The Bequest
by Teka Lynn

Harry Potter trudged slowly up the black-grimed steps of Number 12 Grimmauld Place and rapped the heavy serpent doorknocker once, lightly. Remus Lupin opened the door for him, and Harry slipped in, automatically tiptoeing down the darkened corridor to the kitchen. Once there, he slid onto one of the wooden benches by the table and rested his face in his hands.

He felt a light, reassuring touch on his shoulder, and looked up to see Lupin sitting down next to him. The bench creaked slightly.

Lupin cleared his throat. "We're almost to the end, here, Harry. Don't give up yet."

"The house is so empty," Harry murmured. "And too damn quiet." He stiffened as he saw Lupin's mouth quirk slyly. "What. What aren't you telling me?"

Lupin looked straight back at him, the hazel eyes surprisingly light and mischievous. "It is quiet, isn't it?"

"You didn't." Harry laughed with incredulity and repeated, "You didn't."

"Managed to counter the Sticking Charm this morning. We are now officially free to ring the doorbell, dance the polka in the front hall, and generally act like civilised folk instead of creeping around as though we were under continual siege." Lupin tilted his head and gazed affectionately at Harry. "Ah, I thought that might put a smile on your face."

"Yep, sure did." Harry high-fived Lupin, grinning happily for the first time in days. "And you're doing what Sirius asked you to in his will?"

"As the legatee, I am bound to follow the testator's wishes as legally stipulated," Lupin said, a distinctly feral expression now on his face. "You and I are now the sole owners of this house..."

"Can we burn it to the ground yet?"

"Not yet, Harry, unfortunately. We still have a few things to do. Besides," he added firmly, "I rather like having a permanent home to call my own, even if it does require exorcism on a regular basis. Perhaps we can arrange to divide the house and burn down your half, but we should probably take care of other needs first."

"Such as sending out various bequests to their new owners?" Harry's evil look matched Lupin's.

"Sent through Muggle post this morning. All charges to be paid at destination."

Harry's gleeful, ringing laugh made the rafters echo in the ancient house.

"All right! You can stop that infernal ringing," Vernon Dursley snarled as he made his way to the door. "Petunia!" he called over his shoulder. "Post's here!"

"Yes dear," Petunia answered from the staircase. "I could hear for myself." She winced at one more emphatic doorbell buzz as she joined her husband.

Vernon flung open the door. "For heaven's sakes, man," he told the postman, "there's no need to go waking us all up when there's a perfectly good letter slot in the door...what is THAT?"

The postman thrust out a pen and pad. "Sign here, sir," he said impatiently, "I'm late on my rounds as it is."

"Well, you've no one but yourself to blame for tardiness," Vernon said as he scrawled his signature and shoved it back.

The postman gave him a most impertinent look. "Your package. Sir." He hefted a large, rectangular, oddly flat parcel at Vernon, who almost stumbled back into Petunia as he grabbed awkwardly at it, eventually getting it tucked more or less under his arm. "And I'd suggest earplugs," he added enigmatically. "Good day." He was off the Dursley's property before Vernon could muster a properly incinerating reply, leaving him feeling most foolish and exposed standing in the door with his pyjamas on.

"We might as well see what we've got," Petunia said, once they were inside, and they snipped pieces of twine and tore off butcher's paper and swore at the amount of packing material littering the table (at least Vernon swore; Petunia simply pressed her lips together primly and said nothing).

"Hang on," Vernon said, "there's a letter as well." He opened the seal and read it out.

"As per the terms of the will of one Sirius Black, godfather of Harry Potter,"—both Dursleys snorted with indignation—"I, Remus Lupin, as his executor, give this valuable and unique painting of Sophonisba Black to the Dursley family and their heirs, in perpetuity. This portrait was the last of the exceptionally realistic and somewhat controversial paintings made by Argelio Verismus at the end of his life, and is acknowledged as his masterwork. Harry Potter has no claim to this particular painting and has stated in writing that he will not contest its ownership by the Dursley family."

Vernon and Petunia looked at each other across the paper-strewn table, eyes glittering with cupidity, and nodded. Harry, of course, would have no idea of the value of artwork. "Controversial" was perhaps a term to be wary of, but no doubt true art connoisseurs understood such things. As for "valuable", "unique", and "masterwork", those terms needed no defining.

Petunia twisted her hands nervously. "It's insured, of course?"

"I should think so," Vernon said. "In any case, it seems legally sound enough. Let's see what the pretty lady looks like." He removed the last layers of wrapping paper from the portrait. "Oh my."

The lady in the painting could not be described as "pretty", but there was no denying the force and command apparent in her face and bearing. She appeared to be in nineteenth-century widow's weeds, her face severe and lined, eyes closed as though asleep. The medallion of an older man in black was around her lace-trimmed, high-buttoned collar, and her fingers were laden with heavy rings.

"Look at her," Vernon said in awe. "You'd swear she was breathing."

Petunia stepped back a pace, her spine prickling. Something nagged in the back of her mind about such paintings.

The old woman's eyes popped open and she began to scream.

Written by Teka Lynn

All rights to the characters and setting are held by J K Rowling and whoever else holds them, including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Warner Bros. This fanwork was created solely for fun and has no legal or financial connection to the Harry Potter novels.