Funerals and Weddings

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

Chapter the Twenty-fourth: Memorials and Confessions
One week later
8 November


The Monday after the news of the attacks had reached Hogwarts, Professor Marchbanks had forgone their usual paired practise sessions, perhaps wisely thinking that giving emotionally upset students free rein with Dark spells a poor idea. Instead, he’d used that day’s double period, as well as the double period on Thursday, as a combination demonstration/revision opportunity. He’d called up students to the dais to demonstrate what they could do—setting himself up as a target instead of an under-aged wizard or witch. It had allowed them to vent some frustrations following the news of the slaughter—and to subtly remind them all that they weren’t defenceless. Marchbanks had defended himself against attack after attack, and hadn’t held back attacking to test the students’ own defence skills. When the students finally left after the lessons, exhausted and a few sporting minor injuries, they had lost some of their hopelessness and were feeling much more confident that the Dark could—and would—be beaten.

Draco hadn’t had a chance to speak with Harry—the dark-haired wizard was studiously avoiding him—but he had been secretly proud of the way Harry had performed when it was his turn to duel with the professor. Harry had fired off hex after hex, landing a few hits, all the while casting spells of protection and dodging some spells physically in a manner that allowed him to reposition himself for better attack advantage. It was something Marchbanks had been teaching them recently—how to use movement and positioning to weaken an opponent and strengthen their own advantage. Marchbanks said it was something he’d learnt during his time in Egypt; wizards there used battle tactics much more effectively than wizards in Britain, who preferred to depend solely on magical prowess. Draco and Harry (before their altercation following the attacks) had agreed with the professor—the tactics were very useful and both could see that using them against an enemy unprepared for such action and physicality on a field of battle would be a valuable element of surprise. Draco had felt a little thrill when Harry successfully used the first of the spells he’d researched and taught him against a vicious scorching hex thrown by the DADA Master. Draco hoped that Harry had been equally proud of him for landing a hit against the professor using the attack spell Harry had taught him when Draco had dueled with Marchbanks.

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The next DADA lesson, along with all of Friday’s classes, had been cancelled; Hogwarts was having a memorial service for all of the victims of the Death Eater attacks. The students who had left to attend funerals at home had all returned. Just after breakfast, the entire student body and staff had gathered on the lawn near the lake and Dumbledore had conducted a brief but moving service.

At the end, the Headmaster had called forth all of the professors; together they had conjured a beautiful Rowan tree. The Headmaster had explained that the Rowan was a Tree of Life; it symbolised healing and personal empowerment in the quest to banish evil. The Rowan was protection and strength.

All of the students who had lost someone in the recent attacks were called forward to inscribe the names of their loved ones into the bark of the tree; then students who had lost family in past attacks were invited to do the same. The tree trunk was soon inscribed by many names.

Harry thought the memorial was beautiful and fitting—a way to remember those who had been lost and a way to be bolstered by hope for the future. He hoped he never had to add any more names to the tree than the four he added that day: James Potter, Lily Potter, Sirius Black and Petunia Dursley.

Harry was also grateful for the memorial in general. He had not attended Petunia’s funeral. He had prevailed upon Hermione’s parents to send him any newspaper articles they could find about Petunia’s death. They had kindly gotten copies of two Surrey newspaper articles for him. One told the story of a tragic, unexplained death; it was from this article that Harry had learnt that Vernon and Dudley had been away at a regional wrestling competition when Petunia had been killed. The other was her obituary notice with the funeral information. He had wanted to go to the funeral, to pay his last respects to his aunt. But he had stayed at Hogwarts for two reasons: one, Dumbledore had felt it was unsafe—the funeral was an obvious opportunity for Voldemort to strike at Harry away from the safety of Hogwarts; two, his uncle had told him in no uncertain terms that he was not welcome.

Harry had written to Vernon and Dudley, giving his condolences and asking about the funeral. He’d given the letter to Hedwig with trepidation—he knew the letter would not be well received—and a warning for her to drop off the letter and fly away for safety’s sake until the next day, when Harry thought it would be all right for his beloved owl to return to the Dursleys’ to pick up a reply. Harry had been relived when Hedwig returned unscathed two days after leaving with the letter. He was unsurprised by his uncle’s reply: Vernon blamed Harry for Petunia’s death and told him to stay away from the funeral and Privet Drive. Harry would never be welcomed there again.

Harry didn’t blame his uncle for his reaction; after all, Harry felt he was to blame for Petunia’s death, at least in part. And he didn’t care that he would never see Vernon, Dudley or Privet Drive again. But he thought Vernon went too far when his uncle said that he hoped that the “madman who killed your good-for-nothing parents” found Harry soon and killed him in the most painful manner possible. As Ron had said after Harry had shown him the letter: “Bloody hell, that man is vindictive!”

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What with no practise time in DADA, Harry avoiding him and the cancelled classes on Friday, Draco had no opportunity to talk to Harry until classes resumed on Monday. He was nervously anticipating DADA class all day. Having had a week to think, Draco had decided what he wanted to say to Harry when he finally had the chance. When class finally began, he moved to the spot he and Harry usually chose in the Training Hall.

Harry walked over to Draco slowly. Their eyes met and locked. The other students who hadn’t already cast their One-Way Bubble Charms regarded them warily; the news of their altercation on 1 November had spread quickly through the Hogwarts rumour mill. Noticing this, Draco cast the charm, enclosing Harry and himself inside; he knew the others could still see in, but he was tired of feeling the weight of their stares on his back.

“Well, Potter?” Draco started, his stance belying his inner turmoil. “I know you are pissed off and I figure if I were you, I’d want a go at me. So here’s your chance. Go ahead: take your best shot.”

Considering his answer, Harry rolled the barbell around in his mouth. Draco wanted to drool; for DADA lessons, they were allowed to forego uniforms and robes and Harry looked especially hot today, in snug, faded jeans, his Docs, and a long-sleeve jersey with a blue T-shirt over it that proclaimed: “I crossed over to the darkside. Don’t worry, I brought a torch.” Who knew Harry had an ironic side?

“I imagine you’ve been called a bastard so many times, you probably answer to it, so I won’t waste my time repeating what you already know,” Harry finally said. “I really just have one thing I need to know: are you a Death Eater, Malfoy?”

In response, Draco rolled up the sleeves of his black shirt and showed Harry his forearms. “No Dark Mark, Potter. What do you think?”

“I think you aren’t officially one…yet. When do you plan to join?”

“Who says I plan to join? Remember what happens when you assume…”

“Yeah, well, as far as me and everyone else are concerned, it’s not an assumption, it’s fact—and you’re the only ass here.” Harry replied coldly.

Draco lifted one sleek eyebrow. “Believe everything you hear, Potter? My, my, I would have thought all those lies about you in the Daily Prophet last year would have taught you to be a little less naïve. But I suppose once a gullible Gryffindor, always a gullible Gryffindor.”

Harry frowned. “Are you telling me you don’t plan on becoming a Death Eater, Malfoy?”

“I’m telling you I’m not a Death Eater now. Isn’t the here and now what’s most important? After all, no one really knows what the future holds, do they?”

“Never heard of a prophecy, Malfoy? I’m sure you have—it’s what your father failed to get for Voldemort from the Department of Mysteries last year. Obviously Voldemort thinks the future can be Seen—don’t you agree with your future Master?” Harry’s voice was thick with sarcasm.

“Prophecies are predictions of a possible future. All it takes is for one small thing to change—and the prophecy becomes nothing more than a piece of interesting fiction. I prefer sure things to vague possibilities. If the Dark Lord wants to hedge his bets with a prophecy, that’s his prerogative. It’s nothing to do with me,” Draco replied calmly.

Harry looked at Draco speculatively. “So let me see if I have this straight: you aren’t a Death Eater now, you might or might not be one in the future and you don’t have a lot of faith in prophecies. Is that right?”

“Well, well, who knew you were so good at distilling essences? You’d think you’d do better at Potions,” Draco answered with a smirk.

“Don’t avoid the question. Am I right, Malfoy?” Harry repeated with every appearance of patience. In truth, he was getting rather sick of Malfoy’s word games.

“In a word: yes. Satisfied?” Draco examined his nails as if bored.

“Would your father actually allow you to turn down joining Voldemort? I’ve met your father Malfoy; he doesn’t strike me as the type to take ‘no’ for an answer,” Harry wanted a more definitive answer than “maybe I will, maybe I won’t” from Draco.

Draco flinched inwardly. Harry was quite right—Lucius wasn’t the type to take ‘no’ as an answer. He recognised that Harry was trying to box him into a corner and force a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer from him; Draco had to be careful not to get trapped in that corner.

“As I told you at the beginning of term, I follow Lucius blindly no longer. I make my own decisions. Once I’m of age in February, my life is my own and Lucius will have to respect that. Whatever I decide, I will decide it, not Lucius,” Draco spoke firmly and confidently, although inside he was far from sure of himself.

“I remember what you told me, Malfoy. You also told me you had decided not to hate me just because your father does. And we agreed to a truce. So what happened to make you change your mind?” Harry asked.

“Change my mind? About what?”

“Hating me. The truce,” Harry said, rolling his eyes.

“I haven’t changed my mind about either of those,” Draco said simply.

Harry snorted. “Oh, I get it. You always mock the grief of people you don’t hate and want to get on with. Well, let me enlighten you, Malfoy. That’s not how it’s done.”

Draco steadied himself; this was the part of the tightrope he had to walk most carefully. “Potter, do you remember who I was with when we had our little conversation last week?”

“Of course,” Harry sneered. “Your bodyguards and Zabini—nothing new there.”

“Very good. And do you recall which House the four of us are in?” Draco asked innocently.

Harry sighed. “Of course, you’re Slytherin. Get to the point, ferret. I’m losing my patience.”

Malfoy glared at the nickname. “Fine, Scarhead. In case it’s slipped your notice, Slytherins aren’t like Gryffindors. We only trust each other to a certain degree. We’re loyal, but we look out for number one—and if there is a conflict between loyalty to another and benefit for ourselves, loyalty loses. We keep our eyes and ears open for information we can use to our advantage. One doesn’t wear their heart on their sleeve if one is a Slytherin and we don’t reveal our hand until the time is right.”

“What a sad life you live,” Harry commented. “What’s your point?”

“My point is that Slytherins are always on stage. As long as I’m on stage, I can’t break character. It doesn’t matter if the role I am playing at the moment isn’t the role I might prefer; it’s the role I have and the role I have to play. And when I do something, I don’t do it halfway—you should know that better than most Potter,” Draco kept his eyes on Harry’s as he said this, hoping Harry would understand his meaning.

Harry’s eyes narrowed to green slits behind his glasses and he toyed with the barbell in his tongue thoughtfully. “Are you telling me that you wouldn’t have said those things about my aunt if we hadn’t had…an audience?”

“Right in one, Potter. I’m impressed,” Draco responded, relieved that Harry had understood his message.

“So you didn’t mean what you said?”

“No, I didn’t. But with the others there, I couldn’t say what I would have said if we’d been alone.”

Harry was curious. “And what would you have said if we’d been…alone?” Draco felt a little thrill along his spine at the way Harry emphasized the word alone.

He cleared his throat. “I would have said that I was sorry for your loss.”

Harry looked at him in disbelief. “Bullshit.”

Draco wasn’t surprised Harry didn’t believe him, but he was disappointed. Why the hell did everything in his life have to be so damn complicated?

“It’s your choice whether to believe me or not. But I’m not lying. I didn’t know your aunt, so it’s not that I’m particularly sorry that she died; I’m sorry that her death caused you grief.”

“You’re sorry that I experienced grief? Since when do you care so much about how I feel?” Harry was still sceptical.

“Since I got to you know you. You, Harry Potter, not The Boy-Who-Lived. The way I see it, you’re no more special than I am. Yes, you survived the Killing Curse and crippled the Dark Lord. But does something that happened to you when you were a child define you? Make you different from everyone else? I think not. Does it mean that everyone should look to you to solve their problems? I don’t think so.

“How did you survive the Killing Curse? No one knows. It wasn’t something you did, so how can people expect you to do something again that you never did in the first place? Once I really thought on it, I decided it was ridiculous to condemn you based on something that happened to you when you were a baby. And now that I’ve gotten to know you a little better, I’ve found that you’re not the insufferable, arrogant, spoiled, holier-than-thou prat that the Boy-Who-Lived was supposed to be. You’re a sixteen-year-old wizard that has always had expectations put on him that weren’t necessarily fair—we’ve got that in common, Potter. I think we’ve got more in common than you know. Now that I know that, I can care how you feel. Because you’re not The Boy-Who-Lived, a flawless hero to me. You are just Harry Potter, a fellow student at Hogwarts.”

When Draco finished, Harry just looked at him, with a dazed kind of shock etched on his face. When he finally was able to find his voice, he said exactly what he was thinking:

“I think that’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me. Do you mean it?”

“Yes, I mean it.”

“Well. I don’t know what to say. I guess…thank you. That means a lot to me, especially coming from you,” Harry said sincerely.

The two of them stood there silently for a moment, just looking at each other. Before the silence could become awkward, a flash of purple illuminated the side of their bubble. Harry released the charm to admit Professor Marchbanks.

“Well, boys, settled your differences?” he asked.

Draco looked at Harry, letting him know this one was for him to field.

“I think so, sir. At least, well enough for the time being,” Harry replied, with a look at Draco. “I’m sorry we’ve not been practicing, sir, we needed to—”

Marchbanks cut Harry off with a wave of his hand. “No apologises necessary. If everyone were willing to talk out their problems instead of jumping right into a fight, we wouldn’t need this class. Knowing how to solve problems without violence is just as important as knowing how to fight if it becomes necessary. But if you are done talking, I’d like to ask if Mr. Malfoy has introduced the third defence spell he chose to teach?” he finished, looking at Draco.

“No, sir. I had planned to do it today,” Draco replied.

Marchbanks smiled. “Excellent. I’m quite intrigued by this spell. Difficult and obscure. But I’m sure you are up to the challenge, Mr. Potter. Now, I’ll leave you two to your practicing.” With that, the DADA professor stepped away and Draco re-cast the Bubble Charm.

Draco looked at Harry. “Pay attention now, Potter. As Marchbanks said, this spell isn’t easy. But I think it could be of great use to you one day…”

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A/N: Well, there’s the second funeral/memorial service that some of you have been asking for. Will there be more? You’ll just have to wait and see, now won’t you? *grin* Oh, and some of you have asked for email updates—sorry, I just don’t have the time to do that. I’m trying to update several times a week, so just keep your eyes open, OK? Review please—and thanks to everyone who has been reviewing so far!!

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