The Toad

Watching Charlus Potter grow to be around the same age as him had been quite the journey for Harry. The boy carried himself with poise and dignity, was well respected amongst his peers, even by the Slytherin students, and was an exceedingly capable wizard.

His forte lied mostly in Transfiguration, but he didn't lack skill in any other subject, except for Potions.

Harry had seen Charlus become something of a figurehead in the school, a boy who many others looked up because he took the time to talk with them and help them if they needed.

He had his moments of mischief and could be as sarcastic is any when he wished to be, but Charlus Potter was just a good person who did not hold his influence over any for his own gain.

Perhaps Harry could have been more like him if he hadn't been so jaded, yet, as he watched the boy unfold a letter he'd received from home, he got a glimpse of the side of Charlus Potter that few wished to provoke.

Dear Charlus,

As I'm sure you are aware, the situation on the continent is becoming rather dangerous and out of control. Grindelwald has garnered significant support, and the threat he poses to our way of life cannot be ignored any longer.

I, along with many others, will be registering with the forces being gathered by the ICW to combat his followers.

I understand that this is worrying for you, my son, but I am afraid that war is no longer avoidable.

In my absence, you will act as Lord of the family.

I choose to fight our enemies the same way our ancestors did when their home was threatened.

For now, your mother and I wish for you to remain in school. She is not pleased by my decision, but she understands.

Keep well, son, and look after your mother.

William Potter

A man who wishes only to keep his family safe

Charlus folded up the letter and took his leave of the Great Hall. Harry could feel the sadness and anger radiating from the boy as he stalked the corridors aimlessly for several moments, pausing as he reached one of the bathrooms on the third floor.

He leaned against the wall and released a deep breath.

Of course, he had been keeping up with Grindelwald's progress, but he had not expected his father to take such drastic action.

Charlus was nearing his sixteenth birthday, and he wasn't ready for the responsibility that had been bestowed upon him. Nonetheless, he refused to let his mother and father down.

"Charlus?" a feminine voice called.

The boy did his best to push away the warring emotions he felt at the sight of the girl approaching him. Dorea Black was perhaps the one person he should not have allowed himself to develop feelings for. Their families were not ad odds as such, but an accord for the two of them to be wed would never be met between their fathers.

"Miss Black."

"I saw you leave the hall in a hurry. Is everything okay?"

Her concern was genuine, her alluring, grey eyes filled with worry for him.

For but a moment, Charlus allowed himself to get lost in them, to forget he should not be doing so as he handed her the letter he'd received from his father.

She read it and immediately wrapped her arms around him.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "If there's anything I can do…"

Charlus offered her a smile as she pulled back.

"Thank you," he replied sincerely. "It's just come as a bit of a shock. I don't really know what I'm doing to be quite honest," he added in a humourless chuckle.

"You could always speak to Arcturus," Dorea suggested. "Since our father hasn't been himself, he's been doing just about everything to do with our family matters. I'm sure he won't mind helping you if you need it."

Charlus nodded.

"I think I will," he murmured. "You know, you're good to have around in a crisis."

"With my family, you get used to it," the girl snorted. "Would you like to walk with me around the lake? Some fresh air might help."

"I don't think your brother would like that."

Dorea rolled her eyes at him.

"Let me worry about Archie. He's a big softie really."

"Tell that to Hitchens," Charlus laughed as he allowed her to thread her arm through his. "Did they manage to get the chair leg out of his…"

Harry allowed what had become a rare smile to crest his lips.

It never failed to cheer him up to see the visions of his grandfather, even if he was concerned by William Potter making his way to the continent to fight against Grindelwald.

Despite the feeling of joy he was experiencing from witnessing the interaction between Charlus and Dorea, he was deeply troubled by the letter.

What had happened to William?

Harry couldn't be certain but he suspected that the news wasn't good. It was likely the cloak would reveal the fate of the man to him in due course.

Pushing thoughts of the vision aside, Harry took his leave of the room on the seventh floor and made is way towards the Great Hall for breakfast. He'd only been back at Hogwarts for two days, and though he was grateful for the peace of the castle, he found that being here meant he was not privy to the whispers of Knockturn Alley nor the benefit of regular duelling.

Not that he'd heard much.

Voldemort was keeping quiet, evidently sticking to the shadows until he was ready to make his return known to all. It was frustrating, but Harry understood that it gave him just a little more time to continue his own preparations.

With the note he had received from Daphne, he'd already been planning his excursion to Little Hangelton, the very place he'd realised he'd been taken the night of the third task.

Riddle.

It had been the cemetery of the Riddle's where the ritual had taken place, and if Daphne was correct, the Gaunt house would be found nearby.

With regard to Morfin Gaunt, Harry was certainly interested in speaking with the man, but venturing to Azkaban was something he quickly decided was not advisable.

It was not the Dementors that troubled him, but the other security measures in place. The cloak could serve him well, but the last place he wished to be caught was on the forsaken island.

Nonetheless, he could not deny the potential value of making the trip, and he could not entirely dismiss the urge to undertake it.

He needed to consider it carefully, and it did not escape him that there was much he could achieve there other than speaking with Voldemort's uncle.

Death Eaters.

Many of the most devout followers Tom had managed to bring to his cause were housed there, and it was inevitable the man would want them back.

It was a difficult choice to process, and not a decision to take lightly.

The risk would be considerable and the reward exceptional.

Harry knew he truly needed to mull it over.

"Good morning," Hermione greeted him a she entered the Great Hall and took his seat between her and Ron.

"What's wrong with him?" Harry asked, nodding towards Ron.

"Quidditch trials are tonight," the redhead explained.

Harry frowned.

With everything else going on, he had not thought much about his future in the sport. His conversation with Angelina and Alicia had not been forgotten, but he still had his reservations.

"You're not really going to quit, are you?" Ron asked.

"I don't know," Harry sighed honestly as he helped himself to some eggs, "but I'll be there tonight."

Hermione offered him an encouraging smile, and Ron looked truly concerned that he would not play anymore. Harry simply couldn't make any promises right now.

"What's first?" he asked.

"Defence."

"I suppose we will see how good Umbridge is," Harry murmured.

"I wouldn't get your hopes up," one of the twins warned from across the table. "We had her yesterday and she doesn't know her arse from her elbow. Honestly, it was a waste of time."

"What do you mean?"

The twin offered Harry a smirk.

"You'll have to wait and see for yourself. I wouldn't want to ruin the treat you have coming, Harrykins."

"Great," Harry muttered. "That's just what we need, an incompetent Ministry stooge."

"She can't be worse than Lockhart," Ron pointed out.

"She's definitely worse," Fred or George chuckled.

Harry could only shake his head as he finished his breakfast and followed Ron and Hermione to the fourth floor. Entering the classroom, they were greeted by the stout woman, her smile false and filling him with a sense of unease.

Immediately, Harry got the impression of something sinister about the woman, though he could not quite put his finger on what exactly that was. She hadn't even opened her mouth to speak and everything about her oozed unpleasantness.

"Good Morning, class," she said cheerily.

The gathered students muttered in response.

"Dear me, that will not do. Let's try that again, shall we?"

"Good Morning, Professor Umbridge."

The woman nodded satisfactorily.

"Wands away," she instructed. "You will have no need of them in here," she added as she drew her own.

Tapping the whiteboard with it, her smile remaining firmly in place, Harry felt his stomach fill with dread at the writing that was revealed. Reading it, he could not help but agree with the twins that this woman would be worse than Gilderoy Lockhart. Something Harry never thought could be a possibility.

"Excuse me, Professor?" Hermione piped up.

"We raise our hands in my class if we wish to speak," Umbridge chided.

Hermione raised her hand and waited patiently whilst the woman read the points from the board aloud, sighing when she realised Hermione would not relent.

"Yes, young lady?"

"Your course outline says nothing about using practical magic," Hermione pointed out.

"Practical magical will not be necessary."

"But it is a part of the OWL exam," Hermione replied confusedly.

"My dear," Umbridge said sweetly, "if you master the theory enough, I am sure you will all thrive in your exams, now…"

"Well, that's just stupid," Dean Thomas interjected.

"Hands," Umbridge reminded the boy.

Dean raised his hand.

"You can't just read about magic and expect to be able to do it. It takes practice. What's the point in coming to class if we are just going to read our textbooks?"

Umbridge scowled at the boy but before she could reply, Harry spoke.

Having seen how Charlus Potter had conducted himself, he had been somewhat inspired by his grandfather. Harry would never be what most would consider a people person, but he did not wish to see his classmates suffer because the woman could not teach them what they needed to know.

The OWLs were important exams, and a failure in Defence Against the Dark Arts would prevent them pursuing many magical careers.

"I'm sure Professor Umbridge knows what she is talking about," he declared with a nod. "If it all it takes is knowing the theory to a spell to be able to cast it, she will have no problem demonstrating that for us."

Umbridge was taken aback by the very notion, and Harry rifled through his bag before removing a book on defensive charms.

"There will be no practical magic in my lessons," the woman tried.

Undeterred, Harry perused the book, pausing when he found the page he was looking for.

"Here we are!" he said, his voice dripping with sarcastic excitement.

"Mr Potter! That book is not Ministry approved literature!"

"I didn't know the Ministry were in charge of what is approved teaching material," Harry replied in mock surprise. "Is that a new law that was passed recently? As fae as I know, the Headmaster has the final say on what is available to students. The Ministry has no authority on the matter, Professor Umbridge."

The woman looked at him as though he had slapped her in the face and Harry shifted his attention back to the book, acutely aware of the interest of his fellow students.

"The Waffling Charm," he announced. "It should be an easy one for the Professor to demonstrate that her theory is legit."

"Mr Potter, I will not act like a performing monkey for you!"

"What is the Waffling Charm, Harry?" Ron asked.

"Well, it is most useful if you meet an attacker who has not mastered non-verbal magic," Harry explained. "If you can land this charm on them, they won't be able to speak incantations clearly."

"That sounds useful," Seamus agreed.

"It is," Harry confirmed. "Professor Umbridge. Would you mind demonstrating it?"

The woman's complexion had purpled significantly, and Harry wasn't sure if she would explode from the strain she was putting on herself. She began breathing heavily, her eyes bulging in anger as she glared at him.

"That will be a detention for you, Mr Potter. My office at eight pm tonight!"

"I'm afraid I can't make it," Harry sighed disappointedly. "I'm already serving detention with Professor Hagrid because of Malfoy's unfortunate accident."

Much of the class snickered, but Umbridge did not see the funny side of his comment.

"You will be in my office at eight pm!"

"Fine," Harry conceded, "but will this be a real detention or should I just pretend I came the same way you are pretending to teach us?"

The class gasped at his comment and the quill Umbridge had picked up to write down his punishment snapped in her grip.

"How dare you?" she whispered dangerously. "GET OUT!"

"With pleasure," Harry chuckled as he packed his things away.

"Never in all my years…"

"You mean three days of teaching," Harry corrected. "OUT, POTTER! GET OUT!"

Harry chuckled to himself as he complied, though he only got as far as allowing the woman to see he had left the room before donning his cloak. If she thought that had been embarrassing, Dolores Umbridge was in for a rude awakening.

Remaining just outside of the classroom, he waited from his moment to strike.

"Now, if you see here…"

Hearing the sound of chalk on the board only a moment later, Harry peered around the door and took aim with his wand. He had considered using the Waffling Charm on her but changed his mind at the last moment.

With a flick of his wand, a bright blue spell shot from the end and impacted against the woman who stiffened immediately. Her attempt to repress the effects of the hex were for nothing as a loud, trumpeting sound erupted throughout the room, much to her horror.

Harry snickered to himself.

The Flatulence Curse had been the right choice, and as his classmates were hurriedly dismissed, he could not help but think he had done them all a favour.

"Shame about that," he commented after he'd removed his cloak and caught up to Ron and Hermione.

"You're going to be in so much trouble, Harry," the latter replied.

Harry merely shrugged.

"She's a useless cow anyway. She was full of shit, I just helped her get rid of some of it."

"Could you not have chosen something less disgusting?" Ron groaned.

"She will know it was you?"

"How could it have been me? I'd already been kicked out," Harry reminded Hermione.

Hermione hummed, not believing him for a moment, and Harry caught sight of Daphne who offered him a subtle grin, shaking her head as his antics.

Maybe now Umbridge would decide to actually teach them, though Harry doubted it. The woman would continue on as she was; another useful Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor that the students would be better off without.

Nonetheless, it wouldn't cause problems for Harry.

He'd already decided he would not be attending any more of her lessons.

"What do you think she will make you do during detention?" Ron asked curiously.

"I'm not going," Harry said simply. "What's she going to do, give me another detention that I won't go to?"

Ron laughed and Hermione shot him a look of disapproval.

"Come on, we've got Charms next," the redhead urged.

Harry followed.

At least the students could always rely on Professor Flitwick for useful lessons. What Umbridge was doing here, Harry didn't know, but she had about as much aptitude for teaching as Voldemort would a marriage counsellor.

That thought alone was disturbing and Harry chose to ignore it in favour of shifting his focus towards his next lesson.

He did not need any other jaded views of the Dark Lord than the ones he already had.

(Break)

It had been strange to dress himself in crips, black robes and style his freshly trimmed hair into a neat ponytail. It was even more strange that resembled many of the former lords of House Black as he took in his reflection in the mirror.

None of this, however, was as strange as entering the chambers of the Wizengamot, wearing the very ring his grandfather had when he'd sat upon the family seat here, and listening to the whispers that followed Sirius as he did the same.

Saying nothing, he sat amongst his enemies, deigning none with a greeting.

He could feel Lucius Malfoy's glare burning into the back of his skull but Sirius ignored, meeting the uncomfortable gaze of the Minster instead.

"What are you doing here, Mr Black?" the man asked.

Sirius narrowed his eyes at the portly man.

"Is it not customary to address me by my title?" he asked sharply, doing his best to imitate his grandfather's waspish countenance.

Sirius would never claim to have agreed with the former Lord on much, but he could not deny that Arcturus Black knew how to command respect.

Fudge was taken aback by his demeanour, as were many others, and nothing was said to Sirius for a moment whilst those within the room murmured amongst themselves.

"No, no, we cannot have a former inmate of Azkaban…"

"Wrongfully imprisoned, as proven," Sirius cut in. "You were there yourself, Minister, when I was subjected to several hours of questioning under Veritaserum. Now, I think that I have been very understanding concerning my false imprisonment, but I am quite willing to make it a very unpleasant affair if you take the path you seem to be considering. My family seat is a hereditary one, and as a Lord of Magical Britain, I am here to fulfil my duty to serve the people. Something that seems to have been lacking for the longest of times. How can a body have effectively served those they are beholden to when they could not even serve one of their own?"

Fudge looked distinctly nervous now.

"And what of your mental state?" Lucius Malfoy broke in. "You spend more than a decade in the dare of the Dementors…"

Lucius silenced the man by removing a roll of parchment from within his robes and grinned ferally as he turned to face the man for the first time.

"I have here, signed documentation from four Healers, each an expert in the Mind Arts, that my mind is sharp and lucid. Two of them are employed by the Ministry regularly for their excellent reputation in the field."

Sirius had anticipated such a tactic and had prepared accordingly.

"Then I think that all there is left to do is welcome Lord Black among us," Augusta Longbottom declared. "And about time too. It has been too long," she added.

Most of the other Lords and Ladies offered Sirius a polite round of applause, and Sirius took note of the ones that did not. It was odd that the was who didn't, would once have been bending over backwards to make his acquaintance, but that was no longer so.

They were nervous, and they had every reason to be.

For so long, a Lord Black had been absent and they had been left to run roughshod over the Wizengamot, largely unchecked.

Today, they would be in for a rude awakening.

"If that is everything?" Fudge said irritably. "Perhaps now we can…"

"Not quite, Minister," Sirius interjected as he stood. "There are many things I wish to address, but for now I will deal with the one most important to my family. I was going to arrange separate meetings, but since everyone I wish to are here, I will speak to them at large."

Fudge's jaw tightened and the murmuring around the room began again.

"It has come to my attention," Sirius called over the din, "that since the death of my late grandfather, the former Lord Black, payments on outstanding financial debts have ceased. I find myself…disappointed. Much gold was loaned in good faith by my family and it is yet to be repaid, despite the many additional years you have been granted. I am not here to point fingers or embarrass individuals, but I will say that those who do owe me gold will receive a notification of the outstanding balance, with agreed additional interest, by the end of the day. I have been very generous and allowed you each seventy-two hours to rectify the oversight. Those that fail to comply or do not have a reasonable excuse for being unable to do so will invoke the many, I'm afraid to say, unpleasant clauses within each of the signed contracts. I am sure you will all have retained your own copies of these agreements. That is all for now."

Sirius retook his seat, revelling in the air of nervousness he could feel around him.

"Oh, and if anyone does have the urge to draw their wand on me, it would be unwise to do so. Spending more than a decade in Azkaban has not made me the most amenable of people and I will immediately assume a threat on my life. Make no mistake, I am the Lord Black, and I will conduct myself accordingly."

The nervousness only became more palpable and Sirius offered Minister Fudge a beaming smile before gesturing for the man to continue.

He never thought he'd enjoy being in such a position, but Sirius could not deny it brought him great joy to make his enemies squirm, and knowing he meant every word of the threat made it all the sweeter.

He had always done his utmost to distance himself from the ways of his family, but with his youthful idealism no longer holding him back and the reality of what they faced, Sirius Black knew he had become what Wizarding Britain needed him to be.

(Break)

Returning to Beauxbatons had made Gabrielle realise just what Fleur had felt after she had gone through her first maturity. The other students stared at her, and at first, she had thought it was because of the well-documented experience she had endured during her time in Britain.

She had quickly realised this was not the case.

Those she had considered friends had distanced themselves from her, and the boys that had paid her little mind now paid more attention.

It was disconcerting and she found she did not like it. It was no wonder Fleur had become more introverted and less tolerant of others if this was what she had experienced.

Gabrielle had hoped that having already made friends that her own experience would not be the same, and it saddened her to realise how disappointed she was.

She, however, did not wish to be like Fleur. Gabrielle still tried to talk to others, to make them see that she was the same person that had left them a little less than a year ago, but she could not even lie to herself.

What had happened in the lake had changed her, and now, she was not only an outsider because of what she was, the trivial teenage problems that faced her peers seemed utterly ridiculous.

Losing a lipstick or outgrowing a dress was not worth stressing over, and a boy not showing interest even though you've tried to get his attention just seemed rather pathetic.

No, Gabrielle knew she had to face the fact that she was not the same girl she had been. Physically and emotionally, she had indeed undergone significant changes, and though she wished things could be the way they had, she could not look back to those simpler days.

They were gone now, and even though she felt lost, she would find her place here once more.

Maybe she should write to Fleur and ask for her advice?

Her sister had dealt with the same problems, after all.

(Break)

"Are you really not going back to her lessons?" Hermione asked as the trio sat down for lunch in the Great Hall.

Harry shook his head.

"I'm not wasting my time in there. If she's not going to make any effort to teach then I'm not making any effort to go to her classes."

"You're really going to get yourself in trouble," Hermione sighed.

Harry shrugged in response.

"I really don't care," he muttered, stabbing a piece of chicken with his fork, and moving it to his plate.

"Mr Potter, a word."

"I told you," Hermione whispered as a stern Professor McGonagall arrived to retrieve him.

Harry followed the woman from the Great Hall and into one of the side rooms a short distance down the corridor. Closing the door behind them, she simply stared at him for a moment before shaking her head.

"Would you like to explain what happened in Professor Umbridge's lesson? She came to me with a rather interesting tale of events."

"I'm sure it was more interesting than her lesson," Harry returned evenly.

"Potter," Professor McGonagall sighed. "Do you think it is wise to provoke her?"

"Do you think it is wise for her to be here and not actually teaching anything? She's incompetent. All I did was insist on her demonstrating that her stupid theory would work and she couldn't. It should be her you're having a word with."

"And what of the flatulence charm?"

"What flatulence charm?" Harry asked ignorantly. "She'd already kicked me out of her lesson when that happened."

Professor McGonagall clearly did not believe his innocence in the matter, but she equally could not prove Harry was behind it.

"She is quite insistent that you serve detention with her."

"I don't bloody think so," Harry said firmly. "I won't even be going back to her classes. You might want to suggest to her to leave me alone. I've got more than enough on my plate to deal with than one of Fudge's stooges being on my case."

"Potter, do you think this flippant attitude is the best approach?" Professor McGonagall sighed.

"I do," Harry answered. "I don't know what anyone is expecting from me, but I haven't forgotten what happened at the end of last year. I'm not going to tolerate Umbridge and her bullshit, and I won't put up with Malfoy swanning around thinking he can intimidate people. That goes for anyone else who thinks that I'm just going to sit back and just pretend everything is okay. It's not okay, Professor, for me more than anyone else. I'm just looking out for myself."

The woman nodded and offered him a sad smile.

"I understand that what happened has been hard on you, Potter, and that there is a lot of strain on you. How you cope with it is your choice, but you must remember that your actions have consequences…"

"The only consequences for me are whether I live through this or I die. I would prefer to live, Professor, so excuse me if everything else just feels like a waste of my time."

Professor McGonagall deflated slightly.

"I will tell Professor Umbridge that you will serve your detention with me, but I cannot make excuses for you not attending her lessons. I will discuss the Matter with Professor Dumbledore. Perhaps he will have a solution."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry replied tiredly.

The woman squeezed his shoulder before leaving the room, and Harry took a moment to compose himself.

He did not enjoy feeling the way he did, but he couldn't help it.

Knowing what was waiting out there for him gave him little reprieve in life when a lunatic intent on killing him could be lurking around any corner he turned.

Already, Katie had been taken from him, and though he was coping with her loss, he was reminded of it every day.

Releasing a deep breath, he returned to the Great Hall, frowning at the owl perched on the ug of Pumpkin Juice in front of his seat.

"It arrived for you just now," Hermione informed him.

The bird was unfamiliar, as was the hand his name was written. Opening the envelope, Harry was none the wiser to who had sent it, but he read, nonetheless.

Dear Harry Potter,

I was surprised and pleased to meet you over the summer, and do not take this the wrong way, but I felt the need to write to you. Do what you will with this information, but I overheard my father tell my mother that he was taking a trip to the continent with a certain associate of his.

I'm sure you understand what I mean if I was to say they have shared interests.

Without mincing my words further, I believe that Britain will soon have a huge problem on their hands, GIANT, even.

As I said, make of that what you will, but I hear it will be arriving via the south coast in the coming weeks. Perhaps you will know others who may be interested in this.

Anyway, maybe you will feel obliged to write back. I would not be upset to receive a letter or two from you and do remember what I said.

Not all of us long for the days that plagued our land not so long ago, even if it does mean going against the wishes of those we care for.

Yours,

I.N

It took a moment for Harry to realise whom it was that had written this, and another to understand what it meant.

"Well, bloody hell," he groaned s it all fell into place.

He did not know what Isabella Nott was up to, but if what she had written was true, then giants were on their way to Britain.

"What is it?" Hermione asked curiously.

"A big problem," Harry huffed as he looked towards the staff table before taking his leave of the Great Hall. "A bloody big problem."

(Break)

Lucius paced frantically back and forth in front of the fireplace in one of the parlour rooms of Malfoy Manor. The moment the meeting of the Wizengamot had ended, he instructed his allies to fetch any and all documentation pertaining to loans they had taken from the Black family.

He had taken none, and he knew that Nott hadn't either. The rest of his bloc, however, had once been firm allies of the Blacks.

Within the hour, they had all arrived, most looking alarmed.

"So, who was foolish enough to accept loans from the former Lord Black?" Lucius asked through gritted teeth.

All save Goyle raised their hands and Lucius could only despair at the oversight of his peers.

Before he could address them, Cornelius emerged from the fireplace appearing as displeased as Lucius felt.

"What are the implications of what Black did?" the Minister asked without preamble.

"I was just about to work that out, Cornelius," Lucius muttered as he continued to glare at the other Lords and Ladies gathered around the table. "Well, what are the implications?" he snapped.

"If I fail to pay, Black can claim eighty percent of my businesses," Montague answered with a shake of his head.

"And how much do you owe?"

"With the accumulated interest for late payments, almost four million galleons," the man murmured.

"Merlin," Fudge whispered, his eyes bulging almost comically in there sockets. "Do you have that kind of gold."

"I have around three million," Montague groaned. "If I pay it, it will ruin me!"

"Parkinson?" Lucius pressed.

"I owe just shy of seven million," the man revealed. "I do not have close to that sum."

Lucius cursed under his breath.

"Is there anyone that borrowed money that can afford to pay it back?"

None raised their hands and Lucius could only look towards Fudge questioningly.

"The Ministry certainly does not have the funding," the man denied. "Can you not…?"

Lucius released a deep breath.

"Add up the sum in full!" he snapped.

He waited whilst the others pooled the numbers together, and after several moments of calculations passed, a piece of parchment was slid to him across the table.

"Ninety-three-million!" he choked.

He had the funds, but it would leave him considerably poorer. Lucius had been relying on Draco inheriting the Black title to add to the Malfoy coffers, and now, it didn't seem that would be happening.

"Couldn't we just kill him?" Goyle suggested.

"A chance would be a fine thing," Lucius murmured angrily, recoiling at the thought of handing Black such an enormous sum of gold. If the man was to perish, however, then Draco would be the next in line, wouldn't he?

"Draco must inherit the fortune," he mused aloud. "Fudge, do you have any ideas how Black can be dealt with?"

The Minister had paled and shook his head.

He always had been weak when it came to solving problems the most effective of ways.

"No, I cannot say I have."

"Wait!" Montague urged. "The letter that came today. It says here that should an agreement be reached in which a payment plan can be put into place, upon his death, the payments must continue to his heir."

"His heir?" Fudge questioned. "Black has no children."

"But he has a godson," Lucius whispered. "Potter!"

"He cannot leave the Black title to Potter, surely?"

"The boys' grandmother was a Black," Lucius pointed out. "I'm not sure… NARCISSA!"

After only a short delay, the woman entered the room and quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Is it possible for Black to name Potter as his heir?"

The woman frowned before she looked quite trouble by the notion.

"If Sirius is the Lord Black, he can name any he wishes as his successor so long as they have enough Black blood to qualify. I suppose Potter would so long as the magic does not reject him because of his mother's heritage."

"Will it?"

Narcissa tutted.

"I don't know, Lucius. I wasn't given a detailed running of the family. I do know that if anyone in line attempts to kill the Lord or it is done on their behalf, the family magic will react very poorly. I don't know the exact implications, but if anyone killed Sirius with the intention of Draco replacing him, it would have severe consequences."

Lucius growled.

"Get out," he huffed, slamming the door behind his wife.

"What do we do, Lucius?" Cornelius asked worriedly.

"I'll have to pay the bastard, won't I?"

(Break)

He wasn't sure if he was going to come until the very moment he'd unpacked his quidditch gear from the trunk, none of it having been used for a year now except for his broom.

Even as he made his way into the changing room, Harry wasn't sure if he was doing the right thing, but the relief on his teammates face at seeing him urged him on, though he paused as he came to his changing station.

"What's this?" he asked, gesturing to his match robes.

"We couldn't let anyone else wear her number," Angelina spoke solemnly.

Harry could only nod as he ran his fingers over the embroidered number 4. That had been Katie's number, his had been 7. It was an odd feeling the washed over him as he went about the task of dressing.

He knew it was foolish, but it was as though he could feel her there with him, happy that he had decided to continue playing, despite his misgivings.

In truth, Quidditch seemed to be the only normal thing he had left, and the one thing they had shared since they had met. He knew now it would be wrong to quit just because she was no longer here.

If anything, Katie would be both angry and disappointed in him if he did.

For the first time in what felt like forever for Harry, he smiled, his hand reaching for the necklace he had gifted her the night of the ball.

He belonged here, just as she did, and though Katie couldn't be here, it didn't mean he shouldn't.

Nodding to himself, he followed the others out onto the pitch where the many hopefuls were waiting.

"Are you alright, Harry?" one of the twins asked.

"I will be," he replied.

He meant it too. He may have lost Katie, but this was where he would always find a part of her. There was nothing she loved more than Quidditch and Harry knew he would be doing her a disservice if he did not continue on with it.