In between the clacks of knitting needles, the swish of pages turning and the scratch of quills; in between the roars of the crowds at the duelling arena, and the cheerful chats of the Ministry staff, and the clink of cutlery and tankards at the local pubs and cafes, Harry's holiday passed.
His German got better. He could speak agreeably conversationally, although that was mostly thanks to the potions he took, which were incredible and wonderful and Harry didn't know how muggles functioned without them.
Partly due to Kreacher's ban on study during weekends and partly due to the terrifying and wonderful witch at the Ministry help desk, Harry's knitting improved. Harry shrunk down the long, blue rectangle that he'd started with, and posted it to Kreacher as a souvenir. Or a memento. Alternatively, in Kreacher's words, "The first and most precious knitting being made by the Good Young Master, is being gifted to…Kreacher?"
(Harry got around the clothes rule by pointing out that it didn't really function as a scarf, owing as to how it was eleven feet long by its conclusion and varied in width across different points. He'd not got the hang of regularly sized stitches back when he started. But since Kreacher loved it anyway, it was all good.) In another world, Dobby might have been jealous, but he now had seven cravats.
There were a couple of meetings with his lawyer, or the German Ministry staff, and sometimes both.
There were more awkward meals with Sirius and Remus than Harry really wanted to count – Remus' fault, mainly. He was very polite and now responsive to Harry too, but still distant enough around Harry that Sirius started commenting. Sirius being Sirius, these comments weren't subtle so much as half-witty-and-varying-from-deeply-to-mildly-insulting. Remus got the point and made more of an effort. At least, he stopped stuttering over Harry's name.
And then came his birthday.
Harry's birthday fell on a Friday, which, according to Sirius' logic, meant that it should be celebrated with some good German alcohol.
The dawn broke bright and early, but by the time 10 o'clock in the morning rolled around, some grey clouds had rolled in and rain looked to be incoming. It left Harry's morning free of distractions.
Without needing to put Sirius off – he was planning some kind of 'Big Secret' for the evening – Harry could wander down to the Post Office with his umbrella and pick up all his birthday greetings.
As the pale sun crept through the horizon's clouds and birds began singing him birthday greetings, Harry woke up early.
That wasn't a decision he made consciously. He always woke up early these days. It came from months of repetition, of having to fit occlumency practice in before Wood's pre-breakfast quidditch practices, and Harry was rather afraid that he was stuck with the habit now.
Not that he was complaining.
The world was delightfully calm and peaceful at five in the morning.
Sirius obviously wasn't up yet, and therefore wouldn't burst into Harry's compartment demanding to play Exploding Snap, or wanting Harry to translate the editorial comments of the German issue of Playwizard, or asking Harry if they thought they could sneak some decent Firewhiskey into their suite despite the Healer's orders.
In fact, Sirius tended to only wake up after ten, so Harry had a delightful five or so hours in which he could do what he wanted.
It was an easy thing to slide out of bed and wander into his library compartment.
The wooden bookshelves were still smooth, shining and welcoming, and the beeswax polish that Dobby had administered passionately added a pleasant, sweet scent to the small-ish room. The wall that Harry had covered – at Neville's instigation, but Harry knew it was his own fault really – was full of tiny and not-so-tiny potplants that hummed, shivered, and whispered welcomingly as Harry padded down the steps. People tended not to give Neville a lot of thought, Harry had noticed, but the boy himself was clearly quite sharp behind his quiet façade. Every cutting he'd ever given Harry was somehow good for peace, or comfort, or calming relaxation.
Harry skipped off the bottom step.
The tall shelves of books that stretched from floor to ceiling were now passingly full of books and parchments and notebooks made by Harry himself. His Pensieve sat snugly in a corner nook surrounded by greenery.
However, in pride of place just behind Harry's desk, stood the newest addition to Harry's study room. It had been an expensive choice, but Harry had the galleons. And he couldn't have got it in Britain, after all, because there were no highly skilled enchanters on the British Isles. He didn't usually find himself looking in fancy shops like this one, but the half-finished product in the window had beckoned him into one of the high-end and most expensive shops in the Unmögliches Entzückensstraße. Unlike the time with his pensieve, this time there had been no eighteen-month wait; due to popular demand there were always extras in the store, the shopkeep had explained. So Harry had passed over his requirements and picked up his birthday gift to himself after merely five weeks of anticipation.
The enchanted window now rested in the wall behind Harry's desk, wooden frame still gleaming new. It was taller than it was wide, maybe three feet tall and perhaps one foot across, but it was enough for a steady stream of natural light to enter his room and illuminate Harry's studies, without ever quite reaching – or damaging – Harry's books a short ways back.
The holly-wood frame, which blended smoothly into the wooden-looking walls of his library compartment, currently looked out on the early German sunrise.
The enchanter had given Harry the option of tweaking the view a little whenever the trunk moved, and although the default was to give Harry a view from outside whatever building the trunk was currently in, he could change the angle here and there to get a better viewpoint. Currently it was pointing straight at the rising sun.
Harry pulled out his highbacked study seat with barely a squeak of wood-on-wood, and sat down at the desk with a sigh.
A cup of gently steaming breakfast tea had somehow beaten him there, and Harry picked up the warm cup with both hands and inhaled as he looked out his new window.
The sky was paling as Harry watched, from the deep, dark blanket of night into a cheerful soft blue, while the horizon itself blushed pink and orange. The promised rainclouds didn't threaten yet; instead, the horizon was covered by soft fingers of cloudy streaks, so pale as to be almost invisible.
And beneath them, Harry saw as the dark sky brightened into dawn, the vast Harz forest was slowly illuminated by pale sunshine. Huge spruce trees were slowly revealed as he watched, casting dark shadows behind them as they reached towards the light. Leafy beech trees seemed to shiver in the dawning pale, and here and there in the vibrant green ocean splashed a scrubby rowan tree.
From Harry's vantage point at near the top of Botschaftsstraße, the forest could have gone on forever.
He took another sip of his tea and felt the warm and slightly bitter taste run over his tongue.
Outside, perhaps, the earliest of German wizards might be rising. The farmers, perhaps, who kept a cow or three, or shepherds who would be taking their tiny sheep herds out to graze on the town edges. The bakers would be setting their first loaves in the ovens, and the lamplighters would be going around the streets and turning off the streetlights for the day.
Aside from the very first stirrings of life, it felt like Harry was alone in the world as he watched the sun rise with his cup of tea, and it was a beautiful way to begin his birthday.
When he finished the cup, Harry swirled the dregs once in his cup and promptly upended the thing in its saucer. Then he peered into its depths to see what the day had in store for him.
An arm pointing towards the window suggested to Harry that Sirius was getting up to something again, and when Harry recognised the balloon just anti-clockwise, he realised it was probably going to be a birthday surprise that needed finalising, now that he thought about it. Sirius' plans were still a little unbalanced, most days: sixty percent ideas and forty percent wild hope it would hang together, for example. Harry resolved to try and be subtle about his support.
But there were more symbols.
The four-leaf clover, the bee, and the envelope reminded Harry that all his fanmail would be coming to Germany now too, and he'd forgotten to remind the post office that they might have a massive influx of owls over the day.
But overall it looked like it would be a good day, so Harry put the teacup to one side and cracked open his books.
He could get some nice research done early, before perhaps going for a quick walk to the owl office and maybe pick up a newspaper or three before really getting into his plans for the day.
A few hours later, Harry found himself pattering down Botschaftsstraße, heading towards the post office nearish to the edge of town.
He'd learned that he liked to walk around Verstecktes Tal. On sunny mornings like this one, Harry had often found himself following the paved roads that wound around the German hills, exploring the pureblood lifestyle and the quirks of the continental lifestyle.
He'd walked across tourist centres, where hundreds of wizards and witches spent their time shopping: for knickknacks, for clockwork, for the local delicacies of cheeses and pies and cold meats.
He'd explored small alleys, that winded behind buildings and darted up gulleys until he was lost in the maze of half-timbered houses that towered above him like trees in a forest and let skinny slips of light peek down, through laundry lines and window planters, to kiss the cobblestones below.
Harry had woven around markets and shadowed the locals and discovered all thirty-six exits that wizards could take to enter into the forest around them: Verstecktes Tal had no connection to the muggle world, but was delightfully accessible to the forest full of huge, straight tree trunks that towered well above Harry's head and echoed with the chirps and calls of unseen birds.
This morning, it took Harry fifteen minutes to walk away from the bustle of the main roads and arrive at the little squat building that was riddled with hundreds and hundreds of owl entrances in its walls.
"Guten Morgen," Harry sang out to the shopkeeper as he entered the building. "How is your day looking today?"
"Not bad, not bad," the owl office manager replied while rapidly divesting an owl of its burden; it sat on his left wrist, claws delicately curving around the leather guard of his arm while his other hand worked rapidly. "Nothing new today so far."
Harry grimaced. "I forgot to mention the other day that today's my birthday," and the 30-something shopkeeper looked up with a politely disinterested smile.
"Alles Gute zum Geburtstag," he congratulated, sending the owl up to the rafters with a strong upward jerk of his arm, its burden shooting over to a cubbyhole behind the desk with a sudden wand flick. "What can I help you with today, sir?"
"Es tut mir Leid," Harry offered. "I am sorry, but there may arrive a lot of British fan mail. I am Harry Potter," he explained. His pronunciation wasn't quite native, but his German had greatly improved over the six weeks that he'd been here and he was mostly conversational now. Those potions were a godsend that muggles would literally kill for. "I forgot that British wizards would not know I was overseas, and they will probably send the normal birthday post."
The post-wizard stopped what he was doing with the next owl in line and looked at Harry, eyes narrowed. "Harry Potter, der Prominente?"
He'd never been asked to his face if he was a celebrity before, but Harry fought back the blush. "Yes, exactly."
"So so.." the wizard in brown muttered, then relieved the owl of his burden and shelved the parcel again while letting the bird fly away. "Oh dear. We do not have many celebrities living here," he told Harry. "This may take some doing."
After handing over a couple of coins in preparation for the inconvenience, Harry soon found himself back at the Ministry, reading.
He nodded to Remus – awake and reading the Daily Prophet that the Ministry provided to them – before settling down in another seat in the sitting room and pulling out a Durmstrang textbook on transfiguration.
Remus raised his eyebrows when he saw the book title but didn't say anything. They were on closer speaking terms now, but Remus had always been the kind of wizard who appreciated a good book; he knew better than to interrupt Harry's musings. As such, they settled down in silence, with only the occasional page-turning or quill-scratch to break the peace, and waited together for Sirius to rise for the day.
"Harry! Pup! Light of my life, best of all godsons! Happy Birthday, Prongslet! You're old now!" Sirius burst into the room, still in his nightclothes and with unbrushed hair. Both Harry and Remus jumped as the door burst open and Sirius practically tumbled through it.
"Thanks!" Harry smiled back, closing his book but leaving one finger to save his page. "How're you doing, Padfoot? Had a good night?"
"Never better," Sirius grinned back. "I had a wonderful dream about me and that delightful witch at the pub down the way. Says she likes British wizards, don't you know. Has a soft spot for men with a bit of a 'bad-boy' aura. Finds their illusion of danger attractive." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "How 'bout you?"
Harry creased his brows. "What an, um, a nice dream. Shame it's not real life or anything, right?" he reminded gently, but he wasn't sure Sirius took it in. "I slept well. Had a nice walk this morning. Dobby's kept me fed and watered really well this morning. It's a good, quiet one."
Remus muttered something similar.
Looking at the two peaceful wizards with one raised eyebrow, Sirius threw himself into a spare settee and kicked his legs over the armrest. "Why have I been cursed to spend time with possibly the two most boring wizards I know?" he asked rhetorically. "Whatever happened to sneaking out to get drunk on your 14th? That was practically tradition a few years back…or was it just me? Or getting into scandalous relationships with the cleaning staff or whatever, Moony? Do neither of you ever do anything worth gossiping about?"
Harry, who held more secrets than any wizard of good health and steady mind really deserved and had committed enough crimes since coming back in time to have his wand snapped by the Ministry, snickered half-heartedly and said nothing. Remus rolled his eyes.
"If either of us were that way inclined, the healers wouldn't let us live with you, Padfoot."
He deflated. "True that. But hey!" Sirius perked up. "Drinks tonight, anyway, right? We'll take you out to the best pup in town, Pup! Give you a birthday to remember!"
Remus rustled his paper as it folded onto his lap. "I'm not so sure, Sirius. Harry's the Boy-Who-Lived, remem—?"
"We're in Germany!" Sirius enthused. "Possibly the only chance in Harry's lonely, isolated life to get as drunk as a boiled owl without any tabloids in Britain reporting on it!" which was an unfortunate point.
Harry and Remus shared a long, silent glance.
"We can talk about that later," Harry finally offered. "I do have a few things planned for today."
"Is that so?" Remus politely replied when it was clear that Sirius was going to sulk for a few minutes. "What have you got in mind for your birthday?"
Harry twitched, then looked first at his godfather and then at Remus on the other side of the room. "Actually, are you two free around or just after lunchtime? I've organised a little something with the staff. My lawyer's coming over—"
Sirius scoffed.
Harry spoke louder. "—in order to have me properly inherit a couple of things. I've been gifted some family magic and names, and we figure a really proper birthday tradition thing is the best way to…er…integrate it? Merge them? With me."
Sirius perked up. "A birthday party?"
Harry hummed a little. "Er...more like a ritual of traditions and processes that, well, Mr Lloyd-Elliot and Percy recommended things normal to British wizards, actually, in order for the magic of the gifting and, uh, the full...blessing, maybe?...to come through and—"
Sirius cut him off. "Birthday traditions?"
"Mmhmm."
"Of most dire importance?"
"Well…yes."
"Leave it to me!"
The three had separated for the morning – Sirius had dragged Remus off somewhere with a suspicious amount of excitement – which once again left Harry, Dobby, Crookshanks and Crow to mind their Ministry suite in comparative peace.
Crow was sunning himself on the window ledge outside Sirius' room. Crookshanks was asleep on Harry's pillow, and Harry himself was talking to Kreacher on the mirror.
Grimmauld Place was good, Kreacher proudly reported. The back garden was recovering vibrantly from Harry's vicious gardening eradication all those months ago, with the original plants – the wanted ones – sprouting fresh shoots. Some of the fruit trees for example, were not, in fact, dead. Instead, they had simply been oppressed into some form of hibernation and with Kreacher's persistent love and affection they might yet survive their years of neglect.
Harry very carefully didn't mention how Kreacher had been so grossly offended by being called a 'garden elf' not so long ago. Kreacher seemed to be quite proud of his gardening progress and Harry didn't want to take that away.
Additionally, Kreacher had apparently been busy spring-cleaning the whole house and was considering restoring some of the older furniture in storage, now that he'd mostly done the important stuff. He was also, Kreacher reported loyally, going through the remnants of Sirius' parents' belongings and rescuing what could be rescued while getting rid of what could be.
It was a far healthier pastime than Harry had ever expected Kreacher to be involved in. And even Harry knew that wizards tended to keep things as heirlooms for as long as an object lasted. That Kreacher was willing to garden and throw out old Black family things for Harry made him…a little teary, actually, and rather proud, and happy.
It also kept Kreacher busy, which was good for them both.
"And is the Good Young Master looking after himself?" Kreacher sternly inquired, having reported his professional progress.
Harry smiled sheepishly. Claiming that he could look after himself at this point of time would earn him a well-deserved scolding. "I'm sleeping tons and still limiting my study."
"And the Good Young Master's birthday?" Kreacher's ears twitched, somehow seeming a little demanding.
"I have plans," Harry assured him. "I think Sirius is planning something for tonight, y'know, 'secretly'. It wouldn't surprise me if I got dragged out to a pub or he snuck Fire-Whiskey in, or something. But Remus is looking after him at the mo—" He blinked suddenly. "I, er...actually, that reminds me. Does the Black House have any good spells for sobriety that you could teach me? I don't mind if you pop a book in front of the mirror or teach me yourself. I, um...I figure really shouldn't get drunk, what with all the secrets I've been keeping. But Sirius might not take no for an answer."
Kreacher made a very odd face in the mirror that Harry couldn't read. Sometimes all of Kreacher's wrinkles made his emotions easy to identify - the most tiny of muscle twitches did all sorts of things to the lines around his eyes and mouth. But other times they made reading his expression incomprehensible as his entire face seemed to scrunch up extensively. Harry paused for a moment, arrested, as he tried to figure out what Kreacher was thinking. He'd been insulted? But that didn't seem quite right...
There was a beat of silence before Harry shook himself and spoke on. "There should be a little party in one of the Ministry side halls, actually, in an hour or two. I asked the staff for a cake, and they said it wouldn't be any trouble. And Mr Lloyd-Elliot will be coming over to sort out that stuff I told you about. Um…did you have any more advice?"
"...Kreacher's?"
"Mm." Harry nodded. "I mean, I kinda think I know what I'm choosing, I've thought about this for literally days... But you wouldn't believe my nerves. I mean, I only get one chance at this, you know? And you're kind of my expert on wizarding traditions and respecting family lines and whatnot. So...?"
Kreacher's face shifted more, into some further kind of contortion that Harry stared at blankly. Then the house-elf nodded.
"The Good Young Master needs to choose names that fit him," Kreacher croaked knowledgeably. "The legal wizard is knowing his stuff, he is, and the Good Young Master is wise to be following his wizardly words. But the Good Young Master is also needing to remember one thing: the Good Young Master is choosing his names. For himself." He pulled suddenly at his long ears, a little distressed and visibly searching for better words. "The names is needing to sit right. Fit with your magic. Not just the good meanings."
Always ready to learn new things, and having found an untapped resource in house-elf knowledge and skills over the past few years, Harry promptly told Kreacher to hold on, while he hauled out his notes on names.
In his own slanted scribble, Harry had experimented with all the names he could add to his own. Some were crossed out, like ones containing Atticus and Barnaby, which he just didn't really like for some reason.
Others, once he'd narrowed the list down, were written and rewritten in new arrangements, as Harry tried to find three new words that would fit into his name and somehow resemble and reflect himself.
A rapidly scrawled out 'John', caught his eye as he hauled out a quill. From the Hebrew. God is gracious. Graciousness seemed like a nice meaning... He was still keeping it in mind...
Same for 'Clarence', which was Latin for 'bright'.
Another line in his own scratchy handwriting swam into focus: the Latin-influenced 'Cecily' or 'Cecil' for 'blind', which...Harry had crossed off relatively early on in the process. He wanted to be vigilant and detail-oriented. Not oblivious. Or even the more literal vision-challenged. Of course, he didn't know how much impact the gifted names would have on him, but still...
"I've kind of narrowed it down," Harry explained once he'd arranged himself to his satisfaction. "Mr Lloyd-Elliot found me some kind of book for expecting parents. It has baby names in it, with meanings and origins and all. It's 'part of the ritual of naming days', he tells me. So I'm doing my homework. Actually, not all of them are wizard names, as far as I can see. It's rather interesting. What do you think of 'Mildred' as a middle name? I was thinking I could take the feminine...uh, I don't think there is a masculine of that particular name. I asked Hermione and Percy, you know; they couldn't think of one. But it means 'gentle strength', which I really like the meaning of."
Kreacher cocked his head to one side.
"Or 'Justin'? 'Just'? 'Justus'??" He rested his head on his hands. "Mr Lloyd-Elliot encouraged me to pick good meanings. To, uh, add to the blessing? Try to shape the blessing of the magic and all?"
Kreacher nodded thoughtfully, then promptly switched into shaking his head with a scowl. "If the Young Master is not happy with his names, he should not join with them. Is the Young Master uncertain?"
"Mmmm," Harry vacillated. "I mean…yes? Mr Lloyd-Elliot says that any of these would be good – he highlighted all the relevant pages for me, and everything. I like them, it's just…something's not quite right."
Kreacher twitched an ear sceptically. "If the names is not fitting…"
"I know what you mean." Harry pursed his lips. "I've thought about it and thought about it. I've definitely narrowed it down now. Technically, suppose I've decided. But...I've got to get the right, you know?"
Harry scowled down at his notes and then nibbled at his thumb thoughtfully. "I mean, I really wanted Mildred - girl's name or whatever - since aside from the meaning, 'Milly' is a little like 'Lily', for my mum's side, you know. Since she's lacking in my name or whatever and I thought I could balance that out. But since Mum and Dad apparently avoided that for whatever reason, I figure I should connect more with Dad's side. So…I had to start my choices again. I mean, I want it...I just don't think I should have it."
"The new names is needing to fit the Good Young Master's own direction."
"Well, a lot of these are military names. Triumph, leadership, brightness or vividness...Mr Lloyd-Elliot thinks they'd be good. I mean, he's worried about what I let slip about the prophecy, I think, but for someone who doesn't know what my plans are, he's not too far off..."
"The Good Young Master is not losing himself in the gifts..."
Harry looked up. "Yeah, I agree with you, actually. I think strength is only half the problem. I mean, what happens if I beat You-Know-Who and then end up just like him? 'There is no good and evil, there is only power'... blah blah blah. So I was thinking of moral names. I mean, the idea of justice is kind of nice, right? I could take 'Just' or 'Justus' or 'Justinian'...But then 'Clement' is pretty good too, yeah? I could take that one and make it a maculine fit. Or 'Clemens', or 'Clemense', which mean mercy?"
When Harry next looked up, Kreacher seemed to be polishing the silverware just out of sight while nodding agreeably at Harry's monologue.
"I actually quite like the idea of picking British names though," Harry acknowledged. "I mean, Anglo-Saxon or Latin or whatever, to ground me or connect me to the magic a bit better..."
"Is that so?" Kreacher's seemed to pick up a new spoon to polish.
Harry frowned at his own notes again. "I want to connect to the wizarding world a bit more, I think. Because Mum and Dad seem to have tried to do that with my current name a bit. But also out of respect, you know? For all these poor people who've passed me their legacies."
"The Good Young Master is being very thoughtful."
"But then I got the idea to look into the arithmancy," Harry continued, handfuls of his hair now grasped in his fists. "Because Mr Lloyd-Elliot seemed very interested in that when he introduced me to all of this. Did you know that the middle of 'Harry James Potter' is 'me'? Or in Eldar Futhark: ᛗᛖ?"
Kreacher hummed in interest and continued to nod thoughtfully.
"I do want to pick up a woman's name," Harry added earnestly. "I mean, accept a name from one of the witches. I could change the form or whatever, but no one comes into the world without the influence of a woman, I reckon." He paused to wave his hands. "I mean, mothers, anyone? Hello?"
Kreacher looked vaguely supportive of that thought, so Harry made a little mental note. "In fact, it was one of the things that bothered me about You-Know-Who's resurrection, last timeline. He took blood from me, his enemy; flesh from Wormtail, the bastard; and bone - bones? - from his father for his rebirth. But you can't be properly reborn from all men, right? There should be a maternal figure in there somewhere?" Harry realised how much he'd been talking and paused a moment, abashed. "Just...that's something that I've been thinking about, a little. But the end result is I do want a feminine influence, even if - like my parents - I balance it more to the other side. My 'wizarding' side, I guess."
There was a small clink through the mirror as Kreacher apparently put down his old fork and picked up another one to bring to a sparkling shine.
"And I," Harry blushed, "I'm going to have an awful lot of names, you know. So it's not weird to want them to sound alright together, right?"
"The Young Master is worrying himself into circles."
"Oh, I've got a short-list to go back to, if I need it," Harry hastened to explain. "I have, er...four short-lists, actually."
"Your thoughts is spinning like a pixie trap," Kreacher intoned. "The Young Master should simply choose the names that speak to him."
"Um." With a fuzzy thought forming at the back of his mind, Harry nonetheless scoffed. "Then I should have picked up a 'Felix' somewhere, don't you think? That one speaks to me loud and clear. Shame that one wasn't available."
Kreacher nodded seriously. Harry flushed.
"Oh, well…I was meaning…I didn't mean that seriously, you know."
Kreacher sat in front of the mirror and kept shining up the cutlery, watching in supportive silence as Harry worried himself into a tizzy.
"I should go back to the runes," Harry finally muttered. "Get the good meanings, even...Ooh! I could divine them, I reckon! That's an idea!"
Kreacher was silent, but his belief that Harry needed all the good luck he could get nevertheless travelled through the mirror loud and clear.