjoying the moment in his own retrained way, the lawyer placed a fresh, empty parchment piece on top of the fascinating pile, casually blocking Harry's view of its contents. He again placed his hands precisely together. "Mr Potter. In such a sensitive matter as this, it is my great joy to begin the process by asking you: have you ever put any thought into what is in a name?"
Harry blinked. "Uh?"
"Harry," the older man pronounced carefully and then was holding his quill again. He wrote the word out all in capitals, precisely halfway down the blank parchment sheet. "Your first name: Just…Harry. Of English origin, often a diminutive form of Harold or Henry although in your case, curiously not.
"It's meaning is 'ruler', generally speaking, and traditionally with a military bent." He twirled his quill neatly again before adding another word in capitals right beside it: James.
"'Supplanter or overthrower': you could consider the word to mean 'the one who follows after and, in due time, succeeds'. Traditionally British of course, a cursory glance would notice nothing odd about them. But look:
"If your family records are to be believed, your given names were both chosen from your patrilineal family line, thus tying you closely to your father's inheritance and the magical heritage of his family.
"I am unaware of what wizarding traditions you know, so bear in mind that there is usually one name from the lineage of each parent, in no particular order. Thus, it is rare," the older wizard added meticulously, "for a mother to give up her own naming rights to allow the baby witch or wizard to follow so strongly in the father's tradition. Unless there is also a Harry or a James in her family tree?"
"I wouldn't know." Harry noticed that one of his eyebrows had crept up in curiosity and he forcefully brought it down again.
Mr Lloyd-Elliot hummed in what seemed like professional criticism but swiftly moved on.
"Hrm. I shall try to source a muggle expert in genealogies." His notebook got a third entry. Then, after the brief pause, Mr Lloyd-Elliot moved back to the sheet that was empty except for "HARRY JAMES" and added Harry's last name. Elegantly, he spun the parchment around to let Harry…read his own name?
HARRY JAMES POTTER
"Potter, of course, is historically of 'pot-making' fame. Although local tradition in wizarding circles suggests that the Potters were colloquially named after a Gloucestershire eccentric, I can find very little evidence to back up that claim. You do, however, have six generations of professional potters in your family line, if you follow it back to the eleventh century."
"Oh."
Harry sat there in silence and waited for the elderly gentleman to get to the point. 'Harry James Potter' was written in front of him very neatly indeed. Yes, that was his name. And it was neat to learn about his name meanings: he'd never really bothered about that before, but…
"Okay? So what?" he asked, when Mr Lloyd-Elliot had been quiet too long.
Mr Lloyd-Elliot raised one pale, aristocratic finger and spun the same piece of parchment around to carefully add something to it.
"An unusual name on more than one count already," the older wizard explained. "The diminutive form as your legal name, 'Harry' instead of 'Henry' – the namesake a few generations before your father's time, whose name you should have had in full. 'James' after your father – an unusually close connection – when the nod to your mother's lineage might be expected. Can you think of any classmates of yours, from wizarding families I should say, who share their father's exact name as one of their given names?"
Harry ran through the short list of pure-bloods whose families he knew well enough. Frank Longbottom's son was Neville Bruce; Arthur Weasley had William Arthur – ooh, that was one – Charles Finnian, Percival Ignatius, Frederick Oliver, George Rupert and Ronald Bilius; Lucius Malfoy had Draco Lucius…
"Hang on! Out of three wizarding father-son pairs, I know of two who share a name!"
Mr Lloyd-Elliot coughed and hurried took a sip from his coffee. "Perhaps not the best example," he muttered after his cup clinked back in place. "The sons in question are your generation, are they? Less than, say…twenty-five? You are the children born in uncommon times."
Voldemort's first war had started around then, Harry thought, but he'd not actually studied that much. It seemed like a thing he should know about, actually, and he made a mental note to do some research later on.
"A father-son link," Mr Lloyd-Elliot was meanwhile explaining, "is reputed to bless a child with his father's strength as opposed to," he spread his hands slowly and expansively, "'widening' the family gifts. When it is rarely done, it tends to be the eldest son who receives the name, in order to lead the family strongly. As for other names gifted from further back in the family line – that inheritance lessens as the blood connection weakens; other names therefore are seen to encourage new growth. In magic, in talents, et cetera."
The lawyer shot a sharp glance at Harry that made him twitch. "You go to school with an unusual number of only children, do you not? But never mind that for now.
"In your case, Mr Potter," and Harry had no doubt that they were back on topic. "We now discover that at birth, your parents blessed you to be a military ruler and supplanter with an emphasis on strength, inherited straight from your father's line. Yet there is more…
"It is curious that your father chose the diminutive form, 'Harry', when naming you formally. Traditionally, you also should have been a 'Henry', and would have had Harry as your moniker. An alternative namesake, 'Hardwin' Potter from a more distant time, could also have gifted you with his exact name and nickname, and even, shares the same three letters: H, A, R as do you."
Harry sat there in silence and wondered if his lawyer had fallen off the deep end. He took a sip of his coffee quietly, and hoped that the faces he made were hidden by his cup.
"I…see?"
"You do not, yet," the lawyer replied sharply. His terse tone of voice caused Harry to grimace slightly and sit straight up, back straight. Obediently, he maintained this state of attention.
"You could have been 'Hardwin' or 'Henry' quite easily, if your parents had wanted you to respond to Harry yet follow the traditions of magic. Yet having been illuminated by the fact that your parents tweaked wizarding traditions to suit themselves, the meaning of your name and its symbolism is revealed to be…unusually militant. Protective. Warrior-like.
"To dive into this more deeply –" Harry was really beginning to worry about the lawyer "—and better understand the cleverness of James and Lily, we must return to an earlier form of wizardly meaning."
Oh. Harry wondered if could guess…
"Thus we rewrite your name into runes," the lawyer explained clearly. He again spun the plain parchment around, so that Harry could read all the symbols now upon it.
HARRY JAMES POTTER
becomes...
Harry took a moment to read the collection of symbols. Yes, he could recognise all of those letters, straight and angular as they were. He could also read the second row: almost exactly the same except for an algiz instead of sōwilō.
"I chose to transliterate into Eldar Futhark," the lawyer smiled as smugly as an aristocratic face can. The lawyer began circling characters and started a little tally down the side of the parchment that began introducing arithmantic principles.
"Now, unlike Henry – which was not chosen by your parents despite its traditional appropriateness, both 'Hardwin' and 'Harry' begin with the H.A.R, or hagalaz-ansuz-raidō, if we transliterate back into Futhark. Now hagalaz – meaning hail or precipitation or an oncoming storm, in connection with ansuz – literally god, then raidō, for a journey, begins to read significantly.
"Just within the first three letters then, Mr Potter, your name indicates that your parents were anticipating you to struggle with some kind of inclement power, the oncoming of a god-like being in comparison to you, and a journey." He paused. "You might consider the tradition coming-of-age that a wizard celebrates at seventeen to represent a journey of, say, growth. They wished to add all the stability that they could to your journey. H.A.R. becomes ᚺ.ᚨ.ᚱ."
Harry leaned forward after what had really felt like unnecessary exposition, and thought he could begin to see what the lawyer was trying to say. Whoa.
The lawyer's keen eyes took in Harry's interested look – he got there, finally – and leaned forward again, his breath smelling pleasantly like fresh coffee, and continued to analyse Harry's name.
"Now, it is years since I have studied runes and I am by no means an expert, but I find it noteworthy that there is a double 'r', or raidō, in your chosen name 'Harry', while the traditional 'Hardwin' was dismissed. In fact, in 'Harry', there are not simple two raidō, but they appear together, as a couple. This pair here, notably in the first syllable of your name – allow me to come back to that arithmancy shortly – introduces the concept of duality, oppositive and equivalence to your 'journey'."
Equivalence.
Harry thought back to Professor Vector's earliest classes, where they covered the symbology of numbers. That was right. He couldn't help his mind darting to his current life; he indeed was facing an oncoming storm, had survived a god-like-being, but more significantly had been prophecied to be an "equal" to him through his ongoing 'journey'.
His parents had been aware of the prophecy, Harry realised. They'd been desperate for him to survive. Do well. Triumph or vanquish or whatever. They literally blessed him with everything they could.
Mr Lloyd-Elliot's precise voice kept talking. "'Harry's 'y' symbol, or eihwaz, is another noteworthy syllable that differs from the more patrilineal 'Hardwin' and therefore significant in its addition."
Eihwaz, Harry zoned the lawyer out, and promptly remembered one of his favourite rune poems that he'd had so much trouble learning:
The yew is a tree with rough bark,
hard and fast in the earth, supported by its roots,
a guardian of flame and a joy on native land.
It had seemed rather pleasant, when he'd memorised it for class, but how he was told that apparently it was...something of his parent's hope or blessing for him. Chosen for its auspicious symbology.
Harry's chest felt warm. His eyes burned a little bit behind his eyelids. Probably the dust in the room, or something.
"Now," the lawyer continued, added more little annotations to his piece of parchment that was beginning to fill up with words, "The runic spelling of 'James' that I have here vary a little due to interpretation; your parents may have gone for either option, depending on their understanding of elhaz – sometimes called algiz – for protection, or sōwilō for the sun or clarity of sight. Do you take runes, Mister Potter? Elhaz is a 'z' sound, while sōwilō is more 's'."
Harry didn't even notice that he was letting a thoughtful mmmm noise escape his mouth. Instead he leaned forward to look at his name, this version of his name, carefully.
Mr Lloyd-Elliot kept going. Explaining the significance of 'James' – the fact it was his father's name and didn't even seem to connect to Lily's family tree at all. A bold and significant choice, apparently. And then Mr Lloyd-Elliot went over the transliteration of each rune, and finally to arithmantically analyse his whole name: Harry James Potter.
"Your chosen name leaves us with three raidō within its full form – three 'r's – significant because three is balance and stability in arithmancy: your parents were blessing you here with a journey that would help you grow in balance, or would end up balanced. The repetition of doubles is again of significance…"
The lawyer spoke on, even after the coffee went cold.
Dobby came into the room and brought them new cups, and replated the käsesahnetorte too, without either of the wizards noticing.
It was more than forty minutes later that both sat up.
"There we go, Mr Potter," he finally finished with. "And here are all of the other calculations, recorded by a professional."
He pushed over the second pile of parchment, that Harry had been so curious about, and left Harry to his thoughts.
Then the lawyer wet his lips, closing his eyes at the fresh taste of good German coffee while Harry kept himself busy.
Harry first took his chance to stand and stretch. It wasn't a particularly dignified thing to do by any means, but he straightened his arms and his back, cracking his neck as he did so. Blood rushed into his limbs again.
"Aaaah, that's better," Harry muttered.
"Indeed," was the quiet reply.
From the way that Mr Lloyd-Elliot was focussed on his cup, Harry assumed that they were breaking for food and drink. It was very interesting, to be sure, but he wasn't quite convinced that this was Mr Lloyd-Elliot's career highlight, as he'd earlier implied. Sure, Harry was feeling a little emotional about his parents. Their love for him. Care. He'd have to take a moment or two later on to mull over it all in private. But he wasn't quite sure what stood out for the lawyer. He pulled over the paperwork to have a look at the notes.
"Cake?" the lawyer offered, while Harry was stuck on the first page.
"Please."
The silence was broken only by the quiet chewing sound of Mr Lloyd-Elliot's jaw, and Harry turning over a page to learn more about the symbolism of his name, or why it was important his first name was five letters, or how any of this related to his birthdate.
"Your house elf has just the right touch with the cream," the lawyer broke the quiet, when he got two thirds of the way through his coffee and his third slice of käsesahnetorte. "And the tangerine topping just brings the ensemble to perfection."
"I'm glad you think so." Harry also ate another piece, since he might as well, and read more about the zodiac sign he was born under. It was all related apparently. Many tiny parts that all seemed insignificant but when added together arithmantically seemed to work, united, towards something greatly…good-for-Harry, at any rate.
Then, when Harry had flipped to the last page of parchment and read all the tables therein, he dusted his hands – or wiped them carefully with a handkerchief, as was the case with Mr Lloyd-Elliot – and fell back into conversation.
The lawyer spoke. "Interesting, isn't it, Mr Potter, that you were born in a war as the last of your line?"
"Well…yes?"
"I thought it fascinating that your parents broke so many traditions, or made their own individual tweaks to them, I should say, and yet tied you so strongly to the Potter line and magic."
"…I guess..."
"And," the lawyer finished up and sat back, his hands placed neatly on his own crossed knees in some kind of triumph, "you survived the 'storm' of a 'god-like being' at age one, which no single other witch or wizard has ever been known to do."
"It was prophesied before my birth that we'd be enemies, did you know?" Harry offered, and the final sip of coffee that the regal old man had been savouring was spat out onto the floor.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Ah." He flinched. "About that," Harry grimaced. "I'm not at liberty to tell you about it, unfortunately. Uh…how about you forget that bit. Um…for your safety. I can obliviate it from your memory, if you want. To, er…help keep you safe and stifle your curiosity."
Mr Lloyd-Elliot looked disbelievingly at Harry for the first time in their acquaintance. His sweeping eyebrows rose higher than Harry had ever seen then, and he looked suddenly off balance, like he'd found himself riding a unicycle and wasn't quite sure how he'd got there.
"No need, no need," the lawyer muttered, more flustered than he looked if Mr Lloyd-Elliot was needing to repeat himself, Harry thought.
"But back to names," Harry offered.
"Now, just wait for a moment Mr Potter—"
"It really is restricted information, sir. Sorry."
"If you would answer just three min—, just two—, just one minute, Mr Potter."
Harry rubbed his temples. "It just slipped out. Really sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned it. Could we just pretend I never said anything?"
"Mr Potter!"
"Sorry, sorry…but about the name thing…"
"Not even five questions?"
"They named me Harry James Potter, eh?"
"One question?" the wizard asked plaintively. Harry's grimace was answer enough. "At least reassure me that there are no legal matters pertaining to this at this time?"
"I…" Harry paused. "Yeah, no. I think we're good, legally speaking."
Harry thought. "Look, I know I'm slow sometimes, but you'd made a pretty good case for how bloody long my parents spent planning my full name, right? But you're more excited than I am, so I know I'm missing something."
Looking incredibly frustrated, the older man settled himself further back in his seat and shot Harry a very cynical glance indeed. "A reasonable assumption."
"So," Harry continued, cursing for his brain to pick up the speed soonest, "it's the significance I'm missing, somehow."
"Go on."
"Like, the name is significan—Merciful Merlin, Morgana and Maeve." Harry swore. "Are you saying names are significant?!"
"…Indeed." The lawyer looked mildly discouraged, and Harry had to wave his arms energetically to try and express his excitement. "No. Wait, like…significant-significant. Names change things! Have power!"
Looking halfway concerned for his client's instability, the lawyer spoke again in a precise and clipped tone. "Precisely, Mr Potter. Names have always had power. You may have been raised muggle, but surely you have heard tell of Rumpelstilzchen's three guesses, of the similar German Hipche, or of the dwarf named Doubleturk? The elf, Kugerl? Father Winterkölbl?"
"Never heard of 'em," Harry had to admit. "Except maybe for the first one. So wait…in real life, with real witches and wizards are whatnot, names are also powerful."
"Correct."
Harry's mind made the tenuous leap that apparently the lawyer had expected approximately fifteen minutes ago. "Names are…magically powerful?"
"Now you've got it, Mr Potter."
"Wow!" Harry sat back a little too enthusiastically, and accidentally hit his head on the great tall headrest of his very formal armchair. "That's so cool. I never knew that!"
"In your everyday household," Mr Lloyd-Elliot smiled thinly, "the magic is small and innocuous. Perhaps your teachers have mentioned 'small magics'? But when there are great hopes attached to a name, when a name is given in significant times, well then: the gift grows in meaning."
Harry nodded thoughtfully. "My parents definitely knew exactly how significant the time of my birth was. There's...well, I mentioned it earlier...there were things going on that they knew they might need to die for. Things greater than just them, or me, or you know. Britain."
Great grey, owlish eyebrows rose again in astonishment, and Mr Lloyd-Elliot's lips thinned in an attempt to hide his curiosity. Sternly, the lawyer nodded slowly.
Harry nibbled his lip a little in thought, then sat back slowly. "So...uh...what then?"
The lawyer grinned, all of Harry's mental slowness forgiven, and pushed the final pile of parchments over to his client.
"These people, Mr Potter…the dearly departed, recently deceased, these witches and wizards who were also last of their line…these people, Mr Potter, have willed you their names in deed and magic."
"Awesome," said Harry. "So…what does that mean?"