Remus stared at the door in front of him.
Melancholy.
He used to think it was disappointment but the word felt too unbearable eventually. Disappointment was a part of melancholy, perhaps the trigger for it even, but something he'd learned after a lifetime of feeling it, is that you didn't truly feel disappointment for more than a moment.
Disappointment was a reaction.
Something went wrong, something didn't turn out… disappointment sprung to life for a moment as your heart reacted.
But then came other things. Emotions like sadness or grief, perhaps anger in some situations… to him, it just felt melancholy.
You could feel melancholy for years without it ever once stuttering. Disappointment only came in brief moments, along with everything else… but melancholy persisted. It was pervasive and unavoidable, the foundation in which someone could live their life if the disappointments didn't stop coming… and coming, and coming, and coming.
It wasn't a disappointment if he already knew.
He'd suspected… obviously, he had.
His heart couldn't take it though.
Too many people had called him a coward, called him weak, called him soft-hearted in a world where only the brave at heart truly thrived that he found himself being unable to face the reality that looked right back at him behind impossibly deep emerald eyes.
Lily's eyes, he'd thought at first but… after this week he knew Lily had never looked like that.
…he had though.
Looking the mirror a time or two, he'd seen the same look… he just didn't want to believe it no more than he didn't want to believe the sun wouldn't rise tomorrow. It felt like he'd have to have given up all hope on life to truly believe in something so terrible, even if the sky itself were dark with proof.
It wasn't a disappointment if he'd already known… if he'd already seen proof before, found it in words on paper and a young voice chattering in his tiny kitchen, or mumbling grumpily in his blankets on the couch.
He'd already known, he just… he just…
It was in everything he didn't say, when he never once mentioned Petunia or his muggle relatives despite having written half a novel in letters by now. How despite going over and over and over his gift list, how not a single time had any muggle made it to that list. How he'd talked about who he hadn't wanted to give a gift to but was obligated to, like Ron Weasley and even Severus Snape of all people… but not a single word had ever left his mouth about a present for his aunt or the people he'd grown up with. Not even a word that he was purposefully not getting them anything or a single hint of nostalgia for any other Christmas before, like this holiday was the first Christmas he'd ever seen and it was all bright and new… just nothing.
He refused to even think about them.
But it was also the silent feet. The fact he didn't exactly use the invisibility cloak, but for as loud and as brash as Harry could be in a conversation or when he wanted attention, when he wasn't talking it was as if he were trying to disappear into the walls behind him. How he would've been practically part of the furniture for how he could erase his presence… if not, unluckily for him, he wasn't currently residing with a werewolf who, for better or worse, had a lot sharper senses than the humans Harry was used to living with.
The muggles he was used to living with, Remus' deeply uneasy suspicion corrected.
It was just the way he hovered near the small of his back when Remus was cooking in the kitchen or fixing them tea, out of his direct line of sight with inhuman silence if not for the fact he had inhuman hearing so as never to really lose track of him. Not that he mentioned that fact ever, knowing he would severely stress out his young guest with that knowledge.
"You're very quiet." He'd calmly noted on one of their lazy mornings. The twelve-year-old was an insanely early riser… obviously Remus heard the moment he woke and made a point to join him instead of leaving him in an unfamiliar place alone for too long.
"Am I?" Harry had seemed noticeably taken aback, green eyes veiling some of their light. "I thought for sure you would say I was loud."
"When you're talking maybe… when you're talking over people, for sure."
"Oi," He complained at the teasing which just made Remus laugh.
"Every other time though, you're very quiet." He tried to point out.
"I didn't realize," Harry had just shrugged it off as he returned the task back to stirring their sizzling breakfast. Remus caught the way his expression flickered though, and knew to drop it.
Had made a point to pretend he couldn't hear or sense the boy from then on when he was apparently unknowingly hiding from him, giving him the illusion that he could still safely disappear even in the small two-room building. He had a ton of practice at it after all, since very few people appreciated the reminder that werewolves had a much better sense of hearing and smell than maybe any human was comfortable with. They just didn't like knowing he could always tell something about them that they couldn't wrap their heads around, apparently.
Harry had a better excuse to dislike it than most though.
Sirius never liked that I always knew where he was either.
Automatically he took a step back from the door, arms curling around himself as if the random thought that popped up on him had physically hurt. In a way, it did hurt a lot, to the point it might as well be physical.
He closed his eyes against it all, a little too used to compartmentalizing these kinds of things by now. Being with Harry this week, thinking of these terrible truths… clearly a rouge moment of nostalgia had escaped the locked box he usually kept these thoughts in.
He hated the idea that Harry could relate to his own childhood apparently. The last person who'd been able to actually relate like that had… hurt.
It still hurt, honestly.
He wanted to say it still hurt as badly as the day it had happened but it wasn't true… time had healed some things but it was still almost unbearable when he suddenly remembered things he wished he wouldn't anymore.
He took a deep breath, not knowing when Harry would return and refusing to be seen like this.
It wasn't a disappointment because he'd already known.
Known from the conversation only last night, how Harry had been so proud to flaunt his Transfiguration skills when talking about how it helped him with his friend, with the house rivalries… yet as soon as it got close to saying his skills were important academically he'd flipped to being self-doubting, or even self-depreciating about it.
It didn't take much to figure it out, he was still a child who liked to build snowmen and crawl under furniture in the invisibility cloak to jump scare him during their mini food fights, still fully, childishly believing the werewolf wouldn't see it coming. He was also a child who had a lot more than snowball fights and homework on his mind though, and it showed.
It showed in the way any hint of added responsibility made him stutter or shy away from the conversation immediately. How he was the most self-assured child Remus had ever met since that day a lifetime ago when he'd met James Potter on the Hogwarts's Express… right up until you put those pesky little things like expectation on his tiny shoulders.
The pressure of words like 'prodigy' or 'gifted' made Harry suddenly doubt himself.
He was confident he could use his skills to get what he wanted out of life, things he could decide for himself he wanted and knew he could muster the internal strength to fight for. It all fell apart though when anyone else expected something of him… someone he didn't want to disappoint, but perhaps they were asking something of him that he didn't know if he could handle—and it terrified him. The uncertainty ripped the rug out from beneath him, making him completely 180 into someone much shyer and less bold than he normally was in the blink of an eye.
He knew who he was and could confidently say who he was.
If someone else put a label on him though—a label like 'smart' or 'prodigy'—something that he himself did not come to the conclusion of first… he floundered, suddenly terrified and sinking beneath waves he hadn't realized he'd only been treading. The pressure of expectation was a chip in the unbreakable glass that threatened to bring the whole thing down one day.
He'd already known though, it wasn't like that conversation unearthed anything new, just a tiny little piece and Remus knew there would be more under the surface somewhere too. He wasn't afraid of them though, he wanted to find every last piece in the end, somehow.
He just… he'd done everything he could.
Back when he still had hope he could turn his abilities into being a full teacher instead of just a part-time tutor, he'd taken classes, he'd learned a thing or two. He knew about routine, about structure, about giving children small chores that were well within their capabilities to give them confidence. About having fun but instilling rules and the sense of safety that came with it. About being flexible and always willing to help if ever you were asked… he'd never really needed to put it into practice but he sure had this week.
Those lessons were part of the reason he'd given up on tutoring… he could never really be there for kids consistently enough to give them the structure or confidence he'd be there for them that they truly needed in a teacher. He still didn't know if he could give any of that to Harry now but… but Merlin he'd done everything he could.
… he might've already known, but the apartment in Contrair alley was the disappointment. The trigger for a waterfall of melancholy that he struggled to get out from under.
And actually, it wasn't really the apartment… it was the door.
They'd agreed he would stay at a café during Harry's last-minute shopping here, but then he'd unveiled this apartment… his for the rest of the calendar year it seemed, but completely empty at the moment—just how he'd left it back on September 1st.
Remus had been overwhelmed, to say the least. He almost hadn't made it this far as needing to go down Knockturn Alley was almost enough to get him deciding that maybe it wasn't a good idea to trust a twelve-year-old's wild, harebrained schemes, but in the end they had made it over, under the promise they were literally just passing through. Contrair Alley was also… something.
Still overwhelmed by it all and not having much time to see it all before learning about the apartment, Remus thought it seemed nice enough, he just… couldn't think about it right now.
Harry had been talking a mile a minute and Remus knew he was unnaturally perceptive and he did not want him to think he was rejecting him or the situation or the apartment or any of it, so he'd kind of cut the tour short. He'd told him he would go check out that bookstore he'd mentioned—Bethany's or whatever it was—while Harry did his shopping, and then afterwards they'd meet back here at the apartment.
Thankfully Harry had gleefully agreed, and off he'd run into the alley he was clearly very familiar with.
But Remus couldn't make it past the door.
…he sunk to his knees for a minute, looking at it and trying not to break completely… a useless thing to attempt, but he'd been trying half his life at this point so he had some practice.
It wasn't the apartment… he'd already known and he'd once been in a very similar situation so the fact there was an apartment here wasn't that surprising. He remembered v i v i d l y, standing in entrance of the Ministry in front of twenty odd fireplaces all hooked to the floo network, people bustling around him as they came and went busily, a major hub to take him anywhere in the world he wanted…
… and knowing deep in his core that there was nowhere for him to go.
Everyone he'd once known and loved was dead or just gone. Everything he thought he'd had left, well… he spent everything he had to try and get back, only to be turned away and forced to leave the Ministry grounds with… nothing. Nothing in his arms and nothing left to his name, nothing left to who he used to be and absolutely nowhere to go.
If he'd had an apartment or a shack in the woods to run to in that moment, he would've.
He'd been twenty-one at the time and all he could think of was to return to muggle London and walk until his legs gave out. Harry was nine years younger but thankfully at least richer, so he didn't end up on some street like he had, at least he had this apartment.
Remus couldn't even be upset or mad or jealous about it… he was just so thankful and unbelievably relieved that Harry had ended up somewhere safe. It literally did not matter how it had happened, he was breathless in relief that this apartment existed at all.
What took him to his knees though and made it feel impossible to stand up again though, was the fucking door.
Once upon a time, a long time ago… someone with dark hair falling in his silver eyes had talked quite a lot about wards. Sirius had… always been very good at wards. It was just this talent he had, an uncanny one too… in fact when he and James went to apply to be aurors, apparently he'd broken some kind of record for how fast he beat the ward-breaking portion of the exam. James had never let him live it down.
Remus bowed his head, fingers digging into the wood beneath his nails and the sounds of splintering wood shrill in his ears as if he could block the memories out.
It's just… against his wishes, he knew.
It was Sirius' wards and his own runes that had created the map… their greatest creation, the one they'd been proudest of right up until the day they met little baby Harry. Years before that though, they had to have spent a hundred or more hours with their heads bent over the map to bring it to life exactly the way they'd dreamed it to be… and Sirius had been amazing at it, but Remus had learned a lot from him too.
And because of it he knew the wards on the door.
He knew the main ward was a muggle repellant.
…everything else on it seemed secondary honestly, he… he'd just never seen a muggle repellant ward quite this strong. There was literally no reason for it to be here, in a magical alley that muggles couldn't enter anyway. He knew enough that only someone like Sirius himself or the goblins could've created it too.
Harry had money, thankfully. It seemed that was all he had at some points, since Remus had failed him.
But at least he had money, and maybe a little more brains at twelve than Remus did at twenty-one, because if he couldn't get one himself he could at least pay the goblins create a safe place for him… and get them to ward it against everything he feared most so that he had a chance to sleep soundly at night.
The door was the disappointment, because it was the final proof Remus hadn't known he'd needed, of what Harry truly feared most—and it wasn't the monster that took his parents, or the dark outside their little shack, or losing his friends, or never reaching his dreams even. It was a disappointment because Remus could give his life to protect him against death eaters, pretend to have never met him to protect his future, even cast as many Lumos' as he could and hold him tight to ward off uneasiness at the dark…
But Remus had tried to save him from those muggles, and he'd f a i l e d.
It was the nail in the coffin to his reality that he couldn't save Harry from what he truly feared most. He couldn't adopt him or be his guardian, he might not even be allowed to ever see him again after this break if anyone got suspicious about where a notably famous child had gone for the holiday…
… if he tried to just go for it and keep him from going back to his relatives come summertime, he might not even live long enough to see Harry graduate, much less teach him any muggle subjects like he'd asked. A werewolf essentially kidnapping a child celebrity… yeah, depending on the auror arresting him, there was a good chance he might not even make it to Azkaban, but to Azkaban he'd surely be going. And he wasn't like the others of the community—the way he chained himself down every month had done irrevocable damage to his health over the years, he knew he'd only be in Azkaban maybe a month or two before the transformations on top of the dementors killed him outright.
Madam Pomfrey had always warned him the chaining would deteriorate his health over time, but it wasn't like he had a choice… he wasn't going to put others at risk and just accepted the shorter life, which still seemed so long and far away when he was eleven. It felt much closer by the time he was fifteen though… and he thought maybe the others noticed too, which was part of the reason they'd wanted to be animagi so badly. Being with them, with a pack instead of chained to the wall, had given him so much relief that he hadn't felt that alive in years… and when the pack broke apart, he hadn't felt that alive since.
Somehow, he knew… if he did end up in Azkaban, at least it wouldn't be long.
There was a chance he'd be next to Sirius even… next to Padfoot again for one final transformation that would likely be the last he had to ever endure.
He coughed and bent forward as something slammed into his chest at full force, mostly in his head but something deep in the corner of his mind clawing at that morbid thought like a drowning man desperate for air.
He just closed his eyes against the feeling and shoved it down like he always did.
It was just the melancholy talking… just because he wanted to do the impulsive thing and just whisk Harry away, he knew he wasn't strong or clever enough to actually do it, and being dead wasn't the answer. He was a failure, he couldn't protect him from what he feared most, but… he could still write him letters. He could still teach him Chemistry and foster his still-burning passion for learning, so that he didn't end up like every other burnt-out gifted kid he'd met. He still could protect him from the dark and maybe one day death eaters or an enemy… that would at least be a worthwhile use of his life—or his death—instead of wasting it on an impulsive plan he knew he couldn't pull off.
He could talk to Dumbledore. To Minerva, since she seemed to truly care for the boy too. There wasn't really anyone else who talked to him these days, everyone from the old Order hadn't made contact or returned a letter in a decade, but he could try again maybe… if it was for Harry maybe they'd respond.
Maybe… maybe his actual godfather was truly innocent.
He'd never truly known, never truly given up because how could Sirius had ever done that—
He cut himself off, knowing the sense of hope was dangerous. It was just… he'd been rejected from taking Harry in but if Sirius truly were innocent… he was his rightful godfather after all, he could whisk him away even if neither of them ever spoke to him again for not being there for either of them this entire time…
He'd waited a year and spent every knut he had to get a chance to speak to the courts about adopting Harry… the actual hearing hadn't lasted ten minutes though, most of the Wizengamont thinking his desperate attempt was just plain funny in how pathetic it was he'd even tried. Obviously the answer was no, and he was stupid for even asking.
Since he'd 'wasted their time' once, they also banned him from bringing any other case to be heard, which meant despite trying he'd been rejected from making appeals on Sirius' behalf… and unlike the goodwill Harry's poor orphan status had, no one believed him when he'd tried to plead for his old friend. He had begged anyone who would listen to submit the appeal for a trial since he couldn't do it, but even if they listened to his plight, even if they were polite in letting him down, no one would do it. That was about the time people stopped returning his letters too, he realized.
"Can you be quite certain it wasn't a fit of insanity." Lady Augusta Longbottom, one of his last-ditch hopes, had demanded of him back then. Her son and daughter-in-law were supposed to take Harry should Sirius be unfit, but Alice and Frank… had been reduced to nothing via the death eater's torture.
She found herself suddenly saddled with her one-year-old grandson herself, and she would've taken Harry too if Dumbledore didn't insist he was safest where he was, with his aunt. The two old bats had been long-time friends so she trusted the Headmaster's words.
Remus did too, even if he was crushed by it. Lady Augusta at least had the most sympathy for his situation than anyone else, and being on the Wizengamont herself had helped him get his first chance at his day in court. Given how it had been an utter failure, she was cold and logical enough to shut him down flat about any chance of attempting it again, much less for the man who supposedly betrayed the Potters. She pitied Harry's situation, but she had no grace for Sirius.
"He didn't even get a trial… we don't know until he admits it under Veritaserum." Remus insisted, trying not to let the shaking of his hands infect his voice. "You don't know him like I did… there was no way he would've betrayed them—betrayed James!"
"… I believe you." Augusta had nothing but cold pity in her eyes. Graceful, but unmoved. "But I also know the Black family… I had the unfortunate blessing of meeting Walburga more than once in some circles. You're telling me there was no chance the heir of those raving lunatics didn't inherit even a piece of their insanity?"
"Sirius wasn't like that—he hated them! They disowned him years ago for breaking away from how they operated!" He pleaded.
"I am aware. I am not saying it is not tragic." Her voice was heavy… he bit back on some of his vitriol, knowing she too was suffering just as much right now from her own losses. The topic of insanity hitting closer to home than it ever did to the both of them right now. "I believe he was a good friend to you. To the Potters. I even believe he would've hated to betray them too." Her eyes hardened then, piercing right though his soul. "Can you tell me with your full chest though, that he didn't lose his mind and betray them anyway? That killing Pettigrew and all those muggles was something he did in anger and not insanity? Do you even want to believe that he did it with his full mind?"
He felt tears flood down his cheeks almost unknowingly and couldn't meet her gaze. She was kind enough to put a hand on his shoulder comfortingly, though the squeeze she gripped him with was as harsh as her words.
"A man with that kind of rage should not walk free anyway. He should certainly not be in charge of a child, as he would be if he were out here to take Harry. Remus… do yourself a kindness and believe he lost his mind. At the very least you can know it wasn't your friend who betrayed you, it was a broken man with a broken mind that did it. A stranger to you now… not the boy you once knew. Keep the memories of better times close to you and mourn the fact your friend lost his mind, not that he was never your friend at all."
"… but what if he didn't. We don't know until he gets a trial," He tried to persist, but he felt his resolve crumbling under the weight of his grief. He was trying so hard but… but…
"Remus… young man listen to me." She shook him slightly once. "It will not be an easy thing to get his case seen… and even if we give everything to make it happen, the best case scenario is that he admits he betrayed them under torture and was just blinded by rage to kill Pettigrew and those muggles. You will get the knowledge he didn't do it entirely maliciously… but he will have still done it, and you will then live knowing he betrayed you knowingly as well. In the worstscenario… he will have been a death eater like his parents from the very beginning and the man you thought you knew was, and always has been, a figment of your imagination."
She sat back and sighed, as if this were all very tiring… as if he were not struggling to find the will to keep breathing right then.
"Do yourself a favor and believe he lost his mind, and it wasn't anyone's fault in the end. You don't want to know the truth."
Remus found a surge of strength suddenly, getting to his feet and dusting himself off to be sure he was presentable even as he struggled to steady his breathing.
Augusta had been wrong.
That wasn't the worst scenario—the worst scenario was Harry growing up in an unsafe environment and now fearing the people who should've raised him, loved him this entire time. Harry Potter had been the most spoiled and loved child when he was a babe, surrounded by the Marauders and their friends and family as the first child of their friend group who'd all adored him, so he'd never been alone or wanted for anything… but in the end he hadn't grown up with any of it. And that was the worst-case scenario.
So what if he had to live with the truth that Sirius had been a death eater the entire time… that all those nights of him being there for him during either of their bad dreams or standing by him no matter what the Slytherins said or did to him…
He scrubbed his hands down his face, collecting himself.
It didn't matter if their friendship was something that had never been real or if Sirius really did just lose his mind when he did it. He needed to get a trial, and perhaps during it they could bring up Harry's guardian situation—if Sirius were officially deemed inept instead of just assumed as he was now, then his responsibility of godfather would have to be brought up. Harry was an extremely intelligent child, surely they'd let him speak to request anyone else than his relatives. If Harry got his day in court on the topic of his insane godfather… maybe people would listen finally. Surely Augusta, who'd been willing to take him once, would see sense and take him in now. Harry and Neville were close friends after all, surely that would be best…
Surely she'd agree if he got Dumbledore to see sense, to just see that those muggles were doing more damage than good. If the Headmaster heard about what Remus now knew and heard Harry's request not to be sent back to his relatives, he had faith he'd be on board, and then Augusta might be willing to accept another grandson.
It… it broke his heart to admit it but… it didn't matter what happened to Sirius. The Padfoot that James had made his son's godfather would've agreed that all that mattered was Harry… even if that Padfoot had been lost to insanity, to death eater torture, or even to the decade in Azkaban at this point… the Sirius he still believed once existed would've agreed that it didn't matter what happened to him, just save Harry.
Resolve made, Remus knew what he had to do.
He pushed open that damned apartment door and went out into the alley with a bravery had hadn't felt in years.
000
Contrair Alley during the holiday season was a great place to be. The decorations and cheery music, the magical confetti mimicking snow falling on the already frosty ground, the smells of a dozen delicious things baking and brewing and ready to be eaten. An added bonus of this being a muggleborn-heavy area was that it wasn't just the Yule celebration, but there were also plenty of Santa hats and candy canes and other more commercial muggle toys as well which was a little lighter feeling than anything Diagon had. There was certainly charm and warmth in the ancient, heavy traditions, but there was a breath of fresh cheer in the stupid, happy-go-lucky-for-no-reason nonsense muggles had with the season too.
Still, for as much as he liked it he was on a mission and positively ran up and down the street to bang out his shopping list as fast as he could.
He started with Martha's Crafts, which to his joy went just as well as he'd hoped it would in that she was happy to sit and hear him explain his idea, and then skilled enough to catch on right away for what he wanted. She was a full muggleborn and familiar with the designer he was stealing the colors from and also insanely crafty given her hobby/profession here, so she very easily cut up some thick card stock into neat little cartons, filling it with magically silky red tissue paper. She even helped him pick out the font for the top that matched his very bad hand-drawn rendition, and then with a wave of her wand the corners of the carton were lined a thin white and gold, and it was almost like the mental image he'd had in his head had come to life. Maybe it was how excited he was, but Martha just laughed and gave him the prototype for free then, saying if he really want promising some business for her in the future with the recipients of the gift, then she'd take the gamble to give him this one sheet of paper free.
He'd enthusiastically thanked her, promising a letter perhaps start of the new year either way, and she just wished him a happy holiday as he ran off again. He could tell she only half believed a kid his age was actually going to bring her any business in the future, more just entertaining a fun little project for a child during the festive season when there was no one else in her shop right now anyway, but he relished imagining the surprise she'd get when the twins cornered her with their full business proposition come the new year.
He stopped at the café he'd used to eat and was thrilled that they did indeed sell their mugs, and that yes they could add a self-regulating temperature spell for a bit of a fee, no issue. He picked out a nice plain black one since Theo would in no way like one that stood out in any form, and tucked it away safe.
He stopped at the hair salon, not for a cut as he didn't have time for that, but to at least say hi to the women in there that enthusiastically greeted him—or more like his hair— picking up some new shampoos and magical make-up just in case he ran low in the coming semester.
Last stop was Osmias, who despite being terrible at replying to letters apparently, actually had finished the poison detecting glasses he'd mentioned in the summer. They had a pleasant chat as always, Osmias being a bit of an over-sharer as ever, but then in no time he had four new fashionable sets of glasses. Since Osmias was a bit of a creative over-achiever too, they also had enchantments to detect glamours and change the color of your eyes to whatever you wanted them to be, which was kind of fun.
The first two were genuine gifts for Lake and Alden, which he was sure they'd find a lot of use, but the other two were prototypes he'd promised two particular grey heirs quite a while ago now when he'd posed them as a decent business proposition. They weren't their real gifts of course, more as proof-of-concepts for later when they talked business again. Daphne had seemed way more interested, but while Blaise had seemed mostly uncaring aside from the whole poison discussion, you never really knew what he was interested in on a given day since he was too good of an actor in pretending to be nonchalant. Even if he didn't like them so far as business went, Harry was still sure he was over-dramatic enough to get a mild kick out of the ability to dye his eyes red or gold or something else equally as creepy without the need of a glamour. He might also toss them out the window for being too muggle, but even if that were the case the chance to annoy him was tempting enough to be sure he got them for later.
With that, Contrair Alley was complete, and he made the short trip back up to Diagon to finish his list.
First was the tea shop, getting the most high-end tea he could find to go along with Theo's mug, then Madam Malkins for some fabric, and then the stationary store where he bought several very nice journals for the upper year Slytherins he'd been trading with but was not very close to. He figured it was pretty much the same situation as Theo last year, in which he knew them and had done business with them a couple times so he was obligated to give them something, but they were not friendly enough to do anything more than low-effort, semi-insulting gifts like journals and quills. He fully expected to get a couple journals himself from them in return, so it was pretty much like doing a flat trade essentially.
Tracy and Melinda each got a set of the highest-grade potion ingredients he could find in the Apothecary— he didn't know them that well yet to get anything more personal than that but had heard from Daphne that they followed the Slytherin trend of being good at Potions and were also interested in it to a point as well. Melinda gave away nothing so he left it there for her, but Daphne had let it slip that Tracy actually had a potion hobby and there may have been a quiet rumor in the snake house that she was selling some unnamed potions on the down low. Since he was still trying to butter her up, he was sure to get her a set of crystal bottles and gold wax to cap and seal her potions then as well.
Blaise and Draco were the hardest to get gifts for though, for opposite reasons honestly.
With Draco he really wanted him to like his gift since he'd been such a good friend all this time and he knew the blond would like anything he got him, but he wanted it to be perfect for exactly that reason. Blaise on the other hand, was a picky bitch who would love to find any fault with the gift he got and would proceed to then never let him live it down.
Even Moony had been hands off with that one when they'd been brainstorming, acknowledging that was a tough spot to be in with them.
He still didn't have a full idea, but he at least had half a plan for Draco, and then was really banking on being able to find something special for the both of them at his last stop—which was coincidentally also where he intended to get Daphne's.
He walked into Gringotts pretty comfortably, knowing he'd been a mess last time he was here alone and even more worked up when he'd been here with the Malfoys, but honestly he'd been here enough times now that he wasn't really put off by it the building itself. Axeclaw had been alarmingly chill even when he'd literally been falling apart at the seams back then… uncaring for sure, but chill. He felt a sense of comfort that his account manager didn't give a shit if it didn't involve gold, and he was here to talk gold so things were all good for once.
What did surprise him though, was how he'd been in the building less than two minutes and hadn't even made it to the front desk to ask for his manager when Axeclaw himself was suddenly opening the door to the back area and pinning him with a look.
"Well hello," he greeted with a blink. "Am I that predictable or were you expecting me?"
"You were expected. Follow me." He left without preamble, and Harry just jogged a bit to chase after him and return to his normal office. The door shut and the goblin wasted no time getting to it as he walked to his desk. "I am aware you have been busy. Anything to share?"
"Well, yes, but first: is there a letter for me? I was told someone dropped one off, and I probably need to read it first."
Without a word Axeclaw just pointed one sharp finger at the desk as they reached it, and Harry saw one already waiting for him. Unmarked, but given the invitation he opened it hastily.
000
Mr. Potter,
I've enlisted the help of the goblins with the following issue at hand, and please do trust that their confidentiality is unmatched. I've ensured they were well-compensated for their secrecy as well.
I've informed Axeclaw verbally of some things but I believe he will not openly speak of things unless you bring it up yourself first. You do not need to share any more details than necessary, but I believe he will be very interested in the possibility of you inheriting the Black family wealth if you do become a ward for your wayward godfather, so he will be an excellent ally to have, given the excellent motivation. I'm sure the idea of one day combining the Black, Potter, and Monroe vaults has the entire bank in a tizzy.
That being said, I'm sure you'll have questions. The White parties informed me you did a blood test which is excellent news, as it is actually the inspiration for this plot: taking over what is rightfully yours in Wizengamont. No matter your age, in the eyes of magical inheritance, if you are the sole representative of your family and your family line is guaranteed a seat in Wizengamont, you have the right to vote with it. As the only living soul within the Potter and Monroe line that you inherited, you are owed two seats. I do not have access to your family tree from the blood test but if you can confirm if Mr. Black is magically your godfather, then that means while he is indisposed—which means incarcerated—you are owed his seats as well, as his proxy. I am currently researching now how many seats the Black family has accrued, but given their dedication to blood purity I cannot imagine it will be more than one or two others, if any.
The ask for you is to give the goblins permission to use your blood test to see what other seats you might be owed. The Potter line in particular I know has married into many others throughout the centuries, but frankly I know little of the Monroe line so there are likely opportunities there as well.
Now, you might wonder why all the effort for some seats when there is little chance you'll be a sole majority. The Wizengamont has 99 available seats but for the past century there has never been more than 70 or so filled due to extinctions and lack of inheritance or claims—currently there are only 53 seats filled. To be blunt, the major issue with getting our court date is that 12 of them belong to Albus Dumbledore and 7 belong to Cornelius Fudge. You need a majority to pass a motion in court, and between the two of them along with a couple other allies blindly voting with them, they've been enough to get every major motion into court for the past forty years. It is them and those allies that keep approving yet pushing out court dates, and even those who are convinced enough to at least let a trial happen are more than happy to be bribed into pushing a trial out another couple weeks… so on and so on and I am sure it will go on indefinitely rather than the truth come to light. Even then, you need a 2/3rds majority to make a sentence in a criminal hearing and I am sure even if Mr. Black truly is innocent, that will not be easy to do with how Fudge is operating. I would like to go into court that day entirely sure of our success, and not leave it to chance.
That being said, if you can inherit at least 10 seats, and we manage to get you to the Wizengamont in person on the day of the court, all you have to do is vote however you want. I, as well as my allies, will wait until you cast your votes to follow suit—the results will be close enough that those combined votes will turn the tides in either direction, therefore after hearing the trial yourself, the choice will be entirely yours of how to proceed.
I've already given Axeclaw the paperwork he will need, he just needs your permission to inherit the appropriate seats. The day you return to Hogwarts I should also have a better understanding of when the trial will be, though perhaps not the time to communicate it to you before it happens. I believe you are familiar with Lucius Malfoy—he will be the one to retrieve you from school on the day of the trial, and it will likely be a sudden occurrence, so please go along with him quickly. You may not have direct permission from the Headmaster to leave school grounds but I ensure you will not suffer more than a detention at most.
If you need to communicate anything back to me I will be at Gringotts New Year's Day, feel free to leave a letter with Axeclaw. If nothing else, I only need the number of seats you hold before deciding how best to proceed.
I look forward to meeting you in person in the near future, and hope you enjoy your holiday.
Yours Truly,
Sebastian Nicholas Greengrass