Funerals and Weddings

Title: Funerals and Weddings
Author: Scully
Summary: Harry cuts loose over the summer while Draco enjoys vivid dreams before experiencing his own private Hell. Returning to Hogwarts for 6th Year, the events of their summers cause a few changes. How will Draco’s dreams change he and Harry’s lives?
Pairings: Harry/Draco, implied Ron/Hermione
Rating: NC-17 (story includes M/M, slash, anal, oral, first-time, drama/angst, character death (not from story pairings), OMC, AU for events after OotP, disregards HBP. OOC-ness)
Spoilers: SS (PS), CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP
Disclaimer: The magical world of Harry Potter and all of the characters, places, events and things therein are the property of J. K. Rowling and her publishers. Only original characters and ideas belong to me. No money is being made from the publication of this work of fiction and no disrespect is intended.
Author’s Note: This is my first ever fanfic, so feedback and constructive criticism are appreciated!

Prologue

4 January, Year Six
Malfoy Manor

Draco Malfoy was bored. Draco Malfoy was restless. You wouldn’t know it looking at him. He wore the perfect, expressionless Malfoy mask. After all, Malfoys did not do emotion in public. But on the inside, where no one could see, Draco Malfoy was pacing like a tiger in a cage.

The bitter wind whipped his black robes against his body, outlining his slim frame. His black hood was ripped back, and the wind danced its icy fingers through his white-blonde hair. A pale halo around an otherwise solid black slash against the snowy grounds of Malfoy Manor.

‘Argh! I am fucking freezing my arse off here!’ Draco thought to himself, inwardly shivering but showing nothing on the outside. ‘Hurry it up, you old git! Blah, blah, blah. Everyone knows he was an evil bastard, quit spouting off your meaningless tripe.’

Just as the officiate was finally wrapping up his remarks, Draco became aware of a strange sensation. He stopped the inward tapping of his foot and focused. What was that? He had the eerie feeling he was being watched.

‘Watched? Of course I’m being watched. I’m the son of Lucius Malfoy, Death Eater Extraordinaire—when am I not being watched?’

Draco tried to shrug off the feeling of eyes on the back of his neck as he turned to his left to offer his mother his arm. He escorted her to the dark, gaping hole framed by the drifts of snow. As he watched her throw the first clod of dirt into the grave, he subconsciously noticed the irony of the pure, innocent-looking whiteness surrounding the blackness of the pit. Inwardly sneering, he took his own handful of dirt. Looking down, he carefully shifted his body, blocking his actions from the onlookers behind him. Tossing the clump of soil, Draco Malfoy fleetingly allowed the first real expression to cross his face as he smirked, then spat on his father’s casket.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Harry Potter was bored. Harry Potter was restless. Looking at him, it was obvious. His foot jiggled, his fingers tapped, his body shifted. Harry Potter had no Malfoy mask to wear, nor did he have an audience to wear it for. He sat alone on a fallen log, hidden in a small copse of woods, gazing at the small group of people gathered in the snow several yards in front of him. He didn’t have a mask, but he did have an Invisibility Cloak—which was currently wrapped around his shoulders. Once situated and safely hidden, Harry had removed the cloak from his face—he could see through it of course, but it did make everything a bit hazy.

‘Bloody hell! I am fucking freezing my arse off here!’ Harry thought to himself as another shiver wracked his lean frame. ‘Hurry it up, you old git! Blah, blah, blah. Everyone knows he was an evil bastard.’ Harry would have been quite surprised to learn how closely his thoughts mirrored Draco’s at this moment. ‘Aren’t you supposed to say nice things when someone dies? What kind of nice things could you possibly say about someone like him? If I were up there trying to say nice things about Lucius Malfoy, I would have been finished before I started!’

Amused with himself, Harry stifled a snort and continued to watch the scene play out before him. He focused on Malfoy—the live one, that is. He could discern no emotion on his rival’s face. He knew Malfoy was cold, but blimey, you’d think the prat would show some emotion burying his own father. Harry peered intently at Malfoy as he rose to escort his mother to the grave. He watched as Narcissa, head bowed, threw the first clod of dirt on her husband’s grave. Harry’s stomach did a weird flip-flop.

‘Did she care? Did she love him? He was a bloody bastard, but she was married to him—she must have felt something for him.’ Harry shifted uncomfortably at the thought. Was this why he was here? To see if anyone cared that Lucius was dead? Or was it just guilt? He really didn’t know why he had felt compelled to come. He just knew that he had to.

He watched as Draco shifted his body, putting his back to the other mourners and his profile towards Harry. ‘What’s he doing?’ Harry thought curiously, then gasped aloud. ‘Did I really just see what I thought I saw? Did Malfoy just spit into his father’s grave? What the hell?!?’ Harry was stunned. He continued to stare at Draco, thoughts racing. Why would Draco do that? Draco had always given every appearance of worshipping his father.

‘You don’t spit on your father’s grave, much less your hero’s grave—unless…he really wasn’t your hero. Unless you really hated your father…’ Harry’s thoughts trailed off. ‘Of course, it could be some bizarre Malfoy burial ritual—I wouldn’t put it past them.’ Harry grinned momentarily at his thoughts but then quickly sobered. ‘Nah, not even the Malfoys could be that…freakish. Maybe Malfoy’s mad at his father for dying? That could be it. I mean, hell, I recognize the stages of grief, I’ve wallowed through them a few times. Denial, anger…those are the first stages, right?’

Harry’s stomach clenched and did that weird flopping thing again as he thought about Malfoy grieving for his father. He didn’t want to feel pity for his enemy but he was a softhearted Gryffindor. And he was Harry Potter and Harry Potter’s forte was guilt.

‘Fuck! I can’t stand the little git and his father was as evil as they come, I mean, if anyone deserved to die—other than Voldemort, that is—it’s Lucius Malfoy. So why the hell do I feel sorry for him?’ Uncomfortable with this line of thinking, Harry switched gears. ‘How do I know he’s even grieving? Maybe he did hate his father. Maybe he didn’t really spit—maybe I just imagined it.’ But he knew he hadn’t imagined it.

Harry shivered again and wished for the hundredth time that he dared use a warming spell—but he didn’t want to set off the infamous Malfoy wards and signal someone that magic was happening out in the woods. He allowed the cold to distract him momentarily from his thoughts as he continued to stare at the people now dispersing back to the Manor. The funeral was obviously over. Harry sighed and quietly stood up. Well, he still didn’t really know why he had come, but he had done as his instincts had urged and now it was time to go. As he made to wrap his Invisibility Cloak around himself, he looked again to the gravesite. He wasn’t willing to admit it, but he was secretly hoping for some other clue that Malfoy wasn’t grieving or that he did hate his father—then he could assuage this guilty feeling that kept twisting his insides.

But he knew the guilt wouldn’t ever entirely go away, no matter what Draco Malfoy felt. After all, Harry Potter was the one who had killed Lucius Malfoy.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

‘Now that felt good,’ Draco thought as he turned to walk his mother away from the graveside. ‘How long I’ve wanted to do just that. I hope the bastard—whatever hell he’s burning in—knows that his precious heir just spat on his grave.’

Even as these thoughts ran through his head, Draco again had the feeling of being watched. He shifted his eyes, surreptitiously scanning the ‘mourners’ near the grave. ‘Mourners, my arse. The only reason any of them are here is for appearances.’ Draco could not see anyone in particular looking at him. The small crowd was mostly facing away from him, trudging up the path to the warm Manor. Letting his mother walk on ahead and making as if to straighten a twist in his cloak, Draco turned and swiftly scanned the trees bordering the Malfoy family graveyard. There! What was that? His eyes narrowed, then widened. ‘Is that... Potter?’ He shook his head and blinked. Now he saw nothing unusual. He cast his eyes about but what he had thought he had seen was not there. The only things he saw were snowy trees.

‘I’m seriously losing it. Seeing Potter in the trees at my father’s funeral. Now that’s likely!’ Draco shook his head and turned to go up to the Manor. ‘I obviously need to get more sleep—sleep deprivation would explain why I’m hallucinating! Of course, some would find it fascinating to know that the hallucination I just saw is the same reason for my lack of sleep that is causing the hallucinations to happen in the first place!’ Draco paused. ‘Whoa, did that even make sense? Definitely need to stop obsessing about Potter and get more sleep. Maybe I’ll take a sleeping potion tonight.’

Even as he thought it, Draco knew he wouldn’t take any potion that might dampen his dreams. A little lost sleep was a small price to pay for spending time with Harry Potter the only way he could—in his dreams.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Harry stood stock-still and willed his frantically beating heart to calm. When Malfoy had turned to the woods, for a moment—just a moment—Harry had locked eyes with him. In that split second before rational thought kicked in, he had seen Malfoy’s eyes narrow then widen in shock. Luckily, along with rational thought came action and Harry had quickly swirled the Invisibility Cloak over his head. He had stood frozen, willing Malfoy to leave as he watched his rival’s eyes scan the woods again. Only after Malfoy had turned and was a safe distance away had he allowed himself to breathe again.

‘Merlin, that was close! Why the bloody hell did he look over here for? Did he see me? Did he sense me? He couldn’t have seen me—he must have just thought he saw movement or something. He obviously didn’t recognize me, or else he’d have come charging in here, flinging hexes at me!’ Harry’s heart slowed as he rationalized what had just happened. ‘Yeah, that’s it, it just seemed like I stared into those silver eyes for an eternity. No way we really stared at each other that long—just felt like it. He wouldn’t have left if he thought he’d seen a person in the woods, much less me. After all, he’s one of the few people who know…what I did. It doesn’t matter. I’m safe. Well, for now. If I can sneak back out of here without having any more heart attacks, then I’ll really be safe!’

With that thought, Harry turned to trudge his way through the snow lying thick amongst the trees. Perhaps the recent scare did him some good, because now he was paranoid enough to remember to use a pine tree branch to sweep out his footprints as he left. As soon as he was outside the Malfoy wards, he fingered the rolled-up parchment tucked deeply inside the pocket of his robe. Smiling, he gladly used one of his new freedoms and apparated back to the darkened alleyway outside Number 12 Grimmauld Place.