The Funeral

Author's Note: Hello, friends!  Well, here's the new story.  A new Draco, a new Hermione...and lots of that fascinating and combustible chemistry that comes with the pair.  I know this is short, but I'm still feeling out this story and where I want it to go.  

“Another body found,” said an Auror as he levitated a black body bag into the warehouse.

Angus McLaughlin had seen some bloody horrible shit in his time working for Magical Law Enforcement, but the cavernous room filled with bodies was by far one of the most depressing things he’d ever seen.  The room was dark, quiet, and cold as one young man prepared each body for burial.  Angus didn’t know what to make of the boy, who treated each incoming body with respect and consideration and had been working tirelessly to get the deceased back to their families. 

“Would you place him in row sixteen, position F?”

“Sure,” Angus said to the serious young man.    

“Auror McLaughlin, the people in rows five to eight are ready for your department to return them to their families,” the somber youngster said quietly.

The Auror nodded and began the harrowing task of letting people know their loved ones were ready for burial.

“Arthur, it’s been ten days!” Molly Weasley sobbed quietly.

“We’ll get him back soon, love,” Arthur murmured to his wife, rubbing soothing circles on her back.

Charlie, who had been silently observing his parents’ grief, couldn’t bear his mother’s heartbroken cries.

“Mum, let me go to the Ministry and find out when we can bury Fred,” the dragon tamer said, taking his mum’s hand. 

“Thank you, Charlie,” Arthur said with a sad smile. 

Charlie made his way out of the kitchen.  Hermione caught up with the Weasley son she knew the least. 

“I’ll go with you,” she said, following him to the front door of the Burrow.

It was close to six in the evening when the door to the warehouse opened.  Draco still had hours to work until he would go back to his room at The Leaky Cauldron and sleep for a few hours before returning to his arduous task. 

Charlie and Hermione watched the blond work; his aptitude in the intense spell casting was obvious.

“The Malfoys are one of a handful of families who know how to perform magical death rites,” Charlie whispered to a gobsmacked Hermione. 

“I had no idea.”  Hermione felt as if she was looking at a Draco Malfoy she had never seen before, a total stranger.  Her shock at seeing Malfoy eclipsed the gravity of the huge room filled with the dead.

Hearing murmurs from the door, Draco finally finished his spell and turned to find a young couple.  As he got closer, he realized the man was one of the Weasleys and—Morgana’s tits!—the woman was Hermione Granger. 

“Was there something I can help you with?” Draco directed to Charlie, deciding that ignoring Granger was the best path.

“We were wondering when my brother, Fred Weasley, would be ready for burial,” Charlie said, his words rough as he counted row after row of body bags.

“If you’ll give me a minute, I’ll check the ledger.” 

With Malfoy out of view, Hermione finally saw the bodies.  “Oh my God,” she whispered, putting a hand over her mouth.  “I…I didn’t realize.”

“You don’t have to stay in here,” Charlie said, awkwardly patting her shoulder.  “Why don’t you wait in the hall?”

Nodding mutely, Hermione left the room.

They were several floors away from the warehouse, when Charlie spoke.

“Fred won’t be ready for another week,” he said, shaking his head.  “My family needs some closure.”

“Why will it take so long?”

“There are hundreds of dead and only a few undertakers.”

Hermione made a split-second decision.  “I’ll meet you at The Burrow later, okay?” 

Charlie was confused as he watched the girl head back in the direction they had just come from.

Draco looked up from his crouched position as he was about to open a new bag and determine the spells he would need for interment.  Granger stood in the doorway looking grim but determined.  He walked to her and stopped several feet from the room’s entrance.

It felt wrong to speak in a normal voice, so Hermione stepped closer to Malfoy.  “If I helped you, would you take care of Fred, Remus Lupin, and Nymphadora Tonks more quickly?”

Granger was an adept witch, but it had taken him years to understand and perform the wizarding death rites.  But, bloody hell, he needed the help.  It was going to take him weeks to get through all the bodies in this warehouse.  He knew there were more bodies at Hogwarts, bodies that were so damaged, they couldn’t be moved to the Ministry.  McGonagall knew how to perform the death rites, so she was taking care of those bodies.

He sighed.  Beggars can’t be choosers.

“Come back tomorrow morning at eight.  You need to wear clothing appropriate for a funeral,” he said, noting her tatty jeans and t-shirt.

She hadn’t expected him to accept her offer of help.  Beyond their public history of animosity was a private history, too, one neither had the guts to confront.  It was easier to pretend they only knew each other as pure-blood and Mudblood. 

“Oh, alright.  I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

He watched her turn and exit the room.  Contrary to what she probably thought, he didn’t hate her, but she made him really uncomfortable, for a myriad of reasons.  And while most of the wizarding world knew the Malfoys had amassed their fortune through their funeral business, it was another things to share everything he knew with a woman who had cut him off when he had needed her most.