This story follows Deathly Hollows, but disregards the last chapter. I understand that J.K. Rowling is the owner of Harry Potter and I am only allowed to play with her characters. This is my first story. I appreciate any constructive criticism you can give, but please no flames. Also, I'm an American and not really familiar with British grammar; I'm sorry. Let me know what mistakes I make and I'll do my best to correct them.

Chapter 1

Unsurprisingly, the Malfoys had suffered little from their misplaced loyalty in the Dark Lord. Judging by the size and splendor of Malfoy manor, any money lost in bribing the ministry had hardly made a dent in their infamous fortune.

Just stepping inside made Harry feel small and insignificant, instantly questioning his ability to perform his task. There was no timid house elf to let him in, rather a well-dressed butler politely but coolly led him to the sitting room and left him standing there with no real explanation- only the hope that he'd gone to fetch Malfoy.

The ten minute wait did little to quell his queasy stomach. He felt positively absurd standing there with his shabby briefcase and thrown-together robes. It was at times like these that he wished he had listened to Hermione and used the fortune burrowed away under Gringotts. Despite knowing it was his to use, he still felt highly uncomfortable touching any of his godfather's money. Any time he was forced to visit the bank, the image of his godfather falling through the veil and the inevitable guilt that followed quickly derailed any ideas of taking more than what was absolutely needed.

Of course, that brought Harry back to why he was here- meeting with the last member of the House of Black. He hoped that in some small way this could be a penance for the impulsive behavior that had been the ultimate cause for his godfather's death. If nothing else, he'd no longer have the burden of his godfather's money and less reminders of Harry's role in his death.

"Potter, to what do I owe the pleasure?" The patented Malfoy sneer was on full display as he sauntered into the room. Acting fully his part as "Lord of the Manor," he gestured to a seat across from him. "Please, sit down. You look positively lost standing there. Surely you are not so destitute that my home makes you that uncomfortable."

Harry, both comforted by the familiar teasing and startled that he was that transparent, took a seat across from his archrival and prepared himself.

"I know it has been sometime since my godfather died… I'm sorry for not realizing sooner your rights to the accounts he left me." At this point he opened his briefcase with shaky hands to withdraw the documents he'd picked up from Gringotts that morning. "With your signature at the bottom of this page, you will be recognized as the true owner of that inheritance and all of the Black vaults will immediately be transferred to your name." He held out the paper and cursed his hand. Why could it not stay still?

Malfoy simply stared at him, arms crossed, showing no intention of taking what he offered. Abruptly he leaned forward so quickly and so far Harry felt the need to lean backwards, he looked directly into Harry's eyes and whispered, "Am I to understand that you are transferring to me your sole source of livelihood?"

He leaned back slightly to study the document and then transferred his attention back to Harry. "The savior of the wizarding world is giving a death eater access to his vaults- no, not simply access but ownership? Have you sunken so low that you no longer trust yourself with anything of worth?" He leaned back in his chair and actually laughed.

Harry, feeling somewhat despondent and shaken, came back to himself and realized how pathetic he must look. With his personal space once again restored, he quickly resumed his original pose and placed the subject of discussion on the side table to his right. "Believe what you will. Gringotts expects this back to them within 72 hours." He got up to leave when a hand intercepted his arm.

Half turning Harry noticed that all snobbish disregard had left Malfoy, "I'm afraid I cannot accept," He stood, coming so close that Harry could feel Malfoy's warm breath on his cheek. "If this," he grabbed the paper Harry had abandoned and shoved it back in his hand, "were meant to pass to me it would have done so. A will of a wizard will change if his intentions at death were different from when he had originally written the will."

Harry's breath caught and his knees nearly gave out. The roaring in his ears covered Malfoy's deprecating addition regarding Harry's limited knowledge of wizarding traditions.

Could Sirius have really forgiven him? Even before he'd died? Does that even count?

With little more than a backward glance, Harry found his feet and all but ran out of the house. He no longer had any reason to be there.