Better be Slytherin
LVII

Ceremony for the Dead

Dawn was breaking; it was the second of his new unknown life. Theodore looked out over the meadow where they kept the sheep, and in the horizon far off a blood red sun was rising slowly, sending its rays of colour over the pale sky. He sighed deeply and his breath came out in steam in the cold early morning air. He glanced back at the small rural house he'd grown up in. The ivy had spread like a disease over the outer walls now that it had been so sparsely lived in for the past couple years.

His father had been in Azkaban and Theodore had been sent to live with other Wizarding families that he had always run away from. It was only the past year that his father had stayed here when he wasn't off doing the Dark Lord's bidding, which he was most of the time, leaving the house to decay. And now they were here together, the two Notts, after having fled the battle along with most of the other Death Eaters.

Theodore couldn't see his father move about in the house, nor could he see lights in the windows or steam erupting from the chimney, so he concluded his father must still be asleep. He himself hadn't been able to sleep at all. The adrenaline and fear was still coursing through his body and he had a hard time sitting still.

He knew the Aurors would be coming for his father sooner or later – after all he was a known Death Eater, but Theodore doubted the ministry knew about him. But as soon as they arrived, they would check his left arm and know. And then he would be taken to Azkaban just like his lousy father.

If he didn't leave.

He thought back on the battle, how chaotic it had been. After seeing the Dark Lord, he had been sent back into the school to duel. He'd never had much duelling practice but he'd read about it a lot and he knew the logistics, yet, physically doing so was much more difficult than reading about it in theory. He hadn't known where to turn, who to duel, and who was on his side. Everyone had been running in different directions and he hadn't known where to focus.

He thought he might've managed to overthrow a couple Blood-traitors but he wasn't sure. Then, after what felt like either hours or just seconds of confused panic, he had seen Malfoy running into the Great Hall along with the enemy. Anger had filled him so thoroughly he hadn't known what to do, except that he wanted to find Malfoy and hurt him, punish him. People had been moving back into the castle, friends and foes alike retreating into the Great Hall along with the Dark Lord.

Then he'd seen Blaise, Tracey Davis and Queenie Wilkes joining the others with professor Slughorn and the Order of the Phoenix, and he knew he must get there, he needed to speak to Blaise, to show him that he was on the wrong side...

But then his father had shouted at him that they must leave. The enemies were finishing off Death Eater after Death Eater and more Aurors were arriving. Aurors who were on the Blood-traitors' side. The Dark Lord's forces and the Ministry he'd built had been crumbling before Theodore's eyes. There was nobody to contact, nobody to come and help put them back in the place where they belonged. The only thing left to do was to run. The wrong side had won, or else was about to.

Before he could reach Blaise, his father had grabbed his arm, and they had spun on the spot and Disapparated from inside the castle itself now that all the protective enchantments were broken.

He had taken them here, to their own house. As if the enemies wouldn't come looking here soon enough. How stupid his father was, to not think of a better hiding place. Theodore looked out over the sheep meadow again. He had to think of his own plan. He needed to leave his father because his father would draw the Aurors here. He needed to save himself. Where would he go?

He'd never had another place to go than home or school. He hadn't any relatives, they were all dead. He had only one friend and that was Blaise, but Blaise was at Hogwarts. He couldn't just hide out in the countryside, he hadn't a tent or food or anything. He wished he was rich like the Malfoys or Parkinsons and could just go to one of various holiday locations. He could try and get a Portkey out of the country, he supposed, but then he'd have to go through Ministry security to acclaim one, or else buy a registered one on the black market. With what money?

He gave an angry shout into the empty sky and threw a rock towards one of the sheep.


Pansy spun on the spot and her feet hit ground a couple of hundred miles from where she'd Disapparated from. Dusk was settling around her as she arrived outside the Wizarding village of Upper Flagley in Yorkshire. She had landed on the edge of the lot, just where the grandiose driveway began, and she started walking up it towards the large Georgian house in white stone with huge gaping windows.

She walked past the tiny hedges shaped like labyrinths leading into a patch of hibiscus bushes, and knocked the lion door knocker.

"Evening, Sebastian," she said as a dark figure opened the door. "You all right?" Sebastian Wilkes, four years older than Queenie and already well involved in family business in Galleon trading and high interest rate loans, was a sharp and well-dressed man who shared his sister's dirty blonde hair and dark eyes cunning eyes.

They cheek kissed and he let her in while a very young House-Elf took her travelling cloak.

"Mr and Mrs Wilkes not in?"

"They're down at the sailing club. Management meeting."

He led her into the vast and light kitchen, where Queenie was lounging by the big wooden table. Everything was in old, light wood, there was a huge gas-stove and the dark stone floor was incredibly cold.

"Hello, darling," said Queenie, and she and Pansy cheek-kissed too. "Good to see you."

Just then, the fireplace lit up in green flames, and seconds later the Greengrass sisters stumbled out of it, getting some ash on the floor.

"What's so urgent we had to Floo all the way up north?" said Daphne as soon as she stepped out.

"Well, we could hardly go to yours," sneered Queenie at Daphne and Astoria, "You lot live in Devon like proper Weasleys."

"The West Country is where most wizards in England live, you idiot," snapped Daphne, "not just the Weasleys. Besides, their village is miles from us."

"Anyway," interrupted Pansy. "Let's have a drink."

"Elf-made wine?" said Queenie and held up two bottles and shrugged. "Mother and father said it was all right."

They made their way up two staircases and into her bedroom which was decorated in shades of mauve. From the wallpaper to the curtains to the rugs.

"What have you lot been up to?" asked Pansy as soon as they had all gotten comfortable on Queenie's large four poster bed, on her dark silk throw.

"Not much," said Queenie, "no point in doing anything, is there. Just been waiting around to go back to school so we can get our things."

"Exactly," said Daphne, "all my nice robes are there. And all the books. I can't even prepare for the NEWTs."

"What about you, Pansy?" asked Astoria.

"I've been at Malfoy manor with my parents. Draco's mother is grieving her sister, of course. Draco's father's just been in contact with the Ministry and the Auror office all the time; I guess he's trying to explain everything."

Queenie scoffed at this.

"The Ministry's basically shut down, so my father hasn't gone to work these past two days. And Draco's acting weird... He doesn't say much."

"Is he scared?" asked Daphne. "Of Azkaban, I mean."

"I suppose," said Pansy more solemnly than they were ever used to hear her speak, "and he's feeling guilty for what happened to Crabbe, I think."

"Really?" said Queenie in disbelief. "I didn't think Malfoy ever blamed himself for anything, least of all when it actually wasn't his fault."

"That's what I've been saying," said Pansy, ignoring the dig at her boyfriend. "Crabbe was going to kill them all – he couldn't stop his Fiendfyre."

There was an awkward, silent pause, in which Pansy wondered if any of them actually grieved Crabbe. She picked up the latest issue of Witch Weekly from Queenie's bedside table. Apparently the others saw it as some kind of signal, because Daphne and Astoria started digging through a makeup bag for nail polish.

"So what's going to happen, Pansy?" asked Daphne and glanced at her best friend.

"I'm not sure," said Pansy flipping her dark hair over her shoulder. "The Malfoys are getting a solicitor. And there will be a ceremony for the dead at school."

She was flicking through the magazine now, skimming headlines and not really paying attention to the moving pictures. Queenie and Daphne glanced at each other at this.

"Millicent's hiding out with Bletchley and Montague," she went on a moment later. "They all went to join the Dark Lord, so they're hiding from the Ministry now. She was able to send me an owl but she wouldn't say where she was." Pansy said.

Astoria was busy painting Daphne's nails, and Daphne was observing her sceptically.

"She's lucky she never got the Dark Mark," said Queenie, "She might be able to escape punishment, you know."

The girls mumbled in agreement.

"She's so stupid," said Pansy in a harsh, callous tone. "Running off to the Dark Lord like that, getting herself into all sort of trouble. Look how well we're all doing."

"She shouldn't have listened to Nott," agreed Daphne, waving her hand to dry her nails.

"Speaking of, has anyone heard from Zabini or Nott? Apparently he's on the run too," said Queenie. Astoria glanced at her sister. Pansy scoffed, as if Daphne would hear anything from Zabini. If he were to contact anyone it would probably be Tracey.

"No," said Pansy, and the Greengrass sisters shook their heads. "But Zabini'll be fine. He was going to go back home to his mother after we left Hogwarts."

"I wonder about Nott though," said Queenie.

"He can't have gotten caught, or we would've heard. Right?" Daphne asked Pansy.

"I don't know," said Pansy dismissively, "But my father works for the Ministry. I'll ask him if he knows anything."

"And my father gives money to St Mungo's," added Queenie, "so if he turns up in hospital, I have a feeling we'll hear too."

"Everything's so fucked up," said Daphne suddenly. Queenie turned to look at her. She was gazing out into thin air.

Nobody said anything.


Blaise had been home for two full days now, unsure of what to do during the days as he hadn't finished school and he wasn't due to get a job yet. His mother, of course, left the house for errands which mostly consisted of shopping for jewellery in Muggle London and for fine dress robes and fabrics in Diagon Alley. He himself stayed in the house, laying low. He wasn't sure what he was meant to do and he briefly wondered what everyone else was doing at this time – the other Slytherins, the other Hogwarts students, and everyone else not involved directly in the battle.

Their dark green sitting room had a window out towards the street, and suddenly he saw a street light turning on outside. He sat up from where he was lying on his back on the sofa, lowering the Daily Prophet in his hands quietly, and reaching over to grab his wand. Was someone outside the house?

Slowly and quietly, not to make any noise, he pointed his wand at the WWN and turned the volume down. It was repeating the same news it had for the past two days anyway, with little new information.

Then, as if on cue, the doorbell rang. He was alone in the thin, high house, and the doorbell echoed. His mother was out for drinks with yet another suitor, and Blaise knew she had no reason to ring the doorbell when she came back.

Confounded, he got up from the velvet sofa and went to open the door. His heels clicked on the marble floor. His wand at the ready, he pointed it at the door and it unlocked with a click. Slowly, it creaked open. Blaise's lit wand fell upon a dirty and pale figure in tattered Slytherin robes.

It was Theodore Nott.

He swore out loud.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed quickly and looked around. He motioned for his friend to hurry inside, and shut the door before hopefully anyone could see them. He locked it thoroughly.

"You're wanted for Merlin's sake!"

"I didn't know where else to go," said Theodore dully. "I've been on the run for a couple days. My father has been taken to Azkaban. I saw it happen, they came and I hid behind the shed. I saw them arrest him. I just Disapparated. I've been moving every hour for two days now. I haven't slept for more than an hour at a time, out in the woods."

Blaise felt irritation build inside him, and he groaned slightly as he said, "You're a mess..."

"Well, thanks," Theodore snarled. "I was hoping you'd offer me some food instead of insults, as I haven't eaten since Hogwarts."

Wordlessly, Blaise walked through the thin corridor and entered the small and equally dark kitchen with a back door leading out into the overgrown garden. His mother wasn't the nurturing kind, neither to him nor their plants. He waved his wand nonchalantly and bread and butter flew out the pantry. Some kind of stew was poured magically into a pot and a flame underneath it was lit.

"You thirsty?" said Blaise impatiently. Theodore nodded, and their eyes met in mutual irritation. Blaise knew Theodore had expected a warmer welcome.

"I managed to procure water, obviously, it's an easy spell. But we haven't practiced food charms in school. I knew the principle of course, but I had nothing I could transform or multiply except some berries I found in the forest. I'd expected some mushrooms at least but it's too early in the year."

Blaise thought for a moment Theodore sounded like a madman going on like this. He served him the food with his wand and they both sat down. Blaise frowned at him as he began throwing food in his mouth.

"Why are you coming here bringing me into this?"

He couldn't hold it in. Theodore paused eating, his spoon stopping just outside his mouth. They looked at each other for a while. Then Theodore said coldly, "I thought you were my friend."

"You're wanted for questioning! I told you not to go to the Dark Lord!"

"Well it's too late now, isn't it!"

Blaise looked away, his face still rigid and jaw set.

"But not for you," said Theodore slowly, in a low dangerous voice. "I saw you."

Blaise met his eyes, defiant.

"Yes?"

"You came back. On the wrong side."

Blaise gave an annoyed groan. "I told you it was all bollocks. And now he's gone. And look at the situation you're in! Look at the state of you, Theodore! You're fucked now. I chose well."

"Yes," said Theodore with a sarcastic undertone, "You saved your own skin, just like Malfoy, just like all those sodding girls. I'm the only one who stood up for our beliefs and—"

"Not our beliefs. Yours." Blaise's gaze was hard. Judging.

Theodore sneered and shook his head. "Well, look at that."

"And look where that landed you," said Blaise pointedly. "You can stay here tonight but you can't stay forever. They're going to come looking for you sooner or later."

"You don't think I know that?" he hissed.

"What do you want me to do? You put yourself in this situation. I told you not to. But you're not dragging me down with you."

In explosive anger, Theodore threw his mead glass into the wall and it broke in a million pieces, showering them. Blaise swore loudly again and tried to shield his head with his arms. There was glass everywhere.

They were both breathing heavily, staring at each other, equally angry. For a second, Blaise thought his friend might continue throwing things, or that they would actually start fighting each other. But Theodore wasn't moving, he was just sitting there panting furiously.

Then Blaise said. "Let's have a drink. Something stronger. And you're cleaning that up."


Later that night, Pansy Apparated back to the Parkinson estate in Essex and made her way up the walk paved with lilac trees, to her beloved childhood home with its small pillars and large broom shed before the stairs leading up to the beautiful stone doors. Her mother kissed both her cheeks after the House-Elf had let her in to the dining room where supper had just been served.

"Come and join us, Pansy, dear," her mother said and dumped Pansy's cloak onto the unexpecting House-Elf.

Pansy sat down clumsily and put the napkin on her lap.

"Your father and I have discussed," said Perpetua Parkinson loudly as she cut her meat. "And we have not come to decision as of yet, but we are considering distancing ourselves from England for the time being."

"What?" Pansy swallowed her wine so quickly in order to reply, she almost choked. "Excuse me?"

"Yes," her mother went on, "We feel it might be the right choice for us."

"What are you on about 'distancing yourselves from England'? What does that even mean?"

"Move abroad, of course!"

"Why would you move abroad?" exclaimed Pansy, "And would I have to come?"

"Potentially to exclude ourselves from the hard times ahead in this society."

"What hard times?" said Pansy, "The war's over!"

"There's a certain stigma around being Pureblood at the moment. We don't want our involvement or lack thereof questioned. Nor or loyalties. We don't want to be grouped together with the likes of the Malfoys, for instance."

Pansy gave a frustrated groan. "Not this again."

Finally, her father spoke up, still with food in his mouth. "I'll be losing authority and will be seen as a Pureblood supremacist, and it's all thanks to that ruddy Lucius Malfoy." He shook his head, his dark brows furrowed together. "Scum."

"I thought we settled all of this last summer when we went there for supper," said Pansy impatiently.

"I changed my mind," said Graham Parkinson. "Now that we know what the outcome of this war is."

"You don't have to move to the bloody continent for that!"

Her mother gasped, "Pansy! No swearing, you sound like an uncultivated Muggle!"

Pansy rolled her eyes again.

"If you wish," her father said, "you could stay, of course. You'd have this house to yourself. We'd reside in the cabin in Val-d'Isère for the winter months and then the villa in Positano from spring onwards."

Pansy narrowed her eyes. She couldn't see what it was her parents would be doing in Europe for so long.

"What about your job?" she asked her father.

"It might be time for me to step down," he replied ceremoniously. "I think the Ministry could do without me in the future. All this war business just means more work for the department, and I'd rather go without."

Pansy gazed sceptically at him – her father loved working, and she could hardly imagine him not doing so. He was always in fine robes and ready for business. She'd never even seen him without shoes on. She couldn't imagine him lounging on a sofa.

"You would retire?"

"Money's not an issue," he replied, "and you're all grown up now."

"I'm not that grown up!" she protested, insulted for some reason. "What am I meant to do alone in this house with just a bloody House-Elf?"

"If you swear one more time at this table, I will have you leave! And, you know," her mother said," Most people can live by themselves, even without a House-Elf."

Pansy gasped. "Don't be silly, mummy! Everyone has a House-Elf, at least one!"

"The point is, Pansy," her father said sternly, "you're of age."

"Barely," she snorted indignantly.

"—and you've finished school."

"I haven't taken my NEWTs yet! Besides, I was going to apply for university in the autumn—"

"And if you're going to be here by yourself, representing your whole family, you will have to keep up appearances."

Pansy scoffed. "If I'm going to be here by myself, I thought the point was to do whatever I wanted."

Her father's gaze silenced her.

"You will have to keep up appearances," he repeated sternly to her. Pansy looked back at him perpetually defiant. "Your involvement with the Malfoy boy is regrettable, but there's nothing to do about that now."

Pansy rolls her eyes. "Will you stop calling him 'the Malfoy boy'. He's my boyfriend of over two years, father."

"And the reason you stood up in front of hundreds of people and declared your loyalty to the Dark Lord!"

"That's not what I did!" she protested, flushing instantly.

"Foolish girl," he snapped.

"Graham!" her mother reprimanded him quickly.

"Well, she has been, hasn't she!" he turned his angry gaze onto his wife instead and he waved his fork full of duck at her. "Landed herself a Ministry interrogation and all!"

"That's not what I did, and it's only a hearing. Mummy, tell him," whinged Pansy.

"Nothing's set in stone yet," said Perpetua briskly, seemingly busy with her food. "And anyway, we're not going anywhere until your Ministry hearing."

"Oh, thanks a lot," said Pansy sarcastically. "Someone tried to kill me and now you're just abandoning me!"

"Oh don't be dramatic," Perpetua snapped. "Nobody tried to kill you; you weren't even in the battle."

Before she knew what she was doing, Pansy had grabbed her crystal wine glass and thrown it as hard as she could across the table onto the fireplace as she let out an angry scream. She was shaking as she got up and bolted from the room, slamming the door.

Both her parents gaped after her in utter shock.


The next day, in the town of Brighton on the south coast of England, Tracey Davis had woken up to a whole other world than her Pureblood friends. Being back here in the Muggle world almost made it feel like the war and the final battle had never happened. Although it was still cloudy and windier than normal in the coastal town, and Tracey thought it was the Dementors still. Just because Voldemort had died didn't mean the rest on his side had too.

Three days had now passed since the battle had ended and there was still a bitter sweetness in the air, as if being cheerful or pleased wasn't allowed. Nothing memorable had happened until Blaise Zabini had sent her an owl that morning saying he would come over at four.

She glanced at her watch. Three minutes to. Not that she was waiting or anything. She caught a look of herself in the mirror in the sitting room over the modern sofa – she looked more nervous than she had thought. She took a deep breath and quickly smoothed her hair and put it behind her ears.

With regal posture, Blaise Zabini stepped out of the green flames at exactly four o'clock. She turned around to face him, feigning a casual look.

Her heart was beating slightly faster than before. He was handsome as always, tall, dark-skinned and in expensive robes. His slanting eyes moved around the room.

"So this is how Muggles live..."

Something inside her stirred, was it a slight disappointment?

The last time she had spent time with him alone had been in the Hog's Head where he had put an arm around her while they watched the school being attacked. Maybe she had expected a different sort of greeting.

"This is how I live," she corrected him coldly.

He scoffed. "Where are your parents?"

She raised an eyebrow. "At work. Some people actually work, you know. We can't all scam rich men for money."

For a second their eyes met, and Blaise looked unsure whether to laugh or get angry for the dig at his mother. Tracey almost wanted him to take offence. He had practically called her a Muggle.

"Touché." He looked around the room again and she felt self-conscious for some reason.

"Why are you here?" she couldn't help but to ask. "Your letter didn't say."

Finally he turned to her, hands clasped behind his back, without his former sneer. "For advice."

"Advice?" she said, genuinely surprised, "About what?"

Blaise sighed. "Theodore Nott showed up at my house last night."

"Oh," she said, "really?"

Blaise moved to sit down on the sofa and motioned for her to join.

"I thought he was on the run?" she said slowly as she sat down next to him.

"He is. He's run out of places to go, so he came to me."

"But nobody knows?"

"Well," he looked up at her and their eyes met. Was she imagining it or did she feel some sort of electricity between them? "Now, you do."


It had been almost a week now. Since Pansy told him about almost dying, Draco hadn't let her out of his sight, but he was very quiet generally. His face was still sore from the battle. He'd been punched twice – by Crabbe and then by Ron Weasley, and he still hadn't fixed his lost tooth. The cut on his cheek from Finnegan's curse was a disgusting mix of yellow and purple and he hated looking himself in the mirror.

The Daily Prophet had posted a complete list of the dead and the WWN was playing quotes from Harry Potter's press conference day and night.

"Severus Snape was a spy. He and professor Dumbledore planned his death together. Snape helped me. He did it all because he loved my mother..."

It was the fifth time Draco had heard it but it was still unfamiliar to him, even though the immediate shock had settled in the last few days.

"Now fancy that!" Mrs Parkinson had shrieked loudly the first time they had heard it.

Draco didn't feel like it changed much. He had still treated Gryffindor badly and Draco would always be grateful for that. In a way, it made him feel closer to Snape. They had both been secretly opposed the Dark Lord. He wished he had his Godfather now to share this with. Because his father still seemed to agree with everything the Dark Lord stood for.

Presently, Lucius turned the radio off with a flick of his wand. They were in the dining room having breakfast.

Draco glanced at his father, who was obviously irritated by the Snape situation. The Daily Prophet in his hands had different headlines now.

"Casualties of the war: Heroes"

"Pius Thicknesse revealed under Imperius Curse"

"Aurors captured additionally eleven Dark Wizard supporters"

Draco had read Potter's press statements in the Prophet over his morning cup of tea yesterday. About everything that had happened during the last year after Dumbledore's death – the chase of the Deathly Hallows in which Draco had apparently played a role, and the chase of these unnamed inanimate objects that clung the Dark Lord to life, and how Potter was protected by his mother's love... Finally it all started to make sense. Potter praised Granger, Weasley, Longbottom, Dumbledore which was expected, and more surprisingly Draco's estranged relative Regulus Black for helping destroying the mysterious dark objects.

It still felt bitter, the win. He now didn't belong anywhere.

Draco could hardly say he knew Potter well, but well enough to know Potter didn't want any of the glory and attention but merely had been coerced into telling his story once and for all to get everyone off his back. Draco supposed Potter and his friends would back out of the lime light quickly enough, and who could blame them. They'd done their part and were surely in need of some peace and quiet.

Narcissa Malfoy was in fine robes, ready for the day, sipping her tea.

"We must leave for the school in an hour," she said. "For the ceremony."

"Yes, mother," said Draco, and his stomach rumbled nervously.

"And, Draco, my love," she said in a softer voice, "We've heard from Mr Crabbe. The funeral will be held next Sunday."

Draco looked away and did not answer.


After breakfast they Floo'd to Hogwarts, which was packed with people as always these days. They were all there. Pansy, Wilkes, Greengrass, Davies, Zabini, Goyle. He hadn't heard from or seen Goyle for days, but had heard he was mainly drinking in solitude.

Still, Draco found a slight tranquillity in seeing them all there.

"I can't believe Snape worked for Dumbledore!" Queenie was saying as he strode over the Transfiguration courtyard to join them.

"I know! All this time I thought he was helping me," said Draco with a slight smirk, "but he was on Potter's side all along. Didn't seem like it with all those point withdrawals and all the Slytherin favouritism."

They all laughed.

"So, what's going on in the Wizarding world, outside Hogwarts?" asked Daphne.

"A lot of people are celebrating," said Zabini. "But you know, the Ministry needs change. It's so corrupt, so of course a lot of people are being sacked. Whoever's left are hunting Death Eaters. It's chaos. They fled everywhere. Plenty Aurors died in the battle as well. It's going to take some serious time, I'll tell you that."

"And Azkaban is full of innocent people that were put there by You-Know-Who's side," added Tracey. "It's just the matter of weeding out the liars. Because of course everyone's claiming they're innocent. And then there are hundreds of Muggleborns that went into hiding back when he took over the Ministry. They need to be found."

Draco noticed Pansy was studying her nails, looking bored.

"Welcome back, everyone," said Professor McGonagall, her wand pointed at her throat to amplify her voice. "For the ceremony of Tom Riddle's victims. Would you all gather round, please."

At the other end of the courtyard, the teachers all stood lined up on an enchanted stage where a huge monument had been raised. Draco glanced around and saw Seamus Finnegan and the rest of the D.A, whatever was left of the Order of the Phoenix, and even Zacharias Smith was there. Of course their saviour Saint Potter and his best mates were there. And then Draco's gang of misfits – the Slytherins and their families. But at least they were there, he reminded himself as the talk died down and everyone focused on McGonagall.

A monument had been raised for the victims of Voldemort – a vast black rectangle in black marble to symbolise the darkness, suffering and sacrifices. After professor McGonagall had read every single name of everyone who died they had a minute of silence for the dead. Draco had tried to keep track but had lost count around the fifty-second name.

He noticed a lot of people around him were weeping silently, and holding hands. He wondered if something was wrong with him that he did not feel the need to do these things. This was more of a formality, he knew. Now here he was grieving unknown victims. The proper funeral for Crabbe would be harder, because Draco had known him.

Draco didn't know what to say, so he said nothing.

Everything in his world was suddenly so quiet. As quiet as this courtyard full of people that disliked him. It made him restless, as if he didn't know what to do with himself.

That night he woke up in a cold sweat again, just like he did every night, panicked from seeing those read eyes burn into his, wondering if that would ever stop.