Chapter 8: Most Noble and Ancient

"We are not paying a visit to your aunt and uncle," Potter said right away.

"Oh, why not?" Draco leaned back on the sofa. "Aunt Bella would love to help us out. She's rather enthusiastic, if you catch her in the right mood."

Potter scoffed. "Big 'if'."

"Go on," Draco teased him with a smirk. "Just yesterday you didn't care if we had to destroy this universe to bring Weasley home. Where's that Potter? I want him back."

"I'm looking at this practically." Potter raised his eyebrows. "Do we really want to open that can of worms, revealing ourselves or trying to sneak into Bellatrix's home? At this point in the war, you know who that comes with."

"Literally, You-Know-Who," Draco said. "He could be a powerful ally, Potter. Especially considering everyone we already potentially have against us."

Draco gestured at the Adversaries list on the blackboard. Potter narrowed his eyes. "I can't tell if you're taking the piss or not."

"Honestly, I've no idea either." Draco tossed his closed journal down onto the tea table. "That Cabinet originally belonged to my aunt and uncle? Bella never said anything when I repaired the one back home. Maybe that's a feature specific to this universe."

"You'd think they would have used the Cabinets to get into Hogwarts."

"They wouldn't have been able to," Draco answered. "Not until the Hogwarts one had been tended to the way I did in our sixth year. They wouldn't have been able to do that from the other end, if they even realized what was wrong in the first place."

Potter hummed, then fell quiet. His gaze darted as he thought. With a few rapid blinks, his lips parted.

"Wait," he said. "Hold on a minute."

He couldn't sit still, with that. In similar matter to spectating a Muggle tennis match, Draco watched Potter pace back and forth. Potter rubbed his jaw with one hand, the other placed on his hip.

"Rodolphus," Potter eventually spoke again. "Do you think there's any chance at all the Borgin and Burke's Cabinet belonged to him and Bellatrix in our universe?"

"Like I said, I never heard about it." Draco shrugged. "Bella never said anything, and it isn't like she was the one to nudge me toward mending it. I figured it out on my own, that the two were connected."

"Sure," Potter replied, slightly breathless. "Say the Cabinet that used to sit in Borgin and Burke's had originally been part of the seizures made after your aunt and uncle went to Azkaban in '82. It just ended up at the shop and never sold because it didn't seem to have a pair. It was essentially useless, except maybe as like a rubbish bin. The one at Hogwarts was there by 1975, based on us finding it here. What if Bellatrix and Rodolphus originally meant to use the Cabinets as a way to sneak into Hogwarts back when the war was young?"

Draco hummed.

"They wouldn't have been able to, like you said," Potter kept on. "They wouldn't have known what was wrong, because they wouldn't have been able to get into Hogwarts to take a look. They probably just thought having it donated to the school or something was a shot worth taking, but it failed. Why would they tell anyone about that? I wouldn't say anything twenty years later either, if my sixteen-year-old nephew outsmarted me in front of Voldemort about it."

"You prideful little hellcat, Bella." Draco gave a slow shake of the head. "I wouldn't deny the possibility. Are you trying to base a theory off it, though? That might not be wise. It's rather flimsy on its own."

"On its own, yeah." Potter nodded. "But what about the Vanishing Cabinet that got us into this situation in the first place? Draco, Rodolphus is one of the Death Eaters I've been chasing."

Draco knew that, of course. The reminder hit a little differently with this new information.

"You think he's the one that butchered it?" Draco asked. "That if he'd ever been at my house in Nice, maybe he was the one impersonating me?"

"Maybe." Potter sat down again beside him. "Or, he at least had something to do with the Cabinet. That's encouraging, that maybe all of the absconded Death Eaters are still in contact. If we catch one, that could potentially mean we've caught all of them."

Draco didn't know what to say. That part of all this wasn't exactly his area, other than his personal desire to find out who had made themselves at home at his property. Still, Draco paid close attention to stacking coincidences in his line of work. That was a common feature, in Potter's.

"The only flaw I could point out is that we don't have one of the Death Eaters." Draco pointed at the top of the board, where it said Yaxley - unknown. "We haven't found him yet."

"No," Potter agreed, "but soon enough. Right?"

Draco stood up and erased Break into Hogwarts to see about Vanishing Cabinet pair off the board.

"At least our work today wasn't for nothing, if it perhaps means something for your case back home," Draco said when he turned back to Potter. "What now, for this one? We have twelve days until the full moon. No idea where Yaxley is. We've yet to make any progress on delinking. Should that even be our primary focus? Access to a Vanishing Cabinet has turned out not as simple as we'd assumed."

Potter slouched on the sofa, one leg up. "It seems to me that all signs are pointing toward finding Yaxley. What do you think?"

"I certainly don't care to pursue delinking without some sort of confirmation that it's necessary."

"In that case, what's your theory on why Ron ended up where he did?" Potter asked. "You'd said before we talked to Dumbledore that you might be able to extrapolate to where Yaxley is."

"Right," Draco said quietly under his breath. "I forgot about that after Dumbledore gave us the boot."

Potter laughed.

"I haven't put anything concrete together." Draco returned to the opposite end of the sofa. "I need some time to do that."

"Take it, then," Potter replied. "Would it hurt, do you think, if I snuck back to Hogwarts and took a look through the castle for Yaxley among the students? We didn't get a very good look yesterday, and I was too rushed earlier to be thorough."

"I don't see why not." Draco shrugged. "If you end up finding him that way, my theory would be pointless. I won't take that personally."

"Could it be that you're starting to soften up with me?"

Draco rolled his eyes as a new grin came over Potter. "Get out of my sight before I change my mind."

Potter still hadn't returned when Draco's stomach started to grumble. He made himself a snack and was in his hammock when Potter appeared at the path mouth. Cloak folded over his arm, he leaned against the post at Draco's feet.

"I looked at everyone in the Great Hall during lunch, then took a long walk through the castle," Potter said. "He's not there."

"Interesting." Draco took another bite of cheese and chewed mechanically in thought. "The good news is, that doesn't affect my theory."

"How's it coming along?" Potter asked, then pointed with his thumb at the cabin door. "I'm going to throw dinner together, if you feel like telling me about it."

Draco meandered in behind Potter. After detouring through the kitchen to see what they were eating, he took a seat at the table.

"The primary question I'm trying to answer with my theory is why Weasley is here," Draco started with. "Why 1975? Why is he fourteen or fifteen again? Why not thirty, like he was back home—?"

"Thirty-one," Potter corrected him. "His birthday's at the beginning of March."

"Why not thirty-one, then," Draco said. "This is the only integration I've ever seen, so I have no patterns to observe. For instance, does it mean that Weasley won't be born in 1980?"

Potter looked at Draco over his shoulder. "Like something got fucked up after all or. . .?"

"Well, let me finish. Maybe he will still be born in 1980, so there just wasn't a quote-unquote vacancy in his usual spot. My thought is that if Weasley couldn't fall into his normal place, the universe gave him an adjacent one. His uncle became his father. Instead of you as his best friend, your father is."

Potter hummed. "So what would that mean for Yaxley, then?"

"It would mean that Yaxley didn't slide into his usual place either. If we run into the twenty-one-year-old version of him, that's the wrong one."

"But you're saying that the Yaxley we're chasing will be close by," Potter said. "So, 1975, then. What all was Corban Yaxley doing that year?"

Draco got the sense by Potter's tone that he asked that rhetorically, rather than expected an answer.

"He was in the same year as your parents at Hogwarts," Potter kept on with a glance over his shoulder. "He joined the Death Eaters right after finishing, and kept a low profile while working as a Ministry spy in administration. Family-wise, the Yaxleys were most closely related to the Crouches, Longbottoms, Carrows—and the Blacks, of course."

"Everyone was." Draco's chair creaked underneath him as he leaned back, folded his arms, and crossed his ankles. "The Black family is hardly worth mentioning, in that regard."

"I say it is. He could have arrived here as Corban Black. Corban Malfoy, even."

"Perish the thought." Draco sneered, while Potter chuckled. "Our tree is full, thanks."

"Wait," Potter said. "That's it."

"What?"

"The family tree." Potter grinned. "Yaxley was a good little pureblood, right? So he'd be on the drawing room wall at Grimmauld Place."

"If he was a close enough relation of the Black family, I suppose," Draco replied. "You would know more about that than me. I don't think I visited Grimmauld Place past about five or six years old."

"Come dish up."

Draco grabbed a plate and lingered next to Potter in front of the range. "I thought you didn't want to go to Grimmauld Place."

"If we have to, that's just what it is. Walburga's portrait is formidable enough on its own. I wouldn't want to come up against the living, breathing version of her. I can't imagine Orion would be preferred."

Draco spooned fried rice onto his plate. "They won't be home tomorrow night."

"How do you know?" Potter slowed in dishing himself ginger beef.

"Weekly family dinner at Malfoy Manor," Draco replied. "It used to be a regular affair every Sunday, when there were still enough of us alive. I remember Walburga there when I was little, because I was confused when she stopped coming."

"She did?"

"Her priorities must have changed when she died."

Potter scoffed with an eye roll, while Draco took his turn to grin in amusement. "So you didn't understand she'd passed away, I take it?"

"She was the first close relative of mine that did." Draco nodded. "Mum and Father had to explain it to me."

Potter studied Draco throughout them finishing dishing up. Draco beat Potter to the table, although Potter's gaze casually returned as they started eating.

"Were you sad?" Potter eventually asked. "I mean, did you get on well enough with Walburga to miss her?"

"Potter, I was the only child in the entire family." Draco smirked. "I don't know if you ever realized this, but I was very spoiled."

"No," Potter sarcastically replied.

"I know," Draco said. "I was perhaps too humble of a child for anyone to tell."

"I never thought about how you being the only child at all might have factored in on that." Potter forked some rice. "Were there a lot of adults around when you were little, then? The Black family was pretty small by the end of the war—just you and your mum. Andromeda and Teddy too, I guess, but neither of them identify with the Black name."

"There were a fair few," Draco replied. "They'd all died by our second year at school. There was rather a massive die-off. Both my grandfathers died during first year, and then there was Cassiopeia and Lucretia that summer. Then it was just me, Mum, and Father."

Potter hummed.

"What about you?" Draco asked. "All the Potters were gone, but your mum must have had family. Isn't that who you spent summer holidays with?"

Potter laughed mirthlessly. "Against all of our better wishes. My mum's family hated me."

"Not the famous Harry Potter!"

"No, I'm dead serious. They 'got landed with me' after my parents died."

Draco's smile fell. "Oh. Well, that's fucked."

"Eloquently put."

An uncomfortable twinge similar to awkwardness settled in Draco's lower stomach. He studied Potter, who remained rather unreadable about the entire thing.

"Are you still in contact with them?" Draco asked.

"No," Potter said right away. "I haven't seen my aunt and uncle since they had to go into hiding at the height of the war. My cousin and I've met up a few times, but it's been a while now."

"You weren't the only child in the house, then."

Potter shrugged. "Dudley was the only one that counted."

"Merlin," was about all Draco could think to say, and under his breath at that.

"To be honest, I'd rather you take the piss about it than pity me," Potter replied. "It was pretty much half a lifetime ago, like everything else that was ever bad in my life. I probably can't really say I'm over it, but it's over."

"It wouldn't much suit me to start pointing fingers about family." Draco poked at his beef. "I only had the illusion of a good one, all said and done. I suppose if you wanted to return the favour for me being such a wanker, you have more than enough ammunition nowadays."

"I think it's probably going to be shitty enough for you whenever I track your dad down."

Dread tinged Draco's guilt. "It's your call on whether or not that draws us even for all the pokes at your dead mother."

"I don't care about that, to be honest." Potter waved his free hand. "We're too old to worry anymore about what stupid shit we did. We were kids, and there was a lot more going on in both our worlds than us just circling each other like idiots."

"If only it really had been that simple."

"Things might have gone differently, at least in the later school years," Potter mused. "It depends how you would've shaped up without Voldemort having come back. We don't get along too badly now, do we? And that's with all of that in our past."

"I don't know who I would have been," Draco replied in full honesty. "Maybe I wouldn't have been fast-tracked into ending up with this Mark on my arm, but I wouldn't have had a reason to consider any alternative to carrying on as I already was. I certainly wouldn't have the same career. I'd likely work alongside my father on manor affairs, or something. I probably would have gotten married to someone of respectable blood and status, and carried on the family name."

"Even though you're gay?"

Draco's stomach gave an almighty jolt. "What?"

Potter slowed in eating, studying him. "You are, aren't you?"

"I. . ." Draco didn't have an Invisibility Cloak to hide his hot face this time. "Well—yes."

"I didn't much gather it was something you'd be ashamed of," Potter said. "You didn't bat much of an eye when you told me your stepfather was fit."

Draco snorted. "In all fairness, you don't have to be gay to acknowledge a fit man."

"I leaned on that logic for a long time before admitting there might be something else to it."

"Did something in particular tip you off?"

"I mean, there are only so many times you can catch yourself thinking 'I'd really like to fuck that bloke' before you have to start looking inward on yourself."

"I suppose."

"Was that not your experience, figuring it out?"

"More or less," Draco said. "It becomes a lot more clear-cut when you catch yourself thinking 'I'd really like that bloke to fuck me'."

Potter snorted and dipped his head. Draco smirked, although grew antsy at what information he'd learned—and revealed in turn. Of course—of course—Potter had a preference for topping. Draco already suspected it, but now he was just supposed to exist knowing that information.

"I s'pose it does," Potter agreed, eyes still alight with mirth. "You'd have married a woman though, so there must be some leeway."

"It just wouldn't matter, as far as bloodlines go." Draco saying that eased them back toward seriousness. "I knew rather young that I was attracted to men, so it's something I would have gone into the marriage with. It's difficult to say without a specific situation to draw from whether or not I would have requested some sort of arrangement. I think I could love a woman. It's just. . .different, with men."

"Yeah." That seemed the end of the conversation for a moment, until Potter spoke again. "You're not in a relationship right now, are you?"

Draco shook his head.

"I feel like a prat to ask, but have you been?"

"Nothing serious." Draco swallowed the piece of beef in his mouth. "Pickings are a little slim in the magical population, with a name like mine. And it's very hard to get close to anyone else when you can't tell them who you are, where you came from, what you do, and why your 'tattoo' really isn't that 'cool'."

"I guess not."

"What about you?" Draco almost feared to ask, for that hopeful little shadow cast by his heart. "Do you have someone?"

Potter scoffed. "I'd be a pretty shit boyfriend if I did, don't you think?"

Draco furrowed his brow.

"The way you and I've gotten a little carried away, a few times," Potter elaborated.

Tongue frozen, all Draco could do was shrug with a tight smile. He internally scolded his cheeks for any potential they might flush.

"I've the same problem as you." Potter sipped his water. "Slim pickings in the magical population, and not much better prospects elsewhere without some serious explaining. 'Cool scar'—yeah, not really. I just don't have the energy for that. It shouldn't be that hard to fall in with somebody. You shouldn't have to come with a fifty page long warning."

"No." Draco had no choice but to agree. "I can't imagine you having trouble with a witch or wizard."

"It ended up not mattering what side of the war we were on, with a well-known name." Potter shrugged. "People think they know you. They go in with expectations. Sure, they can't help it, but it kind of sucks to watch them go through the process of realizing you're not who they thought you'd be."

"It would for you. It could only go in my favour, if given a chance to begin with."

"It does."

Draco dropped his gaze as soon as his and Potter's met. When he looked up again, Potter's focus was on his plate. "Are people really that surprised to learn you're just a regular bloke?"

"Yep," Potter replied. "Does that surprise you?"

"I was baffled as to why anyone ever thought you were special in the first place."

"So was I." Potter laughed, and Draco couldn't help but smile. "It was a lot of pressure to come into the wizarding world with."

"I know all about that, as well."

"If you were the only child in the Black family, then yeah, I guess you had a lot to live up to, didn't you?" Potter asked. "They must have been really close to begin with, if they all met up every Sunday at your manor."

"Our home was the best one to host at." Draco paused, now they'd come back around to the topic they'd originally departed from. "You know."

"Hm?"

"If Yaxley is closely enough related to the Malfoys and Blacks in this universe, he might be at Malfoy Manor tomorrow evening."

Potter's eyebrows popped up. "Is there any way we could get a look in?"

"Quite easily, really. I can go straight to the manor house from here, using some Blue Floo. And—if I don't see Yaxley there, but I see Walburga and Orion, I would know their house is currently empty. Other than that ghastly house-elf of theirs."

"Hey, leave Kreacher alone."

"He's ghastly," Draco reiterated.

Potter rolled his eyes and waved a dismissive hand. "He'll notice us though, won't he? And what about the house-elves at Malfoy Manor?"

"That's why I said 'I', not 'we'," Draco said. "I would be fine, because I have familial blood in my veins."

"You realize you're essentially arguing to go alone?" Potter asked.

Draco smirked. "It wouldn't be the first time I've crashed one of these family dinners."

They moved the discussion about it out to the hammocks once Draco had cleaned up from dinner. Potter remained twitchy and restless about it all, which Draco tried to convince himself was completely to do with having to sit this one out.

Only when he retired to his bedroom later did Draco allow anything else to freely cross his mind. There was no ignoring or downplaying it anymore: something was going on between him and Potter.

It was rather unfortunate. Yes, perhaps Draco was easily wont to fall back into old habits—and old attractions. Coming on nearly twenty years since they'd first crossed paths in the back of Madam Malkin's shop, it took Draco rather by surprise that Potter could look at him with anything beyond pity, hatred, or disgust. This worked though, given the right circumstances. They could get along. They could respect each other. They could like each other.

And, once they went home, Potter would have zero recollection of that.

This was not good. In fact, for someone as lonely and isolated as Draco, this was downright cruel. The best he could ever hope to the contrary was a mere glimpse. Potter would carry on as he had before, absolutely none the wiser. Draco, meanwhile, would be stuck.

Again.

It wasn't the sort of mood Draco wanted to try and fall asleep in, and it didn't make waking up in the morning any better. He ended up oversleeping, which led to him finding bacon, eggs, toast, and orange juice waiting for him in the kitchen. Potter seemed to have slept well, by comparison. He'd already showered, gone into Hogsmeade for the market, and still had time to do all this on top of it.

Potter studied Draco as they ate. He'd finally gotten around to trimming his beard, which did absolutely nothing to make him less fit. It did the exact opposite, actually. Perhaps in a moment of bravery—or stupidity, more like—Draco returned Potter's stare. If he called it a challenge to being regarded like that, he felt slightly better.

"Are you nervous about this evening?" Potter finally asked.

"No." Draco dropped his gaze to his plate again.

Potter tapped his fingers on the table. "I am."

"Why?" Draco lifted an eyebrow. "You don't think I can do it? My family is rather an entirely different beast than Dumbledore."

"I don't like you going alone."

Draco smiled nastily. "How sweet. And perhaps just a tad patronizing?"

Potter exhaled through his nose, looking stern in that Auror way again. "Would you do something for me?"

"What?" Draco flatly replied.

"Will you practice blocking spells with me before you go? Just in case?"

Draco gave him a baleful look.

"It's only for my peace of mind," Potter said. "Go on."

Draco heaved a sigh. He did suppose it would be a suitable alternative to just being around Potter all day. Who knew what else they might talk about out of sheer boredom, after how last night's dinner had gone? "All right."

Potter cheered considerably to have gotten his way, so there was that. As much as Draco resented himself for it, he revelled in Potter's concern. To think, while already going to such lengths to put a filling meal in front of Draco this morning, he'd also fretted about what sort of trouble Draco might find himself in.

They headed outside after breakfast and stood opposite each other. As Draco fiddled with his wand, he realized just how long it had been since he used magic in any sort of combative form.

"Ready?" Potter called, raising his wand and sliding easily into a duelling stance.

Draco mirrored him. "I suppose."

Potter went easy to start, which was good. Draco's wits were about as shaky as his confidence. Eventually, blocking whatever Potter threw at him came like second nature again.

Draco couldn't resist. Once, when Potter lobbed a Stunning Spell at him, Draco followed up blocking it with one of his own. Potter blocked it so easily that Draco could almost be convinced he'd seen it coming.

Potter shook his head, grinning. "Terrible."

"My aim was true."

"Not the spell. Did you want an actual duel?"

"No."

"So that was just a cheap shot, then."

Draco put his balled wand hand on his hip. "I'm not duelling a trained Auror."

"Scared you'll lose?"

"Knowing what to expect isn't fear, it's wisdom."

"Okay."

That patronizing tone was back. Draco rolled his eyes, doing his absolute best to resist Potter's obvious attempt to poke his pride on the matter.

"How about you brush up on your offensive spells?" Potter suggested. "Then maybe you'd feel more comfortable with it."

"Sure."

"Go on, then. Try to disarm me."

Draco felt foolish, starting so simply. He begrudgingly went along with it. As the spells Potter told him to use became more complicated, Draco fell into the rhythm of it all. He sent a Tongue-locking Jinx at Potter, then blocked one in return.

Draco froze in surprise at himself. "That's not fair! I wasn't ready."

"Bollocks!" Potter shot back, grinning anew. "You blocked it, didn't you?"

For the cheek alone, Draco refused Potter a duel when he pestered him again. He wished he'd agreed to it after they'd relocated to their hammocks. At least they were both too tired and sun-worn to care much about conversation. That pesky comfortable silence was back.

Potter started to get cagey as seven o'clock neared. Although he stated intent to get started on dinner so it'd be ready when Draco was back, he wasn't doing much of the sort as he stewed in front of the fireplace. Draco dropped his Spacetime Turner inside his shirt, pulled the Invisibility Cloak around his shoulders, and then opened his Floo pouch to throw some into the fire he'd had to light.

"Be careful," Potter told him.

"I'll be fine," Draco replied. "Don't get yourself in a state."

Draco pulled the Cloak's hood up over his head before stepping into the fire. A few seconds later, he stepped out into the chamber that would one day belong to this universe's counterpart of him. Ignoring the nostalgia that came with being here, Draco pulled out the Spacetime Turner. He listened at the closed door leading out onto the second-floor gallery. All was silent.

Still carefully, he let himself out. The gallery looked down onto the ground-floor Atrium. Voices drifted from beyond the grand staircase below.

Draco dropped a dimension. The laughter and everything stopped. Draco headed downstairs. On the ground floor, his heart made itself more obvious with each step he took toward the formal dining room.

Everyone inside was frozen. Draco entered at the end closest to the drawing room. His great-grandfather Nero Malfoy sat at the head of the table. His great-grandmother Euanthe was to his right, then Draco's grandmother Severine, then Abraxas. Beside him, Father and Mum.

Draco gravitated toward them, taking register of the rest of the table's occupants. Another set of great-grandparents was there: Irma and Pollux Black. His grandparents, Cygnus and Druella. Cassiopeia, Lucretia, Ignatius, Arcturus, Melania—Walburga and Orion.

No Yaxley. There were no extra plates on the table either, so it wasn't as if he'd just happened to nip off to the toilet or something.

Draco bunched his lips all to one side. He stood between his parents. They had their heads toward each other in private conversation, and their chins ducked. Their fingers were entwined between their laps. Father toyed with Mum's engagement ring.

Unable to help it, Draco rested a hand on his father's shoulder. Father felt too stiff and cool with a dimension separating them to feel real. It had been a while since Draco last saw his father—any version of him, that was. Sometimes in other universes, Draco would come here and tell him exactly who he was. You abandoned me, you know. Could you maybe do better here? Because that really hurt, and I'm still struggling with it. Malfoys aren't bred for these sorts of self-esteem issues.

Draco headed back upstairs. He started time up again, and lingered for a moment listening to the sounds of a family gone. Draco stood in the same Malfoy Manor shared by every single universe that contained it. All that would greet him by comparison on the other side of the veil separating here and home was hollow silence.

It was a blessing in disguise that Potter couldn't accompany Draco. With a sigh and a chest full of melancholic longing, Draco returned to his chamber. A minute later, he'd stepped out into Sirius' bedroom at Grimmauld Place.

That was Potter's idea. Kreacher was most likely to be down near the basement, four floors away. Draco opened the bedroom door, dropped himself, and headed downstairs.

The Black family tapestry was much larger than Draco remembered. He'd been too young the last time he saw it to recall where exactly his name was. Potter thought perhaps toward the right, although it'd been some time since he bothered looking at it either.

Draco found his mother, and started following away from her with his finger. Mum's great-aunt Lysandra Yaxley connected the Blacks to that part of the tree. A little leap of the stomach came with spotting Corban Yaxley where he was expected. From there, Draco started searching for any other Corban.

It was an old name—and a common one. It dotted the tree right to the top. The most recent one other than the actual Corban had died in 1943.

Draco walked back and forth along the tree three times before allowing himself to reach the conclusion that their Yaxley wasn't here. He stood there with a furrowed brow, wondering how that could be possible. Of course, Draco's theory about where Yaxley was peppered into this universe could have been wrong. Weasley's placement beside James Potter in 1975 could have just been a fluke.

Well, there was nothing else for it. He would have to inform Potter they'd hit another dead end.