Mahrae – yea, remus and sirius are together – I'm pretty sure I've mentioned it

Lady.of.the.stars1 – draco will be back soon and I'm not planning on finished this any time soon – 'cause I hav no idea how to

J.R.T – yea, am gnna do the funeral (this chap actually), and are you in my head coz you just said all my ideas?

V – nope, draco's not gonna become abusive while harry just takes it

Kazillion – fantastic review again and yes, ava adore is the best song ever

Oh, people keep mentioning spelling errors and for these I'm very sorry, but spelling is not my strong point – especially not in english

25. Goodbye to you

Draco stood amongst the sea of black, one arm around his mother's slim waist as he mouthed along to the hymn that most others were singing. He didn't trust his voice right now.

Somehow, he'd managed to avoid getting drunk the night before when his visitors had arrived – those visitors being the group of people he used to hang around with. Usually, he wouldn't have minded, but he respected his father enough to go to the funeral with the hangover from hell.

The hymn came to an end, and the priest invited them to sit down, before reading a passage from the Bible, annoucing that it had been one of Lucius' favourites.

"Lucius and his wife Narcissa had only one child, their teenage son Draco, who is currently schooling in America, but has returned to celebrate his father's life and will now give the eulogy."

Draco stood up and brushed the creases out of his black trousers and straightened his jacket and tie as he walked up to the lecturn.

"Not a lot of people know this about my dad, but his favourite film was Four Weddings and a Funeral. He liked to keep that secret. One of his favourite parts was the funeral because he found it incredibly moving, especially the poem. He always said he would love to have that poem read at his funeral."

He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and held it out before him.

"Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum

Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead

Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,

Put Crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,

Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,

My working week and my Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my Song;

I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one;

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;

Pour away the ocean and seep up the wood;

For nothing now can ever come to any good."

Draco took a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing. "My dad and I didn't get on very well, in fact, we fought most of the time. I think the last time I ever told him I loved him was when I was eight. And now I regret not telling him everyday that I loved him and that I couldn't hope for a better father.

"And then I thought I'd never have a chance to tell him how much I loved him and how glad I am that he was my dad. But someone I care about very much, who is not here today and who never knew my father, told me that it didn't matter that I never told my dad how much I loved him, because he knew anyway and wherever he is now, he knows.

"My dad was never one to show what he was feeling, or let things get to him. He was a business man, and was always very cool and calm and collected. But he cared about his family and friends a lot, and always provided the best he could for me and my mum. I messed up a lot, but he was still always there, always being my dad and always looking out for me.

"And now I know that he always will be looking out for us, where ever we go and what ever we do, my dad will be looking down on me and my mum and helping us and keeping any eye on us."

One tear drop fell from Draco's eye and he let it run it's path – he did not need to feel ashamed about crying.

"I love you dad," he finished, his voice barely above a whisper.

After the funeral, everyone had poured into their cars to make their way over to a local hotel for the wake.

Well, not everyone.

Draco and his old group of friends sat in the park. All of them had been at the funeral with their families, and several had managed to sneak bottles of alcohol with them. These bottles were now being rapidly consumed, mostly by Draco himself.

He hadn't got drunk like this in...how long had he been in America...probably a month or so. He'd missed it, and he had to admit he'd missed his old friends.

There was Crabbe and Goyle, the two very similar looking old school mates of Draco's, both rugby players and built like brick walls, with possibly half a brain cell between the two of them.

There was Marcus Flint, in his first year at University, but only there due to a hefty donation by his father, as he had a tendancy not to work or even turn up to class.

Sandwiched between Crabbe and Goyle was Millicent Bullstrode, a relatively attractive if not somewhat large girl, whose regular beauty treatements, extensive wardrobe and daily blow outs kept her in the right side of the line between attractive and not so.

And lastly, practically on Draco's lap, was Pansy Parkinson. She was very popular amongst the boys due to her long dark locks, big eyes and huge breasts, not to mention the fact she was easy. She was also popular amongst the girls because her father was a top executive at a huge record company.

Pansy was also a regular fuck buddy of Draco's.

They'd never dated, neither had wanted to, but if one of them wanted a quickie with no romantic attachments they could always rely on each other.

"So, Draco, you found any hot girls in America?" asked Marcus, sounding surprisingly un-drunk.

Draco was less well off. He couldn't think straight and was having trouble forming words.

'Girls, Hermione's a girl, but she's with Ron.'

"Uh...yea, a few," he lied, forcing the words out, though his tongue felt incredibly thick.

"Cool."

Instead of replying, Draco took another huge gulp of the Smirnoff vodka Millicent had snuck out.

Millicent who seemed to momentarily have her tongue down Goyle's throat.

'I might be sick after seeing that.'

He suddenly became aware of Pansy's hand stroking his thigh, working its way further and further up Draco's leg until her fingers were milimetres away from his crotch.

She twisted herself round and straddled Draco's legs, pressing herself closer to his body.

"Pans-"

"Ssh, baby," she whispered seductively, brushing her lips aganst his.

Even in his alcohol infested brain, Draco knew this wasn't right. He shouldn't be doing stuff with Pansy, not while he was hoping to start something with Harry.

He felt Pansy's tongue glide across his bottom lip and he moaned involuntarily.

'No!' he cried out in his head. 'This is wrong, oh so wrong, remember Harry? Yea? You like him and he likes you!'

But Pansy was so warm and comforting and right now Draco needed to take comfort in whatever and whoever he could in the only way he knew how.

Besides, if he squinted so his eyes were really, really small, almost closed, Pansy kind of looked like Harry.

'Except she has two really big appendages that Harry doesn't! And is missing something that Harry's got quite a lot of!'

Pansy's arms had now slipped around Draco's waist, pulling herself closer to him, now pressed directly up against his crotch.

Finally giving in, Draco moved his lips against hers, pushing his tongue against hers.

It wasn't like anyone was ever going to find out.

Well, there you go, chapter 25 and I think almost 400 reviews

The poem is from Four Weddings and a Funeral and is 'Funeral Blues' by D.H Auden

The title of this chapter is from the Michelle Branch song - Goodbye to You

Please review