Author's Note: I'm back at it again! Thank you all for your patience while this story was on hiatus. I hope to resume weekly updates starting with this chapter. Can you believe we've finally reached year six? I've been looking forward to this for a while now, so I hope you all enjoy!


Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Eight - The Bequest

In the gray light streaming through the window, Harry perused a copy of the Daily Prophet. Other editions of the newspaper lay strewn about the floor, coupled with issues of the Quibbler and a few Muggle periodicals.

Signs of Voldemort's second rise to power were spreading rapidly, both within the magical community and among the Muggles. A hurricane in the West Country was all over the Muggle news, and the Ministry was having a hard time suppressing the witnesses who knew the damage was really caused, at least in part, by a giant. Meanwhile, a Muggle Junior Minister by the name of Herbert Chorley had been affected by what appeared to be a very poor Imperius Curse, and had to be relocated to St. Mungo's for his own safety.

Another report stated that the Brockdale Bridge had collapsed, sending a dozen cars into the water below. Muggle authorities had blamed this on poor infrastructure, but the so-called accident had followed threats made against Cornelius Fudge. When the Minister of Magic refused to step down, Voldemort had executed a mass-murder, just as he'd promised.

Muggles were not the only victims that had been reported in recent weeks. Amelia Bones, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, had been found murdered in her home. A sickly green skull was left behind, floating in the sky just above her house, leaving no question as to who was responsible. Emmeline Vance had also been murdered, though only Harry and the members of the Order of the Phoenix felt the real significance of her loss.

With so much happening in such a short period, there was plenty of information in the pages of the newspapers to keep Harry occupied. One article, boldly featuring his own name, attracted his notice...

Harry Potter: The Chosen One?

Rumors continue to fly about the mysterious recent disturbance at the Ministry of Magic,

during which He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was sighted once more.

"We're not allowed to talk about it, don't ask me anything," said one agitated Oblivator,

who refused to give his name as he left the Ministry last night.

Nevertheless, highly placed sources within the Ministry have confirmed

that the disturbance centered on the fabled Hall of Prophecy.

Though Ministry spokeswizards have hitherto refused even to confirm the existence of such a place,

a growing number of the Wizarding community

believe that the Death Eaters now serving sentences in Azkaban

for trespass and attempted theft were in fact attempting to steal a prophecy.

The nature of that prophecy remains unknown, though its relevance to Harry Potter,

the only person to to have survived the Killing Curse,

appears justified by his presence at the Ministry on the night in question.

Some are going so far as to call Potter "the Chosen One,"

believing that the prophecy names him as the only one who will be able to rid us of

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named forever.

While there are some who find comfort in the idea of Potter as their predestined savior,

this writer wonders if it is wise to place our faith in a sixteen-year-old boy?

Potter is certainly no stranger to tragedy. Having already lost both of his parents in the incident for which he rose to fame,

Potter has since been involved in several questionable incidents since enrolling

at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, under the guidance of Albus Dumbledore.

Potter's string of bad luck appears to have culminated in the events at the Ministry,

where at least one death has been reported. Sirius Black, once believed to have murdered several…

Harry tossed the paper aside at the mention of his godfather's name. He turned his attention toward the window, gazing out the fogged glass at a hazy dawn. Even the weather was poor. Thanks to Voldemort's alliance with the dementors, a cold, chilly mist had settled over the country, even in the middle of July. Everyone's mood had been affected, not in the least Harry's.

If there was one silver lining, it was that Rufus Scrimgeour had replaced Cornelius Fudge as the Minister of Magic. Harry had never particularly liked Fudge, and after the disaster at the Brockdale Bridge, he had been forced to resign. Not that Fudge seemed to mind being replaced. On the contrary, he seemed rather relieved when he gave the announcement of his retirement. He had heard Kingsley relate the story to Remus just the other day.

Kingsley Shacklebolt had continued both his work for the Order and as an Auror. But with all the chaos to control, his visits had been few and brief. Lately, he had been placed near the Prime Minister of Muggles to ensure his protection, as Voldemort would not hesitate to curse even him if it meant advancing his own bid for power. Without Kingsley's regular updates, Harry had to rely on gaining his information second-hand. In spite of everything, he was still not permitted to join the Order himself.

Feeling disgruntled, Harry rose from the window seat and stepped across the room to tend to Hedwig, who was clicking her beak impatiently, wanting to stretch her wings. A pile of unopened letters rested next to her cage. Harry hadn't sent Hedwig out on delivery in weeks.

Knowing that she wanted to hunt, Harry opened her cage and offered her his arm. The snowy white owl stepped primly onto the perch, ruffling her feathers as she looked at him disapprovingly. She seemed to be reproving him for his distracted mind. Harry didn't dare say anything in response to her golden-eyed glare as he crossed back toward the window. Across the room, Blaise shifted in his bed, muttered something incoherent, and quickly fell back asleep. It was still quite early. Harry hadn't wanted to disturb him, but he found it hard to sleep most nights.

He threw open the window, and Hedwig quickly took off, her wide wings perfectly silent as she slipped through the air. Harry watched her until she disappeared in the grey sky, then he remained a moment longer, staring out over the fields and woods that surrounded the house, breathing in the fresh, damp air.

His solitude was interrupted by a gentle knock on the bedroom door. A moment later, Remus poked his head through the opening, his glance briefly falling on Blaise's slumbering form before he looked at Harry.

"You have a visitor," he said quietly.

If anyone else had come to speak to him, Harry might have snapped that he didn't want company. But he couldn't be angry at Remus. Instead, he merely asked who would be visiting him at such an usual hour?

"It's Professor Dumbledore."

Harry stared at him, completely stunned.

"Why?" he asked, a little louder than he had intended. Blaise snorted and shifted again in his sleep. Harry flinched, then repeated in a harsh whisper, "Why is he here? Why does he want to see me?"

"Didn't you receive his letter a week ago?" Remus asked.

His gaze traveled naturally to Hedwig's empty cage. Harry, ashamed at his own negligence, jumped away from the window before he could take notice of the stack of unopened letters. He followed Remus out the door, careful to close it behind him, then down three flights of crooked, twisting stairs until they reached the ground floor.

Dumbledore appeared quite at ease in a patched and worn armchair. Dressed in robes of the palest green, embroidered with wine red leaves and vines, Harry thought he looked out of place in the cramped, though spotlessly clean sitting room.

Molly Weasley had placed a tray before him. She wore a flowered apron over a simple dress, her curly red hair hidden under a kerchief. She had the appearance of someone who got dressed in a hurry, and was breathlessly exchanging a few pleasantries with the headmaster when Harry stepped into the room.

"Hello, Harry," said Dumbledore, rising from his seat politely.

"Good morning, Harry dear," Mrs. Weasley said at almost the same moment. "I've just set out a bit of tea. I'm just about to fix breakfast, but if you're hungry now…"

"Thank you, Molly," Dumbledore said, answering for them both, "But I won't stay long."

Mrs. Weasley took the hint, and excused herself. Harry saw her withdraw her wand from her apron pocket as she passed into the kitchen, and soon the sounds of pots and pans clanging together in the next room announced that she had begun her preparations. He suspected she was working louder than usual to assure them that their conversation would be private.

"Maybe I should help Molly…" Remus suggested, but Dumbledore motioned for him to remain.

"What I have to say concerns you both," he advised.

Harry took a seat on the threadbare sofa across from Dumbledore. Remus sat by his side. He didn't utter a word. He suspected the purpose of this visit now, and he wasn't sure he was ready to talk.

"I will not pain you with a long preamble, Harry," Dumbledore began, "If you received my letter, you can be at no doubt as to the purpose of my visit."

He looked at Harry over his half-moon glasses. For a moment, Harry feared that his keen gaze would see right through him. Dumbledore would guess that Harry had never read his letter. He gave the smallest of nods, however, and Dumbledore appeared satisfied.

He continued, "Sirius left a will. In it, he bequeathed everything he owned to you."

He had expected to talk about Sirius. About the how and the why he had died. He had not expected this. His first thought was for Remus. He turned to him immediately, opening his mouth to protest, but Remus was smiling and shaking his head.

"Don't, Harry. This is what Sirius wanted."

"But you…"

"I'm not at all surprised. He discussed his plans with me before…"

The sentence trailed away. He couldn't bring himself to complete the thought. Harry, still deeply dissatisfied by this news, turned slowly back to Dumbledore. The headmaster did not speak right away. His eyes were on Remus now, his expression thoughtful. Remus had turned to look very hard out the sitting room's large windows, as if nothing interested him more than the misty gray dawn.

After another moment of silence, Dumbledore continued in the same direct tone, "In the main, this bequest is fairly straightforward. You will receive a considerable amount of gold in your account at Gringotts. Sirius's personal possessions, including his motorcycle, are also yours."

Remus uttered a nervous chortle at the mention of the flying motorbike, of which he had never seemed to approve. He shook his head in apology at the interruption, allowing Dumbledore to add, "He has also left you Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place."

"You can keep it. Let the Order use it for their meetings."

"Thank you, Harry. But that won't be necessary," Dumbledore replied.

Harry thought he understood the difficulty. After all, Mrs. Zabini had not allowed Harry or Remus to return to the house after Sirius's funeral. Although the house was unplottable, and Remus was still the secret-keeper, the location was compromised. Narcissa Malfoy had spent too many weeks under its roof. Even if she could not disclose the location to Voldemort herself, she could return there at any time. The Order had already abandoned the premises.

"Then if it's not about the house, what do you want?" Harry asked. The question sounded too harsh. He checked himself, and quickly amended the statement by saying, "I mean… If this was just about the will, you could have just written to me. Why come all this way…?"

"Black family tradition decreed that the house was passed down the direct line, to the oldest male with the name of Black. Sirius was the very last of his line, as Regulus preceded him in death, and neither of them had any children. Excepting you, of course, Harry. While it is perfectly plain that Sirius designated you as his sole heir, it is possible that some spell or enchantment has been set upon the house to ensure it cannot be owned by anyone not of a pureblood family. And if such an enchantment indeed exists, then the ownership of the house will most likely pass to the eldest of Sirius's living relatives. In a word, his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange."

Harry felt a cold knot of resentment in the pit of his stomach. His hands clenched as he muttered, "So what, then? How are we supposed to know?"

"Fortunately, there is a simple test," Dumbledore replied. From within the folds of his robes, he withdrew his wand. For a moment, his sleeve slipped down his forearm, and Harry caught sight of his right hand. It was blackened and scarred, as if the flesh had been partially burned away. Harry caught his breath. He had seen an injury like this before. His gaze darted to Remus, but he was still staring steadfastly out the window.

Dumbledore must have noticed Harry's distress, for he shook the sleeve back down over his hand. He said nothing about the injury, and merely transferred his wand to his left side, lifting it in the air with a simple flick.

In an instant, there was a loud crack, and an old, bent house-elf appeared on the rug in front of them.

"No, no, no!" screamed the stooped figure, stomping his feet and pulling at his large, bat-like ears, "Kreacher serves the Black family! Kreacher will have no other masters! No, no, no!"

Realization broke over Harry instantly. When Sirius left him with all his possessions, this included the house-elf. They were considered property by the wizarding world, and thus Kreacher was as tied to him as Grimmauld Place could be. Harry felt sick at the thought, watching as Kreacher, clothed only in dirty rags, threw himself to the floor to renew his protests in earnest.

"As you can see, Kreacher is showing a certain reluctance to pass into your ownership," Dumbledore explained over Kreacher's repeated cries of "no, no, no!"

"I don't want him," Harry said.

"You would prefer him to pass into the ownership of Bellatrix Lestrange? After he has lived in a safehouse of the Order of the Phoenix for the past year?"

Harry stared at Dumbledore. He understood what was at stake, but that didn't change the fact that the idea of owning another sapient creature was repugnant to him.

"Can't I just let him go?" Harry asked, "Free him, like I helped free Dobby?"

"Ah, if only it were that simple," remarked Dumbledore. "But Kreacher knows too much about the Order already. Once freed, he could run straight to Bellatrix Lestrange. Nothing would stop him from telling her everything he knows."

"So I'm supposed to keep him enslaved, just because he might try to hurt me?"

Dumbledore had no immediate retort to this. His glance traveled to Remus, as if seeking his assistance to reason with Harry. But Remus merely shrugged his shoulders. He had finally turned his face away from the window when Kreacher arrived, and watched the thrashing of the little elf with undisguised pity.

"Give him an order, Harry," he suggested, "We should see if you have any authority over him first, then we'll figure out what to do."

"Kreacher," said Harry, raising his voice to be heard over the sounds of Kreacher's angry shouts, "Can you be quiet, please?"

Kreacher continued to beat his fists against the floor, ignoring his request.

"Once more, Harry," encouraged Dumbledore, "With a little more command this time, if you please."

Harry took a deep breath, focusing on making himself as blunt as possible.

"Kreacher, be silent!"

The command tasted bitter on this tongue, but it was effective. Kreacher was silenced immediately. Though his mouth still silently formed the word "no" and his fists beat the carpeted floor, he made no sound. Harry glanced at Dumbledore. The headmaster sat back in his seat, a satisfied smile on his face. Kreacher had obeyed his orders, however unwillingly. And that meant that he, the house, and everything else Sirius had left behind, were really and truly Harry's.

He didn't want any of it.

"Kreacher," Harry continued after a second thought, "Answer all of my questions honestly. Don't lie to me or try to hide anything. Understand?"

Kreacher, still stretched at full length on the floor, finally stopped failing and rolled onto his back, staring up at Harry with a hateful glare. He seemed to be searching Harry's orders for any loopholes. It was only after he grudgingly gave a nod that Harry continued.

"What would you do if I freed you?"

Kreacher's eyes widened. He looked as though it was the first time in his life that anyone asked him for his opinion. Reflecting on what his treatment must have been under the Black family, Harry knew this was probably the case.

"I don't know…" the elf finally said in a croaky, hoarse voice. "Kreacher serves the Black family… But they are all gone…"

"You could go to Bellatrix," Harry remarked, forcing himself to keep his voice neutral, "Or find another Death Eater… You could serve Lord Voldemort."

Kreacher shook his head vehemently from side to side, his large ears flapping. "Master Regulus died trying to defy the Dark Lord! He trusted Kreacher to destroy the locket! Kreacher could not… Kreacher failed him… And then Master Sirius destroyed the locket… He fulfilled the promise to Master Regulus…"

"And now he's gone, too," Harry concluded. Kreacher gazed up at him, his eyes no longer full of hate or resentment. He looked simply… lost.

"Kreacher feels no loyalty to the Dark Lord," added the house-elf. Even if Harry hadn't ordered him to tell the truth, he trusted the conviction in his voice. "Kreacher will serve Master Harry… if Master Harry will keep him."

"Unfortunately, I don't want a sla… A servant," Harry said quickly, "But I know other elves… Free elves, I mean… Who've gone to work at Hogwarts…"

His gaze traveled over to Dumbledore. The headmaster had allowed this conversation to pass uninterrupted. Harry now saw that he was watching them with interest, a slight smile on his lips. At this cue from Harry, he rose majestically from his seat, and extended his left hand toward Kreacher in a gesture of welcome.

"Hogwarts will gladly accept your services, Kreacher. There is no shortage of work to be done, and as Harry has just mentioned, there are other free elves under my employment who would happily show you around. That is, of course, if you are interested in the position?"

Though Kreacher eyed Dumbledore with suspicion, he turned back to Harry and gave a slight nod. "Kreacher would not mind the work. Kreacher will go to Hogwarts."

Harry was satisfied. Before Dumbledore or Remus could find another reason to stop him, he immediately removed his jumper and handed it to the elf. He thought he might feel something when Kreacher was freed, like the enchantment that bound them leaving his body in a shimmering wave. But he felt nothing as the elf accepted the gift of clothes. Kreacher passed out of his ownership as gently and unobtrusively as he'd entered it.

"Then Kreacher, if you don't mind," Dumbledore said jovially, "There is much to do as Hogwarts prepares for the return of its students. I suggest you report directly to the kitchens. Ask for Dobby, he'll get you started."

Without another word, there was a loud crack, and Kreacher vanished from the sitting room. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He glanced again at Remus, embarrassed to see that he was gazing at him proudly. Even Dumbledore seemed politely impressed with Harry's solution, for he stated, "I think Kreacher will do very well at Hogwarts. The other elves will be able to keep him out of mischief, and Dobby has already shown himself adept at guiding newly-freed elves. The strides he had made with Winky are nothing short of miraculous."

"Now then," Dumbledore continued in a brisk tone, consulting a pocket watch he seemed to have summoned from thin air, "With this matter resolved, I have another request to make. There is a matter of no small importance I would like Harry's assistance with."

Harry nearly jumped with surprise. He was beginning to wish he had read Dumbledore's letter, after all.

"What do you need me to do?" he asked.

"It seems I am once again short one faculty member," Dumbledore replied with a sad shake of his head, "It is getting harder and harder to find good help these days."

Harry didn't see how he could be of any assistance with this task, and he said as much to the headmaster. Dumbledore, with a sly smile, continued, "If this is your only objection, Harry, then I assume you have no issue with merely acting as my escort? At the very least, I would enjoy having your company. With Remus's permission, of course…"

"It's not my permission you need," Remus said, rising from his own seat as he began to cross the room, "I'm not Harry's guardian. At least, not in the legal sense. You'll have to speak to Edana."

Harry thought he saw a slight shadow cross Dumbledore's face, but the expression was gone by the time Remus returned, leading a very tired, but still beautiful Mrs. Zabini into the room. She was nursing a cup of coffee between her hands, the peppermint aroma indicating that she had doused it with her daily serving of Pepperup Potion.

"Remus says you want Harry to help you fetch a new teacher?" Edana remarked without extending a greeting to Dumbledore. "Is that wise? He's just a child…"

"I'm not a child," Harry interrupted. He was used to hearing this argument when he was barred from the Order's meetings. Though ashamed to talk back to Mrs. Zabini, he couldn't stop himself. He glanced down at his feet, noting a hole in one of his socks as he listened to Mrs. Zabini amend her statement.

"A teenager, then. I fail to see how his presence would assist your recruitment efforts."

"I assure you, Edana. In this case, Harry's assistance would be most helpful." Dumbledore replied.

Mrs. Zabini still looked skeptical as she took a thoughtful sip of her coffee, peering at Dumbledore over the rim of her mug.

"I don't mind going," Harry said. His initial surprise had worn away, and he was now curious to see who Dumbledore was trying to recruit with his help. Plus, it would afford him an opportunity to speak with Dumbledore alone. He may be prohibited from joining the Order, but this did not mean he was powerless.

"I'll be with Dumbledore," he added, "He's more than capable of protecting me."

"I think it would be good for Harry to get out for a bit," Remus added helpfully, "He's been cooped up in his room all summer."

At this gentle prompt from Remus, Mrs. Zabini finally relented.

"Fine," she said, shaking her head at her own folly, "You've got half an hour, Albus. I want Harry back by breakfast."