Heads bowed under the light drizzle of rain. It was a gray day, one that matched the somber mood that hung over the few people who gathered between the pale, weathered stones, robed in black.

Harry watched as they lowered the body into the shining casket at the bottom of a deep, muddy pit dug into the wet grass. An impervious charm shimmered gently in the air above so not a drop would fall on the dead or the gathered.

The mother dropped a rose into the open grave; it landed perfectly across the corpse's chest, as was the wizarding custom. Harry lowered his eyes respectfully as a tear began to make its way down her pale cheek.

He contemplated the white face at the bottom of the pit. A face, so familiar, always filled with careful thought and emotion, was now blank with the peaceful mask that only death could wear. A face that had changed over the years, from a boy into a man. A strikingly handsome man, who could have had a bright future, had he lived, Harry thought. He blinked sharply and coughed as his throat tightened.

The service was short and the mound of fresh dirt made. The impervious spell above dissipated as the small crowd left, their boots sopping into the puddles as they departed. Harry lingered by the tombstone, his eyes still as he stared at the rain that slowly fell onto the white marble. Someone came to stand beside him.

"Thank you for coming, Mister Potter," said a quiet voice just to his left. Harry nodded but gazed ahead.

What it must be like to bury your only son, Harry resisted a shudder. He had no idea, but he felt for her, just the same.

"He was quite valiant, at the end, you know," He said suddenly, his voice low and dry. "Duelling such a powerful, dark wizard properly, without…without a stitch of fear."

Harry's voice cut out and he coughed, blinking at the tombstone, all that marked a quite remarkable man's life.

"You should be proud," he murmured, casting a glace at the pale face beside him.

"I am." She said, eyes still on the white stone. Her gaze shifted as she peered up at him through her netted veil that hung over her face. "I am glad that he died in an honorable way, fighting beside you."

Harry shifted his weight, uncomfortable under her sharp scrutiny.

"He was honorable," Harry looked back to the stone that was just like those around it. "He was the last to see …Him, before he vanished. I wish…" Harry cleared his throat again before continuing in a horse whisper. "I wish I could've done more. I just couldn't save him."

She was silent beside him. A slow rumble of thunder canted through the clouds as the rain fell heavily upon the graveyard.

"I thank you for trying, just the same." She stated, her voice nearly lost in the rain. "Good day, Mister Potter."

"Good day," He whispered, watching her tread between the white stones jutting from the earth. The scent of the fresh dirt beside him rolled his stomach. Someone he'd known was lying beneath it.

"This never does get any easier, does it?" Harry muttered as he pulled his glasses off and swiped at his eyes.

He stood at the grave a long while, remembering the losses that all the fighting had consumed, only facts remained. Voldemort had vanished into thin air. The damned war wasn't even over, yet so many people were dying. So many brave, brilliant people. So many like the newest loss, whose name was etched into the stone before him. The man who had been the last to see Voldemort before his sudden disappearance.

Draco Malfoy.

TBC