Aspen in the Sunlight - A Year Like None Other

Amaelia Thistlethorne was there, too, and not just as a witness. Harry was a minor, she explained, and though he'd been adopted, Wizard Family Services was still charged with assuring his welfare. He couldn't sign away his property until she believed he was acting of his own free will and not under any undue influence.

Harry took all that to mean that she was afraid the Slytherins in his family were ganging up on him.

So, he explained about Sirius, and how he'd turned his back on a family heritage of evil to do what was good and right. And how Draco had done the same, and since they were both Blacks, the money was sort of more rightfully Draco's than his, anyway.

To say that she was shocked would be an understatement. The wizarding world at large still thought of Sirius Black as the one who'd carried out a massacre of Muggles, after all. Harry didn't think she really believed him about Pettigrew being the one responsible for that. Well, not until Dumbledore backed him up on it.

But then, finally , she seemed to understand that Harry had loved Sirius and felt he was acting in his stead, by passing the inheritance along to his brother.

She signed the paperwork with a flourish, and so did the headmaster. It seemed kind of backwards to Harry. He'd have thought that he and Draco would be the first ones to provide signatures. Instead, they were last. Severus had to sign his consent, first. And then Harry was finally allowed to sign over his deeds to the vault and house, including all contents thereof . That last phrase almost made him hesitate, since the house still did contain some things he wanted. Sirius' old school wand, for one. And those books down in the basement that he'd never been able to open. He wondered if they were diaries, maybe. Old journals of Sirius'.

Harry signed anyway, and touched his wand to the parchment when directed, because he knew he could trust Draco to give him those things. All he had to do was ask.

Draco signed last of all, and then they were done.

With the solicitor, that was. Amaelia Thistlethorne had something else in mind. She actually had audacity to shoo Dumbledore out of his own office--Snape as well--so that she could have a private chat with "the boys" and see how they were doing. It was past time for her to check on their placement, she said. For a few moments Harry nearly panicked, worried that she'd somehow manage to find out about his needles, but the witch was babbling on about end of year exams and holiday plans so he relaxed. Honestly, Harry thought the entire conversation was frankly ridiculous. He and Draco would both be of age before the summer was out. They'd be adults.

Well, at least all this WFS rubbish would be behind them, then.

Or so he hoped. He never had forgotten that vaguely menacing letter Richard Steyne had sent to Snape.

But he and Draco both nodded and smiled and talked until the casewitch seemed satisfied. She left by Floo, the green flames against her orange dress a hideous sight.

Harry stood up to go, but Draco shook his head and said they were staying right there until Dumbledore returned. He wasn't leaving, he said, until he had the key to his vault. He wanted to write away for an accounting.

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Harry found out on Thursday during Defence class that magical transfers of property took almost no time at all. Well, when they weren't being held up by the terms of a will or something like that. Draco had already received his accounting. Ever since the Gringotts' owl had arrived during lunch, he'd been poring over a scroll filled with densely packed text. Harry tried not to look at it, even though he was sitting next to Draco. Well, he had plenty to distract him. Up at the front, Snape was doing an even better job than usual of berating Aran.

For all that though, Harry couldn't help but notice how Draco kept scratching numbers on spare bits of parchment as he murmured spells Harry had certainly never heard before. The numbers would add themselves up, or sometimes, multiply, but they weren't nearly as well-behaved as uncharmed numbers. When the ones column had to borrow from the tens, things got fairly violent. Harry saw a six actually burst into tears when it was shoved out of the way too hard.

Draco quickly drew in a little picture of a handkerchief, so the six could dab itself dry before the whole problem became nothing but runny ink.

Finally, he sat back and rubbed his hands as though satisfied.

Harry couldn't help himself, then. Leaning over, he spoke in a low voice. "So what's the total?"

"Oh, I haven't figured that out yet. I was just checking that the goblins hadn't cheated the vault. It was left untended for a long time, and you can't be too careful." Draco's teeth flashed as he smiled. "I won't know the grand total until I have some of the property in here properly assessed. But the Galleons alone . . ." He whistled, low under his breath. Snape would probably have heard it if he wasn't so busy lecturing Aran on classroom management. "Let's just say, they should be enough to keep me in silks for a long, long time."

Harry nodded, feeling better than he had in a long while. Maybe he was finally accepting that Sirius was gone. There'd never been a gravesite he could visit. No body to help him understand, deep inside, that falling through the Veil really was final. That the loss was permanent, and couldn't be undone.

But giving away the bequest . . . it felt like a chapter in his life had finally been closed.

"I don't think I ever actually said thank you," murmured Draco, leaning toward Harry. "You really are a good brother."

Harry chuckled a little. "So are you. Just . . . keep making sure Sirius would have been proud of you, all right? That'll be thanks enough."

Draco sat back in his chair, his silver eyes gleaming as he nodded.

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By Friday morning, Harry was feeling exasperated. All he'd heard since the day before was how they ought to spend the summer redecorating Draco's house. My house , Draco liked to call it. Which was all right, Harry supposed, even if it was a little bit hard to hear. To him, number 12 Grimmauld Place would always be Sirius' house.

Maybe that was why he was finding Draco's chatter about it so annoying. It was going to be their very first summer together! You'd think they could talk about that, a little bit at least.

Draco, oblivious to Harry's mood, turned to him at the doors of the Great Hall. "So, what do you think?"

You did ask, Harry thought.

"I don't think redecorating sounds like fun at all. And you know Dad will say we have more important things to be doing. And besides, even if he didn't say no, the house is sort of being used right now, right? I don't think the . . . uh, old crowd would appreciate your charming everything in sight Slytherin green."

Draco raised his chin a little bit. "Oh, please. Just because I exhibit a little house pride in my dÈcor at school doesn't mean I plan to live my entire life surrounded by silver and green. And the, er, people using the house ought to be thrilled to have the place spruced up. It's like a mausoleum in there--an out-of-date one at that. And--"

All at once, Harry felt prickly all over. Sirius had once said something like that about Grimmauld Place. Harry sucked in a breath, a sense of dÈj‡ vu spinning through him as tears pricked his eyes. What had happened to yesterday's feeling that he was finally moving past his mourning?

"Are you all right, Harry?" Draco more-or-less dragged him into a side corridor. "I'll stop talking about the house if it bothers you so much. I mean, I didn't ever really know the man, but I do understand that the two of you were . . . close."