We Met Once
He shuffles into the stuffy little chapel, sweating in the uncomfortable Muggle outfit, and settles onto a bench near the back row, where no one can disturb him. Really, it would have been much more worth it to just come as himself-
As if his pride would permit it, he thinks sardonically.
He knows that there had been a memorial service at Hogwarts. He didn't attend that one. He is glad for the girl's Muggle ancestry.
How bizarre of him. Utterly, utterly bizarre. Has the war turned him barmy?
Hopefully, Andromeda will not recognise him, in his disguise.
It's weird standing there, without any long hair blowing in his face.
Because if something embarrassing had happened... Like if he lost his brilliant composure...
Well, he'd still have that mane of platinum blond to cover it.
He tells himself sternly to look back towards the front.
Oh. Not everyone attending is a Muggle, as he'd hoped.
How naive of him.
Potter is near the front, holding a chubby baby in his arms, his arm slung around that blood traitor, Weasley's, shoulders.
Granger sits on the same bench, with Weasley – that mate of Potter's, that is.
A familiar-looking blonde girl with exceptionally large grey eyes – Lovegood, maybe? Draco has told him about her; an oddity, like her father before her - sits between a red-haired stocky young man with a weathered face – another Weasley? How many of them were there, anyways? – and the boy who had killed the Dark Lord's snake.
It seems most of the remaining Order of the Phoenix is present.
Obviously, Malfoy, he scolds himself. She was one of them. Damn you.
It makes him wonder why he had even bothered to come in the first place.
They'd only met once, in the battle at the Ministry to retrieve the prophecy.
He had saved her – she had called him a bloody renegade – he still remembers the look on her face.
He had shouted at her to leave.
And now, he is already at her funeral.
Already. So young. He squints at her birth date, and then at her death date.
(1973 – 1998)
Twenty-five. She had been twenty-five when she had died.
A full life in front of her.
He should have died.
He is a Death Eater. She is – was – a battler of the Light side.
It's no mystery who's a better person.
And Merlin, Andromeda deserves better.
He'd be more than glad to switch places with the girl.
He – he will be condemned to a life sentence in Azkaban, he is sure.
She has a son. Barely two months old.
Already an orphan. Potter had fifteen months with his parents. He had less than two.
Pity. Poor child.
A pity, that is what it was.
The service begins a while later.
He wonders why he is biting his lip.
He wonders why he is incessantly blinking back by the uncomfortable mist in his eyes.
He wonders why a certain Andromeda Black Tonks is staring back at him, from the front row, with her red-rimmed eyes.
He is glad when he frowns back at her.
The chorale – though Muggle – is beautiful.
He has to admit it.
He is starting to get less uncomfortable in his suit.
Maybe the singing's relaxing him. He had not had the best year, after all.
He closes his eyes.
Soon after, he is surprised when he hears the footsteps' sheepish, sorrowful shuffle.
The funeral is finished.
His eyes travel to the casket.
Somehow, somehow, he knows that he will have to pay his last respects.
He waits for Potter and his gang of – oh, fine, he'll say it – bloody heroes to leave.
Andromeda is the last remaining.
Their eyes meet. Stormy grey with warm cocoa.
She glides slowly over.
"I did not know you knew Dora well, Mr Smith," she says, in a surprised tone, softly.
"I heard of it," he replies. "I thought it would do well to pay my last respects. Dora was..." He searches for the right words. "Dora was a most endearing, charming young woman, Andromeda. I will miss her."
He isn't entirely sure the last part is not a lie. But it was not entirely untrue either.
She frowns, while he is panicking slightly.
Did the way his words flowed give him out? Cissa had always said something like that.
"Very well," she murmurs. "Follow me, Edgar."
She opens the casket gently.
He wants to gag at the state of the girl's body.
It is rumoured that it was Bella that did it, but now, he knows it is true.
Bella is the only one who is creative enough to not use the Killing Curse.
Oh, she's one who likes to "play with her food", all right.
Dear Bellatrix.
Andromeda lets a little sniffle escape.
He pats her shoulder gently.
"I'm sorry," he mutters. He's not good with these things. Comforting people.
"When did you meet her?" she asks.
Even bloodshot and teary, her eyes are beautiful.
But nothing compared to Narcissa's, of course.
He hopes that she won't be disturbed by the Aurors, at the manor.
"She and I... met each other once. Ran into each other. I helped her – she was most grateful."
She bit her lower lip.
"That's my Dora," her eyes are on the broken body in the casket. "Would you prefer that I leave you alone to pay your respects, Edgar?"
"Yes... of course, Andromeda."
He hears the door close gently.
Now he's alone.
He leans over, traces a hand over Dora's cheek.
"I'm sorry," he repeats from his earlier statement. "For so many things, girl. Like how Bellatrix killed you, too soon. Gone before your time."
There is, of course, no response.
"I wish," he continues, frowning, "that we could have met once again... maybe as friends, and not as enemies. I wasn't lying when I told your mother those things. You were most endearing."
He snorts, despite himself.
"You know, I always admired your courage. And your mother's... I could make an entire list, girl."
"But you wouldn't have wanted that, right? To meet me... Yes," he adds dryly, "because I'm universally known as a coward. Cheers."
"Anyhow," he swallows. "Rest in peace, girl – Dora. From whom you deemed... bloody renegade, is that right?"
He forces himself to laugh, a mirthless sound echoing in the chapel.
The doors swing open before he can get to them.
"Touching words you said," Andromeda smiles gently at him, ever so gently.
"Thank you."
She touches his arm.
"It was nice of you to come," she smirks, "Lucius, am I right?"
"I could never trick you," he raises an eyebrow.
"So... you did run into each other?"
"Yes," he whispers. "We met once. About two years before her death."
"I heard you speak to her," she replies, in equally soft, shaky tones. "I didn't know-"
"You didn't think I would be capable of such a feat," he states flatly, in matter-of-fact tones. "Yes, because I'm Lucius bloody Malfoy. A repeat of my sixth year."
"I'm sorry for that," her eyes travel towards the ground, at her shoes. "Really, I am."
"It's no place to discuss this," he says, his face cold and expressionless.
He grabs her close, as if to embrace her, and looks into her eyes.
"Have a good life, Andromeda. My condolences."
She stares at him back, impassively, and pursues her lips, pushing him back.
"Goodbye, Lucius."
The wind seems to carry the ethereal whisper of a young woman, sighing sadly at the wall between the two once-good acquaintances.
Ah... I don't think I can quite get rid of my tendency of writing AndromedaLucius fics :P As written in the summary, this is the sequel of sorts to Stupefy, and the prequel to Forgiveness can only be earned, Andromeda.
Please read and review, especially if you favourited/alerted!