Disclaimer; I don't own it.
Written for the Crayola Colors Challenge at the Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenge forum
He was older now. Gregory Goyle stood in front of his best friend's grave. Vincent Crabbe was killed in the war. Goyle shed a few tears as he reflected one memory he never forgot.
Goyle was about to leave the threshold of the bathroom in the dungeons just as someone came running past him shoving him to the wall.
"WATCH OUT! I'M STANDING RIGHT HERE. GIT!" Goyle shouted. He saw his friend Vincent's messy brown hair go around the corner . Goyle struck it as odd when his friend didn't apologize. Sure he was a Slytherin, but Crabbe and Goyle had a special friendship. They were nice to each other when most Slytherins were mean. Goyle suspected something was up, turned back into the bathroom, and followed his friend to the bathroom. He heard his friend sobbing in the very last stall.
"Oy! Crabbe! You okay?" When Crabbe didn't reply, Goyle shoved the door open. Sitting next to the stall crying was his friend Vincent Crabbe.
"Go Away!" he demanded as he looked up at his best friend.
"Not until you stop crying like a pansy!" Goyle laughed at the term. Whenever he heard the word pansy he thought of someone who was one. Crabb stood up, took his fists to Goyle's robes and shoved him against the stall.
"NEVER SAY THAT WORD AROUND ME AGAIN," Goyle shoved Crabbe off of him.
"What's into you mate?" he was confused. Crabb sighed.
"I am a pansy," Crabb said. Goyle stood dumbfounded for a few minutes. As if his mind escaped when Crabb shoved him against the bathroom stall. Then it dawned on him. He knew what Crabb was telling him.
"You mean, you like men?" he questioned. Crabb looked down at the ground.
"I just broke up with my boyfreind. I've kept him a secret from you and Malfoy. He wanted to go public, but I knew you and Malfoy would never talk to me again if I did," Crabb confessed. Goyle looked at Crabb.
"I wouldn't do that to you. Your secret's safe with me. I'm taking it to the grave. I'm your best friend for crying out loud!" Goyle said.
Wind rustled in the leaves bringing Goyle back to his present day life. He came every anniversary of his friend's death to his grave. Goyle placed his left hand on the cold marble marker in the ground.
"I'd always picture me being the one to go before you, so I could take your secret to the grave. This time, the grave has you and your secret. No matter what I will keep your secret and still take it to the grave. Your secret's still safe with me." Goyle wiped his eyes with his right hand on his plum long-sleeved sweater and walked away.
Author's note: Just a short drabble/story I had in mind last night and wanted to write out for the challenge.
