"Harry," Lucius Malfoy's voice carries through the opulent dining room of Malfoy Manor, silencing the clatter of silverware against china. "There is a special guest here for you this morning."
The words hang in the air as Harry sets down his fork, eyeing the man carefully. It's a statement that could mean anything, but there's an undertone to his voice that suggests they're special in a good way.
"A special guest?" Harry repeats, trying to conceal his curiosity behind a mask of indifference.
Lucius nods, pushing back his chair with a faint scrape against the marble floor. "Yes, indeed. Consider it an early birthday present."
With those cryptic words echoing in his ears, Harry follows Lucius out of the dining hall and towards the front entrance of the grand manor. The house-elves scurry away at their approach, leaving only the murmur of distant conversation and the soft click of shoes on stone to fill the silence. Every step heightens Harry's anticipation, each breath sharp and measured as he braces for what—or who—awaits him.
As they reach the towering doors, Lucius pauses, one hand resting lightly on the polished wood. He turns to look at Harry, blue eyes reflecting caution and resolve. "I trust," he begins slowly, "that this will be... well received."
Before Harry can respond, the door swings open, revealing two figures standing in the dim light of the entrance hall. One tall and imposing, draped in black with familiar sneer etched across his face; the other leaner, worn by years but still radiating warmth despite the shadows clinging to his form. Severus Snape and Remus Lupin.
Snape remains impassive, his gaze fixed firmly ahead. The two men had last seen each other not five days prior in one of the many drawing rooms in the manor and unbeknownst to Snape, Harry had been present at a Death Eater meeting less than twenty-four hours later. He had stood silently under his cloak, watching as Voldemort gave Snape a new mission: to protect him.
Remus, however, looks at Harry with unmistakable concern softened by a gentle smile. "Hello, Harry," he says quietly. His voice is a soothing balm, a reminder of safety and care amid chaos. Seeing him here, in the snake's nest, stirs a sense of gratitude within Harry.
The arrival of Severus and Remus signifies more than a visit—it's a convergence of paths once thought irreconcilable. And while their allegiance may be born of necessity rather than choice, it brings a dimension of familiarity and reassurance to Harry's current reality. Suddenly, Harry didn't feel quite so alone. While he had found friends in the enemies he once knew, it didn't mean he didn't miss the Weasleys, Hermione or Sirius any less, and even though he couldn't see them, seeing Remus gave him hope.
"We can't stay long, but I bring a gift," Remus states, his voice gentle yet firm as he steps forward, extending a hand to reveal a small, rectangular object wrapped in velvet. "From Sirius."
Harry's breath catches as he takes the item, fingers brushing against Remus' in a fleeting connection of past and present. Unfolding the cloth, he reveals an ornate mirror, its surface gleaming despite years kept hidden away. The frame is carved with intricate patterns, evidence of careful craftsmanship—a stark contrast to the mundane objects that populate Harry's life at Privet Drive.
"Your father and Sirius used these when they were at school," Remus explains, watching Harry's face for any sign of recognition. "They are two-way mirrors. You can use it to talk to Sirius... and me, if you would like, as I'm staying with Sirius. Just state his name and he'll answer, a bit like a muggle phone – he can pass it over if you need me."
The mention of Sirius sparks a jolt of hope in Harry's chest. His godfather, distant yet ever-present in thoughts and dreams, suddenly feels within reach. A lifeline extended across miles and circumstances, offering solace amidst uncertainty.
"This one belonged to James." The words hang heavy in the air, laden with unspoken history and loss. But there's also an underlying current of warmth, a reminder of bonds forged in defiance of time and fate. "He would've wanted you to have it."
For a moment, all Harry can do is stare at the mirror, tracing the lines etched into the glass with trembling fingertips. It's more than just a reflection—it's a portal to memories and emotions long buried under layers of survival and resistance. And now, here in Malfoy Manor of all places, those feelings surge forth, raw and undeniable.
"Thank you, Professor," Harry whispers, his grip tightening on the mirror's edges. The words are simple, but they carry the weight of unspoken sentiment—the relief that sweeps through him, soothing the raw edges of his nerves and healing wounds both old and new.
"Harry," Remus' voice is gentle, a balm against the harsh realities they face. "I haven't been your professor in a long time. Call me Remus."
His image flickers but remains steady, meeting Harry's gaze head-on. There's no need for further words; the understanding between them stretches beyond the confines of the mirror, bridging the distance that separates their physical forms. In this world where loyalties blur and alliances shift with the wind, their connection stands as a beacon of constancy.
"Potter." The voice that breaks the silence is not Remus' but Snape's, his black eyes fixed on Harry with an intensity that belies his usual disdain. "Before you tell Black anything, tell him to strengthen his occlumency shields around Dumbledore."
The command hangs in the air, heavy and insistent. A shiver runs down Harry's spine, his fingers tightening around the mirror. Until now, he has followed instructions, allowed himself to be led through this maze of uncertainty. But Severus' words stir something within him—a whisper of doubt threading its way through cracks in their newfound alliance.
"Why?" The question slips from Harry's lips before he can stop it.
"It's crucial," Remus interjects before Severus can respond, stepping into view beside the potions master. His face is lined with concern, brows furrowed over amber eyes that reflect both determination and regret. "Dumbledore mustn't know what we discuss here until we're ready to share it ourselves. And even then..."
"Even then, it will be only what we choose to reveal." Severus finishes the thought, his gaze never leaving Harry. There's no malice in his tone, only a hardness born of necessity.
"But..." Harry begins, his voice barely a whisper as he tries to make sense of the implications. "How can Dumbledore know anything unless someone tells him?"
"It's not something we can prove for the most part, but Albus has a knack for knowing things he shouldn't," Remus explains. He sweeps a hand through his greying hair, sighing heavily. "We suspect legilimency. Subtle, nearly undetectable when performed by a skilled legilimens. Avoiding direct eye contact can counter it, but it would seem strange if everyone suddenly stopped looking at him."
A shiver runs down Harry's spine, goosebumps rising on his skin despite the warmth of the room. Legilimency—the art of navigating another's mind—had always seemed like an abstract concept, something to be wary of but not truly feared. Now, with the possibility that Dumbledore could be using it against them, it feels far too real, far too close.
"Constant vigilance, Potter," Severus says, drawing Harry's attention back to him. His features are set in stern lines, shadows playing across his sallow skin. "That applies to everyone."
"Yes, sir," Harry murmurs.
Harry perches on the edge of his bed, scanning the room to ensure there's nothing in view that might give away his location. His eyes linger for a moment on the locked door—Taffy is guarding it from the other side, ready to deter any would-be intruders with her formidable elfish powers. While the Malfoys knew what Harry was doing, he didn't want to take any risks of them entering before Sirius had been fully informed.
"Sirius Black," Harry breathes, his fingers tracing the edges of the mirror. The glass remains dark for a moment that stretches into an eternity, his heart pounding in sync with each tick of the clock echoing from the hallway.
A shiver runs down his spine as he waits, every second amplifying the knot in his stomach. His mind races, conjuring images of what could have happened since their last encounter. But then, just as panic threatens to consume him, there's movement—a flicker of light in the depths of the mirror—and a familiar face emerges from the shadows.
"Harry." Sirius Black's voice is rough with emotion, relief etching lines across his weary features. Even through the small rectangle of glass, his presence envelops Harry like a warm embrace, banishing the chill seeping into his bones. "Thank Merlin you're safe."
The corners of Harry's mouth twitch upward, but it's more reflex than genuine joy. A wave of exhaustion washes over him, threatening to pull him under, yet he clings to consciousness, anchored by the sight of Sirius alive and seemingly unharmed.
"I'm fine," Harry replies, though his raspy voice betrays the toll recent events have taken on him. He swallows hard, trying to ignore the raw ache in his throat. "Are you okay?"
Concern furrows Sirius's brow, the deep-set lines telling stories of battles fought and sacrifices made—all for the boy who lived. "I've been better, but I'll manage." He pauses, studying Harry's face with an intensity that speaks volumes about their bond. "What about you, Harry? Where are you? Who took you?"
His question hangs in the air. With a sigh, Harry leans back against the headboard, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on him. There's so much to say, so many pieces to fit together before the picture becomes clear.
"We need to be careful," Harry starts, closing his eyes briefly as he gathers his thoughts. When he opens them again, green meets grey in silent understanding. "Snape said... Snape said you should use Occlumency around Dumbledore, and I think he's right."
For a moment, Sirius is silent, his gaze locked onto Harry's face. Then, slowly, he nods, any trace of surprise hidden behind a mask of grim determination. "Understood."
It's a simple response, uttered without hesitation or question. Yet within those two syllables lies the depth of trust between godfather and godson—a trust forged in the fires of shared trials and tribulations. In this world where loyalties blur and alliances shift like sand beneath their feet, their connection stands as a beacon of constancy.
"You know that Dumbledore sent me back to the Dursleys," Harry begins, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. Yet beneath the surface, a torrent of anger and despair roils, straining against the walls he's built to contain it. "And things got worse."
"Worse?" The enquiry floats across the distance between them, carried by waves of concern that crash against Harry's resolve. It's almost enough to break him—to shatter the façade he's carefully constructed over years of neglect and abuse. Almost.
"They put me back in the cupboard under the stairs, locked my stuff and Hedwig upstairs—she's alright—and gave me a list of chores that are impossible to complete in 24 hours, and when I failed, he..." Each word is a struggle, ripped from a place deep within where pain and fear have taken root. "He beat me, Sirius. Beat me until I couldn't move... couldn't see, then shoved me in the cupboard."
There's a pause, the silence stretching taut like a wire ready to snap. Harry doesn't need to see Sirius's reaction to know the rage simmering beneath his godfather's skin. It mirrors his own—all-consuming and relentless.
"Voldemort was talking to me the whole time, I think," Harry hesitates, unsure of how to explain the inexplicable—the voice that reached out to him when he was at his lowest, offering salvation wrapped in promises too tempting to resist. "He was apologising for everything and saying stuff about Dumbledore... it's a bit fuzzy, if I'm being honest."
"How did he talk to you?" Sirius's tone shifts, a hint of disbelief threading through the confusion. "Through your scar?"
"I think so, but I'm not sure," Harry confesses, feeling the chill creep back into his bones. "But it wasn't painful this time. It was different... clearer. Like he was right there with me."
A shudder runs down Harry's spine at the recollection—how the disembodied voice had filled the void left by isolation and despair, its honeyed words weaving a seductive narrative of power and freedom.
"He offered help—to take away the pain, to give me strength." Harry's grip tightens on the mirror, knuckles whitening under the strain. "And I—I was scared, Sirius. So bloody scared. I just wanted it to stop, and at some point, I asked for help."
"Help?" Sirius's voice is a low growl, the single word heavy with implications that neither of them want to consider. But they must, for in this world where secrets are currency and truth a rare commodity, to ignore such a revelation would be folly.
"Yes," Harry confirms, his throat tight as he remembers the desperation that had driven him to accept aid from the most unlikely of sources. "And then everything went black."
His words hang in the air, shadows cast by a past too painful to relive yet impossible to forget. Each syllable is a step back into darkness, leading them deeper into the labyrinth of lies and manipulation that has become their reality.
"But you're not... You don't seem..." Sirius begins, grappling for an explanation that doesn't involve his godson turning to the dark side. His voice trails off, lost amidst the storm of thoughts raging within him.
"I'm not with Voldemort," Harry assures him, though the certainty in his tone belies the uncertainty gnawing at his gut. "I woke up here, at Malfoy Manor. The Malfoys rescued me."
There's a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the mirror, followed by a silence so profound it echoes through the vast emptiness between them. Sirius's next words are barely audible, whispered more to himself than to Harry.
"The Malfoys?"
Harry nods, even though Sirius can't see the gesture. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking again, each word measured and deliberate. "They pulled me out of the cupboard, brought me here... Narcissa healed my injuries."
For a heartbeat, there is only disbelief etched across Sirius's face, mirrored in the tension lining his posture. Then, slowly, understanding dawns—followed swiftly by concern so palpable it leaps through the mirror and wraps around Harry like a tangible force.
"Merlin, Harry." The expletive slips unbidden from Sirius's lips, a testament to the gravity of what Harry has just revealed. "You're saying they saved you?"
"In a way, yes." Harry hesitates, aware of how ludicrous his story sounds—even to his own ears. But the truth, however improbable, remains steadfast under scrutiny. "Narcissa was kind, gentle even. She made sure I was comfortable, gave me potions... treated me like—" He cuts himself off, unwilling to voice the comparison that springs to mind. Like family—a notion as foreign as it is unsettling.
"And Lucius?" Sirius prompts, his voice laced with scepticism. It's clear he's struggling to reconcile the image of the haughty, cold-hearted man he knows with the one Harry is presenting.
"He assured me I was safe, that no harm would come to me here," Harry replies, pausing to let the significance of those words sink in. Safe—a concept so simple, yet one that eludes him time and again. Even now, ensconced within the walls of Malfoy Manor, safety feels like a borrowed cloak—comforting but ill-fitting.
"What about the boy? Draco?" There's a hard edge to Sirius's voice as he asks the question, bracing for an answer he might not want to hear.
"He... hasn't been horrible," Harry downplays that development, unsure how to word it. "He's been kind, actually... we might even be friends now."
The admission hangs between them, an anomaly in the tapestry of enmity woven over years of rivalry and disdain. Yet, much like the threads of unexpected kindness shown by Draco's parents, it adds a layer of complexity to the picture unfolding before them.
"So, they've been playing nice," Sirius muses aloud, his tone suggesting he's piecing together a puzzle whose image is still largely obscured. "What do they want, Harry? What's their angle?"
"Actually, before we continue, I think it would be best if you fetched Remus," Harry suggests, his gaze never leaving Sirius's face in the mirror.
Sirius raises an eyebrow but doesn't hesitate to comply. "I'll find him."
The mirror's surface shimmers as Sirius steps away, replaced by a blur of motion and indistinct shapes. The seconds stretch into minutes, each one ticking by with agonising slowness. Finally, the image stabilises, revealing Remus' weathered features.
"Harry," he greets, his voice laced with worry. "What's happening?"
"Dumbledore betrayed us—all of us." Harry's words are clipped, precise, carrying a weight that seems to bear down on them even through the mirror. "He knew about my home situation with the Dursleys. He allowed it, encouraged it even."
His revelation hangs heavy in the air between them, its implications far-reaching and deeply unsettling. But before either man can respond, Harry presses on, the urgency in his voice palpable.
"There's more. My parents left wills—ones that specified where I should go if anything happened to them. They named Sirius first, then Remus... even Snape was listed. Under no circumstances was I ever to go to the Dursleys or any other Muggle family."
A strangled sound escapes from Sirius, something between a gasp and a growl. His fists clench at his sides, knuckles white against the backdrop of his dark robes.
"But Dumbledore sent you there anyway," Remus finishes for him, his brown eyes hardening with understanding and thinly veiled anger.
"Yes, and they included another provision: that anyone who tried to place me elsewhere due to 'unforeseen circumstances' should be thoroughly investigated. They specifically mentioned Dumbledore because of..." Harry swallows hard, steeling himself for the next part. "They feared he might return me to an abusive household, just like he did with Sirius and Snape. And yet their concerns went unheard because Dumbledore sealed the wills immediately after their deaths."
"The werewolf legislation hadn't been passed when my parents died," Harry continues, locking eyes with Remus through the mirror. "You could have legally taken me in."
The silence that follows is deafening, a stark contrast to the gravity of Harry's words. From across the distance, Harry watches as his revelation sinks in, each syllable a blow to foundations once thought unshakeable.
Sirius is the first to move, his figure a blur of motion behind Remus. His hands clench and unclench at his sides, the only outward sign of the storm brewing within him. He paces the length of the room, every step echoing the betrayal that hounds his heels.
"Betrayed... by Dumbledore," he mutters, more to himself than anyone else. The disbelief in his voice belies the anger simmering just beneath the surface. "He knew about the Dursleys, and still he left you there."
Remus doesn't respond, not immediately. His gaze remains fixed on Harry, but his eyes hold a faraway look—as if seeing past the boy who lived and into the heart of the tragedy laid bare before them. A tremor runs through him, the only hint of the turmoil churning beneath his stoic exterior.
"He should have told us," Remus whispers, the confession hanging heavy in the air between them. "I could have—I would have—taken you in," The last words are barely audible, choked out between clenched teeth and laden with regret.
Harry can almost see the years falling away from Remus' face, replaced by the haunting spectre of what might have been. For all their battles fought and won, this is one loss they cannot reclaim—the lost time, the missed opportunities, the childhood Harry was denied.
"It wasn't your fault," Harry says quietly, though the assurance feels hollow even to his own ears. "You didn't know."
"But we should have known." Sirius reappears in the mirror beside Remus, his grey eyes blazing. "We trusted him, believed in him—even when everything pointed otherwise. And for what? So he could play us like pawns in his twisted game?"
"Exactly," Harry replies, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. "Dumbledore wanted me isolated, humble... easier to control."
"Control?" Sirius growls, the word a snarl between bared teeth.
"Think about it," Harry urges them, leaning forward as if he could bridge the distance separating them through sheer willpower alone. "He kept me away from the wizarding world, even though there were countless families who would have taken me in. He made sure I knew nothing of my heritage, my status—"
"Status?" Remus interrupts, his brow furrowing with confusion.
"I am not just any wizard; I'm a Potter. We're one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and yet Dumbledore never explained what that meant or the responsibility it carried. Instead, he paraded me around like some sort of weapon."
"A weapon for the light," Sirius mutters, but there's doubt in his eyes now, shadows cast by truths too dark to ignore.
"Or just a weapon for him." Harry's gaze is unflinching, green meeting grey in silent challenge. "The Philosopher's Stone and the Triwizard Tournament—all tasks designed to test me, shape me. Were they truly accidents, or was someone pulling the strings behind the scenes? I never had to compete in the tournament, but I was told I had to, and nothing about the Philospher's Stone adds up."
Sirius blinks, once, twice, as if trying to dispel the image taking form before him. It's an ugly picture, painted in strokes of deceit and manipulation, each revelation chipping away at the pedestal upon which they'd placed Albus Dumbledore.
"And let's not forget," Harry adds, his voice barely above a whisper now, "how conveniently absent Dumbledore has been whenever things go wrong."
Remus flinches, pain flashing across his features. For a moment, he looks older than his years, worn thin by battles fought and wounds still raw.
"But why?" he asks, more to himself than to Harry. "Why would he do this? To what end?"
Harry can only shrug, a helpless gesture that speaks volumes of their shared disillusionment. "I don't know," he admits, "but the first step is recognising that something isn't right."
Silence settles over them once again, a thick blanket smothering the last vestiges of denial. In its wake, questions loom large, demanding answers they do not possess.
"Merlin," Sirius breathes out, running a hand through his already dishevelled hair. "If this is true, then... then everything we've believed—"
"Is a lie," Harry finishes for him, the finality of the statement hanging heavy in the air.
"Exactly," Sirius growls, the word a snarl between bared teeth. His image paces the small mirror frame, every line of his body radiating fury—not at Harry, but for him.
"We'll expose him," Sirius swears, his voice low and dangerous. "Dumbledore won't get away with this."
Remus doesn't speak, his face pale against the backdrop of the room's gloomy interior. His eyes are wide, haunted by the implications of what they've just learnt. He'd trusted Dumbledore too, believed in the man who'd given him a chance when no one else would. To think that it might have all been part of some larger scheme...
"I can't believe..." Remus begins, then stops, shaking his head as if to clear it. "We need proof, concrete evidence before we confront him."
"And we will find it," Sirius assures them both, though his gaze never leaves Harry. "Together."
Harry nods, finding a measure of comfort in their resolve. "A lot of what I've found is circumstantial, so I could definitely do with something more solid. We need to be careful, gather all the information we can."
"Then let's do it. For James and Lily...and for you, Harry." Remus' voice is steady now, filled with quiet determination. "They would want us to uncover the truth."
A sense of purpose settles over Harry, steely and resolute. The path ahead is fraught with danger and uncertainty, but he isn't alone. With Sirius and Remus on his side, he has more than just allies; he has family willing to fight for him, to challenge even the most revered wizard of their time.
"Thank you," Harry says, his voice barely above a whisper. It seems inadequate for the gratitude swelling within him, but it's all he has.
"Don't thank us yet, kiddo." Sirius manages a grim smile. "We've got a long road ahead."
"But we'll walk it together," Remus adds, offering Harry a nod of solidarity through the mirror's shimmering surface. "You're not alone in this, Harry."
"There's a few other things," Harry says, his voice steady despite the tremor that betrays his nerves, "I've been legally emancipated since my name was pulled from the Goblet of Fire."
The declaration hangs in the air between them, a tangible shockwave that seems to halt time itself. Sirius and Remus stare at him through the mirror's surface, their expressions mirroring the disbelief etched onto Harry's face when he'd first learnt of this fact himself.
"Harry..." Remus begins, but his voice trails off, lost amidst the implications of what they've just heard.
"There is no home for me there, not anymore." Harry's voice hardens, matching the resolve in his eyes. "I'm free of the Dursleys—and anyone else who thinks they can control me."
He watches as understanding dawns on their faces, followed closely by a shared sense of grim satisfaction. The knowledge that Harry is no longer under the thumb of the Dursleys—or anyone else—brings with it a relief neither man had dared hope for until now.
"But how did you...?" Sirius starts to ask, only for Harry to cut him off.
"The Malfoys," he explains, and the mere mention of their name brings an immediate tension to the air. "They showed me everything—the laws, the records, all the proof I needed."
A flicker of doubt crosses Sirius's face, but Harry continues before either man can interject.
"They revealed things about Dumbledore that I never would have believed if I hadn't seen the evidence myself." Harry hesitates, then presses on, needing them to understand. "His public image doesn't match up with what he does behind closed doors."
"What do you mean, Harry?" There's a note of caution in Remus' voice, one borne not out of disbelief but concern for the boy who carries too many burdens for someone so young.
"Dumbledore controlled who I interacted with at Hogwarts, what I learnt, even where I spent my summers - he had mail wards around the Dursleys to stop even Gringotts from contacting me, let alone you, Remus," Harry asserts, each revelation landing like a hammer blow against the facade of trust they'd placed in the headmaster.
"That reminds me," Remus begins, his eyes flickering to Sirius with a hint of unease. "After we discovered you were missing, I checked the blood wards Dumbledore claimed were so crucial. They were present, but they hadn't been active for years, if ever—"
"Because there's no love in that house," Harry finishes for him, his voice barely more than a whisper. The truth of it settles heavy on his chest, making it hard to breathe.
"Exactly," Remus affirms, a grim satisfaction in his tone. "Those wards rely on blood and love. They were placed correctly, but they couldn't draw power from a source that wasn't there."
"We must expose him," Sirius declares, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken vows. "We show everyone the truth about Dumbledore."
"And we stand by your side, Harry," Remus adds, the promise echoing across the distance that separates them. "You're not alone in this."
For the first time since discovering the depth of Dumbledore's deception, Harry feels a seed of hope taking root within him. It's small and fragile, threatened by the storms yet to come, but it's there nonetheless—a beacon guiding him toward a future where the truth might finally see the light of day.
"Thank you," Harry murmurs, more to himself than to the figures in the mirror. But they hear him, responding with nods of affirmation that bolster his resolve.
"And finally, we come to Voldemort," Harry continues, his voice steady despite the gravity of what he's about to share, "he has regained his sanity and changed his tactics - when I said the Malfoys found me, it was under his orders."
The statement hangs in the air like a storm cloud, its implications dark and heavy.
"He wants Dumbledore removed from power, for the laws against Muggle-borns to be repealed, and for students to learn about Dark magic safely, rather than stumble upon it ignorantly." Harry pauses, allowing them time to process his words. "And he swore on his magic that he wouldn't harm anyone unless in self-defence and he can't order anyone to harm people either."
Silence stretches taut between them, a chasm filled with the echoes of history and the weight of revelations too vast to comprehend. Sirius and Remus stare at him through the mirror, their faces ashen and drawn. This isn't just unexpected—it goes against everything they've known, every battle they've fought.
"Are you saying..." Sirius begins, his voice rough with disbelief, "that Voldemort is sane? And he's sworn not to—"
"Harm anyone?" Remus finishes for him, his brow furrowed in deep thought. He leans closer to the mirror, his eyes searching Harry's face for any sign of deception. But all he finds is sincerity—and perhaps a touch of hope. "If this is true... it changes everything."
"But we need proof," Remus adds after a moment, his gaze never leaving Harry's. "We can't take this at face value—not without verification."
"And I would agree," Harry says, nodding. His heart pounds a rapid tempo in his chest, matching the urgency of their conversation, "but I saw him make that vow myself under my Invisibility Cloak during one of their meetings - he had me and Draco attend, and that's when he made the actual oath."
He watches as they absorb this information, their expressions hardening into masks of determination. For men who have seen the worst of war, the prospect of peace—even if offered by an old enemy—is tantalising.
"We'll need to tread carefully," Remus warns, but there's a spark in his eye that wasn't there before—a glimmer of possibility unfolding amidst the chaos. "If Voldemort's intentions are genuine, then we could end this war once and for all."
The hope within Harry grows, fed by their shared determination. It's a fragile thing, this newfound resolve, but it lends him strength he didn't know he still possessed. The enormity of what lies ahead is daunting—how does one expose the leader of the light for manipulation and deceit? Yet with Sirius and Remus at his side, Harry feels as though they might stand a chance.
"Harry," Sirius begins, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands, "we've always trusted Dumbledore. He's been our mentor and our friend, but if he's been manipulating us all along—" His voice cracks, the betrayal slicing deep. "We need concrete evidence."
"And we'll find it," Harry assures them, his own conviction steadying the wavering connection between them. "Together."
Remus gives a nod, slow and deliberate. "There are allies who will listen, once we have proof. People who value truth over loyalty." His gaze hardens, resolve steeling his features. "We just need to tread carefully."
"For now," Sirius adds, meeting Harry's eyes through the mirror, "we keep this quiet. Between us."
Harry nods, understanding the gravity of their agreement. This isn't just about revealing Dumbledore—it's about unearthing the truth that has been buried under years of manipulations and half-truths. And though the task seems insurmountable, Harry can't help but feel a sense of empowerment. For the first time in his life, he holds the reins, steering his own course rather than being led blindly by others' agendas.
"Whatever happens," Sirius's voice cuts through the tension, a beacon of strength amidst the storm. "Know this—you're not alone, Harry. Never again."
"I know," Harry whispers back, his words barely a ripple against the vast sea of uncertainty stretching before him. "The Malfoys... They've been good to me. They even offered me an out, if I want it..."
"Harry, you're still a kid, no matter how grown-up this world has forced you to be," Remus interjects softly, the gravity of his words hanging heavy in the silence. "It's our responsibility, the adults', to handle this. You've done more than enough already."
"But I can't just stand by, can I?" Harry's voice is small but resolute amidst the tangle of fear and guilt gnawing at his insides. "Not when there are others who might be suffering like I did... because of him."
"Then we stand with you, always," Remus promises, and Harry nods.