- Harry Potter and the Bridge of Dreams -

Chapter 13

Objects At Rest

For a little time, a short while that echoed like the breath before the shout, there seemed to be a hope riding in the public consciousness that the two sides of the ancient conflict might, at last, be coming together. Children have that power; so does love – but nothing is ever accomplished without pain, and it became clear all too soon to those directly involved that some pains – some fears – make manifest a danger that may sleep, but never grow less or vanish...

~From A Modern Wizarding History, by Datru Thov Depast

Harry, Dudley, and Neville were not the only ones to note the resemblance between themselves and the shadow-brothers; Albus Dumbledore, with his attention half on Harry and half on the conversation with Sirius and Madam Longbottom, was struck by the similarity as the three boys stood beside each other. Slender and shortest and wild haired, young Harry; plump and well-combed and of medium height, his cousin – and tallest, long haired, stolid – Neville.

It was not his intention to ask the Shadowmaster any questions; he knew such men to be silent, to keep their own counsel – he could not blame them. He was the same way. Still...he wondered, for the likenesses were too exact to be a coincidence.

Below them on the floor of the exhibition hall, the Shadowmaster and the singer, the Auror and the announcer had all gathered with the Chinese Ministry of Magic's ambassador and several of the mage artists.

"Boys, shall we go down and meet those who have so skillfully entertained us?"

Harry, Dudley and Neville broke off their whispered conversation and turned to the Headmaster; Harry spoke for all three of them.

"Yes, please, Headmaster Albus. Is that why we stayed?"

"Most certainly; come, let's make our way down."

The adults stayed together, and the boys walked behind them. Madam Longbottom moved rather slowly, and the Headmaster as well – though both Harry and Dudley had seen him act considerably more spry when the occasion demanded it – so by the time they reached the entrance to the floor of the hall, several of those who had waited to meet the Chinese embassy were already leaving.

Sirius and the Headmaster both nodded at the woman with the glimmering eye patch; Madam Longbottom hung back for a moment to speak with her, and gestured at Neville to go on ahead with his friends when he turned, face falling, to stop at her side. He looked up at her with wide eyes, because he did not remember any other time in his life when she had allowed him to go forward without her.

After a moment, he shook his head a little and took advantage of whatever sense of safety had possessed her to run after Harry and Dudley.

Sirius was deep in discussion with the Chinese Auror about several of the spells he had displayed, using the benefits of a basic translation spell to the fullest and receiving surprising answers to several of his questions. Already, he was planning his next lesson for Harry and Dudley, and he would be sure to point out how it had been a simple, easy spell that had allowed the Auror victory over the Shadowmaster.

Harry, Dudley, and Neville were waiting near the entrance of the hall, clustered together and watching the Headmaster as he bowed to the Shadowmaster and began talking with him in Chinese; in front of them, the blonde man and his son stood conversing with the two elderly women and the singer who had accompanied the Shadowmaster.

Neville's eyes were fixed intently on the blonde man; Harry tugged at his arm – he wanted to talk more about the three brothers, and about the special wands that had been put away for them at home. He toyed with the grip of his usual wand, tucked in his sleeve in its holster where it belonged.

"Hey, Neville?"

He poked Neville twice more before the other boy responded.

"Huh? Oh – sorry, Harry."

Dudley came up on his other side and stared at the pair of blondes, wondering what could be so interesting.

"Do you know that kid, Neville?"

"No – well, I know who he is...but...you mean neither of you knows that man?"

Harry and Dudley's blank gazes told him that they didn't.

"That's – that's Lucius Malfoy. And his son; Drago, I think his name is."

Dudley snickered; Harry turned his gaze back to the blonde man.

"So who is he, Neville?"

"He's – my gran says he's – that he was -"

And he lowered his voice even quieter than it had been when he had spoken of the three brother's wands.

"A Death Eater."

And even in Dudley, that was enough to engender horror; they had heard stories of what Voldemort's group of merry men had inflicted on the wizarding populace of Britain.

Fire -

Torture -

Pain -

Death -

And now Harry knew why Neville bore that fixed gaze, that burning stare; Neville, who lived with his grandmother because his parents' minds had been destroyed by terrible spells. Sirius had told him, one of many stories that Harry had heard through the years. Lives destroyed, children killed, parents taken from their families...they weren't stories Sirius would have told him, young as he was, except that there were no others to tell. Harry's godfather was part of a lonely generation, a generation emptied of its heroes; its brothers; its friends -

Friends like Harry's parents, and Neville's too.

"Neville was he – was he one of the ones -"

Neville gave a sharp, negative jerk of his head, but that was enough.

Dudley stood respectfully, silent in the face of this new awareness. He had known sacrifices that both his friend's – no, his brother's parents had been forced to make.

Harry's green eyes still stared darkly across the room, burning into the back of Lucius Malfoy's head. For a nine year old, he had an impressive glare – there was power in his eyes, a flicker of magic that could daunt those not prepared to encounter it; it was partly the color, the blazing spellgreen he had inherited from his mother, and partly his own presence. Neville, too, stared, his brown eyes focused, absorbing for the first time in person the figure of a Death Eater, a nightmare brought to life.

He almost could not believe it was true; the man seemed too...too clean, too elegant, too...perfect. And yet that was in itself a kind of dirt, a fault, an imperfection – no man was so sleek in word and action, so smooth of smile and step. He had the grace of the hunting lion, and yet something at the edge of his presence stank like a carrion eater's breath.

Perhaps it was the intensity of Neville's stare that attracted Lucius' attention; perhaps it was just that the conversation he was involved in was ending, so that he happened to turn and meet the eyes of the boys who were standing by the exit.

Whatever the case, a fateful encounter was precipitated years before it might have been by the glow of fury in Harry's face and the unusual focus in Neville's eyes. Lucius Malfoy had no intention of causing trouble in such a setting as this; though neither man had acknowledged the other the crackling awareness of Albus Dumbledore's presence was turgid in his veins, an awareness deeper than mere magic, and more threatening.

The children, though, the boys – one unfamiliar, one the heir of Longbottom, one whose face was known by its fame...they were opportunity, set one beside the other, and opportunity was a thing that Lucius Malfoy was always quick to claim.

With smooth, swift steps, he approached them; his son followed in his wake like the foam on a crest of a wave, pale and always with the semblance of retreating, even as it approaches on the dark surface of the water. When he was close enough to be heard, Lucius turned to his son as if the boy had been the reason for his approach, though even Dudley could see that the child was only an afterthought.

"Well, Draco, you see? There are other boys your age here after all. Shall I introduce you?"

Harry, Dudley, and Neville exchanged glances, hearing this, but the pale boy spoke dutifully and it seemed an introduction was not to be avoided; the DeathEaterwould talk to them.

"Yes, please, father."

All three of them noted that however much the father's presence gave them a tingle of fear, the pale boy with the pale hair seemed like nothing; a wisp, a puffed up doll in fine robes. He wore an arrogant smile, a look of superiority that was in obvious imitation of his father, but bore none of the bite of the elder Malfoy's expression.

Neville thought that if the father hid the savagery of a lion behind a rabbit's smile, the boy was a lamb in a lion's disguise.

"Boys – or should I say Heir Longbottom, and Lord Potter? Ah, but that would not be polite, as I do not know your companion..."

Dudley eyed the man suspiciously, but he knew from all the movies and games he had ever seen that when meeting the villain without the strength to defeat him, it was best to be...polite. He insisted on something then that was not precisely true, but which set him on better footing to deal with someone so preoccupied with status.

"I'm the Evans heir, Dudley Evans."

He liked the sound of that; he liked the feel of it. Everyone kept telling him that in the magical world, he was an Evans – an Evans, not the first, but...the Heir.

After all, Neville is an heir...

The muggle world had no such thing; he had learned in school about the disbanding of the nobility, the decrease of titled Houses and families – he liked the sound of it; like he would be a lord one day too.

"Ah...Evans...Evans..."

And Lucius squinted briefly at Dudley, because the boy did not have the inadequate posture of a muggleborn or the uncertain stance of a halfblood. Yet he did not know any House named Evans; in fact there was only one Evans he remembered, a witch -

Lily Evans. The muggleborn mother of...the Boy Who Lived. Muggleborn, she was...but...this boy...a cousin to power?

His gaze flickered back to the face of Harry Potter, confronting defiance there, and fury, and fear well hidden...but not well enough. From the Longbottom boy he received no impression, no emotion – a deep well was there, but dark to him – there was only the expression of external focus, the giveaway that the boy had devoted all his attention to Lucius' presence.

"Well, it is good to make your acquaintance, Heir Evans; I came to introduce my son. He is your age I believe – Draco, come forward."

Obediently, the pale boy, now identified as Draco, not Drago, stepped forward and bowed very shortly to the three boys he did not know. His eyes focused in at once on Harry's face, roaming until they caught the bottom end of the famous scar peeking from beneath disordered fringe. Then he stared, until he was forced to blink and his father jostled him into speaking.

"Hello, very good to meet you. Malfoy, Draco Malfoy -"

Draco's words were all very precise and well enunciated; even Neville's attention shifted to him when he spoke, the words sounded so...off. They were not the words of a nine year old boy looking to make friends, they were just...words. Empty.

The three boys exchanged glances, wise enough to hear the father even if the words had come out of the mouth of the son.

"Hello, then -"

Dudley spoke first, and then halted. The sense of danger was acute, all of it bound together in the presence of the looming elder Malfoy, and it strangled his attempt at normal conversation. Even Harry, who was usually the first to do what he pleased, regardless of fear, was subdued by the dominating aura Lucius projected. Despite having said that his intentions were for his son to meet them – they had overheard as much – Lucius Malfoy seemed far more interested in monopolizing their time himself.

"Well, boys, have you had an opportunity yet to speak to the Shadowmaster? No? Make sure you do, it is not often one gets such an opportunity...have any of you been out of the country? No? Oh, that's really too bad – I take Draco to France regularly, just so he can experience something of wizarding life on the continent, you know...and of course after tonight I certainly think a trip to Asia might be in order..."

Neville and Dudley nodded their heads dumbly. As if sensing that his two companions were not going to be of help, Harry squared his shoulders and squinted not at the Elder Malfoy, but at his son.

"D'ya like France then, Draco? I could ask Sirius to take us, if it's fun - we might've been to Ireland once, but...I don't think we're really allowed to leave Britain so I can't ask, yeah?"

He grinned, hoping that friendliness might be enough to dispel some of Draco's paleness, but he was only faintly rewarded.

"Father...father says that France is where culture comes from. It's – it's nice, I guess, even if I'm not allowed to -."

"Now, Draco, you know Malfoys don't guess. France is lovely."

"Yes, father."

And Draco turned to Harry, almost mechanically.

"You see? France is lovely."

Harry's face changed, almost inscrutably, but the anger was dimming from his expression and being replaced with something close to pity.

"Me'n Dud'n Neville were talking about the story – the three brothers, you know, that the Shadowmaster put on -"

For the first time, a semblance of eagerness changed the put-on placid expression on Draco's face.

"Yeah – that was wicked!"

A flush changed the unnatural, static paleness of his face; his eyes, animated, were more blue and less gray.

"The singing was okay, I gue – I suppose. But the way the shadows moved – I thought the beginning part was pretty good, you know, the flowers and shapes and all that. The story though – that was excellent!"

Harry was too surprised at having got a response to say anything, but Neville and Dudley were more than willing to pick up what he had begun. The natural, boisterous nature of children was enough to override even Lucius Malfoy, who could not enact sinister intentions or even think too loudly of them in this place, in this company -

For Albus Dumbledore was always there, out of the corner of his eye, and Sirius Black was not known to be gentle with his response to a threat.

There had been those rumors of a werewolf attack at Hogwarts – Black's fault, it was said. And the death of Pettigrew – that was known.

He brought the body back in pieces, they said. Just the head, and bits no larger than his little finger – just enough to identify him.

No...Lucius Malfoy, accomplished wizard that he was, would tempt neither the Headmaster nor Sirius Black.

Instead, he stood back, and approved the conversation his son was having on his behalf – for surely, if Draco was amenable enough, the boys would consent to a visit? There were entertainments and objects to be found nowhere else in Britain available at Malfoy Manor...and children could be much better at getting what they wanted than adults; one of the advantages of innocence.

Even if it means hosting Albus Dumbledore for tea, there are things...many things to be gained by the appropriate liaisons these days.

Contemplating all this, Lucius stepped back and pasted a benevolent expression on his face, waiting for one of the boy's guardians to notice who was watching over them.

It did not take long.

The four boys had barely gotten started on a heated debate of which treasure was the best – Dudley and Draco wanted the Wand, while Harry thought the Cloak would be best, especially for mischief. Neville was hesitant to declare himself, but said that the Cloak would probably be excellent, but he thought the Stone might be the most valuable.

He did not have time to get into his reasons why, for at the moment Draco began to phrase the question, Sirius finally extricated himself from conversation with the Chinese Auror and moved purposefully in their direction. He hovered protectively behind Harry, but lay a hand on Dudley's shoulder as well, and turned an eye in Neville's direction.

"You three all right?"

"Yeah, we're fine, Padfoot."

Dudley nodded, and Neville waved a hand in Draco's direction.

"We just met Draco; his dad's over there. They came to watch the Shadowmaster, too."

"That's – nice."

Sirius' smile had grown very strained the moment Neville drew his attention directly to Lucius; the smile on Lucius' face was fixed, in turn. Before the downfall of Voldemort the two men had drawn wands and fought each other many times from opposing sides of the battlefield – one always masked, the other brazenly showing his face even as he fought against his own blood. Once, Sirius had been held captive in Malfoy Manor – but he had not seen Lucius then, through the chaos and the trauma and the masses of hooded figures.

This was the first time they had ever stood within such close proximity of each other, face to face and no battle calling them to violence.

The call remained, regardless; they both heard it, conflicting natures going to war in the silence that was anything but still. To show it, however – both knew better than that.

"Malfoy; enjoy the show?"

Lucius barely inclined his head to Sirius' flippant greeting.

"Black; of course. Such skill in storytelling? Exquisite, and one so rarely has a chance to meet a Shadowmaster -"

"And you had never seen one before? I mean, sure it's pretty – but it's just a lot of playing around with the dark, in the end."

"Oh, playing around – that's not quite fair, don't you think cousin?"

The familiar term of address was too much. As Sirius' expression crossed the border from polite to purgatory, Albus strode up beside him as if his appearance had been choreographed, a perfect interruption.

"Sirius, I see you've found our wayward trio – and what's this, a fourth? Ah, Lucius! I see, is this one yours?"

The smile on Lucius' face gained an entirely new level of strain; he was outnumbered and overpowered in his current company, and his instincts of self preservation were telling him that it was time to beat a swift retreat, and hope that the children's conversation had had some influence -

But that is fear talking; they will do nothing, here. No more than I will.

"Yes...yes, this is my son, Draco. Draco, this is Albus Dumbledore -"

But for the first time, Draco was apparently willing to overstep the boundaries of his father's influence over his behavior.

"Albus – Albus Dumbledore? But you're on a chocolate frog card – father, he's on a chocolate frog card!"

The other three boys were grinning; Harry and Dudley were quite familiar with both the Headmaster and his chocolate frog card – though Dumbledore was a Special Rare in the Alchemist's Collection, each of them had a signed copy.

"Yes, Draco, I'm aware -"

And then, as if he had expected such a reaction when really it had been the last thing on his mind, Lucius patted Draco's shoulder and forced his smile to widen.

"Would you like to invite your new friends for an afternoon, Draco?"

Draco peered at his father with astonishment that was obvious to all the watching parties.

"To – to the manor, father?"

His wonder was not an act; he had rarely had a visitor, and never without at least a month of planning in advance, warnings about what he could or could not say -

And he saw that Harry and Neville shared a shiver of unease at his father's smile, which was directed at each of them in turn.

"Of course, Draco, where else?"

But Sirius was quick to defuse the situation; he had no desire to let Harry or Dudley get within ten miles of Malfoy Manor – not if he could help it.

"Sorry, Malfoy, no can do – at least not any time soon. There are certain precautions that have to be followed; for Harry's safety, you understand. There are always elements ready to prey on the unwary, but they won't have a thing to do with my Harry if I can help it -"

The and I can he so wanted to stay was left unspoken.

Sirius' fingers squeezed a little tighter on Harry's shoulder. Harry was unaware of any precautions taken for his safety, beyond the fact that he had to live with Aunt Petunia – but he remembered what Neville had said, and realized that Sirius was just making excuses – that Sirius was on the edge of rage – that his fingers were trembling with fear -

Neville's words had shocked Harry, but the real danger that was behind the shock of the words Death Eater – Sirius' fear taught him that in one moment.

This man fought my parents – fought for the man that killed them – this man is bad, this man is – evil.

For the first time Harry quantified the darkness that had been chasing him since he was born, applied the truth to what he saw in the face of a living being. He stared the lure of darkness right in its blue eyes and found it utterly without attraction. Suddenly the smile on Lucius' face seemed false, something put on for show.

The son, though – the boy who seemed to really want to be friends...

Draco's a normal kid – or he would be, if his dad would let him alone for a while. I bet he doesn't have any friends -

And in that moment, Harry came to a decision that would influence many lives, his own not the least.

"Sirius – hey, Sirius, if we can't go visit Draco, d'ya think he could come visit us? And Neville too – we never have any friends over, any more, Aunt Petunia's all funny now since the -"

"Yes, Harry, I know – she's overprotective, a bit, but that's to be expected...and she might be right. I'm not sure it's a good idea for your home to become public knowledge; the wrong information in the wrong hands could be very dangerous."

It was Dumbledore who came to the rescue of Harry's half-thought-out spur of the moment plan; as if he was aware what it was that Harry was trying to do, who he was trying to save -

"Now, Sirius – didn't you tell me earlier that you wanted to be sure that Harry and Dudley had a chance to lead normal lives? Surely we can accommodate their request; after all, we can't lock them away from the world and its dangers forever..."

Something flashed between Sirius and the Headmaster then, in the moments before Madame Longbottom approached from behind them, her face full of worry at the sight of Lucius. It was not quite magic, but more than just an exchange of looks; they spoke mind to mind, sharp words flashing like knives between them.

Harry is not to be sacrificed -

Harry is making his own decisions.

Harry is only a child -

Harry is wiser than you know. He can save this boy -

A Malfoy!

A Malfoy; a child. Or do you forget what it was like for you; to be a Black?

Sirius turned away, his thoughts closed, his eyes clenched shut for one moment in which the age of terror and all its memories flashed sharply across his thoughts.

"Perhaps you are right after all, Harry – after all, you're all just...kids. Why don't you send Draco an owl sometime, and we can make plans?"

Lucius' smile became less strained; he even went so far as to shake the Headmaster's hand, though he made no move to reach for Sirius'. Draco was smiling – was the boy lonely? Perhaps it was time to call up a few of the old crowd, and bring their children together...

He had no idea that that was the last thing Draco wanted; that the boy had already been taught what it mean to have those kind of companions – that he wanted nothing to do with the particular way of doing things that seemed to be the way in a pure-blood household. He wanted his father's approval; oh yes. He wanted to be loved, to be seen as someone special, to have the respect and admiration of the man who seemed to live a cold, closed circle -

He was loyal, because of that desire. But at the same time, there were other things he did not want at all. Like the crup he had asked for the year before as a birthday present – and which he had turned away from almost as soon as it had been given to him, because there was too cruel a smile in his father's face when he warned Draco not to get too attached.

That had meant danger for the puppy, and danger for Draco too – and when a week later the crup had not come when it was called, he had only shrugged and demanded that his father buy him a new, better broom instead.

No matter that a broom could not cuddle him, lick his cheek at night -

No matter that there was only the empty silence of the manor grounds to fly in, all alone.

His father nodded only vaguely at Augusta Longbottom as he passed her; Draco's hurried his footsteps behind his father, wiping his thoughts clean. The sound of his father's cane tapping against the polished parquet floor accompanied him out of the hall, and Draco's eyes turned back toward Harry and the two boys beside him, faintly jealous and only half knowing why.

He was a Malfoy, after all, and Malfoys made others jealous; they did not envy themselves.

Or if they did, they took what they desired for their own.

His father had taught him that and Draco considered, in his childish way, how he could figure out what it was they had he wanted, and then how he could take it for himself.

Behind the pair of departing Malfoys, the room relaxed.

Neville returned to himself, freed of the thought of Death Eater that had begun to run on repeat in his consciousness. Dudley watched Draco leaving, wishing for a cloak that would swish like the other boy's, the near-deadliness of the encounter passing almost entirely over his head. He was aware that there was danger in Mr. Malfoy, but it was beyond him to understand what that danger really meant. He had not been involved in the early, heart to heart talks that had explained the pain of the past to Harry; he knew only what he had learned since, mostly through the other boy, and his fear was as halfhearted as his knowledge.

Only Harry remained thoughtful, his eyes passing from Sirius to the Headmaster and back, turning to take in Lucius' retreating back, returning again to hear Madame Longbottom explaining her worry to the Headmaster, who had taken it upon himself to arrange visits between the boys who were building a new and stronger friendship.

"It's not that I don't trust you, of course – but really. Albus, Lucius Malfoy?"

"Lucius doesn't interest me, Madame; he is dangerous only in someone else's hands. He has too much to lose; even if Voldemort were to approach him in person tomorrow, I don't think it would make much difference. But young Draco – I would much rather see him turn out like another young man I once knew than his father."

The Headmaster's eyes were on Sirius as he spoke, but he made no more open reference; the shards of their silent communication still stood sharp between them. Madame Longbottom pursed her lips, and then nodded sharply, once.

"Very well – I can't see as it will do Neville any harm to spend time with other boys his age, but I must insist that he not be brought near that – that man's manor."

Sirius smiled grimly and spoke for the first time.

"There'll be no trouble with that, Madame; Harry isn't going near Lucius either."

And that, it seemed, was that.

For the next several weeks, owls flew back and forth between Sirius and Albus, Albus and Madame Longbottom, Sirius and Madame Longbottom, Petunia and Albus, Petunia and Sirius – and even, much to the surprise of the others, Petunia and Madame Longbottom. Albus was the only one willing to write to Lucius Malfoy, and did so quietly while the others were involved in their own plans; he was going to seize this chance to turn the future heir of House Malfoy away from the darkness, even if the other adults involved were quite sure it was pointless.

Sirius' first flush of comradely feeling for Draco had faded like a caffeine buzz – it left the young Black irritated, jumpy, tired, and with a headache. Harry and Dudley continued their usual routine, changing things only to include an extra day every other week with Sirius, who had insisted on bumping up their combat training. Really it was no such thing; regardless of what dangers might be out there, moving closer, ever threatening – both boys had memorized Sirius speech inside of a month – they were still only nine years old, not yet even of Hogwarts age, and though they both had wands and a great deal of intelligence, neither one had sufficiently developed magic for anything but the simplest of spells and House magic.

Still, they were learning good aim and excellent control of their wand movements, as well as agility – and they were having fun, too. But neither had yet realized that the reason they were being trained was because of that single, brief interaction in the hall of the ministry of magic. Even Harry, who thought often about Lucius Malfoy and his son, and on what the darkness meant, and on how it might touch them – even he did not connect the two things together.

If he thought about why the training Sirius insisted on had intensified, it was only to remember that Voldemort himself had already stood outside his house with evil intentions once since his parent's deaths.

And we don't know where he is now, and we don't know what he's doing, and we don't know who he might be getting to help him, like they did back then -

And perhaps that was the reason why Harry did not think too much on the type of threat that Lucius Malfoy could be. He and Dudley had already made up their minds to be better than Voldemort; compared to him, Malfoy didn't even count as a second best.

A/N: Aha...well...that took me quite a bit longer than I expected, because Lucius Malfoy is a pain who did not want to go away. But he did, finally, and this bit of story is finished. Expect more in two or three weeks, to give a reasonable estimate, because this month is CampNano and I've been working on a new novel. Onward, and of course

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