Draco
Draco stood sheltered below the shadow of the window alcove of his father's study and watched the scene before him. His mother, the person responsible for the banshee-like wail, was heaped ungainly at the Auror's feet. Her hands, usually so soft and elegant, were now aggressive claws which she used to assault the carpet, raking her fingernails deep into the rich pile. Her long hair had fallen over her face, distorting her usually serene features; only her eyes scrunched in pain could be seen through the thick tresses. Her back heaved and hunched rhythmically as she gasped and gagged; no one knew what to do, and so they just watched her.
'Who's responsible for this woman? Can't someone help her?' asked the Auror.
The words forced Draco to take his eyes off his mother and instead survey the Auror. He stood, trying desperately to command authority like his father used to, but was betrayed by his weight shifting from foot to foot; he wanted someone else to take charge, he didn't want this to be his problem. Draco sighed, it would have to be him. There really wasn't anyone else, not now. He took a fortifying breath and braced his teenage shoulders against the gravity of the situation.
Draco stepped forwards and hooked his arms around his mother and lifted her to stand at his side. She crumpled into him as her cries were muffled against his shoulder, her tears soaking the expensive material of his robes. He placed a solitary kiss upon her head, then turned to face the room. What everyone was staring at, he demanded haughtily, didn't they have anything better to do? Mere moments later Draco managed to disperse everyone from the house and install his mother safely under a blanket on the chaise lounge. He leaned against the wall nearest the window and allowed the gravity of the situation to settle over his lithe frame, pressuring him into submission as he slid down the wall to the carpet and closed his eyes, his mother's cry still reverberating in his ears. His father was dead.