Funerals and Weddings

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

A/N: Just a quick FYI: part of this chapter will seem very familiar to you—we’re back to where the story started. in the interest of not boring y’all to death, I have cut the less essential parts. But don’t skip ahead, thinking you’ve read it already—there have been a few…previously censored thoughts added…

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Chapter the Thirty-fourth: Future Plans and Uncensored Thoughts
Almost two weeks later
4 January

The holidays flew by quickly. Harry had a great time with Ron and Ginny, who stayed on at Grimmauld Place with he and Remus, and visiting with the twins, Bill and Charlie when they stopped in as well. Tonks popped in and out quite a bit, as well as other members of the Order. But it seemed to Harry that Tonks spent an awful lot of time chatting with Remus…

The day after Christmas, Remus and Arthur Weasley sat down with Harry in the small lounge on the second floor. He’d been taking some time to write in his new journal, but closed it when they came in.

“Harry, I hope we aren’t interrupting too badly,” Remus started. “But there’s something we’d like to talk to you about.”

Harry set the journal aside and smiled politely, although inwardly he was thinking, ‘Great. What bad news is it this time?’

As though he could read Harry’s thoughts, Arthur smiled reassuringly at him. “Don’t worry, Harry—it’s not bad news. In fact, I rather think you’ll find it to be good news.”

That perked Harry up. “All right then. I’m always ready for good news. What is it?”

Remus answered. “Well, Harry, Headmaster Dumbledore asked us to speak with you about your future. You see, now that your aunt is gone, the blood protection given to you by Lily when she died is gone as well.”

Harry sat up straight. “You mean—I never have to go back to the Dursleys’ again? Ever?”

“No, not if you don’t want to. I take it you don’t?” Remus replied, his eyes glinting with humour.

“Hell, no! Oh, sorry, I mean…no. I don’t.”

Arthur said, “Yes, unfortunately your uncle seems to be the very worst kind of Muggle, doesn’t he? Very disappointing.”

‘That’s the understatement of the year!’ Harry thought, but only nodded. Then something terrible occurred to him:

“But…what about Dudley? My cousin? He’s a blood relation—not that I particularly want to claim him as such, but he is. Does the blood protection not still work though him?”

Remus shook his head. “No, it doesn’t.” He smiled at Harry’s sigh of relief. “Dumbledore tested him once when he was a baby. He wasn’t certain, but he believed that the blood protection magic only continued for one generation—and obviously, your cousin would be the second generation as your aunt was the first.

“So—with your aunt gone, you technically don’t have a legal guardian at the moment. We discussed it with Albus, and both the Weasleys and I were willing to take on the role—”

“Really? Wow, that’s…that’s really nice. Of both of you. But you don’t have to—”

Arthur held up a hand. “No, neither Molly and I nor Remus had to volunteer, we wanted to. But, after further discussion, we felt it might be more logical if you were legally emancipated instead of put under new guardianship. It’s only seven months until you become of age, so it seems almost silly to appoint a new guardian for such a short period of time.”

“Legally emancipated? What exactly does that mean?” Harry asked.

“It means you would be a legal adult in the eyes of the Wizarding World. You would have all the rights and responsibilities of an adult wizard. It’s not something that is normally done, but in your case, I think it may be the best choice,” Remus answered him.

“So…I could do magic away from Hogwarts? And Apparate? And spend my own money without hiding it from the Dursleys?” Harry asked eagerly.

Remus laughed. “Yes, and pay taxes and manage your finances and follow the laws! I know it’s exciting, Harry, but it’s also a big responsibility.”

Harry sobered a little. “Yes, I know. But I already do some of those things anyway—manage my finances, pay taxes on my earnings—”

“Earnings? What earnings?” Arthur asked.

Feeling a little embarrassed as he realised he was talking to Mr. Weasley, who never had much money, Harry said, “Well, interest, you know, on my accounts. I’ve made a few investments…”

Remus raised his brows. “Really? I had no idea you were so financially savvy, Harry.”

“Well, I’m not. Actually, I asked Bill for some advise and he recommended someone to me. I just figured, well, most of my money is just sitting around. I could be doing something with it,” Harry said, obviously uncomfortable. He never liked talking about the money his parents had left him.

Seeing this, Remus moved on. “Well, back to the point. I take it you agree with the idea of being emancipated?”

“Yes,” Harry said firmly. “How do I go about it?”

“You make a petition, then a hearing will be set with the Juvenile Affairs Office. You’ll need written testimony from responsible adults who know you well. Of course, Molly and I, Remus and Albus will be glad to do that for you,” Arthur explained. “I’ll bring you the petition paperwork from the Ministry tomorrow, all right?”

Harry didn’t like the thought of a hearing—his experience with the Ministry hearing last year had been unpleasant to say the least—but he just nodded his head. “Yes, that would be great. Thank you, thank you both.”

With that, the two older men left the room and Harry sat for a moment, savouring his good fortune, before leaping up to tell Ron and Ginny his good news.

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Draco thought a lot about Harry over the holidays. He was actually looking forward to term starting, because he couldn’t wait to see him. He was having The Dream almost nightly again—of course, the fact that every night when he went to bed he deliberately thought of it might have something to do with it. The rest of the holidays were spent handling the legal paperwork for the Malfoy estates.

Professor Snape called on him one day soon after Christmas to tell him that a date had been set for Lucius’ funeral: Friday 4 January, three days before term started. Draco would be allowed to go home the day before, accompanied by Snape himself. Aurors would be attending the funeral, along with some other Ministry representatives. They were fairly sure that Voldemort would not try anything at the funeral with so much protection there.

Draco was glad the funeral would be over and done with before term started, so he could put it behind him. It would be nice to see his mother as well. Perhaps, now that Lucius was gone, he could get to know her a little better. He’d never been extremely close with Narcissa, but then Lucius had discouraged it, not wanting his son to become a “nancy boy” if he spent too much time being spoilt by his “mummy.” Just one more thing Lucius had fucked up in his life.

Looking forward to the day he would bury Lucius and his interference in his life for good, Draco curled up with the book Snape had gotten him for Christmas and began to read.

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Hermione arrived at No. 12 Grimmauld Place on New Year’s Eve day. It was great to see her, although Ginny and Harry laughed that they really didn’t get to see her very long before she and Ron disappeared upstairs together! But they all had a fun time ringing in the New Year and Harry hoped that the new year would be a bit happier than the last.

Harry made it his New Year’s Resolution to find out who had given him the pendant—and the note.

Harry’s emancipation hearing had been set for 10 am on 4 January. Dressing carefully, he was ready early. Remus and Tonks escorted him to the Ministry and wished him good luck before Apparating back to Grimmauld Place. Taking a deep breath, Harry registered his wand with the guard, then took the lift to the second floor where he was to meet Arthur Weasley at the Juvenile Affairs Office. While riding the lift, he overhead two wizards discussing something that piqued his interest: today was Lucius Malfoy’s funeral.

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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-blond 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?’

A tiny little voice in the back of him mind also pointed out: ‘Watched by the Aurors here to protect your arse from the Death Eaters.’ Draco pretended he didn’t hear that little voice; he didn’t like thinking about the fact that he was a marked man.

Draco tried to shrug off the feeling of eyes on the back of his neck as his 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.

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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 metres in front of him. He didn’t have a mask, but he did have an Invisibility Cloak—which was currently wrapped around his shoulders.

‘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.

The annoying little voice that had started popping up more and more frequently since last summer decided to put in an appearance by reminding him: ‘You know, he’s not really your rival anymore. And you know that you don’t think of him as being all that cold anymore—now you think of him as being hot!’

Harry pretended he didn’t hear the little voice. He didn’t want to analyse his feelings for Malfoy at the moment.

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 total 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 (‘Anyone? Don’t you mean Draco?’ the little voice prodded.) 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.

‘Liar. You know why you’re here—to see how Draco is reacting to Lucius’ death!’ That little voice was persistent!

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.

‘But he did say he didn’t want to be just like his father anymore.’ Bloody hell, Harry wished that little voice would shut up!

‘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—because he was interrupted by the overly talkative little voice.

‘So maybe Remus and Dumbledore are right—Draco won’t be angry with you. Maybe there is a chance…’ Harry didn’t allow the little voice to finish the thought and tried to distract it.

‘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 (‘He’s not your enemy anymore. Accept it!’)
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?’

‘Yeah, you can’t stand the git—that’s why you were fantasizing about him sucking you off when you were wanking in the shower!’ ‘Shut the fuck up!’ Harry said back to the little voice in desperation. Great, now he was having conversations with himself inside his head.

Uncomfortable with this line of thinking, Harry switched gears (and would never, ever, admit that it was because of that little voice):

‘How do I know he’s even grieving? Maybe he did hate his father.’

‘Finally!’ the little voice rejoiced. Harry gave silencing the voice one last shot with a decidedly feeble rationalisation:

‘Maybe he didn’t really spit—maybe I just imagined it.’ But he knew he hadn’t imagined it.

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. As he made to wrap his Invisibility Cloak around himself, he looked again to the gravesite, 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.

‘And feeling guilty because you’re glad you killed Lucius is just one more way to cover up the fact that you’re a big, fat coward and can’t admit you want Draco.’ Tired of fighting with himself, Harry let the little voice have the last word.

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‘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 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 Harry Potter in the trees at Lucius’ 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.

‘At least for now…’ Draco smiled when the little voice spoke up this time.

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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. He had quickly swirled the Invisibility Cloak over his head. 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!’

The little voice wasn’t going to give up that easily. ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah. Didn’t we settle this? Besides, wouldn’t you rather think of him flinging his arms around you?’ Harry tried hard to ignore it, but wasn’t quite successful.

With that thought, Harry turned to trudge his way through the snow lying thick amongst the trees. Smiling, he gladly used one of his new freedoms and Apparated back to the darkened alleyway outside Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

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A/N: The reviews are…fantastic! Thank you SO much! You keep me writing!

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