He scanned the walls until he found the section of ancestry he was most familiar with. Born a Malfoy, and technically not a Black, he knew his father’s lineage as far back as their ancestors in medieval France, but Narcissa only sought to teach him about their more immediate family on her side. He ran his fingers across the portrait of his mother, she couldn’t have been older than nineteen, around the age she married his father. Following the gold thread from her portrait, he connected her to Lucius, and it was the first time in a long while that he had thought about his father. Rotting away in Azkaban after sacrificing his family to a madman, he didn’t feel anything but numbness for the man.