Forsaken Bloodlines {HP x GOT}

Chapter 6.9: Malfoy Manor

Molly handed her a small pouch of food, tucking it gently into her cloak.

"You'll be back," Molly said, not asking but insisting.

"I will," Lyanna whispered. "When it's time."

Remus stood by the door, watching her. "We'll be ready."

She nodded.

As they stepped into the cold, Tom glanced back once.

No more words were needed.

They walked quickly and in silence, not Apparating, not conjuring portals. Any sudden spikes of magic would draw attention, and neither of them wanted that. Lyanna had traced a path based on patterns she'd observed in Voldemort's movement—how his forces avoided certain old Muggle towns, how they shifted their guards around key locations.

Tom watched her as she moved, hood drawn low, cloak fluttering in the wind. There was a fire in her he'd only seen glimpses of before. She was focused, calculated—but burning with quiet resolve.

"The Northerner in you really show." He nodded. "Not in a bad way."

"Well," she said simply, "I can't deny it. She cold never really bothered me anyway."

They continued walking. Through frost-covered woods. Across quiet rivers. Past ruins of homes long abandoned.

They found shelter in a Muggle safehouse hidden by old enchantments, long forgotten by most of the magical world. Inside, it was quiet. Cold, but safe.

A fire crackled low in the hearth. Tom sat across from it, eyes glowing faintly in the light. He was watching the paper again—the burned edges of Hermione's message still resting on the table between them.

"We can't reach them directly," he said.

Lyanna leaned on the table, fingers tapping against the wood. "I know. By now, they could be on their way to God knows where."

~~~

The snow crunched softly beneath their boots as Lyanna and Tom pushed forward through the wintry woods, the trees casting long shadows under the pale morning sun. It had been days since they left Grimmauld Place, and though they had followed every trace of magical disturbance, every faint residue of enchantment left in the air, they still hadn't found the trio. The world around them felt eerily silent, as though the forest itself were holding its breath.

Tom said nothing, but Lyanna could sense his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. His magic flared slightly every time they came up empty-handed. And yet, despite the weariness in his eyes and the cold air stinging his skin, he kept going.

They stopped by a frozen stream to rest for a few moments. Lyanna pulled her cloak tighter around herself, glancing sideways at Tom. He stood with his hands tucked into his coat, face tilted up toward the sky, the wind brushing a few stray strands of black hair across his forehead.

She studied him for a moment longer, then spoke quietly.
"Happy birthday."

Tom blinked and turned toward her slowly. "...You remembered?"

She smiled faintly. "It's December 31st, isn't it?"

He looked almost amused. "I suppose it is. I stopped keeping track of those a long time ago. Didn't seem important."

Lyanna nudged a fallen log with her foot and sat down on it. "Well, it matters to me. You were born. That counts for something."

There was a long silence as Tom slowly sat beside her, his expression unreadable. "I never had anyone say that to me," he admitted. "Not genuinely, anyway."