Plan, Dobby and Harry (4)

"Dobby has to go," it told itself, its voice so soft that even it could barely hear it. "Dobby can't let Mr. Potter be harmed."

It stood up, then remained where it was for a few more seconds.

Then it took a deep breath, closed its eyes, and Apparated.

Only a dim wall lamp remained in the servants' quarters, along with a faint, fading ripple of magic in the air.

In the study of the master bedroom at Malfoy Manor, Lucius Malfoy stood before the window with a cup of freshly brewed black tea in his hand. His gaze was not on the moonlit garden outside, but angled slightly toward the manor's southern basement.

He had sensed it. An incredibly subtle magical ripple in the air, like someone tossing a pebble onto water—House-Elf Apparition, without the Floo Network, without a Portkey, relying purely on the House-Elves' magical system, utterly different from that of wizards.

Ordinary wizards could not sense such a disturbance, but Lucius was no ordinary wizard anymore.

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

"Safe travels, Dobby," he murmured, taking a sip of tea before turning back to his desk to continue dealing with the mountain of documents.

Hogwarts Castle's defensive wards were practically nonexistent to House-Elves. This ancient magic, laid down jointly by the four founders and said to resist all outside invaders, had included a back door from the very beginning—because the House-Elves who cooked, cleaned, lit fires, and delivered letters needed to come and go freely, or Hogwarts' daily operations could not possibly be maintained.

Dobby passed through the wall like water seeping through cracks in sand. It materialized in the stairwell of Gryffindor Tower, pressed itself against the wall, and pricked up its ears to listen for movement nearby. No one. It hurried up