Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: And here is chapter one. The rest of what I've written thus far shall be released one chapter at a time, every few days, time and internet willing.

Shades of Gray

Chapter One: Three is a Power Number for a Reason

After having watched the video six times in a row, Harry could repeat it verbatim. He had never been given anything of his mother's, aside from a couple of pictures of her. Indeed, most people hadn't told him much of anything about her, other than he had her eyes. On one level, he knew that the Lily who was in the video wasn't his mum, but on another, he couldn't help but wish she were.

His anger at the headmaster grew until his prior agitation was more aptly described as a minor irritation, but he tried to ignore it. He knew from recent experience that giving into his anger wouldn't solve anything; ranting and raving and destroying things weren't going to help, even if it did make him feel marginally better for a short time.

He was about to leave the room when a little voice in the back of his head spoke up. Harry thought it sounded quite a lot like Moody. How do you know you can trust this? You can't even trust your own mind, Potter. Check it out and see if what she said actually has any basis in fact. Harry returned to his seat by the wall and began poking around in the library Lily'd said the computer contained. It didn't take him long to locate what he was looking for – a copy of one of his Defense Against the Dark Arts books. It was a spell he had bookmarked to learn for the DA, but hadn't gotten to before they had been caught. He reread the information and practiced the incantation until he was sure he had it right, and then sat the computer down and stood, retrieving his wand from his pocket.

"Exibeo magus," he said, flicking his wand as though to dislodge a fly from the end. He was rewarded with a blue glow along the length of the wand. He rolled the wand along his arm and the glow flowed off the wand and sank into his arm. He could feel it tickling along his nerves for several moments before the glow pulsed out of his forehead and splashed, for lack of a better word, into a floating display of words.

Spells Found: 3
Passive Spells: 1
Active Spells: 1
Interactive Spells: 1

Spell Descriptions
Tracking Charm – Passive – linked to hair –
set in place 14 years, 7 months, 26 days, 15 hours, 22 minutes

Obliviate – Active – blocking approximately 54 years' time –
set in place 14 years, 7 months, 26 days, 15 hours, 10 minutes

Core Block – Interactive – set to magical core –
set in place 14 years, 7 months, 26 days, 15 hours, 3 minutes
renewed yearly

"Bloody hell," Harry breathed. She was right. Three spells… Huh? How can I have an obliviated memory consisting of 54 years? That just doesn't make any sense! And what's a 'core block'? I've never heard of that one before. Wonder if the library Mum sent has anything on it… Harry sat back down and retrieved the computer. Lily had been kind enough to include a search engine for the library – Maybe it was her partner or someone else who programmed it. Doesn't matter, I'm thankful it has one. The library here in Hogwarts could use something like this. Would make homework infinitely easier – which sorted out his search terms in order of likely relevance. His first search resulted in him learning how to transfer the tracking charm to his shoelace. The second search was somewhat disappointing. The library didn't have anything on how he could be under an obliviate spell covering far more time than he'd been alive, and further stated that one couldn't remove an obliviate from oneself. Harry resolved to ask Lily about it when he spoke with her. His third and final search yielded some rather disturbing information.

Core Block

Invented in 98 A.D. by Augustus Defactum, the core block spell is one of the most distasteful spells ever to come into existence. Defactum was a wizard of somewhat mediocre power, yet was also a member of the Roman Magical Senate, and as such had some rather lofty notions of just who was allowed to be more powerful than he in his household. According to the custom of the time, the head of a magical household was the witch or wizard who held the most magical power. Since Defactum was less-than-average in magical strength, he devised a way to ensure his 'rightful' place by locking away the magical ability of anyone in his home who had an innate magical talent higher than his own.

The core block spell is flexible, meaning that it can be adjusted and fitted to any particular witch or wizard, it can also be altered to make the victim have anywhere from zero to ninety percent of their magic available for use. If a victim is totally blocked from their magic, they are, for all intents and purposes, a squib. This spell was adopted into the Roman Magical Senate for both personal and judicial use. Many of the senators of the time admired Defactum's originality and used the spell in a similar manner. Other senators used the spell as punishment for crimes; once it became common use as such, violent crimes in wizarding Rome fell by nearly three hundred percent. It is not known why its use as a judicial spell has fallen out of favor, but there is no record of it being used in a judicial setting since 433 A.D., however it is recorded that this spell required annual reapplication or it would slowly wear off.

The core block spell is a combination of potion and a charm. See figure 744A for wand motion and incantation for the charm and insert 840 for the potion formula. This spell, as stated, must be reapplied annually for its effects to persist. It should be noted that the potion element of this spell is odorless and tasteless and is enhanced by combination with pumpkin juice or China Black tea.

The counter spell for the core block is likewise a combination of potion and charm. See figure 744B for wand motion and incantation for the charm and insert 841 for the potion formula. The potion element for the counter spell is decidedly not odorless or tasteless. Notes from the time liken the smell to rotting fish, and the taste to rancid butter. Its efficacy can be enhanced by combining it with shitake mushrooms or pickled herring. It should further be noted that once the counter spell is performed, a core block will not be able to be reapplied to the individual for the duration of that person's life.

Harry scanned through both potions listed. They looked easy enough, comparable to some of the potions they had studied back in his third year. He nodded to himself, I can do this. Thinking hard on what he needed, the Room of Requirement shifted around him to provide a potions workstation. A quick shout-out to Dobby secured the ingredients he needed. It took roughly an hour to complete the potion. Harry chopped up a couple of shitake mushrooms, also provided by Dobby, and poured the potion over them. The instructions said to incant the counter charm and then down the potion within one minute. He hoped he could do so – there really was a lot of potion to get through. Grimacing, Harry incanted the charm and set to downing the mushrooms-and-potion mixture, sparing a moment to think, I hope Snape doesn't notice where the ingredients came from.

It was awful. Normally, Harry didn't mind mushrooms. In fact, Molly Weasley had a recipe for stuffed mushroom caps that he quite adored. The potion, however, was badly misrepresented in his source text. It made polyjuice taste like the finest Honeydukes chocolate; it was that bad. Pointedly ignoring his gag-reflex, he ate and slurped his way through the bowl with only milliseconds to spare. Harry could actually feel the last swallow hit his stomach.

And then it suddenly became worse. Pain unlike anything he had ever before felt ripped thorough his very being. Cruciatus had nothing on this pain, for crucio was solely physical. This pain was hot and searing and tore through his mind, his body, his essence. It felt like it had gone on for hours but when it finally faded away, Harry had to triple-check his watch; it had only lasted a minute or so. I think I finally understand that saying about time being relative. Sticky, hot, and sweaty, Harry pulled himself up off of the floor and resettled his glasses on his face. "Well, that was productive," he sounded overly sarcastic even to himself. Tucking his wand back into his pocket, he snapped the computer shut and headed out of the Room of Requirement.

His watch said that it was nearing two in the morning, but Harry still had things to do before the night was done. Several things. I don't think I've ever been grateful for insomnia before.

He tiptoed through the common room, two of the younger students he didn't really know all that well had fallen asleep next to a scattered game of Exploding Snap. The last thing I need right now is someone getting in my way. Harry hurried up the stairs to his dorm and hit Dean, Seamus, and Neville with mild sleeping charms that would make sure all three of them wouldn't wake until morning, no matter what noises he made. Once that was done, he removed his worn trainers. He tossed the sneakers, complete with tracking charm, on his bed. Ron and Hermione were still in the hospital wing or so he assumed, so there was nothing to worry about on that front. He changed out of his sweaty clothes and took a quick shower. Dressed in clothing that didn't feel like it had been drenched in dragon drool, he felt a lot more human.

Before he pulled on his school shoes, he cast silencing charms on both of them. I wonder why I never thought of this earlier? I'm sure it would have made avoiding Snape a heck of a lot easier. Shrugging the thought away, Harry rummaged around in his trunk and came up with his invisibility cloak. He swung it around his shoulders and grabbed his Firebolt from its place under his bed – Dobby had been kind enough to retrieve it for him once Umbridge had 'left' the grounds. Not wanting to chance running into Filch, Mrs. Norris, or Snape, Harry unlatched the window and dove out, mounting his broom halfway down the tower. He hovered for a moment to secure the cloak in place, making sure no part of either the broom or himself showed before going back up to the window and pushing it closed. He couldn't relatch it from outside, but hoped that no one would notice it being open if he was unable to return before the boys awoke.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Flying to London twice in the same day has to be some kind of record, he thought, aiming his broom southwards and urging it to its fastest speed.

After about half an hour, Harry realized he was flying a lot faster than he'd done so previously. It took a moment for the why of the situation to settle in, but when it did, he chuckled. Just how much of my power did Dumbledore block from me? I know that brooms respond to the power available in their riders in order to function, but I have to say that this is quite more than I expected! Harry dipped low when one of the highways came into view. The motorway was essentially empty, save for the odd lorry. He checked his watch as he passed a mile-marker and again when he passed another ten kilometers down the road. His watch read that only two minutes had gone by. Wow. Three hundred kilometers an hour? I'm not even trying! He grinned and pulled his broom to a slightly higher altitude – high enough to avoid being a traffic hazard or colliding with bridges and light poles, yet still low enough not to have to worry about planes or helicopters – and then pushed his broom as fast as it could go.

The starlit countryside below him blurred dizzily before he got used to looking closer to the horizon for landmarks. It was closing in on four-thirty in the morning when he saw the lights of London draw near. Instinctively, he began to slow. Spotting Diagon Alley, he swooped in for a landing just in front of the bank. He was happy to see that his assumptions about the business were correct: It was open all night. Harry cancelled the charms holding his cloak in place and dismounted the Firebolt.

The guard goblin didn't even blink when he saw Harry Potter appear out of thin air with a broom on his shoulder and a silvery cloak hanging down his back. Harry smiled a greeting at the goblin, who didn't deign to show a reaction, and entered the bank.

It was as busy as Harry had expected, that is to say, hardly at all. There was a pale woman who could only be a vampire speaking with a goblin off near the cart tracks, and a teller was busily scratching out figures in a ledger. Harry approached the teller. "Morning, sir," he said.

The goblin looked up, "It is indeed, Mr. Potter. How can Gringotts help you today?"

"I was told that you had some… erm… 'important information' for me. Is this correct?"

The goblin held up a finger in the universal 'just a moment' gesture. "Perhaps, Mr. Potter. Allow me to check our records."

"Take your time, sir," Harry replied.

The goblin flipped through the same ledger he'd been writing in for several minutes. I wish the bank here was a little more like a muggle one, with computers. Makes me wonder how long banking took for the muggles before they came up with them, especially since they don't have magic to help. Finally, the goblin looked up. "Ah, yes, Mr. Potter. Our records indicate that you have not claimed either of your inheritances as yet. Since your guardians are muggles, and these are solely wizarding assets, you need not bother with getting their approval to do so. Insofar as Gringotts is concerned, you are financially emancipated; this does not mean that you are fully emancipated, however, only that you can act as your own guardian in any financial matter handled by Gringotts."

Harry nodded, "I understand, sir, except for one thing. 'Inheritances'? As in more than one?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter. We show you listed as the sole beneficiary of the House of Potter estate and the House of Black estate. There is some paperwork for you to fill out; if you would follow Slingnok she will show you to a private area where you will be able to do so in peace."

A goblin, assumedly Slingnok, appeared at Harry's elbow. "This way, Mr. Potter."

Harry followed the goblin, and realized that there were no outward differences between girl goblins and boy goblins, at least so far as he could tell. She showed him to a small lounge done all in dark woods, brown leather, and brass. A fresh tea service sat on one side of a desk, complete with a tray of scones. A pile of parchment scrolls occupied the other side of the desk, and an ornate white quill rested in an emerald green bottle of ink precisely in the middle. "If you have any queries on the paperwork, call for me."

"Thank you, ma'am," Harry replied. The goblin bowed and left him alone in the room. Harry paused for a moment, staring blankly at the closed door before shrugging and turning his attention to the veritable mountain of scrolls on the desk. He tentatively pulled one from the pile and unrolled it. 'Deed of Residential Property Ownership: Cottage in Godric's Hollow'… Hmm… Must've been the house where Mum, Dad, and me lived. Even though Harry'd not had cause to file this type of paperwork before, most of it was rather self-explanatory. Whilst shuffling through the scrolls, there were a couple of times when his breath caught in his throat, particularly when dealing with something that had belonged to Sirius. There were only three scrolls remaining in the pile when Harry's day suddenly seemed to catch up to him. Yawning, he reached for one of the scrolls and mused, I wonder how the goblins knew about Sirius already? I mean, it was only a few hours ago… wasn't it? He checked his watch for what had to be the thousandth time since waking up oh-so-long-ago. Yeah. It's only been a half a dozen hours since…

Pushing the stray thought from his mind, he forced himself to refocus his attention on the parchment before him. It was the certificate of ownership to Sirius' old motorcycle. Vague recollections of half-remembered dreams which he now knew were snippets of memory surfaced suddenly. He slowly traced Sirius' signature with one finger, remembering the night he'd learned the real truth about his godfather at the end of third year and how Sirius had asked if Harry wanted to go and live with him. A strange choking sensation seized his throat as the full ramifications of what Wormtail had done to his life began to surface in his thoughts. If that damnable rat hadn't framed Sirius, then I could have grown up somewhere other than the bloody Dursleys'. If he had just left well enough alone after Mum and Dad were killed, then maybe I could have lived with someone who had actually wanted me, who didn't despise and resent my presence. I could have had a real bedroom with toys of my own and I wouldn't have had to make an effort not to learn in primary school. I would have known what magic was and what Hogwarts was and who my mum and dad really were. I probably would have also known a little more of what I was getting into with this whole fucking Voldemort situation…

Harry's thoughts dissipated as that tight, hot feeling crept down into his chest and stomach and up into his eyes and nose. He dropped the quill and lifted his shaking hands to his head. His elbows propped on the desk, he buried his face in his hands and gave into the feeling of total despair that had been threatening ever since Sirius disappeared through that archway.

His shoulders shook and he could feel tears insinuating themselves into a layer between his face and his hands, but he didn't really notice them. All he could really pay attention to was the fact that he felt hollow; a scooped-out sensation centered somewhere behind his solar plexus that also had a vice-like grip on his heart. The emotional storm passed rather quickly, but left him feeling even more fatigued, not to mention a little grimy. "Stop it, Potter," he said to himself. "Crying isn't going to change anything. Just finish what you came to do. You can break down after this is all over, I promise." To further steady himself, he took several deep breaths, letting the air out slowly. When he no longer felt quite so much like the world was falling down around his ears, he picked up the quill once more and filled out the paperwork for the motorcycle and reached for one of the two remaining scrolls.

It was somewhat thicker than any of the others had been thus far, as was the last scroll remaining, and Harry rather doubted that the subject matter of either had anything to do with properties or vehicles or bank vaults. The one he'd picked up was secured with a length of black ribbon instead of the resealable wax crest of Gringotts. He untied the bow and rolled the parchment out flat. It took him several moments to realize just what it was he was seeing.

"Oh. My. God." Harry had to take another steadying breath. "The Black family tree wasn't kidding when it said 'The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black'. Why didn't Sirius tell me he was a ruddy Baron? Or that I would inherit the title?" He leaned forward and scanned the lengthy document. Most of it wasn't very clear; Harry wasn't sure if that was because he was so tired or because of the verbiage used, but a few phrases leapt out at him nonetheless.

…enacted in 1309 by King Edward II…

…granted 'chosen heir' status in 1643…

…Wizengamot seat added in 1892…

Harry noticed that the bottommost portion of the document contained dozens of tiny signatures, the last of which was Sirius' own. Harry set the tip of the quill down over the blank line next to the list intending to add his own name to the list. The quill, though, seemed to have other ideas. He was unable to get the quill to touch the parchment.

"Damn it. What's wrong?" He tried again with no more success than his first attempt. He got up from the desk and walked over to the door. He poked his head out and saw Slingnok standing in a guard position next to it.

"Finished?" the goblin asked.

"Almost, ma'am. There are only a couple of scrolls left, but I can't seem to sign the one I'm looking at. Would you know why?"

Slingnok looked thoughtful for a moment before asking, "Would you mind if I looked at the document in question?"

Shaking his head, Harry replied, "No, not at all."

The goblin followed Harry back to the desk. It took her only a moment to glance at the parchment scroll. "Ah, Mr. Potter, I see the problem. You will need to address the other scroll before you can sign this one."

"Oh," Harry said, feeling somewhat silly to have bothered the goblin. He felt he should have been able to figure that out on his own.

The last scroll was bound with a silver ribbon, and contained much the same information as the Black scroll, only in this instance the title inherited was 'Duke' and came with a seat on the International Confederation of Wizards. Other than that, and the dates involved, it was much the same as the Black scroll. To Harry's relief, the quill allowed him to sign the parchment without incident. He then returned to the now-last scroll and set the quill down and tried to make an 'H', but the pen wouldn't move. "Ma'am?"

The goblin, who had begun to pick up the scrolls, looked up. "You will need to sign with any and all titles – try beginning with a 'D'." She gave him what Harry hoped was a teasing grin, though it looked more like a bloodthirsty snarl.

Following her advice, Harry tried one last time. The quill finally allowed him to sign, and soon 'Duke Harry James Potter' joined the list of signatures on the Black scroll. Harry yawned hugely as he replaced the quill in the emerald green bottle of ink. "Was that all I needed to do, ma'am, or is there something more I haven't yet been made aware of?"

Slingnok favored Harry with another of her somewhat gruesome smiles, "I believe you will need to key yourself to the protections on a couple of the vaults involved, but that can be put off until you aren't quite so tired. Ragnok will be with you momentarily, I believe." With that, she bowed over her scroll-laden arms and left Harry alone in the room once more.

While waiting, Harry turned his attention to the tea service he had thus far ignored. The tea was far stronger than he normally enjoyed, but Harry shrugged and merely added a second sugar cube to his cup before downing the lot. I'll need the caffeine, I'm sure. He poured a second cup and downed it as quickly as the first before settling back in the chair a little with his third cup of tea in one hand and a scone in the other. He was about halfway done with both when the door opened and an older goblin strode in. Harry quickly set his snack down and stood, "Ragnok?"

The goblin nodded, "Yes, I am." He stared at Harry for several long moments, but not quite long enough for Harry to become nervous or uncomfortable. He cocked his head slightly to the side and said, "You are exhausted. Perhaps this ought to wait until you have had some rest, Mr. Potter."

Harry shrugged, "Why put off the inevitable, sir? What did you need with me?"

There was a spark of something that looked remarkably like surprise that flashed through the goblin's eyes before Ragnok spoke again, "It has come to the attention of Gringotts that you are under scrutiny from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Interdimensional Threats; we have received a letter from the head of their department affirming this."

"And?" Harry prompted when the goblin trailed off.

"And, Mr. Potter, this is quite an unprecedented occurrence, particularly since no such department exists in the current Ministry. We of Gringotts were hoping that you might be able to shed some light on the subject, as the letter we received was somewhat damaged and thusly lacking in additional information."

Harry tipped his head up to look at the ceiling for a moment and sighed. "I don't quite know what's going on either, sir, but earlier tonight I received a message from the same department telling me to come here. From what I understand, this department is part of the Department of Mysteries of an alternate reality – though I don't really understand that, either. Some of what I was told I was able to verify, one of which was that I had an errand to complete here 'as soon as possible'. So far, none of what I was told in my message has been untruthful, at least, as much as I can tell."

The goblin seemed to take that in stride. "Ah. I see now," he said before changing the subject. "Were you wanting to address the issue of keying yourself to the wards on your new vaults today?"

Harry couldn't stop the huge yawn that crept up on him. "I'd like to, but I don't think I would be able to do anything right now," he glanced at his watch. "I've been awake far too long as it is."

Ragnok reached into his vest pocket and retrieved a small vial of a clear, amber liquid. "This may help matters, Mr. Potter. It is a goblin invention, though wizards may use it as well. It will allow you to remain awake as long as is needed without suffering the side-effects of overtiredness. Be warned, though, when your need for alertness wanes, it will wear off immediately and you will sleep, regardless of your location."

Harry took the small vial, "Thank you, sir." He uncapped the vial and raised it in a little toast of thanks to the goblin.

"While you drink it, keep in mind what your final goal for the day will be. I would recommend 'getting into bed', for if you imagine something else, the potion will, as I have said, wear off immediately upon the completion of that task. We once had a goblin collapse thusly at the end of a tricky dragon-training session; he was roasted alive by the dragon before anyone noticed he'd not yet reported back from his duties."

Harry paused and stared at the goblin, unsure if he'd been joking. He glanced back at the vial and decided to not ask, and merely follow instructions. Oddly, the potion didn't taste like much of anything – a vast improvement over the rancid-cabbage-and-dirty-feet flavor most common to the potions he was familiar with. It had a texture that reminded him of cooking oil, but it didn't trigger his gag reflex. Mere seconds after swallowing it, he felt tiredness leach out of his bones and clarity return to his thoughts. Ragnok was wearing a smirk at Harry's obvious expression of wonder. "So, Mr. Potter, shall I send Slingnok to take you to your new vaults?"

Harry nodded, "Yes, sir. Thank you again for the potion. Oh, and I'd like to visit my other vault, too – vault 687."

"I shall arrange it for you," Ragnok replied. "Slingnok shall return momentarily to take you to your vaults."

Ragnok exited the room and Harry had time enough to finish his snack before Slingnok returned. The goblin carried a shiny, wooden box roughly the same dimensions as a cigar box. "Hello again, Duke Potter," she greeted him with that same bloodthirsty snarl.

"Just 'Harry', please, ma'am."

"Certainly," she replied, setting the box on the desk. "You may call me 'Slinnie', if you wish."

"'Slinnie'?"

She nodded, "Yes. The second half of a goblin's name is the familial. Hence, my 'last name' as you would put it, is 'Gnok'. We tend to use full names for business purposes, but I couldn't very well let you allow me a measure of familiarity and not accord you the same."

"So, does that mean you're related to Ragnok?"

Slinnie nodded again, "He's my grandsire." Changing the subject, she tapped the lid of the box, "There are a handful of items you will need in this box." She slid it across the blotter.

Harry looked at it for a moment. It was a dark, shiny wood, with brass hinges on the side furthest from him. Other than that, it didn't have any discernable markings. Shrugging, Harry flipped the lid up. The box contained… nothing. An inky blackness lapped with a watery consistency about a centimeter down from the edge of the sides. He leveled a questioning glance at Slinnie.

"It's a Box of Confirmation."

"A what?"

Slinnie's smile, for Harry was now certain that's what the feral snarl really was, resurfaced brighter than it had been before. "A Box of Confirmation. It confirms identity, making sure that the person in question really is who they claim. Polyjuice can't trick it, nor can any of the spells available to mask a magical signature. It sees through any attempt at artifice. We use it when dealing with the larger accounts."

"Oh," Harry looked back into the inky nothingness contained in the box. "What do I do?"

"Reach in and state that you're here to collect your inheritances. The box will do the rest."

"Thanks." Harry took a deep breath and plunged his right hand into the box. The nothingness wasn't hot, nor was it cold; it wasn't wet or dry; it had no real texture. If it weren't for the fact that Harry could see it – not to mention the fact that his arm sank into the box up to the elbow without hitting the bottom – he would have assumed it was simply an empty box. "I'm here to collect my inheritances."

He felt something cool and slick snake its way up his arm. "What's this black stuff," he asked Slinnie.

"Pure, undistilled truth."

"Odd… I would have thought truth, if it had a physical presence, to be… lighter. Clearer."

Slinnie laughed, "Ah, but Harry, when is the truth ever clear? An old goblin saying is 'Truth is universal, perception of truth is not.'"

It made a surprising amount of sense. The cool slickness that had enveloped his arm suddenly disappeared. "Can I take my arm out now?"

"Yes."

Upon removing his arm from the… truth… Harry saw that he was now wearing several bits of jewelry. He recognized two of the pieces as signet-rings. One had the Black family crest on it, along with the motto 'Toujours Pur' (1). The other ring held a crest he hadn't seen before. The motto underneath the crossed sword and wand said 'Parilitas Gratia Veritas' (2). His correct assumption was that this was the Potter crest and motto.

The third and final piece of jewelry he wore was a silver-colored metal cuff. The band of metal – Harry was unsure if it was silver, platinum, white gold, or merely stainless steel – was about an inch wide and encircled his wrist. It didn't have a catch, nor was there any sort of break in the metal. Tugging on it a little revealed that it wouldn't come off. There weren't any other identifying characteristics on it – it was simply a smooth band of metal that was just loose enough to be comfortable.

"What is this?" he asked Slinnie, tapping the bracelet.

Slinnie stepped around the desk and took a closer look, "It appears to be platinum, Harry."

"That isn't what I meant."

Slinnie met Harry's gaze. "It's a bracelet."

Harry rolled his eyes, "I can see that for myself, thanks. Why did it come out of the box?"

"I honestly have no idea. It wasn't on the inventory for either the Potter or Black estates' use of the Box of Confirmation. I'll have someone look into it and owl you when we find out."

Deciding not to worry about it too much, Harry followed Slinnie out to the cart tracks.

A/N2: 1. 'Toujours Pur' is the Black family motto, roughly translated as 'Always Pure'.

2. 'Parilitas Gratia Veritas' is what I've decided is the Potter family motto, roughly translated as 'Equality on Account of Truth'.

And in the time it took me to cobble together a crappy photoshopped cover for this thing, I managed to get three reviews. I am in shock - the only other fic I have that gets attention that quickly is All at Once! (Speaking of that fic - it is NOT abandoned! I just have a LOT of irons in the fire right now, so it's on the back-burner for the time-being.)

Thanks for reading!