I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling.

AN: I apologize for my long absence and sporadic updates of my now longest running serial (?). I explained a bit in my profile. Very sorry. Please continue. :)

Between men and women there is no friendship possible. There is passion, enmity, worship, love, but no friendship.
-Oscar Wilde

Draco waited with Barclay at the back of the greeting line. The funeral service itself hadn't taken nearly as long and he was glad for it. It was a cool day, even for late September. Despite their heavy, dark robes and the scarves Ornella had been thoughtful enough to insist they take with them, he could feel Barclay beginning to shiver in his arms. Draco was silently cursing himself now for bringing his son at all. He knew it was the right thing, but the boy would be attending his own mother's funeral in less than week- wasn't that more than enough trauma for one little boy?

Ah, well. Barclay probably would have insisted he be allowed to come to Harry's whether Draco liked it or not. The boy had been surprisingly adamant about that. He saved my life, Daddy, the boy had replied again and again to repeated queries as to how he was feeling and was he sure he wanted to go? Draco had felt rather proud of him then and had sent up a quick prayer that whatever he and Pansy had done right for the first six years, he could continue to do alone.

He held his son closer and stepped nearer to the front of the line. Though they were under the protection of a tent, the weather in Godric's Hollow was not as sunny as the grounds of Hogwarts had been and a soft rain was beginning to fall on the village square where the small reception was being held. Potter had been buried in the Hollow's graveyard, not far from his parents, and his name had been added to their monument.

It was all very poignant, he supposed, if one cared. Stop that, he told himself. You cared a great deal for Harry. What's with the vitriol now? He shook his head and stepped forward again. They were nearing Hermione and her family now- The Weasleys first, followed by her parents on either side of her. The little girl was in her arms as well and they both looked dead on their feet. He looked down to Barclay again and smiled reassuringly. His son was beginning to look a little nervous.

"Still scared of Viola, son?" he murmured. Barclay frowned.

"Daddy!"

Draco managed a grin. "Just checking. Ah, Mrs. Weasley," he said, turning towards the first host as they reached her.

"And what do you have to smiling about this morning?" Molly responded, her eyes flashing. Her husband placed his arm about her shoulders and gave them a squeeze.

"Molly," he said quietly. Then he put out his hand to shake Draco's. "Malfoy," he responded, "I am sorry for your loss, as well." He cleared his throat. "How are you- uh- holding up?"

Draco put out his own gloved hand and grasped the older wizard's hand firmly. He bent his head towards his son and gave the man a significant glance. "As well as can be expected? Isn't that the typical response? Anyway, thank you for asking- and thank you for having us here. We have all felt this loss."

"Right, well," Arthur replied, his voice gruff with emotion. "Keep that little one safe for us. Don't let the sacrifice go to waste."

Draco felt his face involuntary grow hard and stern and he made an effort to smooth his features before responding. "As if I could," he whispered before letting Arthur's hand go and moving forward.

Ginny's arms were enveloping him and Barclay before he realized what was happening and he returned the hug gingerly. When she finally let him go, her eyes were damp.

"Malfoy," she growled as she wiped her cheeks.

He smiled as amicably as possible without letting his own tears come. "Weaselby," he replied cheerfully. She almost laughed and then he was confronted by a hug from that damnable Longbottom as well. He was finding it swiftly and increasingly difficult to keep his thoughts to himself.

"Merlin, you too?" he responded before Neville had even let go.

"Oh shut it, you moron. Hey, I've written Pansy's- well, er," he paused and eyed Barclay. Draco looked at his son and then back at Neville.

"I see," he remarked as casually as possible. "Thank you." Draco grabbed the other man's hand suddenly and gripped it very tightly. "Thank you ," he responded again and then moved on. He knew perfectly well what Neville had meant. I've written Pansy's obituary for the papers, the other wizard had been trying to say. He also appreciated him not saying anything further with Barclay right there. While his son was handling everything rather well, he wasn't sure it was good to hit him with too many things all at once.

A few Weasleys later and Draco was finally standing in front of Hermione's mother. He nodded once at the woman before she, too, pulled him into yet another strange embrace. Strange because he was so unused to receiving hugs; especially strange because the people who were giving them would never have hugged him in any normal circumstance. It was only now, that something precious had been taken; that they were all suffering the same losses; that it was appropriate and even welcome to embrace one's enemy. He was certain that if Voldemort had still been alive and lost a loved one in the recent disasters that he would have been welcomed like a king.

Well, maybe not a king. And then, for the first time since his own, personal loss, he smirked.

It would have been a good sign at any other moment, except for the unfortunate coincidence that it happened while he was standing in front of Hermione.

Happily, it brought the first signs of life to Hermione's face since her loss and she was too overwhelmed with feeling anything other than grief that she couldn't do anything to him except scowl furiously. It allowed Draco enough time to realize what was happening and wipe his face clean. He couldn't keep the corners of his mouth from twitching, however. Hermione did her best to keep her filter on and greeted him stiffly.

"Draco. Thank you for coming," she ground out.

He nodded at her. "Welcome," he managed, his voice sounding as pinched as her face looked. Then, as their children began to perk up and become interested in one another, he couldn't help the rest that came tumbling out.

"I'm sorry about that- well, not just that, about everything- but I didn't mean to smirk at you, I swear it. I would never try to provoke you- not on a day like today, at any rate…oh, bugger," he finished in a murmur.

Hermione's eyes, glistening suspiciously, disappeared in a fit of discomfited blinking. She hefted Viola up again and sighed.

"Well," she responded.

He looked at her hopefully and she glanced away from his stare. Barclay and Viola looked from one parent to the next before glancing at one another significantly.

And before Barclay began to pass out.

Draco scrambled to support his son's lolling frame and smiled apologetically at Hermione. "I'm so sorry- he's been tired lately, I know, but he insisted on coming with me-"

Hermione was suddenly alert and the sin of a smirk was forgotten. "Is he okay? Do you need to sit him down for a while? It is cold under here despite the warming spells, isn't it? Let me-"

"No, look, there are some seats just over there, please stop fussing, Hermione-"

She spun around from asking her father to find a chair and glared- guiltily, if that's possible, Draco thought.

"Draco, that little boy is my little girl's best friend and she's only just started to recover, herself, so pardon me if I fret over his safety," she hissed. In a more normal tone she said, "Besides, it's no trouble. We're all tied into one another now, whether we like it or not. Whether your smirk still makes me insanely angry- that doesn't matter much, now." Then she kissed Viola firmly on the head, reassured her of Barclay's safety, and handed the girl off to her mother before turning back to Draco and leading him towards an available seat. Mr. Granger stepped back without a question and returned to the greeting line. It was only fair his daughter should take a break, after all. He didn't turn his thought to the tow headed father and son duo anymore than the lack of sunshine that day.

Hermione watched Draco sit Barclay down on the chair and kneel in front of the boy. "Is he- what's going on?" she asked disjointedly.

Draco shook his head and loosened Barclay's scarf a little in the hopes that it was just a fainting spell. To his relief, the boy's lids began fluttering and he seemed to come to. Hermione reached out a hand and smoothed the hair from his forehead. Barclay seemed to respond to her touch- murmuring something in return.

Draco leaned closer to catch the words and felt the blood drain from his face.

"Mummy?" Barclay was whispering in a hoarse voice. Hermione's hand paused as she also realized what he was saying.

"Oh- I'm sorry, Draco…perhaps- I think I'd better go back to the line."

Draco nodded and could feel his throat closing on him, a sure sign of tears. He started to stand and made a gesture towards his son as if to go, but he found a hand suddenly on his arm.

"No- that's not what I meant, Draco…please, don't leave yet. Take as much time as you need. I'll be back in a little bit. There aren't many people left. Please, just…" her voice trailed off and then she hurried back to the line and the last guests to be greeted. He looked after her, unsure of what had just occurred, but glad, somehow, to be staying. He turned his attention back to his son, who was looking decidedly better. Had he just gotten too tired? Was he running a fever?

Barclay opened his eyes fully and looked to his father. "Daddy? Where am I? Did I miss Viola?"

Draco shook his head. "You've just gotten a little tired, I think. How do you feel?"

The boy blinked several times and held up his hands, looking at them carefully. "How do I take my pulse?"

"Why? Does your chest hurt, Barclay?"

"No…but it's very fast- it's going very fast…it's a little hard to breathe, I think," he responded, reaching up to loosen his scarf some more. Draco watched him for a second, concerned, and then took one of his wrists in his hand and pushed the glove down a bit so he could feel at the boy's wrist. He shook his sleeve up some so he could look at his watch and began to count.

The boy was right; his pulse was racing. Draco's brows drew together as he frowned again. This was exactly what had happened back at the hospital, the first day the doctors had woken him up. He had been awake for only a few minutes- seconds, really, when something had happened that sent his pulse racing at a speed that his still recovering body simply couldn't handle. Hermione and Viola had been there that day, too- hadn't his son looked straight at the little girl? But the healers hadn't been able to determine why his heart had sped up in that manner, other than perhaps it had been all the stimulus of being awake for the first time in days…

With a start, Draco drew back from Barclay and looked over his shoulder to a few meters away where Hermione stood, holding Viola once more. Her petite frame was shivering with the cold and the strain of holding her child for so long. He wondered why she didn't just hand the girl over to her grandfather, but realized that she was probably as reluctant to let go of Viola as he was of Barclay. The children were the only tie either of them truly had to their dead spouses now; more true in her case than his, perhaps. After all, Harry had no close family or relatives left- from what he understood, the Dursleys had moved to the United States before the war had even finished and had never returned. Besides, with the stories about his childhood, it was no wonder she didn't want to contact them- if she'd even thought of it in the first place.

In front of him, Barclay moaned and began to squirm a bit. He turned his attention back to his son and stood, lifting the boy into his arms once more. If his hunch was correct about what was causing his erratic heart beat, then he needed to speak with Hermione and get them all to the hospital for some testing. Unfortunately, that meant approaching Hermione and Viola again, and he wasn't sure he was willing to risk his son's health anymore. His eyes softened as he watched the mother and daughter murmuring to one another in quiet tones. It wasn't entirely fair to Viola, of course, to keep her from his son without proof of consequence (or likewise), but Harry had made the decision for him when he'd saved his son. It wasn't Viola's fault that a part of Harry now ran strong through Barclay's blood and skin, tying him to the little girl in still unforeseen ways…

Hermione looked back over her shoulder just then and her eyes met Draco's. She looked at him strangely for a moment, confused as to why he was leaving when she'd asked him- politely, too- to stay. When she wasn't sure if she'd ever asked him to do that. When both their hearts were breaking because of the death that hovered so near them still, yet beat wildly the same in the presence of one another.

He shook his head at her and mouthed an apology before turning to exit the tent. She frowned after him before turning back to the remaining guests. Well. If he didn't want to stay, then she couldn't make him. Perhaps it was for the best, anyway. The boy clearly wasn't better yet- it was a wonder he'd been able to stand the outing…although it was a very generous gesture on Draco's part. She felt her heart strings pull a little at the thought and couldn't help but turn around again to look for the tall wizard's pale head of hair in the drifting crowd. She thought she saw him in the distance, getting into a car, but couldn't be certain. And besides, this was her husband's funeral. It wasn't very seemly, she supposed, for her to spend so much time thinking about another man when they'd barely put Harry in the ground.

With that thought, she turned back to her place and stalwartly put out her hand to shake yet another mourner's germ covered appendage. She hoped valiantly that her mother had remembered to pack some antibacterial hand gel.

Then she remembered that she was a witch and knew several perfectly good disinfecting spells and potions.

Well, thank heaven for small favors.

The rain continued on down in a drizzle and the remainder of the day passed in much the same fashion.