He'd been to five funerals in four days—this was the sixth, the burial of Daphne Greengrass in their family plot, right next to the four other siblings that had lost their life before Daphne passed away. Not that Draco was aware these were her siblings; he had never heard the stories since she never brought them up, and he didn't particularly care to ask. he'd never cared to ask about the family lives of any of his fellow Purebloods and was largely uninformed, with the exception of Pansy Parkinson, who had been bound to him since they were both six years old, a relationship he'd only been informed of when he was fourteen and needed a date for the Yule Ball.

They were to marry in three years' time, a fact that Draco was still more than a tad reluctant to accept, even after courting the girl for the last year years. After all, this was Pansy he was expected to marry and father children with.

Draco looked to his left where the remaining members of the Greengrass family stood huddled together, staring into the hole in the ground in which they had placed Daphne's body only a few minutes earlier.

Mr Greengrass, greying at the edges already despite being the same age as Draco's father, put an arm around his heavily pregnant wife. The Lady Greengrass held one hand on her rounded stomach while the other one held an infant not much more than a month old—this was Anaed, Daphne's daughter, born only a few weeks before the Battle, before Daphne's death. The remaining Greengrass daughters were sixteen year old Astoria and two year old Linelle, who clung to her sister's hand and glanced around in bewilderment, unable to understand the overall sombre and dark, melancholy behaviour of the funeral attendees. Draco had never met the younger ones before—he didn't know who they were.

There'd never been much interaction between himself and any of the Greengrass family, to be honest. They were without side during the first war, at least according to Draco's father, and so, he was largely warned against having much to do with their eldest daughter, Daphne, the only one who was his age.

In fact, he was really only here at the insistence of Pansy, who, for whatever reason, had chosen now to be sentimental about a friendship that died off before the girls even reached Hogwarts. He would never quite understand the mood swings of his girlfriend, but she had persisted and his mother reminded Draco that, as a Malfoy, he was still bound to attend the events of other Purebloods, even if more than half the people here were in disgrace and under investigation, himself included amongst that number.

Suddenly Mrs Greengrass screamed, pushing the infant child into her daughter's arms as she fell to ground and began openly, wildly sobbing, apparently entirely unconcerned that everyone was now staring at her like one would a wounded animal or an abstinent Weasley.

Her husband wrapped his arms around her, also lowering himself to the ground as he whispered comfortingly into her ear. Mrs Greengrass shook her head and let out another loud wail, pushing her husband away with one hand while she beat her other one against the dirt and grass, shrieking like some feral creature, sounding inhuman in her grief.

"How pathetic," said Pansy quietly, shaking her head in contempt. "My mother never cried when we buried my brothers. Grief ought to be private, I've always said. No one wants to see you snivel all over the place. It's not at all ladylike."

Draco rolled his eyes but refrained from stepping on his girlfriend's feet to get her to hush. "Your brothers were little kids—and besides, it's not as though you really care, isn't that true? you'd find a reason to complain about the Greengrass family no matter what there is to complain about. You never liked Daphne when she was alive and I've no idea why we're here to see them bury someone for whom you barely held at a level above Potter."

She shrugged, knowing there was no point in denying his accusations. "We were friends once upon a time, you know/ possibly best friends, I'd almost be willing to admit in total confidence. But we could have been friends again, or at least close acquaintances, if life had gone a little differently." She glanced towards the still sobbing Mrs Greengrass. "Did you hear about Millicent and Theodore? Her parents truly are mad, I should think—they've bonded her to Theodore Nott, of all people, the bastard son of Walvarius Nott, and he's got a bastard child of his own now, too. But then again, no one ever accused the Bulstrodes of being high class. Apparently they've given one of Milly's sisters to Marcus Flint, though how that marriage will work, I'll never be able to guess. I heard he was..."

"Mm." Draco was unwilling to comment about the likes of flint. "I suspect if Millicent had grown up looking a little more attractive, she might have found someone who would be willing to love her. But too many people remember how she looked before puberty and lost all of the baby weight. I think her excessive height might not help much either. And with Theo's social standing, he has little choice in who would be willing to hand over their daughters to the likes of him. I suppose he'll be disinheriting the child?"

"Who, Anaed?" Pansy glanced at the newborn, who was being held up by her young aunt, then shook her head. "Not from what I've heard, no. Supposedly he plans on declaring her as his official heir over any children that he might have with Millicent."

"I'm sure she'll be glad to know that, as will her parents. Though I would have thought, perhaps, that Gregory might have taken her. I always suspected those two were taking walks by the lake over the last few years, and then some. Or..." Draco glanced around, noting that none of his former dorm-mates were at the funeral. "Are the rumours about Gregory true, that he'll never be seeing the outside of a cell in Azkaban?" Goyle had never been much more to him than a lackey, but the possibility that all of them—those who had once thought themselves to be untouchable—were now just as susceptible to the law as everyone else.

Until now it had never occurred to him that people of his standing could fall victim to consequences as though they were normal, everyday wizards.

"Goyle was an idiot," replied Pansy without concern. "He and his father both, I would not be surprised if they were both given life sentences for their actions." At Draco's troubled expression, she chuckled and reached up to kiss him on the cheek. "Oh don't worry, dear, your family is far more powerful than the Goyles, more powerful than any simple fall from grace would ever be able to entirely destroy. You and I, we'll lose some wealth, some standing, but we'll never be able to fall no matter what might happen to us. In the end, we'll come up on top, as we always do. It's in our very nature, our blood."

For some reason, he found it difficult to believe her words, but there was little point in arguing with Pansy. If they were punished then they were punished. If they were burnt by the law, there was little that could be done to prevent such a fate.

The thing that made him most uncomfortable though was the affection with which she kissed his cheek and spoke so candidly about their future together. He would never say that he loved her; their marriage would not be like that of his parents, a bonded pair who found love and passion. Pansy was only his intended, his future bride. This did not mean that he felt anything more than a sexual need for her—and even then, her body could easily be replaced by another.

But he said none of this out loud because doing so would get him nowhere. He would marry Pansy soon enough, and a marriage did not require love.

The funeral had ended, house elves now dumping dirt over the casket as the Greengrass family turned, one one one, and traipsed back towards their house where the wake would be held. Mrs Greengrass was clinging to her husband in an effort to remaining upright.

Behind the parents came the children; Astoria, with her niece still in her arms, and Linelle, who moved on chubby, wobbling legs to maintain the same speed as the rest of her family, who were all so much taller than herself.

As they passed by, Astoria turned suddenly, her gaze falling on Draco. She looked at him with pale green eyes, a strand of dark hair blocking one side of her face. One corner of her lips curled up almost in a smirk, but the motion reversed so quickly, he almost thought that the action had been imagined. Then she walked on and time sped up to real time once more.

"What was that?" demanded Pansy, turning to look at him with a scowl. In contrast to Astoria's full lips, Pansy's rather thin one tightened even further. "Why did she just smile at you, Draco? Why did she look at you in that way? Do you two know each other or something? Are you, what, seeing her on the side now, is that it? she's your new little whore?"

Draco shook his head, not wanting to create a scene in front of so many other high class Purebloods. "Pansy, I've never spoken to that girl before in my life, you know that. I barely ever interacted with Daphne, let alone some little underage sister of hers who pouts her lips and expects the world. I don't know her," he repeated insistently, shaking his head once more.

She seemed to believe him, thankfully, calming down as suddenly as her burst of anger had come over her. Pansy grabbed him by the arm, pulling him towards the house, continuing to chatter in his ear about nothing of real importance.

Technically, he argued to himself, he wasn't lying when he told Pansy that he didn't know Daphne's sister. They'd never spoken before in his life, at least as far as he could remember. But that didn't meant that Draco didn't want to...know her.

But that would have to wait for another day—they had just buried a girl, after all. One day, though. One day, he would have what he wanted; after all, isn't that what it meant to be a Malfoy, no matter what had happened at the Battle of Hogwarts? One day, he would get to know Daphne Greengrass' little sister.

That day would come sooner than he expected.