BBS
LVIII
The Funeral
"I heard he was camping all year," said Pansy, who was always up to date with the latest gossip, as they made their way down the cobbled street in Diagon Alley.
"Camping?" said Draco, as if it was the oddest thing he'd ever heard.
"Yes, camping around Britain," she said, nodding vigorously to convince him.
"What? Why?" Draco wrinkled his nose in disdain.
Pansy shrugged. "Hiding from the Dark Lord maybe? Or looking for those things."
Lucius, who had overheard them, muttered, "Camping. Like a common Muggle."
Draco's jaw set at this and blood rushed through his veins. He exhaled tensely and forced himself not to say anything. Instead he looked around at the run down, dirty street. He noticed the beggars, the rubbish, the broken windows and the boarded up doors. It stank. Narcissa, walking behind him and Pansy with Lucius, wrinkled her nose haughtily and moved her hat down so she wouldn't see all the dirty people.
The only difference was that now they were all queuing for something. He stretched to see ahead what they were waiting for, and as they passed, he could see a sign in the window.
"Diagon Alley Muggleborn Help Centre"
"Well, well, well," said Lucius in his softest voice, meant for only his companions, his face showing clear disgust.
Volunteers from the centre were shaking cups of money and yelling out to by-passers, "Please give generously! We feed and provide clothes and shelter to the victims of You-Know-Who! Please give generously, your donation helps!"
"So this is where the riffraff spend Monday morning," Lucius went on, with a sideways glare at the beggars. "Leeching on society."
Pansy looked equally disgusted. "I bet these tramps haven't even encountered one of his supporters, they're probably just using this situation to get money."
Draco didn't agree. He had already reached inside his pocket for a handful of Sickles and Knuts. When his girlfriend and father heard the clinking sound of money from Draco, they spun around as if stung.
"What are you doing, Draco?" Pansy demanded, indignant at once.
"Put that away," hissed Lucius, and held out his hand over Draco's forearm, hindering him. But Draco slithered out of his father's grip and dumped his coins into one of the cups.
"Thank you, sir," the volunteer said, smiling at him, "bless you."
"Let the boy do as he pleases," said Narcissa with finality. "He's thinking of the family's reputation."
His father didn't look at him as they walked on, and he didn't have to for Draco to know what he felt.
Pansy, however, didn't waste any time sharing her opinions. She jabbed him in the side and muttered, "Pretty two-faced move, that was."
"Get over yourself," he snarled back at her. She huffed and made tutting sounds all the rest of the way.
They passed Gringotts, Flourish & Blotts, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, The House-Elf Placement Agency, Sugarplum's Sweets Shop, and even the Daily Prophet printer's office. Finally, they reached the building they were headed for. It was a magnificent old building, possibly medieval, and it had been grand once, but now needed a serious renovation.
"Diagon Solicitors" said a wonky golden sign next to the door numbered one-hundred and sixty-nine.
"Are you sure this is right?" asked Pansy. "Looks a bit... dodgy." Draco was sure her eyes swept over the cracked bricks just like his did.
"These are meant to be the most proficient and respected Wizarding lawyers in Britain, Miss Parkinson," said Lucius, and he added in a mutter, "They better be, because they certainly are the most expensive ones."
Draco watched him as he stepped up and shook the golden door knocker. It looked like it might fall off. For some reason, this comment worried Draco. His father rarely mentioned money at all, and this made him guess the attempt at keeping the Malfoys out of prison was the most expensive project he'd ever had.
They were let into a reception room before being allowed into Mr Felstead's study. It was a lofty room with a view over this remote part of Diagon Alley. A large desk opposed the window and the walls were filled with books and various diplomas. The room, and indeed the man himself, gave a reliable impression. This man had been recommended to them by Mrs Zalika Zabini – he was her newest fiancé.
He was tall, had greying hair, wearing colourful robes and spectacles on the tip of his nose.
"Angus Felstead," he said with a firm handshake. "Pleasure. Now shall we get straight to it, eh?"
He motioned for them to sit down and waved his wand which began pouring from a bottle of whiskey into five glasses.
"You need a representative of law to defend you in front of the Wizengamot, if I am not mistaken."
"Yes," said Lucius in a low sort of hiss, "We find ourselves being accused of all sorts of matters."
Mr Felstead gave a courteous smile at this. "I hear your wife lied for the great Harry Potter, sir?"
"Yes," said Lucius quickly and motioned for Narcissa who straightened up.
"I wanted to find my son," she said haughtily, her hands clasped over her gloves and hat.
Mr Felstead, leaned back in his chair, sipped his whiskey thoughtfully. When he put it down, he said, "We can certainly work with that."
"You must note, Mr Felstead," said Lucius, "that we all opposed the Dark Lord in recent times. We defied him privately but... we had to obey orders."
Mr Felstead nodded gravely. "Undoubtedly, that shall be our angle."
Pansy suddenly rummaged through her handbag. Draco saw a bunch of rubbish in there – Liquorice Wands, endless Galleons, her wand, a pair of small bubble gum pink sunglasses, this week's copy of Witch Weekly magazine, lip-gloss and a ruffled feather quill until she finally pulled out a long piece of parchment.
Everyone in the room turned to her, surprised. She unrolled it and cleared her throat. "I've tried to write down an explanation for why I said what I said about Potter in the Great Hall."
"Thank you, Miss Parkinson," said Mr Felstead, almost amused "But I think we must focus on Mr Malfoy and Mr Malfoy first. The ones who, from what I've heard, have actually committed crimes."
It was almost humoristic.
"We have lots of work to do," he went on. "Weeks' worth probably. So let's get started."
Pansy put her roll of parchment back into her back looking sheepish.
"Firstly, I will need to know just how guilty you are," said Mr Felstead. "You will need to tell me everything or I cannot make the outcome as beneficial as possible for you. I will be conducting interviews with you all separately and together. I will need to know to the fullest extent, your respective involvement. And I need to know how much they know."
"My son," Lucius said, motioning at Draco who sat there, heart drumming fast and not a drop of whiskey left, "was forced to go after Albus Dumbledore once I was sent to Azkaban prison. This was not something he wanted, but knew he must. He was threatened. The Dark Lord put Draco's and our lives at gambling point. The boy had no choice." Lucius stopped and cleared his throat. Clearly this was uncomfortable for him. "He was punished for my mistakes."
"Perhaps Draco can speak for himself?" Mr Felstead asked with a nod at Draco.
Draco cleared his throat, unprepared for this. "Er... everything my father says is true," he began. "I was given a mission to kill Dumbledore and bring Death Eaters into school. In the end I failed though, so I never went through with it. I was forced however, to take this."
He quickly pulled down his left sleeve and held up his underarm.
"I see," Mr Felstead said calmly. Draco had expected another type of reaction; he did not know what, perhaps shock or disgust, but not indifference. "And, I am informed from old case reports from the first war, you share this branding, Mr Malfoy?" he asked Lucius, who nodded stiffly.
Mr Felstead browsed the parchments on his table. "If I understand it correctly, you were tried before the Wizengamot in 1982 after the fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in 1981. You then eluded legal consequences on a mere technicality – you claimed you had acted under the Imperius Curse."
Draco glanced at his father, who showed no sign of the lie affecting him.
"I must conclude, however, we cannot use the same justification once more."
Lucius shifted slightly, and Draco glanced at him again. Perhaps he had hoped to.
"What I suggest we do firstly," Mr Felstead said now, "is to give as much information as we can to the Ministry. And what I mean by that is turning in a list of every single Death Eater and otherwise active supporter. Anyone who was involved in any way."
Draco looked at his father, who looked at his wife. Narcissa nodded. Lucius shut his eyes as if pained.
"That is... very bold," said Lucius. "You expect me to turn on every single acquaintance of mine. And what if you fail, hmm? I will be killed."
Mr Felstead shrugged. "It's your only chance. Or you can say goodbye to your wife and son for ten to twenty years. Well, you will see them. Once every six months and through bars."
Lucius eyes narrowed and he scowled at Mr Felstead, and Draco felt a shift in the atmosphere in the room.
"Are you Pureblood?" he asked.
Draco looked away, his face suddenly feeling quite warm. Mr Felstead studied Lucius coldly. "I'm half-blood, Mr Malfoy, and questions like that is the reason you need me."
Lucius lip twitched in anger and he was at loss for words. Draco, suddenly brave, didn't know what hit him, but he decided he must take the opportunity, so he leaned forward and grabbed a feather quill in his left hand. He was not going to let his father mess this up too. All of his pride and smugness crumbled around him as he capitulated – all he wanted was to fit into this new world that was being built around them.
"Just tell me what to do," he said decisively. "Where do I sign?"
Draco picked up the parchment on the table and skimmed it.
"Draco!" said his mother, father and girlfriend all at once.
"We haven't talked through this," Lucius went on in a snarl.
"If you do indeed wish to acquire my services," Mr Felstead said, "then here." And he pointed to the thin line of the end of the parchment where terms of agreement had been written. Draco hastily signed his name, long and thin and cursive. On all four of the copies.
Mr Felstead then looked up at the scowling Lucius, and said, "I shall give you a good rate, because you are friends of Mrs Zabini. Normally I do seventy galleons an hour, but I think we can agree on fifty."
Lucius studied him sceptically. Then finally, he swallowed and put on his mask of a face, and said, "Yes, certainly we can."
On the way back to the Leaky Cauldron to Floo home, they passed the help centre again, where the beggars were sitting in the gutters. This time, Lucius mumbled "Filthy Mudbloods," with a sneer at his son. It infuriated Draco more than he anticipated.
"No!" he snarled and turned away. "You need to stop that. That's what got us into this in the first place."
Lucius glared at him and his lips twitched as if he wanted to say something, but finally he didn't.
"Do you think I will get in trouble?" Pansy asked for the umpteenth time that evening.
Draco put his newspaper down and sighed tiredly, "I don't know Pansy."
"I mean!" she said indignantly, "I just wanted to protect us… What's one life against hundreds of students…? I didn't mean anything against Potter personally; I just didn't want me or my friends to die."
"I know that."
"Like you had to watch Crabbe die."
A jolt went through his stomach, it ached nauseously – he still felt an inescapable guilt over his former friend's death. He knew Pansy had never particularly cared much for Crabbe in life, he had annoyed her and she had teased him, but perhaps death shone a different light over everything. He knew she hadn't mean any harm with her statement in the Great Hall really, sure she'd never been a nice girl at school, he knew that. She'd bullied the other students and teased girls about their looks but she wasn't a murderer or a Death Eater. She had resented the Dark Lord ever since Draco had started slipping away from her – he knew now, finally, that that was the only thing that had mattered to Pansy. That the Dark Lord took him away from her, and that she hated the Carrows. It wasn't the most profound reason to stop supporting the Dark Lord, but it was a reason. Indeed, everything seemed maybe a little too great for Pansy to grasp and he doubted she was definitely with or against the cause that was behind the Dark Lord's actions.
He wondered how he and his family would fit into this new world. At least they were prepared to do what was necessary to survive – handing over the list of Death Eaters and swearing allegiance to the new regime, whatever it was. He wondered how his little Pansy would fit into this new world, for she seemed inept of change or maturing, at least as of yet. It frightened him slightly, hoping his girlfriend wasn't too much like his aunt…
He cleared his throat. "No, I know that," he said finally. Pansy stopped looking at him and started chewing her gum again.
Draco wondered if the Dark Lord had never given him that mission, and Draco had never learnt do hate him, if he would still support him, maybe even enjoyed doing so? Would he have partaken in hunting Mudbloods willingly, and gladly helped the Carrows torture those who opposed them?
He thought back of his early years at Hogwarts, where the thought of these things would've made him laugh. He had joked about the Basilisk finishing off Muggleborns and he had found it hilarious. But as soon as he had grown up and seen these things for himself he had broken down, crumbled. And if Voldemort hadn't threatened his or his family's life, but just killed other families, would Draco never have reacted?
It was just like Theodore Nott had said – he was all talk. He was a coward, after all.
He felt cheated, as though he had lived a lie his whole young life. He'd grown up with certain beliefs that had now been challenged and refuted. The people he'd been taught by his father to hate, like Potter and Dumbledore, had offered him help. That was the most confusing part of all.
He knew his father was at the root of all of this. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to hate Lucius as much as he should.
Maybe it would've been for the best if Potter had left him in the Room of Requirement with Crabbe.
But then his mother and father, and Pansy, would have to attend his funeral on Sunday. He didn't want that for them.
A fire was crackling in the parlour on the second floor of Malfoy manor. For now, they had locked the doors to the drawing room – it was out of bounds. This was a smaller room, with wine red velvet sofas and walls lined with books. No long dining table fit in there, but hard armchairs in front of the fire and a stone side table for them to put their drinks.
"A list has been drafted," said Lucius, swirling a glass of some clear liquor. Draco looked up at his father. "We must be quick now, son, to show were our allegiance lay."
"Good," said Draco shortly and sipped his own drink. It burned, but he was accustomed to the feeling these days. "I don't care who we do in."
"As soon as we've handed it over to the Ministry, we shall begin preparing for the trials."
"Do we know a date yet?"
"No. They're far too busy. It may take months, Draco. Which is beneficial for us, since it gives us more time to go over the proceedings. We need to plan everything, son."
"I know," said Draco dully, his eyes following the movements of the flames.
"Every move we make now is crucial," said Lucius. "We must play our cards well. No open statements about anything without my say-so."
"Fine," Draco replied impatiently. "I wasn't exactly planning on going to the Daily Prophet to give my side of the story anyway."
"That includes Miss Parkinson as well."
Draco turned to look at him slowly. "She has nothing to do with this, father."
"Indeed?" Lucius raised his eyebrows. "She has a habit of letting whatever opinion she has spill out in times of emotional distress."
"What does that even mean?" sighed Draco.
"She stood up in front of hundreds of opponents and tried to give their hero up!" he snarled. "She cannot be trusted!"
"You're one to talk," Draco muttered venomously before he could stop himself. "It's not like you didn't want him dead."
"Contrary to Miss Parkinson, I didn't go about my business in public. And your mother has lied for him, spared him. That puts us above Miss Parkinson right now in society's eyes."
"That's bollocks. Everyone knows you're a Death Eater," he was panting angrily now. "Pansy's just a confused girl."
"You speak as though you are not equally guilty as me," said Lucius quietly.
"I'm not!" Draco shouted and stood up suddenly, his heart racing and body shaking. "I'm not," he repeated through clenched teeth, pointing an angry finger in his father's face.
"You have not tortured and killed, like me?" said Lucius calmly.
"Not by choice!"
Lucius gave a small snort-laugh. "And you think I do it for sport?"
"There's a difference between you and me!" Draco went on, more aggravated by how calm his father was. "And you know it! I did not choose this, you did. You did this to me!"
"Son, you're of age now. It's time you take responsibility for your own actions. We both chose this, and we both wanted it."
"I was sixteen!" Draco was fully shouting now. "And whatever happened to 'my son was forced'? What happened to 'this is all my fault, I'm going to fix this'!"
Lucius fixed his eyes at Draco's.
"I am fixing this. With our attorney. Just tell her not to talk openly with anyone. That includes her friends and family. Anything that regards us is our business. She needs to control the information she gives out. She will not be a liability to us, do you understand?"
"Yess," Draco emphasised in frustration.
Mrs Malfoy led her into a small room with dark wine-red faded wallpaper. A large tapestry depicting the Malfoy family tree leading all the way back to the 1500s in very small letters, hung on the wall. Pansy had never been in there before.
"This belonged to my great-grandmother," said Mrs Malfoy, and Pansy couldn't help but to notice that her hand was shaking slightly when she lifted the thick golden necklace out of its velvet box. The dark emeralds glittered in the vague light from the old fashioned gas lights on the wall. She held it out carefully in her slender, pale hands, for Pansy to see better.
"It was an engagement gift to her from my great-grandfather's parents. It's been in our family ever since. I wore it on my wedding day." She added the last part with a small smile at Pansy, who raised her eyebrows in awe and smiled at once.
"It's beautiful, madam," she said politely. If ever Draco gave her something like that she'd be really lucky, she thought hastily. But why was Mrs Malfoy showing her this? Pansy had thought it merely a boastful tour of the house before they entered this room.
Narcissa turned to her and held out the necklace towards her. "Try it on."
"What?" spluttered Pansy, surprised. "Mrs Malfoy, I can't possibly..."
"I insist."
Reluctantly Pansy reached out for the necklace with both hands. Narcissa moved around her so she was behind her and carefully lifted up Pansy's hair. She helped clasp the necklace around her neck. It must be worth thousands of galleons, Pansy thought hastily, better not drop it...
"It's so beautiful," she breathed when she'd turned to a large, dusty golden-framed mirror behind a dark mahogany desk. She couldn't help but to reach up and brush it lightly with her fingertips. She briefly thought she'd never looked so Pureblooded and worthy before. It was as if her posture was better with the necklace on, she radiated wealth and power.
Unwillingly, she pictured herself wearing the necklace along with wedding dress-robes, walking up the aisle towards a handsomer-than-usual Draco with a slightly less pointed face in dark expensive robes... Suddenly she saw Narcissa in the mirror behind her, and flushed at once, remembering where she was. Narcissa smiled in a knowing sort of way, and Pansy thoroughly hoped she didn't guess what Pansy had been thinking... Her hands moved to the clasp at the back of her neck at once but Narcissa put a gentle hand on top of hers.
"I'd like you to have it, Miss Parkinson."
Pansy gaped at her, turning around to face her again and she was sure it wasn't pretty. Mrs Malfoy looked slightly amused. "I simply can't! It's been in your family for ages you said!"
"And I'm sure it will stay there."
Pansy suddenly realised what she meant and was filled with an inexplicable sort of warmth. Her heart beat faster at once.
"You've stood by my son through everything these past few years," she went on, "and for that Lucius and I are eternally grateful."
Pansy wasn't sure she deserved it – images of snogging Theodore Nott, Miles Bletchley and Lucian Bole flooded her mind and she felt ashamed.
"I really can't take it..." began Pansy but Narcissa smiled again. "Don't you want to save it until Draco has found his wife, and thus proposed to, er, her?"
Suddenly images of an unknown woman in Pansy's imaginative wedding dress appeared in her mind, kissing her Draco in front of a ceremony official who waved his wand at the pair, binding them magically for life... It surprised her how angry the thought made her.
"I'm sure he already has," said Narcissa casually. "Found her, that is," she added with a gleam in her eye. "Anyway, I have no use for it anymore. It's yours." She concluded the matter by sliding the clasp open, removing the necklace from Pansy's neck and placing it back on the velvet.
Finally Pansy smiled. "Thank you so much, Mrs Malfoy. I don't know what to say."
"I'll have the house-elf bring it to Draco's room."
The days passed in a solemn reverie. Harry Potter's press conference continued broadcasting on the Wizarding Wireless Network day and night for the next few days. It caused Rita Skeeter to write a special feature article about the hero of the war, which took up almost twenty pages in the Prophet, called Harry Potter: Noble or Nutter? which was published on Saturday, the day before the funeral. All the papers, small and big reported of nothing other than Harry Potter and his friends. On Sunday morning an additional article had been written about Neville Longbottom, praising him for leading Dumbledore's Army and killing off Voldemort's snake. Snake Assassin, they called him. It actually managed to produce a chuckle from Draco when he read it over breakfast.
And then they were off.
The church bells were loud, echoing in his head. The murky old graveyard with its small forest chapel was depressing to say the least. They had Floo'd to a small village in the Midlands where Vincent's grandfather lived. It was a cloudy and depressing day, but hot for June, and humid. Draco was sweating in his thick black dress robes. He wiped his neck with his hand uncomfortably.
The number of guests was also a depressing fact. The Malfoys were there, and the Goyles. Mr Warren Crabbe's wife had left them long ago, maybe she was even dead like her son, and they had little other family. Crabbe Sr was standing next to a Ministry representative who was conducting the burial. Next to him was a large and bulky man, bent and grey and thrice Vincent's age, who Draco guessed must be his grandfather. How odd it was to see them standing there next to each other, Vincent's father and his father in turn. They were all the same, they even looked the same. No women in sight, and the two who remained would probably die alone just like Vincent had.
All the Slytherins were there of course. Pansy was holding his hand; perhaps she thought he needed the support. She was fully dressed in black – he didn't think he'd ever seen her like that. She was usually in Slytherin green, or Pansy pink.
It was a small ceremony. Gregory was there with his family, and even Miles Bletchley, Graham Montague, Adrian Pucey and Caecus Warrington, even though they were wanted for interrogation by the Auror office. Blaise Zabini stood opposing Draco with the hole in the ground in between them, next to his mother and Mr Felstead. Daphne Greengrass and her sister and their parents were there for formality reasons. As were Queenie Wilkes and her large family. Millicent Bulstrode and Tracey Davis had come alone.
Draco exhaled and realised he'd been holding it in. He tried to focus on what the Ministry wizard was saying, as he stared down onto the coffin in the ground. He wondered if it should've been him in there. But then again, there was nothing, no-one in there. Draco knew, because he had been there when Crabbe had burned alive. No body to bury. Nor a wand. So what was even in there? He found himself oddly focused on this thought. He forgot to listen again.
They hadn't ever been close friends, really, had they? They hadn't been like brothers. They had been put together by circumstances, and they had shared a bedroom for seven years. But they had never cared for each other. He had always viewed Crabbe as someone to back him up, to intimidate people, to do his bidding for him and to do what he was told. In the end, he hadn't. And that had been his downfall. But it wasn't as if he was better than Crabbe, just because he had realised the flaw in being in the Dark Lord's service and Crabbe hadn't yet.
Draco wondered what was in the coffin being lowered into the gaping hole in the soil. Unwillingly, he shivered. Pansy squeezed his hand.
He watched the burial with an air of indifference. He didn't cry. He didn't know what to feel.
But he couldn't take his eyes off the gravestone when it was raised. He was the reason it said Vincent Crabbe.
When it dispersed and people started conversing with each other politely about which pub to go to for afters, Draco shook hands with Miles, Graham, Adrian and Caecus. After all, they were old friends from school. Pansy embraced her girlfriends and Lucius and Narcissa were chatting to Mrs and Mrs Greengrass.
"Didn't think I'd see you here," Draco said in a lowered voice to Miles. "Not after..."
Miles Bletchley shrugged coolly. "Ministry can't do nothin'," he said. "They've got us watched, but we ain't been charged with nothing yet."
Warrington, Pucey and Montague nodded their heads in agreement.
"Surely they're just building a case," said Draco.
"They might not have much," said hard-faced Warrington. He had a very deep voice. "They have suspicions, yeah, but the evidence against us is practically non-existent. None of us had even taken our Marks yet."
Draco raised his eyebrows and nodded in surprise. "Fancy that."
"Fucking lucky, eh," said Adrian Pucey, who Draco had always known to be quite slow. "Were meant to take it the week after. Imagine that!"
Draco wished he'd had as much luck. About two years too late though.
"Apparently your mate isn't as lucky," said Graham Montague. Draco frowned.
"Who?"
"Nott," said Montague. "I hear he's got the Mark."
"He's not my 'mate'," said Draco coldly. There was a bustle while Zabini, Greengrass, Wilkes, Pucey and Warrington all had turned around. Draco couldn't hear the mutterings, so he narrowed his eyes to see what everyone was looking at, when Pansy jabbed him in the side and jerked her head.
Speaking of the devil. At the edge of the graveyard, just by the small forest chapel, stood Theodore Nott, gaunt and pale as ever.
"Look who it is," said Pansy. He walked over to them when he saw they'd noticed his arrival.
"Well, well, well...Fancy seeing you here," said Malfoy and Pansy couldn't tell if he was sarcastic or not. Nott only sneered at him and they did not shake hands. Zabini and Nott shared some sort of high-five embrace. They other boys all shook his hand one after another.
"Theodore!" said Tracey, and gave him an awkward hug. "Haven't seen you in ages."
"Are you all right?" asked Queenie with narrowed eyes.
"We all got the impression you were on the run," said Pansy boldly. She hadn't hugged him, but stood cross-armed, demanding an explanation.
"I was," he replied, looking unaccustomed to all the attention of the whole group being on him. "Then I realised I didn't have to be. They don't know I'm a Death Eater."
The Slytherins all glanced around, nervous that someone in their midst was saying this out loud in a public place.
"Mate, they can't prove I've done anything either," said Bletchley, "but we're all still under investigation," he said and motioned for the other boys.
"I haven't performed any orders on his behalf," said Thedoroe. "I didn't have the time."
"But you have a Dark Mark," said Pansy confusedly.
He looked annoyed. "Well, they haven't seen that yet. Nobody's come for me yet. I've been on the run and I'm staying at Blaise's. He convinced me to come today. He got me a solicitor."
"Surely they will question you though?" said Pansy sceptically. "And ask to see your left arm."
"Yes," he said impatiently, "but they can't prove I've done anything for him. Because I haven't."
"So – is it illegal to have a Dark Mark?" asked Queenie. Everyone looked around at each other. Nobody knew.
"Anyway," said Draco dismissively who had seen his mother nodding at him to join her, "I'm going to give my condolences to Mr Crabbe."
When he left, Theodore looked after him and sneered. "How the mighty have fallen. Or rather, I should say, how the Malfoys have fallen." He was looking at the three Malfoys a while over, giving their condolences to Warren Crabbe and his parents.
"Shut it," Pansy snarled. "They're trying to save themselves just like you are."
His dark eyes flew to her, and immediately Pansy knew this was about her. "You came back, on the wrong side."
"It's the right side now, Theodore," she said. "Looks like we chose well."
"We strategized," said Blaise. "We thought about it, and then we came back."
"Because of self-preservation, nothing else," spat Theodore.
"Well, it's common sense, isn't it really, to not run head first into things?" said Queenie impatiently.
Theodore rolled his eyes. "Well, you all did the complete opposite."
"Oh, here I thought you came to see all your friends," said Pansy scathingly.
"It's a funeral, Pansy," said Theodore sardonically, "not a party."
"We weren't about to fight a losing battle," added Zabini. "I wanted to go back from the start, but... Everyone thought it a bad idea."
"Since when do you listen to what 'everyone' says?"
"We would've been attacked!" said Queenie.
"We were attacked," added Pansy.
Theodore shook his head and looked at them all with an angry disdain. "So you came back to be on the right side because you knew the Dark Lord was about to be defeated!"
"No!" protested Tracey, "We came back because it was the right thing to do, Theodore!"
"I came back to find Draco," said Pansy coldly.
"You're all lying," Theodore replied with a dangerous smile. Blaise rolled his eyes, and Queenie and Tracey both groaned in equal irritation. They all turned away, and that was when Theodore took his chance. He fixed Pansy with a look of disgust and loathing, and he leaned in to whisper something. From the look on his face alone she knew she wouldn't like this.
"Your Draco is fucked. Either he gets thrown into Azkaban or the precious Potter-supporters are going to finish him. You made the wrong choice, Pansy."
Her stomach turned over at this for some reason and it sent a chill down her spine.
