Chapter Two: Family Matters

Once upon a time, they would have laughed, or asked him if he was joking, or told him told him to pull the other one. But 'once upon a time' was a long time ago. Today, Aurors Potter and Weasley stood in the private study of Draco Malfoy and watched his arrogant façade fade away, leaving a man with fear in his eyes asking them for help.

A moment passed, then Malfoy turned away and flipped open a cabinet to reveal a bottle of aged firewhiskey and several glasses. "Drink?" he asked.

Ron and Harry looked at each other. "Err… not while we're on duty," Harry said eventually.

"Suit yourself," Malfoy responded.

He poured himself half a glass, tapped it with his wand, and sat down. When Harry and Ron remained standing, he made an impatient gesture to the two chairs which slid silently across the floor and settled behind them. They sat.

"Alright, Malfoy," Ron said. "You've got our attention. What the hell is this about?"

"Before I do," Malfoy began. "For my own satisfaction, which one of you noticed my subtle hints? Or did Granger have to put it together for you?"

"We worked it out all by ourselves," Ron told him. "They don't let idiots join the Aurors."

"We'll see." Malfoy took a sip of his drink. "A month ago, I was visited by a wizard called Pliny Ventura. He claimed to be an antiquarian and said he was interested in buying several rare objects he had heard were in my family's possession."

"The things on the list you gave Hermione."

"Yes. Since the war, many of my father's… former friends have been forced to sell some of their valuables to maintain their lifestyles. However, neither I nor my father would ever stoop to something so shameful."

"Of course not," Harry said.

Malfoy ignored him. "In any case, it was never necessary. We survived those days with my family's collection intact, and I intend to keep it that way. Not even an offer of two thousand galleons per item was enough to change my mind."

"Two thousand each?" Ron repeated. "He offered you ten thousand galleons and you showed him the door?"

"Of course," Malfoy spat. "Some things are more important than money. But I wouldn't expect a Weasley to know that."

Ron failed to react, so Harry asked, "Then what happened?"

"I told him I wasn't interested, and in any case the Aurors had taken everything he wanted. Then, a week later, he sent an owl saying he understood this was the case, but in order to compensate me for my inconvenience, the offer was now twenty thousand. I declined."

"Wouldn't want to admit a Malfoy can be bought," Ron muttered.

"Exactly," Draco said. "Then, a week later, these arrived by anonymous owl."

He drew a small envelope from the desk drawer and tossed its contents onto the desk as if they were red hot. Harry and Ron picked them up. They were photographs, half a dozen of them. Astoria Malfoy in the Leaky Caldron talking her sister. Astoria Malfoy examining maternity robes. Astoria Malfoy outside the Daigon Alley owl post office.

"The same day," Malfoy almost whispered, "I had another owl from Ventura, asking if I'd reconsider his offer."

Harry sat quietly for a moment while Ron poured over the photos. "You should come to the Auror Office and make a formal statement," he said.

Malfoy laughed. "Please, Potter. Everyone knows that half the department is at the World Cup. There's nothing to connect Ventura with those photos. And if they can watch Astoria then they can watch me."

"So," Harry said carefully, "you're formally refusing the official help of Auror Office."

Malfoy caught his tone. Equally carefully, he said, "I am."

"Then there will be no official investigation into this case."

"Unofficially," Ron added, shoving the pictures back into the envelope, "we'll do our jobs. We'll need to keep these photos, and we'll need anything you've got on Pliny Ventura. And let us know if he gets in touch again. We'll give you an address to send your owls to, and they'll make sure we get them. If it's an emergency, floo Hermione at the archives."

While Harry wrote down the address of the Auror drop-box, Malfoy took a business card out of his desk. Ron took the card and watched as it shifted between the name and address of Ventura's shop and a picture of the man himself. Early fifties, well built, and with a cheerful, fatherly face. The image smiled up at Ron; Ron turned it over and dropped it into the envelope.

"If we need to get in touch," Harry told Malfoy, "we'll use a DMLE owl."

"Thank you," Malfoy said. "And… good luck."

Harry nodded. He and Ron were past the point where shaking hands with Malfoy seemed strange. They left the house and Apparated back to the Ministry without a word. There was work to be done.


James Sirius Potter waddled awkwardly across the sitting room, stumbling towards the wireless and the sound of his mother's voice. Harry and Ron took turns watching him out of the corner of their eyes while Hermione spread a collection of files across the table.

"What position d'you reckon he'll play?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged. "Isn't it a bit early for that?"

"You're never too young to love Quidditch, mate," Ron replied. "I was gonna start playing the World Cup games to our kid, but Hermione won't stay still long enough."

"I refuse to allow you to indoctrinate our child before it's even born," Hermione said, without looking up.

"And what about you reading out loud?" Ron responded. "I swear, the kid's first words are going to be 'Hogwarts: A History Chapter One'."

The argument was interrupted by a gentle thump from the far side of the room as James dropped down in front of the radio, Ginny's voice coming out of it more forceful than ever.

"I don't know what the French team thought they were doing tonight. Their chasers couldn't make up their mind what formations they were flying in, the beaters were just aiming at whoever was nearest and weren't opening any holes, the keeper was so busy showing off that she missed a goal my brother could have saved…"

"Hey!" Ron shouted at the radio.

"… and the seeker was so spent so much time yelling at everyone he didn't have time to look for the snitch, which was probably a mercy. What do you think, Viktor?"

Hermione looked up at the sound of the familiar name. There was a short pause and then a rough, heavily-accented voice growled, "No teamwork."

Ron and Harry both laughed. Hermione gave them a careful look. "He never mentioned that," she murmured.

"Well, you don't like Quidditch, do you?" Ron replied. "Probably thought you wouldn't be listening."

As the discussion of the night's match became more in-depth, Harry scooped up his son and put him on his knee as Hermione finished arranging the papers.

"After you sent me the memo," she began, "I went down to the archives and got the files on everything that Mr Ventura asked Malfoy for. This is everything your department has on them. Descriptions, pictures, inspections, everything. At least Kingsley insisted the confiscations were thoroughly documented."

The two men shared a grimace. The sporadic raids in the summer following Voldemort's fall had been a lot less thrilling than the press had made them out to be. Two hours of mild tension followed by days of paperwork.

Harry picked up the five photos and spread them out. "None of them look like they're worth four thousand galleons."

The necklace might have been; it was a string of opals held together by an elaborate clasp. The clock was also ornate; scrollwork and Latin decorating a face that showed the time, the date and the phases of the moon. The book was a simple leather-bound volume with nothing visible on the cover beyond a faint imprint. The letter opener was silver and designed in imitation of a sword. The signet ring was by far the least impressive: scratched and battered through years of use, its design barely visible anymore.

"No," Hermione agreed. "They don't."

Harry listened to his son's cheerful gurgles as he scanned the reports of the inspections. The Auror department had thrown the best tests it had at every single one of the confiscated items. He handed James off to Hermione while he and Ron ran down the lists of examinations, looking for any sign something had been missed that might indicate the items could be a Dark artefact. But, after checking and double checking, they were forced to agree nothing had been overlooked.

"Well," Hermione said thoughtfully, trying to gently disentangle James' fingers from her hair, "if they're not connected to the Dark Arts, what else could they be? What did you find out about Pliny Ventura?"

"Not a lot," Ron replied. "As far as anyone at the office knows, he's just a bloke who sells wizard antiques and has a shop on Charing Cross Road. I think it's where Bill and Fleur got our speaking clock from."

Hermione scowled. Harry hid a smile behind one of the files. He had a lot of entertaining memories of his friends' speaking clock. The trick, it turned out, was making it shut up.

"Anyway," Ron continued quickly. "He's never been in trouble with the office. Robards had never heard of him and the inspection we did after the war didn't turn up anything."

"Our records say much the same," Hermione agreed, offering James a cushion to try and keep his hands occupied. "Which doesn't make any sense. Ron, I'm sorry, can you take him? He won't leave my hair alone."

As James was passed to his uncle, something caught Harry's eye on the report he'd been reading. "Family crest," he muttered.

"What is it?" Ron asked.

Harry said nothing for a moment. He pulled over each one of the files and read the top lines one after another. "We were looking at the pictures," he said eventually. "We should have been looking at the descriptions. Look… 'necklace, silver, nine opal stones, clasp with family crest'. And the letter opener 'family crest on hilt'. The book's got a crest on its cover, the clock's got one and the ring's obviously got one. That's what they've all got in common."

"Doesn't say whose family it is, though," Ron pointed out.

"It doesn't have to," Harry responded.

He snatched up the photograph of the battered ring and held it out to his friends. The picture rotated for a moment until it gave them all a clear view of the crest on the front of the ring. Harry watched their eyes widen in recognition and then flicker to the image above the mirror on the wall, taking in the greyhounds, the sword, the white chevron and the five-pointed stars.

The crest of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

"Well…" Ron said hesitantly, "he did say they belonged to his mum."

"But that can't be a coincidence, can it?" Harry asked. "The only thing this stuff has in common is that it's got the Black crest on it."

Hermione nodded. "I think you're right, Harry. It can't be a coincidence. But what does it mean?"

They fell silent, unable to answer her. In the background, Ginny angrily described the botched Wronski Feint that had prolonged the game by twenty minutes. Wearing an expression of deep thought, like he was contemplating a difficult chess move, Ron produced his wand, pointed it at his face and produced a particularly fine toothbrush moustache. James made an indecipherable sound and clapped in amusement. Over the next five minutes, without apparently losing too much attention from the papers in front of him, Ron went through a selection of increasingly absurd facial hair for his nephew's amusement, culminating in a walrus moustache that caused Hermione to finally release the snort of laughter she'd been trying to hold in.

Ron grinned down at James. "Now what do you say we give your Auntie Hermione one? I think she'd look great with a full beard."

Hermione's hands flew to her face. "Don't you dare," she hissed between her fingers.

Ron shrugged and looked over at Harry. "I've been thinking…" he said.

"Put one of those on my son and Ginny will kill you," Harry responded.

Ron shook his head. "No, not about that. About these. What if Ventura doesn't want all of them? What if he just wants one? And he's just asking for all five to stop Malfoy getting suspicious or working out what he's up to or something."

"I suppose it's possible," Harry agreed. "So which one's the odd one out?"

"We tested everything, right? And it was all just boring stuff. No magic at all. Except… except for the book."

"The poetry book?" Hermione repeated. "Why was that magical?"

"Well, when we found it, it was blank. See?" Ron indicated the relevant section of the report. "We thought it might have something Dark in it so we did a couple of revealing spells but nothing happened. Then someone took it to Kingsley and he did one of Moody's old spells on it and it worked, but all that showed up was a load of Muggle poetry by some bloke called Shelley."

"So what's your point?" Harry asked.

"Well, the Blacks were pure-blood supremacists weren't they? They hated Muggles. So why would one of them keep a Muggle poetry book?"

Hermione shrugged. "Well, maybe one of them secretly liked Shelley's poems. Sirius liked motorbikes, after all. And given what the family was like, they'd have every reason to conceal it so it couldn't be found by accident."

"But a blank book would just make people suspicious," Harry pointed out. "Especially if you need a really powerful revealing spell to make it show anything."

"There are easier ways to hide something," Hermione admitted.

"I reckon there's something hidden in that book," Ron said firmly. "It must be like the Marauder's Map. It shows these poems if anyone tries to use a revealing spell so no one looks too hard."

"Okay…" Harry muttered, reclaiming his son. "It's the only theory we've got. If it's true, we need to figure out what the book really says and how Ventura found out about it."

"Whatever it is," Ron added. "He's willing to pay twenty thousand galleons and risk Azkaban to get his hands on it."

"And I think he got into our archives," Harry said.

"What?" Hermione exclaimed.

James squirmed in Harry's lap and Harry had to take a moment to placate him before answering. "Malfoy told him he couldn't sell these things because we had them. A week later, Ventura comes back and says he knows that. He would have had to confirm it, and the only way he could have done that is if he got into the archive. Or at least the index."

"Well then," Hermione said, bristling, "you two find out about that book. I am going to see how easy it is to find something in the archives without permission."

"Who are we going to ask about the book?" Ron asked Harry.

"Narcissa," Harry replied. "I'll floo Malfoy tonight and arrange a meeting. You'll have to go. Find out what she knows about all this stuff, but especially the book."

"How do you know she'll cooperate?"

Harry ran a hand through his son's hair and felt the tiny body relax against his own. "The same reason Malfoy asked us. There's nothing more important than family."


The next morning, Ron did his best to stifle a yawn as he approached the small cafe in Urchfont, Wiltshire. Narcissa Malfoy was already waiting for him, sipping a cup of coffee and flipping through the early edition of the Prophet. She looked far too regal for half past seven in the morning, but Ron had been expecting nothing less.

She looked up over her paper and for an instant Ron saw the familiar expression of distain flit across her face before she suppressed it and gestured to the chair opposite her. "Auror Weasley. Thank you for meeting me so early. Sit down."

"Mrs Malfoy."

Narcissa folded up her paper. "Draco explained the situation to me from the start. Now he says you need to ask me some questions. How can I help?"

Ron laid the five pictures on the table like he expected them to explode. "These are the things that Ventura wants. They've all got the Black crest on them. Malfoy said they were yours."

"Yes, they were," Narcissa said calmly. "The necklace was the only one I liked. It belonged to my aunt Walburga, though I've no idea where she got it from. Great Aunt Beliva, perhaps. The clock was Andromeda's. After… after she married, she said that since we wanted nothing to do with her, she wanted nothing of ours. She wouldn't give it to… to Bella, so she said I should have it. The ring, the book and the letter opener were all my father's, though I only ever saw him with the ring, and then only at family occasions."

"Why?" Ron asked.

Narcissa shrugged. "He wanted to show it off. He insisted it belonged to his great grandfather. It wouldn't surprise me if it did."

Ron swallowed. "Your… er… great-great grandfather?"

"Phineas Nigellus Black," Narcissa said, her expression twisting again. "I assume even you have heard of him."

"Yeah." Ron nodded. "Last Slytherin headmaster of Hogwarts before Snape, right?"

Narcissa sighed. "Amongst his many accomplishments. He devised the current Black crest. My grandfather told me he was obsessed with it. He would put it on anything he wanted to mark as his. So no one would doubt the importance of the Blacks. In fact… all five of these objects have the crest? Then it wouldn't surprise me if they were all passed down from him."

Ron blinked. "Are you sure?"

"I can't be certain… but I think he's the only one of my ancestors who would put his crest on a clock and a book."

"About that book…" Ron pushed the relevant photo forward. "Do you know anything special about it?"

Narcissa took the picture and looked at it as she sipped her coffee. "My father's stories about Phineas Nigellus focussed more on his efforts for blood purity than his academic career. He wrote numerous books and had a formidable library that I imagine was scattered through the family. This may simply be one of them."

"So you don't know why he'd write a book that was blank unless you did a powerful revealing spell and then showed you Muggle poetry?"

"No, Auror Weasley," Narcissa said, tiling her head, "I have absolutely no idea. I would suggest it was a joke… but I doubt it."

"Thank you, Mrs Malfoy," Ron said.

"If there is anything else you need… do not hesitate to ask," Narcissa told him.

Ron nodded. "Yeah… sure. Thanks."

He gathered up the photos. Narcissa picked up her newspaper again. Feeling the strangeness of the conversation catch up with him, Ron almost didn't notice her look up again.

"Oh, Auror Weasley? Draco tells me your wife is expecting a child. Congratulations."

Ron tried not to let the shock show on his face. "Thanks," he said weakly.

Narcissa nodded, looking almost as surprised at having given the compliment as Ron was to receive it. Then her expression emptied and she went back to the newspaper. Ron turned and walked way, trying to focus enough to Apparate back to the office.


Neville Longbottom nervously pushed open the door of the Hog's Head and peered inside. After the bright afternoon sunshine, it took his eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom. By the standards of the place, the pub was crowded today; it had five whole customers in it: two at the bar, hoods up despite the heat; an aging witch and wizard glaring at each other over a chess set; and lastly, the reason he was there.

To Neville, Hannah Abbott's smile lit up the dingy room as she crossed the bar and threw her arms around his neck. She had to stand on tip-toe to kiss his cheek, leaning against him with enough weight to push him back a step.

"I missed you," she whispered in his ear.

Neville opened his mouth to ask a question, but before he could, Hannah pressed a finger over his lips. "I've got a surprise for you," she said, louder this time.

"Oh?" Neville managed, keenly aware a few of the bar's patrons were now looking at them with interest.

Hannah's smile turned coy. "It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you," she said, then turned her head. "Thanks again, Ab. Make sure we aren't disturbed."

Aberforth Dumbledore grunted and went back to pouring a drink for one of the wizards at the bar. Neville barely had time to raise his hand in an ignored greeting before Hannah took his other arm and led him gently but firmly into the back of the pub and up the stairs. The upper floor of the Hog's Head wasn't any better than the bar, but Neville hardly noticed as Hannah opened a door that led into a small, cramped guest bedroom and shut it behind them. She leaned back against the door, leaving Neville adrift in the middle of the room, and cast a Silencing spell.

"Hannah, what is going on?" he finally exclaimed.

"Sorry about that, Neville," said a voice to his left. "This was her idea."

"Yeah," another disembodied voice added, "I'm sure he's really cut up that everyone down there thinks Hannah's dragged him out of work and upstairs for a quickie."

"Ron!"

Hannah made a grab for something near the source of the voices. There was a familiar swish of fabric and Harry and Ron appeared.

"What is going on?" Neville asked weakly. "It was weird enough you flooing me at work and asking me to meet you here and here and not tell anyone, but what was that for?"

"They said they needed a convincing reason for you to come here," Hannah replied. "So I thought of one."

"Okay…"

"Neville, we need your help," Harry said. "We have to get into the castle to see McGonagall. We can't let anyone find out. We're not sure it's safe."

"This unofficial then?" Neville asked.

Ron nodded. "Yeah. Officially unofficial."

"What does that mean?"

"It's an Auror rule, Hannah," Neville explained. "We… they have to tell the Ministry about all their cases, but if no crime's actually been reported then it can be treated as an inquiry and Robards won't report anything till he thinks there's something to report."

"I suppose," Hannah said, "that if I asked, you couldn't tell me."

Harry nodded. "Sorry."

"They haven't told me, either," Neville added.

"We'd better get going," Ron said.

Hannah shook her head. "Give it another minute, for the alibi."

"Err… okay." Neville nodded.

They stood in awkward silence for a moment before Hannah looked up at Ron. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I completely forgot to ask earlier. How's Hermione?"

"She's… she's fine," Ron answered. "Definitely showing now. Umm… says the morning sickness has stopped but… she still gets these weird cravings from time to time. And she's still reading every book on pregnancy she can find."

"They didn't even have to tell me." Harry smiled. "I tripped over a copy of Magical Maternity and managed to put two and two together."

"Well, that is Hermione's solution to everything." Hannah laughed. "Okay, well, I guess that's been long enough."

She straightened up, and with what little space was left in the room, pulled her hair out of its plait. She shook it out and then rubbed her palms against it until it started expanding outwards. Then she looked down at her robes and thoughtfully pulled at them until she looked considerably scruffier.

Finally, she turned to Harry and Ron. "How do I look, boys?"

Harry stuttered uncertainly, but Ron grinned. "Like Neville's given you a good seeing-to."

"Perfect," Hannah said. "Now I just need to complete the effect. If could you give us a moment?"

Harry and Ron obediently turned around. When they turned back, Neville looked considerably more dishevelled. He and Hannah were looking at each other with an expression of stunned joy that took Harry back to the Room of Requirement a long, long time ago.

And as he had done then, he awkwardly interrupted the moment, clearing his throat and muttering, "Sorry, we need to go."

Ron and Harry disappeared under the Cloak and followed Neville and Hannah downstairs. Hannah practically skipped across the bar, thanking Aberforth for the loan of the room and getting another disinterested acknowledgement.

Then she stood in the door, silhouetted against the summer sunlight – conveniently allowing the invisible pair enough time to slip past her – and blew Neville a kiss. "Bye-bye, Neville. I'll see you again soon."

And with a pop, she was gone. Neville stood awkwardly in the bar for a few seconds, this time completely oblivious to the looks he was getting, and then walked out of the pub.

As he passed the Cloak, he heard an appreciative, "Bloody hell, mate."

Harry jabbed Ron in the side. "You're a married man!" he hissed.

"I didn't mean it like that."

They followed Neville up the path towards the school. Once they were out of the village, Ron closed the distance and hissed, "How come you haven't proposed yet?"

"I just… haven't," Neville responded.

"You can kill a snake with a sword but you can't ask your girlfriend to marry you? And you were on fire."

"Yes," Neville said wearily. "And I was on fire."

"Ron, you're one to talk," Harry cut in. "Leave him alone or I'll tell him how you and Hermione got engaged. The whole story."

Ron remained silent the rest of the walk to the school. They paused at the Hogsmead gate to allow Harry time to retrieve the Marauder's Map from his robes and then Neville opened it and led them through. Harry had found himself back on the grounds at least once a year since the battle, but even now walking towards the castle felt like coming home. However, this was the first time he had really been there during the summer holidays and Hogwarts seemed eerily quiet. The feeling wasn't helped by the emptiness of the map; there were fewer dots on it than Harry could ever remember seeing.

Eventually, they reached castle's side entrance and passed into the cool corridors. The halls were all but silent, and they did their best to make sure that only one set of footsteps echoed through the deserted passageways as they made their way to the third floor.

"Just like the good old days, eh mate?" Ron whispered.

"Which good old days were those?" Harry replied. "The ones with the three headed dog, the Basilisk, the escaped convict or the Dark wizards trying to kill us?"

"Oh yeah…"

A few steps ahead of them, Neville came to a stop in front of the gargoyle which guarded the headmistress' office. "Montrose," he said clearly.

The gargoyle slid aside and allowed them up the rotating stairs. At the top Neville knocked on the heavy oak doors and waited, shuffling his feet awkwardly like he was still a pupil.

"Come in!"

The doors opened. Headmistress McGonagall folded up her copy of Transfiguration Today and stood up from behind her desk.

"Hello, professor."

"Neville," McGonagall said, in a faintly maternal tone, "we are colleagues now. In private, you are allowed to call me 'Minerva'."

"Yes, professor."

"So what is all this about?"

McGonagall merely sighed when her two former students pulled off the Invisibility Cloak. "Potter… and Weasley. I might have known it was you two."

"Sorry about this, professor," Harry said. "It's Auror business."

"Auror business doesn't usually require sneaking around the castle under that Cloak," McGonagall remarked. "Still, old habits die hard, I suppose."

"We need to talk to Phineas Black's portrait," Harry told her. "In private. If that's possible."

"Oh, very well." McGonagall sighed again. "Neville will accompany me on a brief walk to the library to tell me how Pamona is enjoying her retirement. You have until we get back." She turned to the wall of portraits behind her. "Phineas! Phineas!"

"What is it?" the portrait in question demanded.

"These young men need your help. You will give it to them."

"After the way they treated me? Absolutely not!"

"He still hasn't forgiven us for the camping trip," Ron muttered apologetically. "That's why we couldn't use the picture at Harry's."

McGonagall stood up. "Phineas, you will help them as you would help me. Is that clear?"

"Oh, very well."

"Thank you."

McGonagall left the office with Neville trailing after her. Harry waited till he heard the staircase moving before turning back to the picture.

"Thank you… umm… Headmaster Black," Harry said. "We wanted to ask you about a book."

Ron produced the photograph and held it up. "Narcissa Malfoy says it was probably yours. We were wondering if you could tell us about it."

"No you weren't," the portrait snapped.

"We weren't?"

"No. You wanted me to tell you about my library."