King's Cross was cold and loud and smelled of coal smoke and damp wool. The platform emptied fast, families pulling students away in clusters, the noise slowly winnowing down.
Sirius was waiting near the barrier, hands in his pockets, a grin on his face that went all the way to his eyes. Professor Lupin stood beside him, looking better than Kevin had seen him in months — colour in his face, a steadiness to how he held himself.
Harry spotted Sirius and broke into a run. The hug that followed was the kind that didn't care who was watching.
"Welcome back," Sirius said, over Harry's head. He was smiling at all of them.
A quieter voice cut through the platform noise. "Draco."
Narcissa Malfoy stood a few steps off, composed and unhurried. Draco crossed to her immediately. She put her hand on his shoulder and looked at him the way mothers looked at sons they'd been worried about.
"Sirius." A small nod.
"Narcissa." He returned it, and if there was old history in the pause between them, it had worn smooth enough not to catch. "Long time."
"It has been." She glanced at Kevin. "Kevin — it's wonderful to see you. You and your friends are welcome at the manor whenever you like."
Kevin had his reservations about Lucius. The man had spent years being an obstacle in one form or another. But Narcissa was something else — she'd protected her family the only way available to her, and then she'd helped Kevin when it cost her something. He didn't hold grudges against people who'd paid their debts.
"I'll take you up on that," he said, and meant it.
They were nearly at the street when Ron, trailing slightly, said: "Lucius loaded Voldemort's diary into Ginny's books back in second year. He knew what it was."
It landed like a stone in still water. A brief, cold silence.
Then Kevin's brain snagged on something.
Lucius had handled one of the Horcruxes.
Which meant Voldemort had trusted people to hold them. Which meant other Death Eaters might have others. Which meant the Hufflepuff Cup — the one remaining Horcrux they couldn't locate — might not be in a cave or a ruin. It might be with someone.
Kevin filed the thought away and said nothing. But his pace shifted slightly, becoming purposeful.
He'd visit Malfoy Manor soon.
Three Ministry inspectors walked into Gringotts in the late afternoon, moving with the stiff authority of people who expected to be obeyed.
"Department of Magical Law Enforcement." The lead inspector slid documentation across the counter — a death certificate, clean and stamped, and a seizure warrant. "We're here to take possession of Bellatrix Lestrange's vault."
The goblin behind the counter examined the papers without any visible change of expression. He turned, checked something in the ledger behind him, and turned back.
"Bellatrix Lestrange closed this vault herself. One month ago. All assets withdrawn."
The inspector's composure cracked. "That's impossible. She was in Ministry custody. She was executed the morning after Voldemort's raid."
"The records indicate otherwise."
"You're lying. You cleared it out yourselves —"
"Gringotts does not lie to its clients." The goblin's tone hadn't changed. It was the tone of an institution that had been operating for nine hundred years and expected to be operating for nine hundred more. "If you wish to dispute our accounting, the appropriate channels are available to you."
The inspector's voice rose. The other two shifted uncomfortably behind him.
It was true enough that goblins had been known to quietly liquidate unclaimed vaults — a death certificate voided a contract, and a voided contract was technically an invitation. They'd done it before and would do it again, always with the serenity of entities whose claim on other people's gold was backed by several centuries of legal precedent.
But this was something different.
Bellatrix had been in the deepest cell in Azkaban's secondary wing. No visitors. No owls. No access of any kind. The Ministry had been meticulous about it, especially with Voldemort's recent boldness.
She couldn't have walked out, used Polyjuice, tapped her vault, shut it down, and walked back in.
Which meant someone had walked out for her.
The inspector knew this. The goblin knew this. Neither of them was going to say it on record.