Cassandra let out a long breath of relief only after Christine's figure disappeared into the grand hall ahead. Maintaining her composure, she turned and left without a backward glance.
After finishing breakfast in her family's dining room, Cassandra suddenly turned to Christine, who was also seated at the table, and said,
"I want to see my father."
Christine did not react hastily. Instead, she picked up a napkin and elegantly dabbed the corner of her mouth before giving a slight nod to a nearby wizard. At her signal, the wizard rose and motioned for Cassandra to follow him upstairs.
When the wizard pushed open a door, Thomas Vole's figure came into view.
He was no longer bound to a chair and could move freely—at least within the confines of this room.
Seeing his daughter step inside, Thomas Vole gave a bitter smile, his voice laced with guilt as he said,
"I'm sorry, Cassandra. This year, I wasn't able to prepare a Christmas gift for you."
Hearing those words, Cassandra's eyes turned red in an instant. She shook her head repeatedly, stepping into the room and helping her father to the bedside.
"Father, just one more day… One more day, and we'll be safe."
She spoke with hopeful anticipation, sitting close beside him.
But Thomas Vole merely shook his head, his expression dim.
"I told you before, Cassandra. If their plan truly succeeds, then we will lose all our value. They won't let us go. And now, we're trapped here, completely cut off from the outside world—especially the Ministry of Magic. No one is coming to save us."
Cassandra glanced toward the door and, upon confirming that the wizard who had escorted her had left, leaned closer and whispered,
"Father, when I sent the invitations to Wentworth and the others, as they instructed, I told them you had returned safely. But now, with you missing for so long, perhaps… perhaps they'll sense that something is wrong."
Thomas Vole, however, did not seem hopeful. He responded absentmindedly,
"If they truly noticed something, then the Aurors should have arrived by now. In the end, they're just a group of eleven- and twelve-year-old children."
Cassandra, however, disagreed. Shaking her head, she said,
"I believe that the new leader of the Pureblood Party isn't some slow-witted fool. Don't forget—his surname is Grindelwald. At the very least, we still have some value left."
At that, she gave a bitter smile.
Meanwhile, in the Greengrass manor, Wentworth sat with Rosier and Abernathy, surrounded by a gathering of wizards, as they discussed the next day's plan.
Although it was called a discussion, Wentworth spent most of the time listening—after all, he had no experience with such matters.
Abernathy, however, spoke loudly,
"If you ask me, there's nothing to discuss. Rosier, you take your men and station them outside, cast an Anti-Apparition Jinx over the area, and I'll lead the charge inside! It's just a manor—do you really think it's stronger than the Magical Congress of the United States or the British Ministry of Magic?"
A chorus of agreement followed his words, and Auston Greengrass immediately stepped forward, declaring,
"I volunteer to be the vanguard! I'll be the first to charge in!"
But before Auston could finish speaking, a cold, eerie voice came from behind him,
"Kid, we're not that old yet. If you want to be the vanguard, wait until I can't lift my wand anymore."
Auston turned to see the speaker—Carrow, clad in tattered robes.
Auston prided himself on his noble heritage, but in the presence of this old wizard—who not only hailed from one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight but had once served as a close follower of Gellert Grindelwald decades ago—he quickly fell silent.
However, not everyone agreed with the direct assault. Some suggested infiltrating under the cover of night, which would grant them an early advantage and minimize casualties.
Others even proposed alerting the British Ministry of Magic, letting the Aurors deal with it while the Pureblood Party merely watched from a safe distance.
As the debate grew heated, Rosier cleared her throat. The room fell silent as all eyes turned to her. However, instead of speaking, Rosier simply tilted her head toward Wentworth.
Noticing this, Abernathy leaned close to Wentworth and whispered,
"Wentworth, what do you think we should do?"
Wentworth responded with a small smile,
"I believe we need two plans. The first one is simple—we storm in. Those who want me dead don't deserve mercy. Leave two of them alive; the rest… their fate is their own."
"And the second plan?" Abernathy prompted.
Wentworth's smile deepened.
"The second plan… requires more thought. Because what I want to do is—"
That night, the Greengrass estate remained brightly lit, figures moving in and out of the halls.
At the same time, over at the Vole manor, no one slept.
Christine was making last-minute arrangements, Thomas Vole paced restlessly in his room, sighing repeatedly, and Cassandra sat quietly by her window, gazing out toward the manor's entrance. There, propped against the wall, was a sleek, dazzling broomstick.
The next morning, the day marked on Cassandra's invitation had arrived.
Wentworth arrived a few minutes early, waiting in a secluded forest near the Vole estate. Abernathy was already there.
"How's the situation? Anything unusual?" Wentworth asked impatiently.
Abernathy shook his head slowly.
"Nothing. Apart from the house-elves and servants bustling about, I've seen no other activity."
But that wasn't what Wentworth was really asking. He moved stealthily to the edge of the forest, hiding behind a tree, and peered toward the Vole estate—as if searching for something.
Then he saw it.
Near the entrance of the manor, leaning quietly against the wall, was the broomstick.
Wentworth smiled. Turning to Abernathy and Rosier, he ordered,
"Give the signal—proceed with the second plan."
Abernathy hesitated for a moment but said nothing. He simply turned and left.
Rosier, however, stepped closer and asked,
"Wentworth, may I ask why?"
Wentworth then told him about the origami crane.
Frowning, Rosier said,
"If that's the case, based on the drawing you left for Cassandra on the crane, shouldn't you be leaving instead? I'm curious—if that broomstick hadn't been there, what would you have done?"
Wentworth's expression remained calm as he replied,
"I would've stormed in, of course. The figure in the drawing wasn't me—it was all of you. As for the consequences… well, I'd leave that to fate."
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