Later that night Delilah was sat on the bed examining the cloak. She'd seen Harry with it of course but she'd never actually held it or been this close to it before. It was odd. The fabric was thick and sturdy, one would make the assumption it would then also be heavy but it was remarkably light for the sheer size of it. She could feel the magic though, it was palpable. If she closed her eyes and focused she could almost feel each thread humming with its ancient magic.

She was beyond curious what it was made of. If one were to take the Tale of the Three Brother's literally, then it wouldn't be of this world. It came from beyond, something humans wouldn't have a grasp at understanding. Yet as she looked at it, it genuinely just did appear to be thread. Obviously it was enchanted with the ability to make the user invisible and its effects never wore out with age unlike others on the market. Delilah traced a nail over the pattern, curiouser and curiouser.

There was a knock on the door and she looked up. Tom was leaning in the doorway, wearing a pair of fresh clothes and his hair was damp from his shower. "Anything?"

She shrugged and splayed the cloak out. "I could try to run a more complex diagnostic on it but I don't think it will tell us much. Whatever they did to reinforce it isn't something I'm familiar with."

"Would you be able to look into traces of certain rituals?"

She raised a brow at him. "What did you have in mind?"

Tom walked further into the room, running his hand through his hair to push back the wet curls that were beginning to hang in his eyes. "Blood magic, possibly. Darker magic is usually easier to pick up but considering how old it is the chances may be slim."

Biting her cheek, she looked back down at the cloak and grabbed her wand. Her mind trailed through all the diagnostic spells she knew. Most of them were of medicinal purposes, which at the moment were useless. Simple spell detection charms wouldn't work either, given they'd been tried and tested. All they would tell her was that yes, the cloak was magical. Her mind raced, thinking back on everything she knew about incantations and trying to pick it apart until she found something.

"Invenire Incantatem Sanguis."

Her voice was a whisper as her wand hovered over the cloak. For a moment nothing happened and her shoulders began to deflate. Then suddenly there was a blinding burst of red light. It completely encompassed the cloak and for a moment of horror Delilah thought she had set it ablaze.

Tom's eyes were wide, flicking back and forth between Delilah and the glowing cloak of invisibility.

It was covered in bright, scarlet runes.

"Oh my God," she whispered. Not quite believing what she was looking at. It was littered in runes so ancient some were completely unrecognizable to her. They seemed to cover every inch of the fabric, the intricate detail of the thread appearing non-existent under the magical markings. She tried to make out a few, but the longer she looked at it the more it began to hurt her eyes.

They started to burn and she blinked rapidly as they began to water, she made out the markings of Protection and Longevity but her head began to hurt as if a migraine was taking root. She looked away, pressing her palms tightly into her eyes.

Tom's eyes began to sting as well, so much so that he could barely keep them open. He waved his hand, wandlessly casting Finite Incantatum and the glowing ceased. The room appeared dark for a few moments, as if he had just come inside from looking directly at the sun. Eventually it cleared, everything bleeding back into technicolor and he let out a stunned breath.

He had been right.

Delilah stared at the cloak, tears still in her eyes from the pain. The Peverell's had used blood magic to create the Deathly Hallows, at least the cloak as far as they knew. "Should we try the ring?"

Tom shook his head and ran a hand over his mouth. "We should wait. That was... I don't know if that will have lasting damage on vision or not." Everytime he blinked he felt like he could still see the runes, shining white as they floated around the room before fading.

"Did you recognize any of them?"

"Only a few. Besides being flashbanged, I don't recognize a lot of them so it was hard to make out. They're very old." She rubbed at her eyes again before folding up the cloak, looking at it now with a certain weariness. Blood magic was dark, nasty business. Nothing good usually came of it. Not to mention it was practically impossible to undo, especially if the original caster wasn't there to see the process through.

Setting down the cloak on the desk next to all his notes, she spotted The Tales of Beedle the Bard. "Why make up such a story? What was the point?"

He came to stand beside her and rested his hands on the back of the chair, eyeing the cloak in a newfound curiosity. "To give people something to believe in, I suppose. History loves to make a lesson out of things."

Delilah hummed. "Or maybe give them nothing to believe in at all. Most people think it's a fairytale. If people knew it was blood magic, they'd all be under lock and key. I suppose this book kept them well hidden." She tapped the cover with a nail but her brows furrowed. "Why even create them if it wasn't to– oh. People love a turn of phrase."

"Of course they do. Like any mere mortal, they wanted to cheat death. Parading around dark magic wouldn't have gotten them very far. Though I suppose it didn't in the end, at least for two of them. Ignotus had been the clever one." He sighed as spun his ring around his finger. His exhaustion started to creep up on him, but with the newfound knowledge of the origins of the Hallows who saw sleep alluding him for perhaps another day.

She eyed him for a moment, her brows furrowed as she took him in. He looked a bit gaunt, all puns aside. She knew he didn't sleep much to begin with but lately it was becoming worrisome. Circles bloomed out from beneath his eyes and his cheekbones stood out even more prominently. Sure, he seemed to fall asleep a bit easier around her but he woke up often.

"Is there any chance in you resting?"

Tom slanted his gaze down to hers and that was all the answer she needed. Blowing a strand piece of hair out of her face she turned back to his desk and picked up one of his journals that had his notes on the Hallows in it. "Me neither, what are you wanting to work on?"

He considered her for a moment, thinking back to his mental checklist he had made. "What can you tell me about runic magic? Anything that you can remember."

She couldn't help the smug gleam in her eye at the fact she knew more about something than he did but she decided she wasn't in the mood to gloat. "Of what I know about written runic magic, I know it's extremely tedious. I've never exactly dabbled. What I used on you wasn't necessarily organic. Hermione taught me a modification. It's still powerful, but nowhere near as permanent or effective." She drew the symbol for protection into the wood of the table with her finger. "Runes take, though. That's where their power comes from. You. Be wary of what's given away because they'll take twice as much, if not more depending on what you're trying to do."

Delilah then drew longevity with her finger. "It can be hard to put a cap on how much magic you're channeling into the symbols. If you're high on adrenaline, paying attention and knowing your limit is vital." She gave him a pointed look. "Which I know for you will be difficult."

His eye twitched as they narrowed. "I have remarkable impulse control."

She scoffed. "Sure. I've seen you around certain magic, runes are going to be a great temptation once they're cast. As for blood magic and runes..." she shivered, not even being able to fathom what it took. The stronger the rune needed to be, the more blood. Delilah looked at the cloak and felt an uncomfortable churn in her stomach.

Tom nodded after a moment and sat down at the desk, moving some papers around as he considered how blood could influence the potency of runes. His eyes caught on what he was looking for and then handed it to Delilah.

Taking it from his grasp, she frowned.

"The Philosopher's Stone?"

He nodded and lit a cigarette. "What do you know about it?"

Delilah shrugged and eyed what notes he had. "Same as you. Not much research on it." She then looked at him in suspicion. "You're not planning on kidnapping Flamel are you?"

He smiled at her though it lacked warmth. "If the opportunity arises."

Rolling her eyes she set the paper back down and walked over to the bed, plopping herself onto the old wool covers. "We could try and talk to him, though that would raise obvious concerns." She gnawed at her lips as she thought what other avenues were available to them. "How expansive are the libraries at any of the guys' houses?"

Tom paused. Lestrange or Malfoy would be their best bet to find anything of use. Although the Lestrange family would prove themselves to be on the trickier side of things in regard to Grindelwald. There had been no outright claim of their support to the dark wizard but Pyrrhus had been hearing whispers. The Malfoy's, for the most part, stayed polarized. Grindelwald was being too noisy for them to truly adorn the title of an acolyte. "We could attempt Malfoy's."

Delilah nodded but stared down at her feet, trying to ignore the sudden itch of the scars on her back. She could handle being in the Manor again, she knew she could. The horror's she had experienced were yet to come, though she was sure the house probably had a long history of atrocities that the world needn't know about. Besides, there were bigger things at stake that outweighed her need to avert a traumatic episode.

Polished leather shoes suddenly came into her line of sight and she looked up at Tom, who had come to stand in front of her. His eyes were half lidded as he looked down at her, a slight crease between his brows. "Will you be alright?"

As she looked over his face she took in the contours of it with such admiration one could consider her a deranged artist obsessed with perfection. Gazing at every line made by his natural beauty as if she were Basil Hallward worshiping the creation that was Dorian Gray. She treasured these parts of him. The ones he kept secret and held close to his chest. A deck of mysteries not often shown to the light of day but if he decided to play a hand, it was a marvel. She still didn't understand him, even after all this time. The question of why he wanted her eluded Delilah. Truly, why her?

"I'll be fine." She finally managed, feeling light headed. He didn't look like he believed her but it didn't matter. "Let's go find Abraxas."

He blinked at them. "What?"

Tom rolled his jaw in impatience. "Malfoy Manor. Would it be feasible to relocate there or will your parents kick up a fuss?"

The blond fell silent as he looked between the couple, fully convinced they'd lost their minds. "I mean, technically but—"

"But?"

Abraxas sighed and leaned back in his chair. He knew he was being selfish for not wanting to go back home even if it was a stepping stone towards progress. He simply hated being there. The house was too big, too cold, and too empty. He wouldn't mind seeing his Mum but he had been doing his absolute best to avoid seeing his father. Abraxas knew the minute he walked through the front doors he'd be bombarded with lectures of the family legacy, up keeping tradition, looking into working for the Ministry, et cetera et cetera. He had a headache just thinking about it.

Domestic scruples aside, he knew this was important.

Rubbing his eyes tiredly, he caved. "Fine. Alright. I'll send an owl and we can disapparate to Wiltshire."

The world spun and stretched before slamming back into focus as they landed in the small hollow that was down the acreage from Malfoy Manor.

Delilah looked around at the quaint village. It was rather cute, if she were honest. Not at all a reflection of the shadow that lurked beyond the hills. There was a book shop, a cafe, some restaurants, a tailor and more little shops one could find for all their needs. It was a painfully normal and average wizarding town and she couldn't help but wonder how the Malfoy's played into all this. They were the family of Wiltshire, she had almost been convinced there would be shrines everywhere.

Her eyes found Abraxas. The man looked rather resigned as he gazed around the place he grew up, fondness not being found in his features and it looked like he couldn't have cared less about the village. She knew how Draco had been raised, she could only assume it was generational and it hurt to know where Lucius might've gotten his parenting skills from.

Abraxas sighed and started to walk up a trail that was lined in old cobblestones. "Boldness, be my friend." He muttered Cymbeline under his breath as they began the trek up to the manor. The wards on the massive house were ancient, thus no one could disapparate inside. She wondered why Abraxas wouldn't be able to, at the very least, since he was the heir.

"The security measures are a bit dramatic but necessary all the same, I suppose." Abraxas had said as everyone got together their belongings at the Inn. "The wards at the edge of the property won't let anyone in unless it detects Malfoy blood. Then once it knows I've invited you in, you'll be able to pass onto the grounds."

Delilah bit at the inside of her cheek as she turned the words over. The wards on the manor must've been thousands of years old. The fact that they held that long made her wonder about their creation. Had runes or blood magic been involved? It wouldn't have been the most outlandish idea.

After about twenty minutes they passed over another rolling hill before the manor reared its dark, impendingly eerie head. Her jaw clenched as she kept waking, taking in the sight of the massive structure. To be fair, the architecture was beautiful. Perhaps she could appreciate it for what it was worth in the sunlight of summer.

It was three stories tall, a fourth was added at each corner that had a towering structure with pointed roofs. The stone was old but well kept and the thousands of window panes glittered in the sunlight. Hedges lined the walkway behind the large gates, trimmed to obsessive perfection and white roses adorned each side of the front door.

Abraxas walked up to the gates and paused. His hand flexed at his side, as if building up courage, before he placed a hand on the wrought iron gate. The air then seemed to hum with magic before they swung inward. He turned to the group, a tight and strained smile on his face.

"Welcome to Malfoy Manor."