SHE'S ALL THAT ➭ SIRIUS BLACK ❨2❩ ✔︎

ACT SIX, SCENE TWO

PRIVET DRIVE

Harry Potter sat on the bed in the smallest bedroom of 4 Privet Drive, staring numbly at the paper in his hands.

The Last Will and Testement of Sage Celeste Fontaine, written of sound mind and body on 1 November, 1981:
I leave one quarter of my estate (25 million Galleons) to Madeleine Noelle Michaels, to be held under the care of Anna-Lee and Noah Michaels until she turns seventeen, so my goddaughter and her family will always be taken care of.
I leave one quarter of my estate (25 million Galleons) to the Julien Chance Fontaine Foundation for Mental Health Awareness, for my older brother.
I leave the remaining half of my estate (50 million Galleons) to Harry James Potter, to be held under the care of Remus John Lupin until he turns seventeen. My godson will never have to worry about money, and he will be protected even after I am gone.

He hated the paper. He hated every word on it. He hated that the day she'd taken him in, she'd decided to give him nearly everything, and he hated that this letter, written by her lawyer, meant that she was dead.

When Sage had told him that she would kill and die for him, he had never thought that she meant it literally. She was the only mother he'd ever known, the only consistent person in his life who was wholly there for him. She seemed so ageless, so indestructable at all times; but sometimes, in the quiet moments when she tucked him into bed or made him breakfasts in the mornings, he'd see through the unbreakable shield she'd put up—she'd let him see through, see the crow's feet and the gray streaks in her hair.

He'd aged her well beyond her years. She was only thirty six, barely over twice his age, but he had thought she'd live forever, or at least long enough to see the end of the war.

It dawned on him as he sat there, reading the words of his inheretence over and over again, that she had a midlife crisis without any of them noticing. He was her midlife crisis, if she had only lived to thirty six.

Harry let up a scream of pent-up anger and frustration, about to crumble the letter into a tiny little ball, when he realized there was more writing on the back, this time in Sage's messy, loopy scrawl instead of her lawyer's neat script. It was written in French, something she'd taught him as soon as he was speaking English fluently.

Harry,
If you're reading this, I'm dead. I'm sorry. I hope you weren't there to see it happen. I hope that while you're reading this, you're at peace with it.
The deed to the house is under my mattress, as well as your birth certificate and your custody papers. I've told the goblins at Gringotts that you have full access to the trust fund I've made for you—your parents' gifts to you are in that vault, too.
Anna-Lee has been listed as my next-of-kin, so she'll be in charge of the estate and watching over you until you turn seventeen. I'm sorry, but you'll have to go back to Petunia's. It's probably temporary, at least until Anna-Lee can file for joint custody. Depending on whether or not Sirius's charges are dropped and if he's proved innocent, you're more than welcome to move in with him. I know I raised you, and I know it'll be hard without me, but give him a chance. He's a good man, truly.
I love you very much, and you are honestly the best thing that has ever happened to me. I know I say it all the time, but I would never have become the person I am without you. Thank you for letting me be your parent for all these years.
Don't ever doubt who you are and what you stand for. I raised a strong, capable young man, and I expect you to follow through with that. I hope you know how proud I am of you.
Love,
Aunt Sage
3 May, 1996
PS: don't let them make a big fuss about my funeral. If you can convince them, don't let them have a funeral at all. No speeches, no crying. I'm relying on you to make sure that everyone keeps their shit together (sorry, swear jar).

He hadn't cried yet, hadn't had the chance to between the chaos of what had happened at the Ministry and the rush to move him back to the Dursley's. But the tears were coming now, rolling down his cheeks as he read her final words to him.

Harry had lost four parental figures in his fifteen years of life. Right now, he just wanted his mum back—whether that meant Lily or Sage, he wasn't sure.