A/N: Hey babies! I have some icky news, accompanied by some (I guess) good news! I started college! Freshman of '18, y'all! Unfortunately, this means that, for a little while anyway, I probably won't be able to update as often, if at all. I just need to get adjusted to this new lifestyles, and this sudden spurge of independence (yikes). I apologize once again, but I hope y'all understand. Just to clarify, this story is NOT abandoned, I just don't want to promise frequent updates.

Anyway, enjoy this next chapter!

Disclaimer: The spells used in this chapter are from the BBC series "The Adventures of Merlin" and do not belong to me.

Malfoy Manor looked just the same as when he had left; the regal architecture, the high ceilings and grand staircases, and yet, it retained the same cold, empty aura. It had never been a 'homey' abode, and Harry couldn't help but subconsciously compare it to the Weasleys'. The moment he stumbled out of the fireplace, he hastily tugged the invisibility cloak around him tighter, half-afraid that someone was waiting for them in Draco's room.

Draco wasted no time informing him that whatever he was doing there, he wanted no part of it. He wished him good luck, and then promptly disappeared down the hallway. Harry stared after the blonde for a moment, and then turned in the opposite direction. He didn't know precisely what he was looking for, but he had some clue as to where to start.

He came to Lucius's office, and tried the door, but, unsurprisingly, it was locked. He closed his eyes, letting his senses take over, and probed at the force field surrounding the door. He recognized the wards protecting the room; his Master had taught him how to conjure this type of ward, as well as how to break through it. He hadn't realized, apparently, that this parting of knowledge would come back to haunt him.

The interior of the office was fairly unpromising; a mahogany desk sat beneath a window, cluttered with papers, and several dozen bookcases were pressed against the wall, filled with numerous volumes of every size.

After nearly a half an hour of searching, Harry was forced to acknowledge that there was nothing in the room that would help him, though he had stumbled upon some questionable documents:

'Malfoy Heir Nearly Dies At Birth—The Truth About the Hereditary Malfoy Sickness'

As well as numerous lengthy medical records. Harry hadn't been aware, in all of his years there, that any of the Malfoy's had ever gotten sick, not even the common cold. Draco had always bragged that the purity of their bloodline kept their immune systems immaculate. More out of curiosity than actual requisite, he tucked the article into his robes.

He peeked through the doorway, and, after making sure that no one was coming, emerged from the room and quickly re-did the wards. He continued down the hallway, listening warily for any sound of footsteps or voices, but the manor was eerily silent. He searched room after room, but was continually disappointed; quite a few of the rooms were completely empty, devoid of any contents whatsoever.

At the end of the hall was a staircase, and Harry followed it up. He realized, with a jolt, that he had arrived in the hallway where his old room had been. He hesitated, his heart racing, and then crossed the hall in two strides and paused in front of the door, before pushing it open.

Everything was just as he'd left it; his bed unmade, pajamas strewn across the floor, drawers and cabinets open haphazardly. He sunk down onto the mattress in a sort of daze, running his fingers over the fabric of the quilt contemplatively. It was unnerving, actually; his room was a little too untouched. It looked as though the house elves hadn't even been up there…

He pulled the cloak off, casting it onto the bed and crossing the room to stand in front of the mirror that sat across from his bed. It had been mere days—or had at been weeks?—since he had looked into this very same mirror, and seen a completely different person—been a completely different person. Had he changed as much as he felt he had? He felt ten years older.

There was a loud, clattering noise, and he whipped out his wand, immediately on-guard. Pressing himself against the wall, he peered through the crevice in the door. There didn't appear to be anyone in the hallway. Moving nearly silently, he slipped through the door, glancing down the hall in either direction. There was no one in sight. He moved in the direction from which the noise had come. Perhaps it had been his imagination? He was probably just being paranoid—

Boom.

Harry jumped, and then steadied himself, his body automatically tensing into dueling stance as he crept towards the noise; he didn't want to run into Rodolphus or Bellatrix, but if he encountered one of the stupider Death Eaters, maybe they could—

Boom boom boom boom boom.

The noise seemed to echo, and Harry realized it was emanating from the room just up ahead, on his left. The door was shut, but as he drew level with the room, he realized that there were no wards. It wasn't even locked.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, he threw the door open, pointing his wand in front of him, and hurtled into the room, only to find—

Nothing.

The room was completely empty, not a soul in sight, save for a tall, antique-looking cabinet, which seemed to be trembling, and emitting all sorts of strange noises. Harry surveyed it cagily. What could be in there? It didn't sound particularly friendly.

Perhaps if he got close enough, he could crack it open, just enough to get a glimpse…

With resolve, he slunk towards the huge cabinet, footsteps slow and breathing shallow. All it would take would be one good hex…

He carefully undid the latch, and opened one of the doors ever so slowly, attempting to peer into its dark recesses—

Harry was suddenly throw backwards as something burst from the cabinet, knocking both of the doors wide open. He skidded across the floor and slammed against the wall, and the air was momentarily knocked out of his lungs. He finally regained it, but when he looked back up, it promptly flooded out again, like water from the mouth of the Nile.

A medium-sized figure stood in front of him; his skin was pale, and his limbs were lean. He had a mop of curly dark hair atop his head, and dark brown eyes. He met Harry's eyes, and gave him a devilish smirk. Harry attempted to scramble away from the figure, but found himself backed up against the wall. The boy came closer, his strides easy, comfortable, as though Harry wasn't on the verge of dry-heaving in front of him. He knelt down, a few feet away from him, and tapped his wand against his knee.

"You cannot escape it," he whispered, his voice strange, almost hollow. "You cannot run from it."

"Stop it," Harry pleaded, scrunching his eyes shut, cupping his hands over his ears, anything to stop him, anything to keep from listening—

"You will never escape this." His voice seemed to resonate in Harry's mind, banging against the walls of his head. "It is your fate, and fate changes for no man—"

"Stop it!" Harry screamed, but at that moment, the door swung open, and someone entered. Harry's eyes were still squeezed shut, but he felt their hand encircle his collar, felt them drag him across the floor, through the door, and deposit him into the hall. He could feel the figure following, feel its presence hovering close, but then his rescuer slammed the door, locking it for good measure, and the asphyxiating presence vanished.

"Are you mad?" Draco seethed, hauling him to his feet by his collar. Harry blinked open his eyes, staring numbly at the older wizard. "Have you any idea how loud you were being? Luckily, mum's outside, but my father's going to be home in two minutes, and have you any idea what would have happened if it been he who found you?"

Draco took a deep breath, seemingly done rebuking him—for the moment anyway—before glancing over his wayward appearance. "I'm surprised, " he said finally, his voice much more restrained. "With all that fancy dueling you can do, I'd think you'd be able to handle a boggart. I thought you were looking for answers, anyway?"

Harry blinked, his face flushing with embarrassment. Of course it was just a boggart; he'd read about them dozens of times. He now felt terribly ashamed; Master had practiced with him, time and time again, not to let his fears over-take him, and that's exactly what he had done. Draco was right: if anyone else had found him, he would've been in enormous trouble. "I—I panicked," he explained, nearly cursing as he felt his face heat up even more. "And I was—I am—I just got a bit side-tracked."

Draco rolled his eyes in irritation. "Well don't let it happen again," he grumbled. "You've got about an hour before you need to get out of here; the Dark Lord's having a meeting then, and the place'll be swarming."

Harry nodded, turning to make his way up the next set of stairs, but then he turned back to Draco, giving the blonde an awkward smile. "Er…thanks. For—you know."

Draco said nothing, but gave him a curt nod, turning back towards the direction from which he came. "One hour, mate!" He called over his shoulder.

"One hour," Harry breathed, nodding, and hurriedly made his way up the staircase. He was on the highest level of Malfoy Manor. As he passed one of the windows, he could see far out over the orchard, past the property line, to the rolling greens of the country side. He had only been up here once, but he remembered the incident so clearly that a map of this floor was practically engraved into his mind.

He came to the door at the very end of the hall, and immediately cursed. He had never felt wards so strong. The last time he had been here, they hadn't been present. He was positive, because the last time he had been here, he had been twelve, and would have been incapable of undoing basic wards, let alone wards of this nature.

Steeling himself, he pointed his wand at the door, "Aliese."

The door didn't budge. He hadn't really expected it to, with such a weak spell, but he figured it was worth a shot. "Tospringe."

Nothing.

Exhaling in frustration, he cracked his knuckles, glaring at the door as though the force of his gaze could bring it down. Re-positioning himself, he squared his shoulders, and said compellingly, "Abricaþ benda!"

He stared, disbelievingly, at the door, which remained firmly shut. He half-considered blasting it off its hinges, but decided against the idea. Besides, the wards probably wouldn't permit it. "Onluc scrin," he murmured.

"Oncluce þe!"

"Unspanne þás mægþ!"

Harry swiped at his brow, which was now perspiring heavily, and paced back and forth in front of the door. His curiosity was now burning; surely, if this room was guarded this strongly, there must be something of incredible significance within it. He just might never get to see it.

No, he reminded himself. You don't have a choice.

He stopped in front of the door again, raising his wand, and closing his eyes. He used all of his senses again to probe the magic in the air; he could feel it reacting with his own magic, twisting and turning in tendrils of power. He raised his left hand, leaving his wand dangling at his side, and breathed, "Isen fæstnunga onlucan me."

It was not until he heard a faint click that he opened his eyes. The door hung open, and he felt a surge of excitement. Had he really just undone those wards? And wandlessly? His Master would be so impressed—

Harry frowned at the ground, pushing the door open and stepping inside, attempting to steer his train of thoughts from where they had been headed.

For such difficult wards, the inside of the room was hardly impressive, but Harry didn't let that deter him. He first made his way to the wooden chest, which he had seen once before, and knelt in front of it. There was even more useless junk overflowing from the trunk then there had been five years ago, and Harry felt a surge of frustration as he eyed item after item before tossing them aside, unimpressed: a shrunken broomstick, several antique goblets, a battered copy of Tales of Beedle the Bard, a stuffed snowy owl—

He frowned as he picked up the little black book, on the back of which the words Tom Marvolo Riddle were engraved. He flipped through the blank pages once more, glancing over his shoulder every few moments, as though his Master would burst in at any moment and curse him to smithereens. He really didn't see what all the fuss was about; it was just a stupid, empty diary. He had never even heard the name Riddle before; it probably belonged to some stupid Mudblood, though what it was doing locked away in Malfoy Manor, Harry didn't have the faintest idea—

Wait.

All of these things had to have some value, even if they seemed useless to Harry; if there was one thing he knew about his Master, it was that he didn't do things without a reason. If all of this stuff was locked up here, it was because they didn't want anyone to find it.

Should he…take it?

He wasn't really sure what to do with all of it, but maybe he could figure out later if any of it related to him. Making up his mind, he began to haphazardly shove things into the folds of his robes. When he ran out of room there, he withdrew a sack from the bottom of the trunk—useful—and cast an undetectable extension charm on it, before stuffing things into it, as well.

Once he was sure he'd recovered everything, he turned and made his way towards the door, crossing the room hastily—

And promptly froze.

His brows furrowing, he took two steps backwards, and then forward again. Yes, there it was again.

Creeeeaaaaak.

He frowned. This was one of the only rooms in the entire manor which had wooden floors. Was he simply being paranoid, or was there something else?

He stepped backwards.

Creeeeaaaak.

No, floors definitely did not make sounds like that.

Grinning madly, he dropped to his knees, yanking at the loose floorboard, scraping his fingers against the splinters that protruded from the wood, but he hardly cared. By the time he had finally pried the board completely up, his hands were bleeding, but—

Yes.

Heaps upon heaps of documents, newspaper articles, medical records, folders and—was that a birth certificate?

Harry heaved the stacks out of the hole in the floor one by one, setting them down in a make-shift circle. How could this much material possibly pertain to one person?

Harry James Potter

Male

Thirty-First July 1980

Lily Potter

James Potter

St. Mungo's Hospital

London

He felt a strange spasm against his rib cage; if his appearance hadn't been enough, here was the legal evidence, right in front of him. It was a strange, strange thought: that there were two people in the world who loved him, loved him more than life itself, and he hadn't even known of their existence.

He set the certificate gingerly aside, and picked up one of the articles, smoothing it out. The headline read:

'Potters' Found Dead, Infant Son Vanished'

He realized, with a jolt, that this must be from the night that his parents had died. The night that his Master had taken him from his home and forged a new life for him. He scanned the article briefly, but it basically was announcing when and where the Potters' funeral service would be held, as well as speculations about baby Harry's disappearance. One of the odder theories had been that Harry had been kidnapped by a man named Sirius Black and was being raised on some remote desert island to be a mass-murderer (this rumor was proposed by some woman named Rita Skeeter). The name Sirius Black resonated with Harry, but he couldn't recall where he'd heard it before.

He was about to pick up the next article, when he heard a noise that made him still: there were footsteps on the staircase. Footsteps way too heavy to belong to Draco.

With his heart in his throat, Harry leapt to his feet, shrinking the multitudes of documents and thrusting them indiscriminately into the satchel. They would be impossible to reorganize, but he could worry about that later. He patted the pockets of his robes, his hands flitting around the many new items he had acquired, but then he froze, and his heart actually did stop.

He had left the invisibility cloak in his old room.

Cursing, he cast a swift disillusionment charm on himself, and slipped out of the door. If it was one of the stupider Death Eaters, he might be able to slip by undetected, but if it was Bellatrix, or even Lucius, or, Merlin forbid, his Master, he was as good as dead.

The figures were too far down the hall to make out, but Harry could hear their voices drifting down the empty passageway. The space between them was growing smaller and smaller. As they drew nearer, he recognized Alecto Carrow, who Harry had cursed at the Weasleys' house, as well as her brother Amycus. His breathing grew sharper the closer they got, and he could practically count the whiskers on Alecto's chin when a blonde figure appeared at the end of the hallway, jogging towards the two of them. Surprise momentarily overtook Harry's fear. He had never, in sixteen years, seen Draco Malfoy engage in anything faster than an arrogant strut, let alone a jog.

"Oi, what are you two doing up here?" he called arrogantly, his face adopting a rather condescending sneer as he appraised the two of them.

Amycus scowled. "Watch your tone, boy. Just because this is your father's house doesn't mean you can disrespect us. We are your superiors, after all."

Draco snorted. "That's debatable. Speaking of my father, he's requested that you check those two rooms there. There's some valuables that he doesn't want to lose, and he says if the intruder's gotten anywhere near them, it'll be on your heads."

Alecto and Amycus shared a look, before the latter gave a very inconvenienced sigh and slammed the door of the first room open with a little more force than necessary. Alecto disappeared into the second room, and Harry felt a trace of fear trickle down his back. What was Draco doing? He had pointed to the two rooms closest to Harry—

As soon as Alecto had disappeared, however, Draco had flicked his wand, and both of the doors had promptly swung shut, locking themselves with a click. The blonde wasted no time, and hissed out, "Where are you, you bleeding moron?"

Harry removed the disillusionment and hurried towards Draco, who thrust something into his hand. He realized, seconds later, that it was the invisibility cloak. "You're the biggest idiot I've ever met, you know that?" Draco muttered. "Left that on your bed. My father was in there, searching your room—they know, by the way, that's there's an intruder—and I scooped it up right before he saw it."

Harry didn't know what to say. "Thank you," he whispered finally. "I—you've saved me twice in one day—"

"Let's not make it a third, yeah?" Draco said curtly, his pale cheeks turning slightly pink, despite his tone. "Just get out of here."

He threw the cloak on over his head, hitching the satchel higher onto his shoulder. "I'll contact you soon," his disembodied voice told Draco.

"Don't," he replied, shaking his head. "Not for a while, anyway. I'm going to try to convince them that the intruder attacked me, and locked those two in the rooms, but—" he glanced at the two rooms, where Alecto and Amycus were banging their fists against the doors. Whether they were too stupid to remember that they had wands, or too stupid to undo Draco's locking charm, Harry wasn't sure, but he didn't plan on sticking around to find out. "—But it's going to be tight around here for a while," he finished grimly.

Harry nodded, but then remembered that he couldn't see him. He hesitated, and then said quietly, "Why are you doing this?" He knew that Draco would know what he meant. They had always stuck together as children, mostly because it had only ever been the two of them, but their personalities often clashed. Draco had unquestioningly helped him, without a moment's hesitation, and despite the fact that he had sworn he wouldn't risk his neck for him, he had, several times, in the last 24 hours.

A familiar smirk curled around Draco's lips. "Oh, don't worry Potter, you're forever indebted to me."

Harry momentarily marveled at how easily he called him Potter, but then rolled his eyes, clapping the wizard's shoulder as he passed. "Thanks," he said again, and then sprinted off down the hall. He took the steps three at a time, his pulse running mad as he flew down the next foyer, rocketing towards Draco's bedroom. He sailed past another set of stairs, past the many doorways and alcoves hiding who knew how many secrets, and past a hoard of Death Eaters storming upstairs, their pounding footsteps and shouts of dissension far too loud to hear Harry's quiet, breathless laughter as he soared past them, diving into Draco's bedroom, hurtling himself into the fireplace, and disappearing into the night.

A/N: And there we are! Hope y'all enjoyed it, I apologize for any mistakes, it was a bit rushed.

Again, the spells are from "The Adventures of Merlin". If y'all haven't seen it, I really recommend you check it out-it's brilliant! It's on Netflix!