This chapter is much longer than usual, let's try not to get used to it XD I just couldn't find a halfway cut-off point that didn't feel weird so u get 8k+ words instead.
Also, no one should let me put more than four characters in a room, I clearly can't handle it.
December 10th, 1988
Harry's a little bit nervous about the will reading. He was a lot more nervous, but Merlin had taken him to Diagon Alley just after lunch – over two hours before the reading – so they could look through the stores and the Slytherin vault for something more wizard-like to wear. Dad couldn't disguise himself like Harry though, so they tried to be quick on the shops they did go into. After getting cool-looking boots that the witch at the store said were made of dragon skin – Harry was upset about it until the witch and his dad assured him it was from dragons that already died and wixes didn't kill them just for it – and really, really soft black robes – still looks like a dress to him but that doesn't mean Harry doesn't like it – that cost a lot because it's made of some magic spider silk, they went down to the Slytherin vault to find something for his dad to wear and a cloak for him to use on top of his new wizard robes.
Looking around the closed chests and piles of clothes in the vault with his dad was kind of fun, there were a lot of different ones, not like the suits Merlin used to work or the clothes he used at home but stuff that looked like it would fit in on the streets of the Alley just fine, or in one of those mediaeval films he'd seen on TV before but Dad didn't let him put on what he said was chainmail even after Harry said he wanted to look like a knight. They do find him a cloak though, it's grey with slits on the sides for his arms and some pretty silver drawings on the bottom of it that look like smoke, it also shrinks to his size when he puts it on so Merlin tells him to keep it. He kind of feels like one of the dwarves from that Hobbit book.
When Dad finally finds something without snakes on it – a cloak that's so dark blue it looks black and it even closes up at the front so it hides his suit – they go back up to the bank and let Mr Relret take them to the room where they'll read the will. They're the first ones there and get to sit at a big round table with a box next to one of the seats, the one facing the door, with Mr Relret next to it explaining something to his dad. He doesn't catch a lot of it, distracted with all the nervousness that's just come back now that they're in the room.
"Harry?" Merlin calls and it takes him a second to look up at him. "Did you pay attention to Relret's explanation?"
He looks down, cheeks heating up in embarrassment, and just shakes his head. He does look up when a hand runs through his hair and sees his dad isn't mad about it. "Sorry," he says anyway, realising the goblin's gone and can't explain it all again.
"It's okay, you won't have to do anything," Dad tells him and it calms him down a bit. "The Potters left a joint will. That means your parents wrote it together, so there won't be two different readings and just a big one," he pauses and Harry nods to show he understands. "Relret was here to explain this," he motions at the big wooden box. It's bigger than his dad's magic letterbox but not even close to the size of a trunk, and just a bit too tall to be a cube. "It's got a recording of the will in it, which means you'll hear your parents speaking when I open the box and break the recording orb inside it," he stares at the box, not sure if that's nice or not, but the warning's good so he doesn't think his parents are really there like they were on Samhain. "People will start showing up soon, only nine of them though, and you don't have to talk to them if you don't want to."
"I don' wanna be rude," he tells his dad with a small frown.
"If they upset you, it's not rude to not respond," Harry hesitates but nods. "Also, Relret said not to talk while the will is being read, so let's try to be quiet when it's time, okay? We can talk about it after."
"'Kay," he nods again, standing from his place to look better at the box and trying to ignore how his lunch feels like it might come back up from how nervous he's getting.
He climbs on the chair closest to it – staying on his knees so he won't make it dirty with his shoes – and looks down, seeing a long slit at the top made to fit something thinner than his finger. When he turns the box around – it's a bit heavy but he's careful – the bottom part of the front sort of looks like a drawer without a handle. He pokes at it, but it doesn't open.
"It'll only open when all the contracts are inside," Merlin tells him, almost making him jump at the sound after being quiet for a few minutes. Harry nods before walking back over to where his dad's sitting. Just in time too, because that's when the doors start to slide open.
Merlin has a bad feeling about all this.
He thinks it's just Harry's nervousness rubbing off on him, even though he's tried to calm his son down by distracting him in the Alley. They spent some time at Twilfit and Tattings, getting Harry's measurements and ordering a couple of robes – he made sure to ask for something with stars that glow in the dark and a matching pointy hat even though it'll probably look like the world's most cliche outfit for a wizard – as well as getting a plain black robe for him to wear at the reading, which he figures is the appropriate colour for something related to mourning. He buys Harry some dragonhide boots – after making sure they're ethically sourced – because they're ridiculously durable, and a wand holster for his own forearm so he can take his rune wand out of his pocket and shut up the annoying voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Ignatius telling him off for it since they flooed out of the house.
The wand might not be of much use for delicate work – it's not a real wand, just a similar-looking construct that can somewhat believably pass for one in very specific conditions – but it's more defence than he'd have without it, so he slips it into the holster as soon as it's fastened into place. He tries to memorise which rune in the handle will be facing his thumb if he draws it but inevitably forgets it a few minutes later, his mind occupied with finding something wearable in his vault.
Once they make it into Gringotts, most of the tension inside him vanishes, probably because they're closer to the reading time. Still, there's enough time to make their way down to the Slytherin vault. Stasis wards are his best friends, the whole explanation as to why nothing in a Gringotts vault deteriorates, and the only reason the clothes he's stored in it don't smell as old as they actually are. With Harry's help, he eventually locates a cloak for his son and one for himself, though Harry's is light and sleeveless while his own is slightly heavier – more velvet-like – and long-sleeved enough to hide the holster strapped over the suit sleeve on his forearm.
They make it to the meeting room twenty minutes before the scheduled starting time, finding it empty by design as the beneficiaries are only allowed in at the ten-minute mark. Relret – the Potter manager – explains the whole process, which he's not familiar with but isn't incredibly complicated, and leaves them to their devices. Once he's explained things to Harry – who thankfully doesn't seem as nervous as he'd been during lunch – it's only a matter of waiting for the others to arrive. It's not a big number of people, only nine have confirmed their presence, but a depressing number of letters hadn't even been sent due to their recipients being deceased.
As always, he muses, war leaves no true winners.
The sound of the doors opening makes him look up from where he'd been studying his son, who is quieter than usual, not that he can blame him. His attention instantly shifts to take in the group as he stands and moves closer to the entrance to greet them, Harry following his example with just a moment's delay.
Leading the small group is a very old man, evidenced by his snow-white hair and beard, both of which reach the middle of his torso. His flowing robes are a colourful mix of purple and yellow that he can't quite look at for too long, and might have come off as a result of a playful personality if not for the shrewd look that meets his eyes from behind the man's half-moon spectacles, though it's only half a second before they're trained on his son instead. "Harry, dear boy," the jovial greeting makes a stark contrast against the sombre mood. "It's good to see you again."
Harry, for his part, doesn't seem to recognize the man, instead stepping slightly behind Merlin with a small frown as he whispers, "Again?"
"I'm sorry, you are…?" Merlin interrupts, having an inkling but still hoping the minimal requirements for polite interaction will be followed and he'll be provided with an introduction, especially from someone who's chosen to speak to his son so informally.
The old wizard blinks and a small smile stretches his lips, "Of course, pardon me, I am Albus Dumbledore," he confirms Merlin's guess. "Allow me to introduce my fellow Hogwarts professors, Minerva McGonagall, Filius Flitwick and Severus Snape," he motions toward a dark–haired older woman to his right who's watching the proceedings with pursed lips, a much shorter grey-haired man looking up from his spot slightly behind the witch, and a dark-haired man to his left that is noticeably quite younger than the other two professors.
Merlin spares the Hogwarts faculty a cursory glance, committing them to memory. The witch has her dark hair done up in braids, half-hidden by a curved hat that matches the tone of her plain forest green robes. Her posture is impeccable, a sign of confidence, but he wonders why her lips take a slight downturn when her eyes stray towards Harry. The scowling man looks familiar, and it takes a moment for Merlin to place him as the wizard he'd engaged in a debate with at the potions store during the Grangers' visit to the Alley. He normally wouldn't have such an easy time placing a face, but the man looks exactly the same as last time, with all-black robes and black hair pulled into a low ponytail.
Almost lost within the group, the final professor is only slightly taller than Harry, though his facial hair — a neatly trimmed moustache — keeps him from being mistaken for a child at a glance. His robes are beige and brown, though he wears no hat, and Merlin visibly notices his eyes soften behind his round glasses when he lays eyes on Harry.
These are people who care about Harry, he realises with a bitter tinge, so where have they been for the past eight years?
"Well met," he offers a shallow bow and watches his son mumble the same greeting with a slightly deeper one, "As you may have surmised from our recent correspondence, I am Michael Wright," he doesn't give them time to speak before adding, "If you'd kindly take a seat so we can continue with the introductions?" he requests with a pointed look at the rest of the group behind the trio.
"Of course, let's not dawdle," Dumbledore agrees with a nod, leading the four towards the seats closest to the will's storage box and clearing the way for three other guests.
A tall, severe-looking older witch introduces herself as Augusta Longbottom. She wears a very eye-catching hat which seems to hold a stuffed bird on it — is that a pheasant? — though the colour underneath — a muted sage green — matches her heavy fur-lined robes. Her mostly grey hair is done up, the bun likely inside the hat, and only very few strands betray its original dark blond tone. Her face is closed off – she doesn't seem glad to be here – but he doesn't blame her for it when he remembers the reason she's had to attend as a proxy.
Remus Lupin is the next to speak but, unlike the others, the man's expression is visibly pained. For all his height — which Merlin estimates to be approximately the same as his own — he holds himself as if trying to occupy the least space possible in the room, hunched shoulders and slightly lowered head either brought on by the grief of the occasion or a notable lack of confidence. He's dressed entirely muggle, a simple white shirt tucked into khaki pants and a dark brown jacket — the same colour as the man's hair — that looks as old as the loafers on his feet.
The youngest-looking of the group tells them her name is Mary Cattermole. She has slightly past shoulder-length brown hair falling in waves, not restricted by any hairdo, and her clothes are the second most muggle-looking, a blue-toned floral dress that could be mistaken for a robe if it didn't seem somewhat familiar and a knitted beige coat worn open over it. Her eyes are blue, and hold a tiredness to them that makes him wonder if she's had any sleep in the past couple of nights.
Once the trio has found their seats, the two final guests step forward. Cassiopeia Black has hair as white as Dumbledore's, though only half the length, and carries herself with a similar energy to some of Michael's more high-paying clients. Her clothes don't look like something from the Alley, but not entirely muggle either. The cloak over her shoulders looks like melted silver, and the long dress underneath matches the colour, though it's less flowing metal and more ribbed satin, with some hip detail that makes him think of armour. With a raised chin and cold grey eyes, she looks like the kind of woman he'd rather not cross.
In contrast, the petite witch who introduces herself next, one Pandora Lovegood, is pale, blonde and light-eyed, which shouldn't work with her pastel yellow ruffled robes and the brimless, cream-coloured pointy hat but it all somehow conveys a light and slightly ethereal look, which matches the not-quite-here and slightly dazed appearance. She's the first to offer Harry a slight smile, which he's glad to notice is reluctantly reciprocated.
Once all nine have taken their seats, though Harry still lingers slightly behind him and peering curiously at their guests, he walks back to stand by the storage box – though his messenger bag is currently occupying the seat facing it – and prepares to move on with the reading, though his mouth barely opens before he's interrupted.
"Pardon me, but I believe we would all prefer to have some answers before proceeding" Dumbledore informs him as if that Prophet article and Dumbledore's letters haven't been intrusive enough, though a glance at the other guests tells him not all of them seem to agree. "How exactly did you come to be Harry's guardian?"
"I fail to see how that's more important than the reading of his parents' will," he points out, hardly about to discuss the upsetting endeavour that led to him adopting Harry in front of these strangers.
He feels his son's hand grab the back of his robes and it only enforces his decision not to answer.
"We're only concerned for the boy's safety," the Headmaster insists, "James and Lily were dear friends of mine, I can't imagine they'd be pleased to know their son isn't residing with family."
"And with a Squib no less," Longbottom interjects, face twisted in disapproval.
"Shut up!" Harry's outburst causes eyes to widen and incredulous gasps as his son steps forward to stand by his side, though one of his hands is still clutching the fabric of his cloak. "He saved me! Stop saying bad stuff 'bout my dad!"
"Why I never-" a few outraged comments reach his ears but Merlin doesn't pay them any mind, looking down at Harry instead and running a hand over his hair in an attempt to calm him down.
"Harry," he sighs when the boy only spares a glare toward the other occupants of the room before using a hug to hide his face on his cloak. "You have a right to be upset, but that wasn't very polite," he informs with his mouth pressed to his son's head.
"Sorry," it's muffled against his clothes and he lightly pushes Harry off with a pointed look. His son caves and turns back toward the room with a pout. "Sorry, I get upset when people talk bad about my dad."
"That man is not your father," Snape informs with a sneer. McGonagall's expression betrays her agreement and Longbottom and Lupin don't seem very pleased either.
He tries not to smile when his son only blinks and nods in response, "I know," he assures with the simplicity of a child who's already decided their truth. "He's my dad."
Flitwick, Cattermole and Lovegood seem to understand, nodding slightly. Black simply looks entertained by the proceedings – he remembers Mrs Tonks mentioning the woman travels a lot, she probably is the most distant from the subject at hand – while Lupin and McGonagall's faces twist like he's personally offended them. Snape, to his credit, seems surprised enough to back down from his argument with a child, and Dumbledore's impassive mask remains the same from the moment he entered the room.
"What did you mean, Harry, when you said he saved you?" the source of many of Michael's past headaches continues his interrogation as if the interruption had never happened.
"You don't have to tell them anything," Merlin makes a point to remind him, "We're here to listen to your parents' will, not for people to interrogate you."
Unfortunately, the situation seems to have roused his son's protective streak, because he nods but still sees fit to respond. "Dad saved me from the Dursleys," he tells, and Merlin sees McGonagall's eyes widen slightly before falling to her lap. Interesting. "They were bad. They didn't give me 'nough food, hurt me, and made me work all day, so he took me away and now I have a room and I know I'm magic and- and people keep saying mean things 'bout my dad but they're the mean ones." the little tirade seems to sap most of Harry's energy, his hand dropping from the back of Merlin's cloak and moving to fidget with the sleeve of his robes instead.
"Good for you, kiddo." His head snaps towards Cattermole, who seems satisfied enough with the response, if justifiably upset. "Now can we move on?"
"I agree, this isn't the time or place," Black adds and Merlin offers a nod in thanks.
"I was simply-" Dumbledore starts, but Merlin cuts him off.
"Enough," he declares sharply. "Harry, can you fetch the contracts from my bag?" His son rushes over to the messenger bag occupying the seat next to him and quickly retrieves a small bundle of parchment tied with a string, handing it over with a curious look. "Want to take a seat?" he asks, and Harry looks around before pulling the closest chair to him – the one he's not standing directly behind – and climbing up on it on his knees, peering at the will's storage box. "Alright then," he frees the parchment slips and starts inserting them into the slit at the top of the box, which shines slightly in yellow as he does.
"What's it doin'?" Harry asks in a whisper, though not a very discrete one.
Merlin notices with amusement that the curious question seems to put most of their guests more at ease. "It's matching the signatures on the contract to the people supposed to get something in the will," he informs his son, slipping in the last of the ten signed contracts. "If someone didn't sign, they don't get what was left for them."
The box suddenly splits down the middle, stopping at the drawer-like compartment which in turn slides open. He pulls both sides of the top open to reveal a crystal ball – the type one might associate with witches seeing the future – filled with what looks like swirling blue-ish grey mist inside of it. It has a silver base holding it in place and a small hammer – the glass-breaking sort that usually sits next to emergency boxes – in the same colour rests by its side. He picks it up off the box and places it at the centre of the table with the hammer by its side before turning back toward the box and opening the drawer completely. It holds a long parchment and a quill, which he places next to the sphere before picking up the small hammer.
"Ready?" he asks Harry, who nods but still reaches over to hold his free hand a moment later.
Following Relret's instructions, he taps the sphere with the glass-breaking hammer and watches as a slight fissure opens at the point of contact, not enough to shatter the whole thing but enough for the mist to start escaping, condensing into shapes above the sphere, shapes that quickly become very familiar to some of those in the room by their slightly choked gasps.
Lily and James Potter's ghostly images solidify over the sphere, slightly transparent but still more real than any image he'd seen of them so far and so, so painfully young. He remembers thinking so as Michael, but it's even more evident now that he can see the lack of age lines in their faces and hear how young they sound as they start to speak.
The quill sitting by the parchment comes to life, dutifully transcribing every word.
"We, Lily Potter and James Potter, husband and wife, being of sound mind, magic and memory, do hereby declare this to be our Joint Last Will and Testament, revoking any and all former wills and codicils made by us either jointly or separately." The redhead declares, bright green eyes much like her son's and too young to be so filled with resignation.
Her husband follows right behind with the same oath, adding the date of their marriage, the details of their son and all the necessary family information. Lily chimes in with a few more legal matters, their appointed executor – who was supposed to be Remus Lupin and yet this is the first he's hearing about this –, the man's address – which at the time was a room at the White Wyvern in Knockturn – and their leave for the executor of the will to use their respective estates to pay for any outstanding debts, funeral expenses, and the costs and expenses of administering said estates.
Who had them buried? He wonders, eyes perusing the guests as they watch the recording. Was there even a funeral?
"Now we get to the fun part," James informs, earning an elbow to the side from his wife. "Sorry, no morbid jokes… cross my heart and hope to die," the glare he receives does its work to wipe the smile off his face and he throws an arm around her instead, pulling her closer when she whispers for him to take things seriously.
He clearly doesn't expect to need the will they're recording, a common fallacy of youth – the almost subconscious belief that they're invincible until they're not – and it somehow makes the whole thing more tragic. This is a couple of twenty-year-olds barely out of school, recently married and – from the date of the submission of the will – with a two-month-old baby to take care of, barely started on a new life before it was violently taken away.
"To Pandora Florakis," Lily starts with a small smile, "my favourite Charms tutor and future Spellcrafter, I leave all of my notes on experimental spell creation, may they serve you well."
The blonde's eyes widen slightly, a small but sad smile forming on her lips. She looks more present, eyes focused on the couple's image, and he can see them welling with unshed tears at what are likely memories of their tutoring sessions.
"To Sirius Black," James continues, "my brother in all but blood – not for lack of trying," he adds with a smirk, "I leave our little joint project, the enchanted motorbike. You already keep her most of the time anyway, you-"
"And I'm leaving you my mug collection," Lily cuts in, "but you better not fill them with brandy."
Cassiopeia Black doesn't react with much other than a slight uptick of her lips, it makes him wonder if she's already acquainted with either the motorcycle or the mug collection the heir of her house has just inherited, and whether or not she expected something different.
"He's gonna do it just to spite you," James warns with amusement and Lily huffs, but the corners of her mouth still twitch upwards as she seems to hold back her amusement.
"To Mary Macdonald," she continues their alternating arrangement, "I'm leaving my jewellery box, the silver one with the roses. You know how to open it."
He can't tell much from Cattermole's reaction, half of her face hidden behind her hands, but she does let out a huffed laugh – muffled by the coat's fabric over her hands – that implies the contents are probably something of an inside joke, or at least nothing too serious.
"Women and their secrets," James mocks playfully in a whisper. "To Remus Lupin, we're leaving a collection of rare Defense Against the Dark Arts books, as well as a letter from both of us."
"You better finish your mastery," Lily threatens. "Speaking of, to Filius Flitwick, I leave my Charms Mastery thesis," she offers them a slightly sad smile, "which I haven't quite completed yet, but I don't think it should go unseen if things don't turn out as we hope, and you're the one who taught me all I know."
Lupin's smile is pained, though the look in his eyes speaks of adoration, and he wonders if the man ever did finish his mastery in the past eight years. He remembers Michael not considering him as a tutor for covering only Hogwarts material, but that doesn't say much when the subject is part of said material.
Flitwick, on the other hand, bows his head slightly after discovering why he's here. If in respect or to hide tears, Merlin doesn't try to find out as the couple keeps speaking.
"To Peter Pettigrew," James continues, lightly squeezing his wife's waist. "We leave a letter from both of us."
Unfortunately, that was one of the names he'd been informed belonged to someone deceased, and so the invitation to the reading was never sent. Two more names of those no longer among the living follow, their bequeaths inevitably going undelivered.
"To Severus Snape," Merlin sees James' nose wrinkle in distaste for a moment, but it's gone in the next. "I leave my part of our Potions notes and two letters, one from each of us."
The young professor's expression remains the same, hidden behind a mask as good as that of the Headmaster, and Merlin might have assumed it to be indifference if not for the intensity of his eyes, though he's not quite sure what emotions lie in their depths.
"To Minerva McGonagall," James starts with a grin, "we learned a lot from you, Minnie, but I think you might learn a little something from us too with the notes I'm leaving you. It's all on a red pouch, you'll know what it's about when you see it."
A complicated mix of annoyance and fondness seems to radiate from the dark-haired professor, who discretely dabs a handkerchief over a few stubborn tears that insist on falling. It only drives the point further, as the young couple continues to leave things for their school friends and old teachers, that they barely had the time to live long enough to make closer friends outside of school.
"To Petunia Dursley," Lily's tone isn't as fond as before, falling into something neutral. "I leave the old Evans home at No. 8 Upper Shrewsbury Street and a letter from me. You always did love that place."
He'll admit, in the safety of his mind, that he's pleased that the woman refused to accept anything from the people she calls 'freaks' and didn't even touch the contract he'd presented to her. This means that the old Evans home will continue belonging to Harry, and maybe they can pay a visit to see if his mother left anything behind.
"To Richard Carter, my one true captain," James offers a playful salute, "I leave my vintage broom collection, "knock ourself out, mate."
Merlin recognizes the name of another deceased, and Lupin and Cattermole's reserved but noticeable reaction to the name tells him they used to know the man as well.
"To Albus Dumbledore," Lily continues in a more sombre tone, "we leave a letter from the both of us, and our thanks for doing what you could to protect us." James nods in agreement and takes over from there.
"Everything else under our possession, we leave to our son," his mouth stretches into an involuntary grin, "Harry James Potter."
"In the event that we both die while our son, Harry James Potter, is a minor," Lily cuts in with a small smile at her husband's silly grin, as if not even the fact that they're recording a will can make the man get over how thrilled he is to have a son. "We nominate Alice Longbottom as a Guardian of the person and property of our son."
James only sighs – had they disagreed on who to nominate first? – before continuing from where his wife left off, "If she is unable or unwilling to serve, we nominate Sirius Black as Guardian of the person and property of our son."
Merlin frowns slightly at that as the couple goes on to the No Contest Clause and Binding Effect but chooses not to fixate on it right then, as his blood adoption invalidates the appointment of a Guardian. His status as a Squib, however, might permit them to argue Sirius Black into the place of Harry's Magical Guardian, which could become an issue but is a worry for another time.
Once the couple's misty image fades, leaving the crystal sphere empty, Merlin turns to his son. There are a few tear tracks on his face, and his eyes are slightly puffy, but he hasn't done much about it other than squeeze his hand a few times during the reading. Bright green eyes meet his own and Harry offers him a slight smile, which he responds to in kind and with a slight squeeze of their joined hands. "Okay?" He asks, to be sure.
"Mhm," Harry nods, though he can tell he misses the couple's image when he looks at the sphere with longing. "So Aunt Petunia's not getting my mum's old house?"
"She's not," Merlin assures, and he's not sure what exactly goes through his son's mind at the answer but he receives another nod and a small muttered 'good' in response. He turns his attention toward their guests, most seem to be taking the time to process what's been left for them but a few are watching their interaction with inquisitive eyes. "Can you do me a favour?" he asks and Harry nods eagerly, "Take that parchment," he points to the parchment next to the cracked sphere, now filled with the written will, though only the parts that apply to the contracts inserted into the storage box, "to Relret and bring the copies back, would you? He's right outside."
His son, probably aware of every eye in the room on him, is quick to grab the parchment and roll it up as he walks out of the room, the massive gold doors dwarfing his eight-year-old stature as he opens them to leave and closes them behind him. Once he's sure Harry is out of hearing range, Merlin stands and addresses the room.
"This reading is concluded," he declares, mentally remarking that it was more of a viewing but the name is probably well established by now. "Harry will return with copies of the will, which you can present to a teller in order to receive your bequeath, and we will be leaving," he raises a hand to stop any protests, he could almost see them forming, especially in Lupin and Dumbledore. "Because I'm sure this has been an emotional enough day for him. If you'd like to keep in contact, you can send me a letter explaining who you were to his parents and I'll ask him if he'd like to either meet or correspond with you."
"Mr Wright, you keep evading the matter of guardianship," Dumbledore protests, "you are not his appointed guardian, surely you see why we might be worried when you've apparently whisked the boy away from his family?"
"None of this 'we' business," Black corrects, "I for one have no objection to the child's placement," Merlin figures that Arcturus probably informed her of his supposed ruse, or else she would most likely also be objecting to a supposed Squib having guardianship of a wizard.
"Thank you, Madam Black," he says with a nod to the older woman before turning his attention to Dumbledore and the other slightly outraged guests. "And I didn't simply whisk him away," he holds back from rolling his eyes at the implied kidnapping, "I went through the muggle process of guardianship and adoption, with his relatives' approval."
Any response to his explanation halts at the opening of the doors and they watch as Harry skips back into the room, a small pile of rolled-up parchment in his arms. "Dad, did you know the goblins make swords?" he asks excitedly.
"Oh, do they?" he asks with amusement, curious as to what sort of questions his son had asked the Potter Manager as the goblin copied the wills and marked them as authentic. "Do you want to hand those out?" he offers as an olive branch to the guests who seemed upset at leaving without talking to Harry, after realizing his son may not be as affected as he'd imagined.
Harry looks around the room and hesitates slightly before nodding and heading toward the closest person.
Harry's mum was very pretty.
He'd seen her before, in the statue and on Samhain, but this was the first time he got to see that her hair was a pretty red shinier than Ms Sarah's, and her eyes were the same colour as his, though Harry's hair – without him changing it – is almost the same as his dad's. Their voices are the same as he remembers coming from the fire, and he really tries to pay attention to everything but keeps getting distracted with how they keep smiling and touching, and he doesn't notice he's crying until they're gone and Merlin's asking if he's okay.
He nods – and he's not even lying – and asks about the first thing on his mind. He shouldn't be happy that Aunt Petunia won't get to have something of his mom's, but he is anyway. She didn't let him know their names, or what they looked like, and it took them years to let him have the name his parents gave him, so she shouldn't get anything of his parents either. It might be mean of him, but they were mean first.
Mr Relret actually was waiting just outside the room when he got there to deliver the parchment, and he gets to explore a bit when Mr Relret takes him to his office to make the copies his dad asked for. He just puts the first parchment in a drawer and opens the one under it and the copies are there, Harry figures it's done with magic and doesn't ask about it, but he does ask about the swords and axes in the walls that he didn't notice the first time. Mr Relret smiles – his teeth are very sharp – and tells him all about making the swords and using them in the wars to kill wizards but the smile goes away when Harry just nods – it's not like he hasn't heard about wars before, it makes sense that goblins would have them too – and asks if he can have one for himself. The way back to the reading room is filled with Mr Relret explaining how buying goblin-made things works – they're still goblin things, you're just borrowing them until you die – and warnings about not giving back stuff they've made.
Harry thinks he should ask his dad if their vaults have any goblin things and if they can give them back because it seems very rude not to follow the rules if they're explained before you buy.
He brings back the copies Merlin asked for, and when his dad asks if he wants to hand them out, he looks around the room at the people who knew his parents enough that they left them things after dying. Even if the old man with the big beard that reminds him of a dream he had in the cupboard was mean to his dad, it doesn't mean they're all the same, right? So he nods and walks over to the lady in silver closest to his dad.
"Here, uh- Ms Black?" he tries, still not sure of what title goes to which person. It's a big book and he can't remember everything on it all at once.
"Thank you, Mr Potter." She gives him a small smile and takes her copy, placing it into a purse hooked on her elbow that he hadn't noticed before since her silver cloak covers it. "And you can call me Aunt Cassie, my great-nieces already do."
He's already moving over to the next person when she says that, and it makes him stop halfway and turn back around, "Aunt?" he asks, confused. He has another aunt?
"Well, great-aunt, but that's a bit of a mouthful," she explains. "Your father's mother was my sister, Dorea."
"Oh," he thinks he remembers that name from the time a potion made him write a bunch of his ancestors' names. He doesn't really know what to say to that, since the only aunt he's had in his life was mean and never liked him. Ms Black doesn't seem mean so far… but doesn't seem nice either, she's just someone he didn't know before today. "Um- 'm just Harry," he says instead of deciding right then.
"It's also alright if you don't," she waves a hand like she's batting something away and stands up. "Lovely to meet you, Harry. Mr Wright," she nods at his dad and starts walking to the door to leave. Harry thinks it's sort of rude that she doesn't say bye to everyone else but it's not his business to tell her that.
He hands a copy to Mrs Lovegood next – he guesses she's married since his mum called her a different last name in the will – and gets a smile and a thanks for it. She and Mrs Cattermole leave together when he hands over the other parchment, but they're polite about it and say bye to everyone else. When he gets to Mrs Longbottom, she looks at him like Mrs Tonks did, like he's about to say something wrong if he opens his mouth.
"Your mother and Alice put each other as their sons' potential guardians," she tells him, "I'll write to arrange a time for you to meet Neville," he doesn't have time to say if he even wants to or not before she's already leaving. He looks at his dad, but he's now talking to the old man who was asking questions earlier, so he probably didn't even hear what the old lady said.
"Here, Mr Lupin," he hands another copy over to the man who looks like he's still a bit upset. Harry thinks he should maybe be more upset, but he's just happy he finally got to see his parents in colour. Maybe he can draw them at school now? He only knew the colour of his mum's eyes before – Ms Dahlia said it was the same as his – but now there's lots more colours to draw with.
"Thank you," Mr Lupin says with a little smile, leaning over a bit and whispering like he's telling a secret. "Y'know, I was one of your dad's best friends."
"Really?" He whispers back, excited to hear more.
"Really," Mr Lupin nods, "Is it okay if I write to you? I can tell you about him, and you can tell me about Mr Wright."
Harry looks over at his dad, he looks a bit upset, and the older black-haired lady looks like she's joined their talk too since she got off her chair and is standing between Mr Dumbledore and the professor with a ponytail, so he figures he shouldn't bother them with this, "Okay!" He agrees with a nod since he really wants to know more about his parents.
"It was nice to meet you," Mr Lupin tells him before standing to leave like everyone else who got their copy so far.
Mr Flitwick, who's just a bit taller than him, also takes his copy and leaves after shaking his head at the three other teachers and saying he'll be seeing Harry at Hogwarts soon. There's only the people talking to his dad left – he hears them saying stuff about what his parents would want and something about safety and blood – so he walks up closer, a little scared to talk to the scowling man in black, and just holds up the copy for him in silence instead.
"His spawn seems just fine to me," Mr Snape says, taking the parchment without even looking at him, and stands up so fast that Harry has to step back so he won't get pushed over. "For once in your life, just leave well enough alone," he snaps at the other teachers before walking away with heavy steps.
"Don't mind him, Mr Potter," the older lady tells him, reaching down to grab her copy. "I believe we are all a little emotional," she adds with a look at Mr Dumbledore, who stops talking and nods instead.
"Indeed," the old man agrees, and Harry holds out the last copy for him. "Thank you, Harry."
"Shall we go?" Merlin asks but he's already grabbing his bag and slipping it on under the cloak so Harry just walks past the teachers to get to his dad's side.
When he looks back at the table, the little crystal ball that his parents spoke from is still there, "Can I keep it?" he asks, looking up at his dad. "Or do the goblins need it back?"
"Hm?" his dad turns his head to see what he's looking at and shrugs, "It should be fine, they didn't make it, only store it."
Harry smiles and climbs on a chair to grab the ball, holding it close to his chest when he slips back down. He feels a hand on his back and looks up, but it's just his dad guiding him out of the room so he looks back down at the crystal ball instead. Looking closer at it, there's little silver letters at the front of the base that he couldn't see before since it was turned away from him, with the name of his parents and a date under it that he figures was when they recorded it, with the name Sirius Black under it for some reason? Maybe he was there too, or he took the recording? He doesn't really know how magic ball recordings work so he can't say, but maybe he'll ask his dad later since they're walking out of the bank now and there's too many people around for him to hear him if he answers.
"Mr Wright, Mr Wright!" Harry hears a voice call and looks up, there's a blonde woman in neon pink robes walking straight at them, almost pushing people to get to the stairs of the bank. Why are so many people around anyway? "Any comments on the will reading? Will you be surrendering the Boy-Who-Lived to his intended guardians?"
"Ms Skeeter," his dad looks upset when the woman gets to them, and glares at the parchment and quill floating right next to her. "That will be a no comment."
"How about you, Harry?" She's suddenly leaning too close and he has to step back, but a bright flash makes him close his eyes and he misses the step, yelping when his bum and back hit the stairs, almost covering the noise of glass breaking.
"Get away from him," he hears his dad order, but all he pays attention to when the flash is gone and he opens his eyes again is what's left of the crystal ball that fell from his arms and shattered on the last steps of the stairs to the bank. "Skeeter-"
"Look at that, he let poor Harry get hurt!" a voice he doesn't know yells out from the crowd- so many people, why- "Squibs shouldn't get to raise wixen children!" it's not the same voice, but someone else, and then another one agrees and someone's booing and Harry's not sure if there's air enough for this many people because he thinks he's not breathing right.
"Dad!" he calls but he's already there, crouching in front of him, helping him stand back up, "c-can we leave?"
"We're leaving," his dad nods and takes his hand, pulling him along past the mean blonde lady and the photographer with the strong flash that made him trip, but they're walking into the crowd and the comments aren't stopping and why are they being so mean? "Almost there," his dad says and he tries to keep breathing and ducks a hand reaching for him, holding tighter to his dad's hand.
That's when something pushes his dad away, the pull on his hand making him trip forward and have to let go to protect his face from the ground. "Dad!" He yells, sitting up to see his dad lying on the floor away from him, some spots on his cloak getting darker while he tries to stand back up and Harry rushes to do the same.
Someone pulls him back when he tries to get to his dad, there's a loud yell- his dad is yelling, from where he fell again on the floor, and the crowd's not crowding them anymore, everyone stepping back like they're scared, and he's scared too but he needs his dad! He doesn't know what's happening, why- "why is no one helping? Dad!"
"Harry!" His dad yells. He's sitting up and pupping something out of his sleeve and- he has a wand- he doesn't have magic though, why- "Run, now!" and then there's fire coming out of the wand, and Harry thinks he hates how he can't help but obey the order just a little bit, because instead of staying and helping he's slipping out of his cloak so the person holding him back can't do it anymore and he's running like Dudley's playing Harry Hunting again, squeezing through the crowd and ducking when people try to grab him until he runs into the Leaky Cauldron.
Harry thinks someone calls his name, but people have been doing that since the bank and it just makes him keep going, running out the front door and away from the wizards- away from his dad. There's still steps behind him, so he runs across the street right when the sign turns red, and zig-zags around the people walking and into an alley, crouching behind a dumpster like he's hiding from his cousin.
Pulling his legs close and putting his crossed arms over his knees, he lets his head fall on top of them. He's out of breath, his heart feels like it wants to jump out of his mouth and he can hear it thumping inside his head, and his dad- what happened to his dad?
He holds back a sob – don't make any noise, don't let them find you – and thinks he's not sure if he wants to find out.
So... I guess Andromeda isn't getting that meeting any time soon XD
EXPLANATION TIME!
Why did they not say Peter is the secret keeper in the will? CONSTANT VIGILANCE! They didn't trust it to be completely leak-proof, so it was best not to say anything.
Why was Harry assigned guardians and not godparents? Because that's a purely religious and symbolic role, nothing legally binding, and I don't see most wizards adhering to it. They probably made sure to be very specific so everything is lawfully applicable.
But doesn't Draco call Snape his godfather? That's what Snape - a muggle-raised (ish) half-blood - came up with as an explanation for his role in the little Malfoy's life and his parents just rolled with it since they were the ones making the man tutor their spoiled little spawn.
Why was [insert name here] in their will? Because a will reading with four people in it sounded depressing and also boring, I had to liven things up a bit! All additions are entirely plausible (by my standards heh).
Nice plot device making them have to leave the bank, huh? Why, thank you very much, I even went back a few chapters and corrected a bit about them flooing straight out of the bank because it occurred to me that Goblins allowing a government-monitored wizarding means of transportation to exist inside their territory and compromise their (mostly) failproof security was very, very unlikely. That's also the reason you can't apparate straight out of the bank (or any store in the alley actually).
When will someone squash Skeeter like the annoying little bug she is? All in good time, dear readers.
Also, Harry is the son of Cassiopeia's sister's son, so that is her great-nephew, right? Family trees make me dizzy ngl.
On a different note, this chapter makes me realize I should maybe add "unreliable narrator" to the tags (this is AO3 exclusive but figured I should mention it) since an eight-year-old's point of view isn't always the most detailed or trustworthy? Idk, let me know. The point of writing the attack from Harry's POV was, in fact, to make it look like a bit of a mess.