Skulking Around

Cassiopeia clinked her goblet against Harry’s, a determined glint in her eyes. "To family—reclaimed." Pansy joined in, her smile fierce. "And to not getting hexed in the process."

They lingered over the remnants of the meal, savouring the last bites of treacle tart, the sticky sweetness a counterpoint to the tension building in the air. Harry pushed his plate aside, wiping his hands on a napkin as the room's magic whisked away the empty dishes, leaving the table pristine. Pansy stretched, letting out a satisfied groan. "That was better than anything the house-elves whip up in the Great Hall. But if we're doing this tonight, we should move. The later it gets, the more suspicious a sudden visit might seem."

"Agreed," Cassiopeia said, rising smoothly from her chair. She smoothed her robes, her posture shifting back to that poised elegance. "We'll need to be discreet—Apparate to the grounds, then slip in through a side entrance I know. The wards recognize me, but they'll alert if we trigger anything overt."

Harry stood as well, his mind racing ahead. Discreet was key, especially with potential **** Eater eyes on the Manor. He thought of his Invisibility Cloak, tucked away in his dormitory trunk—perfect for cover if needed. But fetching it now would waste time, and explaining a detour might raise questions. As the girls turned toward the door, he hung back a step, murmuring under his breath to the empty air, "My Invisibility Cloak is in my pocket, brought with me from the dorms without anyone noticing."

A familiar silken weight settled into his robe pocket, cool and fluid against his fingers. He patted it discreetly, satisfaction blooming. "I've got an idea for extra cover," he said casually, catching up to them. "My dad's old Invisibility Cloak—grabbed it on a whim before coming here. We can use it to approach the Manor unseen, just in case."

Pansy's eyebrows shot up, impressed. "The famous Potter heirloom? Handy. Didn't know you carried it around like that."

Cassiopeia nodded approvingly. "Smart. Mother's not one for surprises, but better safe than stunned."

They stepped into the corridor, the Room of Requirement's door vanishing behind them like a secret sealed. The castle halls were quiet, students tucked into common rooms or beds, the occasional ghost drifting by without a glance.

Harry led them toward a secluded alcove near the entrance hall, a spot he'd used before for covert exits. "Apparition from here—straight to the Manor's outer wards. Cass, you guide us in."

As they huddled close, wands at the ready, Harry felt the familiar twist of nerves before a risky move. Apparition into potentially hostile territory was dicey; the crack could echo, alerting elves or worse. He needed it silent, seamless. While Pansy and Cassiopeia focused on visualizing the destination—Cass murmuring coordinates from memory—he whispered faintly, barely audible even to himself, "We three Apparate to Malfoy Manor's grounds undetected, silent and invisible to any wards or watchers until we choose otherwise."

The world compressed with a muted pop, softer than a whisper, spinning them through the void. Moments later, they materialized in the shadow of ancient yew hedges lining the Manor's sprawling estate, the night air crisp with the scent of dew-kissed grass. No alarms wailed, no lights flared in the distant windows. The Manor loomed ahead, a silhouette of pointed towers and gothic arches under the moonless sky, as still as a held breath.

Pansy exhaled slowly, glancing around. "That was... smooth. No splinching, no fuss. You're getting better at this, Harry."

He shrugged, hiding a smirk. "Practice makes perfect. Lead on, Cass—time to chat with your mum."

Cassiopeia nodded, her silver-blonde hair swaying as she gestured toward a winding path through the manicured gardens, the hedges whispering in the night breeze. "This way—stick close. The main gates are too obvious; we'll use the servant's entrance near the east wing. It's less warded."

They moved as a unit, footsteps muffled on the gravel by the lingering effects of Harry's whispered command, the invisibility wrapping them like a veil. The Manor grew larger, its pale stone facade gleaming under starlight, windows dark save for a few flickering candlelights.

Cassiopeia paused at a wrought-iron side door, her hand pressing against a concealed rune that glowed faintly under her touch. The lock clicked open without a sound, admitting them into a dimly lit corridor lined with portraits of stern ancestors, their eyes seeming to follow the empty air.

"First, the library," she murmured, leading them down a series of twisting halls, past suits of armour that stood sentinel and tapestries depicting ancient wizarding triumphs.

The door to the library creaked open at her wand's flick, revealing a cavernous room that stretched two stories high, shelves groaning under the weight of leather-bound tomes, crystal chandeliers hovering aloft like captured stars. Ladders on rails promised access to forbidden knowledge, and the air carried the rich scent of aged parchment and polished wood.

Harry let out a low whistle, pulling back the edge of his cloak just enough to take it in. "Blimey, this place is massive. Hermione would be in heaven here—probably camp out for weeks."

At the mention of Hermione, Cassiopeia's shoulders stiffened, her eyes narrowing as she shot him a sharp look over her shoulder. "Don't mention that girl's name in this house." Her tone was clipped, laced with unmistakable disdain.

Harry blinked, falling silent as they slipped back under full cover.

Right, he thought, we're dating, close as can be, but she still holds onto those old blood purity views from her Draco days. Makes sense—power like mine changed her form and some loyalties, but not every ingrained bias overnight.

He kept the observation to himself, focusing on the path ahead.

"Nothing here," Cassiopeia whispered after a quick scan of the shadowed alcoves and reading nooks. "She must be in Father's study—next place to check. Follow me."

They continued through the echoing halls, up a grand staircase carpeted in deep green, portraits murmuring faintly as if sensing intruders but unable to pinpoint them. Cassiopeia navigated with ease, her familiarity a silent guide, until they reached a heavy oak door etched with serpentine motifs.

She eased it open with a gentle push, the hinges silent from years of meticulous elf maintenance, revealing Lucius's study: a sanctum of dark mahogany desks cluttered with quills and inkwells, a glowing fireplace casting flickering warmth across walls lined with cabinets of curious artifacts—crystal vials bubbling faintly, ancient scrolls sealed with wax, and a massive globe that spun lazily on its axis, charting stars or perhaps something more arcane.

There, bent over the desk under the soft glow of a levitating orb that hovered like a captive moon, was her mother, slender fingers sifting through stacks of parchments that appeared dense with seals, ledgers filled with meticulous script, and what looked like confidential missives—perhaps estate records tangled with alliances, financial webs, or the shadowy dealings of a family teetering on the edge of ruin. Her pale face was etched with concentration, brows furrowed in the firelight, utterly unaware of the invisible trio slipping inside, the door clicking shut behind them like the closing of a trap.