Harry had never celebrated his birthday this way before. Actually, as far as he could remember, he'd never celebrated it at all, although he was fairly certain that his parents had done so when he turned one. He just didn't remember it. And the Dursleys had either ignored his birthday completely, or given him reasons to wish they had. But the end of this July brought several changes as compared to previous years.
First was the fact that the Grangers insisted that he have a party, so he and Hedwig were busy writing invitations to his friends. Ron, Neville, Susan and Ginny accepted, and arrangements had to be made to hook the Grangers' fireplace up to the floo network. The only problem was that 'Alexandria' was taken as a floo address. It took a few minutes for Hermione to come up with a decent replacement, and the Granger home was dubbed 'Legend Station' in short order.
Second was the celebration itself, including the presents. Ron got him a book on playing chess, which included tips on how to get the best advice from your pieces while learning. Neville gave him a book on wand-wood plants. Harry was delighted when Susan gave him an auror-quality wand-holster of dragonhide, Hungarian Horntail to be precise. "Now I won't have to fight a dragon to make one," he joked.
Ginny didn't have a gift as such, but instead sang for them, with Fawkes joining her in a two-part harmony that brought tears of joy to the eyes of everyone else. Then she gave him a present that Fred and George had sent him, a large, plush, toy mouse that he was sure was one of their pranks, especially when Ginny gave the command that animated it and had both feline teenagers chasing and hunting it. At least no-one had introduced the twins to Tom and Jerry cartoons yet, but with his luck, Harry figured it to be just a matter of time.
After lunch, the party wound down as the guests hurried home, and Harry and Hermione prepared for the next trip to Gringotts, where Harry would receive his family legacy.
The chamber for the will reading was of medium size, with benches for the people mentioned in the will to arrange themselves. At the front of the room was a large desk behind which were seated Harry's new legal team. Gripsack was shuffling papers about and holding a muttered discussion with Ms Twist about the details as they waited for the beneficiaries to enter. Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall and Poppy Pomfrey sat on the front bench at the left, while the cloaked and hooded Harry got the whole front bench to himself. The next row back held a greying man in worn tweed, as well as Amelia Bones and Severus Snape. Finally, there were a handful of Ministry flunkies, including one in the most atrocious pink cardigan, who looked like someone had performed unimaginable acts with some kind of toad-demon. At the other end of that row, almost directly behind Harry, were the Grangers, in similar outfits to the one he wore. As the doors closed, Gripsack was all business.
"This gathering is for the purpose of unsealing and reading the Potter wills," the grizzled goblin announced. "To that end, let us begin." Despite the legal mess that they'd gone through, there was still some grumbling from the flunkies. Gripsack lifted two crystal orbs to the table. "The primary executor of record is one Sirius Orion Black. Aforesaid person being unavailable, the task of executor falls to one Amelia Bones. If you will, please."
The Director of the DMLE stood. She was, to all outward appearances, calm. Inside she was seething. The toad-woman at the back of the room was the one responsible for ordering the sealing of the will, and had since been promoted to Senior Under-secretary for the Minister. "No, the timing on that wasn't suspicious at all..." she mused.
Activating the first sphere by touching it with her wand and commanding it "Narro", she waited with bated breath to hear the last wishes of two of her old friends.
The man whose form appeared above the orb was Harry's very image, if about ten years older. He was dressed in casual robes with a crest on them, a golden gryffin rearing on a crimson field*.
"Alright, I hope this isn't needed for a long time, but here goes. I, James Charlus Potter, at this time Heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of that name, being of relatively sound mind and body, do hereby make this, my last will and testament. All that I possess, property, titles and moneys alike, are to be given to my wife, Lily Marie Potter, or, should she predecease me, to our son Harry James Potter. Our accounts manager at Gringotts has the fully itemised list, sanctioned by Gringotts by-laws and Ministry laws and regulations on such inheritance. If neither one... survives me, then... everything is to be returned to the Crown. Not the Ministry, the Crown. Should this will be tampered with, good luck getting anything, the Goblin Nation knows what to do."
The only truly dry eyes in the room that didn't belong to goblins, who lacked tear ducts and so didn't count anyway, were Dolores Umbridge's. Severus Snape may have despised the man, but he had respected the fool's courage. He remembered in particular the last time he'd seen the man alive, just before the Potters went into hiding. Snape had berated his 'foe' for his fearless bravado and recklessness, and he'd been stunned by what Potter had said.
"For your information, Severus," as James Potter had never used the nickname 'Snivellus' after the night Black had almost gotten him killed, "I was pissing myself in fear every single moment. I don't doubt Lily was, either. But we had to do something, and so we did it anyway. That's courage. Spending every second in sheer, blinding panic, and still doing what you know is right. Oh, and Severus? I don't hate you at all anymore."
As Madam Bones activated the second sphere, the Potions Master gasped. It was the form of Lily Potter, the former Ms Evans, that truly brought him to tears.
"I, Lily Marie Potter, being of sound mind and body, do hereby declare this my last will and testament. Knowing my husband, the only way this will be needed is if he's gone first, but if I'm wrong, he gets everything. I choose to think of it as a bet that no-one wants to win. Failing that, everything goes to our son. If he is... with us, everything goes to the Crown. James insists on this clause, and the provisions are as follows: Should Harry die before attaining his majority and crafting a will of his own, it will all go to his wife, should he have one, or to the Crown if he does not. Lastly, I entrust my son, Harry James Potter to the following, in order of preference: Sirius Orion Black, as Harry's bonded godfather; Alice Melissa Longbottom, as Harry's bonded godmother; Amelia Rose Bones, my trusted friend. In no circumstances should he be placed with my sister or her family, as comments she has made in my presence and to my face lead me to believe he would be in considerable danger from the... prejudiced man that is her husband."
Once the wills were complete, the pink-clad harridan stood. Raising her voice to what she considered authoritative, but everyone else considered merely petulant, she called loudly.
"On the authority of the Ministry of Magic, this will must be declared invalid, as the sole beneficiary has become a class three Dark Creature." She ignored the youngest of her 'minions', who was trying frantically to direct her attention to a particular document.
Harry pushed back his hood, revealing his feline features and the circlet on his brow. "Whatever could you be talking about, Miss...?"
Still ignoring the poor flunky, she introduced herself in strident tones. Hermione couldn't understand how her mate managed not to wince. "I am Madam Dolores Umbridge, Senior Under-secretary for the Minister himself. We have you now, young Potter and you shall be punished most severely for your crimes..." Harry gestured with his hand, cutting her off mid-rant.
"I don't understand, Madam," Harry almost snarled, "why you insist I am Dark, nor what effect that should have on my parents' wills. I direct all legal matters to my solicitors, Gripsack and Twist."
Gripsack chuckled. "The paperwork and attestations were confirmed more than a month ago. As of that date, Harry James Potter and Hermione Jean Granger were affirmed in their status as Duati Bast'et, the first in the United Kingdom. As such, their rights and privileges are the same as any human wizard and witch, with certain dispensations. First, the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery does not apply. Second, regardless of origin, they are considered of pureblood status. Finally, attempts to tamper with or overset their legal rights may be dealt with at their discretion. You have been warned."
The pink horror that was Umbridge opened and closed her mouth, gasping at the air as if she were a real toad trying to inflate herself. She finally looked at the youngest flunky, who sheepishly nodded and gave her the relevant document. After glaring at it, as if that would change what it said, she 'flounced' from the chamber.
Shortly thereafter, Harry and the Grangers perused the itemised list of his parents' legacy. Although they were indeed a Most Ancient and Noble House, their listings of property were few, a cottage in some village called Godric's Hollow, the Potter Manor, a villa in southern France, and a modest house in Australia. Money-wise, he was more than comfortably well-off, and with careful managing, would never have to work a day in his life.
Thanks to Gringotts, it was no problem to acquire magical passports (or their mundane equivalents) for their two weeks in France.
By the time they returned to British soil, Harry was certain he'd never had a better summer in his life, with the possible exception of his first one, not that he could remember it. Still, he hadn't known Hermione then, so it was probably only second place. He definitely had a new appreciation for French fashion, especially as it pertained to his mate's swimwear. The Daily Prophet edition they received when they got back to the Grangers pretty much kicked over his sandcastle.
"Azkaban Escape!" it declared. "Manhunt for Mass Murderer!" Once you got past the headlines, the details were not encouraging. Sirius Black, who'd killed twelve muggles and a wizard, rumoured to be the Right Hand of the Dark Lord, had somehow disappeared from his secure cell in the wizard prison, and was evading a massive manhunt that included both the magical and mundane authorities. The newspaper that had been left in his cell, oddly, with a nearly completed crossword, had several stories in it, none of which provided a clue to his whereabouts or possible destination. The only thing out of the ordinary was a crude sketch of a full moon and clouds, the picture of the crossword page being shown in the paper they were reading.