A/N: Ahh, finally. After agonizing through all the plot twists and how to use charries in this chapter, I finally managed to finish it. Another cliffy, sorry. Neer. Here it is, after so long. Um, it's 12 pages long. You'd better start reading now… let's just say, a lot happens here. Pay attention. Now read!
Chapter 11--"I'll try"
At eleven in the morning on July 3rd, Draco Malfoy was getting ready for the funeral. Hermione was sitting at the mirror in his bedroom, talking and putting on makeup.
"Only the Ministry and the Hogwarts staff--and you and I, of course--know about this right now, Draco," she said. "So don't talk about it. Don't even mention it."
"Hermione," he said, "I am the king of tact." She gave him a sideways look. "That day does not count. Besides, I've covered the bloody thing in two layers of bandages and a long sleeved shirt and a jacket. The likelihood anyone sees it are slim to none."
She finished putting on lipstick. "Don't take your suit jacket off. Ever. Okay?"
"What if it's 90 degrees in there?"
"I sincerely hope it isn't. Still, in that unlikely case, no. You're a good actor. Act cold." She grinned. "You're even better at that."
"Hilarious," he said, then smirked. "Never thought I'd see you in makeup, Hermione."
"Never thought I'd see you look good in a suit," she shot back. "Why aren't you wearing a tie?"
"I don't wear ties." Father wore ties.
"What, do they inhibit your sneering muscles?"
He fixed his collar in the mirror she was preening herself in. "I just don't wear ties," he said.
"It's because of your father, isn't it?" He froze. "Your father is going to Azkaban. You don't need to be afraid of him anymore."
He kept his voice level. "May I draw your attention to the large magic brand burning black on my arm?" he said. "What should be true is, since there's no Voldemort, there's no calls from the Mark. But my father was his most cunning crony. I have no doubt that Lucius found a way to burn the Mark."
Hermione shook her head, and put in a pair of hanging hematite earrings. "Heavy task, I know, but forget about it for a while. The funeral is in a half hour. We'll Apparate there." Draco was shaking his head. "What?" she said.
"I use magic, I burn the Mark darker, and Lucius can find me," he said. "No Apparation. No way in hell."
"You're paranoid," Hermione said. She looked incredibly irked.
"Better paranoid than dead, I always say."
She finished with her makeup and looked up at him with a suspiciously blank look on her face. "Are you ready?"
"Yes, of course."
She grabbed his hand and Apparated. He yanked his hand away from her. "What are you doing?"
"Administering a dose of reality."
He glared around. "If everyone here is slaughtered by the end of this, it's your fault."
"Point taken." She took his hand again and pulled him along. "You do want to do this, right?"
"I don't want to," he said. "I have to."
There was an outrageously dressed, presumably female creature interviewing Fudge--if badgering with questions was considering interviewing. "Rita Skeeter?" Draco was incredulous.
"No," Hermione said. She looked completely nauseated. "Her daughter. Eight years ago Rita Skeeter promised no more shenanigans. Instead she trained up her hellspawn to do the dirty work. She's still at Hogwarts, actually. Only 14."
"That is just sick." Draco looked at the Skeeter child in disgust. "What's her name?"
"Lita," Hermione said.
"Thought it'd be something like that." They arrived at the door. The Skeeter girl watched Draco like a hawk and swept upon him quite like one, too.
"Excuse me? Excuse me, sir?" She didn't seem to get the point of Draco's pointed ignorance of her. She lowered her glasses down her nose. "Are you ... are you the ever-famous Draco Malfoy?" The faked awe in her voice was sickening. "I would greatly enjoy an interview about how you feel today. Harry Potter was your partner, after all; how do you feel about his death? Do you feel outcast by wizard society because of your orientation? If you could indulge me, Mr. Malfoy."
She said all of this rather fast.
He responded by putting his index finger right in the middle of her forehead and pushed her away. "Sod off," he said evenly.
The blithe denial appeared to shock Lita Skeeter so much she was momentarily silenced. Hermione took advantage of that to drag Draco away. "Do you know how many people in your position have not had the courage to do that?" she whispered to him.
He shrugged. "I've made a hobby out of doing the unexpected, as is clear." He looked ahead again and his throat went dry. There was a coffin there. And inside of it... "Where do we sit?" he managed to say to Hermione.
"Wherever," she said. She didn't seem bothered at all. When he didn't appear to be moving, she steered him towards the front. "That's a good boy. Come on. Hold together."
Ron suddenly appeared beside Hermione. "'Mione," he said. "I've got to tell you something." He pulled her away, leaving Draco sitting alone, staring at the floor.
"What happened?" she said.
"Azkaban," Ron said. "The Death Eaters never got there, never got locked in cells, anyway. They attacked the guards and..." He bit his lip.
"What?" Hermione snapped. "What did they do?"
"They, well, they freed the dementors," Ron said. "And no one knows where any of them are, Death Eaters or dementors." He looked sick. "This is obviously quite bad."
"Oh, God," Hermione said. She pressed her hands against her temples. "I can't believe this. He was right."
Now Ron was confused. "What?"
"God, I can be such a bloody know-it-all..."
"Not arguing with that," he said with a weak half-grin on his face.
"Shut it Ron," she said automatically. "Are you doing the eulogy?"
He nodded grimly. "Yes. First Fred wanted to, but he ... he didn't want to leave George, you know." George was attacked by Death Eaters and was currently in a magical coma. "Ginny thought about it but really ... it was you or me."
Hermione suddenly realized what a dry throat meant. "Well, Ron ... you know you were his best friend. He would have preferred it like this."
He shook his head. "Anything I say to refute that won't get through your head, so I'll save some effort."
She looked down. "Good luck, Ron." Before she realized it, Ron had pulled her into a great hug. For a moment they stayed like that until they both pulled away. Hermione glanced up at him, swallowed hard, and left silently.
Draco was standing now, thought it had only been for a short time, and he was staring at someone. Hermione pulled at his shoulder. "Draco," she whispered, and he turned.
"Do you see her?" he whispered.
"Who?" She glanced around. "There are a lot of people here, probably more than there should be."
Draco jerked his head in one direction. "I mean her. In the floppy black hat."
Her vision clicked. "Yes," she said uncertainly. "Who is she?"
He gave her a look of equal parts horror, surprise and disdain. "It's my mother," he said.
-------
There was no doubt of it. That was Narcissa Malfoy.
There was something about her; it was in her blood as well as his. She was from the Faline line, an old pureblood family of Ravenclaws known for their grace, beauty, and tact, a true family of the aristocracy. Something about the silver-blonde of her hair, the smooth line of her face stood out among all lesser mortals. There was probably veela blood in the Faline line.
How could she be here? Did she bargain with the Ministry? Naturally he had; he turned in several of the Ministry's unknown Death Eaters. Could this have something to do with the Mark?
Of course it did, and of course Lucius was part of it. What hope was there to have that Mother... Narcissa was going to be nice, love him, hold him close like a mother should?
None at all.
So why was he dwelling on her? It was unhealthy.
He managed to get himself to look away, into Hermione's concerned face. He remained silent and glanced over at the casket which presumably held Harry.
He never told me, Draco thought. I would bet it was on his mind for ages and he never told me.
"He never told anyone," Hermione said, answering his apparently spoken question. "He asked for information about wand cores from me and that was as far as communication went. That's why it was such a shock that he did it. Magical theory like that is so obscure--"
"--that probably you, Harry, and Dumbledore were the only ones who knew it existed?"
She nodded. "Speaking of which--" She reached into her pocket and flourished a rolled-up piece of parchment. "This is yours." He took it and looked closely at it.
An Eagerly Awaited Reply
He rolled it open and read:
Master Draco Malfoy,
I am sorry to tell you that the news about your mother is, as of yet, not very good. The Death Eaters--not including you, I, and Blaise Zabini--were transported to Azkaban and there they will stay. It would take more political power than even your father had to appeal for your mother's freedom and succeed. On a personal note: I knew your mother back at school and it is a true fallacy for anyone to say that Narcissa Faline would do Dark Arts of her own will. Narcissa was and is a woman of remarkable grace and intelligence, while Lucius Malfoy is indeed a Malfoy--cunning, threatening and bloody stupid. To bind a woman like your mother as he did, Lucius indeed must have been bloody stupid.
You would do well to have a word with Dumbledore, I believe.
With esteem,
Severus Snape
He rolled up the parchment and put it in his pocket.
Hermione leaned over to him. "Draco," she whispered. "The Death Eaters are free. And so are the dementors."
He sank back into his chair and it seemed to Hermione he turned a sick shade of pale.
He was now full of doubt, and there seemed to be only one way to quell it. He had to talk to her.
The Dark Mark burned like fury.
-------
It was the best Narcissa could do to stay silent.
Lucius had used that sniveling rat, Pettigrew, to burn the Mark the first time. And when she had first tried to get away, he burned it on her, too. It was agony, and she could tell it was the same for Draco. So she simply smiled and clutched her arm as if it was cold. It was far from cold.
Her son sat there, clearly not oblivious to her presence. Her presence was almost painful to him--she could tell--and she hated it. Because once your child hated you, the whole world had reason to hate you.
Lucius was a cunning bastard with a very good blackmail against her--that was, incidentally, yet another of his plans--like an ax behind his back. The moment she turned on him, he would swing it and dismember her life. If he was feeling very vengeful, he'd kill it.
Now he was trying to kill her son. That was unforgivable. She didn't care anymore; she was disgraced anyway, would probably be dead at the end of this, what was the point?
The look on his tear-bruised face that day Harry Potter died was like the Mark now, pure agony to her. She put on the act--you were either a good actor or learned how to act once you took upon the Malfoy name--and made sure Draco left Malfoy Mansion. If he had stayed, Lucius would have no problem finding him afterward.
Lucius had the plan set for ages, since the rise of Voldemort. If the fall would occur and they were captured, they would be sure to be captured with specially concealed weapons, mostly knives. Lucius would kill the first guard, the rest would follow in suit, and they would free the dementors to use as they pleased. Naturally there were a few hitches. Either Crabbe or Goyle--Narcissa honestly couldn't tell them apart--got the Dementor's Kiss and one or two Death Eaters were killed in the struggle.
The moment they had escaped, loosing the dementors upon Britain, Narcissa stabbed Lucius and made a break for it. The moment she thought she was free, he grabbed her arm and burned the Mark in. "Try to kill me if you want," he had said as he gripped her arm. "I'll make sure there is no Malfoy heir to inherit my gold." It was then that he stabbed her pretty damn well with his knife. It was bandaged, but being a pureblood, she wasn't used to the agony of real medicinal healing.
Even so, she was there to make sure there was a Malfoy heir to inherit his gold when he was dead, even if she had to kill Lucius herself. She was not yet free from Lucius's grip--the Mark was an obvious proof of that--but she was farther than she had ever been before.
-------
An usher opened the casket, and cold sweat succeeded in breaking out all over Draco. Could he really look into the now dead eyes of the person who had kept him alive for the past five years?
He was not the first to rise. The first to rise was Sirius Black, who stood there for a very long time, shaking. Eventually Remus Lupin pulled him away and looked into the casket himself for quite a long time. Once he walked away, Draco took the initiative and walked over to the casket. A photographer from the Daily Prophet snapped a picture as he did so, and Hermione paid him back by exploding the camera.
He was, surprisingly enough, not very pale. All makeup, Draco supposed. "'Death,'" Draco quoted under his breath, "'that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, hath had no power yet upon thy beauty. Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet is crimson in thy lips and thy cheeks, and death's pale flag is not advanced there.' Shakespeare." He smiled vaguely. "You always liked Shakespeare. Especially Romeo and Juliet. You said it was our story."
He bit his lip. "You told me to do what I've always wanted to do. I never wanted to do anything... without you." He swallowed. "I suppose all I can do is move on. I'm getting on well with Ron and Hermione, you know, and I hope you're proud." He looked down again at Harry's peaceful face and pressed a hand to his forehead. "I'll try my best," he said, and walked away quickly before he embarrassed himself. As if he needed to worry about that; there were pictures all around of him sobbing over Harry's body.
Hermione hugged him. He just stared down at the ground until the idea of Narcissa being across the room popped back into his head and he looked over there again. She was still watching him. When their eyes met, she nodded deliberately and walked out into the hallway. He quickly followed suit, trying to be as discreet as possible.
She tilted the hat backward so Draco could see her face. "Your father is a complete and utter bastard," she said evenly. "Thought I'd tell you that right off."
"You came here to tell me that?" he said. "I already knew that. If we're done--" He turned, but Narcissa grabbed the arm she knew held the Mark to stop him.
"We're not," she said. She released him and he turned slowly back to her.
"Fine," he said. "I expect you broke out from Azkaban or something like that. Lucius would try that. Are you the bait?"
"Draco Lucius Malfoy," Narcissa snapped. Draco twitched at the mention of his middle name. "You expect me to believe you actually think I would work for that bastard--who, incidentally, is out to kill you--the man who did this to me?" She pulled up her shirt a bit and revealed a bandage soaked in blood. "My lovely husband is out to kill his heir. Do you understand?"
"Narcissa," he sniped in the same tone. "You really expect me to believe that, do you? Expect me to rush up and hug you and cry in your arms? Do you realize what I've been through? Incidentally, it's all because of you and that bastard. If you're really being honest, prove it."
She stared into her son's eyes and yanked up the sleeve of her shirt. The Dark Mark was scorched black on her arm. He shoved her sleeve back down. "What are you thinking? We're at bloody Harry Potter's funeral and you're flashing the Mark? An escaped prisoner from Azkaban?"
"Did you see?" He nodded. "It's twice as bad for me, incidentally, because Lucius burned it on me after I stabbed him and before he stabbed me." She smirked. "One happy family, we are."
"That's supposed to prove something?" He crossed his arms over his chest.
"In fact, it is. If I was supposed to lure you into some kind of trap, would I be flashing the Mark about? If you really want to know why I married your father--ask Severus Snape. He knows." She shook her head. "You'd never believe me if I told you now."
His supernaturally thick layer of apathy was wearing paper thin. "Dammit, Mother, give me some answers!" He stomped his foot hard into the cushioned carpeting. "You never told me anything. Neither of you did. I just did the basic orders and never understood a damn thing. But Harry..." Draco stared at the carpet.
"Harry helped me understand life. Life had always been about money and power before him, and after him it was so much more. Do you see why I never trusted you?" He leaned dangerously close to her and whispered, "You let Lucius do everything. No matter what he held over you, letting your son be put down and tortured like I was, is a sin beyond forgiveness. Prove that you're worthy of my forgiveness and maybe, just maybe I can schedule you in."
The ice-blue color of her eyes so similar to his melted to the weak color of warm seawater. He couldn't turn away from her usually ice-cold eyes now thawed in emotion, so he stood there, rooted to the spot, staring back at her. "My son," she whispered, and collapsed to the ground. Draco managed to catch her by the arms, and sank to the ground with her.
"Narcissa," he said, trying to keep her awake. "Narcissa. Narcissa Malfoy. Narcissa Faline. Mother." She responded to the last, tweaking something off her neck.
"Don't heal me," she whispered. He noticed her hands pressed against the bloody wound. "Test it."
"Test what?" he said, then he saw the vial with just a few drops of blood-red liquid on a thin silver chain around her neck. He undid the clasp and shoved it into his pocket. "Hold on, Mother. I'll... I'll..." He fumbled for his wand, brandished it, but she grabbed his wand hand, whispering "No."
It was then he noticed there were people standing over him. "Get some damn help," he said, and his voice seemed strained to his ears. "No magic. Don't use any damn magic. Come on!"
Some mediwizards Apparated quicker than it seemed possible and picked her up. "No magic," Draco repeated loudly and inanely. He felt sick, and the emotional anguish mixed with the pain of the Mark. He managed to get back over to the chair next to Hermione without too much trouble and sank into it.
"What happened? I saw you go with her," Hermione said. She looked at him, quite concerned, and touched his face. "You're very pale. Are you all right?"
"Too much," he said. "Too much happened." He leaned close to her and showed her the vial. "Do you happen to know what this is?"
"No," she said. "Looks like blood. What is it?"
"I don't know." He looked up to see Ron approaching the casket.
Ron stood over the casket, staring down at Harry's peaceful face. Harry never looked this peaceful, even when he slept. Harry always dreamed, unless there had been an adventure and an accompanying Sleeping Draught before. It was always his parents haunting him every night in his sleep. He sighed. "It was necessary," he tried to convince himself, and failed.
Guilt was welling up for all the horrible things, great and small, that he had said to Harry, and became newly opened wounds. He swallowed hard. "I'll try my best to be as good of a person as you thought I was," he murmured, then went up to the podium.
"I know that far too many of us have been to far too many funerals in the past six years," Ron said. Much of the audience nodded. "Though there is just cause for joy at the death of the Dark Lord Voldemort, it came at a price none wanted to pay." He swallowed and gestured to the casket. "The death of Harry Potter."
In the silence, the only sound was Lita Skeeter's Quick Quotes Quill scratching across parchment, and a few audible sobs.
"He was my best friend, along with Hermione Granger." He nodded to Hermione, who wiped her eyes and nodded back. "And I'm not going to say what you expect." He paused. "Harry was, contrary to all evidence, not extraordinary. He was just an ordinary man born to an extraordinary destiny. He certainly was a hero, but understand this if you wish to understand anything about Harry Potter; he never wanted glory, fame, or that which seems quite according at this time, martyrdom.
"We should fulfill that wish and see him as he was; an ordinary man, orphaned as an infant, raised by Muggles, and thanks to his destiny, suffered more trial that a sentinent being ever should." He glanced over at Draco. "A man who hated as well as loved, feared as well as triumphed, and lost as well as won."
He raised his eyes to the watching eyes of the mourners. "And today we honor an ordinary man who strived and succeeded in extraordinary circumstances; not a martyr, just a man who knew what had to be done." He stared down at the podium. "Thank you," he said, and sat next to Hermione. She was crying silently into a handkerchief.
Draco looked a greenish shade of pale that is usually reserved for the sick and the vampire-obsessed. "Are you all right?" Ron asked him.
"Do you think I'm all right?"
"You don't look it. Did Hermione tell you?"
"Yes. It's true." Draco glanced away from Ron. "She's here. Or, rather, she was here. She's at St. Mungo's now, getting treated, non-magically of course. At least, I hope, or she'll be dead by midnight at the very least."
"Who?" Ron blinked. Draco sighed heavily.
"My mother. It's rather complicated--I don't understand it all--but all I can say is that Lucius is out to kill me. I can't burn the Mark so I have to take the long way home. For that same reason Narcis--Mother can't be treated magically." He sighed. "Look, have Hermione explain it. I've had a trying couple of days."
"I don't think she's in the right state to explain," Ron said. Draco looked up and watched her for a moment. She looked up, wiped her face and gave Ron a look.
"I'm not in a state. That was a very good eulogy, that's all." She coughed and shoved the handkerchief into her purse. "I have to go up to... see him. I'll be back in a moment." She went up to the casket, leaving Draco to explain to Ron.
You bloody idiot. Hermione bit her lip, and looked down at Harry. "You bloody idiot!" she snapped, and a few people reacted. She took a deep breath. "You never even talked to me beforehand. A letter, you only sent a letter, and not even a postscript at the bottom for me!" She shook her head. "I spend all this time crying over some guy who didn't even call one of his best friends before he decided to save the bloody world. What kind of a sap am I?"
She leaned against the edge of the casket. "Well, okay," she said. "I guess you wanted to spare yourself the months or years of possible doubt, right? I can see that, but... I miss you, and I wanted to say good-bye when this happened. I guess I'll have to wait if I see you in Paradise, or Heaven or something." She smiled, and sniffed. "Take good notes for me, I want a tour when I get up there." She kissed her hand and touched it to his face. "I'll try to be strong," she said, and left.
Ginny and Ron were arguing at a whisper about something she couldn't tell, so she simply shut her mouth and looked around for Draco. He was sitting beside Dumbledore, deep in conversation, and decided not to interefere.
"They never should have underestimated the Death Eaters," Dumbledore was saying to Draco. "Your father is remarkably cunning; he always was, I remember. Managed to keep himself from being expelled because of quite a few nasty tricks played on certain boys of the Gryffindor house." He smiled vaguely, troubled. "And now the tricks are far nastier than any juvenile pranks." He sighed and for the first time Draco saw the lines of age on Dumbledore's face. "The Aurors are out in force, but as of yet they haven't found a single dementor."
"Snape told me to see you," Draco said. "What do you know?"
"You always know the right questions, Draco Malfoy." Dumbledore looked at him closely. "The Dark Mark is burning."
"Yes." Draco pulled at his sleeve; his contact with his mother had made the Mark worse.
"This should be impossible. Voldemort is dead and thus the Mark should be dead. However, it's clear that the Mark is still alive."
"My father," Draco said. "Save some time. We both know he did it. No one else could. What about him?"
"He tried to kill your mother." Draco's face twisted into a mass of indecision. "As she did to him. Therefore it would be fair to say that Lucius is out to kill you, too."
What tact he has. "I'm sure of it," he said. "Considering he said so to Narcissa. You talked to her, didn't you?"
"Yes. She may serve a shorter period in Azkaban when this is over for the information she gave. The Ministry appears to be hosting many an unwanted guest."
Draco was losing patience. "This isn't why you asked me to talk to you," he said. "Get to the point. What do you know?"
Dumbledore paused. "I know you need a bodyguard."
"That won't be necessary." What kind of man would let another man kill his father for him?
"And if Lucius comes and finds you unawares?" Draco said nothing. "I will supply you and your mother with the most suitable protector I can find. Do you refuse?"
"No." He nodded. "All right. I could use a guard, if only to quell paranoia."
"Ah, that's where you're wrong, Mr. Malfoy." Dumbledore's eyes shined with cynicism Draco had never noticed. "It isn't paranoia when someone's really out to get you."
"Indeed," Draco said, and stood. "I'm staying with--"
"Hermione Granger. I know. It's quite an irony."
"Yeah," Draco said. "Irony." He left Dumbledore there and went back over to Hermione and Ron. Ginny Weasley was there now too, and they all seemed to be having a heated whispered argument now.
Ginny was the first to look up at him. "What do you want?" she said.
Hermione patted her shoulder. "No need to be snappy, Gin," she said. "He's on our side. You know that."
Ginny subsided. "All right, but this is a private conversation."
Ron looked at him. "The lawyer's coming around later tonight about the will."
"Harry wrote a will?" Draco sighed. "He was planning this for a while, wasn't he?"
"Three days," Hermione said. "He had Dean Thomas write it up for him. No one knows what he wrote, other than Dean. We're pretty sure he's leaving the money to you."
"But I don't need the money--" he paused, guiltily. "Wait. Never mind." He bit his lip. "I think he'd give it to your family first," he said to Ron. "Not a 'poor' joke. I'm serious. You're richer than I am now, anyway, so that'd be hypocritical to say."
No one spoke for a second, until Ginny gave Draco a sharp look. "All right," she said. "What would you do with his money if you got it?"
Draco considered. "I'd probably reimburse people who lost family members in the war. I'd give money to the Aurors, too. How many were lost in action?"
Everyone looked at the floor almost in perfect sync and Ron eventually said, "Twenty-four. Twenty-four Aurors."
"All right," Ginny said. "After hearing you say that, I suppose I can deal with you. You know how much it is, right?"
"No. How much?" He sat beside Hermione.
"At least fifty thousand," Ron said. "Never knew he had that much money. I mean, he wasted a lot and look how much he had left. That's a hell of a lot of money."
"Aren't you going to get your dad's money, Malfoy?" Ginny said. "Do you really need an extra fifty thou?"
Draco gave her an exasperated look. "I'm going home, Hermione. I have to walk there, so I may as well start now. You can catch Ginny up on the latest drama." He stood and Hermione sighed.
"All right, Draco. Be careful and don't mess with the shields I have up on the mansion. They took months to put up." She looked over at Ginny. "Suppose it's a good enough time as any to tell you," she said.
At that note, Draco left them. His feet had never hurt so much in his whole life. It was a damned shame. Harry gave great foot massages. He limped out of the room and took his coat from the coat check.
"Would you like some company on your walk home?"
Draco shouldn't have been surprised.
