Chapter 2: The Will Hearing
A young male, who had just recently turned of sixteen years, lay entirely still in bed. His emerald eyes stared fixedly at the white ceiling above while his face harboured an entirely blank expression. This young man was none other than Harry Potter—renowned since infancy for somehow evading death from the most notorious dark wizard to have ever set foot in history—Voldemort. It was a feat no one else had ever accomplished; nevertheless, in the Muggle world, not one sentient being knew Harry Potter other than his horrendous Aunt, Uncle and swine of a cousin, Dudley, who all would rather not know him.
Recently, the headmaster of Hogwarts—in other words, Dumbledore—had informed him that he had been born with a certain destiny that entailed that he must save the world from this aforementioned notorious wizard. Harry had to get rid of this serpent-like man who had killed his parents, his loved ones, had brought so much turmoil and death to the Wizarding World and Muggle world alike (the latter whom were unaware of the atrocities he had committed)—but what's more, if Voldemort did on perish, then it would simply result in Harry's own death.
Thus, it wasn't as though Harry truly had a choice, as he had no say in this; he had to kill Voldemort, whether he was up for the challenge or not. The gods, god, or whatever deity up there, or wherever the hell he – she – it was, had written this in his destiny. Perchance, Harry mused, he was their form of entertainment—he wouldn't be surprised if so were to be true.
A sigh escaped his lips. Destiny—this was him damn destiny, and if there were such a thing as destiny and all that bullocks, then freewill did not exist. All was already written and therefore, what if it had already been predetermined that he would perish in this battle with Voldemort? Then frankly, what was the point of even trying? Another sigh left his lips before he chucked away his thought, for he caught his dear owl, Hedwig's hoots in the distance.
Rising up from bed, he strode towards the window and found his owl flying towards him below the bright blue sky. It was such an awfully beautiful day outdoors, but Harry was not in the mood for the outdoors today—as how could he, when he had sort of been sentenced to death. He watched Hedwig's large, beautiful, white wings flap against her body, and he couldn't help but think of one word as he watched her: Fly.
Oh, he terribly missed his broom.
Once Hedwig had set herself atop his tattered dresser, she lifted her leg that was carrying various letters addressed to him from his friends; Harry's eyes, however, were staring at the owl's still leg, where the Daily Prophet was attached. "Hedwig," he quickly whispered, "the other leg." Soon after, Harry had plopped down on his bed while clenching onto the newspaper firmly; so firmly his knuckled had turned nearly chalk white.
Emerald eyes gazed at the front picture solemnly. Within the picture, Harry found – Lupin and Dumbledore? – standing beside a witch who looked rather familiar. The two seemed to be shielding her from irksome journalists, and by Merlin, the scene within the picture revealed complete and utter chaos.
Harry quite assuredly knew who the woman was; however, if he had not gone to Dumbledore office and stumbled on a certain memory, he would have never know, for the woman within the picture was not the deranged looking Bellatrix Lestrange he had seen in the article during early January of the escapees from Azkaban, and in real life in the Department of Mysteries. This woman's hair was pleated in soft, shimmering curls that cascaded like flowing ebony jewels around her regal features. Quite honestly, she appeared healthy and her sunken face had recovered its youthfulness; intriguingly, her heavily-hooded (and most mysteries) eyes were lowered, for she was looking at the ground, her gaze unwavering.
Is she… ashamed? No—No, of course not.
That would be absurd.
For Harry very well knew that this woman was the most loyal Death Eater, and Voldemort himself had proclaimed such. Then what? What about the frown her now (quite plump) lips had formed in the picture? By Mordred's smelly arse, Harry could not fathom the perplexing expression on her face. Nonetheless, her expression did not bewilder him as much as the sight of Dumbledore and Lupin by her side. With much effort, he tore his eyes away from the picture and began to read the article below it:
Bellatrix Lestrange Held Innocent in Trial
The Winzengamot has held former Death Eater and escapee from Azkaban innocent today in her trial at the Ministry of Magic. Lestrange had been given Veritaserum and the Wizengamot had listened attentively to her trials and reasons for joining He-Who-Shall-Not-Be Named—
Oh god, Harry mentally groaned. Vernon Dursley's most irritating voice had leapt up the hallways, up the stairs and into his room. "WHO ARE YOU?" the buffoon kept on shrieking. Harry had been given such a terrible start. Flinging the Daily Prophet to the ground, he slid off his mattress and began to stride downstairs to see what this whole hullabaloo downstairs was about.
And did he find out: His mouth sprain open when reached the ground floor. A tall man with a long white beard, equally long white hair, dressed in the darkest of blue robes, was trying to calm down his uncle—'What in Morgana's bloody tits,' Harry mentally cursed.
To Harry's surprise, Vernon relaxed (Harry would later wonder if Dumbledore had uttered a silent calming spell), but his flappy face was still a foul shade of purple, and he looked as though he would burst any second.
Harry then turned his attention to the left of Vernon where he found his Aunt running down towards the living room in her pyjamas, looking simply flabbergasted. Petunia stopped in her tracks once her eyes rested on the spectacle before her; she seemed to intuitively guess who the odd man in their living room was. No sooner, Harry found a large figure looming behind her—it was his pig of a cousin, and he was peeping at Dumbledore from behind his mother's back. Harry had to stifle down a snort upon seeing this, but his amusement was short-lived, for his attention was suddenly taken by Dumbledore who had called after him: "Harry, I am terribly sorry for suddenly intruding like this, but I must take you to Sirius' will hearing."
No…
Harry most definitely did not want to go, for hearing Sirius' will meant that his godfather had certainly passed away…
Nonetheless, he gave a feeble nod to Dumbledore before he traipsed towards him, while the Durselys' stares bore into his back. "My greatest apologies," said Dumbledore to the startled lot before he turned his attention back to Harry. "Your hand, Harry," he said; and Harry, confused, clasped his hands with Dumbledore's. The Headmaster then turned his gaze back to the Dursleys: "Good-bye then," he said, parting with the most confused (and trembling) galling Muggles.
And suddenly, before Harry was aware of what was occurring, he began to spin and spin around, and the world began to blur and blur. He came to realize he was experiencing side-along Apparition. It felt as though all the air in his lungs was being forced out, as though his eyeballs were being pushed into his skull, his skull being pushed into his eyeballs, and he felt a great urge to heave—all in all it had been a most unpleasant experience, and he was most certainly glad when it was over. Staggering, the world began to colour again, and it befell on him that he and Dumbledore had arrived to their destination.
So he gazed about, and found himself in a familiar sight: They were in front of Gringotts Wizarding Bank, and in a few moments, two figures popped out of thin air before them.
Pop… Pop…
The two individuals were Lupin and Tonks, and they smiled at Dumbledore and Harry before the group of them strolled to the bank.
No sooner had they arrived had a goblin come forth. "The will hearing?" the goblin asked in its low for a goblin but still high for a human voice. Dumbledore nodded (quite cheerily, which caused Harry to squirm in irritation—how could one be happy at an event like this?) "Please follow me," the goblin said with a bow; and shortly, they arrived at a magnificent oak door without any sort of handle. Harry would soon know why: The goblin opened the entrance with the use of voiceless magic (and probably a goblin spell), and as Harry sauntered forth, his eyes enlarged…
Right there – right in front of him, in one the ornate chairs, sat a witch with soft dark curls, and her gaze was settled upon the grand while an unfathomable expression was plastered on her fine face.
The woman was none other than Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black.
oOo
Anger rushed through him, throttling his air passages. He looked up at Dumbledore, and recalled the Daily Prophet. He had not asked Dumbledore yet as to why he and Lupin had been protecting her. Dumbledore, on the other hand, completely understood Harry's thoughts, and so he looked down at emerald eyes brimming with ire, and said, "I will explain later. Not now," while the goblin ushered them to be seated.
He cursed under his breath as he was seated down into a chair. To his abhorrent luck, he found himself sitting next to Bellatrix. He folded his hands together, unconsciously clutched his fingers together too firmly, and made his knuckles turn as white as when he had been holding the Daily Prophet back at the Dursleys.
And though Harry didn't want to look to his right, he had an ineffable desire to see her face, to see what kind of expression her eyes bore. Slowly, he stole a glance and found her gazing blankly down at the floor—she seemed like a vacant vase, precisely how she had seemed in the picture in the Daily Prophet.
"Ahem!"
He swiftly turned his head around to the cause of the sound: The goblin was clearing his throat, and within the creature's hands was a roll of paper… Harry very well knew what it contained – Sirius's will.
His felt as though time had stilled for a split second.
Images raced through his mind… of Sirius' jokes… of his pranks… and of being thrown into the veil. No longer could he contain the fury boiling within him. Instantly, he sprang out of his seat, and within seconds pinned Bellatrix next the wall. His hands were clasped tightly around her throat, and each and all around him were completely taken aback.
"YOU!" he bellowed. "How dare you?!" he hissed, as he stared into her deep, dark pools, and as he gazed into them, he found them void and vacant – she was choking, but her eyes were vacant, as though she didn't care if he killed her right there and then. On seeing this, he released her, not really understanding why, and she flopped down to the ground, gasping for air.
He then felt strong hands seizing him by his shoulders, pulling him away and forcing him back into his chair: It had been Lupin. Harry glanced up at him with eyes ablaze. "Calm down!" the werewolf screamed. Harry then watched him as he walked towards Bellatrix, knelt down beside her and carefully helped her up. And Bellatrix didn't react at all — she seemed like a lifeless ragdoll, rather dead than alive. Lupin then sat her down in his seat.
"The will please," Dumbledore said, bobbing his head at the goblin.
Harry turned his attention to Dumbledore and found that the headmaster was purposefully trying to avoid his gaze.
The goblin began to read the will, but Harry could not concentrate. He could feel his pulse echoing in his mind, his ears focusing on Bellatrix's faint chokes, and through the corner of his eyes, he viewed Tonks give Bellatrix a flask of water.
What the bloody hell is going on?!
The goblin finished reading the will, and Lupin and Tonks were staring at Harry with mouths half-open. "What is it?" Harry asked, irritated by their idiotic expressions.
"You're an adult Harry," Lupin whispered.
"Wha—!" Harry inelegantly exclaimed.
"In the will, Sirius made you an adult in the eyes of the law, by making you Lord Black—"
Tonks cut off Lupin, grasping Harry's attention. "You clearly weren't listening to the will," she said. Harry didn't respond. She sighed, "Well, were you?"
He slowly shook his head, which elicited a sigh from Tonks and Lupin. "Please read the will again," Harry heard Dumbledore, and he could hear slight aggravation in his headmaster's voice.
The goblin nodded, not seeming pleased, and began to read: "I, Sirius Black, Lord of the House of Black, instate Harry as Lord Black after my demise, giving him half of the galleons in my vault. For Nymphadora Tonks, I give half a quarter of my galleons, and half a quarter to my dear friend Lupin as well. As for my cousin, Bellatrix Black, I hereby divorce her from Rodolphus Lestrange and give her the other quarter of my galleons. Both my cousin Bellatrix Black and my godson Harry Potter will be co-owners of 12 Grimmauld Place. And, Bella, if you're present at the hearing — I am sorry. I am sorry for not believing in you. I had never received your letter. Lestrange had made sure I would never receive it. I found out about this during my stay in Azkaban, when I had overheard him, rambling about his guilty memories."
Harry had become Lord Black.
No… Harry thought.
He didn't want to affiliate with the Blacks at all, for their household was where all the fanatics belonged— like Narcissa for instance and (his eyes darkened) Bellatrix...
Yet, Sirius had belonged there too...
Harry marginally calmed down at the aforesaid thought.
Then he suddenly remembered the last lines of Sirius's will. Why did Sirius divorce Bellatrix from Lestrange? Why was he apologizing of all people to her? And what had Bellatrix written in her letter that Lestrange had made sure Sirius wouldn't receive?
Puzzled, he glanced curiously to his left at the witch with striking dark hair and eyes, and found that her expression wasn't as vacant as he had deemed it would be; he swore she had a tear dribbling down from one of her eyes. Startled by what he believed he perceived, he turned his notice to Tonks and Lupin, but the two didn't seem as stunned as he was. He then heard Bellatrix speak for the first time: Her voice was breathy and soft, not at all what he had been expecting to hear, for the last time he had heard her was in the Department of Mysteries, and then her voice had been quite beastly and harsh. "I—I must go," she murmured. "I must go," she said again, barely above a whisper.
Tonks gently grasped Bellatrix's hand. "Do you want me to come with you?" she asked.
Bellatrix snatched her hand away, and hastily shook her head, which made her curls tremble. "No," she croaked firmly, and then suddenly fled, leaving Harry utterly perplexed.
Edited: June 18, 2013