A/N: This is the continuation of the previous chapter; thanks to all those who provided an overwhelming response to chapter 9! Yes, some of the memories are glossed over – they will likely be dealt with by the characters afterwards, or included as outtakes from this story at a later date =)

Harry, meanwhile, had made it through two of Lucius Malfoy's memories. The first had been of Abraxas Malfoy, Lucius's father, and the aftermath of Lucius' realization that Abraxas was breaking the first rule of the Malfoys – in urging Lucius to prove his continued loyalty to the Dark Lord, Abraxas had placed loyalty to a psychopath above the Malfoy family.

Something had called to Harry in that memory, watching a Lucius not far out of his teens, stand tall and proud to declare that although he'd serve the Dark Lord, he would only do so to an extent that would serve his family. The memory had left no doubts in Harry's mind about Lucius' morality; the blond had little compunction about killing. The fierce loyalty to family that Lucius used as his guiding light, however, resonated deep within Harry. Harry thought he might have to do some inner reflection, after this – viewing the memory, he had come to the slow realization that he shared a goodly amount of the sentiments expressed by the younger Lucius, and could see following a great deal of his actions in a similar situation, as morally grey as they might be.

After all, Harry had always hoped that he would be the type to do anything for those he loved – and that was exactly what Lucius had done.

In the second memory, he had seen the Malfoy lord with a young Draco, cradling his toddler son to sleep, promising that he would do anything and everything to keep his son safe... including the decision to lie about being Imperius-ed into the Dark Lord's service. In light of the first memory, Harry's world view took a paradigm shift as he realized, in a fundamental way that he never had before, that perhaps good and evil weren't as diametrically opposite as he had once thought. If the action was evil, but the reason behind it was unobjectionable and perhaps even admirable, then where did that leave Lucius?

Determined to think on this further afterwards, Harry took a deep breath and dove back in.

Kinglsey had progressed through the last of Lucius's memories. It had been a revelation, truly, to see the man in his element, manipulating people and politics to best serve the interests of his family. It had been illuminating to realize that although Lucius did, indeed, crave power, it wasn't out of simple greed; no, the power Lucius hoarded and gained went exclusively towards increasing the protection and influence of the Malfoy family. The last memory of Lucius' that he had seen had been of the Malfoy lord sitting with Severus in the Potions Master's quarters, after that first, world-changing meeting between Lucius, Kingsley and Harry. Hearing Lucius's assessment of both Kingsley and Harry had revealed much about Lucius's character, and had strangely enough made him both like and respect the Malfoy lord a great deal more. The quick, pointed wit that Lucius had demonstrated, when comfortable, was oddly attractive, as was the picture of a Lucius truly at ease, amongst 'family' (the revelation that as a Malfoy, Severus would also become family to both Kingsley and Harry had made Kingsley choke – and then begin to chuckle, as he imagined the look on Severus's face once he found out.)

This memory, however, Kingsley realized as it began to unfold, was Harry's. It was of the fight at the Department of Mysteries, and Kingsley frowned as he wondered what could possibly have happened that he hadn't seen. He understood, abruptly, as the focus shifted and he watched Harry chase after Bellatrix. Moments later, at a shouted "Crucio!," he realized exactly what had caused Harry such turmoil the day before. It was interesting, he mused; Harry had obviously been worried about this memory, whereas Kingsley found it reassuring. It showed, firstly, that Harry was not a complete saint – without it, he would have worried again that the spell was only showing one side of his partner's character. Secondly, and the part that he didn't think Harry realized, was that this memory was intensely reassuring in that it showed Harry's moral mettle – it had taken the death of his grandfather, the injuring of his closest friends, seeming betrayal by several individuals, and a great deal of hurt and frustration for Harry to even fail at casting a Crucio. For most, that would have been more than enough to snap them – but for Harry, the Dark magic still would not work, for at heart, the younger wizard didn't have the inherent capability for cruelty that a successful Crucio required.

If what they speculated about Harry's eventual power levels was true, then, this was something very, very good – now, Kingsley mused, if only they could get Harry to see it that way.

Lucius had made it through both of Kingsley's other memories; in seeing him joining the Auror academy after the death of his favourite cousin, Lucius had gained a sense of the man's deep roots in family and kinship. The Auror had a quiet capability and intelligence that Lucius appreciated, and his moral strength, which allowed Kingsley to face hard choices and make even harder decisions, had gained him a great deal of Lucius's respect. The moral code that the Auror followed might differ from Lucius' own, but that did not stop the blond from appreciating the strength Kingsley needed to stick to it.

The last memory of Kingsley's had puzzled Lucius somewhat; it was seemingly nothing unusual, and in itself contained no great revelation. The other two memories, Lucius thought, had made a point to demonstrate certain aspects of Kingsley's character. This last one, however – it had shown a dark room, lit only by the low, cheerful glow of a flickering fireplace. At first, Lucius had thought it was empty; then, however, he had spotted the tall Auror in a wooden rocking chair, cradling a sleeping child to his chest and looking more at peace than Lucius had ever seen the man. Seeing Kingsley in this setting, at ease, only made Lucius more aware of how often the man's face carried lines of weariness and pain. Lucius was broken from his musings by the entry of another to the scene. A woman – Kingsley's relative, Lucius judged – had come in to take the child to bed, but the big man had demurred. She had accepted with a rueful smile – apparently this was quite common – and had left Kingsley to carry the child to bed, and then to carefully tuck the tiny girl to sleep. Lucius had watched, and something small and warm had lit inside him at watching the large hands gently tucking blankets and pillows, and listening to that deep voice humming a quiet lullaby.

If he had been less of a Malfoy, Lucius might have been inclined to describe the scene as downright adorable; a Malfoy he was, however, and thus he was left with the edges of a smile just flickering around the lines of his customary smirk, and his spirit curiously lightened. Watching his bondmate – and, yes, by this time Lucius was pretty sure the bonding was inevitable, and even, for Merlin's sake, (and here Lucius shuddered) wanted - watching Kingsley happy, and at peace, was something Lucius wanted to see again.

And what Lucius Malfoy wanted, Lucius Malfoy got.

But for now, he had more memories to view – Harry's memories. He cautiously entered the trio of memories about Harry, curious about what he would see. In the last weeks, he had realized that there was more to the Golden Boy than just the Gryffindor facade. Now, seeing the first memory passing by, and hearing a rather interesting conversation between Harry and the tattered Sorting Hat, he speculated that there was a great deal of potential there, and vowed to help Severus in his unofficial quest of Slytherin-ing the Gryffindor Golden Boy.

Lucius, too, then saw the memory of Bellatrix and that failed Crucio; like Kingsley, he realized that this was what Harry had been worried about. For Lucius, however, the memory spoke of Harry's love for family – for Sirius, Harry had tried something that was so anathema to his very being that his magic had rejected it.

And that, Lucius understood.

It was the third memory of Harry's, however, that evoked an emotional response from the blond Slytherin. He'd found himself in a sterile, frighteningly clean house, watching an episode from Harry's childhood. The memory had flashed by, showing days of Harry's repulsive Aunt and Uncle telling Harry how worthless he was, how he wasn't worth their love, how no-one would or could ever love a no-good runt like him. Although atrocious, it was not the verbal abuse that had gained Lucius's attention; rather, what Lucius would remember instead was the image of a tiny Harry in his cupboard after a particularly bad afternoon. The small boy had managed to keep his eyes dry through the entire ordeal, as his cousin had repeatedly got him in trouble and his Aunt's had subjected Harry to a vicious hour-long harangue on how glad Lilly must have been to die and be divested of a worthless child like him. Back in his cupboard, later, the young Harry's eyes had started to water. Even as the tears fell, however, small, grubby fists had stubbornly wiped them away and a tiny, fierce voice had vowed that he wouldn't believe them, that he wouldn't listen but would pretend and pretend and pretend and so that they would never know.

That vow, so fierce and proud and strong, had resonated deeply with Lucius as he thought of himself, years earlier, making a similar vow when there was no one else to trust, no one else to wipe away the tears and make things right. When his father had put Voldemort above family, Lucius had vowed that he would not do the same; seeing a tiny, emotionally battered Harry stand tall and strong to make the same promise, ignited a burning pride within Lucius.

This, this spirit was worth knowing, was worth saving and serving and keeping. Somebody with this type of spirit was family.

Harry had moved into Kingsley's memories, now. Watching Kingsley, newly graduated from Hogwarts, soberly applying to the Aurors after his cousin's death had made Harry's heart hurt in sympathy and then in pride as Kingsley had quickly accelerated through the ranks. The second memory, in contrast, made Harry burn with rage as he watched Kingsley's boyfriend and lover deny their relationship to teasing colleagues, decrying that there was no way he'd ever be "one of those." There wouldn't be, Harry though, ever enough happiness to erase the pain of that betrayal for Kingsley – but he respected the man more for it, as Harry had watched the Auror refuse to give into the teasing and taunting, shaming his colleagues instead with his quiet strength and unwavering nobility.

There was a lesson there, Harry thought, which he'd have to contemplate later – a lesson in personal moral integrity, and the ability to discount the opinions of others in order to maintain said integrity. Yes, Kingsley would be someone that Harry could talk to, he thought – somebody who would truly understand in a way that few ever would.

Over the course of the last memories, Harry found that the quiet admiration he held for Kingsley solidifying into something stronger, something bright and solid and good. If Lucius had moved from pitch-black evil to something rather more grey and yet curiously admirable in Harry's thoughts – sly and slippery, but with a fierce, shining honor as both sword and shield – then Kingsley became brighter, clearer, a deep well of calm, solid strength. It wasn't that he was blinded to their faults, Harry thought; no, the memories had quite effectively ensured he was aware of exactly who his potential bondmates were, flaws and all. Rather, he felt like there was an understanding, and an empathy, that went further with these two men than with any other person that Harry had ever met.

And Harry was strangely content with that.

Slowly, quietly, then, the three men retreated from the welter of memories.

Kingsley shook his head, trying to stop the room from spinning. The last two of Harry's memories had been similarly intense; meeting Harry's relatives, even in memory, made him want to engage in some muggle-baiting of his own even as it made Harry's inability to cast Cruciatus that much more impressive. By contrast, watching a grieving Harry thinking over the prophecy during the summer, and deciding that if death was what was required to keep his friends safe, then he would meet it head on, had filled Kingsley with a bone-deep mixture of grief and pride. His path, he had decided, belonged with Harry no matter what the result of the soul-bond might be.

Lucius, meanwhile, was attempting to regain his usual level of Slytherin self-possession. He felt as though he had been flayed raw; he tried to stretch discretely, then gave up and with less than his usual feline grace, tried to work the kinks out of knotted shoulders.

Harry, by contrast, let his mind go blank, depending on Occlumency to border off the memories until he could think about them later, in private. He stumbled to his feet, adjusting slightly faster than the two older men. He saw Kingsley stand up as well, both the man's knees cracking as he lent against the wall, trying to stabilize. Seeing Lucius's face, tired and knotted with pain, Harry found himself staggering over to offer the man a hand up. Lucius's head snapped up, surprised – then, ever so slowly, he placed a long fingered, aristocratic hand in Harry's, allowing the younger man to haul him up. Though still rather dizzy, Lucius managed to move fast enough to get a hand under Harry's elbow when the younger man tripped, the exhaustion catching up to him.

All three men, without needing any discussion, headed wearily for the bedrooms. There would be time for talk, later – but for now, what they needed was sleep.

Harry vaguely noticed supportive hands that pulled open a door and gently guided him to the bed inside – as soon as his tired body and suddenly-fuzzy mind hit the mattress, though, all thoughts left his head and he descended, silently, swiftly, into the depths of an exhausted sleep.

He never noticed how his two companions, in silent agreement, gently shifted him under the covers and tucked him in, or how two pairs of eyes, grey and brown, met in quiet understanding before dousing the light and closing the door, leaving Harry to peaceful, dreamless sleep.

TBC.