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: This chapter contains a lot of details. Sorry about that, but it had to be done. I hope I manage not to confuse people!

Shades of Gray

Chapter Twelve: The Leaky Cauldron

Included in the exorbitant purchase price of the Firebolt Snidget was a dragonhide carrying case, a care-and-maintenance kit, and a 'training aid' that consisted of what looked like a large brass ring sporting a marble-sized crystal ball which fit over the end of the handle. According to the instruction leaflet that came with it, the 'training aid' was capable of measuring speed, altitude, compass direction, and g-forces; not particularly useful in and of itself, but a nifty toy Harry looked forward to playing with.

Harry paused by the twins' shop long enough to determine that neither was home before heading back towards the London entrance to the alley. He was just about to go through the archway that separated The Leaky Cauldron from the rest of Diagon Alley when a rather severe-looking horned owl screeched and landed on the narrow end of his broom case.

Thinking it was his OWL results, Harry took the parchment envelope it carried. The bird took off, and he headed on through the arch. The pub was a bit busier than it had been when he'd arrived, so Harry kept his head down and ducked quickly around the people in his way. He just reached the fireplace and was about to avail himself of the floo connection when it flared green and Neville stepped through. Harry grinned. "Hey, Neville."

Neville looked around for a moment before he spotted Harry all but underneath his nose. He chuckled. "Hey yourself. Didn't figure on seeing you here."

Harry shrugged. "Apparently Snape thinks that either letting me look after myself is a good way to keep me from underfoot, or that if I'm not in the safe house then I'll get myself killed and so remove his summer irritation entirely." Harry blinked and amended it with, "Well, mostly entirely."

Neville laid a hand on Harry's shoulder and directed him to one of the few remaining semi-private booths. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Harry slid his new broom onto the bench before taking a seat. He gestured for Neville to join him. "Well, there's these two girls staying with us right now. They're from France and one of them's some sort of cousin to the great greasy git – she doesn't speak English, though the other one does. I'm betting neither one will last long, though. Neither of them knows how to clean up after themselves, and you know how well that goes over with His Snarkiness."

Neville grinned and nodded. "So, you're figuring they'll run crying home to mummy inside, what, a week?"

"Two at the outside. Think if I explain it to Gred and Forge they'll give me good odds?"

"Maybe so," Neville allowed. "So, you're living with the French versions of Lavender and Parvati?"

Harry grimaced, "Precisely. Before I discovered they were complete slobs, all I heard from them were giggles through the wall. Their bedroom is next door to mine."

"Rotten luck."

"I know." Harry sighed. "Anyway, I sent you a letter, but it seems rather redundant now. Main concern was figuring out a good time to talk over…" he tapped the face of his 'watch'.

Neville nodded, "Yeah. Um… I'm usually pretty busy in the afternoons, so how about morning? Say ten?"

"I can do ten," Harry agreed. "What've you got going in the afternoons?"

"Well, first off, I'm getting my homework out of the way early this summer. After that, I want to redesign my greenhouse. I have a few plants that I don't really need any longer, and a couple of more challenging ones I want to give a try."

"Anything interesting?"

Neville's smile outshone the candles lighting their table. "I've got a cutting from a Vietnamese venomous tentacula that's just about ready for potting, and the seed pod for a Canadian mandrake that's been calling my name ever since Uncle Algie gave it to me for Christmas."

Harry made a face usually reserved for Hagrid's more 'interesting' creatures. "Only you would consider man-eating plants to be a good use of time, Neville."

Neville shrugged. "It's what I'm good at. Just like you're naturally good at flying."

Harry smiled. "Yeah, I know. In any case, I'm looking into hiring tutors for the summer. You want in on the lessons?"

"Do you even need to ask?" Neville may not have been the dedicated scholar that Hermione was, but of the Gryffindor boys, he was the most studious. "I'd love to. Who were you hoping to get?"

"My first choices are a fellow by the name of Pete Smith – he does transfiguration, charms, and potions; someone by the name of A. Dunbarton for mind-magics, wards and set-spells, arithmancy, and runes; and a lady by the name of Cora Pyria, who'd teach healing, defense, and mind-magics."

"Mind-magics?" Neville questioned.

"Occlumency and legilimency, or so I assume," Harry replied.

A waiter finally noticed the pair in the booth and dropped by for their orders. Harry requested tea, but Neville just shook his head. Once the waiter was gone, Neville looked thoughtful for a moment. "I know Miss Pyria. She's the tutor Gran hired to teach me the basics when I finally showed signs of being magical." At Harry's somewhat confused look, he clarified, "Anyone who's certified as a tutor can teach the basics. It's mostly little stuff like how to care for your wand, how to use a quill to write with, and stuff like that. They also make sure you're up to speed on maths and spelling and grammar and whatnot." He let out a little self-depreciating huff of laughter. "I'm pretty sure Miss Pyria despaired of me ever memorizing the times tables."

"Do you know the other two?"

Neville shook his head. "No, not really. I know that Augustine Dunbarton is about the same age as Uncle Algie and that he teaches at Meistr-Ysgol Dewiniaeth, but I don't know him personally. I've never heard of the other before."

"Just what is that Master-Yazgoal-whatever?"

Neville laughed at Harry's mangled pronunciation. "It's Meistr-Ysgol Dewiniaeth. It's Welsh for 'Master School of Wizardry'."

"Yeah, I kinda figured that part out. What is it, though? Some sort of wizarding university?"

"No," Neville shook his head. "They teach the same years that Hogwarts does, but to a far fewer number of students."

"I thought Hogwarts was the only school in the UK?"

"Common misconception, especially since the Board of Governors doesn't want the competition. The main reason they aren't a major source of competition is that they don't have a setup like Hogwarts' – all of their students go home every day. They also don't recruit muggleborn because they simply haven't the manpower for it. The rest of the wizarding world tends not to send students there simply because though they teach wanded magic, they focus more on the ancient druidic methods." Neville paused as the waiter reappeared with Harry's tea. When the man had gone again, he continued. "You can imagine that'd be a bit of a handicap nowadays, what with druidic magic being mostly rituals."

Unaware that there were other methods of casting magic than with a wand – save the few times he'd witnessed wandless magic by Dumbledore, of course – Harry simply shrugged. "Interesting. Not really useful, but interesting." He added some sugar to his tea and then asked, "I've got another question for you, but it doesn't have much to do with anything else."

"Whacha need, Harry?"

"Do you have the slightest idea how to handle a family estate?"

Neville blinked in surprise, then looked sheepish. I should have realized. Out loud, he said, "Yeah. Currently, Uncle Algie is the family Head and holds our seat on the Wizengamot, as well as the family title, but since Dad's out of the running, and Grandpa died, I'm next in line. He's been training me about as long as I can remember, even when they thought I might be a squib."

"Does that happen often? A squib as a family Head, I mean?"

Neville shook his head. "No, not really. There's only been two cases in all of wizarding history – Duke Gelmisor Garrott in the 1490s and Countess Rhianwyn Maredudd in around 1660 or so. I'm just happy not to be counted among them." He shook his head to derail the train of thought that threatened to side-track their conversation. "Since you're the last Potter, the title and family leadership falls to you by default. I know better than to ask if Dumbledore has given you any help at all with it."

"Too true. Good thing I've got you around to lend me a hand, huh?"

Neville grinned. "Anything you need, Harry, you know that. Though I'll admit I'm probably not the best one suited for the job. Do you want me to see if Uncle Algie can lend a hand?"

Harry visibly relaxed and slumped a little in his seat. "That would be enormously helpful. Thanks. Doubly so, since Sirius willed me everything."

Neville gave his head a little shake as though to clear water out of his ears. "Everything?"

Harry nodded. "Yup. Found out at Gringotts that the Black family tapestry wasn't just puffing smoke – Sirius could have claimed the Black Baron…ship. Hood? Baron-ness?"

Neville snickered at Harry's verbal groping. "Baronage," he supplied. "And I think you're going to need all the help you can get, if that's any indication."

Harry mock-scowled at Neville, then shrugged. "That would be why I asked, you know." He took a drink of his tea. "You sure you don't want something? My treat?"

Neville glanced at the cup, then at his watch. "Eh, why not? I don't have to be home for another few hours yet." He flagged the waiter and ordered a butterbeer. "From the sound of things, you've got a lot on your plate this summer."

Harry nodded emphatically. "I know. Somehow, I have to figure out how to handle heading two families – even though the population of both at right this moment is just me – and then there's the whole I'm-staying-with-Snape thing, the giggling duo, what Lily said about Dumbledore, and the ever-present threat of Voldemort." He paused for breath. "Hmm… There's a thought. Do you know any spells to copy me so I have a chance in hell of getting all this accomplished before either my relatives return from their trip or before school starts?"

Neville laughed hard enough that foam from his drink bubbled up into his nose. He sneezed twice, then wiped a hand across his face. "Sorry, Harry, but no. If you find one, though, you could easily double your family fortunes overnight." Harry replied with a wan smile. Neville ignored it and continued, "Well, I'm not too sure what you can do about You-Know-Who, nor Dumbledore, and you really can't do much about Snape or your other housemates, so right now you ought to focus on what you can accomplish. Personally, I think you're doing well in getting tutors and whatnot."

"Not really what I wanted to hear, but thanks anyway."

Neville gave a little shrug. "Honesty is always the best policy, or so Gran keeps reminding me." He ran a finger through the ring of condensation his icy butterbeer had left on the tabletop. "You're not the only member of the Black family, you know. As the new Head, you can reinstate disinherited members if you want to, and kick anyone from the family that you want to, the only catch is that they have to have done something that's against the Family Writ."

Harry's brow furrowed. "I know a Family Writ is some sort of code of conduct for a particular family, but I'm really not too clear on what it is or what it's supposed to cover."

"They're magical contracts, of a sort," Neville explained. "They detail general guidelines by which family members are to conduct business, mainly, but can also go into basic public behaviors and so on. Some are only a couple of paragraphs long, others can be the size of one of Hermione's 'light reading' texts. Of the original hundred families, there are roughly fifty or so who've died out or are held in trust; their Writs are public domain. If you write to the Office of Ministerial Records, you can get copies of any of them, but it might be easier to simply hire a solicitor to figure out the legal wording of what you want them to say."

Harry nodded in agreement. "I'll probably go that route, then. Anything else you can tell me about them?"

"Sure," Neville took a drink of his beverage. "They usually only apply to the members of a family who've signed them. It varies from family to family, but the Longbottom Writ is signed as we turn thirteen. Gran said that her family had the age set at fourteen for girls and sixteen for boys. I can't really think of an example that had the signing-age over seventeen, though. They're also supposed to detail what consequences breaking the Writ would cause. Back before the wizarding world withdrew, the punishments could be as bad as death. Current laws forbid that, though. The worst thing you can do now is disinherit someone."

"Doesn't sound all that bad," Harry replied. "I mean, it's not like it actually hurts anyone, it just cuts them out of the will. Right?"

Neville started shaking his head before Harry'd had a chance to finish his first sentence. "No, you're thinking muggle, Harry. A magical disinheritance is no laughing matter. Sure, you're cut out of the will, but that'd be really the least of your worries. When someone's magically disinherited, the first thing that happens is that any and all possessions that were purchased with family funds are transferred to the primary family vault."

Harry grimaced. "That doesn't sound all that pleasant."

"It's not. Imagine suddenly finding yourself starkers and without a wand in the middle of, say, a Hogwarts quidditch match. If you were flying at the time, and your broom was one of the things purchased with family money, then you'd suddenly find yourself plummeting to the ground."

"Urgh."

"Yeah. But it doesn't stop there. The next thing that happens is that any items or monies earned by the person who's being disinherited that were earned using a family talent would be confiscated by the Ministry as 'unbecoming conduct' fines."

"What's a family talent?" Harry asked.

"Just like what it sounds like. For example, look at the Weasleys. Their family talent is actually potions, if you can believe it. Ron's dad actually holds the current record for the highest-ever NEWT score in the subject – a full six points higher than Snape." He took another drink of his butterbeer. "Now, let's set up a for-instance. I've no idea what's included in the Weasley Writ, but let's just say that one of the clauses states that all Weasleys must complete all seven years of their education and that the penalty for breaking it is disinheritance. So, in this example, Fred and George would be stripped of everything they own that was originally bought by their parents. Next, they'd lose all money they'd earned from any potions-based sales, as well as any items purchased with that money."

Harry let out a low whistle. "That wouldn't leave them with a whole lot, would it?"

Neville cheerfully agreed. "Nope. But that's the idea. Anyway, after stripping a person of all family-originated funds and such, the disinheritance next would strip them of their name. It actually registers at the Ministry as 'Female Nameless, formerly known as' or 'Male Nameless, formerly known as'. If you dig back into some of the current families, you'll find they originated with a disinherited Nameless, though most of the time the current members will say they're descended from muggleborns instead. Winding up Nameless is worse than being a half blood or muggleborn, simply because in most cases, winding up Nameless was something you actually did, rather than from circumstances outside your control."

"I can see that, I suppose." Harry finished off the tea in his cup and refilled it from the pot. "If someone winds up Nameless, though, are they stuck that way or can they choose a new name?"

"They're only stuck if they can't get adopted into another family," Neville clarified. "They can choose to go by any name they want, but unless they're taken into another family, then any official documents have to be signed 'Male Nameless' or 'Female Nameless'."

Harry shivered a little. "It all sounds rather… unpleasant."

"Barbaric, you mean."

Harry nodded. "Yeah." His expression clearly asked a question.

Neville shrugged. "I explained parts of this to Hermione, and that was how she described it. She'd wanted to know if Sirius' mum blasting him off the tapestry was just a bit of pique or if it was part of some sort of spell she didn't know about. Since Sirius could still claim his name – and wound up inheriting everything – we know he wasn't disinherited, so the tapestry-thing was just a fit of temper. However, if you look through the records, which Hermione did, by the way, you'll find that Andromeda was disinherited. She didn't lose her name simply because she'd married by then, and when you marry into a family, you cease being considered as a part of your birth family, unless you divorce and return to it. Andromeda's case is special, though. She married a muggleborn, so his family obviously isn't governed by a Writ."

Harry nodded. "So… That means what, exactly?"

"It means that she and her husband and their offspring can be brought into an existing family as vassals."

Harry shook his head. "Somehow, I don't think they'd want to be servants."

Neville rolled his eyes. "Not what it means. In this case, being a vassal simply means that they are considered to be under the protection of an existing wizarding family and subject to that family's Writ. It lends legitimacy to the lesser families and muggleborns. As much as we would both rather it be otherwise, your family name can make or break you in this world."

Harry nodded, thinking of the differences he'd observed between the Malfoys and Weasleys. "So what happens if a vassal breaks his… I suppose 'adopted' is the best word that fits. Breaks his adopted family's Writ and it's something that would normally cause a disinheritance?"

"Same thing – they'd lose anything provided by family money, but since they're not actual bloodline, the 'unbecoming' fines are assessed at fifty percent of their liquid assets. They wouldn't lose their names, obviously, but they would find that they carry the same stigma as a Nameless. Notifications of granted vassals or those who've been rejected are in the public announcements section of the Prophet, alongside the wedding announcements, birth notices, and obituaries."

"Have to say I feel like I should be taking notes," Harry joked. "But thanks for the information. I'll try to remember it all."

"You won't have to – if Uncle Algie agrees to help you out, he'll drill you on it until you're dreaming in Writs and Consequences."

They both chuckled at that, and their conversation drifted to less serious matters.

For the first time in literally years, Amelia left her office at precisely five o'clock. She promised herself to work through lunch for the next couple of days to make up for taking off 'early'. To her pleasant surprise, she even managed to make it to the floo without being waylaid by any of her Ministerial coworkers needing her to sign anything or just wanting to chat. She threw down the powder and stated her destination clearly; she'd long since learned that clarity was far more important than volume when directing the network. Stepping out at her destination, she quickly polished her monocle on a corner of her robes before scanning the evening crowd at The Leaky Cauldron. I do hope Potter received my note.

A bit of tension leaked from her shoulders as she spotted him sitting across from a vaguely-familiar boy with dark blonde hair in one of the semi-private booths. She strode over. "Excuse me," she said at a break in the boys' discussion of whether rictusempra or aguamenti was more effective at waking up unsuspecting roommates.

The blonde boy's smile fell off his face as he tried to stand without sliding out of the booth first. "Madam Bones," he squeaked. Suddenly, she recognized who he was. Frank and Alice's boy. What was his name again…? Neville. That's it. "Good evening, and don't worry about standing, Mr. Longbottom. Good evening to you, too, Mr. Potter."

"Madam Bones," Harry nodded to her. He tipped a broom case on end to rest in the corner of the booth bracketed by the wall and slid over. "Care to join us?"

She sat in the empty area he provided. "Thank you. I see you got my letter."

Harry blinked in confusion. "Letter?"

"Or maybe not," Amelia said. "Just out for the evening, then?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. I had a few errands to run and bumped into Neville before I made it home." He finally realized just what letter Madam Bones was referring to and dug it out of his pocket. "I got this just before coming in to the pub, but I didn't realize it was from you."

"It's just a request to meet me here, which is rather superfluous at this moment in time."

Neville finally regained his voice. "I ought to go now," he said.

Harry shook his head and motioned for Neville to stay. "Only if your Gran's expecting you home. I suppose Ma'am Bones here would like to talk to you, too."

Director Bones nodded and retrieved her wand from its concealment pocket inside her sleeve. She quickly cast several charms ensuring privacy. "I would indeed," she said, returning the wand to its pocket. "It's about the incident in the Department of Mysteries," she explained.

Over the course of the next hour, both boys answered her questions concerning the incident. Once she finished her questions, Neville begged off, indicating that he really did have to go home. After the boy left, Amelia moved to the other side of the table and took down her privacy charms. "What about you?" she asked. "Are you expected home soon, too?"

Harry shook his head. "Not that I know of, ma'am." He watched as she caught the attention of the waiter. "I take it you had something more you wanted to discuss?"

Amelia nodded, "Yep. Nothing too horrid, I don't think." She was interrupted by the waiter and paused long enough to order some supper. Harry decided to follow her example as his stomach was complaining about the amount of time since lunch. After the waiter had once again left their table, Amelia returned her attention to Harry. "Firstly, I wanted to say 'thank you' in person for your help with Susan's defense OWL."

Harry blushed a little at the implied compliment. "It was no bother, really."

Amelia narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't give me that. I know for a fact that Umbridge singled you out all year long, or do you enjoy having that scar on the back of your hand?" She gestured to the words permanently etched on his right hand.

Harry looked at the scar and flexed his hand a couple of times, remembering how much it had ached after an Umbridge detention. "She'd have singled me out even if I hadn't been running the study group, ma'am," he replied. "She wasn't too appreciative that I kept insisting Voldemort was back."

"You needn't mince words around me, Mr. Potter – Umbridge is the mankiest minger ever to disgrace the human race and is incapable of finding her arse with both hands and a map, probably because her own head is so far up Fudge's sphincter that all we ever see are her toes wriggling around." Amelia laughed at the reaction her words engendered in her companion; his face grew bright red, bordering on purple, and she could tell he was both embarrassed and amused at her description of the former defense professor.

Harry coughed, took a sip of his tea, and willed his blush to die down. It wasn't so much the words themselves that caused it, more the fact that they were coming from a highly respected individual. "I can't say that I disagree with that, ma'am."

Amelia sighed and rolled her eyes at him. "Quit calling me 'ma'am', or I'll curse your knees backwards. I'm not that old. My name's Amelia – please use it."

"Alright, Amelia," Harry's blush finally seemed to be under control and his normal complexion was beginning to return. "I'm Harry, then."

"Good enough for me," Amelia replied. "I did want you to know that she is currently under investigation for multiple abuses of power during her stint as Hogwarts High Inquisitor, so spread the word. We could use all the witness testimony we can get."

"I will," Harry assured her.

The arrival of their dinners interrupted further conversation for several moments. After they were once more left to their own devices, Amelia took a bite of her shepherd's pie. "Hmm… Not too bad, I suppose, but it could use more marjoram."

Harry ignored her comment on the meal in favor of addressing a bite of his own food. Taking care not to talk with his mouth full, he asked, "Was that all, Amelia, or was there something else?"

Amelia nodded, "Yeah, one more thing. After hearing your description of what happened in the Department of Mysteries, I'm extending you a VBA license."

"A what?"

She took a drink of water before answering. "A Vigilante, Bounty-hunter, and Assassin's license – essentially, what it does is protects you from prosecution for protecting yourself from Death Eaters and their master. Basically, it makes you an auror without the additional three years of training, but you won't be called to work on crime scenes, you will only have minimal paperwork, and a few other minor details."

Harry's expression was an odd amalgam of smile and frown. "That's… Well, I'm of two minds about it. On the one hand, I'm grateful – I've had more than one nightmare over the past year that consists of me finally getting rid of the Dark Tosser, only to get thrown in Azkaban for killing him. On the other, I can't see Fudge being too happy about it."

Amelia grinned, the expression put Harry in mind of a bloodthirsty feline. "Don't worry about Fudge," she said. "As of ten o'clock tomorrow morning, it will take divine intervention for that man to keep the post as Minister of Magic. A no-confidence petition was sent 'round today, and by the time I got it, there were the signatures of better than ninety percent of the Ministry's employees on it."

Harry smirked. "Any idea who they'll get to run things in the meantime?"

Amelia shrugged and shook her head. "No clue. Since they have to be a department head, I'd recommend Sidheag Glas, from the Department of Magical Catastrophes." (1) She took another bite of her meal. "She's particularly good at management, knows when to delegate and when to step in personally."

Since Harry'd never heard of her, he couldn't form an opinion. "I'll defer to your judgment on that, Amelia. But if Fudge is out, then won't the BVA license you mentioned wind up not needed?"

"It's VBA, Harry, and not at all. You'll want it just in case this drags on past the general elections next fall. You never know what sort of idiocy the public will vote into office, the next one might be worse than Fudge. That's why I'm issuing the license. It can't be revoked."

"Ah, I see." Harry nodded. "Makes sense. In that case, I accept."

Much as had happened with Neville earlier, from there their conversation meandered across a litany of topics. By the time Harry indicated he needed to leave – at close to eleven – Amelia had a very strong impression of him which only reinforced her initial assessment of his character. He's sharp as a tack, certainly, but woefully ignorant of how the wizarding world works. I've spoken with muggleborns who had a better understanding of us than he's got – I have to wonder just what Dumbledore is up to. It's his responsibility to ensure that his students are prepared for their life in this world, doubly so for the last surviving Head of one of the original families. Why does it seem that he's been keeping Harry in the dark? Amelia ordered a jigger of Moondrop Vodka. She sipped at the metallic purple liquor while continuing her contemplation of one Harry Potter until Tom shouted out 'last call' at nearly one in the morning, unaware that lingering might have managed to save her life.

A/N2: You can skip this if you like. I'm just going to rant a bit. Okay, now that the warning is out of the way, I'd like to express my extreme dislike of the blatant misuse of Pepperup in fandom. According to canon, all Pepperup does is cure the common cold. It is not some sort of superior version of caffeine, nor is it a magical cure-all. It cures the cold. End of story. Come on, people, can't you get it right for once? If you need something that will keep your characters going for days on end, MAKE SOMETHING UP because there is NO SUCH THING IN CANON. I followed my own advice with the goblin-made potion Harry drank back at the start of this tale. It's not hard, you know. You have an effect you need, it happens to be one not covered in canon, ergo you make it into something new. What I find particularly frustrating is that I've seen this happen in fics by people who've canon-picked (like nit-picking, only more irritating) such insignificant details in other stories as the composition of Ron's wand! Okay. End of rant.

1.) Sidheag – pronounced as SHE-ak. Gaelic for wolf, or so the internet claims.

The next chapter ought to have more action. Sorry about that, but exposition has to happen sometime.

Thanks to all my reviewers out there, and even if you don't review, I know you're reading! I do keep tabs on my hits and visitors.