Funerals and Weddings

For disclaimer, summary, story codes and other information, please see the prologue.

Chapter the Eleventh: Back to Hogwarts
A week and a half later
1 September

It had been an awkward couple of days, but Ginny had finally come around. She confessed to Harry that she had reacted poorly to the news that he was gay—not because she still had a crush on him, but because he had been her first crush. Harry didn’t really understand; he tried to imagine how he would feel if he were to find out Cho Chang was a lesbian. The thought didn’t bother him at all. Hermione had helped a little, explaining to Harry and Ron that Ginny was just a bit disillusioned that the first boy she thought she loved preferred boys to girls. It seemed first crushes were a lot bigger of a deal for girls than boys (at least according to Hermione). Harry supposed what Hermione said made a little bit of sense, but he and Ron privately agreed they’d never understand women. Ron had pointed out mournfully that fact wasn’t as big a problem for Harry any more as it was for Ron—and then the two of them had laughed maniacally for a good ten minutes. Whatever the reason, Harry was just glad that everything was back to normal and his friendship with Ginny hadn’t been damaged.

Harry stood on Platform 9 ¾ and smiled happily. He was thrilled to be going home. For as many bad things that had happened to Harry since joining the Wizarding World—he unconsciously rubbed the back of his scarred hand—they were far outweighed by the good things and Harry regarded the drafty castle as his true home.

As usual, Harry was oblivious to the stares he was receiving; he was so used to being stared at that he had learned to tune it out in most situations. So he didn’t notice silver-gray eyes belonging to a certain platinum blonde wizard raking his body. Draco Malfoy couldn’t help but stare; not only did he have very vivid dreams of Harry Potter running through his mind, but he was (pleasantly) surprised to see him dressed in fashionable clothes that actually fit his lean frame. Draco wondered if the chest under Harry’s snug red shirt was as nice as it was in The Dream; the form-fitting jeans hugging Harry’s arse certainly led Draco to believe that the real thing was as good concerning that particular part of anatomy! It wasn’t until Ron walked over to Harry that Draco realized he was staring and quickly looked away, sliding the Malfoy Mask in place.

“Harry, mate, I think you’ve got yourself a new admirer,” Ron smirked as he clapped Harry on the shoulder.

“What? Who?”

“Well, Malfoy over there can’t seem to take his eyes off you—fancy a Slytherin shag?” Ron burst out laughing at Harry’s dumbfounded expression.

“Malfoy? Staring at me? Where?” Harry looked around and spied his rival queuing to board the train. “Oh, nice one, Ron, you really had me going there.”

“Seriously, mate, he was staring at you. I was watching him—I kept expecting him to try something but he just stood there gaping and looking a little dazed.” Ron smirked. “I thought maybe it was lurve.”

Harry gave Ron an exasperated shove. “Please. Malfoy fancy me? Pull the other one, mate. He was likely just shocked to see me here, prob’ly thought I wouldn’t have the courage to show up this year after he threatened to get revenge on me for his father getting chucked in Azkaban. Not that he stayed there long—I can’t believe he escaped after only two bloody weeks!”

Ron grunted in agreement. “Yeah, bloody wanker. I reckon that git’s holed up somewhere with You-Know-Who. Who knows, maybe You-Know-Who did us all a favour and AKed the bastard for failing to get the prophecy. C’mon, let’s get a compartment on the train.”

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It wasn’t until after the Welcome Feast was over that Harry saw Malfoy again. Harry had stayed behind to talk to Professor McGonagall about playing on this year’s Quidditch team; he was relieved to know that Dolores Umbridge’s ban would no longer apply since Dumbledore was back as Headmaster. He was just leaving the Great Hall when a flash of purple caught his eye. He was surprised to see Draco Malfoy in what appeared to be a very earnest conversation with the violet-robed Headmaster. ‘Since when does Malfoy chat with Dumbledore? I didn’t think he could stand the man,’ Harry thought, wishing he could hear what Malfoy was saying. He got his chance when Dumbledore motioned for Malfoy to follow him—perhaps they were going to his office to talk? Harry darted into the boy’s loo and yanked his Invisibility Cloak out of his satchel. He knew what he was doing was risky, but his curiosity won out over his common sense.

Safely invisible, Harry slipped out into the hallway and moved swiftly to walk a safe pace behind the odd twosome. Dumbledore gave the password (‘Reece’s Peanut Butter Cups’) and motioned for Malfoy to precede him. Holding his breath, Harry slid in behind Dumbledore seconds before the gargoyle swung closed. Once inside Dumbledore’s office (Harry flushed remembering the destruction he had caused the last time he had been in the room), Harry stationed himself just inside the doorway, just in case he needed a fast getaway.

Draco was nervous. He didn’t show it, but his insides were knotted together and his heart was doing its best to dance the tarantella inside his ribcage. He accepted the Headmaster’s offer of tea to give himself a prop. Settling back in his chair, Dumbledore regarded Draco over the top of his half-moon spectacles.

“Now, Mr. Malfoy, what was it you wished to speak to me about so urgently?”

This was it. Draco had agonized over his decision the last days of the summer hols. He hadn’t made up his mind until just three days ago. Taking a deep breath, he spoke:

“Headmaster, sir, recent…er, events have led me to make some…difficult decisions. One of those decisions involves you. In fact, the decision I’ve made will be quite pointless if I don’t have your…support.” Draco stopped to wet his mouth with his tea; Dumbledore nodded at him to continue.

“You see, sir, I’ve decided that it’s not in my…best interests…to follow in my fa—Lucius’ footsteps. What I mean to say is, I don’t want to be a Death Eater. I don’t want to follow the Dark Lord.” Draco blew out his breath; there, he’d said it.

While Harry stood gobsmacked under his Cloak, Dumbledore simply raised his eyebrows at Draco’s revelation. “That is quite good news to hear, Mr. Malfoy. However, I wonder…do you plan to join in the fight against Voldemort or will you remain…neutral?”

Draco had expected this and was prepared. “I want to join in the side of Light, Headmaster. That’s why I need your help.”

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and steepled his long, gnarled fingers. After a moment, he asked the next question Draco had been expecting.

“May I ask what…recent events…have led you away from the Darker path you had been planning to walk?”

“Yes, sir. I’d rather not go into the details, but suffice it to say that I came to realize, quite clearly, that Lucius is mad. I don’t know how long he’s been mad; I believe it’s happened since the Dark Lord’s return. I didn’t see him much this summer—he’s in hiding, of course, so he only showed up at the Manor randomly, for brief visits.

“You see, Headmaster, he has this…look…in his eyes. It’s hard to describe, but he’s clearly not rational. I’ve heard stories of the Dark Lord’s greatness my entire life, but the things Lucius would say whilst he was home this summer were…mad. Insane. There’s more, but I’d rather not go into it more than once and I suspect there are others who will want to hear what I have to say before anyone believes I’m sincere.”

Dumbledore smiled. “You are quite right, Mr. Malfoy. With your background, I am afraid I shall have to ask you to testify and pledge your loyalty under veritaserum. Have you any objections?”

“No, sir, in fact I prefer it. That way there will at least be a few people who won’t doubt me.”

“Very well. I shall contact the necessary members of the Order of the Phoenix and arrange for them to meet with us here, tomorrow evening…say around eight o’clock?” Draco nodded, bemused. The man sounded as if he were arranging a garden party!

“Mr. Malfoy, before you go, is there anything else that led you to make your decision?”

‘The old man is far too shrewd,’ Draco thought. ‘Should I tell him? Yes, if I’m going to do this thing, I may as well do it completely.’

“Yes, Headmaster, there is another reason. I hesitate to mention it, because I’m not all together certain how important it is. You see, sir, I had…a dream.”

Dumbledore nodded. “What was this dream about?”

“Lucius. Lucius and the Dark Lord and…Harry Potter.”

At this, Harry blinked. ‘Malfoy had a dream…about me?’

Dumbledore’s expression conveyed mild surprise and curiosity to the casual observer, but Draco was no fool; his skills at interpreting subtle body language were quite keen, above even that of the average Slytherin. As far as Draco was concerned, the Headmaster had just leant forward in shock with his eyes begging for more information. One more piece of the intricate puzzle his life had become slotted into place: his dreams were important.

“In the dream, Lucius was duelling with Potter. The Dark Lord wasn’t really a…key figure, more of just a shadow in the background. The duel went on, I don’t know how long. Potter had just avoiding being hit with the Cruciatus Curse when Lucius followed up with…the Killing Curse. Then everything seemed to happen in slow-motion. Lucius cried out, “Avada Kedavra!” and the green light arced from his wand towards Ha--er, Potter. Before it reached him, Potter flung up some kind of…shield. Not a spell; well, not any I’ve seen before. It was as if he conjured a silver shield from thin air. When the curse hit the shield, it bounced off and ricocheted back to Lucius. It hit him square in the chest…and he died.” Draco stopped here, uncertain how the next part would be received.

“A disturbing dream indeed, Mr. Malfoy. But forgive me for saying I can’t quite see how this led you to turn to the side of Light,” Dumbledore commented, obviously waiting for Draco to go on.

“Yes, well. After Potter killed Lucius, the Dark Lord vanished. Potter turned away from Lucius’ body and…spoke to…me. I can’t explain it. But it was if he could see me there, in the dream. But I don’t think I really was there.”

“What did Mr. Potter say to you?”

“What he said didn’t make sense to me at first. I understood his words, but not his meaning. He said, ‘Now you’re truly free. Make your dreams reality, Draco.’ That’s when the dream ended.”

“And do you understand now what Mr. Potter meant?” Dumbledore asked, watching Draco intently.

“I think so. It took me awhile, but I believe I’ve worked it out. I’m taking the first step now to free myself…but I won’t be truly free until Lucius is dead. Once he’s gone, I can…follow my dreams, I suppose.”

Dumbledore nodded. “You are indeed an astute young man. Tell me, Mr. Malfoy, do you know which dreams you want to make reality?”

If he weren’t a Malfoy, Draco’s face would have flushed; he could swear those blue eyes were twinkling. ‘Could he know? No, that’s impossible. He’s just being his usual barmy self.’

Aloud, Draco said simply, “As a matter of fact, I do.”

The Headmaster tilted his head. “Have you the patience to wait for those dreams until you are ‘truly free’?”

Seizing the opportunity to have Dumbledore state aloud what Draco suspected to be true, Draco allowed his eyes to widen in ‘surprise.’ “Do you…sir…do you mean to say that you think my dream about Lucius and Potter will…come true?”

“I think many things are possible, Mr. Malfoy. Only time will tell.” Draco mentally rolled his eyes. ‘Yes, just as barmy—and cleverly elusive--as ever!’

“Ah, well, yes, of course sir. I guess I’ll be going for now. I’ll meet you here at eight tomorrow night. Thank you for your time, sir, and for…listening.” With that, Draco stood and walked to the door. Harry tensed as Draco neared where he stood under his cloak. He drew a silent breath in through his nose and held it. When he did, he caught a whiff of Draco’s cologne, something with a tang. It was…nice. Funny, he’d never noticed the way Malfoy…smelled before. Before he could think any more on it, Draco reached the threshold but stopped when Dumbledore spoke again.

“Mr. Malfoy, may I suggest you brush up on your family history? I daresay it would be…enlightening.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, but nodded respectfully and exited, confused. What the hell did his family history have to do with anything?

Harry released the breath he’d been holding. He waited until he thought Draco would be at the bottom of the spiraling stairs before he slipped quietly to the door himself. Hearing Dumbledore’s voice, he froze.

“A moment of your time, if you don’t mind, Mr. Potter?”

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A/N: Ooooo…evil cliffy! Bwahahahahhaha! Reviews are manna from heaven!