Chapter 6: Malthus Bones
Malthus Bones threw a pinch of floo powder in his fireplace – then he realized. The fire flashed green, but no words left his lips, his voice didn't sound out with the words "Ministry of Magic".
He hadn't been able to speak since Sirius Black had left Malthus' study on the second floor.
Which meant he couldn't use the floo network.
The fire turned orange and yellow and red again – wasted floo powder, but honestly, Malthus didn't care, he had more than enough gold not to worry about that, and he'd just had a mass murderer and Death Eater in his study for seven hours, and he couldn't even tell the Aurors about it, and now he had to take the long way to the Ministry because he couldn't speak!
Malthus gritted his teeth, once again comforted in the impression he'd gotten through Black's visit.
He'd been scared, of course. Terrified that Rachel would come back from her appointments sooner than expected, that she'd get home and see – be seen by – Sirius Black, blood purist, murderer.
Rachel Bones née Cadwell, his wife, was muggleborn. They'd met at Hogwarts, Malthus and her, in the same year in Hufflepuff, and Malthus had been one of the friends who'd allowed her to discover the wizarding community for real.
Their daughter Susan was safe at Hogwarts, right now, and even if some people grunted at having an Heir to a Noble and Most Ancient House – even if Lord Bones was only a baron – be a halfblood, no one outright disputed her right to inherit. If they'd wanted a pureblooded heir for the House of Bones, then they shouldn't have murdered Edgar and Magdalene and Liliane and Edmond. Amelia was unmarried and likely to remain so, and Malthus had married a muggleborn, but Edgar – his younger brother by six years, younger than Amelia, too – had been married to a pureblood. They'd had a daughter and a son, both pureblooded.
And yet, Death Eaters had killed them – not just Edgar, for going against them, but also Liliane and Edmond, who'd only been six and three years old, and their mother Magdalene, too. They'd killed the very blood they kept harping on about, they had ended the pure bloodline of a Noble House.
That was what Sirius Black had eventually decided to do with his life, too.
Malthus had been scared. Of course he had been. He didn't want to die, to suffer, to be forced to do things he didn't believe in – but more than that, he'd been terrified for his family.
He hadn't noticed, at first – because he'd been so scared.
But what Black had wanted...
It had taken several hours to make – five, once Mathus had been... convinced... to participate – and you couldn't stay properly terrified for so long. Being afraid was honestly taxing, and after a time, you lapsed into something of a tense acceptance – until something happened and you were on your guard all over again.
At some point, Malthus had realized Black wasn't overly interested in hurting him – not that he wouldn't, if Malthus didn't do what he wanted, that much seemed obvious too – but much more in keeping whatever he was doing – what he had Malthus do, too – confusing.
Hence, he guessed, his current predicament: not dead – which he was very grateful for, honestly – but also incapable of using most spells, the floo network, or of talking to anyone. Malthus didn't know what Black had wanted, in the end – not really.
Malthus closed his eyes, trying to calm down, to get back his bearings, to find a solution.
Black had been waiting for him in his study, just after Rachel had left in the morning. Malthus had no idea how he'd gotten past the wards – the criminal certainly wasn't keyed in, and they'd have seen him if he'd slipped through as Rachel had left the wards – but he'd been there, in Malthus' armchair, twirling a scrapped wand between his fingers, his cold eyes fixed on Malthus' own.
Malthus had tried – had brandished his wand, almost screamed a spell – but Black had disarmed him with a whispered "expelliarmus" and next thing Malthus knew he had a wand at his jugular.
It made sense, of course. Malthus was a powerful enchanter, among other qualities, but he'd never really battled – with magic or otherwise – and Sirius Black, on top of his most distasteful associations and what he'd certainly been up to while in a dark hood and behind a white mask, Black had followed the Auror Training Program.
They'd stood there in silence, Malthus' purple carpet reflecting into Black's metallic-tinted eyes. The wizard looked like death warmed over, if Death had a hungry look in Its eyes and muggle street clothes on Its shoulders. For all that Malthus could recognize him – from the wanted posters, from the times they had met before 1981, from the typical Black looks even with the ravages of Azkaban – he wouldn't have thought "escaped convict from Azkaban" had they crossed paths in the street.
No wonder the Aurors couldn't find him – he looked like any other muggle bum, when you didn't pay attention. No one expected that from a wizard who'd torn himself out of Azkaban, from a wizard who was known for acts of anti-muggle extremism – from Lord Black himself.
He probably knew how to live amongst them, too.
Malthus gritted his teeth as he opened his eyes again, back in the present – apparently Black's years of rebellion against his family's principles – read, prejudices – were serving him well. He'd disappeared into the muggle world, only appearing to terrorize witches and wizards for a moment and then go undiscovered again. He'd somehow acquired a wand, too.
Malthus, him, couldn't even take his own floo, because Sirius Black had cursed him silent – and it wasn't only a tongue-tying curse. The first thing Malthus had tried to do after the escapee's depart had been to write a letter to his wife, for their owl to warn her away from home for now – and he couldn't bring himself to detail the situation on paper. He'd managed to write the first word, but the moment he'd wanted to actually tell Rachel...
That was why he needed to go to the Ministry in person – he might not be able to speak, to tell Amelia himself, but he could... He could manage something, probably. Unlike with speech, he'd been able to write some words – just not everything he'd wanted to. They'd realize something was wrong, too, the moment he came in incapable of speech or coherent writing.
Alright, if he couldn't take the floo...
He needed to get out of the house, out of the wards, then apparate to the visitor entrance to the Ministry – but no, he couldn't identify himself aloud, let alone say what he was coming in for, and the telephone cabin wouldn't let him in, then. Once again, he needed to be able to speak to report what had happened, and...
The employee entrance. Ministry employees who couldn't afford a floo connection inside their home to link them up with the Atrium had to go through fake public toilets which let them inside through the plumbing. The lords, of course, all had access from their fireplace, and people would wonder why in hell Lord Bones had to come through the "employee loo", but they'd know soon enough, that was for certain. Whenever someone came with certain news about Sirius Black, the news escaped the DMLE within a day and everyone knew about it by the end of the week.
No doubts Malthus would have a visit from the Prophet in the next days.
Alright. He needed his entrance token, and then he could go.
As Malthus made his way outside the wards, as he apparated into Whitehall, as he pushed his way into the public toilets – thankfully deserted at this hour, everyone already at work – as the magical plumbing started its work, the wizard couldn't help but remember the fire burning in Black's eyes.
At Hogwarts, Bellatrix Black had been in the same year as Rachel and him. They hadn't crossed paths much, even in school – she despised him for his choice of girlfriend, obviously, and they weren't in the same cross-classes group – but Malthus knew that cold rage in Black's eyes. His cousin had the same, back then, when she saw something she didn't agree with, when she thought she knew what was right and anyone who went against it deserved death.
Sirius Black had a goal, that much was certain, and Malthus' misery hadn't been it – but somehow, what the escapee had gotten him to do was helping to achieve that goal.
He needed to talk – to write, to point, to make someone understand, somehow – to Amelia.
Level 2, DMLE. He hoped she was in her office, because right now he couldn't ask anyone for help.
Malthus had to keep going as several people greeted him – he couldn't answer – only giving them a nod of acknowledgment. That wasn't how he did things, usually – Malthus was an easy-going wizard, he generally took the time to exchange a few words with anyone willing to talk to him – and maybe someone would notice. But offended or not, they'd know, soon enough.
"Lord Bones!"
Malthus couldn't answer, but still faltered in his walk as he recognized Holly Harker's voice. There was no point trying to answer, he knew that – Black's little smirk, stretched thin across abused skin, as the wanted wizard told him "no need to go babbling, now, is there?" – and yet.
One more step, as he tried to convince himself he had to get to Amelia, he couldn't spend more time than necessary trying to explain to someone he couldn't communicate with, someone who didn't know him well enough to be able to even guess.
He'd faltered, though, and he heard Harker's steps joining him, clapping against the hard floor tiles.
Malthus turned around, and looked at the hit witch. Maybe...
Holly Harker was a hit witch, which meant she worked for Amelia's department. His sister and she were friendly enough, she'd been invited to a couple of Amelia's birthday parties, and for a while Malthus had suspected there was something between the two witches – but in the end, Amelia was married to her job, and she didn't take boss-employee relationships lightly, so whatever may have been never came to be, and apparently Harker had found herself a boyfriend a few years ago because she'd taken two maternity leaves in the last ten years.
Point was, Malthus and Harker knew each other, if not that well. She could get him to Amelia, if she turned out not to be in her office, and...
His eyes remained stuck on the newspaper the hit witch had under her arm. It was folded, and Malthus could distinguish about half a picture, barely moving at that – but he knew those eyes, the cold blink as they stared at the photographer, he'd seen them less than one hour ago.
Like so many prints lately, the newspaper sported Sirius Black's picture.
Still unable to speak, the wizard decided there was a much better way to do this as he suddenly reached out for the newspaper, pried it out of Harker's arm – who tensed in warning, Malthus, terrible idea, you just left an auror-trained mass murderer who'd disarmed you in three seconds tops and you continue by startling a hit witch, what are you thinking?
"Bones?"
Harker's voice was wary as he fumbled with the thin and large sheets of paper, and Malthus made a face at his inability to speak up.
Then he had the newspaper opened up, and Black's face – young, still young, not-looking-like-Death-warmed-over, most likely an article about the beginning of his career as an auror, but the eyes were the same – was staring at Harker even if Malthus himself couldn't see it.
He then realized he couldn't point at the picture: he needed both his hands to hold the newspaper up.
Frustrated, Malthus threw it to the ground, and looked up to see Harker looking at him half-cautious, half-worried.
"...Are you alright, Lord Bones?"
He didn't know what else to say – to do, because he couldn't say, he couldn't write, and Black had to have known what he was doing when he'd jinxed him so thoroughly!
Malthus took his head in his hands, eyes screwed shut, tried to growl in frustration – but even that was impossible. People were starting to look at them, he needed to tell them he'd seen Black, that...
"You saw him."
Malthus blinked, his misery like knocked out of him by that simple sentence.
He looked back at Harker, and her eyes were alternating between him and the newspaper – where a twenty-year-old Sirius Black was slowly blinking at them, his head tilted as he seemed to judge you for everything you'd ever thought in the supposed privacy of your mind.
She'd understood.
He nodded strongly, then put a hand on his mouth, around his throat, as if to say – because he couldn't actually do it – why he wasn't talking.
Harker looked at him for a moment without another word, then she looked around them – about twenty people were staring or whispering between them – sighed, and bent down to get her newspaper back.
The moment the hit witch was standing up again, she put a hand on his arm and started stirring him towards the lifts.
"I'm getting you to your sister, Lord Bones. She's with the Minister right now, but I think your news is important enough to interrupt them."
Some of the panic that had been building up inside his chest suddenly seemed to die down, and Malthus let the coily-haired witch guide him through the Ministry. This was...
Not perfect, because a perfect world wouldn't have Sirius Black out of Azkaban and breaking into The Necropole to threaten Malthus in his own home – and yes, the Bones' ancestral home was in the middle of a cemetery and it was mostly creepy at night – but at least it was something.
The two of them were waiting for a lift when Harker added under her breath:
"Then I'll get Scrimgeour. He got called to Hogwarts, apparently someone there wanted to give us an important piece of intel about Black and Moody was there too..."
Malthus noticed the way Harker's mouth twisted when she said Black's name, and almost asked why... Until he remembered that, anyway, he couldn't talk.
On the first level, where the Minister's office was and where Amelia ought to be according to Harker, two aurors squinted at them, had them pass through a thin portal of rosy stone, nodded at each other, then led them to the door to Cornelius Fudge's office.
While a secretary entered the office to announce them, Malthus' gaze drifted to the Wall of the Lords, on the other end of the large waiting space.
His name was on there.
Black's was too.
The thought was so unpleasant that Lord Bones tore his eyes away from the dark wall on which shone each of the noble names bearing a lordship. Knowing that Sirius Black was still the Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black was nothing new, but all of a sudden that knowledge tore at his innards.
Black's abused voice, sounding with threat and sarcasm as the escapee asked Malthus to...
The secretary reappeared from Fudge's office, and Harker and Malthus were finally led inside.
Sitting in front of Fudge's desk, Amelia was looking at her brother with a worried look on her face. Just behind her, half-hidden by a stack of paperwork and a desk perhaps slightly too high for him, was sat Cornelius Fudge himself, a handkerchief against his brow as if to clean off excessive sweat. The secretary had most likely told them the reason why Malthus was here right now, escorted by Hit Witch Holly Harker of all people.
Or rather, they'd been told the little Harker had been able to gather from Malthus' somewhat lacking testimony – courtesy of a persistent inability to speak.
Basically, they'd been told that Lord Bones had most likely seen Sirius Black and couldn't speak of it out loud for some reason.
Amelia rose from her seat, and joined Harker and him in front of the door.
"Malthus? We've been told..."
Before the wizard could even start being frustrated at his continued predicament – which would forbid him from answering his sister's questions whenever she'd finish talking – Harker took the lead in his stead – and for that, Malthus may be forever grateful.
"I found him in the Atrium, Madam. He can't seem to speak, like Mrs Pettigrew when she contacted the Auror Office, but he tried to show me a picture of Black as soon as he spotted it on the newspaper I have here. I asked him if he'd seen Black, and he nodded and let me get him to you."
The hit witch seemed to hesitate for a moment, then handed Malthus her copy of the newspaper again – the wizard wasn't certain he would find a way to use it, but perhaps...
It might help if he had something to point to each time he'd need to mention Black. That would be, at least, one word he wouldn't need to work a way around.
Harker pushed him lightly in the back, as if to get him to join the Minister and his sister at Fudge's desk. Malthus gave her a confused look.
"I need to get back to level 2, Minister, Madam, Lord Bones. I'll update the head auror as soon as he comes back from Hogwarts."
A last look at Malthus, and the hit witch took a step back towards the door.
"Good luck."
The office's door closed behind her, and Amelia threw him a last worried look before leading him to a vacant seat next to the one she'd been occupying just before.
"We'd been talking about the Sirius Black situation, with the Minister for Magic, when the secretary informed us you were there, Malthus. You're just on topic, I find."
Cornelius Fudge nodded decisively – which meant he really wasn't sure what to do about any of this, because there was nothing to be decisive about in confirming the subject of a past discussion – and added:
"Indeed, indeed. Now, what is it, Lord Bones...? Are you perhaps under a tongue-tying curse? Black did this with Enid Pettigrew before, didn't he?"
On those words, the Minister looked at Amelia, seeking confirmation, before his eyes fell back on Malthus himself when she confirmed.
Malthus, who found himself in the increasingly familiar situation of having to explain something without any access to spoken language – and, from the tentatives he'd gone through trying to write to Rachel, to written language as well.
It wasn't a tongue-tying curse, of that he was certain. He hadn't recognized the incantation, and it was... more complicated than that, because it wasn't just his tongue in a knot – or else the counterspell would be easily cast and they could be having this conversation like normal human beings and not like mime enthusiasts.
At a loss for – not words, at this point, merely gestures, Malthus shrugged, then did a weird "eh, not exactly but I don't know" waving motion with both his hands.
Amelia sighed.
"Open your mouth, just to check, please."
Malthus squinted at his sister – he knew what a tongue-tying curse felt like, thank you very much, he'd had a vindictive younger sister who thought she knew better than anyone else to the point that she'd ended in Ravenclaw instead of Hufflepuff like 85 percent of the Bones family, and who'd spent all of her fourth year at Hogwarts shutting up her older brother with said curse whenever she disagreed with him.
Amelia didn't seem impressed.
"Open your mouth."
Just because he didn't like being contrary just for the sake of being contrary, Malthus obeyed her this time. She wouldn't change her mind, anyway, and he knew that better than most.
Amelia pinched her nose as she saw that indeed, it wasn't a tongue-tying curse – then she stared at him blankly when he gave her a look of affronted disbelief at her lack of faith in his deductive abilities.
"Alright, it's not that. Now, though, important questions. What did he do to you? Are you alright?"
The wizard blinked at his sister, and pointed at his throat, while opening and closing his mouth without any sound getting out. That was what Black had done to him, which was already enough even if it could have been worst.
"Do you know what he wanted?"
Malthus hoped she'd just start asking yes-or-no questions, because those he could really answer.
He knew what Black had wanted – not why, but what, yes, he knew that, the escapee had been clear enough on that point, actually – but he didn't know how to exp...
Lone words on paper, that he could do, that he could work with. No point trying to write coherent sentences, but relevant words...
Malthus made a grab for a stray piece of paper and a self-inking quill laying on Fudge's desk, all the while thinking of how, exactly, to make it clear to Amelia and to the Minister for Magic.
A moment of hesitation, then.
The lord of the House of Bones wrote a single "bone" on the paper, handed it to his sister, then started pointing at his ring of lordship with insistence.
He remembered Black's words, the smirk full of hatred and stretched skin and chapped lips.
I'm in need of a necromancer.
Sudden inspiration had him reaching back for the paper he'd written on. He could write words – just, not sentences – so he might manage a list, despite what Black had done to him with that unknown jinx keeping his voice under lock and key and his writing under strange laws of redaction.
Malthus wasn't sure Amelia would get it, but he had to try. She might know, she might recognize the ingredients, she might get it – or maybe not, because while bone magick was the gift of the Bones family, none of them actively practiced the part of it known as necromancy. They had a gift if they ever needed it, but not all of them made the choice to learn the knowledge necessary to the practice of that dubious family magic.
Malthus had had to learn it, because he'd been the Heir, because he was now the Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Bones, because it fell to him to ensure the survival of the family's knowledge – even if they rarely used it. One day, he would need to start teaching Susan, too – and he really didn't want to, because bone magick was more than half Dark Arts and there was no point knowing about that, but she was his Heir, and one day she would have to know. Some things are better not forgotten, even if they might also better never be used.
Amelia... Amelia hadn't needed to learn any of it, so she'd mostly chosen to focus on the healing aspects of bone magick. He knew she'd also read a few of the other books, back in her twenties – but unlike Malthus, she hadn't read them all, she hadn't learned them by heart, because it hadn't been her duty. Maybe she'd read the one Malthus needed her to remember, or maybe not. Maybe she'd mostly forgotten about it, too, and she wouldn't recognize the ingredients.
But maybe she would.
And if she did, then she'd know what Black had wanted from Malthus Bones.
Malthus shuddered slightly, as he finished writing down the list – he'd managed, it had worked.
What Black had wanted wasn't, per se, dark magic. It fell into the 5 or so percent of bone magick that were neither healing arts nor necromancy.
Still. It was disrespectful, at best, and absolutely without meaning considering the situation Black apparently wanted to use it in, even if it wasn't inherently evil. The potion the escapee had had Malthus brew for him, its uses...
It took Amelia a minute, when he gave her the list back, to actually realize what it meant. Just when Malthus started thinking his sister hadn't read that particular book, or that she didn't remember, the witch blinked, and looked at him in astonishment.
"Is that...? Did he want you to make that potion?"
Lord Bones nodded frantically, and mimed having a finger cut off, putting it on top of the list of ingredients in his sister's hand.
Amelia shared a confused look with Fudge – Malthus started a bit as he suddenly remembered the Minister for Magic's presence, he'd been so focused on Amelia, on Black's scheme...
"Isn't it meant to locate the rest of a skeleton using only one bone? I mean, you can find living people with it, corpses, too, but..."
Yes, that was it. Malthus reiterated with the cut-off finger mime. Amelia had to get it, she had to.
It was, this time, Fudge who got it first.
"Pettigrew's finger. Black went and retrieved Pettigrew's finger."
"But... That doesn't make any sense. He exploded Pettigrew, he knows that, there's no skeleton to find, there was too little left and even if he could find it... What would he do with it?"
Malthus shrugged. He didn't know why he'd been asked for that potion, just that he had been.
He opened his mouth, out of habit – and a sound came out of it. A moment of surprise stopped him, but... He could finally speak up again.
"How fortunate for you. Not only is your daughter at school, but your wife is busy elsewhere too. How fortunate, really. Only you to deal with."
His breath stayed stuck in his throat for a moment. He'd thought himself dead, at that point, and yet.
Malthus forced himself to breathe – deeply, slowly, calming down before a panic attack started.
Then, he found the words.
"Amelia. Black, I have no idea what he's trying to do, but... He's doing it on purpose. He's not hiding, he's buying time. I'm... I'm sure of that."
And just as Lord Bones finished on those words, the office's door swung open, revealing Rufus Scrimgeour – with Alastor Moody himself hovering in the background.
"Black is an unregistered animagus. We need to reevaluate all we know about his movements."