For two days I took my meals in the dungeons and avoided my hosts, delivered by a grouchy Gally. I neither saw, nor heard any of the Greengrass family for those days. I wasn't locked in, but there was a... sense of comfort, to those safe places. Solid walls, knowing that the place was warded, and that I could hear anyone coming from some distance.

Two days is a long time to think, when it's all you can do, all you have to do. Despite the fact I didn't believe I was in the wrong with how I reacted to Mr. Greengrass' idea, it still nagged at me. It was clear they were avoiding me, in the same way I was them. Were they doing so because of what I decided, or how I reacted?

There was also Daphne, or rather, my new awareness of Daphne.

I don't hate often. It's never served me well, and always seems to only really complicated things in the long run, but right now, I hate that word.

Date.

Greengrass could not have done a better job complicating things. I would have laughed it off and dismissed the whole thing as a joke on the man's part, but the problem is, he simply doesn't joke. Oh, I'm sure he does – to other people – but unless I'm completely off base, fathers don't joke about such things with guests idly.

Especially guests who are practically under house arrest.

The worst part of it all, is that after that day, she went back to her usual, cool, aloof, occasionally antagonistic self. Frankly, I wish her father had dropped that on us both, rather than just me. I'm not happy about being the only one who's gotten their preconceptions scrambled by an offhand comment.

So, for two days I worked on my mindscape alone, and when I could spare the time, replayedthat dayin my head, wondering if I missed something. What irritates me is that I can't shake the feeling I am. I know I'm not the sharpest tack, and frankly, one of my biggest blind spots happened to be girls. Reference Cho. Parvati.

What worries me is that I'm not sure what I'm missing is really Daphne. There's something else going on, something else that just doesn't add up. It made me wonder how much of what Greengrass said was just the man trying to rib me, and how much was my own mistaken expectation rushing forward at such an idea. We were just shopping, regardless of what Greengrass thought of things, and what my own ridiculous teenage notions tried to paint it as.

I mean, it's certainly not as if I know how these things are supposed to work.

But, much like Hermione and her dress at the Yule ball, that one damned word completely changed my view of Daphne. Before Greengrass had said anything, the idea had never slipped into my mind – sure, we went to London, had lunch, and saw a movie. Supposedly people did this all the time, without getting bent out of shape. The most remarkable thing countering that was the mislaid hands during the movie. Unintentional, and neither of us really made a big deal of it. Frankly, I'd forgotten it until later when my traitorous mind refused to simplyshut up.

So, now I've had to not only deal with Mr. Greengrass' ludicrous idea that we should somehow involve my godfather, at his peril, but also the sudden awareness that his daughter is a rather attractive young woman.

Fucking wonderful. Like I don't have enough to deal with.

Sure, she always has been rather pretty. So was Lavender. So was... that girl in Hufflepuff, who seemed to need a new bra every third month last year. It wasn't as if she suddenly changed overnight. The Daphne Greengrass I'd come to be familiar with was tall, though not so tall as to be awkward about it. Likely I'd pass her this summer, if I kept up a good diet. She had ice-blue, glacially cold eyes that were as closed and guarded as any vault. Dark hair, black as my own, was as often pulled back as loose, but regardless reached to her shoulder blades. Her posture finished what her eyes began, giving her a distant and aloof feeling. She stood tall, chin up, eyes clear, and face closed of emotion till she allowed it. Sharp features that weren't pinched, but gave her a definite air of beauty.

She was pretty in the way statues were. You didn't linger on it, or try to chat one up, because you'd look like an idiot. People who chatted up Daphne, or stared, ended up looking like idiots. She would either cut you down verbally so harshly as to make even Prefects wary, or just laugh at you with that cold, slow, lingering chuckle that made you feel three inches tall.

For two days, I sat and stewed over this new awareness, alternating between blistering irritation, and confused annoyance until finally I'd grown rather fed up with it, and decided to move forward with my Occlumency mindscape. It was either that, or find a way to borrow Lockhart for a day and do some selective lobotomizing. The sooner I compartmentalized this and got it out of the forefront of my mind, the better. With the source materials I'd picked up, it wasn't hard to construct the first layer of defenses. It was the second layer, after all, that would cost me sleep...

Day three came, and again that morning arrived with a lack of the Greengrasses. It was at this point I started feeling afraid. What did I know about these people, really? I certainly didn't trust them, despite the appearance of just that. What assurance did I have, that they worked in my best interest? I knew some of those answers, and why I shouldn't be so wary, but my building anxiety killed what focus I had and so I put away studying, in favor of indulging my paranoia.

The long version of that consisted of me shrinking and as discreetly as possible, stowing my things on my person. I must have looked the fool, tip-toeing around The Fields, spying around corners like some wannabe James Bond. I was planning my exit, if things continued as they were. I didn't, and had never discarded the idea that if things didn't go his way, Greengrass would sell me for security to Voldemort. I didn't bring that up in my arguments and talks with Daphne, mainly as I wanted to keep things more or less peaceful between us – well as peaceful as two people who vent their irritations with random curses can be.

I was also coming to the rather unpleasant realization that I was far from in control of things, which did nothing to ease my mind. I talked a hard game recently, as the sudden isolation from anyone named Greengrass was proving, but in the end, it gained me nothing. Maybe I was coming at things the wrong way. Then again, planning was never my strong suit.

This was made readily clear, when on one of my trips outside "for some air" in case someone asked, Mr. Greengrass joined me. "Lovely afternoon," he said by way of a greeting, to which I nodded nervously. I also stopped trying to feel out the wards, and if they'd zap me like a bug if I didn't cross them with someone with family blood at my side. "With your training as far along as it is," he began, voice cheerful in a frighteningly empty way, "I think it time we moved on to the next step."

Stopping my pacing, I settled on a nearby stone bench, near a tacky birdbath. "Oh?" I was curious about his less-than-friendly demeanor, but honestly couldn't fault the man. If Sirius was as vital to his plans as he had suggested, I had recently ordered an unconditional full stop. He also didn't seem to be upset with me... which frankly confused me. He seemed to be carrying around this air of irritation that lurked just out of sight.

If possible, the man's smile grew frostier, as if reading my thoughts. "Indeed. Perhaps it would help you understand what you're walking into, if you were able to see what all this is working toward."

I had honestly wondered when we'd get into this part of things, but the momentum of working on my Occlumency had dulled that curiosity somewhat. "That would probably be a good thing. So, no lessons in politics, then?"

Greengrass settled himself on the bench as well, picking the further side, "No, not yet. And lessons is a bad word for it, but it will do. Before we move in that direction, Mr. Potter, I was wondering if you could explain something to me." Though his tone hadn't warmed at all, his interest did seem keener. Seeing my wary nod, he continued, "You left your home with us rather easily. We expected some difficulty in... attaining your cooperation."

"'We don't mean you any harm', indeed? Alright, I'll make you a deal."

"Oh?"

"A question for a question."

A raising of the man's brow showed his surprise at my offer. "Hmm. I'm not sure if I can answer everything you'd ask, yet. If I cannot, I will tell you when I can. Will that suit?"

Not the best solution, but it may get some of answers I've wanted for a while now. "Alright. I'll go with it for now"

Greengrass nodded amicably, apparently understanding my mild frustration. "Now, to answer your perhaps joking question earlier, about meaning you harm. We didn't. When we came in. My wife and I were prepared to take you by force, but you'll find that meaning you harm, and meaning to help you, if for our own benefit and against your will, are wholly separate ideals."

I snorted in amusement. "No wonder that ward was useless. So essentially, if Voldemort had wandered by, with an offer to recruit me peacefully in hand, he could have likely waltzed through them."

"And then killed you when you refused, after passing them," Greengrass finished, nodding. "Quite possibly, but we'll never know for sure. I'm sure you've come to a similar conclusion as we have." I waited for him to explain, raising a brow. "Your protection was more through obscurity, than magic."

Scoffing quietly, I nodded. "No one would expect the Boy Who Lived, to be the 'deranged' relative of the Dursleys, attending St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys."

Mr. Greengrass stared at me quite blankly for a moment, before clearing his throat. "Yes. Quite. Wards protect and bar certain things. They cannot be as broad as you assumed, or were told however. That is simply impossible. The number that actually keep someone or something out are much lower than those that work as triggers or alarms."

Heaving a sigh, I shook my head. "Alright. My turn," I prompted, closing that topic before we simply rambled on. "How did you find me?"

Smiling in a decidedly predatory fashion, Greengrass rubbed at his chin as if in thought. "Well, you did mention a Ministry citation on underage magic, did you not?"

"Right, it was during my second year."

"The Ministry retains copies of all those correspondences. They also keep a register of all connected Floo addresses, bothtemporaryand permanent."

My mouth worked silently for a moment. "Son of a bitch!" Standing and stomping around the tacky birdbath, I let my anger settle down, if not fully. "So you're saying anyone who had access to those documents could just look me up easy as a library book and drop on by?"

Nodding grimly, Greengrass stood as well, pacing by the bench, "There was apparently some work done to mask records of the Floo connection. I looked that up as an easier way to arrive, rather than drive all the way to Surrey, but the listing was locked and the details removed. I couldn't resubmit it for connection." Pulling a timepiece from his jacket, the man frowned a moment, before clicking it shut. "The Ministry however cannot lock underage magic usage documentation. Frankly, finding a young wizard or witch is remarkably easy. Everyone trips over that law at least once."

"See, and that's why I left. Well, partly," I explained, setting aside some of my worry and irritation. "Youexplainthings to me. When you sat me down in Privet, you were open and forthcoming to me. You didn't hide behind stupid riddles, didn't try to gloss things over, didn't sugar-coat or – forgive the language – bullshit me.

"Then of course, there were the Dursleys themselves," I sourly noted. Memories of the family curdled my stomach still, more so now that I had time to think on what the effects of that supposedly simple contract were. The Dursleys would never win any awards for parenting, as Dudley was testament to, but things didn't have to be as bad as they were. If left to their own devices, they'd likely have been much kinder to me. Still, I had to hope it wasn't outright malicious. I had to hope that Dumbledore didn't know what that kind of contract would do.

Because, frankly, one Dark Lord was bad enough. I don't want to think of what it mean if the Headmaster actually planned on those people being cruel and unpleasant.

"So, lets see..." I began, stretching and making sure my wand was in easy draw – a habit I'd been trying to cultivate since the maze. "You could have taken me by force – and thanks to my own surprise, had my wand to ensure it wouldn't take much. Hell, your wife practically explained that one action as being 'for my benefit', considering the Ministry." I snorted at this, laughing quietly. "You had the Dursleys at wandpoint, and make no mistake – if they'd been harmed officially, I'd be blamed," I pointed out. This actually caused the man some distress, but he nodded, agreeing to my assertion. "The Ministry, and Fudge specifically have that much of a grudge against me, if you recall theProphet.

"You asked me why I didn't resist more earlier. I had no real choice. I've been keeping my eyes open in case, but so far?" I shrugged, relaxing a bit. "Up till recently, you've given me nothing to worry about, in regard to my safety. Does that mean I trust you?" My laughter caused Mr. Greengrass to start somewhat. "About as far as I can throw you, one handed."

Brow furrowed and a stormy expression on his face, Mr. Greengrass stood and began pacing slowly. "Have we not treated you as an honored guest? I know the conditions in the dungeons were not the most luxurious but-"

I held up a hand, still chuckling slightly. "A gilded cage is still a prison, and a smiling warden is still a jailor, when he holds the keys," I quietly replied. "If it's any consolation? It's the nicest cage I've been in."

Mr. Greengrass looked absolutely torn at this, but the emotions flitting across his face were too hard to figure out for me, not knowing him well. Finally, seeming to settle on a terse irritation – I think – the man sat again. "I... apologize if that is how you see your stay here."

"Don't," I countered with a slight smile. As much as it was truth, I didn't mean to upset the man. He really had done his best to accommodate me, within the constraints of a plan I didn't see the shape of yet. At least it seemed so. The healers, and his dismissal of them on my request, did a lot to prove this.

If he wanted me to train and work to become just a counter in the conflict against Voldemort, then he wouldn't have let that point go easily, if at all. On the other hand, if he cared not at all about my well being, they'd never have been called, period. It showed he didn't think of me just as a thing, a commodity, despite the value I apparently held.

Yes, I was somewhat impressed. Wary, but impressed. "Honestly, Mr. Greengrass, there's nothing you or anyone could do to really change that wariness in me, other than spend years around me and show you had no other motives. Like the Weasleys."

At this, the man shot me a curious look. "I thought that you and the youngest son...?"

"Ron didn't really endear himself to me, early on last year," the words weren't easy – I was still unhappy with my first friend. Still, this needed to be cleared up, I suppose. If I was honest with myself, I also just needed someone outside it all to talk with. "His family on the other hand are the closest thing I've had to one though, and I'd not alienate them for his choices. He made amends after the first Task. But... you know, this wasn't the first time. He's always simmering, just on the edge of snapping at something, and more and more it feels aimed at me. It hurt. It hurt that he didn't believe me, and I don't think I'll ever forgive him that."

Greengrass watched me, and I felt like an idiot, muttering about my bleeding heart to a man I didn't even know the measure of. Despite it, it was like my mouth had taken holiday from my sensibilities, and kept running on. "Hermione too. She didn't turn on me so obviously, but every so often she'd ask me how I did it. Just in case, you know? There was always this feeling that she doubted me." I laughed then, not really blaming her. It was her nature, after all. If I'd pulled off such a feat, then of course it would eat at her.

Doubt is a wicked beast. More subtle than fear, it nests under the heart, and reaches up cruel claws, sinking them into the warmth there, slowing it down. It drags at us, when we least want it, least understand what it is that's wrong with us. I can't really damn either of them, when I doubted them just as much. It was the beast curled around my heart as well, thanks to theProphet, Fudge, and Voldemort. I may be the Boy Who Lived, but I wasn't a match for the Minister, the press, or a risen Dark Lord, and these weren't foes that were just going to evaporate like morning mist on the Black Lake.

"I wasn't really being fair to them," I admitted, thinking back to myself at the end of the year. "I never bothered to write this summer. I guess in my own way, I wanted to test them. See if when fall rolls around, they're still there. A little malicious part of me wants to hurt them some, just like I've felt hurt. I suppose that tarnishes the finish on the Gryffindor Golden boy a bit," I concluded with a frown.

To my surprise, Mr. Greengrass slipped a bit closer on the bench, and hesitantly reached over, laying a hand on my shoulder. "To be honest, Harry?" I blinked up at him at the use of my given name, but nodded, "Hearing you say that, it's a relief to me."

I blinked my confusion. "I don't understand."

"It means you're human," he explained, smiling faintly. "Either one must believe the press, and you're a crazed dark wizard in training, or you're on the side of the fans and fanatics, and you can do no wrong. Flaws make us real." Standing, the older man looked out over the fields that surrounded his home with a thoughtful gaze. "I've been worried if you were real for a while now."

This surprised me, to say the least. "Real? You worried on that?"

Mr. Greengrass indicated I should follow, and started walking slowly toward the back of the house. "You're a very private person, Mr. Potter. Tell me, how much of yourself have you allowed my daughter, myself, or really anyone to get to know? Who do you confide in?"

I pursed my lips, considering that. "I... well. Up till this past year, Ron and Hermione, mostly."

"And they keep your confidence, do they not?" Nodding to that, I began to see what the other man meant. "The world doesn't know you. Right now, they can only see the results, what the press or as I said, your factioned watchers see. Is that in any way, the real you?"

Scoffing, I shook my head. "No more than Rita Skeeter is a real reporter. Alright, last question," I prompted, considering how I wanted to word this. "What is it you're ultimately planning for me? What is the end result?"

He smirked at that, chuckling. "I'll answer that one tomorrow. Today, we need a foundation for you to work on, first. One can't build an empire without the ground beneath, after all." I gave him a wary glance at that. Something about his wording just... rubbed me the wrong way.

We continued to walk easily in a more comfortable silence for a few minutes, till we arrived at a gazebo with a stone floor and enough space under its roof to accommodate a small gathering. "This is our portkey and apparition portal. The ground's ward will dump anyone who tries, and is not keyed, here." Looking over to me, the taller man smiled slightly, "you may not trust us yet, Mr. Potter, but... I hope we can change that, in a mutual fashion."

Eyes narrowed more in thought than annoyance, I considered his words. "I suppose we can," and nodding, I reached out and we shook hands. "As for the rest..." I shook my head, heaving a sigh. "Just give it time, I guess."

"I'll counter that with a request, to give us that time, Mr. Potter." Smirking slightly, he rocked on this heels a moment. "If you'd allow, I'd like to continue speaking on the reason you're here. This will take us to a number of locations, some distance away. Would you like to unburden yourself beforehand? I wouldn't want you to loose some of your things, from being jostled from travel."

Sheepishly I nodded, and made a quick trip to the house, followed by the man's amused laughter.

Damn my trusting nature. At least he didn't catch me in that lie. I hope.

–

When the first portkey dropped us off, I was glad of that small respite to empty my pockets, considering I landed hard enough on my hip to bruise it. If my shrunken trunk were still there, I shudder to think on what condition it would be in now.

"I took the liberty of hiring a solicitor versed in magical and mundane finance to help organize things," Mr. Greengrass noted, as we walked at a fair clip around a small gatehouse. While he spoke, I looked around, and wondered where we were, but didn't have long to do so.

The nook we'd portkeyed into looked to be on the far side of the gatehouse, which stood sentinel to a large plot of land that seemed heavily forested from my point of view. As far around as I could see, the property that the modernly paved road lead to was bordered by a lush rise of green, the summer light gentler here, and slightly cooler. "We're a bit more north of The Fields, practically in Scotland really," Greengrass noted, seeing me rub slightly at my arms.

I followed along, noting the street sign, Cross Lane, as we strolled, "The man we'll be meeting, Edward Hawkins, is a decent sort. He's a solicitor though, and his mind is in the books and bylaws, not the people and the end result," Greengrass added, his face blank. I couldn't tell what he thought about that, so simply nodded, showing I'd heard him. "We'll be meeting him in a property on the Ravensworth Estate, Coxclose Lodge. With the death of the caretakers in the mid nineteen-seventies, it's fallen into some disrepair, so be warned."

My eyes were all on the large house, though I tried to take in the man's words. It was an old style, with high a high, peaked roof, framed on either side of the home by brick-and-mortar chimneys. Vines and climbing greenery had almost taken over the Lodge's face, from what I could see, though it did nothing to take away from the structures beauty. Perhaps I was biased, but the the placed looked downrighthomey.

Red tiles sat in disarray on the roof, showing the age and disrepair further, as did the three darkened, boarded windows on the upper floor with their greened copper peaks and small decorative spires, curious things that made me think of lightning rods. A low stone wall, crumbling and mossy, circled and ran into the nearby wood, and in the distance I could faintly make out the curve of Cross Lane on one side, and in the deeper woods the crumbling and ancient ruin of what may have one day been a guard tower.

I pointed to the ruin, and Greengrass cast a small spell, squinting, "Yes, that looks to be the south border tower of Ravenshelm. We'll go by the keep proper later, after meeting with Hawkins. I'm unsure of the state of the place and its wards and protections, so for now we'll have to make do with Coxclose."

Not really arguing the point, I followed him with my eyes sweeping, taking in all I could. This supposedly wasmine. It was a heady concept, for someone like me, who's history of things with that label were few and far between.

Closer to the Lodge, I was surprised to see a small car parked on a gravel lane that ran behind and into the wood, obviously meeting Cross Lane within. "Muggles?"

Greengrass nodded absently, "The caretakers of Coxclose were, yes. At least one of the properties under the Baronies your title you hold are muggle communities. Now, at any rate. If memory serves, Collingwood was the only magical community, outside of Ravenshelm's grounds itself, but that was over two generations ago. Less for the keep, of course. Don't hold me to that, though, Hawkins will have details."

We were greeted at the door by a small, balding, furtive little man that introduced himself as Edward. "Right, to business. You're the client?" His intense gaze fixed on me, and I looked to Greengrass.

"Edward – Mr. Hawkins – this is my associate, Harry Potter. I hired you on his behalf," the man smoothly introduced us, taking the solicitor's hand in a strong grip. I followed suit, trying to take queues from the him. "Lets have a seat," he continued, and we did so, though I was wary of the room itself.

Coxclose gave the appearance of a slightly run-down home from the outside, but within, the decay and derelict nature of the Lodge was clear. Wood sagged where it wasn't structural, and in some places even those features were less than stable looking. Mold grew on anything that could hold moisture, which was just about everything, from stone walls to what I had to guess were the splintered and soggy remnant of furniture, all swept to the side or piled up high in the main room's great fireplace.

A steel table with some chairs were set up in what looked to be the main hall, overlooked by mouldering and cobweb infested trophies, which stared with glassy eyes from the walls. I repressed the shiver that settled in my bones at being watched by dozens of dead eyes, and took a seat in a plastic chair.

"Well, to be honest, I only just finished with the audits," the little man began, taking a number of ledgers from his briefcase. "With more than a decade of delinquency in the worst cases, most of the actual documents and claims had gone unread or answered. Glenn, I have to tell you – it was a mess."

I blinked, shooting my host a quick look. Mr. Greengrass, Glenn I suppose his name was, nodded, a shadow over his features. "Derelict? No one was overseeing the accounts or properties at all?"

Heaving a sigh, then coughing on the moldy air, Edward nodded. "More of less. There were stewards in place up till late in the eighties, but they weren't replaced. That sort of thing can't be just assumed, the landholder has to appoint them, and there hasn't been one active since..." The solicitor peered into a ledger, and nodded, "Nineteen eighty."

"Makes sense," I quietly added. "That was when my parents died, within the year."

Edward Hawkins went about his report as if I'd not spoken – and I began to see what Greengrass meant when he spoke of the man's focus. Most of the numbers made no sense to me, but I did start seeing a trend, and I was somewhat more than a little nervous at what seemed to be being said.

Mr. Greengrass peaked his hands, settling his chin on outstretched thumbs. "So. The local tariffs are being directly passed to the Crown?" I blinked. Isn't that what's supposed to happen...?

Looking up from his ledgers, Edward made a noncommittal noise, "Some. The base fifteen percent tax is passed along of course, but land tax, inheritances, trade and the like are currently in a moratorium. The officers of Revenue and Customs have taken up the duty, without the stewards and Baronies being claimed."

"Oh that's going to get sticky," Glenn muttered, eyes narrowing. "RC hates letting the titled landowners get their hands back in the coffers."

Edward scoffed, "No doubt. But," the man handed Greengrass a small sheaf of forms, within a manilla folder. "Here are the claimant's forms. You'll need a will reading, proof of birth, and a reasonable amount of squeeze to get it done by your deadline."

"Squeeze?" I asked, puzzled.

Greengrass gave me a wry smile, "In the world of politics, business, and back alleys, it's a graft. Bribe."

I sat back and kept my mouth shut after that. As I listened I picked up on the gist of things, however. The estate would be within the value range of the Inheritance Tax, which means that a flat percent, upwards of thirty, would be due to Revenue and Customs. Greengrass and Hawkins bandied number about that boggled my mind, but seemed to make Glenn less than pleased. "These fees... well. Nothing ever came cheap."

The worst of the three land situations was Collingwood, which still held a small magical community. I recalled it from my first talk with Greengrass, and that a Garret Dorham had approached the Wizengamot regarding the Barony's lack of custodianship. Collingwood was currently going through a period of agricultural reform, according to Hawkins, and needed certain permissions from the Barony, or further up the line, to convert fallow farms into homes. Unlike some magical communities, Collingwood seemed to be doing well, but needed help to continue to do so.

Dorham was the go-to in the community, a strong man that Glenn described as "A good father, according to his son in the Ministry. Focused on his family and the well-being of the people in his community.". I honestly hope so – apparently I was to meet with him sooner as opposed to later. What made Collingwood the biggest problem, appeared to be that they didn't want a Baron now, having been neglected for a decade, or were petitioning for a change of representation.

The two Baronies of Evans and Eslington were, as Greengrass called them, mundane. Where Collingwood was listed in the Crown's Peerage, it was done so on the books Hawkins explained as a "Reserve and farming" property. Which is what it would appear to be, to any of the Crown's muggle RC agents. This was balanced by the actual value being assessed and taxed via the Ministry and Wizengamot.

This kind of double-entry and valuing made my head spin, but I had to admit, there was logic there, which seemed out of place. With the Peerage being so intermingled with magical society, it made sense that the Crown and Ministry had developed a system to keep things clean, and also secret. I just didn't think I could manage to understand them, without a massive amount of study, or a good cheat-sheet.

The Evans Barony I learned was a simple one, being mainly the title and a hereditary share in a vacated school that resided in Merthyr Tydfil, Wales. That on its own surprised me, as it turned out that my mother and aunt's father was a physician, and if the records were correct, the man struck Petunia from his will over some incident in their past. I had to wonder if that lead to the antagonism between the two.

Cyfarthfa High School had fallen into the modern age gracelessly, according to Hawkins, and needed new grounds to be recognized as something other than a simple novelty. Cyfarthfa Castle, which was really just a manor house constructed to look like a castle, had been vacated on the same year my parents died, leaving the property to the Evans Barony to manage. According to his accounts, the property was in tax default, and listed to be sold for value reclamation within the year.

Least problematic of the lot was the Eslington Barony, which was just beginning to suffer as their steward died only three years ago, though he was quick to point out this meant little as far as wizarding matters went. The property we currently resided in was part of that Barony, with Ravenshelm being the official 'center' of the lands, for magical purposes.

Eslington, on the mundane side, held its seat in Newcastle Upon Tyne, and presided over the same metropolitan area. This marked a definite change, as the mundane side of things far outstripped the magical. "This is where, of course, things will get complicated," Edward noted, leaning back in his folding chair.

"The Eslington Barony, to the Wizengamot, is little more than a castle, a few nearby forests and fields, and the hereditary title tied with Earl Ravensworth." I nodded along, growing nervous as Mr. Greengrass let out a low whistle. "I take it you found the entry for Newcastle, Glenn?"

"Bloody hell," the man swore, nearly shocking me out of my chair. I'd yet to see Mr. Greengrass really ruffled, and that he was impersonating Ron here, worried me. "Alright, I know I'm reading this wrong, Edward," Greengrass began, shaking his head. "Tell me this one in small, easy to swallow terms."

Hawkins made a sour face, and took the notebook back. "Alright, put simply, due to the change in times since feudal barony, the title here on the mundane side means little. Like the Evans title, it too had a hereditary trust, but this one is position, rather than property.

"Newcastle is a modern town – they elect officials, rather than have the outdated systems. That aside, the city's charter has a small stipulation built into it," here Hawkins' face bent in what I hope to never see again – a smile. The man had truly horrid teeth. "Newcastle owes the land that the city was built on, to the Barony. As time progressed, the Barony managed to maintain a strong hold on its position within the City Council, directing and guiding the development.

"Sometime around... I think the early nineteen-hundreds, the local Baron lost his interest in politics, and assigned some of his proxies to manage his seats. This situation held, as it was just easier to deal with for wizards to have contacts, than to appear and possibly disrupt the Statutes." Edward took a moment to take a draw off his bottle of water, something I wished Greengrass and I had thought of. "This one is going to be your headache."

I decided that it was a good time to make my presence known again, "How so?"

Edward glanced my way, and chuckled. "For one, the way the Council is set up, Baron Eslington is responsible for fourteen of the twenty-six city wards – electoral districts. The Baron's proxies, and barring that, his decisions must be met by those seat-holders." I sat back hard at that, a tight, unpleasant feeling in my chest. "Once you assume that title, within the year, you must either set up, or approve the current holders of your seats there.

"Historically, because you hold the majority of votes, the Council has always been lead by the Baron as Lord Mayor." Hawkins wrinkled his nose at the next point, "that became touchy, as the Earl Ravensworth took over the Barony, and then it became a subsidiary of a wizard. Your father had no more a mind for politics than his father, at least for muggles."

Greengrass saved me from drowning in unknowns, by throwing me a stone painted as a life preserver. "What Edward is trying to say, Harry, is that Newcastle has gotten used to their way of electing seats, and for you to take up the Barony Eslington, you'll be politically overthrowing a democratic system."

I paled and I'm sure my eyes were threatening to roll from their sockets. "What? I have to what?"

Laughing, the man clapped me on the back, "You don'thaveto do a thing, Harry," the man replied. "You have the option to take up a very complex political career – once you're of age. For now, I suggest we let Edward chew this into something you can deal with, and we note what wards and who's seated there.

"Later, we can make our rounds, and you can do a meet and greet. Get to know the people there that you're essentially ruling through."

Nodding, I had no problems admitting I liked his take on things better than Edward's. "So, I don'thaveto do anything with this one?"

Shaking his head, Greengrass smiled, "Not a thing. Oh, you'll be on the books again when you take up the titles, so those seats will come to you, either to justify their claim, or try and convince you of this or that. You'll learn what it means to be on the receiving end of lobbyists and petitioners, I'll wager, and wish you had an older brother before this over."

To be honest, I already was. "Alright... so to summarize, the Collingwood claim is a wholly magical community?" Glenn nodded, and I made a note in my own notebook – woefully thin and not at all up to today's task – that I'd brought. "Evans is just a school, which is in default over back taxes," another nod, and I continued, "and Eslington has seats on a Council, that elect a Mayor to run Newcastle. That about cover things?"

Grinning widely, Greengrass leaned back and smirked at Hawkins. "You owe me ten Galleons. I told you he'd sum it up in less than a minute."

–

After the meeting with Edward, Greengrass and I left Coxclose, and discussed some of the other details. "So, did you see underneath the obvious in there?"

I thought about the question a moment, and nodded, "Quite a lot of the inheritance is in disarray. The school's going to be sold, unless I bring it up out or arrears which is going to be quite a lot of money. Newcastle will be a nightmare, and Eslington... I take it that's going to cost me a lot to sort out as well."

Greengrass answered with a pleasant smile. "Quite quick on the uptake. Yes, those titles are heavy on responsibility, and in politics, that means money – going one way or another. If you decide not to forfeit your claim, the value of the estates will be taxed at thirty one percent, for the mundane. Wizarding taxation for such things fell out of favor, thankfully," he added in a droll tone.

"Ravenshelm Keep you'll need to have assessed for its protections, and how to key yourself to them, which is likely something that will be addressed in records of your family's wills," Glenn continued. "There is also the matter of bringing such properties up to livable conditions, if you so choose. More money, as you'll see."

I was beginning to wonder if assuming the titles left to me would put me into bankruptcy. Still, this was my heritage, in a way. My family, my ancestors were responsible for these people and places. It was their money, in that vault, not mine... it almost felt like theft, to think of shirking that responsibility in favor of the money. Then there was of course, the matter of my age. "What about the fact I'm only fourteen? I'm sure I can't assume any of these titles at that age."

"Quite true, and there aren't allowances for such things in either world. Typically," here, Greengrass halted, giving me a rather intent stare. "Typically these things would pass on like guardianship. Your assigned parent or warder would act as regent, to your heir apparent."

A few things suddenly came into focus quite sharply for me with that. "That's why you wanted Sirius. He's my godfather – he'd know the wills, he'd be able to... no, he couldn't assume proxy for the titles in his condition, could he," I mused.

"Not as such. But," A sly look came over the man's face, and I started understanding more what he had intended, and why he asked me to wait earlier today when I asked him his goals. Still, there was the sense I was missing something... "Sirius can pass those responsibilities onto another. There are also a few favors I owe the man, that I can try to call in abroad... It may simplify matters immensely."

I latched onto a vain hope at those words, "You have a way to clear his name?"

"Harry," Glenn turned me with a thin frown, a hand on my shoulder. "You know as well as I, that if Fudge admitted the Ministry did something wrong with Sirius it would be political suicide. True, it wasn't on his watch – I think it was Bagnold who was at the helm then.

"Regardless, no," he gently replied to my hopeful look. "We cannot exonerate him through normal channels." We began walking again, when Glenn shot me a questioning look. "What makes you think he's truly innocent? You seem to know something that isn't public record."

Cursing my slip up, I shoved my hands into my pockets. It was things like this that made me realize that I really needed to get a handle on my emotions. One day, I was going to mess up badly, and get someone hurt, or killed. "I've seen Pettigrew. He's alive."

Letting out a low whistle, Greengrass took on a thoughtful mien. "That... that has potential. I'll keep it in mind," the man noted. He seemed to pull his attention away from those thoughts with an effort. "Now, all the titles aside, your seat on the Wizengamot will be-"

"Wait," I held up my hands, looking at him incredulously. "I have a seat on the Wizengamot?!"

"Well, no. Not at the moment, as you're underage, and there's really nothing you can do about that," Greengrass conceded. "Like the titles, you'll need to figure out how your regency as heir apparent to the titles works. There should have been a registry of such, either in the Ministry or the Crown's records.

"The Potter seat as it is now is empty, as I said, so obviously the Ministry is either ignoring that record, or it doesn't exist. It's also dependent on you holding the Barony Collingwood," he explained, as we began walking again. "You can see why Dorham's approach to have that Barony reseated garnered people's attention."

I winced, nodding. If Garret Dorham's claim and bid to have the Barony removed from the Potter name completed, then the Potters would lose their seat, and it would go to another... "Who... did he suggest someone?"

Greengrass' expression blanked, and he stole a glance my way from the corner of his eye. "To replace you? I believe he named someone."

After hours dealing with Edward Hawkins, vague answers didn't do much to settle my nerves. "Well, who is it?"

Glenn reacted to my angry tone with a sigh, shaking his head slowly. "Collingwood lies in Gloucestershire, bordered on the south by Wiltshire." The man's tone had gone blank, matching his expression as he said this. "Dorham suggested that if the Barony not be dissolved, as the current seat local to Wiltshire, that Lucius Malfoy would be a more attentive lord and named him."

The world drew down to a pinprick, as my vision focused completely on a point, far distant. "Malfoy...? Malfoy would-" I cut myself off, shaking my head hard, trying to put aside the sound of my own pulse hammering in my ears. I couldn't really figure out what made me more furious, that someone would name the Death Eater as my replacement, robbing me of a part of my heritage, or that if such a thing occurred, Voldemort would have even more of a foothold in the Wizengamot. The assumption that Malfoy had a seat was easy to come to, considering, and that this would potentially give him two... "No. No, I can't let that stand. Absolutely not."

Greengrass took me by the shoulder, and lead me over to the side of the path we were walking. In the near distance, I saw the gatehouse we'd used arrived at, and wondered if our travels for the day were done. "Listen, Harry," he began, looking pensive. "I didn't want to mention it till you understood all that was involved. If I told you that night, who it was that would end up with your seat, what would you have thought?"

Trying to push the anger aside, I considered Glenn's words. "Angry, obviously. But I suppose... I'd wonder if you were just baiting me, or trying to control me. Everyone knows how badly Draco and I get along."

"Not to mention his father being a former Death Eater, claiming the Imperius," he added. I didn't correct him, considering I knew that Lucius was at the ritual of Voldemort's rebirth. Let him think what he will... There's a certain personal score that this is turning into, that I'd rather keep to myself for the moment. "Edward needed time to look over things, and get a solid response on the state of your estates. That was half the reason for the Occlumency training – time, as well as the focus it brings. Youneedthat focus and clarity to manage all that is before you. I hope you aren't too upset with me, keeping that from you."

I shook my head, as we reached the gatehouse. "No. Well, as long as it hasn't gone through..."

"No, not yet," Greengrass replied. "It's not even a full motion, only a suggestion, really. Otherwise I wouldn't have waited. It has the potential to grow into more, obviously, and the next full session won't be for some time, so we should have opportunity to shore up your connections with Dorham."

The portkey back wasn't as rocky, making me wonder if state of mind had something to do with that method of travel. I'd been practicing my Occlumency, filing what we'd gone over and trying to distance myself from my anger when we left Ravensworth Estate, and rather than land on my backside, I only stumbled slightly on landing.

Greengrass and I chatted on the way back to his house, mostly discussing what he felt our next step should be, and the tentative repeat of his request to involve Sirius. "I still think it would do well to contact him," Glenn asserted, holding up his hands in surrender. "There aren't many others alive that know of your family as well, and even less that have any tie to you. Sure, there's the Longbottoms, but Augusta has been less than pleasant to deal with, and she was never close to your parents. She can, on the other hand, tell you a great deal about the generations before them, on the Potter side. Regardless, once things start to move, you should contact her..."

I'm not really sure why I didn't just tell him to sod off for bringing Sirius up again. Maybe it was my hope that he could do something to help him, so that he could walk around a free man. Maybe it was the shock of all that rested on my shoulders, or the realization that if I didn't play my cards properly, what power my family did posses in the wizarding world would soon go to Malfoy of all people. In the end, I said nothing, but didn't outright deny him either. His arguments made sense, I just didn't know if it was worth it. One wrong move, and I'd lose him.

It was a fight for another day.

Speaking of fights, it looked like Mr. Greengrass and I walked in on a rather fierce row between Daphne and her mother, though perhaps it would be better to describe it as walking into the neighborhood of a hurricane. Rooms away, we could still hear them arguing.

"...will not have my daughter off gallivanting for days with-"

Daphne's voice, loud but calm, drifted from the sitting room, "It is my decision, isn't it? Isn't that what you and father keep insisting on as part of this whole gamble? My right to make my own decisions?"

Mr. Greengrass looked suddenly wary and anxious, which put me on guard immediately. "If you want to go and calm them down-" I offered, only for the man to cut me off.

"No. No, I think actually it would be good to go over some of those ledgers with you," he opted instead, setting a hand behind my shoulder and guiding me toward the hallway firmly.

The argument escalated again, mumbled voices becoming clear in their volume, "...Daphne Marie, I do not approve of that boy, or your behavior!"

"Mother, I don't see that I need your approval," came the familiar voice, and I paused, walking slower. Glenn noticed this and shot me a disapproving look, as if he meant to chide me for eavesdropping, when in truth it was near impossible not to hear the women arguing.

Mrs. Greengrass finally seemed to reach her wit's end, "Then I will revoke your casting and travel privileges," which was answered by Daphne's low growl, "Montague is not the kind of boy your father and I had in mind when we told you about refusing to honor that contract-"

"Just... forget it, mother. I'm done discussing this with you," Daphne spat, and from the nearby doorway the rather disheveled and upset witch stalked, looking nearly as if she'd just been on the receiving end of a dueling lesson. Seeing us – myself and her father – standing somewhat stunned near the hallway, she narrowed her eyes and stomped off up the stairwell toward her rooms.

I blinked, putting the pieces of what I'd heard, illicitly or no, together into some form of order. Mr Greengrass beside me was looking like a man who's hand had been caught in the cookie jar, which made me wonder... what did he have to be guilty of? "Montague?" I asked, seeing him start slightly. "Paul Montague, the Slytherin Quidditch Chaser?"

It was then that Mrs. Greengrass exited the sitting room, still ranting quietly, as she closed the doors behind her. She stalled slightly in her stride as she saw us, however, "That girl! Ugh. Oh..." looking around furtively, the usually composed woman made a fast clip for the stairwell, apparently not done talking with her daughter.

The surreal feeling of the day compounded, as the possibilities that lay in the two elder Greengrass' reactions started to occur to me. I turned to Glenn, and met the man's gaze. "Contract?"

Wincing, the older wizard closed his eyes. "It is a complicated situation, and a personal one. Sufficed to say, there was an offer for marriage made to us for Daphne by one of the suspected Death Eater families, for when she came of age. We refused to honor it, but the debacle and results are that she's... well."

I waited for the man to continue, utterly bemused by his sudden lack of composure. Finally I prompted, "She's what?"

Regaining his poise, Glenn Greengrass turned and made to follow his wife, leaving me to my own devices, but not before his voice carried back across the room. "Daphne has decided to take matters into her own hands."

It wasn't a clear answer, but it was close enough. Her own hands...? I can only assume that meant she was dating someone. Likely this Montague that was mentioned...

In a stark change from my thoughts that morning, I decided the last thing I wanted was to run into any of the assorted family for a change. So decided, I made my way back outside, toward the gazebo with the intent to watch the sun setting over the unbroken horizon that the fields around the manor house offered.

As if sensing the need to complete the strangeness of my day, Astoria was there as well. I didn't remember seeing her when Mr. Greengrass and I arrived, but she had a tendency to blend into the background, and more than once I'd walked by her, only for the younger girl to call out and draw my attention.

We sat in relative silence on opposite sides of the shelter, watching the sun settle gold and red over the horizon, painting the sky in fiery tones. As the light lessened, I considered my reactions to what I'd heard... and frowned. I was spending entirely too much time thinking about the witch. Two weeks of almost solid contact with Daphne, and one day where we don't behave like loosely leashed cats and dogs, and I choose to read too much into it.

Once the sky had begun to darken, Astoria finally broke the quiet that had settled over us, "I come out here, when I need to be away from everyone."

"I suppose I've been using the dungeons for that," I replied, mind abuzz with too many conflicting thoughts. It wasn't quite enough, obviously, for me to learn of my responsibilities. No, there had to be this... whatever it was, with Daphne as well. So much for compartmentalizing and putting away all notions of the girl, I groused silently. "Did you come out to avoid the fight?"

"Daphne," the youngest Greengrass prompted, causing me to glance her way. As if that was all she intended to say, the young woman met my eyes, and tilted her head again in the same fashion she'd done so, when I met her. Seeming to find what she wanted, Astoria turned from my gaze. "My sister is very strong-willed," she quietly said, apparently quite taken with a particular hem in her robe. "She does not like others making decisions for her."

Realizing I wasn't going to escape the topic so easily, I leaned back and sighed wearily. "Yeah, well, I can understand that."

"There is a boy," she murmured, voice barely audible over the light winds that whistled around the gazebo. "He's very... conflicted. There are things he feels he must do, and things he would rather do, and again things he knows he should do." Curious where she was going with this, I turned my attention fully to the slight witch. "One day, I know he'll make a decision. He has to, after all," looking up, she gave a mirthless little laugh. "Like us. Father knows weshouldally with the Dark Lord," I hissed in a breath, but she continued as if I wasn't even there, "but refuses. Hemustprotect his family, after all, as there are no constants in the world. No promises that either side can offer that would do that.

"So he does what he'dratherdo, and hopes. He would rather make his own way, live by his own rules, if he can. Daphne takes after him, in that way," she murmured, trailing off.

"Who is the boy," I asked, wondering what point Astoria was trying to make, and wondering if she was trying to make some kind of allusion to me.

She spared me a slight smile. "Just someone I know. Does it bother you?"

I recalled with some irritation an observation I made on meeting the young witch some weeks ago – that I'd never understand girls, small or otherwise. Astoria seemed to personify this concept, currently. "Does what bother me," I countered testily, wishing for the earlier silence to return. I didn't, after all, come out here to deal with anything other than my own thoughts.

"Seeing that the world doesn't revolve around you," she answered, the small smile on her lips turning secretive and mocking.

I was halfway back to the manor house, when her laughter drifted up on the wind to me. Cursing women, politics, and busybody parents in equal measure, I stalked down toward the dungeons, content that soon I'd make sure I had a place of my own, free of all three.

That was at least a goal I could readily get behind.

–