Midday found Harry bent over a table near a window, pouring over more muggle grammar and language books. He'd maintained focus for a long time already, partly due to the steady sound of the rain that fell outside.

It pattered constantly against the outside walls, trickled down eaves and corners, and flavoured the air that slipped through the mostly-closed window with a cool, fresh scent.

Inside, the room was calm and cozy. Crookshanks had found himself a nice place in the seat opposite Harry, and lay curled up on the silk-lined cushion with only the rumbling sound of his snores drifting to Harry's ears. Crow was also dozing: he sat on Harry's shoulder, head tucked neatly under wing, and familiar enough in weight that Harry barely registered his presence beyond the familiar scents of dandruff and – somehow – wind currents. Rarely, he shifted his weight to preen a feather sleepily, or quietly clatter his beak before drifting back into rest.

Harry himself barely moved beyond the scratching of his quill as he moved through the exercises.

It was peaceful.

Three loud and rapid knocks at the door disturbed the moment.

Harry's quill tip paused, his movement arrested. Crookshanks' regular, rumbling snores also stopped as his head rose momentarily, ears flicked towards the sound with all the aplomb of an affronted feline. Crow twitched, and fought back against the sensation by tucking his head further under his wing and shuffling two steps towards Harry's neckline, the better to lean against him.

Unfortunately for Crow's continued rest, Harry chose to raise his head. His shoulder muscles moved as he did so, and Crow lost the battle against wakefulness.

He expressed his displeasure with flailing wings and a more demanding chatter that had Harry's ears ring just a little and cool air slip down his back underneath his collar. Smiling wryly, Harry ducked away from the noise and shook away the goosebumps that rose on his skin. Harry stood.

"Sorry, sorry," he apologised, nevertheless not stopping until he reached the suite door. "I did tell you we'd have visitors…"

Then he pulled the door open to see one of the younger Ministry staff standing there, looking both officious and equally abashed. His youthful face was splotchy pink, part embarrassment, part acne, and he betrayed his nerves by clenching and unclenching his hands until his knuckles turned pale and bloodless.

Harry looked up at him. The kid had the tall and slender physique of a boy whose weight hadn't quite caught up to his growth spurt, and despite the crisply starched robes and the tightly knotted silk at his neck, looked entirely unprepared to meet Harry. He didn't seem to know where to put his hands.

"Er?" Harry stood there, not sure what he'd been expecting but it wasn't that, and then the young wizard down at him, somehow unbalanced by the fact that the famous Harry Potter was…wasn't six feet tall and ruggedly muscular, by the looks of things.

"Herr Potter, sir?" the school-leaver asked politely. "The lunch will be ready now. If Herr Potter is wishing to put on his formal robes and follow me?"

Harry blinked and forgot to flinch as Crow headbutted him grumpily and gave his ear a disgruntled peck. "Formal robes? I thought…"

He didn't know what he'd thought, actually. There was a pause.

"Ja, genau," the wizard confirmed. "Germany is honoured to celebrate the famous Boy-Who-Lived. Er…" he paused, then visibly reassessed Harry's readiness. "Just to inform you but there have been journalists invited."

Harry mumbled something less than polite under his breath, then sprang into action. Crow rocked backwards off Harry's shoulder in the rush, and squawked indignantly as he fluttered chaotically to the floor.

"Wait – okay, can you give me five minutes? Dobby! Where are my new navy robes, the one's Sirius really likes? I'm going to have a bath really, really quickly!" he turned back to the wizard. "Er…could you wait in th— have a seat for…just very briefly? Just…sit here, please. Perfect. I'll be very fast. Dobby! Have you seen Sirius and Remus?"

As Harry dashed into Sirius' rooms and threw open his trunk lid, he could hear the young man behind him apologising to Crow, something about having the best of intentions.

Harry clattered down the familiar steps.

A quick wave of his wand – still illegal, even in Germany, but that's half of why he was still living out of his trunk – and his personal bath was full of warm water, so Harry jumped straight in with no time to worry about gracefulness. By the time he'd lathered up his shampoo and then dunked his hair under the water to rinse the suds off, Dobby had trotted down into the compartment and laid out his whole outfit for the party before disappearing again.

Harry avoided the drying charm – it did terrible things to hair, and he needed it to behave today – but towelled himself off more rapidly than effectively. That might be why he found himself muttering to himself as he forced himself into the pile of fashionable clothes.

The creamy linen shirt was pulled over his head roughly, and Harry flailed a little to find the arm holes. He yanked. Then his head got stuck, leaving Harry to grope blindly for the exit. His glasses had caught on the fabric and now squashed his nose – he should have known better than to put them on first, but habit! Also, rush – but Harry ignored the temporary discomfort and forced his head further into the linen. He found the head-hole after a couple of seconds of sightless pulling, and jerked the hem down to his waist roughly.

He grabbed the dark-blue breeches next, and was desperately relieved that Dobby had disappeared to be busy somewhere else, because when he shoved one leg through the waist, his whole body immediately tilted left.

"Merlin," Harry cursed. "Crap. Bollocks. Damn it all."

He spent a good thirty seconds hopping about his compartment desperately, foot stuck halfway down the leg hole, heroically trying to regain his balance. Despite the rush, Harry spared a long second at the end of it to triple-check that no one had seen his embarrassment.

Why was it that people got clumsy when they were most short of time?

Finally, he did himself all up and tucked in what needed to be tucked. The newly tailored waistcoat slid smoothly over his shoulders. To save him from wearing the colours of any one Hogwarts House, more for Harry's peace of mind than Sirius', the waistcoat was so dark as to be almost black. The satin fabric still looked formal, yet caught the light in a flattering style that would complement the bolder colour of his breeches and robe while still adding solemnity to the occasion. It furthermore drew the eye with the very flattering cut that would 'elevate' rather than 'match' than whole ensemble.

Or so the tailor had said when Harry had picked it up.

The delicate silver thread that shot through the waistcoat fabric would apparently further catch the light and draw the eye, without looking nouveau riche, the tailor had gone on to explain.

Harry had been very emphatic when he ordered that he didn't want anything pompous or garish. He had accidentally sparked a passionate monologue about 'innate elegance' and 'subtle features' and a few other words besides that Harry hadn't quite understood through the tailor's fluent German passion. Either way, the waistcoat was a little more fancy that he would have chosen himself, but he had to admit it looked nice without being ostentatious.

He finished doing up the last of the buttons.

At that point, Dobby clattered noisily down the stairs for a second time, carrying a large copper tray.

Helpful despite his short height, Dobby put down his tray immediately and turned to lift Harry's formal, open-cut robes from where it had been placed. In one sudden movement, he shook out the creases in the royal blue velvet before carefully placing it over Harry's shoulders.

Harry stood stiff, getting familiar with the weight and the lay of it, while his heart rate began to slow again. Frankly, the outfit didn't feel as stuffy as he was expecting. The benefits of a good tailor, Draco would probably say, and Harry hid a grimace as he realised he'd have to agree with the boy next time.

Then Dobby turned to pick up the tray he'd brought down and, to Harry's astonishment, spent three or four minutes jabbing Harry's clothes with golden pins, tied some kind of silver-gold cravat to "tie the Great Harry Potter together", and tucked a golden watch and watch fob into his pocket and arranged them all prettily.

"The pins is to stop the robes slipping," Dobby explained while he bustled about Harry's pocket. "All good wizards is needing some good quality pins. Dobby is thinking you need three today, on the Great Harry Potter's birthday, for good luck: one for each lapel and a—" He paused a moment to jab something very sharp and very close to Harry's neck; Harry swallowed loudly, "—cravat pin with pearl inlay. The watch is because all good wizards is needing a good watch, and while Kreacher is—" some indistinct mumbling that Harry couldn't catch but was definitely not polite, "—Kreacher is finding a good Black watch for the Great Harry Potter sir, with Kreacher's compliments. Kreacher is wishing the Great Harry Potter sir a happy birthday, and hopes he is liking the Young Master Regulus' watch."

Watching as an onlooker while his body was put to rights, Harry dismissed the fleeting thought that wasn't a wizard's watch a traditional birthday gift? But Dobby was still talking.

"Dobby is knitting Harry Potter sir's socks himself," and Harry found himself forcibly sitting on the edge of the bath while blue socks with bright yellow spots were forced onto his feet, fortunately mostly hidden by his breeches. "Happy Birthday, Harry Potter sir," Dobby beamed.

Then Harry was summarily instructed to put on his fancy shoes and tuck in a pocket handkerchief, Dobby yanked back his hair into its traditional two-inch-long low ponytail, and he was hurried up the stairs towards the waiting Ministry wizard.

"Herr Potter." The young wizard, who was not just uncomfortably dressed up himself but apparently proud of it, now that Harry noticed, stood up swiftly from the seat on which he had been awkwardly perched, and bowed a tad stiffly. "Apologies for the hurry. Di—May I ask, did the Ministry not inform you of the plan?"

Harry found his hands smoothing down the soft fabric of his robes. "I was under the impression it would just be a small party with the staff."

The wizard – surely he wasn't over twenty, and how old did that make Harry if he thought the man looked childish? – blanched pale a little and blustered. "It is definitely a party, Herr Potter. With the staff. As I understand it, when we heard you wanted a party, er, none of the staff wanted to be left out. We have, uh, closed the Ministry for business for the next few hours and booked out our largest ballroom. Perhaps I should…apologise?"

Oh dear.

Harry focussed carefully on the heavy swish of his robes and the soft rustling of his waistcoat, his firm tread into the plush Ministry carpets, and the rhythmic swinging of his watch chain, as he was escorted towards the ballroom by the German Ministry wizard. Crow stopped flying above him and dove down to settle on Harry's shoulder in the now-familiar flutter of feathers. Harry heard the sound now even in his sleep and didn't need to flinch or sneeze at all.

Instead, as Crow preened his left wing – and then Harry's own hair with rough, familiar care – Harry concentrated on his breathing and calmed his mind in preference to worrying about his unanticipated public appearance. Thank goodness for his years of good occlumency habits, and the fact he'd been in the public eye for years.

The trio reached the ground floor, where the large Ministry front door now stood closed and locked, and turned left down a marble hallway that Harry had never been in. A complexly-patterned maroon rug followed the corridor floor immaculately.

The wizard on his right made apologetic small talk. "Traditionally, the Ministry only locks its doors on two or three occasions each year in this manner," he said, gesturing behind them to where the beech doors rested, very firmly closed. "Er…we usually only host the Yuletide dance and diplomatic parties in our largest ballroom… The Department of International Cooperation made the first plans, because they wanted the British Min—er, because there's been a bit of competi—um. A few of the office witches took over the decorations, I hope you'll find them to your taste.'"

"Oh," Harry managed, keeping pace with wizard to his side. "I hope they didn't go to much trouble for me."

"Er. Haha!" The wizard deflected and Harry felt his heart miss a beat. "Oh, the older folk…and some of the more…and we younger set also wanted to make a show of support," the wizard explained. Harry swallowed loudly, but the man by his side didn't seem to notice. "…Uh, the chefs have had great fun trying to combine traditional German birthday food with your British fare."

Harry licked his lips. At least that would work in with his need for birthday traditions. He nodded politely and straightened his collar.

"I understand that your godfather has been very helpful in planning some of the more British traditions, in fact," the young man continued. Harry very carefully fought away his full-body shiver. "He seemed to know exactly what he wanted. And his friend – Herr Lupin – is very good with his wand. He was the main wizard for knowing what your godfather wanted."

Harry wasn't surprised. Some days, Remus seemed to be the only one who could keep up with Sirius' mad enthusiasm.

"I hope you'll enjoy the live band," the wizard continued and Harry caught his eyes widening in surprise.

"Wait…how much effort did you go to?" Harry wondered out loud. "How much of this did you pull together this morning? I mean…I only mentioned the party to Sirius a few hours ago? I'm sure he had a whole bunch of changes to suggest…"

The wizard shot him a sideways glance and then puffed up in pride. "For a famous guest, it is not uncommon for the Ministry to go to some effort. For such a widely admired guest such as Herr Potter and his companions – Herr Black is always friendly and a lot of fun, and Herr Lupin patient and generous to a fault; Herr Potter, of course, has charmed many in the past weeks – the staff did not begrudge the effort."

"Aww, thanks."

"But we are here, Herr Potter. After you."

There was a pause, and then Harry found himself shuffled into the middle of the double doors by the wizard by his side. The wizard must have done something: knocked? Tapped a hidden button? But Harry missed it. Instead, all he noticed was that the huge doors swung open and the ballroom behind it was silent.

He'd been in the public eye often enough that the ballroom stayed in focus as Harry stepped into it. This was somewhat less-than-ideal, because this allowed Harry to observe the quiet crowd as his feet clicked on the hardwood floor.

The large crowd. Large enough to fill the very large ballroom. Harry felt a fixed smile slide over his face.

What seemed like hundreds of bodies turned to face him as he entered. Fever-bright eyes looked his way, glasses glinted in the light, jewellery gleamed, crystal goblets and wine glasses and other things were raised in his direction: in celebration, he assumed, as embarrassing and inappropriate as it all felt for orphan Harry, alone in the world.

But he wasn't alone in the world, Harry remembered as Crow's feathers rustled by his ear.

And then he realised that the room wasn't silent either, fabric rustled loudly in the room as glass upon glass was raised in his honour, some people seemed to lead clapping that grew in volume, and the unfamiliar faces in the crowd turned into the smiles of people he'd passed by in the corridors: a whole raft of clerks suddenly stood out in a gaggle on his left, the help desk witch was to his right with what looked like three generations of family, and from behind the wizard who must be the German Minister and his wife emerged a grinning Sirius and his sidekick, dressed to the nines.

Indeed, it was the best dressed he'd even seen Remus in his life, starched collar and everything.

"Surprise!" Sirius beamed, and Harry felt the stiffness in his shoulders drain even as his godfather added, "It's tradition."

Large shouts erupted out of all corners, and Harry saw handfuls of well-dressed witches and wizards dotted around the room raise their drinks higher and cheer.

Camera flashes went off.

He caught wishes of, "Happy Birthday!" in English, and, "Alles Gute zum Geburtstag!" in Deutsch. An echo of the words, "Surprise!" may have been shouted in a couple of different languages, and a bunch of different people were definitely offering, "Cheers!"

Then there was laughter, and the clinking of cups and tankards and all sorts, and a round of applause welcomed Harry to the full and brightly lit room.

"Pup! Happy birthday, Prongslet," Sirius grinned. His eyes a little glassy, from emotion or alcohol Harry couldn't tell. "Happy fourteenth birthday!"

A blush rose up his neck, and Harry found himself smiling at Sirius, at the strangers, and they quietened accommodatingly.

Harry sent his rather forced smile specifically towards Sirius's smug face, and then waved awkwardly at the cheerful crowd around him. "Thank you," he nodded towards the cheerful crowd. "I'm...surprised. What a…lovely…surprise. Thank you all!"

There were delighted chuckles and parental looks of proud delight that had Harry double-check himself. But Sirius and Remus were acting like everything was expected.

"Uh…Padfoot, Remus," his gaze returned to the two wizards just in front of him. "You got me. You can't possibly be telling me that you only found out about this this morning."

Sirius threw his head back and barked in laughter, before summoning a goblet from somewhere and taking a generous sip despite its occasionally spitting orange sparks. "Gods no. One of the ladies caught me the day you suggested it, actually. Wanted to know everything I could tell her about your taste in food, favourite colour, the works."

He waved his hand, generally indicating the room, and Harry noticed for the first time that in the high ceiling above the crowds of people there were red, gold and green coloured streamers hanging from the six great chandeliers. Below them were huge tapestry-like brocades decorating the walls, and the buffet table over in the corner was positively groaning under the weight of food.

In fact, as Harry took notice, there was a huge three-tiered cake that seemed to be waiting for him by the buffet. Red and green and blue in colour, it was orbited by what seemed like hundreds of whizzing yellow spots. He blinked. Pudding, he realised suddenly, in the shape of snitches? His seeker-eyes caught the delicate filigree piping on the sides of the pudding-snitches: jērą? A four-leaf clover? Another had a horse-shoe shape, and then a ehwaz rune caught his eye.

"Oh them?" Sirius followed his look. "I bet you can even see the lucky symbols on 'em, can't you? Gryffindor Golden Boy."

Harry twitched.

"Partly tradition, the cake is, I mean. But me and the chefs spent hours figuring out how to make it symbolise you in as many ways as possible. You know, so you don't los- I mean, so you accept the new names with stability."

"Wow."

Sirius shrugged one shoulder and abruptly elbowed Remus in embarrassment, causing the poor man to oomph. "Also, luck, I guess. So everything today goes well for you. And all."

Harry's cheeks went hot again, and he found himself blinking quite rapidly.

In another distant corner, a little band of five members drew up their instruments again, and some sweet, slow waltz-type-song began filling the room with the gentle sound of strings.

Sirius recovered from his emotional little speech a beat before Harry did. "We all got you presents," Sirius grinned again, and waved his hand towards another table that Harry hadn't noticed, as equally laden down as the first. "But first, your due diligence." He smiled a shark-like grin. "It's tradition."

He tugged Harry out of the centre of the doorway to stand nearer to the wall on the left, where Mr Lloyd-Elliot stood nearby the gift table and looked visibly efficient.

"Happy birthday, Mr Potter," the lawyer smiled. "And good luck.

It occurred to Harry that he needed to duly shake the hands and bow at all the important people in the room.

Harry hoped his nervous twitch wasn't noticeable to the guests – the hundred-odd guests? – but Remus certainly caught his momentary indecision. Mr Lloyd-Elliot stepped forward to address the crowd – something about the invocation, but Harry didn't catch it due to the sudden organisation that began to be occurring around him.

"Not to worry, Mr Po—Harry," Remus caught his eye and made rare conversation as the little group arranged itself appropriately to the demands of a silently beckoning Sirius. "Your godfather here has more experience with these events than he ever wanted–"

"Gods yes."

"—and he'll walk you through all the etiquette you need. The good news is, you're young enough to get away without knowing all the wizarding traditions going on around here smoothly, and foreign enough that any awkwardness will be thought of as confusion between British and German habits. Plus, all these people like you."

True enough, Harry supposed, and obeyed as Sirius clasped his shoulders and angled him just right, twenty more degrees over and a further step away from the gift table. Then having been arranged to Sirius' satisfaction, Sirius joined the little posse to wait for the end of Mr Lloyd-Elliot's invocation.

"—so mote it be," Harry zoned in again to hear his lawyer intone, and the crowd surprised him by speaking in unison, a host of voices speaking as one:

"So say we all."

There was a pregnant pause while all the witches and wizards assembled seemed to will the blessing into being, and then in an astonishingly efficient manner, a long line of guests began to form and converge upon them.

Harry felt his spine straighten, unasked for, as the pressure came to bear.

"Ah, Minister," Harry heard Sirius mutter on his right, and he imitated his godfather as an elderly wizard in burnt orange robes came over to shake hands – Sirius, Remus, Harry, Mr Lloyd-Elliot – and bow over Harry's clasped grip, and make small talk about how lovely it was to chat to him face to face – "We are so busy, around here" and all – and introduce his wife, an equally elderly witch of particularly stately bearing.

"It is an honour," she said in accented English, and there were more flashing camera lights and Harry blinked, startled, entirely unsure of what to say. Eventually he fell back on: "Not at all, my pleasure. Thank you for hosting us," the usual pleasantries, and eventually her husband let go of Harry's hand and moved off to make room for…

…the next person in the cue.

"Madam secretary," Sirius said beyond Remus' tall shoulders, just in time for Harry to catch the term and smile fixedly at the approaching middle-aged witch.

A brief, single handshake with Remus in which there were no words exchanged – lucky bastard – and she stepped up to Harry.

"Madam secretary," Harry managed, his handshake a little less tense, his smile a little less fixed as the pattern began to grow apparent.

"Minister Counsellor," nodded Sirius a moment later.

"Minister Counsellor," Harry echoed.

'Herr Secretary the first', came before 'Frau Secretary the second' and Harry found himself repeating the pleasantries easily and thanking each for their gifts in a repeating cycle of grammar patterns, 'humbly appreciative' to meet wives, 'delighted to make the acquaintance' of husbands, a 'pleasure' to meet boyfriends and girlfriends of the younger set. All of the guests – his guests? – smiled broadly and looked him straight in the eye to shake his hand or curtsey or clap him heartily on the shoulder, and Harry began to realise that what the young wizard had meant earlier when he'd said 'the staff did not begrudge the effort'. They were far more passionate about his fourteenth – er? But yes – fourteenth birthday party than he was.

The room was positively sparkling with enthusiasm.

"Well done, Mr Potter," the lawyer muttered to him once or twice.

As he lost count of the handshakes and descended into a type of numbness, Harry stopped standing quite so stiffly; he found himself moving his feet more freely on the dark wooden floor, approaching each oncoming guest, his own smile growing less fixed and more responsive as the line moved past. Occasionally, Harry caught himself explaining how Remus was a 'favourite teacher' back in the day, before he even knew the connection; how celebrating with his long-lost godfather was something he'd 'never dreamed of experiencing'; how being accepted by the wizarding world and introducing his family to them was an unexpected pleasure.

"And my lawyer, of course," he mentioned more than once, "who's made all of this possible. I am incredibly grateful to him."

Everything even, Harry mused silently while he bent over to greet the youngest daughter of one of the German judges from courtroom three, had the benefit of being true.

He stopped noticing the camera flashes around the time that he saw Dobby had snuck in as one of the house-elves carrying trays with drinks around, and by the time the reporters came up to thank him for the access, Harry was relaxed enough to introduce Crow, still on his shoulder, as, "a good friend of mine; he comes and goes but I'm honoured to have been adopted by him."

It was all very new to Harry, and he dreaded to think what he'd look like in the papers the next day, but Draco would sulk to have missed it. "Just think, Potter," he imagined the blond saying, "the bloody event of the European year. The notorious Boy-Who-Lived – the only one known to have lived through the killing curse internationally, and the Germans get to show you off first! Fudge must be livid!"

Harry hoped that was the case, actually, and found himself smiling for real even at the reporters of the German Täglich, and the British Witch Weekly photographer, and an old, fat wizard who looked far too ancient to still be working as a reporter at the Daily Prophet, let alone an international correspondent. Following them came the Spanish reporters, and the French, and a few other reporters who seem to be attached to the various embassies dotted around the Botschaftsstraße. At the end of the line came some of the day staff, a little nervous that Harry might not want to speak to them but willing to give it a shot, and so he spoke to cleaners and candle dribblers and message-runners, each of whom shared their shy hope that Harry enjoyed his normal breakfasts, or the fresh daily flowers, or whatever specific service they had previously given him.

By the time Harry's cheek muscles moved from tired to aching, the line was reaching the end. The reporters seemed to know their place better than Rita Skeeter normally did, or maybe Mr Lloyd-Elliot was involved, but after a quick canvas of the room they removed themselves from the party to hang out in the corner, take photos, and write themselves notes on the party.

This time when Harry looked up from the latest guest, a squib who worked as a functionary in the Muggle Liaison Office and as such had a rather low status, there was no one standing behind him.

Dobby appeared by his elbow to foist upon him a long drink of gillywater, and Harry suddenly noticed how dry his throat was and how much it hurt.

"Take a moment," Sirius muttered under his breath, collecting drinks for Remus and himself as well. "These wizarding events tend to be quite intense for the hosts." He drained his goblet in one huge gulp. "That's you, kiddo."

Harry was too busy sipping away to bother replying, but he wiggled his eyebrows acceptingly in Sirius' general direction and felt that was enough. Mr Lloyd-Elliot was muttering a raft of instructions. Time-management. The expectations of the programme. "We shall begin the meal at half one, Mr Potter, and will move through as many of the required 'traditions' before then as fast as we can."

This time Harry found himself manoeuvred to the front of the room, up on a little stage that the lawyer had charmed out of nowhere and he waited in nervous anticipation as the musicians stopped their instruments and the crowd made an elegant but determined effort to replace empty glasses with new drinks and knew, somehow, to settle down into seats where they could.

Harry shuffled obediently to one side of the stage while the Minister stood up to give a boring but well-intentioned short speech about how glad Germany was to be hosting him on his birthday. The reporters took lots of photos and made lots of notes.

Harry, who had expected the party to be maybe twelve people in a side room somewhere, stood out to say thank you to everyone again. He stuttered a bit, but less than some people expected, judging by the approving nods in the crowd. The ex-quidditch captain, DA teacher and Patronus Club tutor swiftly found his pace as he stood in front of the crowd and let his voice reach the back of the room.

It was actually quite easy to explain how meaningful it all was to get his godfather back with all of their help, to tell the crowd how nervous he had been about the significant events of the day, and thank them all for attention to his renaming celebration.

His throat was dry again, and he was developing a mild headache in his temples from the tension.

The Mr Lloyd-Elliot finished fussing about with his business, and Harry was manhandled, by Sirius again of course, to sit behind a nicely presented table with a huge Eagle Owl quill and a crystal bottle of bright purple ink.

He was almost sad to feel Sirius' warm palms leave his shoulders, abandoning him again to sit alone in full view of the crowd but for the weight of Crow still on his shoulder; however, Harry bit his lip, this was what he was here for, and Mr Lloyd-Elliot would guide him through.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Mr Lloyd-Elliot began when Harry had settled. "We have gathered here today to bear witness to Harry James Potter celebrating his fourteenth birthday."

The audience applauded. Harry steadied his breathing.

He went on. "This is an important event for a young wizard such as our Harry: he is twice seven, has finished his first three years of schooling, and is beginning to come into his own as a wizard who knows his own mind, can uphold his family traditions, and inherit the legacy of his forebears with diligence.

"What you may not know," and the crowd seemed to settle into surprised silence while Harry flexed his fingers carefully, "is that Harry James Potter is the recipient of some very significant gifts, and you have been invited here today to bear witness to his acceptance of them. New names, fresh magic and a legacy of family lines."

Mr Lloyd-Elliot paused to let the susurrations run through the crowd until they settled once again. Harry shifted in his seat.

"I would like to invited the family of Harry James up onto the stage," the lawyer continued to Harry's relief, and he felt his heartbeat slow as Crow preened his hair again fussily, and Sirius and Remus – and Remus! – stepped up behind him. Then somehow Dobby was standing to his left holding the mirror that Kreacher looked in from, and Crookshanks bounded up onto Harry's lap as though the whole tableau was really for the benefit of the kneazle, and Harry found his eyes burning.

He would not cry, even if his found and rescued little family were all here for him now; even though he'd had to work so hard to connect with every one of them; even if they were scraggly rescues who'd all been lost until they found each other.

And they were here now, claiming themselves as his family, and then Sirius ruffled his hair roughly and Remus laid a hand on his free shoulder and Dobby tugged on his robe sleeve and Harry forced himself to keep smiling through a curtain of shimmering light and he swallowed loudly and tuned back in to listen to what the lawyer was saying now.

"Harry's family stands here," Mr Lloyd-Elliot gestured with one arm, "in place of his parents, who first gifted him the names Harry James on his naming day. They standing here with blessings and well-wishes, to act as witnesses to the gifting of his new names and as guides and teachers who will help him to embody his new names, to teach him to walk uprightly in the legacy left for him, and promising to do their best to support Harry when and as he needs it."

Behind him, Sirius sniffed a loud, rattled sniff and bumped shoulders with Remus emotionally.

Harry swallowed again, and scratched that spot behind Crookshanks' ears that he liked so much.

Soon enough, all the talking was out of the way and Mr Lloyd-Elliot flourished a black leather file that contained a pile of legal parchments before placing it grandly in front of Harry, on the table.

"Ready, Mr Potter?" he muttered while the crowd took the chance to crane their heads behind him.

"I'm good."

The energy in the room had shifted. The air felt heavy and significant.

Harry took in his lawyer's encouraging look, and jerked into action. It wasn't the most graceful he'd ever uncapped an ink bottle and he fiddled with the brand-new quill a little, turning it in his fingers until the balance felt just right. With a breath in, he reminded himself this was easy. He was just embarrassed by the crowds, no life-altering battles or death-defying stunts necessary.

His hand steadied.

All right then, Harry?" Remus was the first to mumble quietly, and Harry shifted most comfortably into his seat.

With his smile, Harry felt the tension near his eyes fade away. "Yeah. I mean, it's just a big deal, y'know."

Sirius slapped him cheerfully on the closest shoulder. "You got this, Pup."

"Heh, yeah." He clenched his fists, and then wiped his damp palms on the knees of his breeches. The air seemed to shimmer.

Sirius took a look at his face, and broke the tension by snickering under his breath. "It's the bloody Potter luck, kid. Only you would find yourself having to name your own self at your age! You and Dumbledore, eh? You've got big shoes to fill now."

"Gee, thanks." Harry rolled his eyes.

"Well!" Sirius shrugged. "I mean I guess you've got the Dark Lord thing down early, so that's jolly good of you I say. And now the names thing. Next is to decline the Minister of Magic position, and become Chief of the Wizengamot, you'll need to get your Order of Merlin, first class pretty soon…"

Harry thought for a wild moment about what his plans actually entailed, and wondered if Sirius wasn't too far off the mark. Then he dismissed the horrible idea immediately.

"Currently it's just…this, thanks," he muttered, eying Mr Lloyd-Elliot's well-manicured hands as they flicked through the parchments, in triplicate. Then Mr Lloyd-Elliot stepped back so that the audience could see. "It's…it's suddenly feeling like a really big deal, actually."

Harry drew in a deep breath.

Mr Lloyd-Elliot shot a reassuring smile Harry's way from underneath his magnificent sweeping eyebrows and straightened. He himself was impeccably dressed in grey robes and pinstripes, which elegantly highlighted his salt-and-pepper hair and professional manner.

"Are you ready, Mr Potter?" the lawyer asked, formally this time, his voice carrying over the crowd once more.

"I…yeah, sure."

"Are you happy with your chosen names?"

"…I am."

The third question: "And you go into this, being of sound body and mind, and being fully informed as to effects that these gifts may bring you?"

"I…to the best of my ability, yes."

"Very well." Mr Lloyd-Elliot looked particularly solemn as he leaned over and opened the black file to reveal the documents inside. Curious, Sirius peered over Harry's shoulder to read the words, and pursed his lips, impressed; Remus nodded with mild approvable; Kreacher and Dobby beamed with pride. Crookshanks deigned to look favourable while Crow flapped his wings and displayed them in a proud and gratified manner.

Harry himself grabbed his cup of gillywater and took a quick gulp to wet his throat.

"Welcome," Mr Lloyd-Elliot nodded at the small group in front of him. Harry tried not to think about how eclectic they looked – two wizards, two house-elves, two animals – and tried even harder not to think about how non-traditional each were beneath that. Sirius was still exiled from Britain because, despite his innocence, Fudge was not allowing his criminal status to be changed back in London; he was still an illegal animagus, and Remus was still hiding his lycanthropy. Kreacher and Dobby were both mad in their own way, and Crookshanks and Crow were the closest candidates in this party to act as Harry's parents, weirdly enough.

"The time has come," the lawyer intoned. "We are here today to participate in the gifting of names and magic to this wizard: Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, your godson and student and friend," he nodded to Sirius and Remus, "and family," he added, looking perfectly serious as he met the gazes of house-elves and animals. Then he looked back out into the crowd of German faces who had been complete strangers a month ago and yet been so, so kind to him and his…family.

"Harry James wants to acknowledge your influences on his life, to share his joy and privilege with you," Mr Lloyd-Elliot indicated the crowd, then turned to group surrounding Harry, "and looks forward to your continued involvement in his growth, his life, and his legacy that he has already begun to create, and that will grow with him as he develops in knowledge and wisdom and power.

"The naming of a child is the third great gift in a wizard's life, after his life is given by his parents' union, and his magic is given through their blood and blessing. Thus, it is a uniquely significant moment that brings us together today, on the day of Harry James' fourteenth anniversary of his birth, to add to that gift, in line with the last wishes, will and testament of John Justin Jenkins, Corbin Clarence Cartwright, and Mildred Ambrosia and Marshall Tristan McAllister, and their respective families."

Harry felt his heart beat pulse rapidly in his throat, although fortunately less rapidly than it had through most of last year. He thought he could tell where the lawyer had made tweaks to the ritual, to better suit he needs, and he felt rather blessed, actually, by the thought and the effort and sincerity that each of his witnesses had brought to this moment. He'd never been to a wedding, but somehow thought there were echoes of that. Also christening characteristics?

"Do you, Harry James Potter, son of James Charlus Potter and Lily Potter nee Evans, fully acknowledge in this moment that you are adding the heritage, legacy and magic to your own by accepting this gift?"

Something seemed to hang in the air, Harry thought suddenly. It felt like the pulse of the world paused for breath.

"I do."

"And do you, Harry James Potter, accept in this moment whatever changes, blessings and inconveniences that may come inherent with this gift?"

The weight in the air seemed to glow a little shimmer – he couldn't put his gaze on it, but at the corner of his vision something mercury silver or gold seemed to hover. He thought briefly of his glimpse of the Fidelius sigils, then wrested his mind back on topic.

"I do."

"Then finally, Harry James Potter, do you take responsibility for using these gifts with dignity, honour, and respect at this moment and as you bear them going forward?"

"I do."

Sirius leaned over and muttered into Harry's ear, puffing the humid scent of firewhisky too close to Harry's face, "Well done, Pup. Almost there." The lawyer shot Sirius a stern look, but then softened his expression in Harry's general direction.

Harry's fingertips tingled.

"Sign here," the lawyer muttered Harry's way. Smoothly this time, Harry dipped his fresh quill nib into the bottle of brilliant purple ink, and on the documents that showed his legal name change, which would be submitted to the British and German ministries, and also kept in Mr Lloyd-Elliot's business files, Harry signed for his new, full name in his very best handwriting.

Once, he signed. Twice. Thrice for permanence. (And legal records, Harry supposed too.)

Mr Lloyd-Elliot picked each parchment up after a subtle charm to dry the ink, then stacked them together. "Then, Mr Potter," the lawyer said with a thin, proud sort of smile. "I pronounce you: Harry James Justus Ambrose Corbin Potter. May you do it proud."

The crowd roared. Harry jumped, having mostly forgotten them in the intensity of this personal change. The air on his face had warmed up, he then noticed. His stomach was rumbling. The sound of chatter picked up and robes rustled as people headed over to the food.

Sirius leaned over to give Harry a firm, proud bearhug, and dashed off to the drinks table before Harry saw the tears in his eyes.

"Just watch now," Remus said with an exasperated smile, looking after Sirius' back. "He's going to get this event lit now. He hasn't had a chance to party for years."