A/N: Sorry for the relatively late update, I'd planned to post this up during the weekend but some things got in the way. Anyway I hope you enjoy this chapter, sorry for leaving you on that memorial note for so long!

Big thanks to my beta, Tarquinius, for beta-ing for me!

Chapter 2: Memorial

Draco could only stare at them. Hermione was looking at anything but him, and Harry looked like he didn't know where he should place his eyes, either. Draco's mind was uncommonly blank. He just couldn't believe what he had just heard.

"What do you mean you went to my memorial service?" he finally asked.

Hermione braved herself to look at him. "Exactly what I said. I went to your memorial service," her voice grew quite soft, "and saw them put your coffin into the ground."

"But – but – why the hell would anyone give me a memorial service?" Draco spluttered, something uncommon for him – but then again, he'd never been this shocked. It wasn't everyday you found out the entire world thought you were dead.

Harry spoke for Hermione, trying to keep his voice even and neutral. "You've been missing for over a year, Malfoy. No one knew where you were or what happened to you the night you left Hogwarts."

"I guess," said Hermione in a small voice, "Your mother wanted to put some closure on the whole thing."

"Wait – she planned the…the…the memorial service?" Hermione nodded slowly. "Oh, Merlin." Frustratingly, his mind was still drawing a complete blank. He ran a hand through his white-blond hair distractedly. "And this was last Friday?"

"Yes," Hermione confirmed. If she was surprised that Draco was speaking so civilly to her, she didn't show it. Perhaps she thought the shock of finding out everyone thought he was dead had distracted from the fact he was talking to a Muggle-born and Harry Potter.

Draco brought the teacup to his mouth and sipped. He hardly tasted the tea as it went down his throat. I wrote a letter to her. I wrote her the letter before that…that memorial service. Surely she must have received it already?

He felt sick, all of a sudden. He knew, before, how worried his mother would probably have been, with his disappearance. He'd asked Snape countless times, each time he saw the former Potions master, to try convincing his mother again. Each time Snape would try; each time he would fail. It was a pattern that continued until his final disappearance.

Now, this. His own mother believed him dead, had buried him (not physically, but emotionally) in a memorial service. She'd grieved (and was probably still grieving) for him. He couldn't imagine what she could have gone through, what she must be going through now. She thought she'd lost her only son; she thought he was dead.

It was all his fault. He'd caused her this suffering. If only they'd tried harder to make her see, if only he'd tried harder. He should have sent more owls when the first one hadn't yet been answered. He should have tried contacting her himself, visited her, perhaps, so that she had to believe he was still alive and safe.

"Draco?" Harry asked tentatively; they'd never been on first name terms. Heck, before this, any encounter with Draco Malfoy would have resulted in wands out and insults hurled at each other. But Draco Malfoy didn't look remotely like the Draco Malfoy in earlier Hogwarts days; he looked shell-shocked, unguarded. And he'd greeted them earlier with surprise, yes, but without insults.

Harry couldn't forget the events on the Astronomy Tower in sixth year. Draco had plotted to kill Dumbledore, but Voldemort had forced him to, really. Did that forgive his actions? No, not really. But he understood to some extent why the younger Malfoy had done as he did, even if he didn't like it, even though it wasn't right. And Draco wouldn't have been able to kill Dumbledore himself, he was sure of it.

"I – I – I've got to go." Draco put his teacup on the table. "Thanks for telling me about…about the memorial service." He turned to leave. Harry and Hermione watched him go, Hermione biting her lip.

"Well," Harry said when the blond was long gone. "That was…something."

"It was," Hermione said faintly. "He's been in hiding all this time," she said wonderingly. "Even from his own mother."

"He'll be telling her soon," Harry supposed. "Are you alright? You were looking just now as if you'd seen a ghost."

"Well, imagine you going to a memorial service and then bumping into whoever it is the memorial service was for!"


Hermione well remembered the day of the memorial service, not because it had been held for someone she cared about; rather, it was for the unpleasant experience and the feeling that, for the first time in her life, she didn't belong.

She had been reluctant to go in the first place. But no. She'd been Head Girl of his year; naturally, she'd be the representative of Hogwarts student body.

"I'd much rather they sent a Slytherin in my place," she'd sighed in complaint to Harry. "But they do have to follow such etiquette."

"I'm not sure that would be a good idea," Harry had said darkly. Most people, he knew, considered Draco a traitor for having failed Voldemort in killing Dumbledore. He doubted most of the Slytherins would have wanted to come and mourn for someone they believed to be a traitor.

The morning of the memorial service had opened bright and cheery. It was an ironic contrast, Hermione thought, to the mood that was sure to be in the service. She'd dressed all in black – black robes, black handbag. And then she'd Apparated to Malfoy Manor.

The grounds had been just as she'd expected them to be. She'd appeared just in front of the tall forbidding front gate of the estate, where visitors were being ushered in by Narcissa Malfoy and another woman, who looked, in Hermione's opinion, rather weedy. She had mousy brown hair and was sniffling a lot as she showed people in.

The mansion was situated a little way inside the grounds, looking every bit like the Victorian palace Draco had always boasted it was (she'd heard, many times, during shared classes with the Slytherins). The grounds, from what she could see, was full of flowers and bush, with an occasional tree littered about.

Hermione approached the gates cautiously. Even open, Hermione thought they looked menacing. Narcissa looked upon her askance. "You don't look like anyone I know, girl. This service is on an invitation-only basis."

"I'm…I'm representing Hogwarts' student body," Hermione said, her voice growing stronger with every word said. That's right, you can do it. Nothing to be afraid of. "I was Head Girl in Draco Malfoy's year."

Narcissa sighed heavily. Upon closer inspection Hermione saw her eyes were very red, and she looked pale and withdrawn. "The school would insist on these ridiculous formalities. Very well. Come in, and don't get in anyone's way."

Hermione was about to make her way in when Narcissa suddenly threw a hand out, stopping her. "You do look rather familiar, in fact," she said slowly. "What's your name?"

"Um," she swallowed. Here was the moment where she was kicked out in the most disgraceful way that they would probably think of. "Hermione Granger."

Draco's mother's reaction was immediate. A look of disgust replaced her inquiring face, and her hands were now firmly at her sides. "They sent you?"

Hermione was insulted, though she suspected the reaction that had been forthcoming. "I was Head Girl in his year," she said in the most dignified way she could. "I come here out of respect."

"But apparently, not out of respect for the rest of us," the mousy-haired woman snickered, having finally joined the conversation.

It took a few moments for Narcissa to compose herself. "I will not deny the school, though I must say their lack of sensitivity is appalling. You shall make yourself unseen, girl. Sit in the back, conjure a veil to cover your face and speak to no one. I will not have my other guests be disgraced in this way. Disgracing the hostess is bad enough." And she turned her back on Hermione and addressed another guest.

Feeling small indeed, yet furious with herself for knowing she had no reason to feel that way, Hermione did as she was told. There were five rows of chairs gathered in front of an elaborate coffin, which had in turn been propped in front of a freshly dug plot of earth. A portrait of Draco had been put near the coffin, and in it he was looking as arrogant as ever.

There were a good amount of visitors, Hermione saw. She recognised Pansy Parkinson and a few other Slytherins seated near the front, Pansy in particular holding a handkerchief and sobbing quite loudly into the shoulder of a Slytherin boy Hermione couldn't quite remember the name of.

It didn't take long for Pansy to recognise the lone figure seated at the back, even with a veil covered over her face. It didn't take long, either, for the news to spread that a Mudblood had had the audacity to befoul the memorial service with her presence; and that the particular Mudblood was a Gryffindor by the name of Hermione Granger.

Almost immediately heads began to turn and the whispering started. Hermione did her best to ignore them, something she usually was good at but which seemed to be failing her that particular day. Pansy, on a bathroom break, swept past her and hissed, "How dare you, bitch Mudblood." Hermione set her jaw and didn't say a word.

After what seemed like an eternity, the service began. Draco's mother came up first, speaking about Draco and the kind of life he'd had (in a good light, obviously). Her speech had not been emotional, nor had she shown any sign of the devastation that Hermione was sure she felt. After a year of having her son classified as a missing person, she was finally burying him and closing that chapter of her life, so to speak, permanently.

Pansy Parkinson had a turn at the podium, as well. Her speech had been very emotional, Hermione thought, and rather distasteful. It didn't help, either, that she kept throwing hints about "the disgrace that has showed her ugly face here".

It was the moment after they lowered the coffin that was the ugliest. Customarily, all the guests would walk past it and pay their last respects towards the deceased. Usually this was done by conjuring flowers or, if you knew the person well enough, something that he or she particularly liked. It could be butterflies, even a model broomstick.

Hermione was the last to approach the coffin. She walked past the portrait of Draco and he stuck his tongue out at her. Then she was in front of the coffin and then someone's hand suddenly shot out, grabbing her arm and twisting her backwards.

"Ow!" she exclaimed, turning to glare at a wizard who glowered at her and immediately let go of her once she looked at him.

"You will step over my dead body before you go near that poor boy's coffin again," he growled. "Have you no courtesy, no respect? You befoul the place by coming here, you break poor Narcissa's heart, and you disgrace – again – the house of Malfoy!"

Hermione gaped at him.

"I would urge you to leave," another witch piped up. "I don't know what Hogwarts was thinking but we don't want any of your kind here."

Pansy took the moment to shove Hermione, hard, and caught by surprise, she fell into the wizard who had grabbed her arm just moments before. He pushed her off roughly and she struggled to regain balance. A Slytherin boy jostled her as he swept past. Suddenly everyone was talking loudly, insulting her, telling her to leave.

She'd just about had enough when Narcissa Malfoy stepped out in front of her, white, shaking, livid with rage. "You," she pointed her finger at Hermione, voice shaking. "I told you to remain unseen. Look at what you've done! This is my son's memorial service. My son. You've ruined it! You've upset my guests, me…" she drew a great shuddering breath and continued, "I want you out. Now." And when Hermione didn't move fast enough, she screamed, "Get out! Get out, you filthy Mudblood!"

Hermione fled.


-END OF CHAPTER 2-


A/N: Hmm…what did you think of that? Not that much Draco in this chapter, but I thought it would be interesting to show Hermione's take of the memorial service. A little flashback, so to speak.