Angelina and the twins were led outside through a vine-wrapped portico. For an hour, they walked the thin paths that crossed the castle grounds, had a go at the impossibly winding hedge maze, and peeked into the foggy root cellar where Rupert kept his magical herbs, before they reentered the colonnade to sneak down a narrow corridor. The further they went, the blander it was in comparison to the rest of the house. But Lee insisted. He preferred to use the servant's staircase.

When he opened the door at the end of a modest hallway, Fred and George expected to be shown a massive bedroom stuffed to the gills with every toy known to wizardkind. They were pleasantly surprised to discover that it was spectacularly normal. In fact, Lee's bedroom wasn't that dissimilar to their room at the Burrow. The only difference being that his walls weren't crumbling like the crust on one of their mother's meat pies.

"Caught you off guard, didn't I?" Lee said proudly, as he nodded to the brightly colored walls. They were plastered haphazardly with enchanted posters of every Quidditch team in action. A few team robes were scattered about from famous players, all of them signed.

"This is glorious," Fred declared.

"It's the smallest room in the house. Used to be a closet dedicated to Mum's hobby. Prophecies, and that. Figments to materialize, she calls them."

"You should not insult your mother, Master Lee," Rupert protested as he rushed to the windows. He pulled back the drapes and gave them a good shake. Lee ignored him with a laugh.

"Truth is, she doesn't understand her prophecies," he continued while rolling a battered Quaffle back and forth in his hands. "They're more like daydreams, to be honest. Real prophecies put you in a trance or something. Only time I've seen Mum in a trance is when Dad finds her in the shops trying to buy some decorative kit for her crystal ball collection. She's got one in nearly every room. Don't believe me? Start looking."

"Why one in every room?" Angelina inquired.

"In case she has... a revelation," he said in a misty voice.

Rupert sent Lee a blistering glare and left the room muttering about escaping through the dumbwaiter. In no time at all, they were sitting on the floor, arms deep in Famous Witches and Wizards cards. The rarest of the bunch were kept in spello-phane sleeves — the most valuable being the card for Vindictus Viridian that had changed after the events of their first year.

"And he's the best dueling champion in existence," Lee read, as he turned the card over. "I'd be surprised if that's correct."

"I'm surprised your parents let you eat this many Chocolate Frogs," said Fred.

"They didn't, sadly. I was ordered to release them into the wild. Pathetic little things never got more than a few feet out in the forest. Didn't have the heart to explain the charm to Mum and Dad after they'd melted."

Fred sat up a little straighter. "Your parents melted? But... but we just saw them downstairs!"

Angelina was quiet as the boys laughed. "That's awful. What suffering..."

"Come off it," George sighed. "The frogs are made of chocolate."

"I know that. I'm not stupid."

"Are you sure?"

She lifted her chin. "I don't think you want to go comparing IQ's with that brain of yours."

George looked to his brother. "What's an IQ?"

"And there we have it. Miss Johnson catches the Golden Snitch," Angelina replied smartly.

"That's my brain, I'll have you know," Fred countered, resetting the mood considerably. He turned to Lee. "Speaking of Quidditch, where's this collection you're always raving about?"

"I've got a few things dotted about up here, but the best stuff is downstairs," said Lee, whispering very fast. "I'm sure my father won't mind if I show you, as long as Rupert accompanies us."

"It would be my pleasure, Master Lee."

"Ahh!"

They all hopped in place as the well-dressed elf sauntered out from behind the bed. He had been hiding in the room the entire time.

"How did we not see you there?"

"A Wizard's Gentleman has his tricks, Master Fred."

"Look at that," said George. "He can tell us apart."

"Just like the house-elves at Hogwarts," Fred agreed.

Rupert blinked slowly, a small vein in his forehead thumping. "If you would... please, do not group me with their ilk. They are hardly reputable."

"Certainly."

"Never again."

A few minutes later, Fred, George, Lee, and Angelina were descending yet another staircase to the lower levels of the castle. There was much to take in, but they were too deep in conversation about Charlie to comment. Lee had to keep pestering them with questions so they'd stop staring at such things like a ten-pin bowling alley, a towering library, and a sunlit menagerie of thick green topiaries pruned to resemble every sort of magical beast.

"Who, in their right mind, wouldn't leave school to play Quidditch professionally?"

"He's team Captain. Charlie knows Gryffindor is counting on him," said George.

"Minus you, apparently," Fred clarified.

Lee shook his head. "And for Britain! Nothing would hold me back."

"Your father would never allow you to leave Hogwarts," said Angelina.

"It's the opportunity that matters. That's what gets to me," George lamented. "This sort of thing doesn't happen to people in our family."

"Family."

"Indeed, there is nothing as important as family!"

The four of them stopped on the landing and faced the canvases on the wall. Two very long portraits in gilded gold frames were smiling down at them, all too eager to join the conversation. The first was a stunning black woman in a crimson gown, a glowing wand in one hand, a very green lizard in the other. She had a familiar smile and a penetrating gaze that made her seem alive. In the painting beside the woman stood a man with an astute expression who resembled Lee's father perfectly. He held a Moorish sword, a spyglass on his hip. The same spyglass that Fred and George had once borrowed from Lee's trunk without asking. When Rupert heard their voices, he bowed low.

"Great-grandfather. Great-grandmother," said Lee with a measured breath. "These are my mates. Angelina Johnson and Fred and George Weasley."

"Welcome," said the portrait of his Great-grandfather. He had a robust voice that carried into the chamber below them.

"I just love meeting new people," Lee's Great-grandmother said loftily. She crouched down to look at the twins. "Now, which one's which?"

"Neither."

"We're wizards."

"And funny to boot," she said with a delicate grin.

"Taking them to the vault, are we?" asked the man shrewdly.

Rupert stood at attention. "They will be under constant supervision, I assure you."

"I'm showing them Dad's broomstick collection."

"Very good. You be careful, now. My grandson would go berserk if any of his broomsticks were damaged."

"Ten-four, Grandma," Fred assured the painting.

"Nice to meet you," Angelina called back, as they continued down the stairs and toward yet another corridor.

Scant light splashed across the polished marble floors. The twins walked carefully along, hearing their hand-me-down shoes squeak with every step. Rupert scurried ahead to light the candle brackets with a wick at the end of a pole. After a few quiet minutes, Lee stopped at a set of double doors that were unique to the décor of the castle. The wood was stained red and there were rough iron straps and nail heads making it seem like the entrance to an entirely different structure. But their curiosity had to wait because the room was locked. The four of them had to stand in the awkward silence until Rupert finished illuminating the corridor to his liking. The house-elf produced a shiny key from the front pocket of his robe and approached the doors as another one of Lee's ancestors gazed down at them from a nearby portrait.

"Broomstick collection, huh?" Fred asked, raising his eyebrows in readiness.

"Oh, there's much more than broomsticks beyond these doors," Lee said, as Rupert fit his key into the lock.