Time, once a stark line dividing one day from the next in Privet Drive's rigid routine, now blurs within the ancient walls of Malfoy Manor. Over the next fortnight, Harry falls into a rhythm dictated by meals and study sessions, punctuated by Narcissa's visits to his quarters with tea or Draco's hesitant knock at the library door.

Each moment is a contradiction that tugs at the edges of Harry's understanding—every kind gesture, every shared meal, each time he catches himself laughing at something Draco says. It all collides with the image of the Malfoys as he has known them: cold, cruel, unyielding. And yet here they are, providing him not only shelter but also an unsettling sense of belonging.

Harry wants to resist, to hold onto the narrative etched so deeply into his memory. But the more time passes, the harder it becomes to ignore the chasm between what he thought he knew about the Malfoys—and Dumbledore—and the reality unfolding before him.

The library becomes a sanctuary where Harry seeks answers. He pours over books late into the night, his eyes tracing lines of text that reveal secrets kept hidden for too long. There are passages that hint at Dumbledore's manipulation and others that shine a harsh light on the headmaster's strategic moves throughout the years. Each discovery chips away at the pedestal upon which Harry had placed the man who was supposed to protect him.

Narcissa is there, her presence a constant thread woven through Harry's days. She brings him tea and sandwiches just past eleven each morning, setting the tray down with a soft clink of china against wood. Her gaze lingers, searching his face for signs of strain or fatigue.

"Are you finding everything you need, Harry?" she asks, her voice a soothing balm against the storm of questions raging inside him.

He nods, the simple act grounding him amidst the uncertainty. These moments with Narcissa become anchors, offering a semblance of stability when everything else threatens to spin out of control.

Draco, too, shows up at unexpected times, often under the guise of needing a book from the library shelves. But Harry notices how Draco's eyes flicker to his homework, pointing out errors or gaps in theory without being asked. It's a subtle shift from their usual exchanges—less barbed, more tentative—but it doesn't go unnoticed.

Trust is a fragile thing, easily shattered and painstakingly slow to rebuild. Harry knows this better than most. And yet, despite the wariness that lingers, he can't deny the changes unfurling around him—the steady support, the honesty that cuts through years of deception. The Malfoys have given him no reason to doubt them, not since he arrived at their doorstep, broken and seeking refuge.

A connection grows, fostered by shared goals and mutual respect. It's a bond neither party would have expected, one forged in the crucible of circumstance and necessity. For Harry, it's another layer of complexity added to an already tangled web of alliances and enmities.

The evidence against Dumbledore is mounting, piece by damning piece. No longer can they afford to observe; the time for planning their next steps has come.

"First things first," Harry begins, his eyes flitting over the library's dusty shelves as if they might hold hidden truths. "We need evidence that is not just suggestive but irrefutable—something we can present to the rest of the wizarding world. Examining past curriculums and their changes have indicated a pattern, but we need to show the impact it has had on the quality of education."

"And as for Dumbledore's manipulations, we need concrete proof of those as well." Harry rubs at his forehead, feeling the familiar prickle of his scar beneath his fingers. "My memories are one thing, but given how the Ministry has painted me in the past year, I don't know how much weight my word will carry."

Lucius nods from across the heavy oak table, hands steepled before him. His usual air of superiority has given way to something resembling respect—a shift not lost on Harry. "Indeed. We must tread carefully, but there are people who may prove... useful in this regard."

Harry's gaze narrows slightly, intrigued despite himself. "Who?"

"The most immediate ones that come to mind are Aberforth Dumbledore, Sirius Black, and Severus Snape," Lucius says, watching Harry closely for any reaction. "Each holds a unique position relative to Albus and could provide valuable insight—if approached correctly."

"Aberforth?" Harry's eyebrows knit together in confusion, memories of the gruff bartender from the Hog's Head surfacing. "But he's Dumbledore's brother. Would he really turn against him?"

"Blood ties do not always result in loyalty, Mr Potter." Lucius leans back, fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest. "There has been bad blood between them for years. If anyone knows the true nature of Albus, it would be his own kin."

"And Sirius?" Draco interjects, grey eyes flicking between his father and Harry. "He's always been loyal to Dumbledore, hasn't he?"

"On the surface, yes," Lucius concedes. "However, even the strongest loyalties can waver when faced with undeniable truth. And, if he loves Harry as much as I think he does, it would be easy to show him the light if we can prove Dumbledore purposely put Harry in harms way."

The mention of Sirius sends a pang through Harry's chest, a reminder of yet another relationship potentially impacted by Dumbledore's meddling – Harry hadn't spoken to Sirius, Ron or Hermione since arriving, mostly because he hadn't known what to say and it's not like they had written to him either. But if there's a chance to bring Sirius onto their side—to make him see what Harry now sees—it's a risk worth taking.

"Alright," Harry agrees, steeling himself for the task ahead. "And Snape?"

"Severus is... complicated." Lucius' lips press into a thin line, betraying his unease. "His allegiances have always been difficult to decipher. Yet, I believe he values self-preservation above all else. Should he sense a power shift, he may well choose to align himself accordingly."

They fall silent, each man consumed by his thoughts as the gravity of their plan sinks in. Reaching out to these individuals carries inherent risks, but the potential rewards are too great to ignore.

"Gringotts," Lucius says suddenly, breaking the silence that has settled over them. "We should begin there."

Harry's brows furrow as he considers this. "You think they might know something?"

"Indeed." Draco leans forward now, his interest piqued by the direction of their conversation. "The goblins have always prided themselves on their neutrality. They won't have taken sides in this matter."

"But they're bound by confidentiality laws," Harry points out. "Why would they help us?"

Lucius taps a long finger against the table. "Because we are not asking them to break those laws. We simply wish to access information that is rightfully yours."

"Like what my parents left me?" Harry asks, remembering the small fortune he'd discovered in his vault all those years ago during his first trip to Diagon Alley.

"Precisely – the Triwizard Tournament made you an adult in our world; we should use that to our advantage," Lucius affirms, tapping his fingers thoughtfully against the armrest of his chair. "And as for any information regarding their wills and final wishes... that is your right, legally and morally. A copy of the original will should be stored within the main vault."

His eyes harden, the usual slick veneer cracking slightly at the edges. "You see, Dumbledore sealed the wills through the Ministry shortly after your parents' demise. Under normal circumstances, this would be a standard procedure to protect the interests of the child involved. But given that he made no move to inform you of its contents or ensure its execution when you legally came of age... it suggests he had something to hide."

The remainder of the evening becomes a whirlwind of preparation. They compile all the evidence they have painstakingly gathered, each piece a puzzle waiting to be solved. In the midst of it all, Lucius produces a parchment from his desk drawer, unrolling it with a flourish.

"Harry, I need you to sign here," he says, indicating a line at the bottom of the document. "This will temporarily assign guardianship to me. It is a necessary step if we are to approach the goblins on your behalf."

Harry nods, understanding the implication. With Lucius as his temporary guardian, they can bypass Dumbledore's interference. His hand is steady as he signs the document, the ink leaving a permanent mark on the parchment and their alliance.

With the document signed, Lucius folds it neatly and tucks it into his robe. He rises from his chair, straightening his imposing figure. "We leave for Gringotts in the morning. Harry, use the invisibility cloak. We cannot afford any unwanted attention."

As Harry and Draco continue to sift through parchments, Lucius pens letters to several contacts within the Ministry, planting seeds of doubt about the headmaster's actions. These are not missives filled with baseless accusations but thoughtful inquiries that nudge each recipient towards questioning what they know—or think they know—about Albus Dumbledore.

Finally, long after midnight has passed, they sit back and survey their progress. On the table before them lies a pile of parchment, each piece a potential key to unlocking the secrets hidden behind Dumbledore's benevolent facade.

"We have everything we need," Draco says, breaking the silence. "Everything we can find without the wills and involving other people."

Harry nods slowly, his eyes never leaving the assortment of documents scattered before him. Each piece of paper is a puzzle, a fragment of history that doesn't fit into the story he's been told, the narrative he's lived.

"If things proceed as planned," Lucius interjects, reclining slightly in his chair, "we should gain access to the main Potter vault by tomorrow. Your parents' wills and other pertinent documents will be there."

"And if the goblins refuse me because I'm not seventeen yet?" Harry challenges, unable to keep the edge from his voice.

Lucius meets his gaze unflinchingly. "They won't."

"So Harry, you'll walk in under cloak," Draco states, "while Father, Mother and I act as if it's just another visit to the bank. They may allow you to prove your identity with a drop of blood, but if not, we can ask for a private room to explain."

Harry's heart races at the thought, but not from fear. Anticipation hums beneath his skin, a live wire sparking with every beat of his pulse. After years spent in the dark, the prospect of uncovering even a sliver of truth feels like stepping into the sun.

"It sounds risky," Harry admits, tucking the cloak back into his bag. "But it's the best chance we've got."

"Agreed," Lucius nods, his eyes sharp with resolve. "But we must also prepare for every possible outcome. That includes having an exit strategy should anything go awry."

He rises from the table, crossing the room to retrieve two small objects: a silver pocket watch and a sleek black fountain pen. Placing them on the table, he draws his wand.

"Portkeys," he announces, looking at Harry and Draco. "For emergency use only. If something unexpected happens at Gringotts that forces you to leave immediately, these will transport you back here."

Lucius's fingers trace the air above the items, his wand emitting a soft glow. The incantation falls from his lips like a whisper meant only for the shadows. A shiver runs through the items on the table, their mundane appearances belying the magic now woven into their very essence. When Lucius finally lowers his wand, the glow fades, leaving behind nothing but ordinary-looking trinkets.

"Remember," Lucius cautions, sliding the pocket watch towards Harry and the pen towards Draco, "these are last resorts. Use them only if absolutely necessary."

Harry picks up the pocket watch, its cool metal surface innocuous against his skin. It's hard to believe such a simple object could hold the key to escape, should it come to that. Beside him, Draco turns the pen over in his hands, his expression unreadable.

"To activate them," Lucius continues, his gaze flickering between the pair, "hold the portkey and say 'Safety' clearly. You'll feel a tug behind your navel—Harry, don't fight it."

Harry and Draco tuck their portkeys into their robes.

"Good," Lucius says, satisfaction colouring his tone. "You're both ready."

Ready—or as ready as they can be given the circumstances. But there's comfort in knowing they have a lifeline, however tenuous, should things not go according to plan.

Before dawn breaks, Harry finds himself standing before the grand fireplace in the manor's main hall, his invisibility clock clutched in hand.

"Remember," Lucius instructs, his gaze meeting each pair of eyes in turn. "We are to appear as nothing more than a family attending to our financial affairs at Gringotts. No unnecessary attention."

Nodding their understanding, Lucius then steps into the floo with Narcissa, vanishing with a whoosh that echoes through the silent manor. Then it's Harry and Draco's turn, so he wraps his cloak around him and steps into the floo, with Draco clutching his elbow as he drops the powder, uttering their destination.

When he stumbles out of the fireplace, it's not into the bright openness of Diagon Alley but the dim confines of Knockturn Alley. Dust particles dance in the air, disturbed by their sudden arrival, and the musty scent of old magic hangs heavy.

Lucius strides forward, leading the way onto the narrow, winding street. Harry pulls his invisibility cloak tighter around his shoulders, melting into the shadows as he follows closely behind. The plan is simple yet risky: traverse Knockturn Alley, blend into the sparse crowd of early risers in Diagon Alley, and then make their way to Gringotts.

They move swiftly, their footsteps echoing off the cobblestones. Harry stays close to Lucius, matching his pace while remaining hidden under the cloak. Behind them, Draco and Narcissa follow at a distance, their presence a constant reassurance. It's an unusual formation—one born out of necessity rather than choice—but it serves its purpose well.

The transition from Knockturn to Diagon Alley is seamless, marked only by the gradual lightening of the sky above. As they approach Gringotts, the imposing white marble building looms large, a testament to the power and wealth it guards within its walls. For a moment, they pause, waiting for a lull in the trickle of early customers before making their move.

With a final glance towards the bustling street, Lucius steps forward, pushing open the massive bronze doors. Harry follows, the cool interior of the bank swallowing them whole. His heart pounds in his chest, the echo of their footsteps mingling with the distant sound of goblins counting coins.

Inside Gringotts, the group pauses, allowing their eyes to adjust to the dim light. Goblins scuttle about, their attention focused on ledgers and scales, indifferent to the comings and goings of their customers. It's business as usual—an atmosphere Lucius, Narcissa and Draco are careful to maintain as they approach one of the counters.

"Malfoy," the goblin grunts in recognition, its beady eyes flickering over Lucius's sharp features. "To what do we owe this... pleasure?"

Lucius offers a thin smile, placing a small bag of coins on the counter. "I request access the main Potter vault."

The goblin's eyes narrow at this, suspicion creeping into his gaze. "And why would you need that, Malfoy?" His tone is laced with scepticism, each word a challenge.

Lucius remains unfazed by the scrutiny, meeting the goblin's stare evenly. "Mr Potter has appointed me as his magical guardian for today's purposes," he says, placing a folded piece of parchment on the counter.

The goblin unfolds the paper, his beady eyes scanning the contents. He looks up, locking eyes with Lucius. "This proves nothing without Potter present."

"But he is present."

From beneath the invisibility cloak, Harry steps forward, reaching out to place a single drop of his blood onto the parchment. The crimson liquid seeps into the fibres, causing the inked words to glow briefly before fading back to their original colour.

The goblin observes this silently, his expression unreadable. After a moment, he nods, apparently satisfied. "Very well, Mr Potter. Your identity has been confirmed."

He turns to a large ledger, flipping through its worn pages until he finds what he's looking for. With a flourish of his quill, he makes a note beside Harry's name and then looks up at the group. "You may proceed."

A key appears in the goblin's hand, seemingly out of nowhere. He places it on the counter, pushing it towards Lucius. "Your escort will arrive shortly."

With a nod, Lucius takes the key, slipping it into his robe pocket. Beside him, Draco shifts slightly, his grey eyes darting between the goblin and his father.

"Additionally," Lucius adds, his voice just above a whisper, "we require access to the wills of Lily and James Potter."

Again, the goblin hesitates, his dark eyes flickering with something akin to curiosity—or perhaps apprehension, "They are stored in the main vault. Mr Potter only needs give a drop of blood, and they will be automatically unsealed."

As they wait, Harry stands still under the cloak, invisible yet hyperaware of every look, every whisper. Despite the cold stone walls of Gringotts surrounding him, he feels exposed. This isn't just about uncovering secrets; it's about reclaiming control over his own life.

Finally, the sound of approaching footsteps echoes through the cavernous bank. A second goblin appears, shorter than the first but no less imposing. His eyes scan the room before landing on the group.

"Right this way, gentlemen," the goblin commands, leading them further into the depths of Gringotts. The air grows colder as they descend, the torchlight flickering off the damp stone walls.

Harry's heart pounds in his chest, each beat echoing the rhythm of their footsteps. He has been to his vault before, but never under circumstances like these—never with so much at stake. Beside him, Lucius and Draco walk with a sense of purpose that Harry can't help but admire, even if he doesn't fully understand it.

The cart ride is swift, and soon they arrive at the entrance to a vault Harry hasn't seen before. The goblin produces the key once more, inserting it into the lock with a resounding click. With a groan, the door swings open, revealing the vast wealth within.

Gold glimmers in the torchlight, mountains of Galleons piled high against the vault walls. Rubies glow like embers among strands of pearls, and diamonds wink from hidden corners, their facets catching every ray of light. It's an awe-inspiring sight—one that speaks volumes about the legacy left behind by James and Lily Potter.

But there's more than just gold here. Along one wall stands a series of chests, each one ornately carved and secured with intricate locks. From another hangs a tapestry, its threads shimmering with ancient magic. And scattered throughout are various artefacts—a broomstick here, a cloak there—all silent witnesses to a history cut tragically short.

Harry steps forward, his breath hitching as he takes in the enormity of his inheritance. His fingers brush over a stack of coins, the cold metal a stark contrast to the warmth spreading through his veins. This is real. This is his. All of it—the wealth, the heirlooms, the responsibility—they're all tangible reminders of the family he never got to know.

He turns away, blinking back tears. The Dursleys had always told him he was worth nothing—that he was lucky they took him in at all. Yet here, surrounded by proof of his parents' love for him, those lies crumble to dust.

"Take your time, Mr Potter," Lucius says softly, breaking the silence. "We will be here when you're ready."

With a nod, Harry moves deeper into the vault, each step taking him closer to the answers he seeks. Along one wall are rows of shelves holding various magical items, their purpose unknown to Harry but clearly valuable. And on a table at the centre of the room lay stacks of documents, each sealed with wax and marked with enchantments to prevent tampering.

Harry approaches slowly, his heart pounding in his chest. He reaches out, fingers hovering over the papers before finally making contact. The parchment is cool to the touch, crisp and unyielding beneath his hand.

"Here they are," Lucius says, drawing Harry's attention to a pair of envelopes lying atop the pile. Each bears the seal of James and Lily Potter, their initials intertwined in a dance of ink and wax. "Your parents' wills."

The world seems to tilt on its axis as Harry picks up the first envelope. His fingers trace the edges, following the familiar curves of his mother's handwriting. It's real. They were real. And for the first time, Harry can almost feel them beside him, guiding him through this momentous discovery.

He pricks his finger once more, dripping a little blood onto the seal. The wax melts, and Harry unfolds the parchment with care. As he reads, his breath catches in his throat. Every word is a testament to his parents' love, their hopes and dreams for his future laid bare. Their wishes for his upbringing, their plans for his education—all detailed with such thoughtfulness that it's overwhelming.

"Guardianship... Sirius Black? Remus Lupin?" Harry's voice trembles as he reads aloud, disbelief colouring his tone; he'd known about Sirius but not Remus. "Or Severus Snape if neither could be found, but never Petunia..." His eyes flicker to Lucius, searching for some reason why this truth was hidden from him all these years.

"Exactly," Lucius replies, his voice steady despite the gravity of what they're uncovering. "Something went wrong, very wrong."

Lucius watches Harry closely, his expression unreadable. "Indeed. I'm aware that Sirius Black, and his brother Regulus, were returned to their parents' home—a place unfit for any child—on more than one occasion. I suspected your mother knew of Severus' similar experiences, so it doesn't surprise me that they'd want to ensure your safety. However, our world lacks an equivalent to Muggle child services, so unless you're a Hogwarts student or someone brings the matter to the attention of the Aurors, many things go unnoticed."

Lucius pauses, his gaze distant as he delves into memories best left untouched. "There have been instances where children complained directly to Dumbledore, only to be dismissed or ignored."

Harry's hands tremble slightly, the parchment rustling under his touch as the gravity of his parents' words sinks deep into his bones. Their distrust for Dumbledore—a man who has been nothing but a beacon of hope and guidance in Harry's life—stands stark against the aged paper. His mind races, piecing together fragments of a puzzle he never knew existed.

"Children... abused... sent back to their homes..." Harry's voice is barely a whisper, the words leaving a sour taste on his tongue. The parallels are too clear to dismiss: Sirius Black, Severus Snape, and now him—all victims of a system that seems to hinge on Dumbledore's decisions. "I told Dumbledore about the Dursleys, too. He promised me it was for the best."

Harry can't help but think of how Molly and Arthur had been livid when they found out about the bars on his window, contacting the Ministry to try and gain guardianship. But their letters were never answered, their pleas seemingly lost in the bureaucratic abyss. Or were they purposefully ignored? The memory of Dumbledore's twinkling eyes hardens into something more sinister. Could he have influenced the Ministry's decision? Or worse, prevented their intervention?

A wave of anger rises within him, hot and fierce. How could Dumbledore have disregarded his parents' wishes so blatantly? How could he have left Harry with the Dursleys when there were others—people who would have done anything to keep him safe and loved?

"It seems," Lucius says quietly, "that your parents foresaw the possibility of such a betrayal."

Harry looks up at him, his eyes wide with shock and something akin to hope. Could it be that his parents had known all along what might happen to him? That they'd done everything in their power to protect him from afar?

"But why?" Harry asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why would Dumbledore do this?"

Lucius glances at Narcissa before turning back to Harry. His gaze has a heaviness that wasn't there before—a sadness that speaks volumes.

"We can only speculate, Mr Potter," Lucius replies. "But one thing is clear: Albus Dumbledore has been manipulating events to suit his agenda for years."

Harry takes a moment to let the information sink in, his heart pounding in his chest. It feels like the ground beneath him is shifting, revealing layers of deception and betrayal that run deeper than he ever imagined.

Slowly, he reaches for the second envelope, his fingers tracing over the seal bearing his father's initials. He repeats the process of melting the seal, revealing another document filled with neat handwriting—an echo of the man who penned it 15 years ago.

James Potter's will mirrors Lily's in many ways, outlining the same guardians and expressing the same distrust of Dumbledore. But there's an added layer of urgency here, a plea for vigilance that sends a chill down Harry's spine.

"If anything should happen to us," James writes, "know that it was not by accident. Watch out for those who seek to control you, especially Albus Dumbledore. Trust in our friends: Remus, Sirius, and yes, even Severus - I do not have to like him to trust him. They will guide you truly."

The finality of his father's words hits Harry like a physical blow. This isn't just a will—it's a warning, a beacon pointing towards truths long buried. And as much as it terrifies him, Harry knows he can't turn away. Not now.

He lowers the parchment, his hands shaking slightly. A mix of emotions churns within him—anger, confusion, relief—but overriding them all is a sense of determination. He won't let his parents' efforts go to waste; he'll uncover every secret, no matter how dark or damning.

"We can only speculate on Dumbledore's motives, but one thing is certain: he has deliberately kept you in the dark about your parents' wills." Lucius's words cut through Harry's turmoil like a blade, sharp and unyielding.

The implications hang heavy in the air, a tangible weight pressing down on Harry's chest until he can barely breathe. Betrayal twists inside him, a bitter pill forced down his throat by those he once trusted.

Lucius and Narcissa watch as Harry grapples with the revelations, their expressions unreadable behind masks of aristocratic poise. Yet beneath the surface, there's an unmistakable glimmer of empathy—a shared understanding of the pain that comes with uncovering deceit.

Narcissa reaches out, her hand hovering over Harry's shoulder before finally resting there. It's a simple gesture, yet it carries the weight of a promise: you are not alone in this.

"Harry," she begins, her voice softer than silk yet laced with steel, "we know this is difficult to accept. But remember, knowledge is power. And now, you hold that power—to question, to seek the truth, and to demand justice."

For a moment, Harry leans into the touch, drawing strength from its unexpected warmth. Then, he straightens up, determination hardening his features. If this is the path laid before him, he'll walk it with eyes wide open.

"What happens next?" Harry asks, his gaze flickering between the Malfoys. Now that the wills have been unsealed, surely there must be some legal recourse?

"We go home and continue planning," Narcissa replies, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before withdrawing her hand. "And remember, Harry, we are here to support you."

Something akin to gratitude flickers in Harry's eyes, quickly masked by a flash of resolve. He nods, taking a deep breath to steady himself before rising from his seat. With each step towards the vault door, the weight of his past lightens, replaced by the promise of a future forged by his own hands.

They leave Gringotts as cautiously as they arrived, the goblins watching their departure with unreadable expressions—the golden doors closing behind them with a heavy finality that echoes in Harry's chest.

"Stay close," Lucius murmurs, leading the way through Diagon Alley. His eyes scan the bustling crowd for any signs of trouble but find none—their presence is unnoticed, lost among the throng of shoppers and vendors.

Harry walks a step behind, hidden beneath the invisibility cloak. He can't help but glance over his shoulder every few seconds, half-expecting someone to call out his name or reach for him. But no one does. For once, he's just another face in the crowd—or rather, the absence of one.

The entrance to Knockturn Alley looms ahead, a narrow slit between two buildings that most would overlook. There, they slip away from the bustle of Diagon Alley, disappearing into the shadows without a second glance.

As they round a corner, Lucius slows his pace, allowing Draco to catch up. "Keep your hood up," he instructs, his voice barely above a whisper. "And stay alert."

Draco nods, pulling his cloak tighter around himself. Despite the summer heat, a chill runs down his spine. Knockturn Alley has always been a place of dark dealings and dangerous characters—a stark contrast to the familiarity of Malfoy Manor.

But this morning, it's a necessary evil, a path that leads them away from prying eyes and closer to home. They move swiftly and silently, their footsteps muffled by the cobblestones beneath their feet. Every now and then, Lucius reaches back, feeling for Harry's cloak and ensuring he's still there, still safe under the cloak's protective shroud.

Finally, they reach the end of the alley, where a nondescript door awaits. With a quick incantation, Lucius unlocks it, revealing a tunnel bathed in soft, green light. Without hesitation, they step inside, the door closing behind them with an almost comforting thud.

The journey back to Malfoy Manor is uneventful, each twist and turn of the Floo network blurring into the next until they're standing in the manor's grand entrance hall. Their arrival goes undetected, thanks to the wards that recognise them as friends rather than foes.

"Home," Lucius murmurs, more to himself than anyone else, a hint of relief in his voice.

Harry follows closely behind, removing the invisibility cloak as they step inside. The cool marble floor is a welcome contrast to the warm summer air outside, and for a moment, he allows himself to relax. This place—once a symbol of everything he despised—now offers an unexpected sanctuary from the chaos unfolding beyond its walls.

"In here." Narcissa leads the way into a smaller sitting room off the main hall, her robes whispering against the polished wood floor. She gestures towards a plush sofa, where several parchments are already spread out, waiting for their attention.

As Harry settles onto the edge of the seat, Lucius takes up a position at the head of the table, his fingers drumming a steady rhythm on the mahogany surface. His gaze lingers on the papers before him, each one representing another piece of the puzzle that has become Harry's life.

"Let's begin with what we know," Lucius suggests, reaching for the parchments Harry had just placed on the table—the wills of James and Lily Potter. He scans them once more, his brow furrowing as he absorbs the implications of their final wishes.

"My parents clearly didn't trust Dumbledore," Harry points out, "They wanted Sirius to be my guardian if anything happened to them."

"Yes," Narcissa agrees, her expression thoughtful. "And yet, despite this clear instruction, you were placed with your Muggle relatives, which is illegal."

Lucius leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers under his chin. "It seems Albus had other plans for you, Mr. Potter."

The statement hangs in the air, punctuated by the distant ticking of a grandfather clock. It's not a revelation so much as a confirmation of what they've suspected all along: Dumbledore's actions have always served a purpose beyond what meets the eye.

Narcissa reaches over, placing a reassuring hand on Harry's arm. Her touch, once foreign and almost unwelcome, now brings a strange sense of comfort. "We'll get to the bottom of this, Harry," she promises, meeting his gaze with a determination that mirrors his own.

For a long moment, no one speaks. The silence stretches between them, filled with unspoken questions and possibilities too vast to comprehend fully. But amidst the uncertainty, one thing remains clear: they can no longer ignore the discrepancies surrounding Harry's past.

With renewed resolve, they delve deeper into the planning session, adjusting strategies and timelines based on the information unearthed from the wills. Each decision weighs heavily, shaping the course of events to come. Yet through it all, Harry feels a spark of hope flickering within him—a belief that perhaps, just perhaps, they might uncover the truth hidden beneath layers of deception.

"We should reach out to our contacts in the Ministry," Lucius suggests, breaking the silence that has settled over the room. "See if they can shed some light on how Dumbledore managed to override the Potters' will."

Narcissa nods, making a note on a nearby parchment. "I'll also arrange a meeting with Andromeda. She may have some insight into Sirius' situation."

"Good," Lucius approves, turning his attention back to the documents strewn across the table. "Every bit of information helps."

"I know this isn't an important question, but if Remus Lupin became my guardian when my parents died, would the werewolf legislation passed later have affected that?" Harry asks, leaning forward.

Lucius pauses, his gaze sharpening as he considers the question. "No," he says after a moment, his voice firm. "Once guardianship was established, subsequent laws wouldn't have changed it—unless there was proof of harm or neglect towards the child."

Harry's heart clenches at the confirmation. Even without Sirius' imprisonment, there had been no need for his placement at the Dursleys, and that's ignoring the fact that Snape was also an option.

"Thank you," he murmurs, his mind racing with the implications.

He turns his attention back to the wills, scanning the familiar names and phrases. But behind the words lies a deeper truth—one that has been hidden from him for far too long.

"I need to speak with Sirius, Remus...and Snape," Harry decides aloud, his decision surprising even himself. He needs their perspectives, their knowledge of what transpired all those years ago.

"But how?" Narcissa asks, her brow furrowing in concern. "You can't do so in person, it's too dangerous."

"No," Harry agrees, a plan forming in his mind. "But I can write to them. Ask the right questions."

His fingers itch for a quill, an outlet for the flurry of thoughts whirling inside him. He doesn't want to accuse or blame—not yet. He had been kept in the dark, after all, so he wonders if they had been kept in the dark, too. And if so, he needed to bring them into the light, to show them what really should've happened.

"And of course, we'll do this without mentioning where I am or what I've discovered about the Dursleys," Harry adds, meeting Lucius's calculating gaze. It's a risk, initiating contact while still under the protection of Malfoy Manor, but one he feels compelled to take.

"Very well," Lucius concedes, acknowledging the determination in Harry's eyes. "We'll help you craft your letters and ensure they don't reveal anything unnecessary."

The morning's revelations weigh heavily on Harry's chest, a tangle of betrayal and relief. Betrayal because the man he once admired had lied so easily, manipulating circumstances to suit his agenda, and although Harry had proof of other manipulations, he hadn't been able to prove that Dumbledore had done anything to him. Relief because, at last, there is some semblance of closure—a knowing that his parents' intentions for him were not lost entirely to time.

"Thank you," Harry whispers again, more to himself than anyone else in the room. His fingers trace the familiar lines of James and Lily's signatures—their final act of love preserved in ink—before closing the wills with reverence. A part of him still struggles to reconcile the depth of Dumbledore's deceit, yet another part feels oddly settled, as though a missing piece of his life's puzzle has slid into place.

"My parents... they did think about me."

"Yes, they did." Narcissa's voice carries an undercurrent of warmth, acknowledging the significance of this moment. "And their wishes have been honoured, even if only partially. You will never have to go back there, I promise."

Harry nods, allowing the truth of her words to seep through the cracks of his hardened defences. It's not enough—not nearly enough to erase years of neglect and suffering at the Dursleys', nor to excuse Dumbledore's role in it all. But it's a start, a beacon guiding him towards understanding the full extent of the manipulations woven around his life.

AN: So, at the end of this chapter, Harry has been with the Malfoys for three weeks total, and the next two chapters won't actually be from Harry's POV but from the Order's POV. I didn't know whether to include them or not but I think they're important.