A Magical Inheritance

Harry walked back into Gringotts that morning with the letter in hand and went strait to the counter to introduce himself and his mission:

"Mr. Harry Potter to see Solicitor Snaphook." he announced, presenting the letter.

"Ah, Mister Potter." the goblin glanced at the letter before directing him to a private receiving room, "I shall inform Solicitor Snaphook of your arrival."

"Please do," Harry replied, glancing around at the cheap wood panelling, "Thank you."

"Mr. Potter," Solicitor Snaphook introduced himself shortly after, "I trust that you are here to claim your inheritances?"

"Yes," Harry replied shortly.

"Then I will conduct the Ritual of Inheritance." Snaphook replied, "Are you familiar with the ritual?"

"No,"

"It is quite simple," the solicitor assured him, "You are here to claim what is your right by blood and magic. To do so, place seven drops of your blood in this ink well and add a blood quill. Focus your magic into the blood – the wells are merely enchanted foci – until the quill begins to tremble. Then place it upon the parchment and magic will do the rest. I would advise you to avoid spell casting until the ritual is done, as it is sensitive magic and liable to react poorly to interference."

"I understand," Harry replied, thinking that the goblin's grin revealed far to many teeth, and reached for the ink well.

Nicking his finger with the blade Snaphook had provided, Harry dripped the requisite number of blood drops into the well. Snaphook added the quill and Harry picked it up, allowing his eyes to grow distant as he focused on the flow of magical energy between himself and the well.

"Not so hard, Mr. Potter." the goblin admonished him, "Let your power flow gently; the ritual can not be rushed by force."

"Sorry," Harry murmured, focussing on the flow again, "Quill brings back bad memories."

"Used one by mistake?"

"No mistake. Detention."

"Hogwarts forces students to use blood quills in detentions?"

"One teacher," Harry corrected him, "And she only lasted a year. Back working for the Ministry now."

"Of course she is," Snaphook rolled his eyes, "And they call goblins barbaric."

"Clever as they come, but not the friendliest of beings," Harry recalled, "Is how I was introduced to you."

"A much more accurate summary I assure you," Snaphook informed him, "It appears that the quill is ready – place the well on the parchment."

Harry watched as the quill drifted out of the well and settled on the parchment, moving in a slow dance that spelled out the "Rights of Inheritance of Harry James Potter". Writing at around a character a minute meant that the quill took quite a while to finish. Snaphook assured Harry that it was quite normal, occasionally dispatching a goblin runner to gather the paperwork that would be needed once the quill was done.

. . .

"How precise is this inheritance ritual?" Harry asked, watching the quill inscribing the thirteenth name.

"Very," Snaphook replied, "If you are the last in the line of the family, whether by law, magic or blood, the ritual will find and assign you the inheritance."

"Then why so many?" Harry asked, gesturing at the parchment.

"Two reasons." Snaphook replied, "The first and most pressing is that the recent troubles in the wizarding world has drastically depleted the population and brought many family lines to the point of extinction, leaving those with the most tenuous of relation to inherit. The other is that the ritual can only be done for a witch or wizard – muggles and squibs are unable to inherit."

"Why not let them inherit?"

"Technically, under law, squibs and muggles can inherit," Solicitor Snaphook sighed, "In practice, the rituals Gringotts has developed to allow this have been outlawed by the Ministry of Magic. I myself developed a variant of the ink well 4 decades ago that would draw on the token magical traces in squibs. Still no good for muggles, of course, but the Ministry banned it anyway. I believe that they are deliberately trying to prevent power leaving the hands of wizards."

"Is that the only purpose of the ritual?" Harry asked, "Keeping muggles and squibs out?"

"Of course not," Snaphook assured him, "It allows us to trace tenuous inheritance of otherwise lost lineages, as we see here. It guarantees that the lineage is genuine, and not just a trick of the paperwork. More importantly, there are two degrees of inheritance – Inheritance under the Eyes of the Law; and Inheritance in the Eyes of Magic. Even muggles can manage the former, which is merely a matter of paperwork. The Ritual of Inheritance is required for the latter."

"I think I see."

"Many ancient estates are more akin to magical artefacts," the goblin added, pleased to have an attentive audience, "Massive and immobile, answering only to the rightful heir. Stewards can be keyed into the magic, but only a genuine heir can inherit full control over the dormant powers of these estates. Another reason for the Ministry to keep them out of muggle hands. And with that, we appear to be done."

The quill had fallen over and lay quiescent beside the fourteenth name, which Snaphook glanced over before taking out several sheets of parchment records.

"The ritual may take care of magical inheritance, but the paperwork must still be done." he explained, "Would you like a full break down of your inheritances or a brief summary?"

"Summary for now," Harry decided, "I'll read over the full break down when I have more time."

"Of course, Mr. Potter." Snaphook made some quick calculations on a spare sheet before turning back to his client, "Total financial assets are approximately 169 million galleons, an oddly auspicious number, with a projected annual income of 250 thousand galleons after payments."

"What payments?"

"Maintenance, taxes, service fees, and a regular stipend to both Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange."

"Can I cancel it?"

"Of course, Mr. Potter. Your inherited position as Head of the Ancient and Noble house of Black enables you to do exactly that."

"Then cancel the stipend." Harry instructed, "I'm not paying Death Eaters to hunt me."

"A wise decision sir," the solicitor agreed, "Also included are several pieces of real estate, approximated total value 333 thousand galleons, though some may be in considerable disrepair or otherwise occupied by stewards."

"I'll see to them individually." Harry promised.

"There are two further items worthy of closer consideration." Snaphook added, indicating the first "The first is a title: 'Lord Caer Azkaban' and I am afraid that I can tell you very little about the holdings or finances involved – shall I summon your retainers?"

"Umm… what?"

"You have inherited the Lordship over the castle and island of Azkaban," Snaphook patiently explained, "That includes a number of servants who run the place and would be far better placed to explain the holdings involved than I."

"Okay then," Harry decided, "The sooner I meet with them the better."

"Very good sir," the goblin walked over to the door and shared a few words with the runner outside before returning to the table, "The second item is Hermione Granger."

"What about her," Harry asked, feeling sick as her saw the name on the parchment.

"The positioning suggests that Hermione Granger is owned by you, rather than a title inherited by you." Snaphook explained, "Which means that you legally and magically own everything she does. Normally those titles would follow on, but it appears that she has yet to inherit."

"Both parents still alive,"

"That would explain it," Snaphook agreed, "There are ways around that, but they don't tend to just happen. Now if we return to the paperwork..."

. . .

A few minutes later there was a knock on the door announcing the arrival of a pale beauty from Azkaban. She wore a simple black robe with grey stitching, which threw her pale skin into sharp contrast. Her sleek hair was long and as black as the ravens' wing; her eyes the piercing blue of unblemished ice. She bore no adornments save a single large tome clutched in a wiry arm.

"Reporting as ordered," she announced herself in a crisp tone.

"Harry Potter," he replied, standing to offer his hand, "Lord Caer Azkaban"

"All Hail the Lord of Azkaban," she knelt and kissed his hand, "Long may he rule."

"Uh, why don't you introduce yourself?" Harry managed to stammer, the unreality of the situation overwhelming him.

"My name is Sable, my Lord." she answered, still on one knee with her eyes on his hand, "I am your personal servant and assistant."

"You can call me Harry," he sighed, trying to inject some normality into the bizarre encounter.

"It would not be proper to publicly address my Lord informally," she replied with a glance at the goblin, "Though if my Lord wishes I may do so in private."

"Your Lord wishes," Harry tried to echo her oddly formal manner of speaking, "Please do so."

"As you wish, my lord." she replied, "Was there anything else you wished of me?"

"What do you know of inheritance and banking law?" Harry asked with a gesture at the stacks of parchment, "We still need to get the paperwork in order."

"I am able to help with any paperwork you may have," she replied, somewhat hesitantly, "And can reference any standards I need."

"Excellent," Snaphook announced, "Then I can leave you to finish yourselves. Please ensure to file the correct forms with Gringotts before you leave."

"We will," Harry promised the departing goblin.

Sable assumed the goblin's seat and began filling out the remaining paperwork. She moved through the pages at a brisk pace, and Harry could see that any help he might offer would only be a hindrance so he sat and let her work.

"What are your duties?" he asked, to break the awkward silence that had fallen between them.

"My Duties?" she almost smiled, happier at the return to familiar ground, "As I said, my Lord..."

"Harry,"

"Harry, I am your lordship's personal servant and assistant. My duty is to serve my Lord Azkaban in any way he desires, and to make his life as easy as possible."

"My apologies."

"My Lord?"

"My life has never been easy," Harry explained, "Not since Voldemort hunted me down as a child. Keeping my life 'As easy as possible' is likely to be a horrible and unfulfilling task."

"Duty is it's own reward." Sable quoted.

"What of Azkaban?" he inquired, "What can you tell me of my new holdings."

"Azkaban has been without a Lord for some time," she admitted, "And because of that it had fallen under Ministry control. By Treaty, the Ministry of Magic has right of stewardship in the event that no heir inherits the lordship, though the return of your Lordship has broken that. You are the rightful ruler of the island of Azkaban, which includes the castle, town and prison. There is also a rocky moorland where the shepherd likes to keep his flock, and some cultivated farmland, although I am informed that the island is not fertile enough to be self-sustaining. You have a number of advisors and assistants to tend to more specific matters, though your word is the law of Azkaban. It… it would be easier to show you the lay of the land than to describe it in more detail."

"Thank you, Sable."

"It is my duty, my Lord."

"We are alone," Harry sighed, "Call me Harry."

"As you command; Harry. I am almost finished."

"Thank you, Sable." He sighed, "Hermione."

"Yes master."

"Is your shopping complete."

"It is mas… Harry."

"I have claimed my inheritance," Harry explained to her, passing her the parchment list, "It turns out that the recent troubles have caused something of a shortfall of viable heirs."

"Why am I on this list?"

"Because I own you and everything you own, according to magic." Harry winced, "But it appears you have nothing to inherit anyway."

"Oh." Hermione stared through the parchment with blank eyes.

"On the other hand, I am heir to several extinct houses, including the Island of Azkaban."

"The Prison?"

"Azkaban is more than a block of cells," Sable interrupted, "Though my Lord Azkaban owns them as well."

"The Island hosts a prison, castle and town, even some agriculture." Harry informed Hermione, "Though I've yet to get a proper look at the place. This is Sable, Personal Assistant to the Lord Caer Azkaban."

"Meaning you, Harry."

"Indeed," he favoured her with a small smile, and was pleased to see the clouds in her eyes lift, "And this is Hermione, my Researcher."

"Azkaban has researchers, My Lord." Sable objected.

"None Better." Harry snapped in response.

"I… Yes my Lord."

"Did they have anything suitable in stock?" Harry sighed, "Or will we have to wait?"

"They had a Shadow Cloak that should serve to obfuscate your features, Harry." Hermione replied, proffering a sleek black cloak, "Though much of your requested wardrobe will have to be tailored to order as I was unsure of your measurements.

"Azkaban has tailors as well, my Lord." Sable ventured.

"We'll try them, then." Harry agreed, "Can Azkaban supply armour and weaponry?"

"Yes, my Lord." she agreed, "Both magical and muggle."

"Was there anything else, Hermione?"

"Books, Harry."

"My Lord's library is one of the most extensive in existence." Sable boasted to Hermione's delight, "Though it is admittedly a little outdated."

"Do you have the Flourish and Blotts catalogue, Hermione?"

"I left it at Grimmaud Place."

"We can pick up another copy before we leave, then." Harry decided, "I assume that the Library has a Librarian?"

"Your Lordship has a librarian, the Library does not."

"Why?"

"My Lord of Azkaban has two libraries. Your personal Library, where most of the Rarer tomes are kept; and your larger library which is open to the public. The same librarian tends to both."

"I see." Harry paused in thought before making his decision. "Hermione, go get a catalogue for the librarian. Sable, arrange transport back to Azkaban."

"My Lord, I would suggest that you summon Your Lordship's coach." she ventured as they left.

"How would I do that?" Harry asked, donning his new cloak.

"Simply raise your wand hand above your head and snap your fingers," Sable replied, "As you are the Lord of Azkaban, your coach will respond to your signal."

"This is part of the magical inheritance?"

"Yes My Lord."

"File the paperwork and meet me outside Flourish and Blotts." Harry sighed, feeling that he needed a few moments alone to collect himself.

. . .

"Master… Harry." Hermione greeted him as he approached the store, "There was something that I wanted to show you."

"A Jeweller?" Harry asked with wry amusement.

"A pair of marriage rings." she replied.

"Hermione Granger, are you trying to propose to me?"

"No Harry!" she gasped, "I never… wouldn't,,,"

"Calm down," Harry responded with the first genuine smile he had felt since first uncovering this whole mess, "Explain to me what is so special about these rings?"

"Telepathy, master." she replied from his arms, "The wearer can send thoughts to the mind wearing the other. I thought it might be more convenient than summoning me every time you needed to ask me something."

"Not to mention that you can do a better job if I don't take you away from your books," he commented to her embarrassment, "Thank you Hermione."

"You like it, master?"

"Very much so," he replied, handing her a bag of gold, "Get two pairs."

"Two, master?"

"For Sable," he replied, "Since she knows Azkaban much better than I."

"Of course mas… Harry." she answered with a glance at the crowds, "I shall do so at once."

. . .

Sable found him standing in front of the bookshop, a dangerous looking figure swathed in concealing shadows that betrayed nothing. Hermione joined them shortly after, with a whispered apology that the shop did not have a pair of rings linked to a common ring.

"Azkaban does have your own Jeweller, my Lord." Sable informed him with a wry smile.

"Add him to the list of people I need to see," Harry replied mildly, "At least we have the template."

Raising his hand he summoned the coach as Sable had instructed. For a brief moment or two nothing happened. Then a deep black coach exploded onto the scene amidst the thunder of hooves. The horses where the colour of midnight, their manes and tails blazing orange flames like the fires that flickered in their eyes. The coach itself was a glossy back, the dark shield on the door lined in the thinnest grey.

"My Lord," Sable had rushed forward to get the door as soon as the coach rolled to a stop in front of him.

"What do you think you are doing?" he whispered to the kneeling woman.

"My duty, Lord."

Harry sighed and stepped aboard the coach with a nod to the driver. Hermione and Sable joined him as soon as he was seated – the interior of the coach was as bleak as the exterior, though somewhat more luxurious. Not constrained by the external dimensions of the coach, a comfortable lounge with black furnishings circled a small saerving station.

The brief journey passed in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, until Sable leapt up to open the door for her Lord. Harry could see her kneeling at the foot of the step, and as he stepped out he could see many more people dropping to their knees.

"All Hail the Lord Caer Azkaban! Long may he rule!"

. . .