An old owl with disheveled feathers and an incredibly exhausted expression spiraled erratically into the kitchen. It narrowly missed a hanging rack of copper pots before crashing onto the kitchen table with a heavy, pathetic thud.
How incredibly tragic. To force such a geriatric bird to deliver the mail! Maurise couldn't help but feel a fleeting twinge of sympathy.
However, that sympathy vanished almost instantly. He suddenly remembered his own pet owl, Cinder. That poor little creature was literally dead and still forced to work for him around the clock.
"Oh, Errol!" George rushed over, gently stroking the old owl's feathery head. "You are running a bit late today, old boy."
Errol let out a feeble, exhausted hoot in response.
At the same time, the newspaper Errol had been carrying tumbled open onto the table. Staring up at them from the front page was the raving, manic face of Sirius Black on a massive wanted poster.
"Sirius Black again," Fred leaned over the table. "He has been on the front page of the Daily Prophet every single day recently."
George turned to Maurise with a teasing grin. "You had better watch your back, Maurise. You happen to share a surname with the bloke. The Ministry might just drag you off to Azkaban for being related."
Maurise smiled thinly. "I have absolutely no relation to that particular Black."
"Is the surname Black particularly common among Muggles?" Arthur suddenly asked.
"It is reasonably common," Maurise replied. While not the most ubiquitous name in Britain, it was certainly widespread enough.
Arthur stared intently at Maurise's face. His brow furrowed deeply, as if he were struggling to recall a distant memory.
Feeling slightly bewildered by the intense scrutiny, Maurise set down his teacup. "Is something the matter, Mr. Weasley?"
Arthur snapped out of his daze. He blinked rapidly, tearing his gaze away from Maurise's face to cast an involuntary glance back at the wanted poster on the table.
He shook his head. "It is nothing. I was merely struck by a memory from a very long time ago. I actually met Sirius Black in person once. Before he was sent to prison, naturally."
The bustling kitchen fell completely silent for a moment. Even the twins stopped their hushed plotting, looking at their father with genuine curiosity.
"Don't stop there, Dad!" Fred and George urged simultaneously. They absolutely despised when people left a story half-finished.
"Arthur, please. Do not discuss that man in front of the children. Especially not with everything currently going on," Molly scolded, looking highly displeased.
"It is perfectly fine, Molly," Arthur patted his wife's hand reassuringly. He turned back to Maurise. "I simply wanted to note that, in his youth, Sirius Black... was also an incredibly handsome young man. Quite similar to you, in fact."
Maurise strongly felt that being compared to a mass-murdering fugitive was not intended as a compliment regarding his looks. His expression grew incredibly peculiar as he tilted his head. "Mr. Weasley, are you... are you implying you believe Sirius Black might be my biological father?"
"Cough! Cough!" Arthur choked on his own saliva. He waved his hands frantically, his face turning a vibrant shade of Weasley red. "Of course not! Merlin's beard, I did not mean that at all! I am absolutely certain Sirius Black has no heirs. He has been locked in Azkaban for over a decade, and prior to that he was... well, regardless, it is a complete impossibility."
Maurise smiled easily. "I was only joking."
In truth, Maurise also considered the idea highly improbable.
However, Arthur was apparently unwilling to completely drop the subject. "Jokes aside," he mused thoughtfully. "There is a very real possibility that you possess some form of genealogical connection to the Black family."
"Oh?" Maurise raised a skeptical eyebrow. "What leads you to that conclusion? A mere hunch?"
"Not entirely," Arthur replied. "You are aware we spent the summer touring Egypt, correct?"
Maurise nodded. "It was plastered across the front page of the Prophet. You are an incredibly fortunate family."
The comment elicited warm smiles from the Weasleys. For a family that frequently struggled financially, the lottery winnings had truly been a miraculous stroke of luck.
"But what exactly does an Egyptian holiday have to do with my bloodline?" Maurise pressed.
Arthur leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. "One afternoon, while I was casually browsing a local bazaar in Cairo, I encountered an ancient witch who claimed to be a Seer."
"Oh, come on, Dad! You actually fell for a street scammer?" Fred couldn't help but interrupt.
"Do not interrupt, Fred," Arthur hushed his son. "I was entirely skeptical as well. But she called out to me and delivered an incredibly specific prophecy that stopped me dead in my tracks."
"She said: 'Lucky man of red hair, before this summer reaches its end, you shall cross paths with a young man who will offer you monumental aid in the future. But beware, for he hails from a lineage of criminals.'"
"That was the general gist of it, anyway. I cannot recall the exact phrasing."
The moment he finished speaking, every single pair of eyes in the kitchen snapped back to Maurise.
"Dad!" Fred yelped, nearly startling poor Errol back into the air. "Why on earth are you only mentioning this highly crucial information now?!"
Arthur offered a deeply sheepish expression. "It genuinely just slipped my mind. The old bat was acting incredibly erratic. I honestly thought it was just a cheap parlor trick to fleece tourists out of their Galleons."
Maurise nodded thoughtfully.
"The prophecy certainly warrants consideration," he stated, his voice perfectly even. "The timing and the specific descriptors are highly coincidental. Given that I was raised in a Muggle orphanage with no knowledge of my parentage, I cannot entirely rule out a genealogical link to the wizarding Black family."
"It is ultimately nothing more than a wild guess," Molly interjected gently. "Why put any stock into the mad ramblings of a street vendor? Maurise, dear, please do not let this nonsense trouble your mind. Furthermore, the wizarding community is incredibly small. We are all interconnected. If you trace the family tree far enough, even the Weasleys are distantly related to the Blacks."
"She actually makes a fair point," George nodded.
"Molly is absolutely right," Arthur agreed, looking apologetically at Maurise. "Do not take it to heart, Maurise. It is hardly a matter of grave importance. I simply mentioned it in passing."
In truth, Maurise didn't care in the slightest.
What did it matter? It wasn't as if claiming relation to a fugitive would suddenly grant him access to a massive inheritance vault.
The group effectively dropped the subject. Mrs. Weasley bustled about the kitchen, waving her wand to direct a pile of potatoes to begin peeling themselves while a line of chopped carrots enthusiastically leaped into a simmering stew pot.
Creak.
The kitchen door suddenly swung open. Everyone turned to look, only to see a small black cat padding casually into the room.
"Ah, it is you, Tin." Maurise walked over, bending down to scoop his undead feline pet into his arms. The creature had likely grown bored of waiting on the ship.
Tin began to purr with deep satisfaction, affectionately nudging its cold head against Maurise's chin.
"Oh, look, a cat," Fred noted. "We happen to have a pet rat living in this house. Alas, poor Scabbers. It seems his days are finally numbered."
Coincidentally, a fat, balding, ginger-colored rat was currently creeping precariously down the wooden banister of the stairs. It was Ron's pet rat, Scabbers. It had likely been drawn downstairs by the commotion in the kitchen.
The exact moment Scabbers locked eyes with Tin, the rat froze in absolute terror. Its tiny claws lost their grip on the wood, and it plummeted off the banister, landing on the floorboards with a pitiful squeak.
"What an incredibly stupid rat," Fred sighed.
Tin leaped gracefully from Maurise's arms. It stalked over to the paralyzed rat, lowered its head, and clamped its jaws firmly around Scabbers' scruff.